This is a guest opinion column

In the spring of 1963, Birmingham, Alabama was a city gripped by fear. Many doubted that Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth’s and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Birmingham Campaign” against segregation could succeed. Dr. King sat in jail, branded an “outside agitator,” answering critics through his now-famous “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”

The risks were enormous. Jobs, homes, and lives were on the line. The people feared what the government was doing — and might do. As adult participation dwindled, movement leaders were forced to confront a difficult truth: Only our children can save us.

Sixty-two years ago this week, Birmingham’s children answered the call. Between May 2–10, 1963, thousands of Black youth, some as young as seven, walked out of school and marched into history. They were ravaged with institutional violence led by Birmingham Public Safety Commissioner Eugene “Bull” Connor. Facing fire hoses, police dogs, and jail, they defied fear with discipline and reshaped America’s future.

In May 1961 young people had similarly launched the first Freedom Rides across the South. The young Freedom Riders were brutalized by a blurred mix of police and mob violence. This same generation of youth would protest and ultimately end the war in Viet Nam.

Three decades later, between April 29 and May 3, 1992, mostly young people took to the streets across the country in response to the injustice of a not guilty verdict of the Los Angeles police officers caught on videotape savagely beating motorist Rodney King.

In May 2020, young people across the country returned to the streets in protest of the horrific public execution of George Floyd in the longest sustained public protest in American history. They reminded America that where there is no justice, there can be no peace.

Today, in 2025, we again face a defining moment. Vital civil rights protections are under assault. Injustice can seemingly be found anywhere and everywhere. Essential services for children, facilities and communities are being stripped away under the banner of reducing “bureaucracy” and rebuking DEI.

Funding for public schools K-12 committed to authentically teaching the history of the Civil Rights Movement is being threatened. Targeted children — U.S. citizens, college students and undocumented immigrants alike — are being detained and deported. $2.5 million in Alabama funding was cut last week from Americorps, the federal government’s leading community service and volunteerism program for both children and adults. Once again, many fear what their government is doing — and what it may yet do.

Earlier this month, the Alabama African American Civil Rights Heritage Sites Consortium, along with nonprofits across the country, were hit with devastating news: the federal Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS) was “DOGED.” All IMLS agency staff were placed on administrative leave, all existing grant programs were terminated and the newly appointed Acting Director outrageously declared that supporting civil rights archives and youth education projects “no longer serves the interests of the United States.”

Among the casualties: the Consortium’s digital archive of oral histories and youth-led mobile exhibits on the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts — initiatives directly rooted in preserving the spirit of youth activism.

The financial damage extends further. Historic churches like and Old Sardis Baptist in Birmingham, Brown Chapel AME in Selma, and Old Ship AME Zion in Montgomery — central to the Civil Rights Movement — are fighting for survival. Already struggling with massive restoration costs, they face skyrocketing expenses worsened by tariffs on building materials.

Without federal support, the very structures that birthed and should inspire the continuation of America’s freedom struggles are more endangered than ever. History does not preserve itself. It demands stewards. The “crusades” of young people from one generation to the next should remind, inspire and guide.

At their best, children are not just the promise of tomorrow; they are the power of today. Young people have confronted institutional violence, ended wars and transformed the conversation. In 1963, young people did not wait for permission to make history. They understood that their moment demanded courage — now.

So must we.

We need our children — now.

Rev. Lukata Mjumbe is Executive Director of the Alabama African American Civil Rights Heritage Sites Consortium.