Protesters at a rally for Trayvon Martin in Union Square, New York, 14 July 2013, the day after George Zimmerman was acquitted. Photo: Mario Tama/Getty Images
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What ever happened to Martin Luther King's dream?

The horrors of segregation bound the US civil rights movement together. Fifty years on from Martin Luther King’s great speech, inequality persists – but in subtler ways.

In 1955, Emmett Till was fished out of the Tallahatchie River in Mississippi with a bullet in his skull, an eye gouged out and his forehead crushed on one side after the 14-year-old had said, “Bye, baby,” to a white woman in a grocery store. Everybody knew who did it. The two men admitted it afterwards. But it took an all-white jury just 67 minutes to return a verdict of not guilty. One of the jurors said they would have returned earlier if they hadn’t stopped for a soda.
 
Eight years later the Mississippi civil rights worker Medgar Evers was returning home just after midnight carrying white T-shirts announcing “Jim Crow Must Go”. Across the street, Byron De La Beckwith, a Klansman, was lurking in the honeysuckle bushes with a 30.06 Enfield hunting rifle. The sound of Evers slamming the car door was followed rapidly by a burst of gunfire. By the time Evers’s wife, Myrlie, got to the front door her husband was already dying. Everyone knew Beckwith had done it. But it wasn’t until 1994 he was convicted, after all-white juries twice failed to reach a verdict.
 
On the night in July when George Zimmerman was acquitted of murdering Trayvon Martin, the Martin family’s lawyer sought to locate Trayvon’s plight firmly within the narrative of these heinous miscarriages of the civil rights era. “Trayvon Martin will for ever remain in the annals of history next to Medgar Evers and Emmett Till as symbols for the fight for equal justice for all,” Benjamin Crump said.
 
Yet even for those who agreed with the sentiment, the comparison bore one crucial flaw. Back then there was a movement that could take these tragedies, channel the frustration and bitterness into concrete political demands, and take them to the streets. Today the frustration and bitterness remain but the strategic and organisational means to act on them have dissipated. When news of Zimmerman’s acquittal came in I was at a party of mostly black folk in Chicago. The mood there turned quickly from celebration to wake. Then the crying started.
 
It is 50 years since the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, at which Martin Luther King made his “I have a dream” speech, and that should force a reckoning with how much was achieved in those tumultuous times, and how much there is still to do. America has a black president and a sizeable moneyed black middle class, which, for the last two elections, has voted more or less at the same rate as its white counterpart. But the disparity between black and white unemployment is the same as it was 50 years ago and this summer voting rights protections, a key victory of the civil rights era, have been gutted by the Supreme Court. There has also been a New York court ruling against the city’s stop-and-frisk policy, which terrorised lowincome black and Latino neighbourhoods.
 
For all that, America’s capacity for nostalgia, which borders on patriotic delusion in matters of civil rights and racial justice, should not be underestimated. When King died, he had become an increasingly marginalised figure. Twice as many Americans had an unfavourable view of him as a favourable one just two years before his assassination in 1968. Yet by 1999 a poll of the most admired public figures of the 20th century found only Mother Teresa to be more popular. And in 2011, when a memorial to King was unveiled near the National Mall in Washington, DC (where demonstrators gathered to hear him in 1963), featuring a 30-foot-high statue sited on four acres of prime cultural real estate, 91 per cent of Americans – including 89 per cent of white people – approved.
 
There has been the same shift in perceptions of the civil rights movement as a whole. A month before the March on Washington, 54 per cent of white Americans thought the Kennedy administration “was pushing racial integration too fast”. A few months after, 59 per cent of northern whites and 78 per cent of southern whites disapproved of “actions Negroes have taken to obtain civil rights”.
 
A few decades later, in 1999, a survey of leading scholars named “I have a dream” the greatest speech of the 20th century. In 2008, 68 per cent of Americans said they thought the speech was “relevant to people of your generation” – 76 per cent of blacks and 67 per cent of whites. Only 4 per cent of those surveyed were not familiar with it.
 
