My Wake-Up Call

On Saturday February 1, 2014 I, along with 40 others, were involved in an incident where the party bus we were on erupted into flames. It was a frightening experience that left many of us closer than we were before we boarded. As I stood and watched flames erupt from the vehicle we hurriedly raced off; many thoughts ran through my mind. I imagined what would have happened had the driver not exited the freeway in an expedient manner. What if the bus had exploded on the congested freeway? What if I had ended up being a casualty -gone forever- because the driver failed to heed the warning we gave about exhaust fumes overtaking the compartment. As thankful as I was to be alive, I still could not shake those thoughts. Yet, there was another vision I embraced; and it was the most sobering one of all.

I stood on the sidewalk with the others watching in shock and awe as the crackling of the flames called to residents. The fiery concert was in full effect as curious onlookers stood on their porches and lawns taking in the scene. We huddled together and tried to figure out what part of the city we were in and how in the heck we were going to get to our cars (which were parked at a lot nearly five miles away). Strange eyes stared at us and then the wreckage, but no one approached to check our well being. “Is anyone hurt? Did everyone make it out ok? Oh my God, we were just on that bus!” was all I recall hearing in chorus from my fellow passengers. As I intently and cautiously scanned the crowd a chill raced through my body. I looked to one of my friends and said, “Can you imagine if this had happened in a racist part of America?”

The mere thought of enduring what my ancestors did is already too much to imagine; but as I stood on the sidewalk watching the bus burn and strange eyes stare at me I envisioned a time when this occurrence would not have been an accident, nor would we have been safe to idly stand and watch. A part of me felt shame because with all the films and documentaries chronicling the Civil Rights movement I –in my luxuries- have refused to give them the time they deserve. When did I forget the full importance of knowing and cherishing the history of my people? Did it occur when social media took over the voice of America? Or, was it after I fell into the Reality T.V vortex and lost sight of the real issues. Whatever the cause, as I stood on the corner: stranded, cold and –to add insult to injury- no battery life on my cell phone (or the phones of the other passengers) I felt completely vulnerable.

I think about the Civil Rights movement and have asked myself before ‘Could I have been a Freedom Rider?’, and have always respectfully answered ‘No’. However, how can I say that when the challenges Blacks faced during the Civil Rights Movement is not present today? Maybe, I would have been more vocal and aggressive about social injustices regarding race if it were as prominent today as it was back then. Wait, pause; after typing the last sentence I realized how false it was. Those same issues are still present just with different wording and ways of expression. I guess the bigger question I need to ask myself is ‘What am I doing today to continue the fight started by those before me?’ and that is something I will continue to ask until I have a definitive answer.

The irony of it all was that the bus explosion occurred on February 1^st, which is the first day of Black history month. If ever I needed a wake-up call…that was it.

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