I set out at about 7:30AM and met up with a few students from the School of Social Work to walk over to where the masses had begun to gather. During the early part of the day, I spent most of the time in conversation with a faculty member from our program talking about her experiences as a young girl when the first March took place and her childhood recollections about desegregation and the assassination of Dr. King.
Later, while walking along the march route, I was present to the intergenerational crowds of people. Many adorned color coordinated shirts to identify their churches, unions, sororities and fraternities; others carried banners and flyers, and sometimes broke out into old school hymns, chants, and call and response. At one point I was grooving with a marching band that motivated the crowd. I took it all in; I smiled and shared greetings with strangers and made small talk with those who I knew from HU, however, most of the seven hours that I was out there I spent inside my own thoughts. There was an incessant inner dialogue that pretty much involved me interviewing myself about what it truly meant for me to be there?
As a DMV resident of the last four years, distance has no longer been able to serve as an excuse for not attending some of the historic events that typically take place in these quarters; months ago when I heard of the march and commemoration, I knew that only sickness or an emergency would keep me from it. The initial commitment to being here was about being present among the crowds during this historic moment. While this was clear to me, there was still some cause for processing it all. I needed more from myself.
The issues that made this day significant in the first place are still prominent; there are reminders everyday across the nation about the work that is needed. In the past, it was clear that marching sent a message of unity and accountability; of not standing idly by. I can't say that I felt that being present to march in 2013 really had the same significance. Being present was more of a posture of homage and solidarity. Maybe even some of it was an opportunity to avoid the guilt that would have surfaced had I not shown up and watched only from the comfort of my living room (#realtalk).
When I got home, I called my mom to have a safe space to share and figure out my thoughts, confusion, and feelings. At the culmination of this conversation, what I came up with was an assignment to revisit footage from the original March; to learn as much as possible about what the energy and spirit was like back then in order to help give a better frame of reference to what I experienced today.
I also grew affirmed in my perspective that my contribution and legacy will be actualized through how I live, doing the work that I believe I am called to do. For me, this entails focusing on this idea of supporting healing, so that justice and freedom might be experienced for individuals and then shared within and across communities and generations. That is what rings true for me (at least for right now) in terms of figuring out who I am in the midst of this evolving history.
Ultimately, what I have concluded is that I have some posters, pictures, and videos to share with my nieces, nephews, godchildren, siblings, and family. I have a story to tell of the day that I marched and participated, and I have a vision for how my everyday can be an opportunity to elongate the marching strides of unwavering love that were activated 50 years ago, and centuries before that.
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