On October 16, 1995, I stood on the National Mall as a 16-year-old surrounded by a sea of Black men — nearly a million of us. The Million Man March was billed as “A Day of Atonement,” organized by Minister Louis Farrakhan and a coalition of Black leaders and organizations.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand what atonement meant, but I knew it was important. I remember driving down to Washington, D.C., with my uncle and cousin, hearing my uncle say, “This is important,” without quite grasping just how right he was. I wondered what would happen when 1 million Black men came together in the nation’s capital — what would we say, what would we do, what would we become?
Today, 30 years later, I understand. That day was more than a gathering — it was a declaration. It was the moment when Black men across the country stood up to take ownership of our communities, our families, and our future.
We came from everywhere: Los Angeles, Houston, Atlanta, Chicago, and New Jersey, where I lived. I still remember the pride and sense of brotherhood that filled the air. We recited a pledge renouncing violence and promising accountability to one another. The March wasn’t just about being seen — it was about being changed, and bringing that change home.
I remember listening to Rosa Parks speak about her refusal to give up her bus seat, to Maya Angelou reciting her stirring poetry, and to Stevie Wonder using his lyrics to inspire us to push forward. It was a day of power, unity, and purpose — a moment that made history and shaped the lives of countless men who stood there together.
Now, as a father, I reflect on that day and the lessons it offered. The Million Man March was a call to action — a reminder that progress requires not just outrage but ownership, not just solidarity but sacrifice.
As we mark 30 years since that transformative moment, I think about the challenges Black men face in 2025: systemic inequality, violence, and the struggle for economic opportunity and representation. Yet I also think about that same spirit of unity and responsibility that filled the Mall three decades ago.
The Million Man March wasn’t a one-day event — it was a lifelong commitment. For me, it remains a guiding light for what we, as Black men, can still become when we stand together.
In 2025, as we watch basic human rights erode and DEI initiatives rolled back, I often reflect on the lessons of the Million Man March. The hope I felt that day has never left me. Now, 30 years later, in these uncertain times, I’m reminded just how vital that moment was — and how much we still need its spirit today.
To be reminded of this great event is a valuable reflection. Now it is time for the Million woman March and the Million Families Marches. Thank you for rekindling this time.