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National Museum of African American History and Culture (just a taste)


I am sharing this week and in posts to follow a few influences--videos, books, people, places, stories--that have helped me notice my blindspots with regard to racial justice. The story is ever growing. In fact, sometimes the more I learn, the harder it is to write. So I'll just start here, hoping that if I tell one or two stories it could be a way forward to you reading or telling one or two more stories, and that could be a way forward for all of us.



In 2017, our family visited Washington D.C. My priority stop was the National Museum of African American History and Culture which had opened less than one year before, but I had not planned far enough ahead to get tickets before we arrived. So every morning of our five-day visit I logged on to the website at 6 AM to try to get five tickets (we had an exchange student with us). One morning I was able to get three. I wasn't sure how that would work out, but we figured we would go get in line for the other two and see what would happen. It was July, and hot. But the architecture of the new building was so stunning and my excitement was mounting to enter, so I didn't mind the rising thermometer. I had learned that the building was inspired by a three-tiered crown used in Yoruban art from West Africa. I was also drawn to the intriguing metal lattice that ensconced the entire building, setting it apart from the rest of the white marble buildings that line the mall. This is reflective of the detailed ironwork of enslaved African Americans in the south, in places such as Louisiana and South Carolina. 



But the waiting in line was so full of excitement--eager, hopeful. We were all hoping for each other to get in. Suddenly someone called out, "Does anyone need a single ticket?" I looked around, wondering if I should speak up. I don't even remember now how we got the other ticket, but somehow we did, and everyone around us was excited for us to get in--there was only joy in the shared prospect of getting inside this museum together for the first time. There was no sense of "I hope I get in before you." It was joyful and reverential.


As I'm working on these posts in fits and starts, John Lewis was laid to rest just last week. I watched his funeral with my parents. I did not realize it, as I stood out in the 9 AM blazing July D.C. sun, the lengths to which Civil Rights activist andCongressman Lewis had gone to bring this museum into existence. But the more I've learned about him over the last week, the more I am grateful for the road he paved, the bridge he walked and and the inspiring call to action he gave, even as he prepared to leave this world. 


Thank you Mr. Lewis. 


This museum deserves an entire post (or more) of its own, so I will return to it later. And in the meantime, as summer winds down, the museum is unfortunately closed due to COVID-19, but you can explore much of it online.



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Location: Washington, DC, USA

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