This was our Journey for Civil and Voting Rights in 2020 America. The travel from Selma to Montgomery was a rollercoaster of emotions. In my mind, I was living every moment like it was 1965. I cried. I reflected. I couldn’t speak. I remained silent. I tried to put myself in the shoes of those who made the sacrificial journey so we can live better together as one nation under God indivisible with liberty and justice for all.
Their journey began assembling in the Brown Chapel AME Church and so was mine. The church is surrounded by public housing erected prior to the march. That poor black neighborhood served as the epicenter of this movement. I guess they didn’t know then and my experience tells me that don’t realize now how their living rooms and kitchens served as the temples of justice and equality. Similar to the big mansions we now have as museums of the signers of the Declaration, these humble homes served as the destiny manifesto for a cause much greater than themselves and much greater than our nation.
Brown Chapel African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church, the first AME church in Alabama, was the site of preparations for the march to Montgomery on March 7, 1965, a day that became known as Bloody Sunday. The church also served as a refuge for injured marchers. Declared a National Historic Landmark in 1997, the church is still in use today.
From the church, we walked the Martin Luther King, Jr. Street and interviewed some neighbors. I asked questions and even met the nephew of one of the unsung heroes of the march who took me to the steps where King stood up many times while in Selma. The decaying Selma is a reminder of how our nation has turned its back to the history of brown and black people.
I crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge with tears hidden behind my sunglasses. A young John Lewis crossed this bridge with King demanding equal voting rights. Today, he is a civil rights icon who serves in the United States Congress. He is one of my lifelong heroes. I joined the local call with some Selma residents to change this bridge from racist Edmund Pettus who was a member of the KKK and be renamed the Honorable John Lewis Bridge.
Adriana and I were the only ones crossing the bridge. It felt like a Via Crucis. After crossing the bridge from Selma to Montgomery to the right is a humble building: the National Voting Rights Museum and Institute II. To see that the archives of a monumentally historic moment in the history of our country was in a building deteriorated by the lack of government and private support brought me a great deal of sadness and disappointment. I want that history and that place to be protected as another temple of democracy.
The southern black charm reminded us so much of Puerto Rico. First, the locals one by one came to us with stories. Then, a lady couldn’t stop offering any assistance and taking our official Selma picture together. When I told them we were from Puerto Rico, something incredible happened. Suddenly, we were brothers and sisters in the struggle. My empathy was embraced by their friendship.
The 54 miles journey was subliminal. We stopped just like they did at the different campsites where they would stop to rest, eat, pray, and spend the night. But, because they were black, they also stopped for protection. The march lasted five days until they reached Montgomery, the capital of the state and government center. The 54 miles from Selma to Montgomery served us greatly and mutilated even more my spirit as we discovered the painful experience giving us a growing appreciation for the men and women who gave it all for our democracy.
As we entered Montgomery, we looked like outsiders and they were suspicious by those who don’t belong there. In this case, two Puerto Ricans from Pennsylvania. The beautiful Capitol complex is such a defined contrast to Selma. To the right is the White House of the Confederate States of America – the nation that never existed which was defeated by the United States of America. To the front, few blocks down is the iconic statue of Rosa Parks – who refused to give up her seat 10 years prior to the Selma to Montgomery March and is best known for her pivotal role in the Montgomery bus boycott.
In the Capitol steps, I recited the 2020 demands for the Selma to Montgomery March. Among them, the eradication of segregation and poverty and the end to racism and discrimination. Calling on our nation’s leaders to pass a new voting rights act which provides for the protection of our sacred right defending that right against any enemy, foreign or domestic, and ensuring your zip code does not determine how easy or how difficult that right is exercised. Addressing human relations as the greatest threat to the Union. Writing a new Bill of Rights where the undeniable rights of brown and black people are guaranteed not a daily chance. Finally, recognizing on this soil that health care is a human right; education is a human right; housing is a human right; a living wage job is a human right; and, dignity, liberty, and equality must be enshrined in our American way of life. All aspects of our American way of life socially, educationally, politically, and economically.
The audience was one. The demands fundamental. The call universal.
Coming down the steps, I realized we concluded our very own Selma to Montgomery March. A dream vacation historic tour seems to many. For us, a necessary voyage to some of the darkest days in our nation where you were not judged by the content of your character but by the color of your skin. Hate was met with love. Racism was met with inclusion. We celebrated at the end of the steps in front of the Alabama Capitol in Montgomery the historic passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 a few months after the Selma to Montgomery March. I felt victorious for them then and for us now.
My fellow Americans, the work has not concluded. Today in our land many cities are like Selma, many elected officials are like Governor Wallace and many Capitol buildings are like the one in Alabama in 1965. I call on you to be today’s champions for social justice and equality recognizing that segregation still exist when realtors controlled where someone moves; slavery still exist when farmworkers are paid way below the minimum wage salaries; gentrification in our cities is the new segregation in our cities; law enforcement brutality is rampant with Bloody Sunday acts reported weekly; racism is the most dangerous pandemic in our society.
The struggles are not only ours, but they are also yours. Many of us still endured Selma to Montgomery marches on a daily basis – whether on a short trip to the market or in our jobs and places of worship.
History is calling on us. We must respond to the call.
By Norman Bristol Colón – Guayama, PR/ Lancaster, PA and Adriana Malpica – Orocovis, PR/Lancaster, PA)