Initially, I envisioned a very different post for my first visit to the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC). I went in thinking of light, useful information for travelers, infused with my perspective and highlights from my visit. With that in mind, on a brisk November morning, I hopped in a Lyft and headed for NMAAHC. Armed with my media pass, a few loose ideas for a blog post and unbridled excitement- I was finally going to see the museum I’d heard so much about!
Somehow (perhaps very naively), I didn’t anticipate the profound impact my visit would have.
Honoring Legacy
As I type this now, on MLK Day, it has been nearly two months since my museum visit. I needed time to let the experience settle; time to reflect on the impact. I needed space to sort through the myriad emotions that this amazing place brought to the surface. I’m still sorting but I finally feel like I’m ready to share. As MLK Day serves as an annual celebration of a great American legacy, I choose to honor this day with reflections of a space and experience that truly captures our legacy as a people. The National Museum of African American History and Culture is the only space of its kind; honoring a diverse and beautifully unique human experience.
A Trip to The Museum
I have a confession. I’m not really a museum person. I rarely go out of my way, at home or on trips to seek out and explore museums. If I have a choice between a food tour and a museum, 99% of the time, I’m going to choose the food tour. In Paris, I went on an amazing food tour, but missed the Louvre. I understand the value of museums and appreciate them in a general sense, but haven’t ever felt the excitement I felt when I planned my trip to DC. Having heard murmurs and praise for this remarkable place from friends and strangers alike, I knew I was in for something special. For me this isn’t a museum, it’s the museum.
As I often do in moments I want to remember, I took the time to write some notes in my phone as I made my way through the museum- essentially a journal of my time at NMAAHC. Reading through my notes now, I feel so grateful to have them- a real time, raw reflection of my experience, as I traveled through exhibits highlighting centuries of life- in all its struggle and triumph. Sorrow and joy; unyielding pain and boundless faith, unbelievable oppression and defiant freedom.
The History Galleries
I Am Because We Are
On the advice of many friends who had visited NMAAHC, I started at the bottom. Piling into a large elevator full of people, we made our descent to the lowest level, Slavery and Freedom, transported back in time to the 1400’s.
The Middle Passage
Being below ground level, with no windows or natural light has an immediate effect. The immersive experience, with the sound of waves crashing, clinking of chains and the sounds of the slave ship makes my throat and chest tight. The image of Elmina Slave Castle projected on the wall takes me back to 1999 when I visited the slave dungeons at Elmina in Ghana, West Africa- the only other time I have had this visceral, physical reaction to a historical experience. I’m vaguely aware that only some of this emotion is mine. The rest feels like it comes from a remembrance that doesn’t fully belong to me. It is scary but also feels necessary and cathartic. I pause at the display with tiny children’s chains- why didn’t I assume there were children on slave ships? Part of me wants to rush through this floor, it hurts too much. I will myself to slow down. I stop, listen, read and feel my way through the space.
While some of the information is not unfamiliar, there are details, cultural symbols and stories that are brand new for me. The clarity and honesty of the exhibitions tell a remarkable story. A story of survival, insurmountable odds and resilience, punctuated somehow by moments of hope and joy. I’m struck (as I was on my trip to Ghana) that my ancestors did not die on this journey; they were among those that survived. I leave the floor with my mind swirling, humbled to have this history as part of my story.
Recognition
Walking up the ramp and encountering The Era of Segregation begins to bring to mind my own family story. My great uncle Charles and great aunt Sadie Mae (who we affectionately called Tia) journeying from Texas to California in the 1940’s, part of the Great Migration. Tia working as a cook for rich, white families in Pacific Heights and managing to buy a beautiful Victorian in San Francisco at a time when we were still called ‘colored’. My great uncle Tommy, the Pullman Porter. My dad boarding a train alone at sixteen to join his aunt and uncle in San Francisco- and becoming the first college graduate in the family and a pilot in the Air Force. I walk through this floor and feel like I’m visiting family- with stories like my own reflecting back to me, a reminder of a rich, shared history.
Moving Freely
I pause at the travel display, highlighting both popular African American travel spots and the dangers and challenges of traveling while Black during segregation. The brightly colored travel guide is a visual reminder of how many places would not shelter, feed or welcome African American travelers along the road- a stark contrast with the excitement and joy planning travel brings me now. I remember my great aunt, Tia meticulously packing a floral lunch bag full of fried chicken and potato salad before a big trip, laughing as she told me stories of jealous passengers wishing aloud they could have some, as the aroma wafted through the space.
Standing in front of this display, I wish I had been old enough to ask Tia about the tradition of packing food for travel. I wonder whether she would have shared stories of Texas in the early 1900’s with eight-year-old me.
The struggles highlighted on this floor hit closer to home, as my ancestors now have names that I know. I’ve grown up in their love, protected by their strength and nourished by their resilience.
What did Great Uncle Tommy experience as a Pullman Porter?
Did my dad have to ride in a segregated car when he came to California from Texas?
How did my grandma feel sending both her sons out of Texas before the age of eighteen?
What was Tia’s experience like as a domestic worker in San Francisco?
My pride is tinged with sadness and anger when I think of the countless slights, dangerous encounters and racism I know they have experienced. I let myself feel the weight of it, blink back tears, take a deep breath and keep moving upward.
Reflection
I make it through the third history gallery level before the tears start falling. As I enter the 1970s, occurrences that have happened in my lifetime start appearing in image, video and song. Tupac’s Keep Your Head Up wafting from speakers above, images of iconic blaxploitation movies give way to Oprah, then the early days of hip hop, walking me through my childhood and into the 2000s.
