The road trip musings of a young Black man.

Today I drove from my new home in Tuscaloosa, Alabama (roll tide) to Virginia Beach, Virginia, which is where my mother lives. This is a semi-ritualistic trip (semi because there are occasional gaps, and this is my first time back in Virginia in two years) as it always occurs around the time of my mother’s family reunion, which is in another week. I am always excited about the trip because in addition to my love for driving across the country, I always enjoy exploring new routes and seeing the way that different metropolitan areas handle traffic in and out of cities (it should come as no surprise that I am a pretty big geography geek as well).

The first three and a half hours of my route takes me down Interstate 20 from Tuscaloosa to Atlanta, where I hop on Interstate 85. It is the last 10-15 minutes of that stretch that inspired me to write this blog post.

As most Americans know, Atlanta was at the epicenter of the Civil RIghts Movement. Many of the major players in the movement (Martin Luther King, Jr, Ralph Abernathy, etc.) were based out of Atlanta at various points throughout the 1950s and 1960s, and combined with the city’s comparatively progressive politics (Atlanta’s white mayor voluntarily desegregated the public school system), Atlanta passed through the Movement without many of the violent episodes that plagued other Southern cities like Birmingham and Memphis. Atlanta would also elect its first Black mayor in 1973, Maynard Jackson (he would be the Jackson in Jackson-Hartsfield International Airport).

As one would expect in a city with such a rich history in social movements and a majority-minority population and political structure, these people have been commemorated in the naming of the region’s highways:

• Interstate 20 is The Ralph David Abernathy Freeway;
• Andrew Young International Boulevard;
• Interstate 285 between Interstates 20 and 75 are known as the James E. “Billy” McKinney Highway (he integrated the Atlanta Police Department, served as a Democrat in the Georgia House, and is the father of former U.S. Rep. Cynthia McKinney [D-GA]);
• Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive;
• Joseph E. Lowery Boulevard

Driving through Atlanta and seeing all of these legendary figures on so much of the region’s signage made me reflect on how far we have come. I then began to think about my own grandmother, who was a civil rights pioneer in her own right:

The integration of Nansemond County’s public schools. My grandmother is second from left, and my father is in the middle.

The above picture hangs in my living room as both a personal remembrance of my grandmother (she passed away on May 14, 1997) and as a vivid reminder of a time where there were very hard and real reminders of social stratification all around us. One example was voting: my grandmother had to guess exactly how many jellybeans were in a jellybean jar, otherwise she would not be allowed to vote.

It also got me thinking about what my contribution has been to my people. What have I done to ensure that the legacy handed down to me from my father, grandmother, and the other aforementioned leaders lives on into future generations? I used to think that simply going to school and earning a Ph.D. was enough, as it would allow me to become a professor/mentor to future youth of all ethnicities, including Black people. I used to think that my decade-long service to the Democratic Party was enough, as I worked for the Party that continues to fight for equality amongst all human beings.

But as I continued my drive through northeast Georgia and South Carolina, I kept having this nagging feeling that my accomplishments did not amount to much. Sure, I could get a Ph.D. and mentor students can entered my classroom, but that would have such a limited impact. The people would have to first be students at said college or university, and then they would have to be college/university students with an interest in political science. My work in politics may have affected public policy through the electoral process, but no one remembers that I came to their door and talked to them about anything. There was no real direct action; I was simply a conduit for whatever person happened to be a candidate for a particular office at a particular time.

I have to do more for my community. It is as simple as that. I can no longer be content to concentrate on my studies and hope that I will be able to have an impact on the 46.3 percent of Black people who ever make it to college (American Community Survey 2005-2009; compared to 57.3 percent for whites). In fact, I think that I should work to ensure that college is seen as a viable  desirable option that within their reach. So many children never get told that they can succeed; that they will make a difference in our society. I want to make it a mission to see more children grow up knowing that this is a time of unprecedented opportunity, and that they have an chance to seize it.

All this being said, I have not the foggiest clue as to how I will make this happen. My mother and brother suggested Big Brothers, Big Sisters, and I have a friend that is a part of that organization. There are other ways to do this as well, I am sure. And while I may make it seem that I only want to help Black people, I do believe that the seeming dearth of college-educated citizens is an indictment on society writ large, and not just one ethnic group or the other.

One thing is certain, though: if I want to see things changed with regards to my generation, as well as tomorrow’s, I must BE the change that I seek to make. I must discontinue my usual modus operandi of thought that I am doing enough for my community.

I. AM. NEVER. DOING. ENOUGH.