Background

It was Spring of 2000, when I first was struck by the story of Viola Liuzzo.  My first son was about to turn one, and my husband and I had rented a house in New Mexico to get away and celebrate. It was supposed to be pure vacation – no work allowed.  I’d just spent the last year having a baby and launching my first film, “Speaking In Strings,” and I was happy to be basking in family life. I brought along a book to read, “From Selma to Sorrow,” about the life and death of Viola Liuzzo, and I became haunted by the story throughout the trip. A mother of five children…her undeniable compulsion to fight human injustice… to act upon that urge and to be subsequently murdered, slandered and deliberately forgotten in history. Viola Liuzzo’s story frightened me – it provoked me.

The book had been sent to me by Nancy Dickenson (producer of “Home of the Brave”).
It was her idea to make a film about Viola.   And she happened to live in New Mexico.  After walks in the desert with my family, I’d return to the house and stare at Nancy’s phone number.  I was reluctant to get involved with a story that was so disturbing and complex, but a place inside me wanted to go there, and kept nagging at me. I’m always attracted to the underdog – and to epic struggles and triumphs. In this case, Viola’s legacy got mired in tragedy and shame – and it was all cloaked in something mysterious and sinister.  What ultimately hooked me, was the complex human drama behind the story.

I wondered about Viola’s children.  How did they survive all of this?  What were the personal consequences of their mother’s self-sacrifice?  Did they inherit her passion for human justice and civic duty?  Or had they become disillusioned and embittered from seeing their own mother become villainized?   I questioned what it meant to be Patriotic.  How do we balance commitment to our country, our family and ourselves? 

Production

I began shooting with the Liuzzo family in the summer of 2000. They were naturally all a bit ambivalent at first. No one was too eager to dredge up the past.  As children they grew up being called “nigger-lovers” and having crosses burnt on their lawn. “The fear we experienced from all this has lasting wounds,” explains Penny, who adds: “There’s a real undercurrent of racism (where I live), and I didn’t want any backlash against my own kids.”

There were also doubts about my sincerity.  “People had approached us before to do a film and then disappeared,” explains Mary. But ultimately they agreed to participate. As Penny sums it up: “If we don’t have the courage to speak, there’s no chance of being heard.”

It wasn’t until we took a road trip with Mary down south, that I saw the impact of what the smear campaign against Viola had done to these kids. Mary needed to resolve questions that lingered about her mother’s character, as a result of the slander against her. “The seed of doubt that was planted as a seventeen year old girl gnawed at me…” Mary explained.  Part of her still wondered what Viola was doing down there. The permission to feel her mother’s presence again – after years of burying her emotionally -- was central to Mary’s personal journey in Selma. “I’m tired of apologizing for who she was – I just want to love her. I want to remember her life, not her death.”  It became clear that even though decades had passed, the weight of shame and grief were only just beginning to lift.

The idea for the title “Home of the Brave” came to me as I was driving through rural Michigan to meet Tony.  I thought of how our country was born. We stand for the freedom to rise up against injustice and to keep our government in check. It seemed ironic that Viola died and was subsequently maligned for doing that very thing.

As filming continued, the emphasis on Viola Liuzzo as the central character in the movie shifted. I realized that, though she was at the heart of the story – it was equally about her children.  Viola was a symbol – a catalyst to a larger story. It raised questions about who we are as a nation and as individuals.  What choices are we willing to make when asked to sacrifice? There are decisions we make as parents that are irreversible.  And they can have consequences for generations to come. 

Like his mother, Tony Liuzzo would rather die than be silenced. “I’ve always felt it’s my job to be fearless, so my family will stop living in fear,” reflects Tony. “What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t defend our rights, when my mother gave her life for them.”

Not all his siblings agree.  “I never got too active politically,” says Penny “because I never want to die young and leave my kids without a mom. I know what that feels like.” “But I also know that my mom would probably do it again, because that’s who she was.”

Research

The research process for this film initially intimidated me. Among other things, it involved the collection and examination of thousands of pages of government documents  -- in which I was hopeful that I would discover “the truth” about what really happened.  During the process, I experienced my own loss of innocence.  It hadn’t occurred to me before making this film that reckless collection of data, inconsistent accounts of the incident, and flat out lies about Viola Liuzzo could all be part of “official documents.” As I began to meet with leaders in the field of government, politics and history, I realized that this was quite common, in fact.  What happened to Liuzzo could happen to any of us. The deeper I investigated this story, the more my own innate sense of fairness got riled up. It drove me tenaciously to stick out the grueling process of making of the film.

I hung my hopes on the fact that the only surviving witness to the Liuzzo murder was still alive. Leroy Moton, a young African American kid, was driving in the car with Viola when the Klansmen fired shots into her car. Fearing his life, he’d gone into hiding shortly after the traumatic event. With the exception of two fleeting visits to his hometown, nobody anywhere could tell me where he was. We finally found him with the help of a private investigator.  Moton agreed to be interviewed, but his account of what happened raised more questions than it answered.

Though no concrete answers surfaced about Liuzzo’s murder, the process of filming “Home of the Brave” brought some sense of closure to the family and myself. 

One of the lessons I come away with is that we cannot look outside ourselves for leaders.  We must all, in our own way, lead ­– by taking a stand, by speaking out, by voting.   We’re lucky to be living in a country where our vote and our voice counts. Using it may require bravery and effort, but ultimately, we get the country and government we deserve. Injustice will always be a part of human interaction, but we have the power and the ability to stay vigilant and to fight it.