3/10
We started at the Southern Poverty Law Center. As soon as we walked in, we were bombarded by the images of faces, of people, some of which, I didn't know. Their stories, a daunting reminder of why I'm here and how I got here. We were taken through a timeline-- scanning through every individual's story, their martyrdom, humanizing them. Giving a face to a name to a life. To freedom. We moved to another room. One of the striking images I saw was this one:
The message is so powerful to me. Too long, I've idly sat on the fence of neutrality, careful to offend, quick to silence myself. I never liked confrontation. I didn't want to get into anyone's way with my opinion. Now, thankfully, I've been able to see that standing for something is much more powerful than complacently accepting both sides. It's a way of using my voice as agency.
While in the museum, our guide Donovan shared a testimony with us that was very moving. He said that when here arrived at Alabama state, he realized that he hated black people. It was hard to hear him say that because, to some extent, I've felt that way too. I'm not sure if there are some connections to self-hate, but there was a period of time where I hated how us, my people, strove to keep the division within us and between other races. They kept up with the perpetuation of the stereotypes. Their overt "blackness" made us seem tainted. I loathed them. So even as I squirmed in my seat a little as he expressed his sentiments, I couldn't help to subconciously nod along with him.
The most important part is that the hate doesn't stay. It doesn't cultivate. We welcome love into our hearts and stop the scrubbing away of our skin. We aren't tainted. We are human. We are moving and there is progress.
We then moved to the Civil Rights Memorial. I loved the motivation behind using water as a part of the memorial. As a Christian, the sacredness of water is deeply rooted in my psyche. It makes me think of renewal (as in baptism), the many many passages that have been traveled through water to salvation, and also purification. I watched as the water cascaded down the words engraved on the walls, washing over the names of the martyrs, but never washing them away. It's a fresh start and preservation all at the same time.
Dexter ave. King Church, the church that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr pastored in, was our next stop. Inside the small foyer, there was a mural in which reflected all of the figures of the Civil rights movement. We made our way through King's office, then into the church itself. The residing pastor spoke to us and once again, there was the message of love. Love breathes life into us and fills our veins with hope. Love protects and preserves us. We should always embrace love. Whenever we hear about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr during the Civil Rights Movement, we always think about him as a leader, motivator, advocate, preacher.. some prominent figure that was almost supernatural and divine. However, after visiting his church and the parsonage, I realized that he was a regular man. He was a father. He was a chain smoker. A lot of things troubled him and he was so moved that he decided to do something about it. It was in making those conscious decisions, to be a part of a movement in civil rights and justice, that propelled him into the superhuman we know him as. The epitome of ordinary people doing extraordinary things.
Moving along to have lunch in downtown Alabama, I had no idea who was about to grace me with their presence. They walked in, gracefully and deliberately. They clung to each other lovingly. The Graetz's took their seats next to me and Mrs. Jean Graetz looked at me and smiled warmly. After acquainting ourselves with them, Robert Graetz began to speak about his life. I was in awe. Scarcely had I thought about the prominent white figures during the Civil Rights movement. This man literally walked side-by-side with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, in his faith, prepared to die for what's right. What was amazing is their sturdy faith in God. This faith was in them as they marched, as they received threats, as their children's lives hung in the balance, and they trusted God all along the way. Sixty-three years. They have been married for 63 years. I still can't wrap my mind around it but I could see it in the way she whispered words into his ear as a thought escaped him or how they were always color-coordinated. A power couple, withstanding the trials of time and history.
They still continue their activism. One particular story they shared was the death of their son to AIDS and how they contiue to deal with the issues of today by accepting modernity while still keeping their faith. As I presented them with their Thank You card, Mrs. Graetz hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. What she said earlier resounded in my head at that moment: "You all look like my children." We are all connected. I've been thinking so much about history and memory as a duo. How one without the other leaves the story unfinished. It only took meeting a stranger for the first time to know that we have a commonality, a link shared between us. With this link, we complete each other's histories, and continue to share memories.
The final place we visited for the day was the Equal Justice Initative. The presentation they had before us was sobering. I had no clue that there are children, ages 13-14, who have been sentenced to life in jail without parole. Yes, CHILDREN have be sentenced to die in prison. This exists, and it was a really harsh reality to come to terms with. There was a picture shown with the inmates working in a field and a warden keeping watch over them. It looked like slaves on a plantation with the overseer keeping watch. At that moment I thought "forget about The New Jim Crow, this is The New Slavery." The individuals in the firm took the time to talk about the work that they do with the prisoners and we saw several testimonies from those whom were able to receive parole and eventually be released from jail because of the kind of work EJI does. I recognized the importance of creating a narrative for a prisoner that rehumanizes them. Creating one in a way that makes them worthy of redemption. One of the speakers stated that it's been hard for America to admit it's wrong, and we continually see this catastrophic cylce through history as many lives have perished because of this denial. There were more comments surrounding mass incarceration, systemic oppression, minorities being the disproportionate majority in the jail system, and it just became overwhelming.
The above image is one of the result of intimidation tactics used keep black people systematically oppressed through the courts. When Black people are rejected from being chosen for a jury due to ridiculous circumstances such as "looking too menacing" or being separated from their spouse, we end up in a court room in which most of the people in the audience are black, most of the jury is white, the judge and prosecution are white, the defendant is black. Those who are there in the largest numbers don't hold the most power. In this dynamic, how could we expect our system to bring any kind of justice to our people of color?
So after a long day of visitng, talking, listening and learning, it's been a little difficult to process it all. I'm very grateful for the end-of-day discussions (although we are always dog tired at that point) because it helps me to weave through my thoughts and reactions. Why did I feel a certain way? What angered me the most? What gave me the most hope? What am I going to do when this is all over? There are so many questions. It feels like I've been here for a week and it's been just one day. Everything is jam-packed and there is threat of explosion. Is explosion a bad thing? We've spent so much time condensing history, cutting out stories and conveniently forgetting faces of people just so we could cover up the atrocities that is American history. So maybe, just maybe, explosion is not all that bad. Someone has to tell the story, someone has to listen, someone has to pass it on.
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