What Should We Commemorate?

*Prof. Paul Koster

During the summer of 2026, while serving as a Fulbright Specialist at National Law University Jodhpur in India, I was asked to give a speech commemorating the 250th anniversary of the United States. As I considered what meaningful commemoration should entail, I found myself returning to a framework that shapes the way I introduce constitutional law to students.

In 1987, as the United States prepared to commemorate the 200th anniversary of its Constitution, Justice Thurgood Marshall—who argued Brown v. Board of Education before the Supreme Court of the United States and later became the Court’s first African American Justice—wrote an essay titled “The Constitution’s Bicentennial: Commemorating the Wrong Document?”

In that essay, Justice Marshall offered a way of thinking about how a constitutional democracy should commemorate its history. It is the framework with which I begin discussing constitutional law because I believe students should first reflect on the nation’s history before they begin studying the words of the Constitution.

Justice Marshall recognized that commemorations naturally invite celebration. At the same time, he cautioned against allowing celebration to obscure critical reflection. Instead, his essay invites a question: What should we commemorate?

Should we commemorate documents? Should we commemorate institutions? Should we commemorate principles? Or should we commemorate something else? Justice Marshall captured the answer to this question in a single sentence: “The true miracle was not the birth of the Constitution, but its life.”

Justice Marshall then explained what he meant. He credited the Constitution’s life to those who “refused to acquiesce in outdated notions of liberty, justice, and equality, and who strived to better them.” To understand Justice Marshall’s point, we must begin with the principles the nation proclaimed.

In 1776, the Declaration of Independence declared that all people “are created equal” and “are endowed . . . with certain unalienable [r]ights,” such as “[l]ife, [l]iberty, and the pursuit of [h]appiness.” Eleven years later, the Constitution established the framework for a new government and began with the words “We the People.” Yet the nation that proclaimed those principles has not always lived according to them. Those contradictions are central realities of U.S. history.

Justice Marshall’s point was not that those principles lacked value. Rather, they require brave people who refuse to acquiesce when the nation fails to live according to them.

As Justice Marshall suggests, an honest commemoration of the United States’ first 250 years requires us to confront the contradictions between the principles the nation proclaimed and the ways it has failed to live according to them. It requires us to commemorate the courage of those who insisted that the nation live according to its proclaimed principles. It requires us to recognize that this work remains unfinished.

Without understanding those contradictions, we cannot fully understand the work that has been done, the continuing responsibilities of a constitutional democracy, and the work that still needs to be done.

Refusing to Acquiesce

Throughout U.S. history, countless individuals have, in Justice Marshall’s words, “refused to acquiesce.” They challenged injustice through legislation, litigation, protest, and numerous other means. Although they may have differed in their methods, they shared a common conviction: that the nation should live according to the principles it proclaimed.

I would like to reflect on several individuals who illustrate, in different ways, what it means to refuse to acquiesce.

Pauli Murray

I begin with someone whose name may be unfamiliar to many people despite an extraordinary influence on U.S. constitutional history.

Pauli Murray was a lawyer, writer, civil rights activist, and priest whose influence on U.S. constitutional law far exceeded the recognition received during Murray’s lifetime. Denied educational opportunities because of race and sex, Murray refused to acquiesce.

From engaging in civil disobedience to writing poetry, Murray’s refusal to acquiesce took many forms. Murray’s work established the foundation for Brown v. Board of Education and proved pivotal in advancing gender equality. Notably, Murray’s book, States’ Laws on Race and Color, became such an important resource for lawyers challenging segregation that Thurgood Marshall called it “the Bible for civil rights lawyers.” Justice Marshall’s recognition of Murray’s work reminds us that constitutional progress is rarely the work of a single individual. It is advanced by people learning from one another, building upon one another’s work, and inspiring those who follow.

Murray understood that constitutional principles do not become reality by their own force. They require lawyers, judges, legislators, scholars, clergy, and citizens willing to insist that the nation live according to the principles it proclaims.

