Unity Temple, Straight A’s, and 1619
Two summers ago, my interior design class took a trip to Chicago to review, among other things, the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright. At some point, while on a walking tour, we arrived at the Unity Temple, the Wright building assigned to me for study and analysis.
The exterior of the building was remarkable, and I knew, from photos, that the interior would be even more amazing. We excitedly approached the building only to find a sign blocking the entry that said, "closed for a private event, no trespassing." I was very disappointed, and I knew, we all did, that this would be my only chance to see the space before we left Chicago.
My professor and classmates encouraged me to disregard the sign and go on in. They said things like, "you are a student, they will understand!" and "you'll be in and out in 15 minutes!" and "just show them your student ID."
I stood there, faced for the millionth time, with a situation that was more complex for me than those around me. My professor was white American, and my classmates were white Americans or had come to America from Japan and China only a few months prior. They couldn't understand the potential consequences for a black person when even small rules are broken, let alone the consequences of being black when no rules have been broken.
In a millisecond, I had a flashback to being followed around stores as a child and wondering why my straight A's and perfect manners weren't enough to make me trustworthy.
So, as is always the case for people of color in these situations, I had a choice. I could help others understand a teeny bit of my experience, or I could find a way to make sure their comfort was undisturbed. I attempted a middle ground and finally just said, in as lighthearted and factual a tone as I could muster, "black people can't ignore signs like that." Awkward silence.
Finally, my professor, a man that I know is working to understand his privilege, offered to walk in with me. I knew that he had the best of intentions, wanting to use his whiteness and maleness to protect and validate me. And maybe I should've accepted his offer, but I didn't. It feels awful to have this kind of fear revealed, and it feels even worse to have someone, a white man, try to resolve it. Eventually, I decided to take the risk and walk in alone.
All of this – this daily and ongoing marginalization of black people – is the result of America's history of slavery, a history that American lore minimizes. This is why The 1619 Project is so important, so game-changing.
"The 1619 Project is a major initiative from The New York Times observing the 400th anniversary of the beginning of American Slavery. It aims to reframe the country's history, understanding 1619 as our true founding, and placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of the story we tell ourselves about who we are." - https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/08/14/magazine/1619-america-slavery.html
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to hear from and meet Nikole Hannah Jones, the visionary behind the interactive Project. I had already been in awe of the Project but, after hearing her talk about her journey toward patriotism, I gained an even greater appreciation for her efforts, the efforts of her team and the various project contributors. We have the opportunity to leverage this moment to begin a new narrative, a truthful narrative. I genuinely hope that everyone in the world, and especially every American, will spend some time with the 1619 Project.
If America can reckon with and own the truth, then we can decrease the number of times little black girls are forced into existential crises while shopping or on an architecture tour.
"Our democracy's founding ideals were false when they were written. Black Americans have fought to make them true" - Nikole Hannah Jones.
Cheers,
Genia Wright
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