(And only 50 years late!)
Yesterday Big Man and I attended a special rally at the Ashé Cultural Center on Oretha Castle Haley Blvd. to mark the 50th anniversary of the Freedom Rides in the Spring of 1961 -- which ended, of course (as the older among you already knew and the younger among you were taught in last night's excellent documentary on PBS), with the Freedom Riders being badly beaten, almost killed and jailed. Only a few ever made it to New Orleans in 1961, and then by plane. (And even so, only after Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy's aide, John Seigenthaler, himself injured in the melee in Jackson, intervened and directly called the airline.)
A large crowd was gathered on this gorgeous sunny and cool day, mostly black but quite a few whites like us (no question that there should have been more, though). Some vendors had set up under the canopy of the Ashé Center's awning, and Big Man and I bought a copy of the book on Congo Square that we had looked at while at Jazz Fest. We were glad we had waited, because we got to have the book signed and dedicated by the author. I told her the story of Bog Man's emotional reaction to Congo Square on his first visit to New Orleans back in 2004, exclaiming, "And he's not even from here!" and she graciously invited him to the drumming circle on Sunday afternoons at 3 pm. (Drumming at Congo Square on Sunday afternoons? You bet we'll be there!)
I also purchased an Ashé handkerchief, correctly surmising that I might need one. I had been feeling teary and tender all day about the anniversary and the event, remembering what I had seen on the TV news back then (when I was about 8 years old) and the conversations I had had with my parents at that time (my parents were local white civil rights activists back in the day), talking about it with Big Man (who, younger than I, remembered none of it), and thinking about the PBS tagline to promote the documentary, "Could you get on the bus?"
Could YOU get on the bus, knowing what those young people knew at the time? That it meant jeopardizing one's chances for graduation from college, the threat of danger, having a police record, possibly being physically hurt, maybe even losing your life? (John Seigenthaler quoted a young and beautiful Diane Nash saying to him on the phone, "Last night we all signed our last will and testaments -- we know what we are up against" and him being struck speechless.) Would you have risked everything to establish the right to travel between states on a bus or train, and to sit and wait or sit and eat in the station? Could you have had the courage to do it all nonviolently, no matter what was said to you, no matter what was done to you? Would you have had the courage to get on the bus?
The crowd was filled with a sense of happy anticipation. A crate of lovely pure white doves was waiting to be released at the right moment, and several people carried signs to welcome the long-delayed Freedom Riders. There were cameras and microphones from various media outlets -- although none seemingly from local news. We saw a representative from the mayor's office who was holding a framed proclamation to give the riders, but we were disappointed the Mayor himself did not attend. Many people had brought small children to witness this historic event.
The crowd roared its approval as the bus, "wrapped" in a graphic that transformed this modern-day conveyance into an old-fashioned Greyhound bus, pulled up in front of the Ashé Center. A young band from Behrman School across the river struck up some tunes, and we all applauded wildly. The elderly Freedom Riders gingerly disembarked into the bright sunshine, blinking in the glare, waving gamely. They were followed by students wearing the bright yellow Freedom Rider T-shirts from WGBH Boston. There was a short little procession down the street, the band in front, the Freedom Riders walking slowly with canes or walkers or holding onto the arms of younger folks, the rest of us falling in behind them, everyone cheering and clapping. My heart just swelled up -- they made it! They finally made it! I really used that handkerchief, believe you me!
There were speeches (not very audible with the terrible sound system being used) and prayers and hymns sung, and the white doves were released, one by one, flying up and over the street and into the setting sun to home. The Freedom Riders were gamely signing autographs onto T-shirts and posters and copies of the Freedom Riders book being sold. They posed for photos by themselves and with others. (I got my picture taken with Ms. Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, whose moving story of her experiences can be found at http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/freedomriders/people/joan-trumpauer-mulholland) "Thank you, thank you!" I said to her, my hands covering hers. All around me in the crowd, I could hear the same thing being said over and over, "Thank you, thank you so much, thank you for what you did."
And all I could think was, it took 50 years, but they made it to their stated destination. All of us involved in social justice work should be inspired, and learn from this. The things you do, the choices you make, all make a difference. Just not right away.
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