This morning I drank from the mug I purchased at the King Center in Atlanta back in April during a trip to the National Brownfields Conference. I remember as I left my hotel at the CNN Center and walked through Olympic Centennial Park and eventually onto Auburn Avenue, headed to the King Center, unaware what emotions would rise up in me during my final day stroll.
I was not surprised when not long after I left downtown and edged towards the freeway underpass that there would be signs of blight in the neighborhood, but was pleasantly met by the construction of the new trolley that would eventually link the Martin Luther King Historic Site to Centennial Park. You could see the signs of change emerging along the way. I accidentally found the site of Madam C.J. Walker’s shop, which stood across the street from a large community garden. Around the corner was a bake shop called Sweet Auburn, where an African-American woman has toiled in her small shop generating bake goods, jams and syrups, since 1997, anticipating the revival of the once vibrant center of African-American life. There was the headquarters of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and a mural of John Lewis on the side of a decaying building that screamed with hope.
As I stepped onto the grounds of the King Historic Site, I was greeted by the old and new Ebenezer Baptist Church’s and the immediate confusion of which way to turn. I also remembered Nathan McCall’s book, “Them,” and realized I was in the gentrifying neighborhood depicted in the book, similar to my own adopted neighborhood in the Oak Park section of Sacramento. It was at this moment that tears staged under my eyelids and would remain their through every step. My body felt like spirits from the past were talking to me and I walked deliberately slow, as I observed each part structure. The beautiful collection of roses in front of the National Historic Preservation building; the footsteps in the Civil Rights Walk of Fame, where I compared my feet to the likes of Desmond Tutu and Sidney Poitier. I rejoiced at the statue depicting the movie’s Root’s “Behold” scene, smiling fondly of my recent viewing of the series with my 8 year old son.
My backpack continued to grow as I added souvenirs for my family and myself at each stop. Finally, I stumbled upon the Reflecting Pool, where the bodies of Dr. King and his wife, Coretta Scott King are enshrined. A young lady asked me if I would like her to take a picture of me in front of the pool, she was a recent transplant from my hometown of Los Angeles and was working at the King Center for Nonviolent Social Action. It was there standing in front of their crypts and staring at the eternal flame that tears leaked under my glasses. I found the connection to my current work and journey in life. I could see through the portal of the Civil Rights Movement of our past to the our current struggles to address ongoing environmental, social, legal, food and other injustices that still permeate our society.
Most that walked around me seemed to be having similar revelations, we all smiled at each other softly, even in the museum exhibits that depicted the violence of the struggle, with soft tears in our eyes. My journey back to the hotel and conference, in the increasingly hot sun, were simple steps in my modern athletic shoes, and paled in comparison to the hard, stubborn, leather business shoes that King, Lewis and many used to traverse roads, bridges, cities and towns.
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