Laura's Final Reflections

So many thoughts as this trip came to a close back in April. Those thoughts have stayed there, percolating in the months since. I am changed by this trip. How could I not be? My Dad and I put so many years of research and months of planning into it. Of course a trip like this is never what you think it will be, but I believe if your eyes and heart are open, it becomes what you need it to be. It tells you what you need to hear. 

I admit that I have a different viewpoint of the obstacles towards racial justice and equity in our society than I did at the beginning of this trip. Although this message is not new, it's one that was hammered home again and again during this trip: we have a long way to go. And I believe that we White moderates or White progressives, (especially in the North), continue to be a major barrier towards the sort of justice and equity I think many want to see come to fruition. I admit I went to the South to learn about the actions (or inactions) of "others," but what I really learned about was myself. Because, of course, real change starts from only one place: from inside ... 

King expressed a similar concern in his "Letter from Birmingham Jail": 

"I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection."

Many of my peers might look at this statement and not see themselves, but rather think of how "backwards" or wrong-headed the Southern White communities of the 1960's were in response to that particular chapter of the Black freedom struggle, but hasn't similar sentiment been said at our own dinner tables in response to the protests after Michael Brown's or George Floyd's murder? "I believe in what they're doing, but if only they weren't so loud, or destructive, or angry ..." I know I've heard these things said among my progressive peers. Many in my Seattle community want to see justice done, just not always at an inconvenience to them, ie: protests blocking I-5 traffic, or having that low income housing unit or needle exchange relocated in their neighborhood ... I'm not exempt from these thoughts and it's given me a lot to reflect on. It's easy to convince myself that I'm doing enough, all the while I'm hiding behind my iPhone screen or a book.

The other question I have been asking myself is one that we asked some of those we encountered in Alabama or Mississippi; the same question many accompanying us asked our tour guides: is there any hope?

For me the answer is yes. I feel it more strongly now than when I started this trip. And this is not because the stories we heard were less gruesome, or because the news on the ground in Mississippi shows that there is tangible progress towards equity and shared power. Quite the opposite. It is also not because I believe humans are inherently "good" or "bad" (whatever that means). Humans are just inherently ... human. They act to further their own survival, and many of us are willing to strive for that at the expense of others. What gives me hope is in the incredible stories of people who DID put justice and the collective whole ahead of their own survival. This heavy burden was then and still is disproportionately shouldered by Black, Indigenous and POC communities. In Memphis and Chicago in the 1890's, it was Ida B. Wells. In Alabama and Mississippi in the 1950's and 1960's, it was people like Fanny Lou Hamer, Ella Baker, Medgar Evers, James Bevel. It was heroes we met who were mere children at the time: Jo Ann Bland and Hezekiah Watkins. But it was also the White students and young adults who did not directly have skin in the game, but who came to the South to join the cause because it was the right thing to do, people like Joan Trumpauer Mulholland who rejected the societal norms she was taught about Black inferiority, walked away from her family and joined the movement. Micky and Rita Schwerner, who moved to Meridian, Mississippi from the North to advance the voting rights of rural Black Southerners. The White and Black young people who were shipped off to Parchman Prison for their protests and so refused to be broken, that when their mattress were removed from their cells for their ongoing protests from behind their bars, they kept the guards up all night boisterously filling the prison halls with freedom songs.

So where do we go from here? I think there is no better summary of the path I hope to take than the words of Bryan Stevenson, legal advocate for Southern death row inmates, mastermind behind the Equal Justice Initiative and freedom warrior of our time. He says: 

Get proximate

Change the narrative

Stay hopeful

Learn to be uncomfortable 

I want to grow old knowing that I am the kind of person who will not only stand for something just and true, but will stand up for it. That I believe the only path forward towards these goals includes the collective, not just myself or the individual. And when I search deep for one of the fundamental people who has helped to instill this in me, it's my Dad. His endless curiosity to dig and uncover, his bravery to connect, confront and wrestle with the challenges of history and the present. His gift for connection with the humanity in all people. I saw this again and again on our trip. Going up to aging Civil Right icon Hezekiah Watkins in the Jackson Civil Rights Museum and asking hard questions. Breaking down and accepting comfort from one of the elderly staff in the Lynching Museum in Montgomery, so overcome by the power and grief of the stories told there. 

