Like the Countee Cullen Poem, “Incident” when the poet tells a story of being a little boy who spent about eight months visiting Baltimore – yet the only thing he could recall about his experience was another little boy who stuck out his tongue and called him a racial slur – my first visit to Charleston had me feeling similarly. Only recalling the pain of what it feels like, what it must have felt like for my ancestors to be antagonized, insulted and oppressed for nothing more than the skin you’re in. That feeling, buoyed by historical pain and trauma, left me vowing to never return. Or so I thought at the time.
My first visit to the area was a trip intended to be a mini vacay for my partner and I. With me being a Type A, always busy Virgo, I am always working to strike a better work-life balance while being more intentional about how and with whom I spend my time. Simply stated, it’s about not hustling and grinding so hard that the important things – smelling the flowers, giving those we love theirs while they’re alive to appreciate the bouquets, nurturing dreams and sharing time with loved ones – don’t get forgotten or neglected.
With that said, about two years ago, my partner and I planned a trip to Charleston, South Carolina. We planned to intentionally spend time together, reconnecting, strolling hand in hand, maybe doing a little shopping and definitely finding good food to eat by the ocean right outside our hotel room near Charleston’s Historic District. What I wasn’t prepared for however, was the impact the area’s historical legacy would have on me. The lasting impression left on my psyche and soul was so triggering, angst filled and a lot to digest.
I found the remnants of the area’s atrocious slave history a bit much to bear. The remnants I’m speaking of are many of the sites people go to this part of Charleston for. The slave dungeons, the infamous Slave Market I stood in front of with a full view of the water where I imagined my ancestors being shoved off boats and marched to where I now stood for auction. The blast from the past architecture that made me feel like the main character in Octavia Butler’s “Kindred” transported me back to a time I wish I could erase. Then there were the cafes, with words like Cotton and Plantation in their names – the fancier ones being dominated by white patrons. Couple that with it also being the destination of more modern day hate crimes like the Emanuel AME Church shooting; nothing said return to Charleston. However, two years later, a unifying force with healing abilities would prompt me to return. Music inspired my unexpected return.
A friend of mine, an accomplished House Music DJ, was having a weekend event in Charleston and invited us to attend. Lover of House as I am, I figured, “you can handle this – you’ll be on the beach and at a hotel, away from the cobblestoned streets your ancestors frighteningly stood and bled upon.” More importantly I thought, “you’ll have the opportunity to visit the new International African American Museum (IAAM) and won’t have to wait the year and half it took me to get tickets to the Smithsonian version in D.C.”
As it turns out, I made the right decision in facing my fears about being immersed within a tumultuous past. Before it was all over, I traded in feelings of sadness and anger, embracing the inspiration and new knowledge gained from my museum visit and the resilience of a people it reified.
Situated a stone’s throw from where Carnival Cruise Lines dock, the pale rectangular building is an unassuming structure that sits upon pillars that almost give it a floating effect. The building literally “hovers 13 feet above the historic site of Gadsden’s Wharf, the port of arrival for nearly half of all enslaved Africans brought to North America.”
With exhibits beginning before you get to the entry door visitors can look forward to an immersive experience in merely approaching or walking around the building whose back side features floor to ceiling windows and balconies overlooking the spot where slave ships pulled in.
There is a cluster of massive neatly arranged Canary Island Palm Trees (a reflection of the African diaspora-underscoring an international theme), on one side of the building, large wooden chairs for lounging and reflecting and a water feature that depicts enslaved Africans packed tightly together on a slave ship. This feature is quite resonating with its pool of shallow water resting on top of life-sized bronze-colored cutouts of people engraved in a stone base. As the tide changes, the shallow pool of water fills and empties, covering and revealing the shapes of those it honors.
Greated by IAAM staff who give out admission tickets that can be clipped to your clothing, visitors take a short escalator ride up to the exhibit entrance. It’s an airy well-lit space that isn’t crowded or cluttered. Instead, this exhibit, reflecting the past also engages the present with a stellar use of modern technology. Entrants are flanked by eight enormous six by seven-foot-tall screens displaying images that take viewers on an immediate journey of the contributions of iconic and not so well-known people and events around the world. Pinnacle moments in American history, like the Memphis Sanitation Workers Protest and Poor Man’s March and the refreshing inclusion of a few Black LGBTQ folks were beautifully captured and displayed in brilliant high-resolution color and black and white photos and video clips. Hope for a more equitable future is instantly felt through the imagery that contained brief messages like, “The Diaspora is United For justice.”
Once fully inside there’s so much to see. “The International African American Museum is home to 12 permanent exhibitions that include nine galleries and one Special Exhibitions Gallery that rotates between two to three exhibitions annually, and an ongoing series of digital exhibitions published via the Google Arts & Culture platform.” For me, one of the most resonating features was dedicated to the grueling practice of rice growing. Dioramas showed in detail the process for growing rice, South Carolina’s most dominant and profitable crop from the early 1700s to after emancipation.
Like all museums, each visitor will undoubtedly be impacted by different exhibits and features. For me it was the illustration of the area’s dependence and brutality in forcing slaves to grow rice. For others it will be something else.
For Ju Don Marshall, CEO of WFAE – Charlotte’s NPR news source, it would be the IAAM’s Gullah Geechee exhibit that draws her to experience the museum’s display of history, courage and resourcefulness. The IAAM’s website describes it as one which will “define and demystify what it means to be Gullah Geechee by examining the history of the Gullah Geechee peoples and the contemporary issues facing their communities today.”
Marshall’s interest in this one is tethered to her deep and personal connection to the Gullah Geechee community. She grew up in the area, her great-great grandparents having been enslaved in a place very near by on Wadmalaw Island.
Marshall explained, “The Gullah Geechee community is the community that emerged out of enslaved Africans who brought their traditions [and] their language, and merged those various West African cultures and traditions to come up with a new culture among themselves in an effort to preserve the culture they came with.”
Marshall went on to say how fascinating it is that Gullah Geechees will find language and food identifiable in speaking with indigenous Africans.
Reflecting on the museum’s relevance, she offered, “It’s also important that people of color get to tell their own story. This museum allows the Black community to tell its own story, and that’s important. I think this museum is striving to be a living, evolving thing and I think where they are today is not where they will be years from now.”
Marshall concluded by explaining why a museum like IAAM should be visited by people of different races and ethnicities, emphasizing, “If you want to understand the history of this country, a significant portion and the influences that we all enjoy, it’s important to understand this particularly story of the south and of Black people in this country – our history, culture and traditions.
With that, I am drawn back to the museum’s website with its large lettering lamenting Marshall’s thoughts of its purpose and potential: of trauma, truth, and triumph.
“The International African American Museum tells the unvarnished stories of the African American experience across generations, the trauma and triumph that gave rise to a resilient people.”
Personally, I’m proud of myself for finding the emotional fortitude to return to Charleston for a visit to the museum and sincerely hope you, too, will consider finding time in your schedule for an experience you’re unlikely to forget.