Confronting the Present
Standing in front of a collection of screens, videos of Hurricane Katrina and images of Trayvon Martin hit me and my throat tightens again. A collage of moments flash by on the screen: protestors hold signs ‘Black Lives Matter’, ‘I Can’t Breathe’; President Obama gives a speech, Venus and Serena celebrate a win, Denzel and Halle hold Oscars. Along with the images and the music come the tears. I’m glad I came alone, experiencing this place without interacting or chatting with friends has allowed me to immerse myself fully. My own silence has opened me up to this story: the pain, the joy, the strength of the collective spirit of Black people. The journey we have shared and continue to share through this life.
Acknowledgement
The tears that catch in my throat on the lower level feel like an acknowledgement of where we have been, the tears that finally fall on the third level are my own, born of the turmoil of today. Police brutality, pervasive racism, the ever enduring unwillingness of some to acknowledge our humanity and worth. Taking a trip through time this quickly highlights both how far we’ve come and the still looming thick, gnarled roots of oppression and hate. Twisted and turned, spanning space and time, grown strong over hundreds of years- oppression that we grapple with, work around and strive to overcome.
To this point, my museum experience has been heavy- remarkable, but still heavy. As I round the corner exiting lower level three, I fully need a minute to collect my thoughts. I run directly into the Contemplative Court, complete with a sign urging me to rest, reflect and recharge before continuing my visit. They read my mind. Yes. Please.
It’s Bigger Than Hip-Hop
After a whirlwind of information and emotion in the History Galleries, I should stop and eat- but I don’t. Instead, I go in search of the Eyejammie Hip Hop Photography Collection (on display through May 2019), Represent: Hip-Hop Photography. I take a trip down memory lane and marvel at the awesome photographic comparisons between historical music figures and hip hop legends displayed side by side. Dick Gregory and Nina Simone alongside KRS-One and Ms Melodie; the Last Poets meet Public Enemy; George Clinton alongside OutKast. Classic.
And if the comparisons don’t get you, reminisce on your first walkman (if you’re old enough) and the first time you attempted to breakdance. It’s all captured here in this vibrant collection. If you were born after CD players, please go ask your auntie what a walkman is.
Finding Community
Another awesome series of galleries highlights heroes from James Baldwin to Muhammed Ali, achievements from education to military service and constants in the form of faith and spirituality. Celebrating our ability to ‘make a way out of no way’, I think about where we started our journey (and where I started mine earlier in the day) and can’t help but smile. Several hours into my visit, I’m headed for the top floor- curious about what else lies ahead.
Do It For the Culture
As I ride the escalator to the top level, I gaze outside and take in the gorgeous architectural design of this grand building. Endless windows allow the sunlight in, soft and golden as the day begins to turn to evening. It’s already been quite an experience; I’m not sure what I’ll encounter next but I’ve heard there’s music. Sounds like a perfect end to any day for me.
Are You Not Entertained?
As I weave my way through visual art, sports, theater, film and music- I am struck by the sheer volume of accomplishments; talent beyond measure. From Joe Lewis and Jesse Owens to Venus and Serena Williams. From Hattie McDaniel to Angela Bassett. Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday to Miles Davis and John Coltrane; Aretha Franklin to James Brown.
You can’t help but smile when you encounter the outlandish styles of Bootsy Collins, Jimi Hendrix, George Clinton and Earth, Wind and Fire. Marvel at the display that is the P-Funk Mothership.
I stumble upon the Neighborhood Record Store, part gallery, part interactive jukebox experience; as you can scroll through and choose music selections to play, surrounded by records from artists spanning decades. I hang out for a while, knowing I have no more floors to visit on this trip. I’ve seen so much today. I let it settle around me as I listen to Coltrane, then Biggie; Donna Summer followed by Tribe Called Quest; myself and other patrons all playing DJ. This place feels like home.
Standing in the center of this panoramic audio visual display, I feel a welling sense of pride, amazement at all we have become. The imagination and creativity- this space captures the essence of African American people. More mirror than museum, NMAAHC shows us who we are. Unrivaled creativity, defiantly beautiful spirit and unbridled joy in the face of waves of injustice and oppression. My mind has been blown, again and again throughout this day. I am overwhelmed. My head is full. Again, I am humbled.
Through the Looking Glass
Every once in a while, (if you’re lucky) you have a transformative moment. A time when you see yourself clearly and allow yourself to push through fear and dream a life for yourself larger than you thought possible. A time when you ask yourself tough questions:
What am I doing with my life? Is it enough?
Do I take the time to feel and express gratitude?
What is my legacy? What will people remember about me?
When I look back at my life, what will I be most proud of?
What can I do to bring joy to myself, my family and my community?
Wandering through this floor full of realized dreams, world renowned art and beautiful faces that look like mine, I am grateful. Ironically, African Americans have used the pain, despair and rage born of oppression as fertile ground for beautiful expressions of creativity and inexplicable joy. The epitome of spirit. It is truly poetic. To say that I am inspired is an understatement.
My day at the museum blew my expectations out of the water completely. I went in thinking I’d write a fun, light post and have instead spent hours thinking about the history of my family and my life in new ways. In roughly six hours at NMAAHC, I barely scratched the surface. My first trip to the National Museum of African American History and Culture will absolutely not be my last.
Have you been to the the National Museum of African American History and Culture? If so, what was your impression?