I’ve never been one for confrontation, but as I sat alone in my college dorm a thousand miles away from home, with an unbearable tightness overcoming my chest, and my lungs feeling as if they could no longer support me, I knew I was ready for change. On the last page of my Alabama absentee ballot were the words “Signature of Witness.” This was my first time voting, and instead of feeling like a proud and liberated citizen, I felt confused and disgusted.
Access to quality education, housing, and voting were all dreams only a few could live as a reality until people came together to march through the streets of Washington, Birmingham, and Atlanta; until people refused to give up their seat or change their appearance for the comfort of others; until they stood in the face of violence — symbolic and physical — and declared “try me.