Martin Luther King once had a gun. Here’s why he gave it up.
As someone who has had to navigate my share of hate-fueled violence, I know how hard it is to fight hate with love. But King understood that "hate cannot drive out hate."
Violence, it seems, is always present in our lives.
In Philadelphia — as in many cities throughout the country — one year of record-breaking violence gets eclipsed by the next new year. Beyond the statistics, we find ourselves in shouting matches about everything from race to politics to whatever issue ignites the flame of rage.
But amidst the shouts of anger, the work of peace has steadily continued in a quiet yet deliberate manner that rarely attracts the same attention. The simple fact is that it’s not always news when something doesn’t happen. However, preventing an act of violence often takes more effort than committing one.
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., a man who dedicated his life to peace, did so despite the constant presence of violence. Violence during the peace marches. Violence during nonviolent sit-ins. Violence that would eventually claim his life. But he refused to let violence dictate how he would pursue the dream of a more peaceful world.
» READ MORE: Martin Luther King Jr. Day events, volunteer opportunities in Philadelphia
King’s embrace of nonviolence, however, was a philosophy that evolved within him over time. While he ultimately modeled his own practices after world leaders like Mohandas Gandhi, who used nonviolence to fight for the rights of his people in India, King’s early life was on a different path.
In 1956, King’s home was bombed. To protect himself and his family, he applied for a license to carry a gun in his car in Alabama. For a brief moment, he considered whether he needed to rely on violence to promote his message of peace.
He was denied the license. The denial caused him to reconsider the gun he had in his home already. He realized that no gun would have protected him from that hateful act, and a higher calling was guiding his steps. He got rid of the gun.
He realized that no gun would have protected him.
“Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars,” he wrote in 1967. “Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”
Using love to overwhelm hate is more than just great oratory. It is a strategy that requires resolve, resilience, and a good deal of restraint. As someone who has had to navigate my share of hate-fueled violence, I admit that love has rarely been my first response in those moments.
Growing up in West Philly, as a kid I narrowly escaped a barrage of rocks being thrown at me simply because my attackers decided I was waiting for a bus in the “wrong” neighborhood. I’ve been called the N-word, spit upon, and endured a few fisticuffs when things pushed past the boiling point.
In those moments, it feels nearly impossible to adopt King’s approach and fight hate with love. But that’s what must be done.
Importantly, King realized that working for peace requires a commitment that seeks to understand the origin of the hate in order to dismantle it. During King’s time, the issues driving hate were the same ones we see today: a lack of economic opportunities, inadequate resources for education, and unequal justice. There’s no doubt that progress has been made in these and other areas, but the struggle continues to be an uphill climb.
In part, that’s because when one person asks for something for him or herself, others assume that means they have to give something up. When protests assert that “I Am a Man,” it is a demand to recognize my humanity — not negate anyone else’s. When I raise my fist amidst cries of “Black Power,” it’s to affirm I have power when the larger society has tried to convince me I had none. When chants of ”Black Lives Matter” rise from the streets, it’s to scream loudly that the value of my life means something when institutional violence says otherwise.
Even when it comes to the incessant violence that we’ve been experiencing in our neighborhoods, we can choose not to keep fighting. We can stop the cycle of senseless acts of hurt and victimization, or petty squabbles that escalate into a rising body count. When we decide that there are more meaningful things to fight for — like better schools, better jobs, and better opportunities — we can stop fighting each other.
Each year, Philadelphia mobilizes hundreds of thousands of volunteers on the Martin Luther King Day of Service as the largest single day of service anywhere in the country. This year, the focus will be on gun violence prevention, with one of the signature projects focusing on assembling and making available gun safety locks throughout the city. And while this sensible approach can help keep the weapons from causing harm, we’ll still need to focus on changing the hearts and minds of those who would turn to a gun as a solution to fix what is broken.
In an interview, Dr. King asserted that nonviolence is “the most potent weapon available … in the struggle for freedom and justice.” This was in response to the criticism he was receiving at the time from folks inside and outside of the Black community to abandon this philosophy and pick up real weapons to achieve that which had been denied to them for so long. He understood the impatience. He understood the anger. He understood the desperation of the moment.
But he also understood that light is the only thing that can overcome darkness. And to that, we can all be a flame that blazes us forward to better days.
David W. Brown serves as the assistant dean of community and communication at Klein College of Media and Communication at Temple University. He is also board chairman of Global Citizen 365, which operates the annual Greater Philadelphia Martin Luther King Day of Service – the oldest and largest King Day event in the nation.