The Blacksonian, The African American Museum
I have finally been able to go to the Blacksonian. The Blacksonian is what my friend and fellow comedian Haywood Turnipseed(yes, that is his real name) has dubbed the National Museum of African American History and Culture. I prefer the Blacksonian. It just rolls off the tongue. To get in you need to have tickets and they need to be booked months in advance. Turns out, another fellow comedian of mine has a hook up through her job and was able to walk me, my wife and my daughter in.
Let me tell you something, all praises go to her because this museum is an experience that everyone needs to take in. Everyone, and it will take you more than one trip. There is so much richness inside those wall. The distillation of the black experience. The fullness of it. It’s truly amazing.
I don’t think I can articulate everything to you but I can give you some of mental highlights.
We decided to start on the top floor and work down. My wife and daughter had already been on a school field trip but they weren’t able to really dig in the way we did. The top floor dealt with the Arts and the many varied ways Black people have influenced and driven them. The Culinary Arts, music, poetry, writing, cinema, comedy(YES!!!!), architecture, iron working, we are everywhere. We are part of everything. Everything beautiful, thought provoking, heart breaking, soul warming, spirit enriching, everything that evokes every emotion inside of you, we are there. And that spirit spilled over into the visitors. So many easy smiles were shared with strangers. So many easy conversations. The feeling of connection with each other. I stood and explained to a beautiful woman, about my mothers age, who Big Mama Thornton was and how Elvis stole his music from her. I told her who Living Colour was. How we were singing rock too. In her words “I like his hair…..boy his voice is strong!!”. Yes mama, Vernon sang the shit out of Cult of Personality. I stood in the comedy room and recited bits along with Richard Pryor for a laughing group of people. I Marveled at the work that black artists were able to accomplish while working with the odds stacked so highly against them.
We went down one floor and went into sports. The dominance. The sheer dominance, built with a boundless work ethic. The work ethic that allowed Jesse Owens to embarrass the master race. The work ethic that allowed Muhammad to shout “I’M THE GREATEST!!! I’M A BAAAAAAAAD MAN”. The work ethic that took two girls from Compton to the heights of the tennis world. The Ethic. That should be the name of that floor……THE ETHIC.
By then over two hours had passed and it was time to eat. We went down to the cafeteria……..I could spend the rest of this writing telling you how good it was but let me just say this…..GO TO THE CAFETERIA….EAT THE FOOD…you won’t be disappointed.
On our way to the food we walked by the entrance to the bottom levels. The beginnings. The entrance of Blackness into the American experience. The line to get in was long, so we decided to eat and come back. If the line was still long we would come back another time. When we came out the line was gone so we boarded the elevator and went down. That’s how you get in. A service elevator that takes fifty at a time. A service elevator. Service.
The elevator drops you at the bottom and you walk up three flights. Along the way you learn the entire history of the slave trade. All of it. Which countries were involved. Which royal families and how they rationalized it. Which companies and how they made fortunes off of the trade. How it was worldwide. You learn about the roundups. Humans hunted and ripped from their homes. You learn about the forced marches across Africa to coasts. You learn how humans were packed into slave ships holds. How they spent months in filth and disease. How they were whipped and raped and brutalized. How they died and were tossed into the deeps. You learn about breaking. You learn about auction blocks. You learn about families torn apart. You learn about the four hundred years of it. Four hundred. You learn that no one, no one, truly tells the horrors of it. You learn about the war to end it. You get mad again at the Souths love of their foul heritage. You learn about Civil Rights. You learn about speeches and nonviolence. You wonder how and why in 2017 people are trying to and succeeding in stopping people from voting. You listen to the reasons used then, and realize that they are the same reasons used now. You will get angry for the future of your children and you will ask yourself, will they every know true equality? When you walk up that last ramp to leave you may feel a weight. That weight being a question, a heavy question, what are you going to do?
The Blacksonian is a must do experience and I will go again. And I will feel that weight, again.