By Andy Douglas
My partner and I visited Alabama this February, fleeing the polar winds. The South is warm and beautiful. And fraught. We spent time at Rosamond Johnson Memorial Beach. Johnson was a young black serviceman killed in Korea. This was, we learned, the site of a ‘wade-in’ where black beachgoers tried to integrate the previously all-white beach by running and diving into the surf. Whites greeted them with fists and kicks. A photo of the incident shows high drama – the splash of the sea, determination of the waders-in, anger of white swimmers. Like sit-ins at lunch counters across the South, it was an early fusillade in the battle for civil rights.
Another famous fusillade was featured at the “Legacy Museum” in Montgomery. Founded by Brian Stevenson (author of “Just Mercy”) and the Equal Justice Initiative, the museum was created to shine light on the African-American experience in America, from enslavement to mass incarceration, to resistance and the struggle for civil rights. (Much of it dedicated to bearing witness to the over 4000 lynchings that took place in the US following Reconstruction. I wrote about our first visit there, last year.)
One exhibit depicted the Montgomery Bus Boycott. A young preacher from Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, Martin Luther King, Jr, was tapped to lead the Montgomery Improvement Association in their boycott of the city bus system, which required blacks to sit in the back of any bus, and give up their seat if a white rider asked. This was 1955.
We viewed a film about it, after seeing wrenching account after account of kidnapping, torture, and rape (otherwise known as slavery), followed by a few years of hope in Emancipation and Reconstruction, and then, especially in the South, sliding back into the vigilante justice of Jim Crow. Right after the Civil War, we learned, Alabama had numerous black state legislators. This number dwindled to zero when federal oversight of the South and Reconstruction ended.
So the boycott victory came on the heels of years of heartbreak and violence. To hear King rouse Montgomery residents to participation in an action that added to their hardship, but ultimately added more to their dignity, to see the excitement on peoples’ faces, the fervor of engagement in a righteous cause, was magnificent. I found myself musing about the need for someone with the energy of a King today, a raised voice against economic injustice, mass incarceration, violence against the poor, people of color and other marginalized groups. To lift up a positive vision of where we are all going as human beings, together.
It was a powerful day, topped by several interesting encounters. Checking in to our downtown budget hotel, a seemingly well-meaning white man came up to us and said, “You don’t want to stay in this hotel. This is a bad part of town.” What did he mean? Was it that poor families were staying here? That it was mostly a black area? It’s hard to know. That same morning I received an email from a pen pal, someone not quite on the same page as I when it comes to race relations. He wrote that he thought focusing too much on issues of race was counterproductive. Things were better now. Why didn’t we all just move ahead?
True, progress has been made in civil rights. And it’s good to see the positives. But to say that we should forget the past and only focus on the future overlooks the very real ongoing struggle, in areas of imprisonment, housing, policing, jobs. I agree we should be forward-thinking and bring optimism to our social visions. But isn’t it also important to remember the past and recognize dynamics that still need attention? This essentially was the message of the EJI Museum.
Anyway, the next day at the Rosa Parks museum, a white man from Texas, someone who might come across as a ‘good old boy,’ fell into conversation with us. We were unsure what to expect, but then he began vigorously promoting the need for reparations for African-Americans, for the sin of slavery committed against them.
Sometimes the South surprises you.
My partner and I visited Alabama this February, fleeing the polar winds. The South is warm and beautiful. And fraught. We spent time at Rosamond Johnson Memorial Beach. Johnson was a young black serviceman killed in Korea. This was, we learned, the site of a ‘wade-in’ where black beachgoers tried to integrate the previously all-white beach by running and diving into the surf. Whites greeted them with fists and kicks. A photo of the incident shows high drama – the splash of the sea, determination of the waders-in, anger of white swimmers. Like sit-ins at lunch counters across the South, it was an early fusillade in the battle for civil rights.
Another famous fusillade was featured at the “Legacy Museum” in Montgomery. Founded by Brian Stevenson (author of “Just Mercy”) and the Equal Justice Initiative, the museum was created to shine light on the African-American experience in America, from enslavement to mass incarceration, to resistance and the struggle for civil rights. (Much of it dedicated to bearing witness to the over 4000 lynchings that took place in the US following Reconstruction. I wrote about our first visit there, last year.)
One exhibit depicted the Montgomery Bus Boycott. A young preacher from Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, Martin Luther King, Jr, was tapped to lead the Montgomery Improvement Association in their boycott of the city bus system, which required blacks to sit in the back of any bus, and give up their seat if a white rider asked. This was 1955.
We viewed a film about it, after seeing wrenching account after account of kidnapping, torture, and rape (otherwise known as slavery), followed by a few years of hope in Emancipation and Reconstruction, and then, especially in the South, sliding back into the vigilante justice of Jim Crow. Right after the Civil War, we learned, Alabama had numerous black state legislators. This number dwindled to zero when federal oversight of the South and Reconstruction ended.
So the boycott victory came on the heels of years of heartbreak and violence. To hear King rouse Montgomery residents to participation in an action that added to their hardship, but ultimately added more to their dignity, to see the excitement on peoples’ faces, the fervor of engagement in a righteous cause, was magnificent. I found myself musing about the need for someone with the energy of a King today, a raised voice against economic injustice, mass incarceration, violence against the poor, people of color and other marginalized groups. To lift up a positive vision of where we are all going as human beings, together.
It was a powerful day, topped by several interesting encounters. Checking in to our downtown budget hotel, a seemingly well-meaning white man came up to us and said, “You don’t want to stay in this hotel. This is a bad part of town.” What did he mean? Was it that poor families were staying here? That it was mostly a black area? It’s hard to know. That same morning I received an email from a pen pal, someone not quite on the same page as I when it comes to race relations. He wrote that he thought focusing too much on issues of race was counterproductive. Things were better now. Why didn’t we all just move ahead?
True, progress has been made in civil rights. And it’s good to see the positives. But to say that we should forget the past and only focus on the future overlooks the very real ongoing struggle, in areas of imprisonment, housing, policing, jobs. I agree we should be forward-thinking and bring optimism to our social visions. But isn’t it also important to remember the past and recognize dynamics that still need attention? This essentially was the message of the EJI Museum.
Anyway, the next day at the Rosa Parks museum, a white man from Texas, someone who might come across as a ‘good old boy,’ fell into conversation with us. We were unsure what to expect, but then he began vigorously promoting the need for reparations for African-Americans, for the sin of slavery committed against them.
Sometimes the South surprises you.