Reflections: The UCSF/GLIDE pilgrimage to Alabama
By Dan Lowenstein, MD Executive Vice Chancellor and Provost (EVCP)
The rain is pelting down from the dark gray and black cloud-covered Montgomery sky, and I find myself in a place I never knew existed. Row upon row of rectangular metal columns, resembling elongated coffins, are suspended vertically from the roof of a giant square structure that creates a perimeter with a central open space. The walk around the square, which today is met with billowing sheets of water along the discontinuous walls, follows a path that ever so gradually descends, so that the hanging metal columns, 800 in all, appear to slowly rise up to the heavens. This walk, through the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, is an immersion into a forgotten part of our history – the lynching of more than 4,400 black people between 1877 and 1950. Each column in the memorial represents a U.S. county, and the names of the victims in each county are inscribed on the columns. The wind and the darkness and the lashing rain, and the name after name after name, consume me with sorrow.
This experience in Montgomery, during the first week of March, was one of many I shared with a contingent of 17 UCSF faculty and staff who joined members of the Glide Memorial Church community for the annual Truth, Justice, and Reconciliation Pilgrimage sponsored by Glide’s Center for Social Justice. We spent time in Birmingham, Selma, and Montgomery, seeing historic sites such as the 16th Street Baptist Church, the Birmingham Jail, and the Pettus Bridge; meeting with health care colleagues at the University of Alabama and J. Paul Jones Hospital (located in the poorest county in Alabama); and visiting truly unforgettable sites designed to convey the history of racism in Alabama, most notably the Legacy Museum in Montgomery, a brilliant creation by Bryan Stevenson and the Equal Justice Initiative. Rabbi Michael Lezak, one of the leaders of the pilgrimage, warned us that at some point in our journey we would be brought to our knees in anguish, and he was right. How could this not happen when coming face-to-face with the blood-soaked reality at one of the epicenters of our nation’s history of slavery and racism? But the more important outcomes of the pilgrimage were a deepened understanding of the roots of racism in America today, a further opening of our eyes to the racism and injustice here in the Bay Area, and an unambiguous commitment to being forces of change.
As I mentioned above, this pilgrimage is planned to be an annual event, so I encourage you to take this journey next year. I’ll circulate details on signing up when they become available.
There’s much more to this story, so I invited some of my fellow pilgrims to share their thoughts…
*****
Our journey has reiterated my impression that the artificial, irrational, internal forces inside us all that we construct to maintain our own self-interest and status quo are typically stronger than the drive towards justice. Extraordinary leaders such as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Bryan Stevenson, Fred Shuttlesworth, and the foot soldiers of the civil rights movement may be able to slow the tide of slavery, mass incarceration, and wealth disparity, but unless we are vigilant, self-aware, united, and prepared to sacrifice, we construct a world where we believe that plantations were not built by slaves and where it is normal to gather in town squares to celebrate the mutilation of a human being and where thousands of people sleep on the streets of San Francisco tonight. It is a bleak and uncomfortable vision. And yet, when we gather in fellowship, the joy and uplift that can come when we gather in song, hope, and wonder feels greater and more powerful than the evil that drives us apart.
Joshua Bamberger, MD, MPH (he/him)
***
I am fascinated by the concept of holding space. I won’t go too far down the rabbit hole of what that means to me, but simply put, I believe it has a lot to do with intention. In this case, an intention to create an environment by which we can see one another for who we truly are, exposing what hides behind the labels that define our identities – judgments. This is the place where people can be free, vulnerable, and honest. Luminous transparency. It is a hard space to create. It requires sacrifice and a willingness to step into that “uncomfortable space.” This is what I believe compassion is. All of you demonstrated a deep understanding of this throughout our trip. You give me hope. Our pilgrimage was one of the most important experiences of my life.
Thank you for holding space with me.
Joshua Fears, RN
San Francisco Department of Public Health
***
I knew being immersed in the painful history of my people would be difficult, and as Maya Angelou once said, I had to have the courage to do it. I was grateful to have colleagues there to support me in this pilgrimage.
It was inspiring to hear the words and stories directly from those who marched, protested, and survived. They told their stories not in anger or hate, but in strength. They showed pride in their community and love for others, even their oppressors and imprisoners. By documenting and acknowledging the hate that is deep in the soil, we start to repair and give truth to what really happened on the land. While Washington politicians were marching in Selma, we walked on the soil of a plantation turned into a B&B. This sparked a powerful conversation.
I can no longer stay silent or unaware. I, we, must give voice and light to the ways that slavery, Jim Crow, the drug war, and mass incarceration are greatly impacting us in our work at UCSF in our day-to-day lives. The health care inequities we see every day are a consequence of the untruthful narratives and unrepaired atrocities that take the lives of my people at too young an age.
I come home more inspired to speak up and document the truths I see. I come home more inspired to continue the work of opening myself to be more aware of the humanity around me and listen to each of their stories and voices. I come home more inspired to do my life’s work of diversifying the pipeline to reflect the diversity of our patients.
Michelle Guy, MD (she, her, hers)
***
I’m very grateful for the impactful experiences we had in Alabama, for the amazing people we met there, and for the generosity of spirit and wisdom you shared.
