Ruth Turner Perot was a special assistant to the national director of CORE in 1967.

Black power to CORE means the organization of the black community into a tight and disciplined group, for six purposes:

1. 1. Growth of political power.
2. 2. Building economic power.
3. 3. Improvement of self-image.
4. 4. Development of Negro leadership.
5. 5. Demanding federal law enforcement.
6. 6. Mobilization of Negro consumer power.

Let me give some examples of how CORE programs the concept:

• In Baltimore, MFU, an independent union organized by CORE, raised wages of nearly 100 members, workers regular labor unions did not want to organize, from $0.35 to $1.50.
• Baltimore, CORE’S 1966 Target City, also demonstrated black power in the November elections. As a result of intensive mobilizing and organizing by CORE and other groups, Negroes switched 35 to 1 to vote for Republican [Spiro] Agnew over “Home is your castle” [George P.] Mahoney. Mahoney was defeated. We were so effective, in fact, that the Ku Klux Klan has chosen Baltimore as [its] Target City.
• CORE ran eight Negro candidates for school board elections in Democratic primaries in Louisiana. All won, first time since Reconstruction.
• Also---Louisiana (Opelousas)---Sweet potato cooperative. 375 farmers, 15 white, growing their sweet potato crops. This is economic black power. 
• Watts, Operation Bootstraps, “Learn, Baby, Learn.” 12 teenagers, graduates of [a] computer course, have set up their own business, offering up-to-date skills for pay.
• Freedom School in Baltimore and plans for Black Arts and Afro-American Institute. A place where black people can learn of history and contributions to world culture and civilization. Power of self-knowledge. Also in Baltimore, a leadership training [program] for neighborhood people.
• As a result of CORE insistence, federal examiners sent to South Carolina and Mississippi counties. Result: registration climbed.

We believe that these building blocks will become a bulwark that will protect the next Adam Clayton Powell, multiplied many times over. There is no other choice. If power for the powerless is not achieved so that changes within its structure can be made, this nation will not survive. 

Source: “Black Power: A Voice Within.” From “Black Power: A Voice Within,” by Ruth Turner Perot in Oberlin Alumni Magazine LXIII (May 1967). From The Eyes on the Prize Civil Rights Reader: Documents, Speeches, and Firsthand Accounts from the Black Freedom Struggle, 1965-1990. New York: Penguin Books, 1991. Copyright Blackside, Inc. 1991.

Document 5.21.6

As the civil rights movement began to move in different directions in the late 1960s, radical became synonymous with revolutionary, both as an adjective and a noun.  (Radical is from the Late Latin word for “root.”) Baker was already in her mid-60s when she gave this opinion, used as an epigraph to the Introduction in Barbara Ransby, Ella Baker and the Black Freedom Movement: A Radical Democratic Vision (UNC Press: Chapel Hill, 2003).

In order for us as poor and oppressed people to become a part of society that is meaningful, the system under which we now exist has to be radically changed.  This means that we are going to have to learn to think in radical terms.  I use the term radical in its original meaning---getting down to and understanding the root cause.  It means facing a system that does not lend itself to your needs and devising means by which you change that system.  

From ELLA BAKER AND THE BLACK FREEDOM MOVEMENT: A RADICAL DEMOCRATIC VISION by Barbara Ransby. Copyright © 2003 by the University of North Carolina Press. Used by permission of the publisher. www.uncpress.org

Document 5.21.10

Dr. King delivered what was considered his most controversial speech on the Vietnam War at a meeting of Clergy and Laity Concerned in New York City.  He spoke on April 4, exactly one year before he was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee.

Excerpts from “The Importance of Vietnam,” by Martin Luther King, Jr., 1967.

Since I am a preacher by trade, I suppose it is not surprising that I have seven major reasons for bringing Vietnam into the field of my moral vision.  There is at the outset a very obvious and almost facile connection between the war in Vietnam and the struggle I, and others, have been waging in America.  A few years ago there was a shining moment in that struggle.  It seemed as if there was a real promise of hope for the poor---both black and white—through the poverty program.  There were experiments, hopes, new beginnings.  Then came the buildup of Vietnam and I watched the program broken and eviscerated as if it were some idle political plaything of a society gone mad on war, and I knew that America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube.  So I was increasingly compelled to see the war as an enemy of the poor and attack it as such.

Perhaps the more tragic recognition of reality took place when it became clear to me that the war was doing far more than devastating the hopes of the poor at home.  It was sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative to the rest of the population.  We were taking the black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem.  So we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat them together in the same schools.  So we watch them in brutal solidarity burning the huts of a poor village, but we realize that they would never live on the same block in Detroit.  I could not be silent in the face of such cruel manipulation of the poor.

My third reason moves to an even deeper level of awareness, for it grows out of my experience in the ghettos of the North over the last three years—especially the last three summers.  As I have walked among the desperate, rejected and angry young men I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems.  I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action.  But they asked---and rightly so—what about Vietnam?  They asked if our own nation wasn’t using massive doses of violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it wanted.  Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today— my own government.  For the sake of those boys, for the sake of this government, for the sake of hundreds of thousands trembling under our violence, I cannot be silent.

