Those who peacefully gather to express sympathy for the family

When Eric Holder declared, “Those who peacefully gather to express sympathy for the family of Michael Brown must have their rights respected at all times. And journalists must not be harassed or prevented from covering a story that needs to be told,” he was speaking with the weight of history upon his shoulders. His words emerged during the unrest in Ferguson, Missouri, after the death of Michael Brown, an unarmed Black teenager whose killing ignited a national cry for justice. In this moment, Holder affirmed two ancient pillars of a free people: the sacred right to assemble in peace, and the sacred duty of truth-telling through the press.

The first pillar is the right of the people to gather. From the marketplaces of Athens to the forums of Rome, free men and women have always claimed the space to lift their voices in grief, in protest, in hope. Holder reminds us that to gather peacefully, even in mourning, is not a privilege granted by rulers but a right inscribed upon human dignity. To deny this right is to silence not only the cry of the grieving family but also the conscience of the nation itself.

The second pillar is the right of journalists to witness and to report. For when power grows restless, its first impulse is often to shroud its actions in secrecy. But the journalist stands as the eyes of the people, the recorder of truth, the voice that refuses to let the powerful write their own version of history unchallenged. Holder, by insisting that reporters “must not be harassed,” calls back to every age when rulers sought to suppress the truth. His words remind us that a free press is the lifeblood of liberty, for without it, justice withers in the dark.

This principle has been tested many times before. Recall the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, when the peaceful marchers of Selma crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge. It was the journalists, carrying cameras and pens, who showed the nation the brutality unleashed upon them. Without that witness, the cry for justice may have been drowned in silence. Just so, in Ferguson, the presence of the press ensured that the mourning of a community and the actions of authority were seen not only by a town, but by the world.

Holder’s words, then, are not only about Ferguson. They are about the eternal struggle between the voices of the people and the heavy hand of those who fear their cries. He declares that sympathy, even for the fallen, must not be treated as rebellion, and that truth, even when uncomfortable, must not be silenced. In this he speaks like the prophets of old, calling upon leaders to honor rights not when convenient, but “at all times.”

The lesson, O listeners, is clear: guard with vigilance the rights of assembly and speech, for they are fragile when neglected and only strong when used. Do not take for granted the ability to mourn in public, to protest in peace, to record and to report. These rights were won with blood and sacrifice, and they remain the shield of the weak against the strong. To let them slip is to invite tyranny; to defend them is to keep the lamp of freedom burning.

Practical action lies here: when others gather in peace, stand in solidarity with their right to do so, even if you do not share their cause. When journalists are silenced, raise your voice in their defense, for in their freedom lies your own. And when truth is threatened by suppression, remember that it is your duty not only to hear it but to demand it. For as Holder teaches, stories “need to be told”—not for the comfort of the powerful, but for the justice of the people.

Therefore, let this quote endure as a commandment of democracy: honor the grievers by protecting their right to assemble, honor the truth-seekers by guarding their right to report, and honor justice by ensuring that every story of sorrow and struggle may be spoken in the open air. Only then does freedom live, and only then may a nation hope to heal.