JT's group, Montgomery to Selma - Justin

Our group has become very familiar with one another, no longer afraid to ask hard questions and to respond with hard answers in the hope of trying to understand the division caused by prejudice and misunderstanding in racial relations. So when I woke up this morning I felt -- and sensed in others -- a sort of routine feeling, as if the significance of what we were about to see had been dulled by the amount of incredible things we had seen in the past few days, as if we knew what to expect. But I think most of us found our expectations dashed to pieces by the end of the day.

We began by visiting the parsonage of Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, which was used by Dr. King and his family from 1954 to 1960, while he pastored the church. Much of the information was repeated, but to experience first hand the sound of Dr. King's voice in the kitchen where he had his epiphany was overwhelming. We discussed later the significance of how Dr. King was able to have the most conviction in his mission, even at a time when his faith and purpose were most challenged and he was feeling so hopeless. It was three days later that the bomb exploded on his front porch, leaving a crater which we saw when we first entered the parsonage. To be in his home made personal the story of Dr. King, because this was where Dr. King spent hours reading, writing speeches and holding meetings; but also where he played with his children, read the newspaper, and sat down to dinner with the family and lived life. From there we briefly visited the church that he pastored as well, still thriving in downtown Montgomery.

In Selma we went to the Voting Rights museum and heard in detail the story of the protest and march for black voters in Selma and other neighboring counties. To imagine 25000 people rounding off the march from Selma to Montgomery showed the strong sense of justice these people felt and the community that they shared.

From there we rode on the bus, we weren't sure where to, but we stopped somewhere in Selma. As we got off the bus we were told to line up and keep quiet, we were a little confused, but complied. We were then told to face the wall, with our hands on the wall, legs spread, as we were searched. In somewhat of a daze, we were herded into a small room as we were harassed, told to lower our heads and being called by that name which has been used for centuries to degrade and humiliate people because of the color of their skin. We stumbled from there into blackness, all of us scared and silent. Screams rang inside that small space as the women were forced from their children and crammed into dark, damp holds for the Middle passage to America. Later, we crawled out of the hold and were forced to choose which of us slaves should be slaughtered for the profit of the traders. I felt like dirt, humiliated and utterly powerless.

Finally, we crowded into a dark space, bunched up against each other, and listened to the sounds of a mother having her last child wrenched of her arms. Her sobs haunted all of us, her screams told of her total despair, the pain of indescribable loss.

The simulation ended, and we found that we were in the Selma Slavery and Civil War Museum. Totally silent, our wide eyes betrayed the terror we had experienced as a slave for only a half hour.

Words are just a means for describing our thoughts, so it was jarring that a single word could spit so much venom and thrust us all so low that we were at the whim of those using it. That one word could make us property, that it could take away what made us human and make us expendable objects for the exploitation of those who "owned" us. Yet today it is casually used as a term of endearment and camaraderie, as if 400 years of effectual rape could be forgotten, as if times change so suddenly that we can ignore 400 years of death, torture, and inhumanity--all summed up in a single word.

The gravity with which all of us approached race relations in discussion tonight showed how powerful the slavery experience was for all of us. The reality of our history, not just black history or white history, is stark and demands our attention and respect so that our empathy with the slavery of 2010 would stir us to demand justice for our fellow human beings.