The near unanimity with which Americans now applaud the demise of formal, codified segregation belies the divisive, bloody and unpopular struggle it took to get rid of it. The nation’s ability to co-opt and rebrand resistance to past inequities as evidence of its own essential and unique genius is as impressive as it is cynical. Such sleight of hand is often exercised at the same time as attempts to correct the inequalities that made the resistance necessary in the first place are ignored or brushed aside. At the 2012 Republican National Convention some of the loudest cheers were for tales of immigrants and minorities overcoming obstacles to make great personal advances – even as the party platform sought to put new obstacles in the way of upcoming minorities and immigrants.
 
On the day of the 1963 march this process was already under way. Documentary filmmakers for the US Information Agency (a government body devoted to international propaganda) were hard at work on the Mall, depicting the peaceful protest as part of its broadsides in the cold war. “Smile,” they told the demonstrators. “This is going to Africa.” Michael Thelwell, a young activist at the time, later said: “So it happened that Negro students from the South, some of whom still had unhealed bruises from the electric cattle prods which Southern police used to break up demonstrations, were recorded for the screens of the world portraying ‘American Democracy at Work’.” 
 
In his speech King claimed: “Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning.” It’s now clear that in terms of mass, non-racial activism against Jim Crow laws, it turned out to be the beginning of the end – a pivotal moment in the push for social justice. This, in no small part, is a testament to the achievements of that time. Within a year of the march came the Civil Rights Act; within two years there was the Voting Rights Act, which forbade discrimination in elections.
 
Yet these successes brought with them their own challenge – how to proceed in the struggle for racial justice. The shift from protesters’ demands to congressional bills limited the possibilities for radical transformation. Clear moral demands were replaced by horse-trading. Marchers cannot be stopped by a filibuster; legislation can. Bayard Rustin, the outstanding activist who organised the march, explained it thus: “We are moving from a period of protest to one of political responsibility . . . That is, instead of marching on the courthouse, or the restaurant, or the theatre, we now had to march to the ballot box. In protest there must never be compromise. In politics there is always compromise.”
 
The trouble was that, having conceded civil rights, the American political class was apparently unwilling to compromise on much else, particularly once Lyndon B Johnson left office. “A lot of people have lost faith in the establishment,” King said in 1966. “They’ve lost faith in the democratic process. They’ve lost faith in non-violence . . . [T]hose who will make this peaceful revolution impossible will make a violent revolution inevitable, and we’ve got to get this over. I need help. I need some victories, I need concessions.”
 
He would get precious few. Segregation may have come eventually to offend mainstream American sensibilities, but inequality per se did not. Indeed, at the heart of American mythology is the notion of class fluidity, social mobility and personal reinvention, whereby inequality in wealth is acceptable as long as equality of opportunity is available. That such equal opportunity was denied to Black citizens was not an issue with which most Americans were prepared to engage, so long as opportunity was not denied explicitly on the grounds of race.
 
In a much-noted essay in the February 1965 edition of Commentary magazine titled “From Protest to Power: the Future of the Civil Rights Movement”, Rustin summed up the new period thus: “From sit-ins and freedom rides we have gone into rent strikes, boycotts, community organisation, and political action. As a consequence of this natural evolution, the Negro today finds himself stymied by obstacles of far greater magnitude than the legal barriers he was attacking before: automation, urban decay, de facto school segregation. These are problems . . . deeply rooted in our socio-economic order; they are the result of the total society’s failure to meet not only the Negro’s needs, but human needs generally.”
 
And so it remains. In the absence of the clear and unifying goal of desegregation, the coalition of civil rights groups, trade unions and religious organisations that made the March on Washington possible splintered, and its aims were either diluted or redirected to goals much more difficult to define.
 
