It’s 1963, and throngs of Black folks have packed the National Mall for the March on Washington. Images of jubilant men and women holding flags, and dressed in their Sunday best, strewn across the screen. They’re waiting for, as many have called him, “the moral leader of our nation.” They’re waiting for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The footage recounting this history-altering event — which witnessed King deliver his soul stirring “I Have a Dream…” speech — is gorgeously restored into sharp detail. But unbeknownst to the assembled masses, the movement is under siege from more than southern bigots. America’s very government is actively trying to undermine, discredit and halt King and the Civil Rights movement in its tracks.
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To say Martin Luther King Jr.’s life was well-documented, is only, the proverbial tip of the iceberg. From 1955 until his death, the FBI targeted the civil rights leader in an increasingly invasive surveillance program meant to destabilize the man and the movement. In fact, by the end of King’s life, the FBI owned thousands of hours of wiretapped and bugged conversations between himself and the various women he had affairs with, leveraged with the express intent to ruin his reputation. It wasn’t until recently, when the National Archives declassified a number of documents, that the bureau’s program was revealed.
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“Based upon The FBI and Martin Luther King Jr.: From ‘Solo’ to Memphis” by David J. Carrow, Emmy-winner Sam Pollard’s documentary “MLK/FBI” — which has its world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival — uncovers the sordid struggle between an icon and America’s most notorious institution for an engrossing recounting of the FBI’s darkest chapter.
For his film, Pollard keeps the circle of experts small. “MLK/FBI” features voiced-over interviews with Beverly Gage, Donna Murch, David Garrow, Clarence Jones, Anthony Young, and even, James Comey. The compact group of historians, King collaborators, and well, Comey, does not muddle the narrative into talking heads offering loosely connected narrations of the events occurring on screen. Instead, they sound as though they’re in a true debate with one another. For example, when discussing the ethical grounds for citing the FBI’s transcripts of King’s audio, the commentators wonder aloud if the mere act of sharing actually carries out the bureau’s intent of disseminating material meant to undermine King.
We learn that the FBI’s surveillance began, in part, because of King’s association with noted communist Stanley Levinson. But the agency’s investigation soon shifted into something different. While recounting the civil rights leader’s life, Pollard shows how the FBI sought to tarnish King’s reputation by blackmailing him with his personal failing as a committed husband, i.e. his multiple affairs. To these revelations — some of them startling — Pollard’s film asks: What does it mean to be a moral leader? And in some sense wonders how the deification of heroes in itself undermines the hero.
Conversely, through clips, Pollard also makes allusions to pro-FBI films like “Big Jim McClain,” “The FBI Story,” and “Walk a Crooked Mile,” to illustrate the federal agency’s use of Copaganda as way to edify a trustworthy reputation. For example, as cited in “MLK/FBI,” when Hoover called King “the most notorious liar in the country,” a poll showed 50% of Americans siding with Hoover, while only 20% supported King. Pollard demystifies the suggestion that the Civil Rights movement was supported by a large majority of mainstream whites. Their distrust of King and movement was fed by long-standing bigotry. The assembled experts connect that distrust to explain Hoover’s distaste for the civil rights icon as less to do with communism, but more to do with a racist hate for Black sexuality. King’s extramarital affairs fed into the stereotype of Black men as lascivious predators hunting white women.
Since the recordings by the agency are still sealed, Pollard can only reveal the vast web of surveillance — which included wiretapping and the bugging of over twenty hotel rooms belonging to the civil rights leader — used by the FBI. The experts also examine the distasteful letter conspicuously written by the FBI’s director of domestic intelligence operations, William Sullivan, imploring King to kill himself. The disclosure of these tactics — which are at once insightful yet infuriating — help to explain Cointelpro — the subversive system used by law enforcement to disrupt the Black liberation movement — and how they sent King into an emotional tailspin. For these moments, it helps that Clarence Jones and Anthony Young — remnants of King’s innercircle — can speak to the humanity of the man beyond the textbooks, beyond the legend.
Though the group of experts wonder aloud how the unsealing of the actual tapes in 2027 will change our perceptions of King, they resoundingly believe the spirit of his achievements will not be undone. And by showing the complex, human side of King, Pollard’s film only makes the leader’s successes more definable. America has had many dark moments in its history, and the FBI’s surveillance of an icon remains one of the bleakest. And between the violent tap downs of the Black Lives Matter protests, and the kidnapping of protestors in unmarked vans, it feels like we’re repeating history. Pollards’ “MLK/FBI” is more than an eye-opening look at an icon, and the evil forces working to tear him apart, it’s a critical chapter that should be imprinted inside every white American’s heart. Especially right now. [A-]
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