Bob Marley was driving through rural Alabama when he saw something that pained his soul. A diner with a handwritten sign in the window: No Jamaicans, no Blacks, Whites only. His bandmates begged him to keep driving. But Bob had other plans.

“Why are you talking funny?” he asked Bob innocently.

Bob smiled.

—I come from a place called Jamaica. It’s an island far away where the water is blue and music grows like flowers.

—Like flowers?

—Yes, little sister. Music is everywhere in Jamaica. People sing when they work, when they play, when they’re happy, when they’re sad. Music helps us remember that we’re all connected.

Mary turned to her father.

—Daddy, why can’t he eat here? It looks nice.

Earl Watson found himself looking into his daughter’s eyes, eyes full of innocent questions that he could not answer without admitting the ugliness of his beliefs.

“Because… because…” Earl stammered, then stopped.

How do you explain racial hatred to a little girl who has just heard something beautiful?

Bob played another song, this time “One Love,” and his bandmates silently joined in with their voices. The harmonies filled the cafe like sunlight, and the message was impossible to ignore.

“One love, one heart. Let’s get together and feel all right.”

As they sang, something remarkable happened. Other patrons began tapping their feet, nodding their heads, and even humming along. The music was doing what law and argument had failed to do. It was breaking down the barriers between human beings.

An elderly woman named Martha, who had been sitting alone in a corner booth, stood up and walked over to Bob.