“My mindset was on freedom … ”
Last week I heard a story on the radio about a woman who had just died — a woman who had made history. And yet, I had never heard of her. So I listened closely.
Her name was Claudette Colvin. She died at the age of 86 in Texas. On March 2, 1955, when she was just 15 years old, Claudette Colvin was riding a segregated bus in Montgomery, Alabama.
Before Rosa Parks became a household name, before the Montgomery Bus Boycott captured the nation’s attention, Claudette Colvin refused to give up her seat to a white passenger. She was arrested, handcuffed, and pushed aside by history — not because her act lacked courage, but because she did not fit the image leaders believed the movement needed at the time.
Claudette Colvin never became the famous name. But she made history anyway.
Her courage mattered. Her refusal mattered. And her story reminds us of something essential about the civil rights movement: It was never built by one person alone. It was built by countless people — most of them unnamed and uncelebrated — who chose, in their own moments, to act with courage.
That is the lesson we honor on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The movement toward justice does not belong only to the famous or the fearless. It belongs to all of us — in our everyday choices, in our willingness to stand up, speak out, and move forward even when it feels daunting.
Courage is not just something we admire in history. It is something we are called to practice every day.
Though she was not chosen to be the public face of the movement, Claudette Colvin’s case helped lay the legal groundwork for desegregation. When asked years later why she refused to give up her seat, she said, “My mindset was on freedom … I told them that history had me glued to the seat.”
Throughout our lives, we have drawn inspiration from the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. — through his words, his leadership, and his profound love for justice and humanity. His legacy is not only something we commemorate; it is something we are called to live, especially in the chapter of history we now face.
The quality I am most focused on today is courage.
The courage of Dr. King. The courage of Rosa Parks. The courage of every person who took part in the Civil Rights Movement. And the courage of that 15-year-old girl, Claudette Colvin. May she rest in peace.
These are dark times. They can feel unfathomable. Insurmountable. Unending.
Here in Santa Barbara County, more than 350 people have been taken from our neighborhoods — gone without due process — by the very institution meant to protect our homeland. They leave behind loved ones who carry lifelong trauma. ICE has made our homes less safe. Our community less safe.
I confess that I often ask myself: How are we going to get through this chapter in our history? How will we persevere?
It helps to remember the courage of those who came before us. It helps to focus on the collective work that endures — to attend a protest, to see good people standing on an overpass waving the American flag. And then that doubt begins to fade.
Because as much as despair surrounds us, courage is even more present — and more powerful.
I see it in the work of 805UndocuFund, sending emergency alerts when federal immigration authorities are in our neighborhoods and training volunteers across the county on how to respond. I recently joined a training at UCSB alongside more than 300 community members.
I see it in the thousands of people who are showing up, giving back, and activating in ways they never imagined. Nearly 2,000 people gathered just last Saturday to protest the killing of Rene Good. Our District Attorney is speaking out.
And I see it in the MLK Jr. Committee of Santa Barbara, inspiring us to carry Dr. King’s legacy forward not just today, but year-round. Dr. King once said, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
Claudette Colvin was not silent. Dr. King was not silent. And today, neither can we be.
May we choose, again and again, to stand up when it would be easier to sit down; to speak when it would be easier to stay quiet; and to act — even when history has not yet decided our names.
Because history is still being written. And courage — everyday courage — is how we write it.
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