A Part of History
Saturday September 24, 2016 was the
annual 100 Thousand Poets for Change event. This is the first time in my career
as a writer that I did not participate in the event. By the time I found out
the date of the event, it was too late for me to prepare anything for the
event. As it happened, I already had plans for that day, plans
that were years in the making. I was going to be a part of history.
Three years ago I participated in a year
of giving, making monetary contributions to different charities and cultural
organizations for every month of the year. One of the contributions I made that
year was to the National Museum of African American History and Culture.
.
At that point in time, the museum was
beginning to tell their story, which was one hundred years in the making.
Veterans of the Civil War began a movement to build this museum beginning in
1915.
Once I learned of the museum, I saw that
they were soliciting monetary donations to get it built. I knew immediately
that it was a project I had to support. I knew that this museum would be an
important landmark on the national landscape, and that it would tell a story
not yet told on a national level. I made a monetary contribution and became a
charter member of the museum. I then began to follow the museum on
social media. I read how museum officials were obtaining artifacts for the
museum, and saw videos showcasing the construction of the building.
Finally, the news came that the opening
of the museum would be in October of 2016. However, some months later, the
opening date was be moved up a month, to take place on Saturday, September 24th.
Shortly after the opening date was
announced, charter members of the museum received an e-mail informing us that
entry into the museum would require a timed pass. The passes would be given out
online, free of charge, and were going to be made available at a certain date
and time. I made sure to note the date and time the
passes would be given out. Charter members could request up to 6 timed passes.
The morning the timed passes were made
available, I went online to register for them. As I filled out the registration
information online, the passes were disappearing. I was able to get tickets for
3:45pm on Saturday September 24, the opening day. I was able to get six passes,
which would enable my family and I to attend. It was reported that 250,000
tickets were made available to charter members. The entire allotment of timed passes
was sold out in less than an hour.
A few days before the opening, I flew to
the East Coast. My flight was pre-dawn, which made for an ungodly early
morning. The plane was half full of passengers at most. I had never taken that
early a flight before. I have to admit,
I enjoyed it. In flight, the lights were off in the plane, and most of the screens covering
the windows were shut. It gave the plane a calmness, which helped me relax on
the flight. I listened to music, which calmed my nerves and gave me peace of
mind.
This museum was built on the last piece
of land available in the National Mall in Washington D.C. The National Mall
also contains the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the Martin Luther
King Jr. Memorial, and more.
In reading about the new museum, I
learned that its design is unlike anything else in Washington, D.C. Many buildings
and monuments in the Washington D.C. area are designed in the Neoclassical
style, and are white, made of sandstone, limestone, and marble. The new museum has
a modern three tiered design, covered in panels of intricate brown ironwork.
The museum opening day finally came. We
drove to Washington, D.C., my brother, my parents and I. We parked at the
Ronald Reagan building, a few blocks from the museum. We made our way to the
street level, and found this view of the museum:
We then set off for lunch, at the nearby
Old Ebbitt Grill, which has been in Washington, D.C. since 1856.
After lunch we walked the three blocks to
the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Along the way, we
had a wonderful view of the Washington Monument and the U.S. Capitol building.
We arrived at the timed passes entry point at 2:30pm. We thought we
were early to get in to the museum. Unbeknownst to us at the time, the opening
of the museum was an hour late. Yet, the mood of the people waiting with us in
line was that of excitement. Everyone was eager to gain entry into the museum, to see
the building and the artifacts contained within.
While we waited in line, I took advantage
of the time, taking pictures of the new museum, the Washington Monument, and
the atmosphere of the day.
Our strength and perseverance paid off. We entered the lobby of the museum at 6pm. We had been waiting in line since 2:30pm. Our bodies were exhausted after waiting in line for nearly four hours. Yet, my heart was full of excitement. We decided to see as much as we could see, and when we got too tired to continue, we would leave for the day. We did the best we could, visiting every floor of the museum. I took many photos, and two videos:
The most poignant moment of my day
happened on the lowest level of the museum, level C3, where the artifacts from
the time of slavery are kept. While walking through the impossibly overcrowded hallways,
I sought out the information cards in the exhibits and read them aloud for my
mother.
At one point, I was drawn to a
rectangular glass case, which contained a violin. I read the card containing the name of the owner
of the violin. There was a man standing nearby, crying. The man looked to my
mother and I and remarked: “That was my great-grandfather.” He then broke down, sobbing.
I was overcome in that moment. I
instinctively put my hands to my heart. I was moved by what the man had said,
and his open display of emotion. I stood there for a moment, speechless, not
knowing how to reply. I finally spoke to him:
“Wow sir, what a wonderful moment for you.”
I did not know what to say in that
moment. Perhaps I should have not said anything to him. My mother and I moved
on, giving the man some space. I looked back to the man; he was now bent over
the glass case, weeping. That was a profound, beautiful moment to witness. In dreaming of attending the museum opening, I never dreamed that I would meet someone whose ancestor had an artifact in the museum.
Did we see everything in the museum? Not
at all. We saw about a quarter of the museum in total. With 28,000 people in
the museum, it was extremely hard to navigate. However, the museum committed to
stay open until midnight to ensure that visitors would have the time to see
what they wanted to see.
I will have to make another trip to Washington, D.C. to see the museum again. I will plan to be there an entire day, to truly see everything. However, I think I will wait a year, to allow the crowds to die down.
It was a long, grueling day. But we were
there. We were among the first in the general public to visit the National
Museum of African American History and Culture. What an incredible honor it
was, to be a part of history.
© All writing and photography © Esperanza
Habla All rights reserved ©
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