True, the signs are down and the laws have been struck from the statute book. But from the judiciary to health care and from voter suppression to education, the legacy of what those signs stood for – white supremacy and racial discrimination – remains. The statistics are stunning. Black child poverty is almost three times that of whites; life expectancy for black males in Washington, DC is lower than in the Gaza Strip; by 2004, there were more black men disenfranchised because they were felons than in 1870, when the black male franchise was secured. It’s as though Jim Crow conceived a son between the alleyways of de jure and de facto and then denied paternity.
 
What this means for contemporary campaigns around civil rights has become clear following George Zimmerman’s acquittal. In the immediate aftermath there were huge vigils throughout the country and interest in a new march on Washington, organised by civil rights groups and scheduled for 24 August. I spoke at a meeting in Chicago less than a week afterwards, called at very short notice, to which more than 200 people showed up. (And it wasn’t the only meeting on the issue that night.) Like the vigils it, too, was lively and impressive and yet, while the analysis was mostly coherent and on point, there was a lack of focus as to what we might demand. Some spoke of gun laws, others of stop-and-frisk and racism in the judicial system, others of the plight of black youth in general.
 
This says less about the participants than it does about the period, because the problem is by no means specific to race. The fragmentation was apparent during the Occupy Wall Street protests, in which any one protester could give any range of reasons for what had brought him to the streets. The systemic nature of the problem renders it both pervasive and elusive. We want something. In a sense, we want everything. But the specific route map as to how we get from here to there remains unclear, because even when the oppression we are fighting is blatant it nonetheless remains institutionally burrowed away and expresses itself in myriad ways. 
 
Fifty years ago, most of the civil rights leadership showed little interest in a march on Washington until the protests in Birmingham, Alabama, which drew international attention to segregation in the South. The huge upswell in activism that followed – 758 demonstrations in 186 cities, resulting in 14,733 arrests – required that protesters either lead an orderly mass demonstration or follow and explain something more chaotic. Back then there were clear demands in need of a national march at which to express them; this year there is a national march in search of clear demands to cohere around.
 
These contradictions and challenges were already apparent in the months following the March on Washington, though it was not clear then how long they would endure. For as America congratulated itself on the end of segregation, meaningful equality did not arrive. At a meeting in Chicago in 1966, King was shaken after being booed by young black men in the crowd. He recalled: “I went home that night with an ugly feeling. Selfishly I thought of my sufferings and sacrifices over the last 12 years. Why would they boo one so close to them? But as I lay awake thinking, I finally came to myself, and I could not for the life of me have less than patience and understanding for those young people.
 
“For 12 years I, and others like me, had held out radiant promises of progress. I had preached to them about my dream . . . They were now hostile because they were watching the dream that they had so readily accepted turn into a frustrating nightmare.”
 
Gary Younge will present “God’s Trombone: Remembering King’s Dream” on Radio 4 on 26 August (8pm)

This article first appeared in the 26 August 2013 issue of the New Statesman, How the dream died

FABRICE COFFRINI/AFP/Getty
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Is Switzerland about to introduce a universal basic income?

A referendum on 5 June, triggered by a 100,000-strong petition, will determine whether the country transforms its welfare state with a monthly no-obligations cash handout available to all.

The Office Cantonal de l’Emploi (OCE), Geneva’s unemployment administration, is what you might expect of a modern bureaucracy. Not exactly Kafka-esque, it moves slowly but rationally: take a ticket, wait your turn, learn which paperwork is missing from your dossier, repeat. Located in a big complex of social administration behind the main train station, the office is busy for a region with an unemployment rate between 5 and 6 per cent, well below the European average. The staff, more like social workers than bureaucrats in dress and demeanour, work hard to reinsert people into the job market: officials can be responsible for over 40 dossiers at a time.

Objectively, Switzerland is a good place to be out of work. For a low-tax country the welfare system is robust. On condition of having worked and paid taxes in the state for over 12 months, a newly-unemployed is assured 70-80 per cent of his previous salary for a period up to 2 years: ample income in a country with some of the highest average wages in the world. In practice, the system is a hybrid between the OCE (which tries to get people back to work) and union-allied social insurance bodies (which take care of monthly payments) and is complex but effective. There are welfare trade-offs – easy firing, expensive healthcare – but Switzerland is far from a free market machine without a safety net.

