It was 1964, Freedom Summer in Mississippi. For a 15-year-old white girl caught up in the cause, the murder of three young civil rights workers was a defining moment. On June 21, 2005--41 years to the day since James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner disappeared--a jury in Philadelphia, Mississippi, found 81-year-old former Ku Klux Klan leader Edgar Ray Killen guilty of manslaughter in their deaths.

When I heard about the arrest of Edgar Ray Killen in early January 2005 for the 1964 killings of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner in Philadelphia, Mississippi, my first reaction was deep sadness. News of the arrest tapped into the intense grief I felt 41 years ago as a teenager in Jackson, Mississippi.

I first got caught up in the civil rights cause when I was a 12- and 13-year-old, the age when idealistic adolescents begin to see the world with great clarity about right and wrong. Sit-ins, freedom rides, the 1963 march on Washington-those were the sources of my moral formation.

I remember my frustrated incomprehension that the adult world didn't respond to the civil rights movement. To me this was a clear issue of right and wrong. At bedtime, I would bargain with God: "If you will make this better, if you will change people's hearts, I will believe in you." The civil rights years were a time of real spiritual crisis for me.

By the summer of '64, I had a driver's license and could elude my parents' supervision. I was determined to be part of the "Freedom Summer." My friends and I were somewhat naïve, believing integration was such an obvious good it must come soon.

I was inspired by Martin Luther King, Jr.'s moral leadership throughout my youth: There had been the march on Selma, the freedom rides. And I admired the sacrifices and courage of other pacifist African-American ministers, who were willing to be arrested for the cause. They were able to persevere because their faith told them that taking action was a moral imperative. Those ministers articulated so eloquently the idea that each of us should strive toward a heaven on earth. If you believe in salvation, you want to attain it, and you want to attain it now.

To me, Dr. King and his peers were moral exemplars. They shaped my understanding of integration as a value. I thought that African Americans owned moral integrity and truth. While I wanted integration to afford blacks the economic and educational opportunities whites already enjoyed, I also believed very strongly that the inner changes that had to take place before our society could embrace equal civil rights needed to happen in the hearts and minds of white people.

In those days, the two main Jackson newspapers-the "Clarion-Ledger" and the "Jackson Daily News"-were both owned by a racist family. They covered the civil rights movement with enormous bitterness and hatred. Ironically, and certainly inadvertently-they also helped us get involved.

The papers published the address of COFO (the Council of Federated Organizations)--the group in Jackson that was coordinating civil rights activities, perhaps in the hope that someone would go and firebomb the place. Once we knew where the COFO office was, my friend Gary and I decided we had to go and volunteer.

At first the COFO volunteers didn't want to have anything to do with 15-year-old high school students. They didn't trust us; I think the first time we went there we didn't even get past the porch. We kept showing up, and finally by the end of that summer we got some small volunteer jobs.

It was the first time we had met African-American young people who, like James Chaney, were educated, committed to the cause, and willing to take chances. We admired them tremendously.

We relied on television news, since the local newspapers censored the wire-service stories. And just as Vietnam was later called a living-room war, throughout my entire adolescence, we in Mississippi learned about the civil rights movement around the country from television.

We were very aware of the work of SNCC (the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee), and we knew that the summer of 1964 was going to be a big push for voter registration and freedom schools, where African-Americans were helped to prepare to pass the voter-registration test. Volunteers, like Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, both white men from New York, came to Mississippi to help in the effort.

When we learned that young people from the North were traveling to Mississippi to join in the struggle, we felt a tremendous sense of excitement: Equality was right around the corner, we believed. The people who were coming down to work in the movement had a clear moral objective: to register voters and stand up for justice. They were exactly the kind of person I wanted to be.

Mississippi was so dangerous in those days that many decent, moderate whites didn't speak out. Even bombings in Jackson did not arouse any concerted action.

Violence--or the threat of it--also touched our family. My father had gone to Washington to support equal job opportunities for blacks, and he was shown on the local evening news shaking hands with some African-American leaders who had also testified before Congress.

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