You Know I Am An Actor, And

Yes, I Heard My People Singing!-in The Glow Of Parlor Coal-stove And On Summer Porches Sweet With Lilac Air, From Choir Loft And Sunday Morning Pews-and My Soul Was Filled With Their Harmonies. Then, Too, I Heard These Songs In The Very Sermons Of My Father, For In The Negro's Speech There Is Much Of The Phrasing And Rhythms Of Folk-song. The Great, Soaring Gospels We Love Are Merely Sermons That Are Sung; And As We Thrill To Such Gifted Gospel Singers As Mahalia Jackson, We Hear The Rhythmic Eloquence Of Our Preachers, So Many Of Whom, Like My Father, Are Masters Of Poetic Speech.

I Stand Here Struggling For The Rights Of My People To Be Full Citizens In This Country. They Are Not-in Mississippi. They Are Not-in Montgomery. That Is Why I Am Here Today. . . . You Want To Shut Up Every Colored Person Who Wants To Fight For The Rights Of His People!.

My Father Was A Slave And My People Died To Build This Country And I Am Going To Stay Here And Have A Part Of It Just Like You.

The Answer To Injustice Is Not To Silence The Critic But To End The Injustice.

Artists Are The Gatekeepers Of Truth.