Remembering My Grandmother, Viola Liuzzo

The Civil Rights movement of the 1960s is still relevant today; for a while, our society veered toward equality for all, but racism continues to try and rear its ugly head. 

This month marks the 60th anniversary of the march from Selma to Montgomery, and it also marks the 60th year my family has been without our matriarch, my grandmother, Viola Liuzzo. 

The Ku Klux Klan murdered her on March 25, 1965. 

After the successful four-day march, she was driving marchers back to Selma and killed.

My mother, Sally, was only 6 years old at the time. When I look at my child, who turns 6 this year, I realize how passionately Viola must have felt about leaving her family behind and joining the marches. Her love for all ran strong, and she wanted her children to live in a better world.

The impact of her sacrifice continues to resonate, not only in history books but in our family’s daily lives. 

Just recently, my son came home from kindergarten, eyes wide with excitement, eager to tell me about something he had learned in school. 

“Mom, we talked about a man named Martin Luther King Jr. today!” he said. 

That moment was both heartwarming and eye-opening. It made me realize how much my son still has to learn about his family’s history. 

I proudly told him Dr. King knew his great-grandmother and attended her funeral. Of course, I saved the deeper details of that tragic connection for when my son is older, but the thought lingered: history is not just something we learn in school; for my family, it is something we carry in our blood.

Reflecting on the Legacy: ‘The Fight Is Not Over’ 

It is an honor to be the granddaughter of Viola Liuzzo, but her sacrifice is still felt deeply within our family generations later. 

How lucky am I to have a grandmother whose name is recorded in history books? How many kids can say that their grandparent is a historical figure taught in school, someone whose legacy is studied in classes across the country? 

But with that honor comes pain. 

Not many grandchildren have had to see autopsy photos of a grandmother they never got the chance to meet. It is a strange and somber experience that has shaped my perspective on life and legacy.

Anyone who knows me knows I am tough and strong-willed, traits I am sure I inherited from my grandmother. Although I never had the chance to meet her in person, I feel a connection to her through the stories, photographs, and memories passed down through my family. 

I’ve always felt a deep pride in what she stood for: her courage, determination, and unwavering belief in justice. At the same time, I have grown up watching my mother yearn for the mother she lost, and that has been incredibly difficult. 

The loss of Viola was not just a historical event but a profoundly personal tragedy that shaped my family for generations.

I have often thought about what it would have been like to know my grandmother as a retiree instead of as a figure in black-and-white photographs. What would it have been like to hear her tell stories about the Civil Rights Movement firsthand, rather than only being able to read about her in books and online archives? 

When I search for her name, I see images and articles pop up instantly, which is both a privilege and a heartbreak. 

One day, I found video footage of her marching, which was incredible. 

But then, there are other images, such as pictures of the car she was murdered in. That’s quite literally part of my DNA and my family’s history, frozen in those photos. It’s surreal and painful, a constant reminder of what was taken from us. 

Still, we must remember the blueprint those before us laid out: a message of love, equality, and standing firm in our beliefs. 

Viola was one of many who fought for a future where people of all races could stand together as equals. 

Though hatred and racism are still rampant in our world today, we can look to the past and find guidance in examples of heroes like King and my grandmother. 

While I never got to hear my grandmother’s voice or feel the warmth of her embrace, I carry her with me every day. She was more than just a name in history books; she was a mother of five, an educator, a fighter, and a believer in justice. 

Her story reminds us that change sometimes comes at a cost, and we must ensure that the price is not paid in vain. 

The fight for equality is not over, and as long as her story is remembered, neither is her mission.