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It seems strange that such a well-oiled system could soon be obsolete. On 5 June, Switzerland will hold a referendum on an initiative to introduce a universal basic income (UBI): a guaranteed, no-strings-attached, monthly payment of 2,500 Swiss francs (£1,784) for each legal resident. Driven by a popular initiative which collected the requisite 100,000 signatures, the UBI would revamp the welfare state by streamlining its core into this single monthly cash transfer. No more obligations to apply for a certain number of positions per month in order to “qualify” for your handout: you could choose to continue working and earning, or you could lead a life of leisure. The existential fear associated with finding, and maintaining, employment would disappear.

Last month, a “robot rally” was held in Zürich to drum up support for the initiative. Hundreds of badly-disguised campaigners paraded through the city advocating a futuristic social contract between man and machine: according to these robots, as they become more advanced, displacing more and more blue and white-collar jobs, the only solution is a UBI allowing for dignified coexistence. Robots must be our friends, not our foes, they claimed. This common refrain of digital disruption is a core tenet of the campaign and echoes a zeitgeist debate in Switzerland around the future of work and technology. The concept of a “Fourth Industrial Revolution”, championed by Klaus Schwab, Executive Chairman of the Geneva-based World Economic Forum, has risen from soundbite to serious topic. Schwab says that current shifts in AI and connected technologies amount to “nothing less than a transformation of humankind”, one which will need solutions guaranteeing some sort of a minimum-income for all.

A record-breakingly large poster in the Pleine de PlainPalais, Geneva. Photo: Fabrice Coffrini/AFP/Getty

But the ego of an epoch tends to historical self-aggrandisement. Hasn’t technological change always been an issue? In the opening scene of the 1986 Only Fools and Horses episode “Let Sleeping Dogs Lie”, Rodney complains about computers and mass unemployment in Thatcherite Britain: “How many people have been put on the dole by a robot what [sic] can build a car?” Digital advances aside, this is hardly the case in Switzerland, where the average unemployment rate is 3.7 per cent. Che Wagner, spokesman of Basic Income Switzerland, the organisation behind the popular initiative, concedes that the country is not suffering from any “emergency problem”. Yet it is precisely the triad of “political stability, economic wealth and a strong liberal culture of self-determination” which makes Switzerland an ideal testing ground for opening the debate. Whereas welfare politics have traditionally aimed to solve problems, this initiative is a more positive affirmation of how best to organise an affluent society of the future. The key goal is more philosophical than economic; he is determined to “decouple the concepts of labour and self-worth”.

In this sense the initiative is a radical departure from both “welfare-politics-as-usual” and neo-liberal proposals for basic incomes. Che and his colleagues make up an independently-funded, wilfully apolitical group which eschews traditional concepts of left and right. There are no Marxist hangovers in the proposal (“we don’t want to take anything from anybody to give it to somebody else”), yet there is also no indication that they support a radical rationalisation of taxation and wealth creation implied by liberal economists like Milton Friedman. The UBI would not negate certain benefits guaranteed under the current welfare system – disability allowances, for example – and is not Randian model of eradicating poverty to let the wealth creators run free. The core raison d’être is an individualistic, humanist empowerment; any socio-economic reorganisation which would be bound to arise is secondary.

This reflects the messy international debate, which has come on the agenda in recent years and attracted inputs from across the spectrum. Both Yanis Varoufakis and Joseph Stiglitz have voiced approval. Slavoj Žižek, the loud Slovene philosopher of the far left, wants a reconceptualisation of UBI to recognise that “in a knowledge-based economy, collective productivity of the ‘general intellect’ is the key source of wealth” – a similar idea to Paul Mason’s vision of a “post-capitalist” socialism for a digital age. Unsurprisingly, the companies and tech evangelists who reap the largest benefits from this data-based economy are also concerned. Some are researching liberating models of “seed money for everybody” which would have the dual-advantage of reducing annoying government bureaucracy and mitigating the possible backlash against future technological gains. In true internet-emancipatory fashion, they also want to liberate people’s latent creativity by replacing the obligation to work by the incentive to innovate.