I love you Dad. This trip with you was the honor of a lifetime. Not just for the bravery of taking on the logistics and pedaling into the unknown, but of sharing yourself with me. I know that long after you're gone I will carry the memories of this trip with me. Not just the intense moments, but the joyful and humorous ones. You wearily singing the Cinderella theme song on mile 68 of our 72 mile biking day as we were near delirious with hunger and fatigue, "We can do it, we can do it, we can help our Cinderelly ..." Yucking it up with locals at dive diners and BBQ spots. Because the things I love most about you, those are the things I see in myself too. We are forever connected in that way. I had a moment of my own fear and grief waking up in the Memphis hotel on our last morning, because we had become so connected during this trip, never separate for more than a few minutes. And in that moment I not only couldn't imagine what my life would be like without you in it, but I couldn't even imagine how I was going to spend the days to come without you. 

This trip opened me up to the world around me like I have seldom had the experience to do. The overwhelming sentiment I walked away with was not grief or terror, but feeling wholly alive, with a sense of understanding that for me, meaning and joy are not fully possible without seeing and accepting all the messy parts of our world and myself. I promise to do my best to stand grounded on my own to feet and to carry on the tradition and truths spoken by the incredible individuals whose stories I have had the honor to listen to, past and present. May we all be brave in our own pursuits of connection, adventure, justice and joy. 

Thank you for listening. 

 

Day 12 (4/6/23): Memphis

Laura's Post (belatedly posted 7 months later)

Wow, I can't believe the last day of our journey. We were immersed in the rich history of Memphis, and some of the themes and lessons we had been learning were really illuminated during an amazing 2-hour breakfast at the Arcade Diner, one of the last surviving restaurants in this downtown neighborhoods of Memphis. We had the extreme honor of meeting with 4 heroes of the current day struggle to tell the truth about Black history in our nation. We met with Randy, Habiba, Iris and Sam, prior co-workers of our dear family friend Randall Mullins, all working on unearthing the history of and commemorating the lynchings that occurred in Memphis from Reconstruction on through the Lynching Site Project. We were given a gift by these four incredible individuals:

We moved from there to a spirited tour on foot through the streets of Memphis, led by Randy, our local historian, first on foot through the streets, intermittently singing, "Can't Turn Me Around" in the driving rain. We stopped at the church where the "I am a Man" sanitation worker strike that brought Dr. King to Memphis in his final days started, to the Ida B. Wells park and several of the lynching site markers that Randy and his team have worked diligently and persistently to erect. This is the story Ida B. Wells took on in the 1890's when she watched her dear friend Thomas Moss, a local Black grocery store owner, be lynched simply because he was causing competition for the White grocer. And yet the age-old propaganda that Black men are sexual predators was loosely used as justification for his killing. Ida B. Wells, using her platform as a journalist, called bullshit to this myth, a truth that caused her newspaper to be burned to the ground and caused her to have to flee town. 

I am struck again by how much resistance this group has met (from city park officials, local businesses, individuals), just to try and tell the story. There is clearly power in this story, and I think subconsciously or not, many of the White institutions of power must understand that to hear the whole truth would call into question our entire power structure, as it should. Randy and his team are working so hard ... 

Full of history and gratitude, we ended our time in Memphis by honoring Dr. King's last days. The hotel where he was assassinated on April 4, 1968 has been turned into a Civil Rights Museum. As we walked through together, it's amazing how we have come to recognize many of the faces and stories on these walls over the past 2 weeks. I spent years reading and learning about the stories of the Civil Rights movement in the South (about 4,000 pages), but what we have learned by tracing the path over these two weeks has been exponentially more than we ever could have learned from a book. Looking at the pictures on the wall of the museum, it's still impossible for us not to get choked up. 

I feel Dr. King knew his end was coming. He had mounting threats in the weeks leading up to his death, and the speech me made the night before he died was chilling; he basically gave his own eulogy. Rumor has it he was not feeling well, and not planning on attending the rally, but the crowd that had amassed was large and they were expecting him, so someone from his team came and got him and brought him to the church. I recommend you listen to the whole speech because it's incredible, but here's an excerpt of the Mountaintop Speech. 

