From the window of our 171-year-old hotel, the St James, I looked out onto the familiar sight of the Edmund Pettus Bridge gently bending over the Alabama River, covered in a layer of morning dew, and lit up by a brilliant sunny sky. The previous night’s celebrations left me feeling less than sparkling, but Birmingham was beckoning.

Since the beginning of our trip we had planned to visit the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, which was bombed by members of the Ku Klux Klan in 1963, killing four girls and giving Birmingham the nickname “Bombingham.” When we arrived, the church’s stone steps were warm from the noon sun. The doors were closed, but a sign directed visitors to go through the office entrance. I was expecting a livelier gathering, but the quiet mood was a sign that people were taking a breather, retreating to the smaller communities of their families, and getting ready for the next chapter. (more…)

A photo gallery from Selma, Alabama on the night of Barack Obama’s election victory

SELMA, ALABAMA — “Yes we can. Yes we can. Yes, we did!” The crowd erupted with hugs and high fives last night at The Gathering, a local Selma café, when Barack Obama became the 44th American president.

It had been an emotional day for the city. As if to signal the mood, the usually clear skies were overcast all morning, blending in with the grey Spanish moss hanging limply off oak branches. That evening, some seventy residents, along with reporters from the New York Times and Chicago Tribune, crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge in silence, retracing the steps of those who fought for voting rights and changed the political landscape of America.

Holding candles to light the way, the group assembled on the other side of the Alabama River, where Civil Rights marchers had once encountered violence and hatred. Waiting for them was ninety-seven-year-old Amelia Boynton Robinson, who had been tear-gassed and beaten on March 7, 1965, better known as “Bloody Sunday.” The officer who had repeatedly hit her on that fateful day died recently, she told the crowd, and she attended his funeral as a gesture of forgiveness.

Her message resonated with the residents of Selma, who nodded their heads in approval at her story. However much the city has to contend with its past, residents are hopeful for its future. “Martin Luther King believed that Selma could be a modern Mesopotamia, a melting pot,” said Mae, who has lived here all her life. “Now all eyes are on us. If we can do it…” she trails off, lost in the possibilities, before adding, “It’s not so much about change as hope.”

Taking a smoke break outside The Gathering after McCain’s concession speech, a young, off-duty police officer tells me that this moment marks a new American nationality. His father was one of the organizers for Bloody Sunday, and was in Memphis when Martin Luther King was killed. I ask him how it feels to inherit a narrative he didn’t experience first-hand. “We’re making our own history. There’s so much possibility here, we just have to be creative.”

Obama mentioned Selma last night during his victory speech as being a symbol of his campaign’s maxim, Yes, we can. A few weeks after announcing his run for office, he had visited the city to commemorate the Civil Rights marches, saying, “Don’t tell me I don’t have a claim on Selma, Alabama. Don’t tell me I won’t come home to Selma, Alabama. I’m here because somebody marched. I’m here because you all sacrificed for me.”

Photos by Michael Lasry. Click to see a larger image, or read Alex Redgrave’s first postcard from Alabama.

On a road truo to Alabama to watch today’s election, stopping by the town of Selma

“Why Alabama?” asked the border agent on Saturday afternoon. Ah, the trick question. We thought heading for the big ‘A’ might look suspicious because, seriously, why Alabama? When we—that being myself, and my friends Michael and Kristen—set off from Montreal to the Heart of Dixie, it was on a whim with little time to prepare for the question beyond “Why not?”

From its bustling blue collar cities, to the eerily silent cotton fields, Alabama is haunted by history. It was here that Rosa Parks defied racial segregation laws, inciting the Montgomery Bus Boycott that went all the way to the Supreme Court. And it was here that Martin Luther King led marches for the Civil Rights Movement from Selma to Montgomery, where he gave the “How Long, Not Long” speech and later wrote his “Letter From Birmingham Jail.” Through the lens of this turbulent past is a presidency that means much for the future of the Deep South—a region defined by loss and resurrection. We wanted to witness this historic election for ourselves. (more…)

While in Montreal last weekend, I skipped out on watching the Habs game for an equally hot ticket: the twenty-year retrospective of Belgian dancer and choreographer Wim Vandekeybus’

While in Montreal last weekend, I skipped out on watching the Habs game for an equally hot ticket: the twenty-year retrospective of Belgian dancer and choreographer Wim Vandekeybus’ Ultima Vez (Spanish for “The Last Time”). Judging by the generous turn out and hearty applause, the show was anything but a swan song. Rather, it had the power, speed, and fervor of another spectacle being played out on TV screens across the city. (more…)

Like most kids worth their fluorescent slap bracelet and Air Jordan kicks, I can break out The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song on command. So the day Vivian Banks inexplicably morphed into another woman was a strange one indeed. (Unbeknownst to impressionable ten-year-old fans such as myself, the original Aunt Viv was too busy suing NBC for breach of contract to attend Will and Carlton’s graduation. Her double silently stepped in a few episodes later.) This wasn’t a case of a bad perm job; it was identity theft. And yet, the Banks residence didn’t seem to notice. I was spooked. (more…)