During the recent Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey, stories of nonviolence in civil-rights struggles made a big impact on 16-year-old participant Ariana Fiorello. Below, she writes about the thoughts they provoked and the action they've inspired in her.

Over the course of the Civil Rights Journey, I learned a lot. I was pleased that I was given the opportunity to take such an inspiring journey. I went on this trip because I personally wanted to learn more about my African-American heritage and more about the civil-rights movement itself.

When I watched movies and television shows about slavery or the nonviolence movement, I always believed that I would have been able to protest nonviolently and that I would have run for my life if I was a slave. However, when I was confronted by stories of both of these during our trip, I realized that it took guts — true courage — in order to have the willpower to do such things.

Barbara Cross asked me, "Would you be able to not fight back even if dogs were attacking you, policemen were beating you, and fire hoses were practically ripping your face off?" Quietly, I shook my head. I would not have been able to fight nonviolently. At that moment, I knew I was going to be learning about a lot more than just the civil-rights movement, I'd also be learning about how to control myself and how I can use some of the methods when I return home.

Now I am trying to start up an African-American studies program in my school and want to bring in one of the men we talked to. This will hopefully encourage more of the young, black, and other minority students to want to do better in school and go places far beyond imagination. I am glad I went on this trip. I really learned a lot and would definitely return again, bringing with me more friends to learn as well. 

—Ariana Fiorello, 16 years old, UU Church of Medford, Mass.

One of the hallmarks of UUSC's Civil Rights Journey is that it can serve as a moving call to action for many participants. Below, two 2010 participants express their excitement to heed this call.  

My original motivation to go on this trip was to learn more about something that I thought I knew something about and to break down the stereotypes I know I had about Alabama, a place I had never visited. If I achieved these goals, I thought I would be more than satisfied. To my great surprise and immense satisfaction, I've experienced an even more powerful achievement — I have felt real inspiration and motivation.

People who have told us their personal stories of fear and courage in the civil-rights efforts are truly inspiring, encouraging a greater sense of urgency in me to see the work still — and perhaps always — to be done for future justice and equity among the peoples of the country and the world. In addition to inspiration, I feel a truer sense of motivation to act upon that inspiration. There are projects in my church and in my workplace that await my energy. Even at the level of my family, I am motivated to encourage others to find moments (and perhaps more than moments) in their busy lives to speak up for justice. This trip has moved me from being a "verbalist" to being an activist. I am so grateful for this experience.

—Peggy Ulrich-Nims, Hingham, Mass., member of First Parish Old Ship

Mahatma Gandhi said, "We must be the change we wish to see in the world."

This trip has given me a mission. My mission is to dismantle racism and make our world one that we can all enjoy, regardless of race, sex, religious views, or anything else that makes us who we are. We are all on this world together, and yet we separate ourselves in ways we do not know.

I learned that the new racism is "subliminal," and that means that it will be all the harder to get rid of. With the help of goodness and mercy, the world will be healed. We must be the medium for goodness and mercy to work through. We must never forget the sacrifices people endured and the courage they had to form out of nothing. It is our turn as a united community to continue down the road of fixing the injustices and lending a hand to our fellow human beings. 

—Alice Roup, Pacific, Wash., 15-year-old member of University UU Church

In the following blog post, Linda McKim-Bell, a UUSC regional coordinator and participant on this year's Civil Rights Journey, considers the importance of spirituality in the civil-rights movement and how that idea inspires her today. 

One reason I came on this journey was to find out how African Americans organized the U.S. civil-rights movement. I was looking for tools and ideas to use at home — and I was looking for some hope for our country's future.

The solidarity, determination, and courage that I witnessed were an impressive achievement. I learned that it started in the black churches, which were a haven and a bulwark against the oppression that African Americans faced. When we heard Rev. Warnock's sermon at Atlanta's Ebenezer Baptist Church, I understood this on a deeper level.

Rev. Warnock's powerful sermon was based on Psalm 23. He told us that goodness and mercy were following us, stalking us, urging us on. He told us to never be afraid and fear no evil — it was empowering to feel that I was receiving a new interpretation of my mother's favorite psalm. The message was that in my political work there is a spiritual base that will give me courage. It was a message from my mother, transformed by Rev. Warnock and my experience witnessing aspects of the civil-rights movement.

