I remember the day vividly. Around 5 am, our pastor’s kids woke us with a knock on the door. They were there to spend the day with us because the pastor and his wife were headed out of town for a few days. So, too, were many other men from church—outfitted in a pair of vans, they took off for D.C., to “fight for my future” as my pastor told me. I was eight years old and I knew they were going to D.C. to a march. What that march was, I had no idea, but it felt big. It felt important.
On October 16, 1995, nearly a million Black men gathered on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., for the Million Man March. The event, convened by Louis Farrakhan and the organizing team of the National African American Leadership Summit (led by Benjamin Chavis Jr.), sought to pronounce a renewed commitment: to unity, responsibility, economic self‑determination and the uplift of Black men, Black families, and Black communities.
As we met the 30th anniversary of that moment, there is reason to revisit its promise — and to reflect soberly on how far the nation (and Black communities within it) have travelled since then. Because what the march mobilized for then feels even further away today — especially in a political climate shaped by the hard edge of the second Donald Trump administration, where structural and overt racism remain entrenched.
What It Was
At its core, the Million Man March rested on three interlocking demands: atonement, reconciliation, and responsibility. The march was also a political statement aimed at standing visibly and collectively, demanding justice, challenging negative stereotypes of Black men in America, and reframing the pervasively derogatory narrative. It came at a moment of particular racial tension, not long after the Los Angeles police brutally beat Rodney King. What followed the beating was a rising backlash within the political climate that many felt was leaving Black issues behind.
In short, the message of the march was: we will stand up — as fathers, brothers, citizens — and we will arrange our lives and our communities so as to uplift ourselves and demand from America the justice, equity, and economic dignity we have been denied.
Where We Are
There’s no doubt the Million Man March was a landmark moment. Yet, as we sit here three decades later, we find that the goal of that march remains unfinished, and in some respects, has been set back. The scale of the march was undeniable. It was a declaration of Black political presence — it rekindled organizing energy, voter registration drives, and local activism.
But here in 2025, systemic racism and its byproducts like mass incarceration, racist policing, economic inequality, education, and health gaps — persist, and in many cases have deepened. The “responsibility” themes of the march, while valuable, cannot substitute for the necessary systemic change to sustain it. There is only so much personal accountability that can address persistent external barriers.
Politically, with the advent of social media and the ability to broadcast injustice in real time, the landscape is seemingly more hostile. Daily and on display we see a resurgence of white nationalism, roll‑backs of civil‑rights protections, attacks on voting rights, and a federal administration that has embraced or tolerated racist rhetoric and policy.
To put it even more bluntly: if 1995 was about declaring that Black men and Black communities would take responsibility for their destinies, the question today is: Who is taking responsibility for what is happening to Black communities — and will the nation — through its institutions, laws, culture — follow through on promises to do better by Black people?
Donald Trump’s administration has solidified for many the gap between the aspiration of the 1995 march and the lived realities of racial injustice today. Several patterns underline why the “promise of a better future” feels so much further away. And any efforts previously undertaken to address systemic racism have been shuttered under racist rhetoric around DEI.
The first is the rise of overt racist politics, from exaggerated claims of invasions to reduced protections for immigrants to the president’s hesitance to condemn white‑supremacist violence. These signals reinforce what was meant to be overcome: a U.S. where race still defines the terms of respect, justice, belonging. The march wanted to change how Black men were seen — but the media and public discourse of the Trump years have often revived caricatures and allowed racist language to go unchecked.
Agencies tasked with protecting equal education, housing, voting, and employment rights have seen funding cuts, leadership changes, policy downgrades. For a community that expected structural change, the back‑pedaling is jarring.
The very issues the march sought to confront — mass incarceration of Black men, negative media portrayals, criminalization of Black communities — persist and in some cases, intensify under aggressive federal policy and rhetoric.
Marking this anniversary is not merely a nod to history. It is a moral marker. It asks us: Did the country do anything more to address the plight of Blackness, and if not, why not?
Moving Forward
The Million Man March must not solely be remembered as a vintage moment of symbolic unity, but as a live challenge: Can we turn its aspirations into measurable progress?
In 1995, the march focused on Black men; today, our activism must also include protecting the rights of women, the queer community, youth, and undocumented communities.
The country is in dire need of improvements to voter access, policing reform, educational equity, wealth‑building for Black communities, protection of civil rights under federal law — these are all structural pieces of the hope yet to be fulfilled. The current administration reminds us that rights and protections are never secure — they must be defended, expanded and institutionalized.
As we reflect upon the anniversary of the Million Man March, we should pledge to continue in the fight for racial justice. This battle is not only a Black men’s issue — it’s a human issue and to have lasting change we must build solidarities across gender, race, class, immigration status. There is also a need to hold power accountable: Whether local, state, or federal, insist that institutions deliver on the promise of dignity and equality. The era of “symbolic” marches alone is over. We need individual and structural follow‑through.For individuals, joining local community or organizing groups can be helpful. Join policy fights for movements like universal childcare, universal basic income, criminal legal reform…anything that is done to move this country towards more equitable existence.
The Million Man March remains one of the great moments of Black political, social and moral mobilization, but its legacy is not simply nostalgia — it is a challenge. A challenge to ask: are we closer to the world it imagined? If we say yes, then where are the measurable victories? If we say no — and the truth is we are further away now in many respects — then we must ask: what will we do now to close the gap?
The Trump era has made clear that progress is not linear; it can stall, even regress. So this anniversary is not only a time to remember — it is a time to recommit. To the promise of dignity, to the promise of justice, to the promise of community uplift. The march said then: We will rise. The moment today asks: How do we do it?