It Was Inevitable...

I've been waiting for it to happen. The moment on the trip that strikes a nerve and my emotions completely takeover. When I start crying and can't stop.

When I heard others tell me about their experiences on the trip, I was certain I would start bawling on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel and at the window that people suspect the shot was fired that killed MLK Jr.

But, I didn't.

Then I thought I was going to cry at the grocery store that Emmett Till supposedly flirted with a white woman inside.

I didn't cry there either.

After not crying at these monumental landmarks that made me feel really straightforward emotions, I began to think that the trip wasn't having the impact on my life like the others before me. I started to believe that I didn't deserve to go on this trip and that it was wasted on me, I began to think there were other people who would appreciate it much more.

I'm not trying to insinuate that I didn't appreciate these places. I'll never forget them and the information I have accumulated has really made me think critically and has left me in wonder. But, I was just waiting for that moment. The moment that struck a nerve, you know?

When I stood on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel I felt empty and disappointed that the motel isn't being used for anything other than a spot to stand on and look into a window. Then, at the window across the street where people believe the bullet was shot that killed Dr. King, I didn't feel anything. I was sad at the event that took place, but it only felt like a tourist attraction. Someplace for people to say they saw the poorly replicated window and a bathroom that is also poorly replicated in comparison to the pictures that were taken from the crime scene (although, that's probably just my OCD being picky and annoying). Oh, and let me not forget the floor to ceiling plexiglas with writing on it that kept you away from the replicated bathroom.

Then as we researched Emmett Till on the bus before we reached the landmark, a lot of people felt anger. I believe that was because Till was so young and innocent. What's wrong with flirting? Do we really believe that he flirted with the white women (who was also the wife of the man that owned the store)? Or was that just a lie so that the store owner/husband and another man had an excuse to kill Till?

I think everyone asked those questions and were angered (you'll notice this in previous posts), even though I was upset - I didn't have the severity of the anger that others on the trip did.

I had a lot of admiration. Admiration for Till's uncle who was brave enough to get in front of a white jury and accuse two white men of kidnapping his nephew and torturing him so much that when his body was pulled from the Tallahatchie River, Till's face was beyond recognition. Till's uncle did this knowing the dangerous repercussions of testifying in court.

I also have the utmost respect for Till's mother who was strong enough to have an open casket viewing for her son and allowed thousands of people come and see his face on display. I can only hope to be that strong one day.

So, when we arrived at the grocery store where Emmett Till was accused of flirting with a white woman, I was surprised. The bus had pulled over and I'm looking around wondering why we pulled to the side of a country road with nothing but farmland surrounding us. I was then told that we were at the grocery store. What does it look like? Your everyday, run-of-the-mill, dilapidated structure that used to be a building. It had no roof, a lot of walls that were falling down and nature was growing around and into this structure. The only thing that made you realize that this was an important part of a history was a double-sided plaque that gave a brief description. I only felt disgust because in ten years, I know, the structure won't be standing any longer.

I'm surprised I didn't cry. I thought it wasn't going to happen on the trip now (which is surprising because I, "cry at the drop of a hat" as my me-mom told me).

Then, yesterday we went to the Southern Poverty Law Center. And everything suddenly hit me. I realized how many people we didn't know about that had been killed, and are continued to be killed, in hate crimes. How many voices had been lost and the suffering of the families.

I realized that it was time for me to step up and fight for what's right. I did not hesitate to sign the Wall of Tolerance knowing that I can't let injustice pass in society. Our tour guide said a quote by Elie Wiesel, "We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim." It made sense to me instantly and I knew that I didn't want to have any part in helping the oppressor any longer.

After that I stayed to myself for a little while because I knew if I talked, I would have cried from the overwhelming rush of emotions coursing through my veins. It was inevitable.

Of course, as I'm trying to hold back the floodgates my me-mom calls to see how the trip is going as we're about to walk towards the Rosa Parks Museum and Library.

I rush her off the phone before she hears me crying and I set off with the group, staying in the back so they wouldn't see me crying. Of course my friend, Kevon, sees me with tears streaming down my face and stays by side.

Later that night we had dinner with Civil Rights activists: Cleopatra Goree, Dr. Catherine Burks-Brooks, and Barbara Mines. The three women talked about their involvement in the movement after we ate dinner.

I was fine all throughout dinner until we all stood up in a giant oval and held hands, right over left, and started singing, "We Shall Overcome."

Three verses:

"We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
We shall overcome someday,
Oh deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome someday!

We are not afraid, we are not afraid,
We are not afraid today,
Oh deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome someday!

Black and white together, black and white together,
Black and white together today,
Oh deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome today!"

The third verse hit me as we were singing the last couple of lines. As I looked around the room I saw over forty smiling people, holding hands, swaying side to side. I felt the difference that was made with the help of the activists in the room. At that moment in time, black and white were together. I was in between two black people, holding their hands, and singing. I couldn't help but cry because at that moment in time, we represented overcoming the obstacles that others faced before us and fought for so many years.

-Sabrina L. Donnick, 17, City Neighbors High School, Class of 2014