"How does it become a man to behave toward this American government to-day?" This is a question that Henry David Thoreau asked in 1848 as he considered his relationship to an administration that he thoroughly detested.
The administration was President James K. Polk's, and the immediate cause of Thoreau's discontent was the Mexican War, an illegal land-grab that moved Ulysses S. Grant to ponder whether there was ever "a more wicked war."
Thoreau's opposition to the war was backgrounded by his larger complaint about the federal government in 1848, its toleration of slavery: "I cannot for an instant recognize that political organization as 'my' government which is the 'slave's' government also."
So, Thoreau mused, what kind of a relationship should an honorable, enlightened citizen have with a corrupt government?
I thought of Thoreau's dilemma last week when I ran into a friend, an avid Trump supporter. Unprompted, he said that he had never heard of John Lewis. But that didn't stop him from asserting that Lewis was a do-nothing legislator who accomplished nothing during his 17 terms in the House of Representatives.
I didn't point out that Lewis sponsored or co-sponsored more than 8,500 bills during his long tenure, but I asked my friend if he would at least give Lewis credit for the courage it took to defy the social norms and the laws of a segregated South. Would we have had the courage to march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge into a line of well-armed state troopers?
My friend wasn't having it. No, there are proper ways to protest, and Lewis didn't have to break the law to make himself heard.
I'm not fond of the term "white privilege." But there is something that I'll call "white naiveté," which makes it easy for privileged white people to imagine that the same channels of objection to an unsatisfactory government that are open to them would be open to a Black kid from Alabama in the 1960s.