On his 1991 debut album, 2Pacalypse Now!, the late Tupac Shakur (1971-1996) raps over a melodic, jazzy beat: “No Malcolm X in my history text, why is that? / Cause he tried to educate and liberate all blacks / Why is Martin Luther King in my book each week? / He told blacks if they get smacked, turn the other cheek.” As a 13-year-old, 2Pac’s contrast between Malcolm X and Dr. King stuck. It felt rebellious. After all, the late rapper was correct: King appeared in my elementary and middle school textbooks, a national holiday celebrates his legacy, and a street not too far from my school is named after him. But what about Malcolm X? I was ignorant of his existence until I heard 2Pac’s song.
Because of their ubiquity, I refused to engage King’s speeches and writings. Even stamps had King’s face––the ultimate stamp of approval by the powers that be. Religious and political conservatives also loved to parrot King’s message of love, forgiveness, and turning the other cheek. Of course, I did not know as a teenager that many of these same people were co-opting King’s image and certain speeches to promote the false view that racial equality had been finally achieved.
I thus gravitated toward Malcolm X’s writings and Assata Shakur’s biography. Their revolutionary spirit seemed more attuned to my own. I simply couldn’t ignore that our nation was built on the blood, tears, sweat, and death of many peoples, including, of course, Blacks. Discrimination seems to be as American as apple pie, with few signs that our racist and xenophobic national ethos will change anytime soon. The continual rise of white Christian nationalism, coupled with the increasingly crass vitriol of the present administration, underscores the current regime of blatant cruelty. The late Pope Francis referred to this as a “globalization of indifference.” It seems like a globalization of enmity––of hatred––is here to stay.
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So, how can I just turn the other cheek? Impossible. Throughout adulthood, I had grown weary of what seemed like empty messages of forgiveness, hope, and even salvation. I did not have a dream that we would all be equal. No, my visions were instead nightmares of endless loops of domination upon domination, as the French philosopher Michel Foucault would say. Or perhaps we can cue Ecclesiastes 1:9: “What has been, that what will be; what has been done, that will be done. There is nothing new under the sun!” Hopelessness and despair (not simply lament) have been constant companions as I’ve witnessed the world trek toward blind acceptance of Artificial Intelligence and promises of utopias marked by uber efficiency and homeostasis (i.e., ideal humans in an ideal society).
The current political situation doesn’t help, either. I had never considered King’s words helpful in my constant battle against hopelessness. Profound, yes; revolutionary, no. Even Trump paid “homage” to King during his dystopian 2025 inaugural address, which happened to fall on MLK Day: “Today is Martin Luther King Day. And his honor––this will be a great honor. But in his honor, we will strive together to make his dream a reality. We will make his dream come true.” Yet another example of empty rhetorical deployments to mask nefarious anti-Christian, hate-filled plans. A few lines later, as if almost mocking King’s anti-military stance, Trump says, “And I will send troops to the southern border to repel the disastrous invasion of our country.” Thunderous applause greeted Trump’s various xenophobic remarks, which culminated with his assertion that the United States government will only recognize two genders: male and female. Trans lives do not matter to this president or his lackeys. Turn the other cheek? My response: no cheeks will be left to turn if “Christian” nationalists continue to foist their agenda on us. But doesn’t King offer more than the soundbites of him would have us believe?
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That King’s messages have been coopted and weaponized is not his fault. My perspective on King changed after an MLK retreat hosted by New College Berkeley in January 2025. After listening to one speaker offer context and reflections on King’s “The Three Evils of Society” address, I began to rethink my preconceived notions of King’s legacy. “If I had a nickel for each time I’ve heard or seen references to “I Have a Dream,” the speaker said, “I’d be very wealthy by now.” Indeed, there is much more to King’s activism and writings than his oft-quoted optimistic speech, which he delivered in 1963 before John F. Kennedy’s assassination later that fateful year.
