The street that led up to the state’s capital building that capstoned the March from Selma originated from the town square that was the site of Montgomery’s trade of enslaved persons and where Mrs. Rosa Parks stood up for justice and equality by sitting down.  As I stood in the deserted space across from Dexter Avenue King Baptist Church which is nestled between numerous government buildings (the capital, SPLC, safety building, courts, etc.), the occupied police car did not move.

As I contemplate what message my “afro-d” presence might have sent then, memories flood my mind of averted and astonished glances along this journey that have made for solid reflection conversations and noticeable discomfort.  I find it appropriate that we are lodging at a casino/hotel for the next few days where I’ve seen a young girl emerge from a pool to wrap herself in the “stars and bars” of the Confederacy, giving voice to the awkward looks and attempts at discrete conversations that happen as people move to the slot machines.

Perhaps the whole of our group’s presence here in the American South is a gamble…