Why We Went to Alabama

My journey to Montgomery Alabama actually began unexpectedly.   Last Spring, I was preparing my lesson plans for my eighth graders.  The subject: “What is the purpose of government?”  The sub topic for that day was Justice.  From a biblical perspective and in light of our nation’s history, how should a Christian define justice?  As a Black man teaching predominately white students at a Christian school, God has called me to teach my students not simply from the text, but from a more culturally diverse perspective; to offer insight which opens dialog as well as provides a window into a world that is starkly different from their own, my world.

So, in my search for depth of understanding the meaning of justice, I discovered a Ted Talk by Bryan Stevenson entitled “We need to talk about an injustice”.  In it, Mr. Stevenson shared a number of things: “We have a system of justice in (the US} that treats you much better if you’re rich and guilty than if you’re poor and innocent.  Wealth, not culpability, shapes outcomes.”  I’ve known this most of my life, but rarely have I heard it shared with such eloquence and grace.  I shared this particular Ted Talk with my students and we discussed it has a class.  It was enlightening, encouraging and challenging because they had to wrestling with concept justice not simply as a form of punishment, but as a liberator of oppression; something they never really considered before.  One of the quotes I reminded them of was “The opposite of poverty is not wealth.  The opposite of poverty is justice.” 

I continued my research on Bryan Stevenson, looking up interviews, other Ted Talks and even a graduation commencement speech that he delivered at Harvard University. However, the interviews that really captured me were the ones where he shared on CNN and on 60 Minutes about the lynching memorial in Montgomery Alabama., called the National Memorial for Peace and Justice.  The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, which opened on April 26, 2018, is dedicated to the “legacy of enslaved black people, people terrorized by lynching, African Americans humiliated by racial segregation and Jim Crow, and people of color burdened with contemporary presumptions of guilt and police violence. “ 

Frist of all, I was blown away by the idea that this memorial exists and second I knew immediately in my heart that I had to go.  Not just me, but my family especially.  In my home, we as a family talk about race, culture and injustice nearly every week on some level or capacity. My home is a safe place for my family to vent frustrations and honestly discuss our own personal encounters with racism. My wife and I pray regularly for wisdom on how to parent our children in this age and help them to navigate through all the ignorance and hopelessness of racial bias and blatant racism that they have to deal with everyday.   We also discuss and celebrate our culture and history, so when I discovered the museum and memorial, I knew it would be a profound experience for my family to share together. I also knew it would be very difficult for me personally as well. 

When I think of Alabama, I don’t immediately think of the famed University of Alabama football program or the  “Roll Tide” legacy.  I think of the dark history of racism and terror.  I think of the public lynching in broad daylight, the systematic oppression of my people, the legacy of suffering, Dr. King’s legacy and of course Selma’s Bloody Sunday of 1965.  To be honest, of all the places that I wish not to travel with my family, Alabama ranked extremely high on the list.  But I knew in my soul that my journey to Alabama was inevitable. I’ve never been to Selma or Montgomery.  I’ve only read about its history.  I’m from Louisiana, so in a way I felt like that was close enough.  I got a front row seat to the stories my mother and grandmother would share about their childhood.  I knew of stories of people who “disappeared” in the middle of the night, and they how they had to cope with the constant heat of fear and oppression in a world that was and is the rural south.  So to me, Alabama represented the heartbeat of the beast of racism and terror and my heart was torn between wanting to go and not wanting to go; wanting to visit, but not wanting to stay very long.  But something greater than my struggle was at stake, my family. I wanted my family to experience this legacy for themselves.  This would be better than us watching it from the comfort of our living room or watching it on YouTube.  This would be tangible.  This would be surreal.  This would be spiritual.

So yes, we went to Alabama.  My wife, Alecia and I took turns driving more than twelve hours.   It was in her heart as well, to visit the lynching memorial and the Legacy Museum.  We arrived in Selma on a cloudy evening.  The streets were quiet; very few people were out and about.  As Alecia was driving through the seemingly vacant downtown area, I just took it all in, looking around not knowing really what to expect or what to observe.  Perhaps I was looking for a bit of the history that I’ve studied and seen in documentaries and movies.  I don’t know.  Then we drove up to the famous Edmund Pettus Bridge.  I couldn’t believe it initially.  I thought it was a replica, a smaller version of the actual bridge, but I was wrong. We were driving on the bridge and I thought, such a small place, but yet it bared the weight of people with such courage that was confronted with such violent hatred.

The next day we visited the lynching memorial.  Before going in farther to read the names, a white lady walked up to me and hugged me, just out of the blue.  With tears in her eyes she asked me how did I feel, seeing all of these columns of names of victims.  I told her it saddened me, but I’m thankful because now healing can began. She told me of the many memorials that were in Germany acknowledging the millions of Jews who were slaughtered.  I said we definitely have a long way to go in this country.

Everyone was reading the narratives that were printed on the wall, admiring the sculptures of slaves along the path to the columns of names of lynched people, my people; with it were dates, states and counties where these public lynching took place, drawing thousands of people like circus carnivals.  Also printed were some of the reasons for the lynching, which were mainly Black men who were accused of either frightening or attempting to speak to white women.  One particular story I read was about a Black man from my hometown of Shreveport Louisiana who was lynched in 1912 for allegedly writing a note to a white woman.  Caddo Parish, the parish of Shreveport, had the most names of lynching victims.  It was heartbreaking.  Some of the names were unknown, which was sad, but yet I was grateful that even in the sad mystery of an unknown victim, there was an acknowledgment that a precious life was murdered. 

There were patrons of different races who visited as well.  I couldn’t help notice a white man who stopped, sat down and held his face in his hands and sobbed. He looked to be bit older than me and I wondered if he had personal memories of these executions.  I too had to take a moment to sit and reflect.  So many names, it was overwhelming.  I didn’t know what to pray for or what to say to God about what I was experiencing.  I was looking for my family names and places I visited but didn’t know its the dark history.  There’s no way for me to end this essay, except …”to be continued.” As proud Americans, we are told Remember the Alamo, Veterans Day, Memorial Day and never forget 911 and many other monumental moments in our history.   And as a military veteran, I agree.  However, we as a nation must also deal with all of our history, not just the moments we are the most proud of. As Christians we are called to mourn with those who mourn, not minimalize or ignore the pain we struggle with everyday.  We must acknowledge, tell and share the truth of who we are, where we’ve come and where we’re headed.  There’s no way that one or several visits to these powerful monuments can bring healing without the grace of God.  I’m not hoping to ever get past the pain, but channel it in the direction of God’s grace and heart for justice and mercy, then surrender it to my Heavenly Father in exchange for his inheritance of peace through the Gospel of Jesus Christ, who is my Redeemer.  However, the journey of healing and revealing is to be continued until He returns.