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.

—Young man—she said, her voice trembling with emotion—. I haven’t heard anything so beautiful in 20 years.

—Thank you, sister —Bob replied gently.

“I want you to know,” Martha continued, loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear, “that not all of us agree with that sign in the window.”

A murmur rippled through the cafe. Several people nodded in agreement. Earl Watson watched as his neighbors, his customers, his own community began to side with the Jamaican musicians he had tried to exclude.

But more than that, he was watching his daughter, who had climbed onto the stool next to Bob and was listening intently as Bob played soft melodies just for her.

—Daddy —said Mary—, can we keep this music?

—What do you mean, darling?

—Can we have music like this in our house? It makes me happy.

Earl looked at his daughter, then at Bob, then at the faces around his coffee shop. For the first time, he truly saw what his hatred was costing him. Not just the chance to serve more customers, but the chance to experience something beautiful with his own daughter.

“I don’t understand,” Earl said quietly to Bob. “How can you be so nice after that sign? After what I said?”

Bob put down his guitar and looked Earl in the eyes.

—Brother, hatred only hurts the person who harbors it. I learned long ago that the only way to banish darkness is with light.