Personal Narrative: Freedom Riders

I am so thankful to be writing to you right now. Just a few hours ago, I was not sure I would be alive to retell the horrendous activities that have taken place. As you know, a few months ago, I joined a civil rights organization called the Freedom Riders. We are a nonviolent group of protesters that aim to bring attention to the civil rights movement and gain support. Three days ago, on May 4, we loaded the bus and set out for New Orleans. We were going to arrive on May 17 and celebrate the anniversary of the Brown vs. Board of Education decision. We were all excited to be apart of such an important movement, but there always seemed to be a erie air around us. In reality, all of us knew there was a high chance that we would encounter hateful, racist southerners that would cause trouble on our ride, but none of us could have imagined what kind of terror we would come across.
When we arrived in Anniston on May 14, there was a mob of Ku Klux Klan waiting for us at the bus station. There were yelling at us and calling us unspeakable names. Because we are a nonviolent group, we were not allowed to fight back; we just had to take the harassment. One member of the mob laid under our bus and slashed the tires while other members broke our windows. Our bus driver was able to slowly maneuver through the mob and we returned to the interstate heading out of town. Just when we thought we may have just skimmed by without too much damage, we stopped to check our tires. They were flat without repair. We were stuck. We were in the middle of Alabama, without any way to escape, with an angry mob hot on our trail. We remained on the bus, trying to decide

I will update you the next time I have a moment, and I will hope it is a more encouraging entry. At this point, I’m having questions on how my part in this movement is