In history we are watching. "4 little girls" a document made by Spike Lee. Along with that we are reading a book called the Sixties. Its truly amazing what that generation of people had to go through to get basic human rights. I was in tears while watching white, racist policemen with attack dogs, depriving the black race of their freedom of speech; depriving them of their right to assemble by using fire hoses and literally spraying people off of their feet. It was really hard to watch. Sometimes i think as Americans we forget what people went through just to get the basic human right to drink out of a water fountain, or to get the right to vote, or to challenge the government with freedom of speech. American history sometimes seems like some fictional story; like it never really happened because some things we did seem so unrealistic. The documentary is about 4 girls who were killed in a bombing in Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. I dont understand how people can be so hateful to one another. How could you live with yourself after bombing a church and killing 4 young girls just because of the color of their skin. Or after shooting a black man in the head just because he used a "white mans" bathroom?! Or putting hundreds of children in jail or 5 days because they were marching for their freedom?!
Joan Baez wrote a song about the Birmingham Sunday ...

" Come round by my side and I'll sing you a song.
I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong.
On Birmingham Sunday the blood ran like wine,
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
That cold autumn morning no eyes saw the sun,
And Addie Mae Collins, her number was one.
At an old Baptist church there was no need to run.
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom,
The clouds they were grey and the autumn winds blew,
And Denise McNair brought the number to two.
The falcon of death was a creature they knew,
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom,
The church it was crowded, but no one could see
That Cynthia Wesley's dark number was three.
Her prayers and her feelings would shame you and me.
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
Young Carol Robertson entered the door
And the number her killers had given was four.
She asked for a blessing but asked for no more,
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
On Birmingham Sunday a noise shook the ground.
And people all over the earth turned around.
For no one recalled a more cowardly sound.
And the choirs kept singing of Freedom.
The men in the forest they once asked of me,
How many black berries grew in the Blue Sea.
And I asked them right with a tear in my eye.
How many dark ships in the forest?
The Sunday has come and the Sunday has gone.
And I can't do much more than to sing you a song.
I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong.
And the choirs keep singing of Freedom."