Murray’s life also reminds us that those who make history are not always those whose names become widely known. Sometimes they are the people whose ideas shape the work of others. Their influence is measured not simply by public recognition, but by the lives they change and the institutions they help transform.

Pauli Murray exemplified what Justice Marshall meant by refusing to acquiesce.

The Little Rock Nine

If Pauli Murray reminds us that individuals can advance constitutional change through various means, the Little Rock Nine remind us that constitutional decisions do not implement themselves.

In 1954, the Supreme Court held in Brown v. Board of Education that racial segregation in public schools violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment, overruling its 1896 decision in Plessy v. Ferguson. In doing so, the Court rejected Plessy’s “separate but equal” regime, under which for 58 years the Court authorized, sanctioned, and condoned state-imposed racial segregation as being consistent with the Fourteenth Amendment’s guarantee of equal protection.

Despite the Court’s decision in Brown, some school districts refused to desegregate. Three years after Brown, nine African American students between the ages of fifteen and seventeen sought to enroll at Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. Segregationists launched a deliberate campaign to stop the students from attending Central High School. Governor Orval Faubus used the power of the state to prevent their entry, while other segregationists used violence and threats.

But the students remained steadfast in the face of this vicious harassment to vindicate the Constitution’s promise of equal educational opportunity. The Supreme Court’s decision in Brown did not implement this promise. The students’ courage did.

The Little Rock Nine exemplified what Justice Marshall meant by refusing to acquiesce.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

If the courage of the Little Rock Nine reminds us that constitutional decisions do not implement themselves, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. reminds us that constitutional democracy also depends upon leaders willing to call a nation to account.

Dr. King understood that the struggle for equality was not simply a legal question. It was also a moral one. Far from rejecting the nation’s founding principles, Dr. King referred to the “magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence” as a “promissory note” to which every American was entitled. Dr. King’s argument was not that the promise was false, but that it remained unfulfilled.

He challenged the United States to confront the contradiction between its proclaimed principles and the realities experienced by millions of its citizens. His leadership transformed constitutional principles into a national conversation and inspired people throughout the world to insist that the United States live according to the principles it proclaimed.

Like Pauli Murray and the Little Rock Nine, Dr. King exemplified what Justice Marshall meant by refusing to acquiesce.

Carrying the Work Forward

The work of constitutional democracy belongs to every generation. Each inherits the work of those who came before it and bears responsibility for carrying it forward. 

We see that inheritance in Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, whose advocacy for gender equality built upon the constitutional vision advanced by Pauli Murray. We see it in John Lewis, who helped lead the civil rights movement and then carried its work forward through decades of public service. We see it in Bryan Stevenson, who has advanced the work of racial justice by demonstrating that confronting the truth of the nation’s past is essential to a more just future. We see it in Dolores Huerta, who has spent decades advancing the rights and dignity of farmworkers and empowering communities whose voices have too often gone unheard.

And we see it in countless others whose names may never appear in history books, but who continue, every day, to refuse to acquiesce.

The Purpose of Commemoration

The question, then, is not only what we should commemorate. It is why commemoration is important.

I do not believe commemoration should be treated as synonymous with celebration. Rather, I believe commemoration invites us to remember honestly, reflect critically, and learn from the past. I believe the purpose of commemoration is not merely to remember the past. It is to shape the future.

This approach allows us to confront the nation’s failures honestly while commemorating—and preserving the memory of—the courage of those who insisted that it live according to its proclaimed principles. In doing so, we not only honor those who refused to acquiesce; we offer their example to future generations and remind those generations of the work they inherit.

Earlier in this essay, I mentioned Bryan Stevenson, founder of the Equal Justice Initiative (EJI). His work is particularly relevant to this discussion. After decades of representing individuals on death row, Stevenson began to question whether law alone was sufficient to effectuate justice. Reflecting on whether a case like Brown v. Board of Education could be won today, he expressed concern that the nation might lack the will to undertake similarly disruptive change on behalf of marginalized groups. That concern led him to conclude that the work of justice must extend beyond the courts and include confronting the truth of our nation’s history.