The Civil Rights Journey fed my soul and gave me an example of what people who are truly in solidarity can do!

—Linda McKim-Bell, Portland, Ore., UUSC regional coordinator of the Pacific Northwest region and member of First Unitarian Church in Portland

The Civil Rights Journey can evoke powerful emotions and inspire sincere soul searching. It provides an opportunity to examine the racism that existed and continues to exist in U.S. society, to grapple with how that shows up for each participant, and to consider ways to move forward. The following is an anonymous reflection from a 2010 participant.

The past week has really made me think about and examine my own racism and the journey that I have undergone throughout my life with regard to racism. I grew up in a middle-lower-class Irish-Italian Catholic community with minimal exposure to people of other races. There was one African American girl who went to school with me during my early elementary education, and then she disappeared. I had a friend of mixed race for a short period of time until we drifted apart.

In high school, I worked a part-time job with a male African American peer. At the time, I was in a phase of calling people — of any race — "boy." So, not knowing what I was doing, I called him "boy." He stopped working and told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to put up with that and told me that that is what slaves had been called. I apologized and told him that I didn't know that this had been the case, which was true. I told him that I would not do it again. He accepted my apology, and we resumed working. On this trip, I heard how Martin Luther King Jr.'s father was called boy. I felt terrible for what I had said 30 years ago.

In the service we attended at Ebenezer Baptist Church, Rev. Warnock talked about goodness and mercy being with us all of the days of our life. I am OK with goodness being there but I am not so sure about mercy. By mercy, I mean forgiveness and, in this case, self-forgiveness. 

Can I forgive myself when I am racist?
Can I forgive myself when I am clumsy?
Can I forgive myself when I am ignorant?

I am not sure how well guilt will serve me and help the human race — educating myself and learning from my mistakes will be more helpful.

—Anonymous participant

One of the highlights of UUSC's Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey was the chance for participants to hear from people who experienced the struggles of the civil-rights movement firsthand. Below, a few participants express their gratitude.

The individuals who spoke of their personal experiences impacted me the most. Their courage and ability to be positive when faced with hate and humiliation are inspiring. The message of forgiving but not forgetting is very important. People who fought and sacrificed did not let anger consume them, but anger for the injustices they faced moved them to action.

—Chris Fiorello, Medford, Mass., UU Church of Medford

Realizing that there isn't much time left to learn firsthand from people who directly participated in and led the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and ‘60s, I jumped at the chance to join this tour - I'm glad I did. Hearing Val Archer's account of the discrimination he experienced on a daily basis as a Tuskegee Airman was inspiring. We also heard from Barbara Cross, who was a close friend of Addie Mae Collins, one of the girls who was murdered in the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham. She made a lasting impression by insisting that we learn the names of the four girls who were murdered. The other three are Denise McNair, Cynthia Wesley, and Carole Robertson. But there were so many more . . .

—Nancy Witherel, Brooklyn, N.Y., First Unitarian Universalist Congregational Society Brooklyn

The following is a thank-you poem written by participant Dawn Kennedy to Val Archer, a former technical sergeant with the Tuskegee Airmen. Born April 13, 1929, Archer enlisted in the Army Air Corps at the early age of 15.

In Awe of Your Strength and Courage

Surprisingly humble, your dedication and selflessness was, is and will always be insurmountable.

Where and how did you manage to nourish it? How did you keep that flame lit when the sweeping storm surrounded you?

Did you find it within:
Your heart,
Your mind,
Your community,
Through Song,
The spirit of your ancestors,
A dream,
Or a light within?

I'll cherish the time I spent in your presence. Your spirit breathed hope into my heart.

Thank you, Val.

—Dawn Kennedy, Leverett, Mass.

This year, 24 people embarked on the seventh UUSC Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey. Visiting sites of historical significance in the struggle for civil rights, they walked in the footsteps of great civil-rights activists and they heard from some of those courageous figures themselves. They listened to the music and protest songs that helped bolster the strength of these history makers. In the end, participants were surprised, inspired, and moved. Below, in the first of several blog posts, three participants share thoughts on the journey.