The speaker reminded us that King seemed to grow more revolutionary, more prophetic leading up to his assassination on April 4, 1968. Unfortunately, it seemed like King’s message had been frozen with “I Have a Dream,” and his life had been encased with a memorial statue in Washington, DC.
However, as we know from the examples of Jesus and others, timeless messages resurface during the most turbulent moments. Delivered on August 17, 1967, “The Three Evils of Society” is remarkably grim in tone and content––a decisive move away from the optimism of “I Have a Dream.” King states, “We were the dreamers of a dream that dark yesterdays of man’s inhumanity to man would soon be transformed into bright tomorrows of justice. Now it is hard to escape the disillusionment and betrayal. Our hopes have been blasted and our dreams have been shattered.”[1] King is self-reflective and critical, wondering “what happens to a dream deferred?” He also critiques government for its inability to address with candor and a prophetic spirit matters of injustice and inequality, especially as they relate to the humanity of Blacks. King excoriates politicians who are swift to cancel aid programs in Black communities when voters there are no longer necessary; he denounces city governments that would much rather deal with a rat problem than an “anti-Negro” problem. “It seems that our legislative assemblies have adopted Nero as their patron saint and are bent on fiddling while our cities burn,” he asserts.
In this address, we also find a reticent King who is unwilling to buy into the myth of American innocence. He argues that, since its inception, “White America has had a Schizophrenic personality on the question of race… she has been torn between selves.” How does this duality manifest? Promises of democracy and freedom hypocritically coexist with actions that are anti-democratic and repressive, especially of the poor and minoritized communities. Old ideologies of who is considered fully human and not are always present in the American psyche, like a malaise. King provides an apt diagnosis: “I suspect that we are now experiencing the coming to the surface of a triple-prong sickness that has been lurking within our own body politic from its beginning. That is the sickness of racism, excessive materialism and militarism.” Of course, these sicknesses continue to plague our nation. (A simple Google search of each term will reveal a plethora of contemporary examples, including recent racist incidents on college campuses, the indiscriminate detention of immigrants, the growing gap between rich and poor, and the genocide in Palestine.)
King shows a particular disdain for capitalism, which he argues was built “on the exploitation and suffering of black slaves and continues to thrive on the exploitation of the poor––both black and white, both here and abroad.” King’s attention to international injustice and his turn to the poor of all races demonstrates his growing proclivity for revolutionary ideas. Another example of this expanded ethical imagination: seemingly influenced by the anti-colonial and anti-capitalist writings of Aimé Césaire and Franz Fanon, King notably states that “not only is this [three-prong sickness] our nation’s dilemma, it is the plague of western civilization.” He was headed toward prophetic terrain: a visionary concerned with international justice, peace, and equality. And he knew that such a fight would be, in a sense, continuous––the practice of freedom.
These are certainly revolutionary times. Freedoms of all sorts are at stake, but more importantly, vulnerable bodies are in mortal danger at the hands of megalomaniacs who are simply products of a sick society. Unable to see beyond their limited but intoxicating ideologies, the purveyors and beneficiaries of racism, exploitative economics, and violence will continue to march to their own tone-deaf beat relentlessly. King’s sober words should serve as a reminder: “Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world, declaring eternal opposition to poverty, racism, and militarism.” We can do this, urges King, by becoming “creatively maladjusted” to the violent evils that envelop us. One way to do that is to imagine, in community, how best to dream beyond a dream that has been deferred indefinitely for vast swaths of the population. Despite the nightmares that continue to occupy our hearts and minds, with King’s help, we can learn to dream again in a more prophetic, radical manner.
1 Emphasis added
César “CJ” Baldelomar, Ph.D., LL.M., J.D., is an assistant professor of theology and religious studies at Saint Mary’s College of California (Moraga, CA), where he teaches courses on Christian Foundations, Race, Religion, and Colonialism, and Latinx Religious Experiences and Theologies. He is also a frequent contributor to Commonweal Magazine.