Yesterday, Monday the 21st, we visited Selma, Alabama where, in 1965, a group of determined people assembled to walk the 54 miles from Selma to Montgomery in the name of voting rights. Following their footsteps, we walked, skipped, and twirled in groups of two, arm in arm across the Edmund Pettus Bridge singing “We Shall Overcome” at the top of our lungs. On the other side, we gathered in a circle and talked. A question was posed: what connections have you made over the course of this trip? Shoulder to shoulder, we went around the circle and shared our connections. With about 15 students and teachers ahead of me, I had time to think about my answer. What personal connections have I made so far on this trip? What has connected me to the movement?
The first answer that came to mind was from our trip to the Greyhound Bus Station in Montgomery that we had visited earlier that morning. The outside of the station was covered in a huge timeline of the events and people associated with the Freedom Rides. As I moved along the side of the building, reading about the stories of each of the original Freedom riders, the risks that they took, the oppression and opposition that they faced, I came to a simple table that listed the names, ages, races, genders, and hometowns of the riders. The oldest Freedom Rider was 22. The youngest was 18. I’m 17. I am not exactly sure what to say from here because I haven’t finished processing what this means to me. Even more than in learning about the children’s march or the story of the four young girls killed in the bombing of the 16th street Baptist Church I realized how young these brave activists were. And it has made me really question; am I capable of taking such huge risks and measures for something that I care about or that is as important as the movement was to these young people?
But this is not what I ended up sharing as it reached my turn to speak about my connection. Instead, I decided to talk about my experience with the Wall of Tolerance at the Southern Poverty Law in Montgomery that we visited after the Greyhound Bus station in order to watch the inauguration. The Wall of Tolerance is an electronic wall where you are invited to add your name if you are committed to tolerance. According to the SPLC, “Those who place their names on the wall make a commitment to work in their daily lives for justice, equality and human rights – the ideals for which the civil rights martyrs died.” As I pondered whether or not to add my name I watched the names of previous visitors move up and down. Each name was added by someone in our generation and those previous who have made this pledge and who are working today to honor this commitment. I have honestly never felt more hopeful about what our future will look like. Each person on the wall is tolerant and will spread that tolerance, creating a web of people who will work every day to maintain and work towards justice, equality and human rights. Though the young people who rode the Greyhound buses for freedom are now old, a new generation of tolerance and fighters is rising up and making the pledge, and I want to be a part of that generation, I signed my name on the wall.
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