60 Years Later...

About 60 years ago, the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950 and 1960s was in full swing. Giants like Martin Luther King Jr., John Lewis, Angela Davis, and so many others were leading the country through protest and civil disobedience trying to make an absolutely necessary change to help end systemic racism. They gave speeches talking about reaching their dreams and the mountaintops. They crossed bridges hand in hand awaiting their inevitable arrests, with police officers waiting for them with their dogs, hoses, and guns. They rode buses KKK members waited to burn. They spoke out against Governors and American politics and policies. They boycotted. They protested. They used their First Amendment right of Freedom of Assembly, Petition, and Speech to try and change the future for all.

Yet, here we are 60 years later. I am currently a 21-year-old college student at Elon University in North Carolina. Even more specifically, I am a Leadership Fellow here where my program has studied in depth the civil rights movement through our mandatory courses over the last four years.

Over my January Semester in my sophomore year, the Elon leadership fellows took a course, Disarming Injustice, in which we traveled to both Georgia and Alabama visiting major landmark locations of the civil rights movement. We also visited museums dedicated to the history and education of civil rights. We walked the bridge in Selma, Alabama with a woman who herself first did the walk 60 years prior. We met Martin Luther King Jr's sister while attending the church where he once was a pastor. Some of us ran into John Lewis in a mall in Georgia and told him of our travels. We toured the statehouse in Alabama and met elected officials and walked the same hallways as George Wallace.

We visited The Legacy Museum where we paid our respects to those who had been lynched because of their race. We worked with the Innocence Project and learned more about the wrongfully convicted. We toured countless museums and saw unseen photos from the assassination of MLK. We cried. We discussed. We saw the past. We talked about the future. We became inspired, hoping to continue to make a change.

The following year, I took a course pursuing my studies in a sociology class explicitly dedicated to the protests of the 1960s, especially those of the civil rights movement. We studied the methods of how the activists practiced civil disobedience, their mindset, their motive, their outcomes, and how we can apply those to protesting today. And that's exactly what I hoped to do last week when my friends and I attended a “March to the Polls” protest in Elon’s County seat in Graham, North Carolina. On October 31, 2020, just three days before the 2020 Presidential Election, my friends and I set out to exercise our rights of freedom of expression and assembly under the First Amendment. We began our march walking into downtown Graham, past crepe shops, and vintage stores en route to Alamance County's Historic Court House.

As we marched we chanted the names of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd, whose family was in attendance, and the many others who were victims of racial injustice. We were a united force walking peacefully, overwhelmed with emotion and feelings, hoping for change, and surrounded by those who felt the same.

Once we arrived at the Court House, we stopped right in front of a Confederate monument that sits in the middle of the town square. Leaders of the march began to speak, and we all together knelt in silence for 8 minutes and 46 seconds in honor of George Floyd’s memory. I looked around and saw people crying, holding each other, laying completely on the floor, praying, thinking, and taking it all in. We sat together, in peace, until it was time to get up and continue our march. As we stood and began to disburse to the sidewalks, chaos quickly erupted.

Gas was sprayed onto the streets by the police --and soon my friends and I along with the rest of the crowd was running. We had been gassed for no reason, with no explanation and no notice. Just sprayed. I couldn't stop coughing, my throat felt like I wasn't getting air into it. An older woman came up to my friends, crying asking for water and medical help. We helped her until a better-trained professional arrived while little children in their Halloween costumes were crying from the spray.

But the crowd persevered. We stayed there. And things just got worse. The protest remained peaceful by the attendees as we stayed on the sidewalk as we were told to by the officers. We listened to the speakers, we heard from elected officials, we stood in solidarity, we prayed, and we asked to be heard. Our peaceful protest was met with Sheriff officers standing like a wall in front of us with rifles and guns in their hands ready and waiting.

Soon, things again turned violent. Children, journalists, and members of the community were arrested. Protest leaders were pepper-sprayed and gassed. Children were thrown to the ground. The handicapped were attacked, pepper-sprayed and so much more. Officers put on face masks before continually spraying the crowd and community with gas again. All of these actions were taking place, unprovoked, while peace was being preached.

Things at the march continued to escalate while my friends and I were told by officers we have to leave. It was 1 pm, and the protest was supposed to last until 2 pm. The marches never made it to the polls.

On the car ride home, my friends and I were all processing and reacting differently. Some of us sat silently, taking in what we had just experienced. Some were crying over the injustices. And, some were talking about their feelings and trying to understand. As for me, I sat there, shocked, horrified, and trying to comprehend what just happened.

I am a white 21-year-old blonde, blue-eyed middle-class white girl from New Jersey. I attend a private university. I have rarely ever been afraid for my safety, but that day, I was terrified.

I sat there and I thought, this is it. This sums it all up. I was afraid today of the people whose jobs are to protect me. For the first time, I saw a small glimpse into what it can be like to be a person of color. Most people like me, don't ever feel this fear, and even so, I know what I felt does not have any comparison.

George Floyd lived with this fear every second of every minute of his life; As did Breonna Taylor; As did Trevon Martin. But, they shared those fears with those giants of the civil rights movement; John Lewis. Angela Davis. Martin Luther King, Jr. They felt that fear, every, second, of their lives and not just for one hour.

My heart broke that day. My heart broke at the fact everything I had learned over the past 4 years and saw no longer felt like history, but my present. My heart broke for those giants that fought so hard for equality to see this regression. My heart broke for George Floyd's family. My heart broke for all of the victims and the many mothers that have to worry about losing their children because of their skin color. My heart also broke for those who refuse to acknowledge that injustice happens in our current society and still refuse to open their minds to make a change. Finally, my heart broke because I was naive, thinking that things had progressed in the fight for equality. My heart broke over the state of the country, our divide, and what drives it. My heart just broke.

As I move forward from that day, I just want to urge everyone to try and be conscious and educated about the disparities in our society. Seek it out if you don’t know it. There is still so much progress to be made to create the future those giants paved the path to. Be the change you want need to see in the world.

We have to do better. We shall overcome.

Attached is the link to my Twitter thread showing all the footage I took during the protest. All videos are my own. - https://twitter.com/alexcovello/status/1322590359902429185

This was also published in the Elon University Newspaper.