For my first three years at Rockhurst, people constantly told me I should go on a Solidarity-Immersion Trip. They spoke of the friendships they formed, the places they saw and the lessons they carried with them long after returning. As a senior, I finally decided to go, joining a group traveling to Alabama over Martin Luther King Jr. weekend, Jan. 17-20, 2025, to learn about the Civil Rights Movement. Despite the fact that I was a bit skeptical going into it, I am not afraid to admit that it was just as transformational as the rumors said.

Going into the experience, I arrogantly thought I already knew a lot about civil rights. I had taken a class on civil rights, studied desegregation and read about systemic racism. I thought I understood the history. But now I know that history plays a game, hiding the details that break your heart behind statistics that your mind will never be able to comprehend.  

Visiting places like the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, I stood in front of thousands of names, trying to read them all—people who were lynched for nothing. I was overwhelmed with grief as I read the stories behind their murders. Some were outright lies fueled by hate, while others were so absurdly petty that they hardly seemed real. A man was killed for asking for his shovel back. He was killed over a shovel.

I stood there, overwhelmed, realizing I could never read, let alone memorize all the names. But they were there, carved into history, refusing to be forgotten, even when the people in charge of our history so desperately want us to.  

Throughout the weekend, we met locals who carried their history with pride and a park ranger who challenged the way we saw the world.

We walked over the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, retracing the steps of those who marched for justice. We did this just hours before a new presidential administration took office and discussions of diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives were threatened. The weight of that timing was not lost on me.

While this trip was full of learning, reflecting and having to face difficult topics, it was also full of laughter and getting to know people I probably would not have had a chance to meet otherwise (nothing will break the ice faster than sharing a bed with a girl whose name you learned less than four hours ago). It was a good reminder that stepping outside your comfort zone will only help you grow as a person.  

As we drove back home, I found myself sitting with a mix of emotions: gratitude, sadness, hope and a deep sense of responsibility. It is one thing to study history in a classroom, but it is another to stand where it happened, to hear the names, to hear the stories, to feel the weight of it all. This trip reminded me that history is not just something we read about, it is something we carry with us. 

I left Alabama not with all the answers but with more questions and a hunger for more information. And maybe that is the point. Learning about injustice is not just about understanding the past; it is about recognizing its echoes in the present and deciding what to do with that knowledge.

And while I may not have all the answers, I do know this: I am glad I went. I am glad I listened to the people who told me I should. I am glad I got to learn, to laugh, to grow and to walk away knowing that some experiences, no matter how brief, stay with you forever. And if you ever have the opportunity to go on one of these trips, take it.