I don’t feel that I can possibly capture what I want to say in a few sentences but here goes…I joined the Alabama pilgrimage to gain a greater understanding of the social and historical roots of disparities in our country. I left with a deeper appreciation of ongoing inequities and also the unimaginable resilience of people who rise above the many indignities they’ve endured through generations of slavery, Jim Crow laws, mass incarceration, and so much more. The Freedom Fighters and others we met powerfully inspire and challenge us to confront the hard realities of racism in our time. How in 2020 do we have rural communities in Alabama where African Americans live without running water or septic systems and where hookworm is still endemic? How do we reconcile the disproportionately high number of African Americans in our own city’s homeless population? Why are our educational, health care, and justice systems failing black families? What is my role as an ally and advocate to use my privilege to address these inequities? These are a few of the poignant realities that demand my attention as a physician and concerned citizen and that renew my commitment to work for justice.
Meg (Margaret) McNamara, MD (she/her/hers)
***
While this is my second journey of its kind, like many of you, I’ve been on a lifelong journey toward justice. And like many of you, this trip still altered me.
Perhaps the greatest lesson for me was that the civil rights movement was not referred to as such by those on its frontline; each of those elder women told us they were “foot soldiers”– not protesters or activists. And they told us they were part of the Freedom Movement, not a struggle for civil rights. That’s meaningful to me. They have been fighting for all our freedom. And they’ve put their lives and safety on the line to do it. They made me feel deeply challenged to do more, and to be more courageous than I have been. Like Renee, I feel affirmed that we must be willing to speak truths, with courage.
Your encouraging and supportive words and hugs helped. I do, however, continue to feel vulnerable, having spoken my truth so publicly. I don’t expect that to change. I’m willing to accept that. It is a small part of what I think it takes for us to collectively move forward. I’m willing to take the risk that comes with it. I know it’ll take much more than bold statements, and I am committed to staying engaged in the hard work, long term, with all of you and the rest of our colleagues.
While I hope my actions show it without it being said, I do want to say this: I believe we are all a human family, relatives. We are all connected. Race is a social construction that burdens us all.
***
My heart is shattered, my mind opened, and my perspective changed forever. For this I am grateful.
Having grown up in South Carolina, I was reminded at every turn of the road of the lies (of commission and omission) in my own education. I sadly recognize the limitations of my judgment because of the white supremacy ideology that has and still pervades every aspect of our society, especially in its centers of power. This belief system powerfully reinforces the status quo, advantaging me while harming so many people of color.
Walking in the historical footsteps of Freedom Fighters from the Brown Chapel AME Church to the Edmund Pettus Bridge, we passed many images of civil rights leaders. I found this Dick Gregory quote compelling: “Love is man’s natural endowment but he doesn’t know how to use it. He refuses to recognize the power of love because of his love of power.”
I return home with the belief that those of us with power based on our positions, influence, race, gender, and other privileged characteristics must truly open our hearts to the power of love for all and accelerate our efforts to create a more inclusive, equitable, and just UCSF, SF, and beyond.
We must embrace the discomfort of diverse perspectives and lived experiences and recognize the need for tension if we are to make progress – a tension that Dr. King spoke eloquently about in his letter from the Birmingham Jail.
We must be vigilant to avoid acting on our learned racism and its inherent bias to maintain the power of the status quo. I loved the concept articulated by Jasmyn Elise Story in Birmingham. She told us she looks at every problem and possible solution through the lens of domination and asks which voices are not at the table that should be. We must ask the same thing and in addition ask the question of whose voices are not being heard even when they are at the table?
I commit to the musts listed above and ask you to hold me accountable for these and other issues and behaviors as we explore specific solutions and actions together.
I am immensely grateful for this journey with all of you, for the guidance of Rabbi Michael and Isoke [Femi], for the music of Vernon [Bush] and for the inspiration, strength, and generosity of all we were blessed to meet.
It is my hope that with our deepened shared values, better understanding of white supremacy, recognition of the power of love for all, and higher sense of urgency, we can make progress in eliminating the harms of racism, power, and privilege in our communities and honor the dignity and potential of all.
***
The experience was both powerful and painful. While the history was well-known to me, the opportunity to more tangibly feel the land and hear from the people was eye-opening and life-altering. I take several important lessons from this experience:
- We must tell the truth. The truth of our American history of slavery, Jim Crow segregation, white supremacy, and the ongoing impact of racism on higher education, health, health care, job opportunities, education, and the criminal justice system, as well as the impact on homelessness within our city.
- We must have courage. To stand up against current systems that facilitate the status quo. To be Pro-Black, and not just anti-racism.
- We must not leave this work to the black people alone – when others show up to improve your life, it’s a powerful message regarding the humanity of all of us.
***
While I have “known” about inequities and conducted research on health disparities, I return struck by the visceral reality of health and public health inequities within the U.S. and how the legacy of racial injustice permeates our everyday lives and assumptions. In my work at UCSF, I know that I am often too “comfortable” and reluctant to challenge others or myself. The uncertainty and stakes were so high for those children marching in Birmingham in 1963 or those who marched from Selma to Montgomery in 1965 (as well as so many others), yet they marched. I need to be willing to confront the truth in front of me and the deception that I am a part of. As we heard the words of Dr. King shared at our closing morning at the Southern Poverty Law Center: “In the end, we remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”