I believe in the dream whose voice was lost…

This day every year reminds me that hate doesn’t solve anything. that by hating in the end we only injure ourselves. The indomitable spirit rises above the hate to shine like beautiful lighthouse. A beacon for justice and liberty.

I was a youngster that terrible day. Young in spirit, young in dreams. Saddened at the time because Bobby Kennedy had died that past year. I had thought personally the Bobby Kennedy would make a great president. It was the first time in my life that I cared about that or any election.

Robert Kennedy’s death introduced to the history of his life. In that history I found out about the hero. About the man willing to choose peace for all. Dr. Martin Luther King. Hate does us no good it in the end only takes away  what cannot be replaced or forgotten.

Years later I went to his memorial in Atlanta Georgia. I stood there, just as I stood when I found out he was dead in 1969. Remembering that hate doesn’t solve anything.

if I may paraphrase the great man’s words I have dream that someday everyone will walk the street and we will see them for who they are. Not that they are different than us in some imperceptible way, but that inside we are all the same. Someday we will see the world without hate.

Every year I listen as the national news plays his speech his dream the way he said it. Knowing that his dream was to be shared. It was to be spread. Translated into every language and slang iteration of every possible way to say stop hating.

A band without a drum major though can take wrong turns. We can in the end follow many and get lost. A single voice a single drum major once taken leaves us with less direction and more confusion. So we struggle. Dr. King we heard you. We felt your words in our core but we struggle to reach the goal.

In the end I still believe in that dream. Even though I see the horrible events that happened in Paris I still believe. Even though I watched the horrible events in Boston I still believe. I believe we are all members of a band. A marching band of brothers and sisters that are in the end the same.

I still believe.

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Scott Andersen

IASA Fellow.