Make Them Hear You
Rev. Everett Mitchell speaking at the No Kings rally at the State Capitol.
By Rev. Everett Mitchell
When I accepted this invitation, I recognize it causes many of us to question what kind of nation we are living. For many, this moment in our nation and world feels monumental—if not suffocating. The air is thick with uncertainty. The anxiety being built after every five-minute news cycle, tweet, and breaking headline changing from one controversial and consequential issue to the next, is leaving even the most passionate advocate gasping for breath, with little to no time to organize.
I am witnessing immigrant families living in the shadows of a nation built upon the DNA of the enslaved, the blood of the Indigenous, the sweat of the Asian, the hands of the immigrant, and the whip of injustice. Yet, major cities are mounting their only line of defense: Organize. Yes, Organize. The temptation in this moment is to sit idle—staring at the television, scrolling on the phone, or tapping a screen—just hoping that if we keep our heads underwater long enough, the shadow will pass and normal will return to our shores.
But I must be the bearer of what feels like bad news: Whatever normal was, is, or could be, is not returning to us. We are not going back; we are being called forward. Right now, we are living in the redefinition of democracy. Right now, our legal systems are being retooled, reconfigured, and realigned to incentivize ultimate power. From the United States Supreme Court all the way down to an individual classroom, the war for civil rights is being waged again. The Voting Rights Act—the seminal legislation that sought to protect the vote, the Black vote, your vote, my vote, the vote of the marginalized—is being sliced and diced from one justice to the next. And for what purpose? If we think this is merely an attack on voting, we are missing the larger picture. This is about power—about consolidating it into the hands of a few who can control an outcome before it happens.
This is not new territory. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., in his Letter from the Birmingham Jail, offered an intellectual blueprint for how institutions consolidate power while people wait—waiting for God, waiting on Congress, or waiting on a celebrity to make a difference. Writing by candlelight on scraps of paper smuggled from his cell, Dr. King’s radical faith becomes ink for the generations. He wrote, “For years now, I have heard the word ‘Wait!’ It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This ‘Wait’ has almost always meant ‘Never.’ We must come to see that justice too long delayed is justice denied.”
King’s words were never polite — they were prophetic. He told a nation, “there comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over and men and women can no longer be plunged into the abyss of despair.” That time, beloved, is now.
Dr. King’s teaching was radicalized in the idea of time. He warned that “the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will.” Human progress, he said, never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability—it comes through the tireless effort of those willing to be co-workers with God. Without that hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. So he urged us, “We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right.” And he concluded, “Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy.”
That is the message I need us to consider: How are we using our time? Time — yes, time. How are we spending it? Because make no mistake, our time is being stolen with algorithmic precision. Time —attention spans. Time — reading durability. Time — our capacity to sit, think, focus, and imagine. Time — the calmness that allows creativity to find us. Time — the patience to build strategy.
There’s a reason why scrolling resets after 30 seconds: it teaches a generation to skip the hard things. While we scroll, our minds are being trained to forget. We scroll past the name of Demartravion “Trey” Reed hanging by a tree, then we scroll to sea moss for our bloating bellies. We scroll from hate groups invading HBCU campuses to plastic surgery trends of the Kardashians that aim to reduce the swelling of weathered eyes.
And as the feed keeps feeding, it starves the very story we needed time to understand. A young generation stopped scrolling and the feed taught them how to steal Kia and Hyundai cars. Time. Not realizing that they are not just stealing cars. Time. In fact, the criminal justice system is stealing your right to vote. Time. Before you get 18 years old, you lose the right to vote and your voice. Time. The people of ill will have used time more creatively than we have used time.
When we lose control of our time, we lose control of our destiny. And while we scroll, systems tighten. The Black unemployment rate rises to the level it was in 1968. DEI programs are gutted. Three hundred and fifty thousand Black women have lost jobs in spaces once created to ensure inclusion. The federal workforce shrinks while generational wealth shifts upward into the pockets of the powerful. And the question remains: If now is not the time, then when is the time?
I stand tonight in the spirit of the Black prophetic tradition to declare: Now is the time. Now is the time to wake up, the time to stand up, the time to build up, the time to sing up, the time to live up, the time to read up, the time to walk up, the time to run up, the time to swim up, the time to laugh up, the time to cry up, the time to drive up, the time to preach up, the time to dance up, the time to rap up, the time to sign up, the time to write up, the time to dig up, the time to build up, the time to hope up, the time to play up, and my God—the time to fight up! Because a generation is waiting for us to embrace and take back our time.
Challenge policy that marginalizes and silences — show up at city halls, boardrooms, and courtrooms. Join a march for immigrant rights and learn how to chant “Si Se Puede!” Yes, we can! Or yes, it can be done.
As I close, I am reminded of a song from the musical Ragtime — a song that calls from the stage of art into the heart of justice. It says, “Go out and tell our story, let it echo far and wide. Make them hear you.”
Those words remind us that every generation must raise its voice — not in whispers of despair but in the roar of conviction. Make Them Hear You. We are called to tell the story of our people, of our fight, of our faith — until this nation not only hears us but feels us.
Go out and tell our story to your daughters and your sons
Make them hear you
Make them hear you
And tell them, in our struggle
We were not the only ones
Make them hear you
Make them hear you
Your sword can be your sermon
Or the Power of the Pen
Teach every child to raise his voice
And then my brothers, then
Will justice be demanded by ten million righteous men?
Make them hear you
When they hear you, I'll be near you
Again
So, as we march, may our lives sing that anthem. May we go out and make them hear you — in our classrooms, make them hear you; in our courtrooms, make them hear you; in our pulpits, make them hear you; and in our voting booths, make them hear you. Make Them hear you. Because the time is now, and the world must hear us speak.
Now is the time. Not tomorrow. Not next election. Not next season. Now. For justice too long delayed is still justice denied! Make Them Hear You!
