By ARNOLD M. MIKOLO, President Manchester Branch of the NAACP

I have always believed from the moment I was first exposed to the idea of America that no matter your race, country of origin, religion, or nationality, this nation is a place where you can write your own destiny.

That belief is more than an aspiration. It sits at the very core of how the United States was founded on the bedrock principle that we are all created equal.

My journey from the Congo to the United States could only be possible here. Only in this country could someone arrive with little more than hope, determination, and faith in opportunity and begin to build a life. America made my story possible not because it is perfect, but because its promise insists that opportunity belongs to everyone. That promise aligns deeply with the vision of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Above, Arnold Mikolo, first reading of the MLK’s “I Have a Dream” 2013 in Concord, NH

Dr. King understood that democracy could not endure if dignity was reserved for only some. That is why he supported the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, which dismantled race-based immigration quotas that favored Northern Europeans while excluding people from Africa, Asia, and much of the Global South.

He viewed those quotas as incompatible with American democracy and civil rights. For Dr. King, human dignity did not depend on nationality, accent, or place of birth.

As I reflected on this Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I am struck by how far we have come and how fragile that progress remains. Each year, we gather to recite Dr. King’s words. His speeches are quoted. His dreams are celebrated. His legacy is honored.

Yet too often, those words feel disconnected from our actions. When I arrived in the United States in 2012, I came through what many now dismiss as ancient history, a green card process that once represented a clear pathway for people seeking opportunity. Today, immigrants are often portrayed as burdens, as takers, or as threats to the very nation they help sustain.

That narrative is not only inaccurate. It is dangerous.

The immigrants I know are hard workers. They come seeking opportunity, not charity. They come because they believe in this country. This nation was built on the backs of enslaved Africans, and it continues to be sustained by farmworkers, caregivers, laborers, service workers, and essential employees, many of whom are immigrants.

Our food is grown by immigrant hands. Our economy is strengthened by immigrant labor. Our communities are enriched by immigrant families.

Dr. King understood this truth. He stood in solidarity with migrant workers, supported César Chávez and the United Farm Workers, and rejected fear driven politics that scapegoated the most vulnerable. He believed civil rights and immigrant rights were morally connected, and that justice requires solidarity across race, nationality, and class.

Today, I have the honor of leading one of the largest and oldest civil rights organizations in the United States, the Greater Manchester NAACP. Ten years ago, this was not something I could have imagined. As a young immigrant with an accent, I might have believed I was not qualified or expected to one day help lead such an institution. Yet here I am.

In many ways, this is my own I Have a Dream moment. The NAACP predates Dr. King’s time. With more than 117 years of history, it is an institution built by leaders I admire and consider heroes. It is the same organization Dr. King was a part of and worked through to secure and expand our civil rights.

To now stand in that lineage is both humbling and grounding. It forces me to reflect on how far we have come and on the responsibility that comes with progress. I say this with certainty. Only in the United States of America could my story be possible. My story is the American story.

But progress is never permanent.

There is a poem that has stayed with me over the years. First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out because I was not a communist. Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out because I was not a socialist. And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me.

That poem is not simply a warning from history. It is a mirror held up to our present moment. Today, immigrants are targeted. Asylum seekers are vilified. Communities are divided by language, legal status, and fear. Too often, silence follows because the people being targeted do not look like us, do not speak like us, or do not share our background.

Above, Arnold Mikolo and Honore Murenzi at the MLK event, where Murenzi received the 2014 MLK Award

But Dr. King warned us plainly that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. If we do not stand up when our immigrant neighbors are targeted, when their rights are stripped away, and when families are separated, we weaken the very foundation of civil rights for everyone. Today, it may be your neighbor. Tomorrow it may be you, and there may be no one left to stand up or speak out on your behalf.

Still, I hold on to hope.

When I was young in Congo, during a time of unrest and violence, rebel groups advanced, and communities lived in fear. I do not remember every detail, but I remember this.

Neighbors protected one another. When rumors spread that foreigners were being targeted, people stood together. They refused to let anyone be taken. They chose community over fear.

That memory shapes my hope today. It reminds me that even in moments of uncertainty, we can choose solidarity. We can choose courage. We can choose to protect one another.

As we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. Day and prepare to enter Black History Month, we must ask ourselves what we will say about this moment five years from now. Will we say we remained silent, or that we stood together? Will we say we allowed fear to divide us, or that we honored Dr. King’s legacy through action?

This is the unfinished work of Dr. King. This is the fight he waged not only for those born here, but for people like me, someone who came to this country with one hundred dollars in his pocket and an unshakable belief in what America could be.

The sun still rises. And with it comes another chance to live up to the promise we so often quote, but must now work together to keep.