The Rev. Jesse Jackson, civil rights and me: How to process the death of a legend in a turbulent time?

I only met the Rev. Jackson a couple of times. But I'm still struggling to figure what his death means at a time when the fight to uphold his legacy has never felt more important.

Since the Rev. Jesse Jackson’s death earlier this month, I’ve been trying to process what it all means for public policy, the civil rights struggle and journalism.

More than anything, I think it highlights the crossroads we now face in the struggle – where there is no longer a handful of charismatic leaders to press for change and build consensus.

Instead, the success – and failures – of activists like the Rev. Jackson have led to a moment where there are lots of leaders in lots of spaces. But their ability to focus attention to combat those attacking that legacy has diminished, threatening everything. More on that further down.

Despite his ubiquity at times as a media figure, the Rev. Jackson only spoke to me twice. As the remembrances and analyses from other journalists of color filled the public square in the immediate aftermath of his passing, I felt like the only Black journalist in America who had almost no anecdotes about dealing with him.

I did say, almost.

The first time we really met was in 2013, during the 50^th anniversary of the March on Washington. I was guest-hosting CNN’s media analysis show Reliable Sources from DC, when we got the bright idea for me to head out into the crowds and interview some folks on a Saturday, the day before I would make my first of three appearances as a guest host. (for more details on that experience, check my Tumblr blog here.)

(Hanging with Toure at the anniversary of the March)

I ran into two big names out there – cultural critic Toure and the Reverend. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a proper camera with me; the best we could do in the moment was quick photos and clips captured on a smart phone (as I remember, the producer with me was the amazing Sara Fischer, now the kickass media correspondent for Axios). I don’t remember what Rev. Jackson said to me then, but I was honored to be in his presence for a wonderful moment we used to illustrate an essay on race and media that I delivered at the end of my first edition of Reliable.

The second time we met, I was working on a story about a dear friend of his, the late great Curtis Mayfield. For NPR’s American Anthem series, I assembled a story on Mayfield’s classic track “We’re a Winner” – exploring how he began writing increasingly direct songs about race and civil rights through the mid-‘60s and early ‘70s. I tracked down loads of sources, including Fred Cash and Sam Gooden, who sang along with Mayfield in The Impressions, producer Johnny Pate and Rev. Jackson, who talked about how Mayfield’s music spoke to people in ways his sermons could not.

“Curtis could put (all) that to music,” Jackson told me then. “I could say it in in a speech or a sermon; Curtis could exact from that, rhythm and music. Music is the medium for the message, and ‘We’re a Winner’ is a part of that legacy.”

Even back then, the Reverend’s speech was diminished by his struggle with Parkinson’s, so it was difficult for me to understand everything he said and tough to parse his quotes in ways a radio audience would appreciate.

Still, it was once again an honor to be in the presence of someone who had been at the forefront of so much history – who could count giants like Martin Luther King Jr. and Mayfield as friends and collaborators.

During that visit, I tried to tell Reverend Jackson of the connection he would always have for me and music: His speech at the beginning of the song “Walk Tall” from the Cannonball Adderly Quintet’s classic 1969 album Country Preacher.

Recorded live at a church meeting of a civil rights initiative led by Jackson for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, called Operation Breadbasket, the album kicks off with a spirited speech from the Reverend. The album was a favorite of my mother’s and I remember hearing the Rev. Jackson’s words many times as a child, urging me to take pride in myself as only he could.

“The storm really doesn’t matter, until the storm begins to get you down…It’s rough and tough in this ghetto…Lotta funny stuff going down, but you got to walk tall, walk tall, WALK TALL!”

And then the groove kicks in, fed by keyboardist Joe Zawinul’s comping and Cannonball’s amazing sax lines.

From my earliest days, Rev. Jackson’s voice echoed in the back of my head, urging me to be better and do better. That’s why it was such a disappointment when he fell short of that standard himself – whether it was his infamous “hymietown” remark, or his admission of fathering a child out of wedlock with a former staffer.

The rise of Black politicians like Barack Obama -- who wasn’t a clergyman like Martin Luther King Jr., Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton – seemed to signal an important change; a sense that a new generation of Black leaders was emerging whose authority could come from their skill at building coalitions across race lines.

But Obama also seemed hamstrung by that position – unable to speak directly about race too often as president, for fear he’d be accused of divisiveness, driving up his unfavorable ratings with white voters. Given the chaos and seemingly daily scandals of the Trump administration, it may be tough to remember the days when Obama criticizing the misguided arrest of a leading Black scholar in his home could kick off weeks of bloviating and backlash.

Still, it happened, and much more – leading to a head-scratching reality where a Black man who was twice elected president and has written searingly insightful books about race in America can barely talk about the issue in public beyond predictable bromides and widely generalized statements.

It’s tough to imagine a leader like Rev. Jackson in a similar spot.

By now, it’s obvious the playbook that enemies of equity are using to win the day. Envious of the moral authority the classic civil rights movement and activists like the Rev. Jackson have earned in American life, they have labored hard to co-opt or subvert that status, insisting falsely that a legendary leader like Rev. King could or would be Republican today, while maintaining that the work fighting for a more inclusive, equitable and diverse world is somehow part of a pernicious plot to destroy the country.

The death of a civil rights icon like the Rev. Jesse Jackson should remind us all of how important it is to continue the fight for a new age – and how even leaders who occasionally fall short or disappoint us can, ultimately, point the way to a better future.