Drawing on John Lewis’ Example
With Professor David Greenberg
Earlier this week, I spoke with Professor David Greenberg about his new biography, John Lewis: A Life. I was curious about lesser-known sides of the iconic activist, whose steadfast commitment to nonviolence was both admired and critiqued during the Civil Rights Movement. Lewis “wasn’t without his flaws,” Professor Greenberg told me, but he grew into “a reminder that America had been through worse and not only survived but improved.” I’ll be drawing on that lesson more than ever in the months and years ahead—that is, as you’ll see, when I’m not politely vandalizing right-wing politicians’ cars.
David Greenberg is a professor of history, journalism, and media studies at Rutgers. He writes regularly for Politico, The New York Times, and The Washington Post. A condensed, edited transcript of our conversation is below. You can also listen to the interview on the Skipped History podcast:
Ben: Let’s start at the beginning. Can you talk about John Lewis’ upbringing, please? And also his family ties to slavery and Jim Crow?
DG: Sure. So, John was born in 1940 in rural Alabama. Really, it was a very poor, tough environment. He knew his great-grandparents, who were a generation removed from slavery.
His parents had managed to buy some land, which let them farm independently rather than work as sharecroppers, but it was a hard existence. John had nine siblings, and they all worked the farm: picking cotton, corn, peanuts. It was grueling, and John realized quickly that it wasn’t for him. He sometimes called himself “lazy,” but really, he felt that the treadmill of working all day just to scrape by wasn’t what he or his family should have to endure.
Then, of course, they were also living under Jim Crow. John felt the oppressive racial hierarchy acutely. He once tried to get a library card, as he loved reading, but was denied because he was Black. To push back, he even organized a petition among family and friends, an early example of his activism, though it didn’t succeed.
Ben: You write, “The steely determination that was evident in John from early on was always mixed with an unmistakable gentleness. The combination gave him his distinctive temperament.” I say this fondly: it sounds like you’re describing a rather appealing breed of cat.
DG: Well, funny you should say that. Later in life, he took in dozens of stray cats around his Atlanta home. A friend of his, photographer Danny Lyon, said it reminded him of John’s famous “flock” of chickens. As a boy, John wanted to be a minister, so he’d preach to the chickens on the farm. He’d give them sermons and even funerals when one died. He had this incredible respect for life, almost seeing the divine in all living beings.
Ben: His respect and quiet but firm resolve seem to have flourished in Nashville. Can you talk about how?
DG: Nashville is essential to understanding John Lewis. When he arrived, it was one of the more liberal Southern cities, and Tennessee had even resisted the Southern Manifesto, which opposed the Brown v. Board of Education ruling. But it was still far from equal for Black people. There was a vibrant activist community there, including students from Black colleges, who became foot soldiers in the fight for civil rights.
When Lewis arrived, he was an 18-year-old “pure hick,” as a friend called him. He found mentors—ministers and activists—who embraced the Gandhian principle of satyagraha, or soul force. John absorbed this quickly, almost like it was already in him. He didn’t just believe segregation was wrong; he had a deep commitment to civil disobedience and nonviolence.
You can see his serenity—a kind of confident acceptance that he may die—during the Freedom Rides. Freedom Riders challenged segregation in interstate travel after a Supreme Court ruling mandated integration. Lewis faced horrific violence, including a bus bombing and brutal beatings. Yet, at his first press conference at 21 years old, standing beside MLK, Lewis said that he had made peace with the risks of achieving equality.
Ben: Famously, he was a leader of the marches to Selma. Less famously, he led sit-ins in Nashville all the time.
DG: Yes. His commitment was profound. He spent years in Nashville pushing for desegregation.
While Nashville saw success with the lunch counter sit-ins, only a few stores desegregated. Most of the city remained segregated, and as the press coverage faded, many people moved on. But Lewis and a core group kept at it. By 1963, they achieved more extensive desegregation.
Ben: I noted that toward the end of one school year, to celebrate, Lewis insisted that he and his friends sit-in at a few restaurants.
DG: Yes, his idea of a good time was restaurant sit-ins. Like, we're all here together. Let's go protest.
