Stories: Legacies of who we are - Awele Makeba

I am Awele. Daughter of Alice, granddaughter of Ruth, great-granddaughter of Big Momma Alice and Madir Corine, great-great-granddaughter of Anna and Zitii Benyen. It is my hope to find my best possible self in the service of others.

Now, my daddy, he used to tell me stories. My daddy, he would say, "I want you to know who you are and where you come from. That will guide you as you discover who you must be. Now, you listen to this story, you hear me, baby girl? It's not going to be in a book. Your teacher is not going to tell it, but you need to understand who you are." That became a guiding principle in the stories that I wanted to tell. Stories about legacy of who we are.

I used to hear all the time that children are the future, but what does that cliché really mean and how are we preparing them? So I looked for narratives about young people and the legacy that they bring as agents of change. The power that you have right now. Today, March 2, 1955 -- the story that I want to share with you comes from 1955, March 2. It's about a courageous 16-year-old girl, Claudette Colvin.

And it comes full circle today because a week ago today, in San Francisco, my middle school students, they performed a program that I had written, "Agents of Change," starting with the reenactment of Plessy v. Ferguson from 1892 to 1896, moving to Brown v. Board and a student-led strike by Barbara Rose Johns, jumping to Claudette Colvin and the Montgomery Bus Boycott and ending in 1960 with the Sit-In Movement, the non-violent movement led by students.

So I'm going to share the story, and I would like to also share the work I do with it, as a case study. I paid my dime at the front of the bus, and then I ran to the back door with the rest of the colored kids so the driver wouldn't take off before we got on. Also, well, whites don't want us walking down the aisle next to them.

When I got back on the bus, the colored section was full, so I sat in the middle section. I took the last row seat on the left; it was right by the window, wasn't thinking about anything in particular. "Hey." I didn't know the girl next to me either, this older girl. So I just looked out the window.

The driver went more stops, more people were getting on, colored and white. Pretty soon, no more seats were available. "Give me those seats," the driver called out. Colored folks just started getting up. White folks started taking their seats, but I stayed seated. The girl next to me and the other two across -- they stayed seated. I knew it wasn't the restricted area.

"Make light on your feet!" The girl next to me got up immediately. She stood in the aisle, then the other two girls. But I told myself, this isn't the restricted area. The driver, he looked up, looked in the window, that mirror. He pulled over. A pregnant lady, Mrs. Hamilton, got on the bus. She ran to the back and got on, not knowing he was trying to have me relinquish my seat. And she sat right next to me.

"The two of you need to get up so I can drive on." "Sir, I paid my dime, I paid my fare. It's my right, you know, my constitutional --" "Constitutional? Ha-ha, let me get the police." Well he got off, and he flagged down two motormen, and they came. And those motormen, they came onto the bus. Looked at Mrs. Hamilton. "Now the two of you need to get up so the driver can drive on."

"Sir, I paid my dime. I'm pregnant. If I were to move right now, I'd be very sick, sir." "Sir, I paid my dime too, you know, and it's my right, my constitutional right. I'm a citizen of the United States. You just read the 13th and 14th Amendment, it'll tell you so. I know the law. My teacher, she taught it at school."

You see, my teacher, she taught the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, Patrick Henry's speech -- I even memorized it. My teacher, she would prick our minds, trying to see what we were thinking about. She would say, "Who are you? Hmm? Who are you, sitting right here right now? The person that people think they see from your outside? Who are you on the inside? How you think? How you feel? What you believe? Would you be willing to stand up for what you believe in even if someone wants to hold you back because you're different? Do you love your beautiful brown skin, children? Hmm? Are you American? What does it mean to be an American? Huh? Homework tonight, write me an essay: "What does it mean to be an American?" You need to know who you are, children!"

My teacher, she would teach us history and current events. She said that's how we can understand everything that's going on and we can do something about it. "Sir, all I know is I hate Jim Crow. I also know if I ain't got nothing worth living for, I ain't got nothing worth dying for. So give me liberty or give me death! Ouch! I don't care! Take me to jail." They dragged her off the bus.

Next thing, Claudette Colvin was in a car seat, backseat of the police car, handcuffed through the windows. The following year, May 11, 1956, Claudette Colvin was the star witness in the federal court case Browder v. Gayle. Her, an 18-year-old teenager and two others, women, Mrs. Browder. Their case, Browder v. Gayle, went up to the Supreme Court. On the heels of Brown v. Board of Education, the 14th Amendment and her powerful testimony that day, the rest is history.

Now, why is it we don't know this story? The Montgomery Bus Boycott -- we hear Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King; they will forever be lifted up. But the role women played in that movement, the role of Claudette, as an up-stander, it teaches us important lessons that challenge us today. What does it mean to be a participant? A responsible citizen in a democracy? And lessons of courage and of faith?

So I find freedom movement history that includes young people so that they can explore these big ideas of identity, your chosen identity, and the imposed identity. What does membership in society mean? Who has it? How do we make amends? Race and violence in America, as well as participatory citizenship. So these stories allow me to have conversations, to speak the unspeakable, that many are afraid to have.

Once in Eugene, Oregon, a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy, middle schooler, at the end of a performance in the dialogue said, "But Ms. Awele, racism's over, right?" And not wanting to answer for him, I said, "Turn to the person sitting next to you. See if you can come up with evidence." And I gave them four minutes to talk. Soon, they began to tell stories, evidence of racism in their community.

A girl wrote to me, a high school student in San Francisco: "I was going to skip school, but then I heard we had an assembly, so I came. And after listening to the students talk and seeing your performance, I thought I should organize my friends and we should go down to a board meeting and tell them that we want to have advanced classes for A through G requirements."

So, I tell you this story today in honor of the legacy of young people that have come before, so that they will have guideposts and signs to be the change that they want to see in this world, as Claudette Colvin was. Because she struck down the constitutionality of segregated seats in Montgomery, Alabama. Thank you. (Applause) Thank you. (Applause)