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It is difficult to argue with the idea that people should work because they want to, not because they have to. But Swiss referendums are not won and lost on philosophical niceties. Direct democracy depends upon an engaged and pragmatic population which deliberates more earthly concerns: is our society ready for this? What would happen to the Swiss economy? Most importantly, how would it work in practice? Unfortunately for the “yes” side, these matters have proven more difficult to communicate.

One opinion poll conducted in January found that just 2 per cent of the population would quit their jobs if the measure came into effect. This is far from any imagined society of freeloading slackers which people seem to fear (ironically, one-third of the same respondents said that they expected that others would leave their jobs). But in a nation where, like elsewhere, the education system is designed to train people for specific professions and the social expectation is that you are what you work, it is difficult to see beyond a vanguard of creative or entrepreneurial youth who might embrace the freedom. Of course, those working part-time positions paid little more than 2,500 Swiss francs would have little incentive to keep working, but elsewhere it may be business as usual. My local kebab vendor told me that he had been working since he was 14, so he would see no reason to stop now.

What the experiment would do to Swiss GDP is also unclear. According to the initiators of the plan, the extra cost to the exchequer to pay a UBI to all those currently under the 2,500 Swiss franc level would be a meagre SFr18 billion (the federal government puts this at SFr25 billion). This shortfall could be met by imposing a small tax on financial transactions, they suggest. Savings could also be made through the rationalisation of the welfare system, and VAT hikes have also been mooted. Under current conditions, then, the scheme would be feasible. But this is without factoring in various known unknowns: possible outsourcing of some industries due to less competitive wages, or a global reduction in GDP due to many workers reducing - if not eliminating - the hours they work. “A step too far in the right direction2, was how economist Tobias Müller put it recently in the daily Le Temps, echoing the consensus of the Swiss political class.

At the practical individual level, finally, how it would affect the pockets of the Swiss middle class is unclear. For those earning more than the minimum amount, the only difference would be that the first SFr2,500 of their salaries would be “re-packaged” as UBI. Being presumably tax-exempt, the measure therefore would mean an incremental gain but ultimately a maintaining of the status quo. An employee in an international organisation complained to me about the lack of clarity communicated both by the campaign and the government on the initiative: the actual vote hinges on three short constitutional amendments to ensure a “dignified” minimum income for the population, but details are scarce. Although she is “of course in favour” of the suggestion, she will thus vote against it. The middle and upper classes of Swiss society simply haven’t been convinced of the need for such radical change, she said. Who benefits?

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Ultimately, at all levels of politics and society, the strength of the proposal is also its weakness. Its vague, normative nature has attracted interest, but the lack of clarity around how it would work concretely and how it would affect the income of the majority of Swiss people has undercut any chance of success. Current indicators suggest it will be roundly rejected. The always out-on-a-limb Greens are the only political party to announce support. A recent opinion poll found that 72 per cent of the population were opposed to the measure.

The amount of air-time and attention it has received will nevertheless be perceived as a success by proponents. The broad nature of the proposal and the sometimes flamboyant campaign (last week they unveiled the largest campaign poster in history in Geneva (see above); the Guinness Book of Records was on hand) highlighted that their major goal was not to meticulously rewrite Swiss legislation but to kickstart the debate on their terms. The first rule of negotiation theory is to bid high. That the direct democracy system here allows for such radical proposals (whether progressive or lamentable, like some previous votes on immigration) is a boon for the international efforts to raise awareness of this future reordering of welfare.

As referendum season continues elsewhere in Europe, there may be a lesson for campaign strategists. Emotive issues are sure to attract commentary and vocal support, but the silent majority is more pragmatic than they are often given credit. It is one thing to aim for Marx’s vision of an economic system allowing us to “hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, and criticise after dinner”: voters want to know how the hunting rights and fish quotas would operate before signing up.