I have been forever changed by this trip. We really got a true taste of the U.S. civil-rights movement through discussions, guest speakers, and incredible museums. We also went to many locations that were vital to the movement, such as the 16th Street Baptist Church and the Edmund Pettus Bridge. We were also exposed to the numerous foot soldiers of the movement that have been forgotten in the history books, such as Viola Liuzzo and Rev. James Reeb. 

As a high school teacher of U.S. history, I have become empowered even more now to make history more alive in my classroom by using the resources and stories I have gathered along the way on this incredible journey. 

This trip is not for the fainthearted. You have to come willing to absorb a lot of incredible history and deal with the intense Southern heat. But it is a mind-blowing experience that opens your eyes to some of the most important history that defines us as a people and a nation.

—Kate Farrell, Salem, Mass., 28 years old

To be honest, when I first heard about this trip, I wasn't completely thrilled. I looked at it as a way to spend some time with my mother —l but it ended up being a fun and exciting experience. From the food to the people, this trip has been riveting and eye-opening. Everyone had a story that they were willing to tell, and it seemed as though they were telling it for the first time. I may have told my own story a thousand times, but people were still interested. The history that is shown on this trip is not a lot of the normal stuff. As a history buff, I learned more during this trip than in whole semesters during school. All in all, this was by far one of the best trips I have ever been on.

—Stephen Marsh, San Jose, Calif., 22 years old  

I was impressed with the power of music in the civil-rights struggle. Throughout the tour, it was an important part of our experience; beginning with the gospel and praise music at the Ebenezer Baptist Church and continuing with the spiritual and protest songs that accompanied almost all the museum exhibits. I found that I was humming and sometimes singing snatches of songs like "Eyes on the Prize," "Motherless Child," and "We Shall Overcome." They are still echoing in my head.

—Linda Guebert, Kelseyville, Calif., Lake County UU Community

Stay tuned for more reflections from the Civil Rights Journey participants!

Arnold Bleiweis, Dick Harrison, Kamila Jacobs, Ann Harrison, and Roxane Bleiweis stand before the National Voting Rights Institute memorial at the foot of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala.

What can make learning from a group experience so much more powerful than an individual one? The easiest way to answer that question is by example.

This past week I, along with two UUSC colleagues and 18 participants from across the country, have been following in the footsteps of the leaders and foot soldiers of the civil rights movement through Atlanta, Ga., and Montgomery, Selma, and Birmingham, Ala.

Ranging from 15 to 82, some participants are just getting their first taste of the movement, while others marched and stood up for human and civil rights with giants such as Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth, Stokely Carmicheal, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

The story of one such participant shows us how learning and experiencing things as a group can be a powerful and lasting experience.

We were lucky enough to have on our journey a person of conscience who answered the call for justice when the struggle for voting rights came to a head in Selma in 1965. A young minister at the time, Dick Harrison boarded the train in Urbana, Ill., and rode all the way to Montgomery to stand with hundreds of other people of faith and social-justice crusaders.

He went despite knowing neither what the outcome would be nor when he would return. His wife, Ann, another particpant in the Civil Rights Journey, talked about her fears as she, along with their five young children, waved goodbye before Dick boarded his train. She too recalls not knowing whether or not she would see him again.

Dick had not been back to Selma since, and Ann had never been. They both decided it was time to return to the place where so much prejudice was met with so much solidarity for justice.

The Selma of today is both exactly the same, and completely different. The places that we have come to associate with history — the Edmund Pettus Bridge, Brown Chapel AME, First Baptist Church, and the Dallas County Courthouse — still remain, largely unchanged, a silent testimony to important events.

But city streets that once held local businesses are largely deserted and lined with boarded-up buildings and vacant lots. Jobs that once provided the community with livelihoods have largely disappeared, leaving Selma a shell of its former self. In these ways, Selma is like many other small southern towns — struggling, tired, and scarred with memories of the past, as it lurches its way into the 21st century.

Walking across the Edmund Pettus Bridge today, where more than 40 years ago on Bloody Sunday marchers were met with a sea of blue Alabama State Troopers, is a moving experience for anyone. But being able to share it with a person who answered the original call to justice makes it profound.