Ben: I’m now wondering if, next year, instead of grabbing a beer or seeing a movie with a friend, I should propose that we graffiti Elise Stefanik’s car.
DG: Ha, graffiti would not be John Lewis’ first choice.
Ben: You didn’t let me finish—we’d graffiti a peace sign!
DG: ...okay.
Ben: We’re touching on the tension between nonviolence and calls for more radical action during the Civil Rights Movement. That tension seemed to mark John Lewis’s time as SNCC chairman. Could you discuss his rise and how these philosophical debates led to his eventual ousting?
DG: Sure. John Lewis was tapped to lead SNCC—the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee—because of his successes in Nashville. SNCC was made up of students with diverse backgrounds and philosophies. Some embraced King’s or Gandhi’s nonviolent philosophy; for others, it was more a tactic than a principle.
Under Lewis’s leadership, alongside James Forman as executive director, SNCC continued pushing forward. But over the years, as SNCC grew, so did internal divisions. Members questioned: Should SNCC engage with the political system, or remain outside to critique it more freely? Should they align with more mainstream civil rights groups like the NAACP or distance themselves?
Learn more about debates over violence versus nonviolence from Professor Kellie Carter Jackson below:
By 1965 and 1966, the tensions had come to a head, partly because of the movement’s successes. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965, two of the most significant pieces of American legislation ever, left activists wondering, “What now?” Although many issues remained—economic disparities, education, healthcare—the next steps weren’t clear.
By 1966, Lewis wanted to continue as SNCC chair to defend the nonviolent principles he felt had served them well, but Stokely Carmichael, with a more radical philosophy, took over in a contested election.
Ben: —leading, ultimately, to Lewis’ transition to politics. Can you talk about that evolution?
DG: Yes, Lewis’s shift into politics was gradual. Bayard Rustin, another mentor, had written an essay called “From Protest to Politics,” advocating for civil rights activists to engage in electoral politics. Rustin’s ideas planted a seed in Lewis’s mind.
In the 1970s, Lewis moved to Atlanta, where he led the Voter Education Project, a precursor to Stacey Abrams’s recent voter mobilization efforts. This work boosted his prominence in Atlanta, leading him to run for City Council in the 1980s, and in 1986 for Congress.
The congressional campaign was bitter. Lewis was up against his best friend of 25 years, Julian Bond, one of the founders of SNCC. Both men went on the attack, and the race permanently damaged their friendship. Readers will be able to judge whether they think Lewis did the right or the wrong thing. Nonetheless, the outcome was having John Lewis as congressman for 34 years representing Atlanta.
Ben: Representative Barney Frank once described Lewis as “a tribune” in Congress. What did he mean?
DG: Some people tended to downplay Lewis’ role in Congress by saying he wasn’t someone deeply involved in the weeds of policy or legislation. That wasn’t entirely true—there were times when he did engage with policy. Still, as Frank noted, Lewis’ greatest contributions lay elsewhere.
We saw this clearly during the Trump presidency. From very early on, Lewis emerged as a figure who kept hope alive. He upheld a vision of America’s best democratic traditions and reminded people of the sacrifices made to achieve racial equality under the law. He sent a clear message: we’re not going to give up so easily.
In many ways, he almost took on a religious-like role.
Ben: One thing that stands out to me from the book is the repeated stories of people not knowing where Lewis was, only to find him in the Capitol leading tours of kids. I don’t know what, but there’s something inspirational about that to me.
DG: Absolutely. Those stories are wonderful. He’d have executives from Georgia Gas and Electric waiting in his office while he was out in the hallways telling schoolchildren about the Freedom Rides. He believed in educating the next generation about America’s history—the good and the bad.
Lewis wasn’t without his flaws. He was, in his own words, too “pious” at times. But I think what you’re getting at is, as important as it is to fight legal and political battles in the years to come, it’s equally crucial to keep history alive. People turned to Lewis for strength, comfort, and inspiration because he was a living reminder that America had been through worse and not only survived but improved. His memory serves as a reminder of the same.