RACE
Everyone Must Visit Alabama’s The Legacy Museum
Because being uncomfortable is part of doing the work
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History, despite its wrenching pain cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.
— Maya Angelou
A year & a half ago, I decided to visit Alabama for the first time. It was something on my mind ever since moving to the south six months prior.
Growing up in New York City, I was mostly surrounded by beautiful Black and Brown folks. Being from that metropolis where over 100 languages are spoken, and you find people of multitude shades of melanin, I was used to the rich mix. Leaving that to live in Charlotte, North Carolina would be somewhat of a cultural shock.
This is not to claim that racism does not exist up north, rather it’s simply to put in context the contrast I’d encounter. And a big part of that was being geographically closer to Alabama, a place with strong racial divisions, the backdrop of unspeakable crimes. So, wanting to behave in a socially responsible way, I chose to spend my 2020 birthday weekend paying respect to all those lives horrifically taken.
I needed to bear witness.
More Than a Museum
After spending two days in Birmingham visiting the city, and spending time at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, I drove nearly two hours south to Montgomery. It is here where I would experience something that no textbook and no protest march could prepare me for.
Equal Justice Initiative was founded in 1989 by Bryan Stevenson, a widely acclaimed public interest lawyer and bestselling author of Just Mercy, to represent persons from marginalized communities who’ve directly suffered from unfair sentences, an abusive prison system, and/or been illegally convicted.
EJI’s work surrounds four pillars:
- Criminal Justice Reform
- Racial Justice
- Public Education
- Memorial and Museum
Their space is comprised of two separate areas: The Legacy Museum, and The National Memorial for Peace and Justice.
The former is an “indoor narrative museum with audio, exhibits, art, videos, and comprehensive content about the legacy of enslavement through contemporary issues of mass incarceration.”
The latter (The Memorial) is laid out on six acres, allowing visitors to experience truth-telling and reflection about racial terror in America and its legacy. It is a sacred space using monuments, sculptures, and art to contextualize racial terror.
They Were Babies
Leaving the introductory section of The Legacy Museum, walking down a darkened pathway, I heard a beautiful voice: that of a woman singing in what sounded like an opera soprano.
Here, the holograms await visitors. There are about six. Each is set up inside of what represents a prison cell. As you approach the bars, a hologram appears….each sharing their story. A man about 30ish begins to sing in a voice so sultry and beautiful it makes me want to believe his story has just as beautiful an ending. I stop at each one and listen.
A woman shares her fears, another whose voice is so soft I am unable to decipher her words. Still, I listen and do not take my eyes off of her until the hologram disappears.
Towards the far end of this section, I approach a cell, and bringing my face up to the bars I wait for the hologram to appear. Soon, a little girl, appearing no more than 4 or 5 years old quietly stands beside her older brother who seemed to be about 8 years old.
Wearing a delicate ivory-colored dress, she clings to her brother’s hand. I stood there motionless, looking into those beautiful babies’ faces and then I think perhaps they will not speak. I do not move…a few seconds later:
Have you seen our mother?
I let out an audible sob, and stepping back, shaking my head, I heard myself softly reply, I’m so sorry. No, I haven’t seen her.
Nearly four hours later, emotionally exhausted and spiritually spent, I walked out of that space. I headed to the Peace Memorial where I would experience more heartache at the sight of the towering monuments, and the countless names etched thereon.
Everyone Has Responsibility
Thinking back to my school years, it is painfully clear how much had been intentionally omitted. I returned to my apartment in Charlotte with a heavy heart. I felt broken and helpless. I almost despaired.
But I know there is hope. I also understand that making time to take a deeper look at the disease of racism requires more than reading a few books, visiting a couple of museums, and writing a post about it.
Saying I’ve done my part, is the easy way out. There’s much more work to be done. And it’s not something to be shouldered solely by Black folks. It’s not a “Black problem.”
For my part, I continue to support my people through their businesses and to speak up whenever I hear ignorant remarks based on racist theories. I continue to educate myself by reading and asking questions. Most importantly, I remain open to dialogue. And I do not assume that as an Afro-Boricua (with both African roots and colonizer Spaniard heritage), I have zero responsibility.
We all factor in the equation to eradicate racism. It takes more than love, it requires facing difficult truths and a willingness to be more than a little uncomfortable.
The original idea for this story appeared on my travel blog:
