It’s a bit of a long story as to how we ended up in Bowie yesterday. It started with a spur of the moment trip last Sunday when my husband discovered that the only place that had something he needed for class was at the Bowie Barnes and Noble. He was intrigued by the Bowie Town Center and suggested we go back together to have a look.
Bowie Town Center is what indoor shopping malls have morphed into in some places. You can see examples in Hunt Valley and White Marsh: a few criss-crossed streets with shops up and down the way. It is meant to feel like old time small town shopping, I think. I feel it pull at feelings of nostalgia and yet I find myself resisting the sense that I am being manipulated by a commercial “concept”.
Last night was more like a summer evening than a fall one. The air was warm and humid. A central plaza was packed with lawn chairs as a live band performed. People strolled on the sidewalks, stopping to listen to the music or to chat with friends. When we came out from dinner at Mezeh (very much like Cava) the band was playing “Tell Me Something Good” and the positive energy was palpable. I discovered the best Dollar Tree ever, far superior to our local ones in variety of selection. It’s a bit of a drive to get there, but I just might be tempted to go back. The Barnes and Noble was worth the visit as well.
More enlightening than the stores themselves was the experience of being close to the only two white people in a confidently Black space. I’ve written about this before. I don’t think that white folks have nearly enough experiences in knowing what it feels like to be in the minority. Having those experiences can go a long way in helping us form a sense of empathy for those in our culture who are continually “othered”.
Last weekend we visited small town Indiana. In all the time we were there we saw one person of color. An entire weekend of predominantly white people, and it wasn’t remarkable to anyone but us. Imagine what it would be like to be that one gentleman having a business breakfast at a hotel, navigating an overwhelmingly white space.
I have come to believe that addressing the issues of inequity upon which this nation was (sadly) founded is the greatest challenge of our generation. (Ok, yes, climate change, but that doesn’t get us off the hook for racial injustice.) Failing to acknowledge the white supremacist roots of this country does not make it go away.
It is forever with us. How we respond to the truth of this says much about who we are.
The racism that was enshrined in the very birth of our nation is like something foul that all of us have trodden in. We all carry it with us. And we be-foul everything we touch and everywhere we go if we don’t address it directly. We carry it with us into work, or school, or church.
Imagine having something truly vile clinging to your shoes and yet saying, “Let’s not talk about that.” “That happened a long time ago.” “You’re making a big deal out of this.” Have we become so used to the stench?
It takes generations of effort to “tune out” the sufferings of others. Those of us in the dominant culture have built many intellectual and societal structures to keep out the bad thoughts and the bad feelings that come with facing our culpability. The more we cling to those structures the less we want to be around people who challenge them.
Hence, the deep, deep comfort of resegregation. Of majority white spaces. Of political representation with “just a sprinkle” of diversity. Non-profit boards with one requisite person of color. Stock photos with one black, one brown, one Asian.
Imagine going through life having to navigate all the time as being “the only one” of your kind. Think about the weight you would be carrying, and how exhausting that would be. I wonder how I would have felt last night if I had been questioned by shop clerks and passers by about why I was in the neighborhood, or what I was looking for, or if maybe I was “lost”.
Just think about it.
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