As a group, we have grown to know each other on a deep level throughout this journey. We've spent the last 6 days with each other, for nearly 12 hours a day. So when someone you've come to know tells a story like this, it's far more than a stranger giving a presentation on an issue. It's a friend sharing with us an important part of his life. Dick and Ann generously brought this history alive in a way that's possible only through personal testimony.

Yet sharing this experience as a group is more than hearing the stories of those who lived through the movement. Every voice has a place in our group, and each has added a richness to the experience that one cannot get as a solo journeyer. Events and places take on greater significance when you can hear what your friend experienced and allow him or her to share a moment that you missed or show a situation from a different perspective.

It is a multifaceted community experience that allows us to learn lessons on a fundamental level by combining the richness of our diverse backgrounds and experiences.

I'd like to thank everyone who took the risk of coming to Atlanta last Saturday without really knowing what they were in for. You have shared a valuable part of yourself and made the trip what it has become. Without all of you sharing parts of yourself, this would not be the enriching and powerful experience it has become.

It is said that history is written by the victors. This is no less true for Northerners following the American Civil War. How else could the North write itself into history books as abolitionists and emancipators, while brushing under the rug the fact that prominent Northern families like the DeWolfs and towns like Bristol, R.I., played a leading role slavery and in the transatlantic slave trade, even decades after the United States outlawed the trade in 1808?

U.S. History Pop Quiz What was the largest slave-trading state in U.S. history? Mississippi Rhode Island Louisiana In what state did the largest U.S. slave-trading family, the DeWolfs, live? Virginia Delaware Rhode Island In what year did the United States outlaw the importation of slaves? 1808 1850 1874 How many Africans were enslaved and transported across the Atlantic Ocean to the Americas as part of the transatlantic slave trade? 2 million 11 million 50 million In what year did the United States government apologize for slavery? 1874 1974 2008 Answers: b, c, a, b, c

This is the history revealed in Traces of the Trade: A Story from the Deep North, a documentary film about 10 descendants of the largest slave-trading family in U.S. history, the DeWolfs, who travel to Ghana and then Cuba in search of their family's hidden past.

Watching the film at the MFA last week, during the Human Rights Watch International Film Festival, I was fascinated on so many levels, as a New Englander, a Northerner, an American, an American of European descent, and as a human rights activist. But I was also interested as a social-justice journeyer myself, having taken part in two social-justice journeys with UUSC: a JustJourney to Mexico in May 2008 and Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey in July 2008.

As their story unfolded, I was surprised to find that the DeWolfs' journey looked a lot like the journeys organized by UUSC.

• The DeWolf descendants were an intergenerational group from around the country who traveled to sites of specific historical and cultural significance, in their case, sites relating to the DeWolf slave trade: Bristol, R.I.; Cape Coast, Ghana; and Cuba.

• They incorporated into their journey daily (usually nightly) discussions and emotional check-ins with skilled facilitators who could help them to unpack and explore their experiences.

• They met with local experts, advocacy groups, and people from the community to learn all that they could about the issue, in their case, the economic and social institution of slavery and its legacy.

• Before the end of their trip, they each committed themselves to spreading the word about what they had learned and building support in their local communities, and beyond, to make change on social-justice issues.

It was this commitment to social action that resulted in two exciting developments: the Episcopal church, of which the DeWolf family and many other slave-trading families were a part, apologized for its role in slavery; and thousands of people around the country have seen this film and read Thomas DeWolf's Inheriting the Trade: A Northern Family Confronts Its Legacy as the Largest Slave-Trading Dynasty in U.S. History, raising our public and private consciousness on the issues of slavery, racism, privilege, and slave reparations. Even the UUA has gotten on board, doing its part to promote the film.

However, what was decidedly different from a UUSC journey was that the DeWolf group was not interracial (perhaps for obvious reasons). This lack of racial diversity had serious consequences for the types of discussions and explorations the DeWolfs could have. At one point in the film, as the discussion heated up about racial injustice in our country, a DeWolf family member pulled into the conversation Juanita Brown, the film's coproducer, from behind the camera to weigh in on why African Americans might be hurt and angry about what they have suffered as a people.

