Sample Story from Stories for a Better World:

A Risky Ride for Freedom

		by Congressman Bob Filner 

 	I watched the TV in horror, thinking, This can’t be 

happening in America! In that instant, I decided that I would 

join the Freedom Riders. That is how, as an eighteen-year-old

college sophomore in the early 1960s, I learned that ordinary 

Americans, getting involved in the political struggles of the time, 

can actually change history. It is never easy. It can be risky and

dangerous but in America, it has always been possible and 

remains so. 

	 My family had taught me early on that racism is the

 number-one evil in the world, and that, as Jews, we had to 

combat racism and discrimination wherever we found it...that 

our very existence depended on it. 

	Similar to many African Americans, I, too, was 

raised on stories of violent mobs and armed attacks on my 

people, of vicious prejudice exploding into unspeakable acts 

of cruelty and horror. These stories were related to me in the

relative safety of Pittsburgh and New York, but they 

conditioned me to regard discrimination and violence by those

in power as a threat to all groups and individuals without 

power.

	 As a young teen, I was drawn early to the rousing

speeches and inspiring writings of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

His philosophy of nonviolent struggles against racism was not 

only widely discussed, but actually put into practice--

successful practice--in the Montgomery bus boycott of 1956,

the lunch counter sit-ins of 1960, and then, in 1961, the

Freedom Rides. 

	The Freedom Rides were designed to challenge, 

person by person, the local practices of racial segregation--

of lunch counters, restrooms, even water fountains--so that

these practices could then be challenged in the federal court

system.

	 I can still vividly remember, while studying for my

final exams, the incredible news pictures on Mother’s Day, 

1961: a Greyhound bus run off the road in Anniston, 

Alabama, then set on fire, with its Freedom Rider passengers

beaten almost to death. These brave individuals-many of them

students like me--were putting their lives on the line. How 

could I do any less? That’s when I made the instant decision 

to stand with them in their struggle as a fellow Freedom Rider.

I took my exams the following day, then immediately flew to 

Nashville, Tennessee, to receive several days of training in 

nonviolence.
	Four of us--two black, two white--then got on a

Greyhound bus--to where, we didn’t even know.  Would we

face another Alabama mob? Would we make it to 

Mississippi?  Would we end up in jail--or a hospital?

	The laws of segregation--and the tactics of the

Freedom Ride--meant that we sat separately, each with our

own thoughts . . . and fears. Motoring through the kingdom 

of American apartheid, we encountered fear and hostility on

every side. The Alabama authorities had learned their lesson 

and refused to let our bus even stop in their state.  Soon, we 

were in the very belly of the beast: Mississippi. 

	As we pulled into the state capital, Jackson, we

knew our time had come: a jeering mob of hundreds was 

waiting. I don’t know from where we summoned our courage, 

but the four of us walked off the bus together to desegregate

the Greyhound lobby, coffee shop and restrooms. Almost 

immediately, as the mob began to close in, officers of the 

Mississippi National Guard informed us that we were 

“inciting a riot” and hustled us off to the Jackson City Jail.

At a quick “trial,” we were sentenced to six months for our

crimes, and because cell space ran out in the city, we were

eventually sent to isolation cells (on death row!) in the 

Mississippi State Penitentiary.
	Most of us served two months before being

released on appeal. Those sixty days were filled with both

fear and exhilaration. Many of us were beaten and subjected 

to psychological torture. But we survived--with dignity--and

our lives were changed forever. Hundreds of us, black and

white, young and old--filled jails in Mississippi during the 

summer of 1961. Our actions stirred the conscience of 

America--and the whole century-old legal structure of 

segregation came tumbling down in a few historical years

of legislative and judicial action. We, indeed, had changed

history!
	Although I had friends who were killed in the 

struggle for civil rights, we moved our country forward, and 

my optimistic belief in social change has remained with me

to this day. As Dr. King said: “We’ve come a long way--

but we have a long way to go.” Let all of us, together, keep

our eyes on the prize.