A Day in "Court"

At the annual Bridge Crossing Jubilee in Selma, there is no such thing as an audience. You may be sitting at an awards dinner listening to an address by Andrew Young when a festival organizer asks you to take her to Wal-Mart. Right now. You could be waiting for an induction ceremony at the National Voting Rights Museum and Institute to begin when you learn that you are doing the inducting. In five minutes.

Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not complaining. I came to Selma to work. So, when I found myself sitting in the witness stand at the Dallas County courthouse Friday night being cross-examined by attorney Rose Sanders, I could only try my best not to screw everything up.

Friday night's event was a mock trial, meant to educate the Jubilee audience about the circumstances leading to Bloody Sunday in 1965. During a night march in Marion, Alabama (just west of Selma) , a police officer shot a young black man named Jimmie Lee Jackson in the stomach as he tried to protect his mother, who was trying to save her 82-year-old father from being clubbed to death. When Jackson died in a Selma hospital, angry civil rights protesters decided they would march from Selma to Montgomery to protest the young man's murder. State troopers met them on the Edmund Pettus Bridge that Sunday afternoon with tear gas and bull whips. The NVRMI commemorates that march every year during Jubilee, so it's only fitting that Jackson's story take center stage.

I knew that Sanders had planned a mock trial in which an actor portraying Jackson's murderer, "Mr. X," would be "tried"; in fact, I'd planned to attend the event as an audience member. A couple of hours before the trial, however, Sanders saw me at the museum and said, "I need you to be a witness at the trial tonight." I would portray Jackson's sister, a participant in the night march and a witness to her brother's murder. Since I didn't even know the woman's name, let alone what she really saw that night, I tried to call on any skills I'd learned about improvisational acting in high school. 12 years ago.

My testimony began smoothly. I was oh-so proud of myself as I busted out my knowledge of the Movement in Marion. "Yes, sir. There were 500 of us that night. They'd arrested James Orange, so we planned to sing freedom songs in front of the jail. Then, the street lights went out."

And then Rose Sanders took over. I saw her smirk as she approached me in the witness stand. This is a woman dubbed "Rose-zilla" by her enemies, but I only know her as the kind-hearted, take-no-mess activist/lawyer who founded the NVRMI and Jubilee.

"Well, since you seem to have such a fantastic memory, can you tell me what color pants Mr. X is wearing today?" The defendant was outside of my view, but I had this one.

"Yes. He is wearing denim."

"What color denim?"

Hmmm. This was harder. I gestured to the Gap jeans I was wearing. "Same color as mine?"

I was wrong. Although I kept repeating, "But I got denim right! I got denim right!" Sanders showed no mercy. She tripped me up. She called me out. She all but mopped the courtroom floor with my ragged, limp body. It was a great time.

At the end of the testimonies, the audience served as the jury (fittingly) and found "Mr. X" guilty of the murder of Jimmie Lee Jackson. Everyone was talking, laughing and congratulating each other on their fine performances when Rose stood to make an announcement. She reminded us that what we had just accomplished was fictional. The police officer who shot Jackson was never tried or convicted. He even went on record saying that he did shoot the young man and that he had done nothing wrong. He still lives in Alabama.

For me, that trial is symbolic of my experience at Jubilee so far. I've flown by the seat of my pants and stepped completely outside of my comfort zone. I've laughed until my belly ached and met fabulous people. But, most of all, I've been constantly reminded that this struggle ain't over. Not by a long shot.