It is impossible to struggle for civil rights, equal rights for

Maya Angelou, with the voice of a prophetess and the cadence of eternal song, declared: “It is impossible to struggle for civil rights, equal rights for blacks, without including whites. Because equal rights, fair play, justice, are all like the air: we all have it, or none of us has it. That is the truth of it.” In these words, she speaks a wisdom as old as the mountains and as necessary as breath. For she reminds us that justice cannot be partitioned, nor can freedom be hoarded. Like air, it surrounds us all—or suffocates us all. To deny it to one is to weaken it for all.

The origin of these words lies in Angelou’s own life, shaped by both oppression and triumph. Born into a world where segregation scarred the American soul, she knew firsthand the ache of exclusion. Yet she also understood that liberation cannot come through division, for the destiny of black and white alike is intertwined. By invoking air as the symbol of rights, Angelou revealed the indivisible nature of human dignity. No race, no tribe, no nation can breathe freely if another is gasping for breath.

History itself proves this truth. In the American Civil Rights Movement, leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. called upon not only African Americans but also white allies to march, to speak, to stand for justice. From the steps of Washington to the bridges of Selma, it was the unity of diverse voices that gave strength to the cause. When John Lewis and countless others bled in Selma, it was not only black voices that cried out, but white ones too. The movement triumphed not because one group fought alone, but because people of all colors joined to demand justice for all.

Angelou’s imagery of air is both poetic and piercing. Air is invisible, yet essential. We do not notice it until it is choked, polluted, or denied. In the same way, rights are easily taken for granted by those who possess them, yet painfully obvious to those denied them. Her words remind us that we are bound together in one atmosphere. If injustice pollutes it for one, the poison spreads to all. To believe otherwise is folly, for the chains placed upon one group eventually rust the conscience of the entire society.

There are countless examples beyond America. In South Africa under apartheid, whites too were poisoned by the system that elevated them. They were cut off from true fellowship with their black brothers and sisters, trapped in fear and false superiority. Only when apartheid ended, through the courage of both black and white resisters, could the nation breathe again. Angelou’s truth reaches across oceans and centuries: justice is indivisible, and fairness cannot be selective.

The lesson here is luminous: do not seek justice only for yourself or your people. Seek it for all, or you will find you have none. If you fight only for your own kind, you will build not freedom but another form of prison. Fair play means that no voice is silenced, no hand is excluded, no soul is denied its humanity. To live otherwise is to breathe poisoned air, choking the spirit of both oppressor and oppressed.

Practically, this means we must build alliances that cross boundaries of race, religion, and class. Listen to the struggles of others, and stand with them, even when their burdens are not your own. Do not be content with rights granted to you alone, but ask whether your neighbor shares them. When you see injustice, even if it does not harm you directly, know that it harms the atmosphere in which you, too, must breathe. Speak, act, and resist—not only for your sake, but for the sake of all.

Thus Maya Angelou’s words endure as a trumpet of eternal wisdom: justice, like air, cannot be divided. We rise together, or we fall together. To deny rights to one is to corrupt the rights of all. Let us, then, live as guardians of each other’s breath, protectors of each other’s dignity, and fellow travelers on the path of freedom. That is indeed, as she said, the truth of it.