Alvin Brooks, Part II

History, Faith, and Calling Out Injustice
AB: Even when doors were closed, I kept pushing. I took the LSAT because I wanted to go to law school. I failed it. Years later, the test was challenged all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court and declared racially biased and unconstitutional. By then, I’d moved on, but that tells you something about the systems we were up against.
Everywhere I saw injustice—against me or my people—I tried to take a stand. Sometimes we won. Sometimes we didn’t. But even when you “lose,” if you speak up, people know it’s wrong.
My mother told me when I was about sixteen: “Sometimes people will say and do things to you because of your race, and you may not be able to stop them. But you can at least make sure they know it’s wrong.” That’s stayed with me my entire life.
Today, I still have concerns about institutions—including the Catholic Church. Historically, the Church played a role in colonization and the transatlantic slave trade. As a country, the United States did terrible things to Indigenous peoples—forcing them off their land, passing the Indian Removal Act in 1830 under Andrew Jackson, sending them on the Trail of Tears with little food or clothing.
You can get pretty rich as a nation if you steal land and don’t pay your laborers.
So even now, I raise those issues—with the Church, with government, with whoever needs to hear it. We’re also in a moment where antisemitism, racism, Islamophobia, homophobia—hate of all kinds—is on the rise again.
Somewhere, voices have to be loud and clear: denouncing, taking a stand, shining light on the darkness. Only light can drive out darkness. Only truth can drive out lies. Only love can drive out hate.

Where America Is Today—and Why Young People Matter
BW: I don’t want to take up too much more of your time, so I’ll close on this. Civil rights have progressed in part because of organizations like your AdHoc Group Against Crime and because of your work in Kansas City and beyond. But clearly, there’s much further to go.
Where do you see the U.S. today, and what’s the most pressing work that needs to be done in the immediate future? And if possible, how do you think high school students like myself can get involved?
AB: That’s probably the toughest question, but it may be the most important.
First, you’ve got to become aware of what’s going on around you. Pay attention.
I was President Obama’s campaign spokesperson for the western district of Missouri in 2008. When I stood in that crowd on that cold January day in 2009, watching him sworn in, I thought to myself, “Maybe America has finally turned a corner.”
Not that we were perfect—this country has never been perfect—but I thought we were moving in the right direction. I thought the “post-Obama” years would continue that arc.
You’re old enough to watch the news, read the papers, follow what’s happening. You can see we are far from where we were in those eight years.
So what can young people do? A few things:

• Read and learn. Don’t just take slogans at face value. Read history. Read about Indigenous peoples, about African American history, about the history of Jewish people, about immigrants from Latin America, Asia, Africa, Europe.
• Know each other’s stories. When you sit at a table with people of different backgrounds, you ought to bring some knowledge of their history and struggle. That’s how you avoid saying or doing things that hurt people, even unintentionally.
• Ask questions. Don’t be afraid to ask your parents, teachers, friends—“Why is it this way? How did we get here?”
• Speak up. When you turn 17 or 18, register and vote. I don’t care if you’re a Democrat, Republican, independent—whatever. But vote with a conscience for freedom and justice. And ask candidates: Where do you stand on inclusion? On race? On religion? On immigrants? On antisemitism? On racism?

Any candidate who doesn’t come with an inclusive agenda—who wants to exclude people because of their race, religion, or where they come from—that person should be questioned.
And it’s not just about national politics. If you’re in a classroom or a friend group and someone says, “All white people are this,” or “All Black people are that,” or “All Jews are this,” or “All Muslims are that”—you can’t just sit there. Silence can be consent.
You can say, “I don’t believe everybody in any group is one way.” You might get pushback—even from your own community—but you have to say it.
Finally, when you find yourself in shared spaces—like that group I spoke to recently with Jewish students and Black students going on a joint trip—take advantage of those moments. Hang out together, yes, but also talk about what it means to be Jewish after the Holocaust, what it means to be a descendant of enslaved people, what it means to be Indigenous, or an immigrant.
If we knew more about each other’s history, we’d be better at standing up for one another.


BW: Mr. Brooks, it’s been a pleasure talking to you—as always. I sincerely can’t thank you enough for speaking with me. I always learn so much when I talk with you. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
AB: Well, we’re learning together.
If you ever listen back to this and want clarification or context for anything I said, you’ve got my contact. And if you ever have questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.
Give my regards to your parents, please.
BW: I will. Thank you again, and have a great evening.
AB: You too. Bye now.