Melissa Williams

" As we began our trek to the Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery, Alabama, I realized that I had no idea what the mission or goals of the center are. When we finally got there, we saw a beautiful fountain depicting the Civil Rights events and people involved. A security officer met us, and escorted everyone across the street to the actual building. He explained that the Center attempts to fight racist groups and hate groups across the United States. He also told us that we would be going through strict security due to the nature of their interactions. It was worse than the airport! Cell phones had to be turned off and on and we had to go thru the detectors…

Once inside, we learned that two men, both lawyers, played a large role in the founding of The Southern Poverty Law Center. After the much of civil rights legislation was written, the founders felt that many of the laws were not being enforced in the South, thus, they decided to open this center in order to continue to fight for the rights of various minority groups and individuals. This information truly surprised me, as I had no idea that such large numbers of hate groups existed.

I cannot believe that hate crimes are still so common, even in the year 2003. Obviously there is still racism in certain areas, but we learned that at least one hate crime is committed and reported every day on college campuses across the United States. This little fact makes me sick to my stomach. This entire week we’ve been hearing people—real live people who lived thru traumatic times—discuss how they spent their lives fighting for their people and struggling for their rights. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but think of last year at Wake, when graffiti aimed at homosexuals appeared on campus. No one is immune from this hate—we can’t even hide in the little bubble of Wake Forest. This group at the SPLC works to expose the various hate groups to the public, in order that people can be made aware of them and their dangerous existence. I’m anxious to look on their website and learn more about the groups that still exist as well as their whereabouts. I know that the number of gangs is very high in Charlotte, but I’m very curious to see which hate groups are located there.

Once we left Montgomery, we headed to Selma. WHAT an experience. We pulled up at the bridge, where the people marched for their rights, traveling from Selma to Montgomery. Everyone on the bus hopped off and we all walked across it. Though I tried to imagine Bloody Sunday that took place some forty years earlier, the events of the1950s and 1960s still just seem unreal. What is so incredible, however, is that we are still able to interact with the people who played a live role in these dreadful events. It was these brave people that fought for things we just take for granted today.
As we crossed the bridge into Selma, I felt as though I’d stepped back in time. The buildings were run down and old—there was a one-hour cleaners, a library, and a few “museums” consisting of single rooms with a few random pictures and artifacts. In addition, the roads were two-way streets, the parking spaces were slanted, and the majority of the cars were definitely not 2003 models.
When our tour guide got on the bus with us, I could tell that it was going to be an interesting experience. Joanne was quite outspoken about everything—from where we were going to lunch to the fact that her seat was wet on the bus. At the same time however, I’m glad that she was with us, because she knew grew up in the projects of Selma, and seemed to know the town like the back of her hand. We had a very interesting tour of the “hood” where she had grown up. She made it very clear that to this day the area consists of the same people and/or their children. Thus, the town is still as segregated as it was during the 1960s—nothing has changed…not the physical aspects nor the demographics. The number of complexes in this area was incredible. Apparently, this is one of eight different project areas in Selma, which seems crazy to me for such a tiny town. Being in this area made me so sad—this area was stuck in time as well. There were children playing with rusted grocery carts on the lawn and others shooting hoops. None of the children were being supervised, which also bothered me. Almost every building had wet clothes hanging on a clothes line outside, which made me wonder what they had inside as far as appliances and electronics.

Right in the middle of these projects is the actual cement that the first marchers convened on. Joanne was very emotional about this, as she and her sister had participated in the marches on Bloody Sunday. By the time we arrived back at the Voting Rights Museum, our tour was over. The museum, itself, was another very interesting experience. It was very cool be able to put together all that we’d heard about Selma and the marches. Both this museum as well as the slavery museum left everyone in our group very silent. The exhibit that most bothered me was that which depicted the Ku Klux Klan. After hearing all of the stories we’ve been exposed to, just seeing the white robes made me sick to my stomach. The mission that was in the pamphlet among their “artifacts” states that they work for the betterment of society, and do God’s will. Somehow their idea of “bettering society” and mine are different. How can killing innocent people do anyone any good?"

Lisa Mann

"Emotions are hard. Today I saw a young man cry, but I saw it through blurry eyes. The pictures were too much for us. The bodies of the young men hanging from the trees will be forever burned into my memory. I can’t describe it. We all stood in a dark room, in a house on a street that was prominent in the slave trade and watched a video with a montage of pictures of the atrocities committed to the Africans who were forced to come to America—and who are still not treated as full citizens. The worst part is that “my people” committed these atrocities, and they claimed to do it for the preservation of people like me. It’s more than I can handle. I wondered if I had been alive during slavery which side I would have been on. Not automatically knowing is perhaps the hardest part. This is why I cried, because I believe that I am a good person, but I don’t know which side I would have been on. I know which side I would have hoped to be on. But white families took their children to lynchings—in the twenty years after 1889 there were over three thousand lynchings in the south. How could they do this? I truly believe that people are not bad. They’re not bad at heart. But how can I explain slavery? How can I explain white supremacists? How can I explain hate crimes? I can’t explain them at all. Then I look back, and death has been such a huge part of human culture. Even back to the very beginning we’ve all been fascinated by violence and death. Am I a freak that I don’t understand it? I don’t think so. Because then all of my friends and family and everyone I know for the most part are also freaks. Sorry, I’m rambling. I’ll move on, because I’m pretty sure this train of thought will only make me cry. Needless to say that Selma, Alabama was perhaps the most moving part of the trip for me thus far. Today we are spending our first night in Mississippi. It’s hot.

I noticed that yesterday when I was walking around Alabama I started to wonder how many of the white people I was looking at were harboring ill will toward blacks. I don’t like being suspicious of the people around me. I had never worried about that before; I always assumed that a person wasn’t racist until I actually heard the words come out of their mouth. I don’t want to lose that assumption. I actually haven’t met any racists yet. But I’ve met blacks who were part of “Bloody Sunday” and others who have seen racism first-hand. This makes it so much more real to me. I’d rather it not be real and be like the few idiots at my high school that I could just write off as dumbasses (pardon my French).

Time to compliment my tour guides!: The build-up to today was perfect. They have been easing us in, and slowly building things up—getting us ready for Mississippi. We were watching Mississippi Burning on the bus on the way into Mississippi—and frankly, I’m not sure any other movie would have made me feel more terrified of Mississippi. Also, today was the first time we saw a KKK robe in person. I am afraid that we will see more in Mississippi (it’s hard to type “Mississippi” a lot because you only use about three fingers!). Well, I guess I’ll know more about Mississippi and I will update on that tomorrow."

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