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Brothers, We Need to Be Marching Every Day

The image is impossible for me to forget. Hundreds of thousands of black men crying and embracing as they took a pledge to improve themselves "spiritually, morally, mentally, socially, politically and economically for the benefit of myself, my family and my people . . . . "

As a reporter, I was there to write about the Million Man March, not to participate. Journalists are trained to be distant from the events they cover. On that day a year ago, I did my best to stay objective.

I lumbered out of bed at 4:30 a.m., urged by my wife Taunya, who saw on television that men were already gathering on the Mall before the sun had even come up. All that day, I reported the story, professionally and dispassionately. But as a black man, I couldn't disconnect myself completely from the march's call for personal reflection, even if I am a Christian and the messenger was Muslim. After the marchers left for home, I took stock of my life, how much time I spend with my daughter and my wife, how I treat my friends and my co-workers.

As I toted up my personal scorecard, I was feeling badly until Taunya straightened me out: "The march was supposed to be a time for atonement, but it was also a time for awareness. Just being aware and mindful that you have to make a change is the first step to making that change."

But awareness is only a beginning, not a final destination. Change requires more than taking a pledge. A true measure of the march's legacy is how black men have carried forth on their promise to work on themselves and stop blaming others for our problems. For some, the march is little more than a pleasant memory; for others, the march remains a touchstone, the day they began to grow again.

The leaders of the Million Man March seem to have forgotten the message of last Oct. 16. Their fragile coalition long ago ended and they are missing the opportunity to use the march as a foundation for change. But it's too easy to view the march in political terms. There are more compelling ways to quantify its legacy: How many battered women were forced out of their bedrooms last night? How many of our churches and mosques remain empty? How many young men were perched on street corners while their children asked, "Where is my daddy?" How many more fathers are coaching Little League baseball?

When I pledged Alpha Phi Omega at Florida State University, I was required to learn William Ernest Henley's poem "Invictus": "My head is bloody, but unbowed . . . I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."

Black men see their conditions every day of their lives. They find it in the crime stats in the morning paper. They see it on the street corner when they go to work. They often come face-to-face with it on the job, as they slam their head against a corporate glass ceiling. If we as black men are to change our condition, though, it won't be because of words from a certain leader or sobering pledges. It will be because we dare to chart a new course for ourselves and the people we love.

"I march every day for my family," said Wendell Adams, who sterilizes medical instruments at two hospitals to support his wife and three children. Attending the march, he said, calibrated a life that was already on track. "The march was about going back home, healing wounds made through ignorance in what we thought was manhood. It really starts with self."

For Roger Glass, a 44-year-old editor at the American Federation of Teachers, the march pushed him to take a far more active role in his children's education. Today he is the PTA president at Whittier Elementary School in Northwest Washington and founder of a group called "Dads of Whittier" that is working with children at the school. "I wanted to change the perception that black men aren't usually involved in things like the PTA," Glass said. "The march rejuvenated my interest in the plight of public education for our children. I wanted the mothers to know that we do care."

For Mark Thompson, a rebellious 29-year-old community activist, "The Million Man March was a beginning," he said. Thompson was born in the District and raised by a single mother in Nashville, so when he came back to his birthplace in 1985 he was carrying a lot of baggage.

Thompson, a radio talk show host, served as the morning moderator of the march. As he looked over the crowd at the march he thought about his former wife and 3-year-old daughter. "I was shown that the mistakes of other generations, especially the mistake of being absent, is not an option," Thompson said. "As brothers, even when we don't remain with the mothers of our children, it is important that we respect them and be involved in their lives."

In September, more than 500 gathered at the D.C. Convention Center for a Congressional Black Caucus forum entitled "African American Women's Response to the Million Man March," including Betty Shabazz, Malcolm X's widow. Their words made clear that they want more than pledges from their men. Laura Randolph, senior editor for Ebony magazine, said black men need to carry the spirit of the march into their everyday lives -- to "turn rhetoric into reality."

As I reflected on the march's legacy, my wife reminded me that the march's lasting value is in the future, not the past. "Even if the other brothers haven't got there yet, they need to keep on striving because a change comes one step at a time," she said. Then she posed the most important challenge: "Now I want you to take the second step."

Hamil Harris is a Metro reporter for The Washington Post.