EJI has therefore expanded its work well beyond the courtroom. In addition to its legal advocacy, it has created a series of Legacy Sites devoted to confronting and reflecting on the nation’s history of enslavement, racial terror, segregation, and racial injustice. Stevenson has described EJI’s sites as “truth telling spaces” intended to help create the conditions for “reconciliation,” “restoration,” “repair,” “redemption,” and a more just future.

EJI’s work helps explain why historical honesty is essential to meaningful commemoration. If commemoration is to instruct future generations, it must tell the truth about the past. We cannot understand the courage of those who strengthened constitutional democracy without also understanding the injustices they confronted and the institutions and individuals responsible for them. In other words, to understand those who, in Justice Marshall’s words, “refused to acquiesce,” we must also understand what they refused to acquiesce to.

Every constitutional democracy chooses what it remembers. Those choices influence how future generations understand their nation’s history, its aspirations, and the responsibilities they inherit. They also identify the people and actions we believe are worthy of remembrance.

Commemoration is therefore not simply an act of remembrance. It is also an act of instruction. By preserving the memory of those who refused to acquiesce, it encourages future generations not merely to honor those who came before them, but to continue their work.

Conclusion

So, what should we commemorate as the United States marks its 250th anniversary?

To answer that question honestly, we must first understand the principles the nation proclaimed. We must confront the contradictions between those principles and the nation’s history because, without understanding those contradictions, we cannot fully understand the work that has been done, the continuing responsibilities of a constitutional democracy, and the work that still needs to be done.

I believe we should commemorate the courage of those who, in Justice Marshall’s words, “refused to acquiesce” when the nation failed to live according to the principles it proclaimed.

Constitutional principles do not become reality by their own force. They require brave people willing to give them life. The Constitution has no courage of its own. People do.

*Prof. Paul Koster is a Professor of Practice at Emory University School of Law. In 2026, he served as a Fulbright Specialist at National Law University Jodhpur. 

Author’s Note

The opportunity to engage with the National Law University Jodhpur community as a Fulbright Specialist was one of the most meaningful experiences of my professional life. Near the end of my time at the university, someone shared with me an article titled “Senator J. William Fulbright is Remembered Today Primarily for the Scholarship Program that Bears His Name: But a broader look at Fulbright’s legacy reveals him as one of the most prescient critics of militarism and the ‘imperial presidency’—lessons that apply more than ever today.”

As I read the article, I found myself reflecting on its reference to Fulbright’s disturbing record on civil rights. I do not recall previously being aware of this aspect of his record. Until then, I had not considered how the approach to commemoration discussed in this essay applied to a program named for him. 

Fulbright once said that the program should acquaint people from other countries with the United States “as it is—not as we wish it were or as we might wish foreigners to see it.” He went on to describe that image as one “of which no American need be ashamed.” Yet truthfully presenting the United States “as it is” requires acknowledging aspects of its history that should be a source of shame, including Fulbright’s own record on civil rights.

My extraordinary experience at National Law University Jodhpur was made possible by the Fulbright program, yet the program is named for an individual with a deeply disturbing record on civil rights. This essay presents an approach to commemoration grounded in historical honesty. Although the application is different, I believe the same commitment to historical honesty extends beyond the commemoration of nations to the institutions that shape our professional and intellectual lives. Appreciating what an institution has made possible need not—and should not—require us to overlook difficult truths about the individuals whose names and legacies are associated with it.

**In preparing this essay, I used OpenAI’s ChatGPT for research assistance and testing and refining arguments. I independently developed the essay’s intellectual substance, including its thesis, central arguments, and selection and analysis of the ideas, individuals, and events discussed. The structure and wording were jointly developed, with all final decisions regarding the text made by me.