As we ended our time at the museum, I knew but was not prepared for viewing the balcony where he took his last breath. As the story goes, he was standing on the railing calling down to the musician who would be playing at the upcoming rally, and he requested his favorite song by Mahalia Jackson, "Precious Lord, Take My Hand." As we walked through this part of the museum, that is what was playing overhead. As we have hopefully highlighted for you, Dr. King was only one person among thousands who encompassed this movement, but he was regardless a phenomenal human who inspired millions then, and just as many today. 

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s final words to the public: 

"Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.

And I don't mind.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! 

And so I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man!  

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!"

Day 11 (4/5/23): New Albany to Memphis

 Peter's Post. 

A big day today with places to go, things to see, people to meet and logistics to take care of. We picked up our 2nd rent-a-car in New Albany after staying at a Best Western in a shopping mall off the highway on the edge of town. After 4 days of riding on the Trace Parkway and then the Tanglefoot trail, we were suddenly negotiating rush hour traffic headed to the Walmart. It made us even more appreciative of the route we’d just traveled. In addition to offering peaceful cycling, Trace took us through towns too small to attract the big box stores and still had some semblance of locally owned commerce, which we found charming. New Albany has an old town too with a brand new coffee shop trying to make a go of it. 

Laura and I have hardly called out the music that’s come from the Mississippi Delta but Blues aficionados could cite a litany of famous artists whose inspiration came from  here and found expression in Memphis. Elvis himself was inspired by that tradition and in some circles has been criticized for expropriating it. I’m unqualified to comment but realize many people travel much the same route we have done solely in honor of the music it birthed. History and art are, of course, inseparable. Gospel and Blues find their way into the protest songs that inspired the Civil Rights movement and send chills up my spine and tears to my eyes after this trip.      

A little off beaten music path, this is a picture of the Tallahatchie bridge ... well ... OK ... it’s a little bridge over the Little Tallahatchie but I couldn’t help but recall “Ode to Billy Joe” which was #1 on the pop charts in the summer of 1967 and made a young woman from the Delta famous. Remember this? It touched the heart of the nation in turmoil at the time.  

Bobby Gentry - "An Ode to Billy Joe"

On our way to Memphis we stopped in Holly Springs, the birthplace of Ida B. Wells to see the her childhood home which is now a museum. I confess I knew nothing about her but am blown away by what we’re learning. She basically started the whole anti-lynching movement in the 1890s (OBTW also the NAACP before she was excluded by W.E.B Dubois) and thereby became a force in the early Civil Rights movement. We had the good fortune to meet the director of the Ida. B Wells-Barnett museum, Rev. Leona Harris, who regaled us with stories of Wells-Barnett and her own journey from ignorance to preserving her home and legacy. Rev. Leona Harris grew up in Holly Springs in the 50s and had no idea about this amazing person. She was away in school when someone found out she grew up in Holly Springs and let her know that was the birthplace of Ida B. Wells. Ida who? She is now working hard to raise money and preserve much of the history they’ve accumulated in the process. It’s a beautiful old home and the foundation has big plans for it. I’ve now purchased the Wells autobiography and have begin listening to it. 

Skipping ahead to Memphis, we visited the Ida B. Wells Plaza on Beale St. where there is a “The Tree of Strange Fruit” sculpture and plaque referring to a song popularized by Billie Holiday in 1939 about lynching. The plaque charts Well’s work and impact over 40 years from the People’s grocery store lynching in 1892 until her death in 1931. She must have been extraordinary!!

Then on to Memphis to have lunch with Margaret Vandiver, a retired criminal justice professor. She is also a contributor to the Lynching Sites Project (LSP) https://lynchingsitesmem.org/about in Memphis, dedicated to researching, cataloguing, and memorizing lynching sites in and around Memphis, continuing the work started by Ida B. in 1890! She introduced us to Wayne Dowdy, Senior Manager at the History Department of the Memphis Public Library where we learned and talked about what makes Memphis unique.  Wow ... riveting. The sound bite I took away was: retaken by the Union relatively early in the Civil War (1862), Memphis became a magnet for enslaved people fleeing the Confederacy that gave them a critical mass that allowed more political freedom and economic power than was possible in Alabama, Mississippi, or even other parts of Tennessee, even through the repression of the Jim Crow era. A legacy that informs modern day Memphis. We could have listened for hours but we had promises to keep and miles to go before we could sleep. We’re so grateful to our friends Randall and Sharon for introducing us to their Memphis friends and to their friends for taking us under their wings. What a day!!

