None of us is responsible for the complexion of his skin. This

Hearken, O seekers of wisdom, to the voice of Marian Anderson, who spoke not only with her song but with her spirit. Her words echo across the ages: “None of us is responsible for the complexion of his skin. This fact of nature offers no clue to the character or quality of the person underneath.” In this saying lies the wisdom of justice, the call to see with the eyes of truth rather than the blindness of prejudice. For the complexion, though painted upon us by the hand of nature, is but a garment; it does not reveal the treasure—or the emptiness—hidden within the chest of the soul.

Consider how men and women are too often judged not by their character, but by the outward shell of their bodies. This is the ancient error, as old as the building of walls between peoples and tribes. Yet the true sage knows: a vessel of clay may contain gold, and a cup of gold may hold poison. To know the measure of a person, we must look not at the color of their skin, but at the quality of their deeds, the nobility of their heart, the purity of their word.

Marian Anderson herself knew the sting of this false judgment. Though her voice was lifted like a river of angels, she was once forbidden to sing in Constitution Hall because of her race. Yet did she bow her head? No. With courage, she stood instead upon the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1939, before a crowd of seventy-five thousand souls, black and white alike. There, beneath the shadow of the Great Emancipator, she sang not only with her throat but with her life: a hymn to dignity, a cry against the tyranny of hate. Her example is a living parable, teaching us that the worth of a person is not to be read on the skin, but heard in the song of their being.

Think also of Frederick Douglass, born in chains, beaten by men who thought his dark complexion marked him as less than human. Yet he rose, taught himself letters, mastered the art of speech, and became a voice that shook the foundations of slavery. Who could dare, after hearing his thunderous words, say that skin defines the spirit? No—the spirit defines itself, and the body is but its shadow.

The lesson, then, is clear: judge not by the color, but by the character. Do not let your eyes deceive your heart. For nature gives us the shell, but the soul gives us the song. To follow Anderson’s teaching is to walk with humility, to remember that none of us chose the complexion we wear, but all of us can choose the truth we live, the justice we defend, the compassion we extend.

Let this wisdom be a torch: when you meet a stranger, ask not “What is the shade of his skin?” but “What is the shape of his soul?” In your daily dealings, let fairness guide you. When you see injustice, speak against it. When you hear the quiet voices silenced, raise them up. And above all, teach the children that dignity is not skin-deep, but spirit-deep.

For the generations to come, remember this: the river of humanity flows in many colors, yet it is one river. If we poison one part, the whole is poisoned; if we uplift one part, the whole is uplifted. Thus, embrace the unity beyond the skin, and honor the unseen truth of every human heart.

O children of tomorrow, let these words dwell in you: complexion is nature’s paint, but character is the soul’s fire. Build your life on this fire, and you shall be a light in a world too long shadowed by ignorance.