Brown is African American. That the whole storytelling and technical boundaries of film had to be transgressed in order to get just one African-American perspective highlights just how racially insulated this group was (perhaps for obvious reasons).

Throughout the film, I kept thinking about how much more interesting and challenging their journey would have been if the DeWolfs had invited 10 African Americans with them to explore and uncover this hidden history. Their conversations would have been so much richer and more profound, even if they might have been more difficult and more painful. In the end, the DeWolfs would have been able to cover a lot more ground. But they played it safe by keeping it in the family.

Still, I strongly encourage you to see Traces of the Trade, show it in your congregation, and discuss it.

I also encourage you sign up today to be part of one of UUSC's JustJourneys or JustWorks camps, particularly Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey if you are interested in issues of race and social justice in the United States.

The following blog was written by Giles Holt, UUSC's JustWorks intern, during Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey 2008.

On our Civil Rights Journey, it became apparent to me that what Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, the Congress of Racial Equality, and others were fighting for was not just civil rights. These men and women were engaged in a struggle for human rights. They were fighting for a common dignity.

I embarked on this journey to learn about part of our nation's history. At first, my approach was academic. Yet, when history still lives on, that approach is impossible. I ended my journey with an entirely new conception of what I was doing.

For the first half of our week together, I remained unchallenged. I could walk into a museum, listen to a speech about the history of the place, read the plaques, and leave feeling contented that I had broadened my perspective. I was learning, but I could have sat at a desk and received a lot of that same information.

But a transition from history to life, and from trip to journey, began to take place as the week progressed, as our workshop facilitator Dr. Kimberley Roberts led us through discussions of equality and humanity, and as the lessons presented at various historical sites began to strengthen. I found that the facts, dates, and morals that I was learning only became understanding as I put them into direct action.

On Thursday and Friday, we applied our historical and moral lessons. We traveled to the Bethesda Church in Brighton, Ala., one of thirty churches in a small city of 3,600 people, with a membership of around one hundred. While the church had undergone significant renovations, it was still in need of extensive work. The outside paint was peeling, and there appeared to be water damage on the inside. But this did not deter the minister or the congregation from committing to a course of social action and leadership in their community.

The congregation had applied for — and received — a grant from Home Depot to repair several houses in the community. This is where we came in.

With a group of forty-two Civil Rights Journey participants, we were able to work on four work projects in Brighton.

My team was assigned to Mrs. Ethel Young's house, a two-story building. Mr. Norman, the project coordinator and a leader in the Bethesda church, arrived to check on our team. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he asked, "Do you need anything, brother Giles?" This recognition of our shared place in a struggle that has come to encompass so much of our nation affirmed my humanity in a way that I had yet to experience.

It was through our service and action that we were able to take up the civil-rights and human-rights struggle that was started so many years before, and for two days, we won that struggle.

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Stephanie Hanway, of Laramie, Wyoming

The following blog was written by Stephanie Hanway, of Laramie, Wyo., while participating in UUSC's annual Freedom Summer: A Civil Rights Journey. She is 18 years old.

I came on this trip clueless. When we were in Selma, I was scared to get off the bus, thinking it was Salem [where the witch trials took place]. I also grew up thinking Georgia was the capitol of Alabama, when both are states.

What drew my attention to this trip was the chance to travel; however, that is not entirely why I continue. It has been my blessing not only to travel in the present, but also to travel in the past and experience history.

Because I am Arapahoe, Native American, slavery is not part of my heritage. That's not to say that I can't take something from the civil rights movement to help my people, my country, and myself — just like Martin Luther King, Jr., was inspired by Gandhi.

If there is any hope for me to one day help my people, I must first find that hope in myself. And that is what this trip has guided me towards.

Race, gender, age, and class are all part of a puzzle. And not to look at it is not to solve it. The first step in fighting any oppression is not just knowing where we stand, but allowing everyone else to know it, as well. Being of an outside minority has allowed me to see the same things, but from a different perspective.

It is an honor to thank the program for instilling this seed of knowledge in me to aspire to grow more bountifully, both inside and out. The greatest thing that I appreciate from this trip is the way I was invited, rather than pushed, through the doors of history. One can only remember so much in a classroom, but one remembers so much of her own personal experiences.

This truly was a journey, in itself.