Earlier this September, in Minneapolis and St. Paul, a brave collection of principals and assistant principals banded together to take on the issue of equity and justice in education.
Lewis’s letter, though directed at Black Lives Matter activists in particular, encourages all of us to find ways to get into “good trouble, necessary trouble,” in order to advance the goals of justice.
The members of the alliance, now 159 strong, have branded themselves the “good trouble” coalition after the mantra of the late Congressman John Lewis, who, before passing away in July, wrote a final letter that sought to inspire a passion for activism around racial injustice.
In his last months of life, Lewis lamented the dangerous and deadly state of affairs in the United States: persistent unjust police violence against African Americans, the failed governmental response to the COVID-19 pandemic, and continued efforts to erode American democratic practice at the highest levels of government.
And Lewis’s letter, though directed at Black Lives Matter activists in particular, encourages all of us to find ways to get into “good trouble, necessary trouble,” in order to advance the goals of justice—especially in tackling the most urgent issues of racial inequality, climate change, mass incarceration, economic disparities, healthcare gaps, and political division.
He also invited young people to consider how they might transform the future through studying history as a means of understanding our enduring struggles to achieve lasting peace and equality.
The message of Lewis’s letter conveyed both a charge and challenge: The charge called on this generation to be the one that historians one day proclaim to have finally “laid down the heavy burdens of hate” by conquering the ills of “violence, aggression and war”; and the challenge was for each of us to see and recognize our place in that struggle.
In Minneapolis/St.Paul the “good trouble” coalition is taking up Lewis’s proposition by calling for “dismantling racist policies and practices that exist within the state’s educational system” and advocating for, among other things, ending practices that “reinforce White academic superiority like bias in testing and the labeling, tracking and clustering that reflect an Americanized version of a caste system in our schools.”
The “good trouble” coalition’s comprehensive demands highlight how Lewis’s letter has laid out a blueprint for activism, which includes four basic tenants of what I call the “Lewis Doctrine”: Understanding that ordinary people make history, both individually and collectively; studying history not simply to understand the past but as a conduit for shaping the present and imagining a better future; realizing that struggle is constant and inevitable; and figuring out how the lessons of the past—from a global perspective—can help us respond to injustice in ways that honor our shared humanity.
Far from echoing the adage that history repeats itself, Lewis offered a powerful lesson in agency—reminding us that his own life was a testament to it.
Lewis, in contemplating his own journey, also noted that voting, while important, is not the only feature of the democratic process. As we approach the November 3 election, which is both historical and haunted by history, the single most chilling line of Lewis’s letter may be: “Emmett Till was my George Floyd. He was my Rayshard Brooks, Sandra Bland, and Breonna Taylor.”
Far from echoing the adage that history repeats itself, Lewis offered a powerful lesson in agency—reminding us that his own life was a testament to it.
Born in 1940 into a segregated world, Lewis, by 1965, was one of scores of civil rights activists, ordinary people of extraordinary vision who dared to believe that something better was possible. And they pushed the boundaries of American democracy to prove it. Not just through voting, but through making “good trouble” in a struggle against injustice that continues today, both at the ballot box and beyond it.
As Lewis put it, “Democracy is not a state. It is an act, and each generation must do its part to help build what we called the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself.”
This fall, as educators face one of the most harrowing times to return to the classroom, we must join with those in Minneapolis, St. Paul, New York City, and elsewhere, who are engaging young people and finding hope and inspiration in activism aimed at transforming the world.