Bearing Witness, and Why We Keep Going: Reflections from Montgomery

By Keami Harris, Chief of Equity and Strategy, ECFC

A Call to Reflect and Act This Juneteenth

As we honor Juneteenth, we’re reminded that true liberation for Black children, families, and communities requires more than acknowledgment. It demands investment, reparation, and trust.

At ECFC, Juneteenth is not just a time for commemoration—it is a call to action. Philanthropy must move beyond reflection and step into the work of repair: resourcing communities that have long been excluded, championing justice-rooted policies, and amplifying the voices and leadership of those most impacted.

This October, we will gather in Montgomery, Alabama, where the civil rights movement gained force and where its legacy continues to shape the present. In preparation for ECFC’s Fall Member Meeting, I had the opportunity to visit Montgomery for a site planning trip. What follows are my personal reflections on that experience, and how it deepened my resolve to keep going.

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Bearing Witness, and Why We Keep Going: Reflections from Montgomery, AL

I recently traveled to Montgomery, Alabama with my colleagues for a site visit ahead of Early Childhood Funders Collaborative Fall Member Meeting. We worked with a local expert to help plan an immersive experience, and what we witnessed will stay with me for a lifetime.

We spent time at The Legacy Museum, created by Bryan Stevenson and the Equal Justice Initiative. I know I’m probably late, many of you have already been, but if you haven’t, please go.

It’s one thing to read about the transatlantic slave trade, racial terror, and mass incarceration. It’s another to stand in the place where these stories are told so powerfully, so intentionally.

The imagery. The language. The arc of our history told through art and artifacts. It’s not just a museum it’s a reckoning.

From there, we visited the Rosa Parks Museum, where the Montgomery Bus Boycott came to life in ways I’ve never experienced. It’s one thing to know systemic racism exists; it’s another to see it in photographs, letters, and local records in the very place it happened.

Then we spent time at the Harris House, home of civil rights leader Dr. Richard Harris. The home is largely preserved and full of stories. We sat in the kitchen, ate lunch with my Soror, Dr. Harris’s daughter, who was a young child during the movement as she shared memories of Freedom Riders, Dr. King, and growing up in the epicenter of change.

One block that still bears the weight of economic violence and systemic neglect conditions not unfamiliar to Black communities across the country. And yet, being there didn’t just open my eyes further it recharged my spirit.

On our final day, we met with Michelle Browder, an artist and activist doing transformative work in Montgomery. She’s behind the Mothers of Gynecology monument, a bold tribute to the enslaved GIRLS who were experimented on in the name of medicine. She’s running wellness pods in rural areas, training doulas, and organizing national convenings for health professionals all while changing the narrative around maternal health and reproductive justice in the Deep South. She’s doing it with heart. And with urgency.

Michelle Browder is building something that should be supported by all of us. Her work is monumental literally and figuratively.

As I prepare to return to Montgomery this fall, I carry the stories and lessons of this trip with me. I’ve been in racial justice and equity work for a long time, but this experience reminded me why.

In this political moment, it would be easy to keep our heads down, avoid the backlash, or water down our values to make others more comfortable. But I can’t. We can’t.

Our ancestors risked everything for the freedoms we enjoy today. It’s not lost on me that they did it without certainty, without safety, and often without support. So, who am I to turn away?

This work isn’t easy. But it’s necessary. And I will keep going for my children, for your children, and for generations to come.