I recently finished reading Carson McCullers' great 1940 novel, "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter"—a real masterpiece, by the way, and one I highly recommend—and I was startled to read the following passage, which I pass along to mark the 60th anniversary (yesterday) of the March on Washington.
The context: the book describes life in a small town in the Deep South in the 1930s through the eyes of five main characters: John Singer, a deaf-mute employed as a jewelry engraver; Mick Kelly, a 13 year-old girl; Jake Blount, a drifter/labor agitator; Biff Brannon, the owner of a local cafe; and Benedict Copeland, an elderly African-American doctor.
Copeland is consumed by bitterness and rage—rage at what white society had done and was doing to his people, rage at his fellow blacks who submit to these outrages, and rage at his own inability to alleviate their suffering or effect meaningful change. He and Blount, the labor agitator, confront one another towards the end of the book, after a particularly searing episode of racial violence at the local jail. They both agree: conditions have become intolerable, and something must be done. No more "prudence." Copeland says:
