I packed my bags, buckled my belt bag, and ran out of my Chicago apartment to catch my Uber. It was 3 a.m. on an April morning and I was driving to O’Hare International, the busiest airport in the country.
While on a plane en route to Montgomery, Alabama, I was thrilled to be working on my first major historical study for the US TODAY.
As my Twitter bio says, I’m Javonte Anderson. I’m just a boy from Gary, Indiana – a rough but caring place; A place where it takes grit, intelligence, discipline, manners and street smarts to recognize it.
It wasn’t until college that I piqued my intellectual curiosity through an African American history class. I spent 18 years of my life in elementary school and didn’t learn much about my people’s history. That put me in a world I didn’t know existed. I inhaled books, scientific articles, and anything else I could get my hands on. Ironically, it was my passion for African American history, coupled with my journalistic career that landed me TODAY here in the US, where I covered racism and history.
So, let’s get to Alabama.
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But first: race and justice news that we’re watching right now
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I don’t know why, but a few months ago while reading an article on George Floyd, a random name from history popped into my head – Jimmie Lee Jackson. Jackson was a 26-year-old black man whose death in 1965 by an Alabama State Trooper sparked a national movement and resulted in the passage of the Voting Rights Act.
The parallels between Floyd and Jackson were tragic and striking. Both were ordinary black men killed by the police. Both deaths resulted in seismic movements that led to major political changes. But there was a big difference.
George Floyd’s name and image were everywhere. Rightly. People knew of the injustice Floyd had suffered, but no one remembered Jackson.
Jimmie Lee deserved to have his story told.
I felt really determined as I made my way to Jimmie Lee’s hometown of Marion, Alabama. To get there, you had to drive from the Montgomery airport through one of the holiest places in civil rights history – Selma.
On the way to Selma, cramped in my compact rental car, the trip was about more than just work.
From a distance the famous Edmund Pettus Bridge, one of the most notorious sites of the civil rights struggle, beckoned. Clad in gleaming white paint, it curved over the Alabama River, in the middle of which was the name of a former Ku Klux Klansman.
The road leading to the bridge is bordered by memories not so subtle that you are entering sacred territory. There is a Bridge Crossing gift shop, Freedom Riders Adventure Park, and a towering yellow McDonald’s billboard that reads, “Welcome to Historic Selma.”
Shortly before reaching the bridge there is a Civil Rights Memorial Park on the right and a National Votings Rights Museum on the left.
Edmund Pettus BridgeJESSICA KOSCIELNIAK, USA TODAY
The tradition and pride of the civil rights movement run through Selma, a powerful force that shapes the city’s identity. Everything revolves around this nostalgia, from the museums to the amateur historian at the foot of the bridge, selling overpriced magazines and welcoming all tourists who want to share a snippet of the city’s history.
After a 12 hour day of travel, I should have checked into my hotel, rested, and prepared for the next few days of coverage, but my soul wouldn’t let me. As soon as I crossed the bridge, I stopped and jumped out of the car.
This was my moment. My chance to walk across the bridge, my chance to put my feet on the sidewalk. But I couldn’t just walk over it. I lingered. I took photos. I stopped on top of the bridge and looked out at the Alabama River.
Then I tilted my head toward the sky, where the clouds were fluffier, the sun shone brighter, the birds chirped louder and the stingy southern breeze blew free.
At that moment, I felt the spirit of my ancestors. I felt how everything was connected. How the sacrifice of my brave ancestors enabled me, a 29-year-old black man, to thrive and feel empowered in 2021.
My ancestors endured the hardships of slavery, and it took their blood, unpaid labor, patience, and life to free future generations from the shackles. Their descendants continued to carry the torch, were not satisfied with de jure freedom, were not satisfied with growing grain, were not satisfied with segregation. The hundreds of people who tried to march across the bridge on March 7, 1965, Bloody Sunday, would not be satisfied with unequal access to the voting booths.
There is a sign on a bench in the Civil Rights Memorial Park at the foot of the Edmund Pettus Bridge.Jessica Koscielniak, USA TODAY
After almost two hours on the bridge, I finally went and checked into my hotel. The next morning I woke up hungry to explore the region. I started with Selma. Murals of black heroes adorned the sides of the buildings, including the empty ones. I visited every monument, plaque and even a makeshift museum.
I was a kid in a candy store.
I had conversations with everyone: tourists, the gas station attendant, the restaurant staff, the hairdressers and the local florist. We talked about everything from her experience in a city full of such history to the chance to eat good southern soul food. I’m talking about ham, neckbones, fried okra, and cornbread – a meal my great-grandmother would have made proud.
I quickly understood that maybe no place was any more to the civil rights movement than Selma.
I called my editor that afternoon in excitement. Of course, we talked about my reporting goals for the next few days. Still, I was mostly annoyed by the rich landscape: two-story willow trees wrapped in silky Spanish moss, the granite civil rights monuments in front of churches, and the old-school architecture that resembled Selma a town that hadn’t changed since the 1960s.
Next I traveled to Marion, Alabama, about 30 miles west of Selma and the place where Jimmie Lee was shot. I learned that in order to tell the full story of Jimmie Lee and his forgotten legacy I had to tell the story of Marion, a small town whose contribution to the civil rights movement is undoubtedly overshadowed by Selma.
Selma has the bridge, the visitor center, a museum and a blockbuster film. It gets all the visitors.
I didn’t see any tourists in Marion. It’s a quiet city. All activity revolved around the courthouse with the white pillars and the post office across the street.
I spent the next few days reporting. Hustle and bustle.
I called my mom on my last day of the trip. I was excited to tell her about my experience. I wanted to talk about the civil rights movement, the bridge, and the history of this place that I had just scoured for three days.
“Hello mum!” I said when she answered the phone.
“Hey baby,” she replied. “What you are doing?”
“Oh, I’m in Selma, Alabama for a story I’m working on,” I said.
“Oooh, do you eat good food?” She asked.
Read the full research here.
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Reach Javonte Anderson at [email protected] and on Twitter: @JavonteA. This is America is a weekly breaking news shot from a rotating group of journalists from diverse backgrounds and viewpoints on the USA TODAY Network. If you see this newsletter online or if someone forwarded it to you, you can subscribe to it here. If you have any feedback for us, we’d love you to drop it here.
Published 2:44 p.m. UTC May. 20, 2021
Updated at 2:32 p.m. UTC May. 20, 2021
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