Work in Progress - Freedom Rides

“Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around; turn me around; turn me around. Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around. I’m gonna keep on a-walking, keep on a-talking, march into the freedom land.”

My father taught the students at the Black and Proud School the words to this song that was sung by many during marches, boycotts, and gatherings in the honor of pressing forward. This song (as well as others) has been embedded in my spirit for as long as I can remember. This week, as we – Mississippians- celebrate the steadfast dedication of the Freedom Riders; I sing this song in their honor for their dedication to our freedom.

Returning to Mississippi, I'm sure many of the Riders found it a relief to see that so much has changed.  It certainly has.  Yet, it must not go unnoted that we still have a long way to go. There is a deep evil drenched in the soft clay dirt that covers Mississippi land. An evil that directs its attention to ignorance and lends a blind eye to the emotional pain that still lingers among those affected by the inequality Mississippi so proudly claimed that lead to the Civil Rights Movement.

One can easily see improvement. Sure. Black people are afforded every opportunity as whites in this state now, right? We can vote. We can ride in the front of the bus. We can drink from the same water fountain; sit in the same restaurants; run for public office; we can even speak our minds without being hang or beaten. However, there is a level of left-over bitterness that lingers in the Mississippi air that comes to threaten our reconciliation. 

We are told to forget, move on, and get over it.

We are expected to act like we are not hurt as a people.

We are supposed to erase the pain of our mistreatment because we never picked cotton. We never got beat. We aren’t the ones who had to march, boycott, or ride those buses in protest. We should not feel this pain, this hurt, this disappointment, and this brutality.

But yet we do.

The fact that we do and we are expected not to is a big problem. The fact that we are willing to release the pain in an effort to “get along”, but we are not heard or understood, problem. The fact that we are constantly told that we are “pulling the race card” each time we try to expose to the ignorant that their actions/words are indicative of one who supports racism or racist actions equal – problem.

Without the Freedom Riders and the fathers and mothers who gave their lives so that we didn’t have to live in a society such as the one that birthed them, we’d STILL be there. Without them standing up and screaming out to the wrongful actions of white Mississippi, we would STILL be there. So, I have to wonder, what then will it take for us – today – to stand together and scream out to the underlining racism that is STILL here. The racism that shows up on blog sites anonymously. The racism that hides deep within non-blacks that pretend they don’t see color. Or the ones who can’t love who they are because they are ashamed and therefore act as if they are the savior for the black race. That does not help us. It only points back to racism because those individuals think they are smarter, better, superior to us and thus creating the same inequality that they so despise.

We are a work in progress, but we are progressing.

I’ve said it many times before, we will continue to walk in circles, if we do not make an opportunity to heal from the pain that is ours passed down from generation to generation. I didn’t have to pick cotton to be enslaved; and white people didn’t have to own slaves to live like masters. Just as we can acknowledge white privilege, we must acknowledge black pain. Neither of the two has disappeared. They still exist and they still block the togetherness of these two races. 

Fifty years ago the Freedom Riders made the conscious decision to put their lives on the line for justice and equality. This week we embrace them for their efforts and honor their actions. The best way, in my opinion, to honor their actions and celebrate their lives is to stand steadfast for righteousness just as they did. Our fight today may not be in the streets with picket signs, or staging boycotts. Our fight could simply be opening our hearts and our minds to acknowledging that even though racism isn’t as blatant as it’s been in the past, it most certainly still lives among us. 

If only we owned the same tenacity and drive today as our brave parents and grandparents before us - we too might be able to call ourselves Freedom Riders.