I met a young black couple that hadn’t seen such a crowd on the Mall since the 40th anniversary of the March on Washington.

I met an older white woman who had walked across the Golden Gate bridge once. That crowd of people was stronger, the fear of being crushed a reality. Here 30,000 people were ambling. We were singing.

I met a Capitol Police officer who asked me to turn off my cell phone. We’d been in line for six hours. It was 3:30 am. Not a time that I usually get calls. He said my buddies might see me on C-SPAN and call me up. This would have been a first.

I met four young white women in a cluster, in the midst of deciding whether to go in to work early rather than go home at all. We can get in at 5, one was saying, which is an hour from now. Another protested that those college days of all-nighters were gone forever. Two hours, she said, I can get by on two hours.

And then I reached the rotunda, where the first woman ever to lie in state was resting. The great white and gold dome soared above me. The paintings of white men winning battles lined the walls. And I was so proud of this woman, so proud of how the line had gathered quietly and determinedly to mark her passing and remember her life. All shades of white, black, young, old, bundled infants, sleepy parents, all in line deep into the morning to say “this is still important. We are here. Like you, we believe something better
is possible.”

Thank you, Rosa Parks.

–Editorials on Rosa Parks as a community leader for life, more than a “simple seamstress” with a one-time shot at making a difference.
–Photos of crowds at the Capitol and memorialized bus seats.
–The Food Project’s work on anti-racism and diversity.
–This is why we work with urban and suburban youth in Boston.