Montgomery — Understanding Silence & Violence
Moments after crossing state lines into Alabama, I saw a Black man being arrested on the side of the highway. “Yep”, I thought to myself, “here we are ‘’. It took a few more events for me to realize I was in a region which harbored so much hatred, love, joy, and pain. We stopped at the visitor’s center, where the Alabama state motto — “We Dare Defend Our Rights” — was chiseled into a sandstone plaque. The motto, officially adopted in 1923, originates from an 18th century poem[i].
Interestingly, the name ‘Alabama’ traces its origins to the Alabama River, itself named after the indigenous Alibamu people [ii]. The Alibamu — who were systematically murdered by settlers and eventually displaced to Texas and Oklahoma — were known for their connection to the river [iii] . This same river twists through Montgomery, the state capitol, and fed one of the largest slave ports in the U.S.A.
The grass, growing through rust-red dirt, was exquisitely manicured. Not a single blade was out of place, and the sidewalk was completely clear. I couldn’t tell whether it was clean due to excessive maintenance, or a lack of foot traffic. The broad, pale-white sidewalk led to a comically large ‘museum’. Inside, we were greeted by a Black woman working at the help desk (and violently cold AC). The walls were neatly littered with dozens of pamphlets. “Big Fish of Alabama”, “Top Tourist Sites” “Map of South-Western Alabama” (we were in the Northeast). Equipped with a map, I walked out the back exit and into the heat.
Rolling hills of lush trees filled the landscape like a classical French painting. Tall green-pines, lush oaks, and even birch filled the image. It was eerily beautiful. One can only wonder how many Black people followed the underground railroad in these woods. The whispers of violence I felt here, grew louder in Montgomery city.
When we finally turned off the highway, onto the street of our little Airbnb, I felt completely safe. The small ‘shotgun houses’ — a relic of segregated neighborhoods — reminded my Bigmama of her childhood home in Houston, Texas. Some people grew banana trees, others had little swings. Moreover, most of the residents — I am told — were Black. However, the surreal emptiness we observed in Atlanta quickly returned.
While walking through downtown, the streets were completely empty. Yet, I didn’t feel alone. It was as if we were being watched, very closely. After 10 minutes of walking, we reached Commerce Street. From 1848–1860, Commerce Street was dominated by slave traders’ offices and “slave pens” ii. At least 164 licenses were granted to slave tradersin the area[iv] . However, little effort was put into accounting for this history — save a sign from the Equal Justice Initiative. There were more signs near the end of Commerce Street, at the waterfront.
Continuing past the train station, and through an open tunnel, we reached the riverfront. It was, almost reluctantly, beautiful. The stillness allowed trees to reflect perfectly in the murky water. The gentle murmur of crickets quietly filled the warm air. And yet, once again, something felt wrong.
As I laid down to sleep that night, a loud bang woke me up. Startled, I waited a few seconds then it came again; “BANG”. The commotion sounded like it was coming from a street away. I was nervous, but slowly relaxing again. Then, just as I was about to shut my eyes: BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG. Gunshots. Police sirens, screams, and unidentifiable crashes filled the darkness outside.
The couch I slept on was surrounded by three (curtainless) patio windows, and a loose door leading to the garden. At that moment — whilst childishly barricading the door with pillows — I decided that I “hate it here”. My eyes were fixated at the door — which conveniently creaked every 10 minutes — until 4:00am. In a desperate cling to my confidence, I kept telling myself “I ain’t safe in here from them, they’re safe out there from me!”. My sweaty palms gripped my phone and a thick book (The Autobiography of Angela Davis). However, this gave me time to reflect. I wondered; how had Montgomery’s violent past had permeated into the present?
From 1833–1865, slavery was the only legal status for Black people in Montgomery [v] . Perhaps this experience of entrapment extended through the antebellum period into 2023. There aren’t any laws which explicitly restrict Black people’s ability to leave Montgomery right now. However, there could be implicit power structures, informed by a history–and present–of systemic racism which keep Black people trapped in Montgomery. Eventually, these thoughts guided me to sleep.
When morning came, I expected to see bullet holes. However, the streets were as quiet and clean as the day before. The dissonance between these experiences sat with me as we drove to The Waffle House. While making our plans for the day over breakfast, we saw that Selma was only an hour drive away. In Selma — the site of “Bloody Sunday” — we got more answers about the crime, emptiness, and history of Montgomery.
[i] Wikipedia contributors. (2023, September). Audemus jura nostra defendere. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Audemus_jura_nostra_defendere#:~:text=Audemus%20jura%20nostra%20defendere%20%E2%80%94%20Latin,Coat%20of%20arms%20of%20Alabama.
[ii] Indian Affairs (IA). (n.d.). Origin of Names of US States | Indian Affairs. https://www.bia.gov/as-ia/opa/online-press-release/origin-names-us-states#:~:text=ALABAMA%3A%20From%20an%20Indian%20tribe,the%20State%20name%20was%20derived.
[iii] Dennis. (n.d.). Alibamu Indian Tribe | Access Genealogy. Access Genealogy. https://accessgenealogy.com/native/alibamu-indian-tribe.htm
[iv] Equal Justice Initiative. (2013). Slavery in America: The Montgomery Slave Trade. eji.org. https://eji.org/files/slavery-in-america-summary.pdf
[v] Equal Justice Initiative. (2013). The Montgomery Slave Trade. The Black Heritage Council & Equal Justice Initiative, Downtown Montgomery.
