I have seen periods of progress followed by reaction. I have

Hear, O seeker of justice, the voice of Bayard Rustin, strategist, organizer, and prophet of the American civil rights movement. He declared: “I have seen periods of progress followed by reaction. I have seen the hopes and aspirations of Negroes rise during World War II, only to be smashed during the Eisenhower years. I am seeing the victories of the Kennedy and Johnson Administrations destroyed by Richard Nixon.” These words are not idle complaint, but the lament of one who spent his life in the trenches of struggle, who witnessed with his own eyes how freedom advances in bursts, only to be battered by the storms of resistance.

In this saying, Rustin reveals the cycle of progress and reaction that marks the history of oppressed peoples. In times of great upheaval—wars, movements, revolutions—the doors of possibility swing open, and the downtrodden glimpse the light of justice. So it was in World War II, when Black Americans fought abroad against tyranny and returned home demanding the same liberty they had defended with blood. Yet, as Rustin observed, these hopes and aspirations were soon crushed when the political winds shifted, and the guardians of the old order sought to restore their power.

Consider his example of the Eisenhower years. Though Eisenhower signed the Civil Rights Act of 1957, his administration was timid in enforcing it, and segregation still clung like chains upon the South. The promise glimpsed in wartime gave way to disappointment, as schools resisted desegregation and violence met those who sought to claim their rights. Rustin, who had organized protests, strikes, and freedom rides, saw how swiftly the flame of progress could be smothered by inaction and complacency.

And again, Rustin speaks of the victories of Kennedy and Johnson—the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965—hard-won triumphs carved out of sacrifice and blood. These were the great steps forward, moments when the tide of justice surged and seemed unstoppable. But history, as Rustin warns, is never safe from reversal. Under Richard Nixon, he saw the slow dismantling of enforcement, the rise of coded appeals to division, and the beginning of policies that would erode the very gains made at such great cost. Thus Rustin’s lament becomes a warning: progress is not permanent, and freedom is always fragile.

The meaning of his words stretches beyond his own time. For in every age, there are forces that seek to advance the cause of justice, and forces that resist it. This is the eternal struggle—the forward march of liberty, and the backward pull of reaction. To be a fighter for justice is to live within this tension, to taste both the sweetness of victory and the bitterness of betrayal. Rustin’s wisdom is this: never mistake a victory for the end of struggle, for history moves in cycles, and vigilance must never cease.

Consider also the deeper teaching: hope must not die when progress falters. Rustin himself endured imprisonment, persecution, and marginalization, yet he did not abandon the cause. He saw clearly that each setback was but another chapter in a long story. His life was proof that despair is the true enemy. Reaction may strike down laws, policies, or leaders, but it cannot strike down the spirit of those who persist. In this, his words become not only a lament but a call to endurance.

Therefore, O listener, take heed. In your own life, when you see victories undone, when promises collapse into ashes, do not surrender to despair. Remember Rustin’s testimony: that history is not a straight road, but a battlefield where each generation must rise again. Guard your hope as one guards a sacred flame. Speak against injustice, act in defense of the weak, and prepare your heart for long struggle. For though progress may be beaten back, those who refuse to yield will ensure that the flame of justice is never extinguished.