D.C.’s African American museum enlightens

This month marks the oneyear anniversary of the National Museum of African American History and Culture in the nation’s capital. I was overwhelmed by the building and exhibition which I visited a couple of months ago, and after living most of my life in Washington, D.C., I believe that the Smithsonian Institution’s newest addition stands as an enormous contribution to understanding more of the nation’s diversified history.

But I also have a personal interest in the project. Its founding director, Lonnie Bunch — the man who brought this 400,000 square-foot building to fruition — was a student of mine at American University nearly 50 years ago. Fast-back to 1970 at AU: I had just received tenure as an associate professor of history and taught a variety of American history courses. Like most institutions of higher learning at the time, AU had few African Americans. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 hadn’t taken deep root, and affirmative-action programs to recruit actively minorities in education and jobs were mostly words rather than actions.

Enter one Lonnie Bunch into one of my classes. He was quiet, bright-eyed, an excellent student and as he moved on in his studies as a history major, I knew him best as faculty members and students played one another in touch football. After earning his degrees at AU, he went on to really bigger and better things, including executive positions in museums around the nation. He became a much sought-after lecturer and authored numerous books and articles. By any standard, he was a VIP. But he was never highfalutin; no matter the amazing accomplishments, he preferred to be called Lonnie.

Now about the museum he founded: The visitor begins the tour with the most painful of African American history, slavery and freedom, from 1400 to 1877. These exhibits are all on the lower levels of the museum, with low ceilings and a darkness ambiance in line with the tragic episodes: enslaving colonial America, the transatlantic slave trade, the domestic slave trade, slave cabins, life and work, the Civil War and freedom. In spite of the crowds of visitors meandering in these exhibits, an eerie quiet prevails — as in a sense of shock and sadness.

Second and third lower levels recount more history, from the era of segregation to defending and defining history, 1876 to 1968, and then the era from 1968 — a critical year for African Americans in terms of events — and beyond. Had the museum stopped here, the visit would have been instructive and worthwhile, for these exhibits recount the struggles — the pain, so to speak — unique to African Americans.

But it’s on three additional rising levels that the real joys of achievements are manifest: from educational and family history examples to successes in sports, politics, the military, stage, culture, music, literature and the media. Here the crowds are rightfully enthusiastic, for the individuals who comprise the exhibits are familiar, part of our daily lives in an up-close relationship.

To be sure, some reviewers of the NMAAHC have been critical, with the Washington Post noting that it is “not an easy museum to navigate, and the history it tells often feels disconnected and episodic.” Well, history by its nature is disconnected and episodic, defined as a “chronological record of significant events often with an explanation of their causes.” And for African Americans, it’s especially without connecting points because their status in society was shunned and unrecorded.

That same Washington Post critic also suggested that “to bring order to this frenetic, eager and diffuse museum, you will want to read a book before you come.” No, you will want to visit the museum time and again because there is so much to digest, which is the reason that all the museums under the Smithsonian Institution umbrella find return visitors their most important attribute. The New York Times critic had it right about the NMAAHC: “It’s great that the museum mixes everything together: it means you can’t just select a comfortable version of history.”

When I called Lonnie after my visit to congratulate him on the museum, he indicated that one of the books I assigned in the class he attended stirred him to his museum goal. The 1879 book was a largely true account of a dreamer after the Civil War who lived in the South, trying to effect progress for former slaves against the backdrop of the Ku Klux Klan, no matter the likely failure of his quest.

Of course, the difference, in terms of Lonnie, is that his dream came true.