On Friday, Jan. 13, a new sculpture honoring the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his wife, Coretta Scott King, was unveiled in the Boston Common. Standing over 20 feet tall and 40 feet wide, the bronze sculpture depicting a joyful embrace following the announcement that Dr. King was being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize has been met with praise for its innovative concept and much maligned for everything from its disembodiment of the figures to confusing perceptions of what one is seeing when they look at the statue from various angles.
What
was lifted up for weeks on the local news in Boston and nationally as a beacon of hope and a monument to love
is now facing the question: "Will the public embrace 'The Embrace'?"
Making
my way to the Boston Common — the United States' oldest public park — on the
morning of the unveiling, the divisive maelstrom yet to come was the furthest
thing from my mind. Emerging from the "T" (Boston's subway system), I
found myself immersed in an atmosphere of excitement. Despite rainy weather
that gave way to overcast skies, crowds gathered in anticipation of the
unveiling.
Like
many of my fellow onlookers, I was surprised to find the monument and
grandstand for the celebration quartered off by metal fencing covered in opaque
material. We all apparently had missed the memo that the ceremony was by
invitation only and yet as crowds assembled both inside and outside the
designated 1965 Freedom Plaza, a celebratory spirit filled the air.
This
project, after all, had been a community effort. While "The Embrace"
was the vision of artist Hank Willis Thomas, executed in concert with the MASS
Design Group, the larger project that led to this day was a years long effort of
consultation, community-building and consciousness-raising.
Beginning in 2017 with the intent of honoring the Kings, whose relationship began in Boston and whose civil rights work returned them to the city over the years, the nonprofit organization Embrace Boston solicited financial backers for a memorial and engine of social change in the city (with projects reaching far beyond the memorial to affect change in neighborhoods historically underserved in Boston).
That
same year, the organization put out a call for artists that yielded hundreds of
proposals for a monument. Eventually the field was narrowed to five candidates
by the memorial's sponsor, and with public input, Thomas' "The
Embrace" was ultimately selected to be erected in the Common.
Positioning
myself on an incline overlooking the day's festivities, I watched as people
dressed in suits and skirts mingled with those in destressed denim and
sneakers. Everyone had gathered for this momentous occasion. No rain or
restricted views could dampen spirits. The fabric on the fences was soon torn
down by onlookers, so that despite the metal fence they too could have a vision
of the monument.
As
bands began to play and politicians gave speeches in commemoration of the Kings
and their legacy, I watched as parents ushered school-aged children up to the
fences, the closest onlookers making way so that the littlest could have a
front row (or at least fence) view of the proceedings.
The
thing that was most palpable, though, about the day was a sense of Black joy.
Embrace Boston's vision statement commits to "a radically inclusive and
equitable Boston where everyone belongs and Black people prosper, grounded in
joy, love, and wellbeing."
Joy
isn't something you can fabricate. It comes naturally from the heart. Joy rises
out of freedom, liberation, fullness.
"The
joy of Black faith is a people coming together, praising and saying hallelujah
to a God that is freedom," the Rev. Kelly Brown Douglas told Kidada
Williams on the podcast "Seizing Freedom." "Because to me that is an
affirmation of life in the face of death. It's God's 'No!' to anything that would
deny Black life."
This
joy is a resistance. It has the last word and it calls forth justice, so that
all may be free.
As
I listened to the speakers at the unveiling of "The Embrace," the
words of Jha D Amazi, a principal partner in the MASS Design Group
that helped bring the statue to life, resonated with me.
"It has been very hard for me as a daughter of Boston to maintain composure and not bawl," Amazi told the crowd gathered. "This is such a beautiful moment for me as a person but then you add the layers and the intersectionality of my Blackness, of my womanhood, of again me being a native of Boston and then to be offered the opportunity as a architect, as a young Black architect educated in this city to participate in a moment like this where we honor the Black experience, Black joy, Black love, in the oldest park in the country."
That
joy and love were freely wafting in the air.
"I
am reminded that we are called to do this work. And — this y'all — this is on
purpose. This is on time. This is on our shoulders."Amazi concluded.
In
this moment, the call was clear — it was a call to joyful embodiment, freedom
and resistance. Here, a community had come together for the good of the whole.
The beloved community that the Kings advocated for throughout their lifetimes
was made manifest then and there. Was it perfect? No. But there was union in
purpose, solidarity in joy, and hope in community.
As
Coretta Scott King wrote, "To me, the Beloved Community is a realistic
vision of an achievable society, one in which problems and conflict exist, but
are resolved peacefully and without bitterness."
This
community works to eliminate poverty and hunger, bigotry and violence, for the
sake of all.
To
attain this Beloved Community requires that enough people commit to education
and training, courage and sustained action, especially those in the white
community. It requires embracing joy and recognizing that our joy is only
complete when it is joined with the joy of others, those who are oppressed, and
with God's joy.
Amid
the debates over the design of "The Embrace" as a monument — its
figural exclusion of the Kings' faces, its perceived diminishment of their
radical message to one of simple love, and challenge of perspective to the
all-encompassing vantage — it would be a shame if the gifts of community that
went into its creation and the joy it encapsulates were lost.
That
is the joy with which the Kings embraced originally when Dr. King won the Nobel
Peace Prize. That joy is tied to justice, to the love of God active in the
world and in the Kings' relationship. Sustaining joy and justice are our call
today.
As
Martin Luther King declared at the end of his Nobel Lecture in 1964,
I am not yet discouraged
about the future. Granted that the easygoing optimism of yesterday is
impossible. Granted that those who pioneer in the struggle for peace and
freedom will still face uncomfortable jail terms, painful threats of death;
they will still be battered by the storms of persecution, leading them to the
nagging feeling that they can no longer bear such a heavy burden, and the
temptation of wanting to retreat to a more quiet and serene life. Granted that
we face a world crisis which leaves us standing so often amid the surging
murmur of life's restless sea. But every crisis has both its dangers and its
opportunities. It can spell either salvation or doom. In a dark confused world
the kingdom of God may yet reign in the hearts of men.