Day 10 (4/4/23): Houston to New Albany

 Laura’s Post. Biked 45 miles.

Wonderful morning today, waking up at Daisy’s on the Square, run by Mike and Carol. Incredible hospitality and a beautiful renovated little hotel. 

Of course Peter couldn’t wait until Mike opened up the downstairs community coffee house hub, aptly named “Gather,” and so had to wander to McDonald’s when it opened at 5 AM to get his fix. (He was apparently the first person who had ordered a latte there in a while …) 

We sat there for at more than an hour with cup after cup of coffee and good local conversation. Best breakfast we’ve had on the road. Finally time to saddle up for our last day of biking. Our final stretch was on 40 miles of paved Tanglefoot rail trail from Houston to New Albany, cruising through old industrial areas, small farm towns and pasture land.

We changed our first and only flat tire today. Well, let’s call it what it was, I assisted the expert Peter in changing my flat tire. We saw (and nearly ran over) 4 separate species of snake, turns out there are a LOT of snakes in Mississippi. Of course the one we benevolently stopped to try and sweep off the trail with a stick kept striking at us. Turns out that little dickhead was a Cottonmouth, one of Mississippi’s venomous snakes. Whoopsie. Joe says that rules out a move to Mississippi for us. (Big snake lover that guy). 

We ended our day with a moment of reverence. Today is 4/4/23. On this day 55 years ago, at 6:01 PM, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, TN. We are headed up there tomorrow, but we were able to participate virtually in some of the incredible speeches and music that were happening at that location today. You can check them out on the National Civil Rights Museum website. 

Peace until tomorrow. Two more days of our adventure. 

Day 9 (4/3/23): French Camp to Houston

 Laura’s Post. Biked 55 miles. 

Caffeinate. Meditate. Defecate. Consolidate. Evacuate (aka: roll out).  

We’re in our rhythm now. Third day traveling consecutively along the remote and scenic Trace Natchez Parkway. Rising in a new place each day, the adventure of planning the food stops, combing over the route maps over morning coffee. The thunder was so loud early this morning it shook the corrugated metals walls of our cabin and for a moment I thought a tornado was upon us. We talked to our waitress today at the Trace-Way diner, who experienced the F4 tornado personally 2 weeks ago, a tornado which absolutely obliterated 2 towns in this part of Mississippi. She described lying in her bed with “a freight train” rolling over her trailer, with no where to hide as she lay there and prepared to die, “I said God if you’re going to take me now, I’m ready.” The Midwest and the South are experiencing an unprecedented tornado season. She took good care of us at the diner though, we stayed for almost 2 happy hours sipping coffee and mixing it up with a very local scene.

One happy guy in his kind of place

Mississippi, we’re about to leave you. In another era people said the eyes of the world were watching Mississippi. And it’s true, this state was the crux of the Civil Rights movement. In many ways the resistance to Black freedom was so fierce, it’s “Citizen’s Councils” (think Gestapo for US Southern White Supremacy) were so relentless, that it seemed even the Federal Government couldn’t pierce that shield. Nina Simone sang in 1964, “Mississippi God Damn.” There’s also Phil Ochs’ “Here’s to Mississippi” and Dylan’s “Oxford Town.” (Let me also call out the incredible musicians who originated from this state including Muddy Waters, BB King, Robert Johnson, Elvis Presley! Sam Cooke, whose song “A Change is Gonna Come” moves me deeply). 

