I AM READING an advance galley copy of Rep. John Lewis’s civil-rights memoir “March: Book Three” this week and seeing perilous ’60s scenes unfold, as white police attack black men in the South.

I take a break from the brutality to flip on the news, and in the modern-day South, Alton Sterling has just been killed by police.

I return to “March” to find myself in the middle of Freedom Summer violence, as an attacked bus burns while rights for African Americans are sought and died for.

I flip back to the TV news, and Philando Castile is dead after being stopped for a broken tail light.

I open “March” again and see the sorrow on young Lewis’s face when he and fellow protesters learn that President John F. Kennedy has just been assassinated in Dallas.

I log on to the present day to read that America’s worst mass shooting of police officers has just occurred at a protest in Dallas, mere blocks from where at least one sniper killed Kennedy.

Events a half-century apart feel fused, as if America has made no real progress at all.

I read the gut-wrenching “March” and John Lewis is leading many protesters in Selma. I sign in to Twitter and there I see video of Rep. John Lewis (-Ga.), now in his 70s, on the steps of the Capitol, leading a protest against the latest killings by police.

Past is present, and present is past. I turn to the inscription of the latest “March” graphic novel, and it reads: “To the past and future children of the movement.”

And so I turn to other American artwork today, freshly rendered, to mourn and remember and seek voices of clear truth amid the madness.

Here some of them are:


MIKE LUCKOVICH (Atlanta Journal Constitution):

PAT BAGLEY (Salt Lake Tribune):

NICK ANDERSON (Houston Chronicle):

STEVE SACK (Minneapolis Star Tribune):

DARRIN BELL (Washington Post Writers Group):

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