When is the last time I cried over the death of a public figure or a politician? I can’t remember, really. Perhaps it was when Indira Gandhi was assassinated. I was young then and mourned the woman I had idolized in childhood. Beyond politics, she served as a role model for Indian girls of my generation.
Last night, I cried when I heard the news that John Lewis had lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. I grieved the death of a tireless fighter for freedom and justice.
Here is what Nikole Hannah-Jones tweeted this morning:
Rep. Lewis was born into a family of Alabama sharecroppers who sacrificed so he could attend college and he *dropped out* to fight for our freedom, getting arrested again and again, knowing Black people were getting killed for this work. I would not be be here if not for him.
— Ida Bae Wells (@nhannahjones) July 18, 2020
I interviewed Lewis a couple of times but I saw every year when he showed up to ride in the Inman Park Festival parade. And I saw him working out at my gym, Urban Body, when he and I were both drenched in sweat. But my fondest memory of Lewis is when he marched across the Edmund Pettus Bridge, hand in hand with President Barack Obama, to observe the 50th anniversary of “Bloody Sunday.” In 1965, as civil rights marchers crossed the bridge on their march from Selma to Montgomery, a trooper struck Lewis with a billy club, cracking his skull, and then hit him again as Lewis tried to stand up.
Not many of us get to live to see our own legacy play out in such a meaningful, remarkable way. John Lewis did:https://t.co/KbVfYt5CeQ
— Barack Obama (@BarackObama) July 18, 2020
CNN dispatched me to Selma to cover 50th-anniversary events in 2015 and it was wondrous for me to watch him cross the bridge again, this time with a president who might not have ascended to that post had it not been for the efforts of fighters like Lewis.
Lewis, of course, returned to Selma every year and spoke about how he had seen white people change over time. The New York Times obituary mentions the 1998 commemoration ceremony during which Joseph T. Smitherman, Selma’s mayor, who had been a segregationist in 1965, handed Lewis the keys to the city.
“Back then, I called him an outside rabble-rouser,” Smitherman said. “Today, I call him one of the most courageous people I ever met.”
That is the legacy of John Lewis. He was the great uniter, the gentlest of men who fought a good fight, not with guns but with the truth. Even after more than three decades in Congress, Lewis never wavered, never abandoned the cause, never compromised his decency. I got emotional voting for him every time. What an honor that he represented me in Washington. But most of all, Lewis taught us all how to be better human beings. He taught us through his example.
There are many tributes out there today, written by those who knew him best. I just wanted to acknowledge my own sadness as I mourn the loss of a true hero. Rest in peace, Mr. Lewis.
Amen Moni.