In some ways what we call the modern Civil Rights movement all started here. Although many credit the disparities that were brought into the light when Black service members fought in integrated WWII units and then returned to a deeply segregated South as laying important groundwork, the world was shocked by the 1955 kidnapping, torture and eventual death of Emmett Till, all because he whistled at a White store owners’ wife. I can’t tell you how many of the leaders of this era reference the shock of this loss as motivation for them to take a stand. His mother, Mamie Till-Mobley forced the world to see what had been done to her son by having an open casket showing his mutilated body, images of which made it into Jet Magazine and circulated the nation. His death triggered a chain reaction that in many ways hastened the passage of the 1957 and 1964 Civil Rights legislation and in even now in 2022, the passage of a bill making lynching a federal crime. Emmett Till’s name is still invoked today. 

A decade after his death, in 1964, groups of White and Black students banded together to do mass voter registration in rural Mississippi. Black voter registration was as low as 1% in the beginning of the Civil Rights movement in this state, despite having some counties where 60-70% of the population was Black. At the beginning of this “Freedom Summer” (1964), 3 of these freedom fighters were murdered for investigating a fire at a church where one of these Freedom Schools was to be held. James Chaney was one of those who died. His friend Dave Denis gave his eulogy. He tried to give the mild-mannered eulogy that as expected of him, but upon seeing Chaney’s younger brother Ben crying in the front row, he lost it and made a passionate call for action that resonated throughout the community. 

I think the world is still watching Mississippi. In one of the Blackest cities in America, the White Supermajority in the Legislature is currently working to take away Jackson’s power to control its own legal system. This is happening NOW, in 2023. Will Mississippi continue to fight off the legacy of Jim Crow, or will it institute a whole modern version of it? The sentiments of grief, anger and weariness of Dave Denis’ euology are still heard in our news on a near daily basis in reaction to the ongoing disproportionate violent deaths of Black citizens.

I hope for Mississippi. Today I am also filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the beautiful place, for these resilient people. For a body that can carry me through it to witness some stories first hand and to pay homage to many sites of this struggle, past and present. Gratitude for that spunky old guy who I’m traveling with, with his most innovative bike-mounting maneuver. I am overwhelmed by joy today. 

PODCASTS & STORIES:

• First hand testimony from a cousin who was with Emmet Till the night he died - https://www.npr.org/2023/03/12/1162677900/emmett-till-wheeler-parker

MOVIE:

• Till - https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwiDlNWrwZD-AhXvMzQIHUpaBMoQ3yx6BAgLEAI&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DrkQi6GBwmSA&usg=AOvVaw1MkUz9w3do9jw6_O0jXiOU

Peter’s Thoughts on History

In reading Laura’s posts, I’m struck by her insight and courage to delve into very challenging topics. As we tour through the South and delve into some of the more painful chapters of history, we confront our own legacy and the part that our ancestors played in creating the present and how we personally have benefited materially to the detriment of many others. As Laura asked… “what do we do with that?” I don’t know the answer to the “do” part but feel that whatever action we choose, it should come from a place of understand and appreciation. There is so much we don’t know or understand and, at a minimum, we should be humble and profoundly curious about so much of what we see that seems wrong. A few examples: 

 

On 9/11/2001, as the nation reacted with disbelief and anger I was struck by the fact that nobody asked “why would a group of people hate America so much as to do something like this”? In his book,  Blowback, Chalmers Johnson highlighted the term used in the CIA to refer to the unintended consequences of US actions overseas, often covert and unknown to the public. While our government and press spread the narrative of the U.S. using its influence to bring peace, democracy and prosperity around the world, people in countries like Iran, Guatemala, Vietnam,  Indonesia, the Congo, or Chile … and on and on … would tell you something different.  We should not have been so surprised by the Iranian hostage crisis or 9/11.    

 

Similarly, when a black community explodes in anger and frustration at … you name it … the assassination of Medgar Evers or MLK to beating of Rodney King to the killing of Michael Brown and George Floyd, those of us who have not lived the legacy of 400 years of disrespect and marginalization would be tempted to focus on the “what” of the violence and not the “why.” Listen to Kimberly Jones powerful articulation of this in wake of George Floyd’s murder and subsequent protests.

 

Laura and I think a lot about the question of what we “do” and whether what we are doing is enough or appropriate. This trip has been about learning and understanding to better inform decisions about action. While I have been accused of being indecisive in my life, I prefer to ponder important decisions that involve radical action before moving on them. Responding to anger and violence with actions motivated by similar emotions usually doesn’t improve things. Just doing something in order to be relevant, important, or involved may stroke the ego more than actually furthering the cause. Great leaders who led without any official power (Gandhi, King, Mandela, Havel) acted very deliberately and peacefully to achieve unimaginable outcomes without retribution and violence. I’m not advocating inaction, only wise action motivated by love. 