For those who ask the question, “Aren’t you a civil rights leader?” and thereby mean to exclude me from the movement for peace, I have this further answer.  In 1957 when a group of us formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, we chose as our motto: “To save the soul of America.”  We were convinced that we could not limit our vision to certain rights for black people, but instead affirmed the conviction that Amercia would never be free or saved from itself unless the descendants of its slaves were loosed completely from the shackles they still wear.  In a way we were agreeing with Langston Hughes, that black bird of Harlem, who had written earlier:

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—

America will be!

Now, it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war.  If America’s soul becomes totally poisoned, part of the autopsy must read Vietnam.  It can never be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the world over.  So it is that those of us who are yet determined that America will be are led down the path of protest and dissent, working for the health of our land.

As if the weight of such a commitment to the life and health of America were not enough, another burden of responsibility was placed upon me in 1964; and I cannot forget that the Nobel Prize for Peace was also a commission—a commission to work harder than I had ever worked before “the brotherhood of man.”  This is a calling that takes me beyond national allegiances, but even if it were not present I would yet have to live with the meaning of my commitment to the ministry of Jesus Christ.  To me the relationship of this ministry to the making of peace is so obvious that I sometimes marvel at those who ask me why I am speaking against the war.  Could it be that they do not know that the good news was meant for all men—for Communist and capitalist, for their children and ours, for black and for white, for revolutionary and conservative?  Have they forgotten that my ministry is in obedience to the one who loved his enemies so fully that he died for them?  What then can I say to the “Vietcong” or to Castro or to Mao as a faithful minister of this one?  Can I threaten them with death or must I not share with them my life?

Finally, as I try to delineate for you and for myself the road that leads from Montgomery to this place I would have offered all that was most valid if I simply said that I must be true to my conviction that I share with all men the calling to be a son of the living God.  Beyond the calling of race or nation or creed is this vocation of sonship and brotherhood, and because I believe that the Father is deeply concerned especially for his suffering and helpless and outcast children, I come tonight to speak for them.

This I believe to be the privilege and the burden of all of us who deem ourselves bound by allegiances and loyalties which are broader and deeper than nationalism and which go beyond our nation’s self-defined goals and positions.  We are called to speak for the weak, for the voiceless, for victims of our nation and for those it calls enemy. For no document from human hands can make these humans any less our brothers….

Protesting the War

Meanwhile we in the churches and synagogues have a continuing task while we urge our government to disengage itself from a disgraceful commitment.  We must continue to raise our voices if our nation persists in its perverse ways in Vietnam.  We must be prepared to match actions with words by seeking out every creative means of protest possible.  

As we counsel young men concerning military service we must clarify for them our nation’s role in Vietnam and challenge them with the alternative conscientious objection.  I am pleased to say that this is the path now being chosen by more than seventy students at my own alma mater, Morehouse College, and I recommend it to all who find the American course in Vietnam a dishonorable and unjust one.  Moreover I would encourage all ministers of draft age to give up their ministerial exemptions and seek status as conscientious objectors.  These are the times for real choices and not false ones.  We are at the moment when our lives must be placed on the line if our nation is to survive its own folly.  Every man of humane convictions must decide on the protest that best suits his convictions, but we must all protest.

There is something seductively tempting about stopping there and sending us all off on what in some circles has become a popular crusade against the war in Vietnam.  I say we must enter the struggle, but I wish to go on now to say something even more disturbing.  The war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit, and if we ignore this sobering reality we will find ourselves organizing clergy- and laymen-concerned committees for the next generation.  They will be concerned about Guatemala and Peru.  They will be concerned about Thailand and Cambodia.  They will be concerned about Mozambique and South Africa.  We will be marching for these and a dozen other names and attending rallies without end unless there is a significant and profound change in American life and policy.  Such thoughts take us beyond Vietnam, but not beyond our calling as sons of the living God.

In 1957 a sensitive American official overseas said that it seemed to him that our nation was on the wrong side of a world revolution.  During the past ten years we have seen emerge a pattern of suppression which now has justified the presence of U.S. military “advisors” in Venezuela.  This need to maintain social stability for our investments accounts for the counter-revolutionary action of American forces in Guatemala.  It tells why American helicopters are being used against guerrillas in Colombia and why American napalm and green beret forces have already been active against rebels in Peru.  It is with such activity in mind that the words of the late John F. Kennedy come back to haunt us.  Five years ago he said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.”

Increasingly, by choice or by accident, this is the role our nation has taken—the role of those who make peaceful revolution impossible by refusing to give up the privileges and the pleasures that come from the immense profits of overseas investment.

I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values.  We must rapidly begin the shift from a “thing-oriented” society to a “person-oriented” society.  When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies.  On the one hand we are called to play the good Samaritan on life’s roadside; but that will only be an initial act.  One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway.  True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial.  It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.  A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth.  With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say: “This is not just.”  It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of Latin America and say: “This is not just.”  The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just.  A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war: “This way of settling differences is not just.”  This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation’s homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of people normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love.  A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

American, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values.  There is nothing, except a tragic death wish, to prevent us from reordering our priorities, so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war.  There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood. . . .

Source: King Jr., Martin Luther.  I Have a Dream: Writings and Speeches that Changed the World.  Ed. James Melvin Washington.  San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1986.

Document 5.21.7