It started as a walk through history & ended as a transformational experience!
A recollection of my trek through downtown Selma & across the Edmund Pettus Bridge
The weather that morning was glorious. Cool, but not cold. Radiant sun illuminating a brilliant blue sky. Conditions were well suited to walking, which I welcomed since it was my intended purpose for being there.
I was in Selma to explore a renowned Civil Rights history site; The Edmund Pettus Bridge — ground zero for the infamous “Bloody Sunday” attack of civil rights marchers by Alabama police on March 7, 1965.
I know the history of that structure. I know the unprovoked violence that occurred on that hallowed ground. I didn’t know the type of embodied response that my presence there would evoke.
Fifty-seven years ago, policemen attacked peaceful protestors with dogs, tear gas, billy clubs and brute force. It was a savage, unprovoked assault, launched by officers wearing rabid racism like a winter coat, and unbridled bigotry as an adorning scarf.
But on last week’s sunny Saturday, Mother Nature seemed to provide a love offering. Brilliant sun, moderate temps, and cloudless blue heavens served as a soothing environmental offset to the heaviness of the history being revisited.
My mood was light as I stepped onto the bridge to walk the 1,248 feet of its short expanse. It took mere minutes. But at the base of the bridge, as my feet left hard concrete, and sank into soft earth, a fountain of tears welled up from the depth of my being, and overflowed through my tear ducts.
I was taken aback by the unexpected tide swell of emotion as twin rivers of liquid lament, blurred my physical vision. But in my mind’s eye, my sight was unimpeded. In my mind’s eye, I could see with complete clarity. So I paused. Stilled myself. And watched in riveted horror as a nightmarish scene unfolded before me.
I could see the resolve on the faces of my forebears as they summoned their inner courage, knowing that as they set foot on that bridge, that they were crossing a threshold into hell.
I could see marchers clothed in suits and dresses, intentional in their decision to protest in “church clothes”, motivated by a desperate desire to spotlight their dignity to those resolute in an obstinate refusal to see their humanity.
I could see pained expressions of agony as anguished eyes watered and burned from pupils seared by the noxious effects of tear gas.
I could see limbs and skulls being battered and bruised, cracked and crushed.
I could see pierced, mutilated flesh oozing red rivers of blood that permeated the brown Alabama soil.
I could see the human personification of hatred in the faces of tormentors who savagely beat fellow humans — their minds fixated on inducing maximum suffering.
I could see, all these scenes play out in real time—as if I were in a waking dream.
I stood in stunned awe, witnessing the depth, width, and breadth of the terror that once took place on and around the ground on which I stood.
And yet, as surreal as that all was, even more impactful than what I saw, was the embodied tension, fear and anxiety that I felt. Time stretched and bent, having mentally transported me away from the Selma of 2022, and into the Selma of 1965.
It was an otherworldly, mind bender of an experience that came embedded with a gift; An enhanced understanding of the sacrifices made by past generations that enable me to enjoy the rights and freedoms to which I have access.
I already possessed this knowledge intellectually. But last Saturday’s experience infused me with a depth of knowing that transcended head knowledge. I was no longer just reading about history. I was experiencing it! The fruit of that experience holds profound significance for me at this hour in our nation’s history.
Because at this hour books that teach about pivotal chapters of this nation’s story have been banned.
At this hour, some states have exploited manufactured fear about critical race theory to prevent schools from teaching America’s legacy of slavery, racial oppression, and Indigenous genocide.
At this hour irrational fears are being weaponized in state legislatures, and exploited to implement pernicious laws whose passage recreates some of the same punitive repercussions that made the terror laced toil of the civil rights era necessary in the first place.
Sometimes it takes an epiphany to spur one from passivity to proactivity; Sometimes it takes an ethereal encounter to shake us, jolt us, and wrestle us awake from the slumber of complacency.
American History, to date, has been primarily written from the perspective of the oppressor. I believe the hour has come for the narratives of the historically oppressed to be raised and centered in our own voices.
I view my burgeoning passion for history, and resurgent passion for the pen as an admonition from my ancestors to raise my voice in defiance of wide scale efforts to eradicate their stories and silence their narratives.
Author Lisa Sharon Harper eloquently articulates the importance of this narrative shift, in her newly released book: FORTUNE - How race broke the world and my family, and how to repair it all.
“The stories of the conquered and exploited have rarely risen to a height to be seen or heard beyond family and local community. These marginalized narratives must be pushed to the center. We must see them. We must reckon with them. These suffocated stories raise a primal scream that cuts to the bone and reveals the depths and contours of our shattered souls.”
As this Black History month draws to a close, it is my hope, that I’ve done my part to elevate and center a few lesser known individuals, events and achievements of Black History.
Black History is an integral part of American History, and the entirety of that history matters. Thank you Selma for the lessons, inspiration, and reminders!
What I’ve Read and Recommend
The Permission to Be podcast team and I had the privilege of interviewing Lisa Sharon Harper about her newly released book FORTUNE earlier this month. Part 1 of our engaging conversation with her, “An Oral Narrative of Generational Trauma” is available to stream here.
I binge read Fortune in four days, riveted by the skillful way in which Lisa intertwined her family’s ancestral history with the backstory of the creation of race, and the history of the United States. She concludes by offering tangible solutions that can be pursued to help repair what race broke in our nation.
The book contains many salient points, but one of primary resonance for me is her encouragement to research, learn, and elevate our ancestral narratives. I highly recommend this book!