 

A final thought about the past vs. the present. As we look to the past, it’s easy to judge our ancestors by the values and mores of the present. Yet, they were products of their time and reflected vey different ways of thinking about human society and nature. “How could they do such things”, we ask. It’s good to understand the past, yet perhaps we should be concerned more about how future generations will judge us our current actions by their future values. How will they remember us when it comes to environmental stewardship and social justice? Ponder that one.

A pondering on family history

 Laura’s Post. 

Turns out, if you go back far enough, my family came from Alabama. Or came to Northern Alabama to co-found a town named Trinity rather, in ~ 1810 when Alabama was still a territory. Descendants of the earliest colonizers in the 1600’s, someone broke off from the more heavily populated North Carolina as land was being taken from the Cherokee tribes in Alabama and turned into land to cultivate agriculture, namely cotton. This meant bringing enslaved Africans with them, and my ancestors were not except from this practice. 

This is not the version of this narrative I was told growing up. Highlighted have been my Great-Great Grandfather’s involvement with the University of Virginia Law School in Charlottesville, the medical degree obtained by my Great Grandfather, who moved to Seattle to found Virginia Mason Hospital. And honestly it’s a history I don’t quite know how to hold now. In recent years, I am coming into deeper levels of understanding of the one-sided narrative that is my historical point of reference. For the past 2–3 years, I’ve mostly avoided it, maybe bringing it up in hushed tones. When a place of employment or my daughters’ schools encourage us to share a piece of our “cultural history,” I have to pause. Are there history or traditions (or wealth) that have not been passed down in my family built on stollen lives on one side or on the other side of the family (Hawaii), culturally appropriated from a Native tradition? These are hard questions to ask and I do not bring them up to harm, but to sincerely ask, how do we grapple with this? 

Graves of my ancestors

What I feel walking through some of sacred Civil Rights places dedicated to the struggle for freedom is a message I’d like to pass down to my own daughters: the way forward, a way that hopefully will continue to slog towards healing and justice, cannot be built on shame, but must be built on truth. Because in reality, though I’m sure many of my White peers may feel they have more “noble” ancestors than mine, if you have white skin in this country, whether your family arrived 400 or 50 years ago, you have been able to step into a privileged class and benefit from this misappropriation of land, wealth and access to power. And Northerns are not exempt. Just as Boston, the “liberal” Northern city who is credited with banning slavery before it’s Souther neighbors, was built on the backs of enslaved people and continued to economically fuel the transatlantic slave trade with ships, rum, etc., long after it allowed trafficked humans into it’s port. 

I’m understanding in new ways on this trip how badly we need a new narrative. I’m sure there are some among those I love who will find some disagreement or offense with this. I’m sorry. It is not intended to harm. But if I can’t raise these tough questions with those who I know and love, what chance do these conversations have in the world at large? And I do have a deep love and gratitude for the two self-appointed family historians of both the Lile and Morgan lineages: knowing where we come from is so important, and I have learned so much from you both about where I come from. And if the wise man I’m traveling with is correct, perhaps only when we show ourselves love for the whole picture for our messy selves and lineages can we be our authentic selves in the world. 

A pearl of wisdom from Jo Ann Bland of Selma. She was discussing the irony of the Selma Civil Rights March of “Bloody Sunday” struggling to get over the Edmund Pettus Bridge, named for one of the grand wizards of the modern Klan. Someone in the audience suggested we should change the name. And she said, “No, keep the name. People should know the truth. Keep the name. Change the narrative.” And that is exactly what Jo Ann Bland and other Marchers of Bloody Sunday did on March 7, 1965. Because in our generation, Edmund Pettus is now synonymous with Black liberation rather than the staunch defender of White supremacy it was named for. 

Someone asked Jo Ann, “where do we go from here?” She said, “every mighty river starts with a single raindrop.” 

View from the Edmund Pettus Bridge overlooking Alabama River