LOVE LINE week three
Am I practicing what it means to desegregate myself? Moving out of the places I live and work, meeting people across demographics? Am I building alliances? Sharing messages of LOVE between Glenwood and Sunset Hills and Asheboro and Rosewood helps me recognize I am white and informs me where the people of color are. I can begin to ask if this or that space, business, city, park, playground, reproduce white supremacy and how.
Three times this month I heard the term “white art” and “black art.” The first was a 3rd hand account of two black visitors encountering a work of art at Elsewhere. It was “white art” and said it scared them. An Asian-American artist told me I was making “white art.” It was intended as a put down. A black artist at SOUL Society said he used to call his art “black art” then changed his mind. “Black art? Black art? No, it’s art!”
Fifteen years ago, I believed I would benefit from diversity. After sitting in on an age and color uniform class at Emerson College, I withdrew my application and enrolled at City College of New York. That exposed me to a diverse student body, style and content. After six months at the International House in the Upper West Side, I moved to Queens to be deeper in the NYC I wanted to experience, with its chicken processing factories, carnation sellers and sidewalk accordion players. Was this, as Markasha of Faith Church says, a form of entertainment for me, a window onto the Other or was I in fact desegregating myself? My closest friends were Argentinean, Venezuelan, Sardinian, Lebanese, White and Black American. How does one break down barriers and build teams across races?
In “The Ceremony of Us in The Legacy of We” by Sri Louise, issue #50 of Movement Research, Louise recounts somatic and social justice facilitator, Carol Swan saying, “If I don’t actively desegregate my life, I’m racist.” That statement really resonated with me as work that needs doing. It know it will not do itself.
In “Visiblizing the Silence,” Jamie Duggan says, “Every human being living in a paradigm so inundated by race systems is inherently racist, not only some white people, and not only white people. To be anti-racist, you have to fearlessly talk about and explicitly expose what you see, feel, suspect, know, or have observed regarding the race system.” The opposite of colorblind is practicing seeing color. I am coming to understand what it means to talk about one’s whiteness.
As I dig into desegregation, I recognize that the military was desegregated six years before Brown v Board of Education forced desegregation of schools and the Supreme Court ruled LGBT individuals could openly serve in the military before they could legally marry. This was because the military had proved it was possible. In 2017, Danah Boyd reporting for The Guardian suggested a new trend of self-segregation, enabled by technology, and said two trends were responsible. The government privatizing huge chunks of the military and Facebook allowing students to preview their college roommate assignments. Where commanders broke down barriers and built morale across difference, private companies now look for teams that already get along and people who have the skills, helping reinforce segregation patterns. And where college freshmen were intentionally paired with people of different backgrounds, students now self-segregate, requesting new roommates before they arrive. These shifts, reports the Guardian, “undermine our personal potential and fragment the diversity of the broader social fabric.”
I like Keith Hennessy’s expansive set of questions in “Questioning Contact Improvisation” about why so many American alternative cultures—yoga, hippy, contact improv, Burning Man—are majority white? Who are they excluding and how? Hennessy points out that dominant cultures maintain power by naming the Other while avoiding naming the self. He offers questions I can apply to the LOVE LINE, “What am I doing right now? Am I listening? Where is my body? Will I yield to this dance/walk of questioning?”
I passed a parked Community Patrol car in the south. I flashed to George Zimmerman. What is the race of the person who drives this car? What is their allegiance to the community? Can I better understand the tension by wading in it? I understand it must end.
Thinking about my whiteness, I have at times imbued the Other with more noble qualities, with more juvenile tactics. Always the hero of my own story, I have countered with bravery and with determination. I have also felt suspect in Other spaces. What do they perceive I am doing here? What do they think I want from them? Can a white woman listening in a black space change something? I can change myself. I can see my whiteness. I can move past feigned empathy. I can ameliorate tensions. I can consider how and discuss how I participate in upholding white systems.
I go into black spaces as a sheep into a forest and work hard to be present, to the Other instead of to myself. I accept I may not be welcome here. And am honored when I am. I do understand not being welcomed. The spaces of the Other are sacred to me. I favor their focus on self-reliance and unity. I want to model my community on this, with spaces that include and empower, but do I?
In my 20’s, I saw the black bodies around me as inherently more beautiful and the white bodies as rather grotesque. I no longer feel this, but still I recognize a poise in blacks whites rarely achieve, a coolness, a rootedness, and I owe it to their oppression. How naïve! I even invented a reason for it. It is the black man’s work to heal the white man. Indeed, that is why he is here. The white man needs the black man to heal him. How perverse!! How wrong! No, no, it is the white man’s work to heal the white man and the black man’s work to heal himself. And to heal as a community, we must work together to see our history and build new spaces where safety is a guarantee and everyone has a voice and dignity and opportunity. And housing is a human right. Power must be distributed. Instead of stepping aside, I must step in, join. Instead of seeing the Other, I must see myself.
It is Tuesday 26 February. I walked the “O” in the early evening. Outside the Elsewhere door, I met Emily, the white program manager of Elsewhere and Travis, the white interim director of Elsewhere, and Cory, the black, formerly homeless activist for the homeless who has close ties to Elsewhere. Walking north, I stopped into Social Status, a black owned sneaker store, to ask about the crowds I see outside. They gather on Saturdays to purchase the new line of sneakers. The proprietors, Dani & Ramsey, listened to my project, but didn’t leave a message. Is it ok for a white woman to enter a black space?
I met Clinton in the doorway of a restaurant on Elm. He had a shopping cart filled with bags and a sleeping roll. We talked. A dark skinned man, 60 years old, with a peaceful vibe. He was embarrassed to say he was homeless, but let it slip. He told me about his childhood.
I went to Longshanks, where Travis spins tunes on Tuesdays. A sleek German Shepherd greeted me and Israel the bartender welcomed me. I talked to all 6 patrons, all 6 were white. Each received a call. Two left messages. Coach offered an idea. Go to the Children’s Museum, ask the kids to dial their number. Let them receive a message. He used to be a high school teachers. Nick, a former intern at Elsewhere, a white artist in his 20’s with a curly mustache, told me about the Sunday pop-up art and farmers market near Sticks & Stones Pizza east of the UNCG campus on Walker & Elam.
I ran into Corey again. The Homeless Coalition meets Thursdays at 4pm at the library. His partner Angel, a Black-Cherokee woman, joined us. We talked about the neighborhoods we grew up in. Like Clinton, they lived in community where everyone took care of everyone. If you did something wrong, another kid’s parents would scold you.
Two white men in jogging shorts with reflective vests were standing outside a pub. I’d seen a larger group of joggers an hour ago. They are in a pub running group, a different bar each night. Open to anyone. Meet, run 3 miles, have a beer.
I ran into Clinton again. He asked the people who passed for their leftovers. No one gave him anything. I went into the taco and beer shop to get him a taco. It was an upscale pub. Fish tacos were $10! I purchased one and sat waiting at the counter. I talked to the white woman on my right and the Greek man on my left. Both received messages. Kostas left a message.
Clinton was still outside. I gave him the taco and shared some sweet potato fries. He said he got into a fight while I was inside. Another homeless man had been acting inappropriately. Clinton told him to go away. The man yelled and assaulted him. He fought back. Eventually the man went away. I suggested the man might have a mental illness and it might be better to avoid him. Clinton said, When you live on the street, you have to fight. That man will be back around. He walked me down the street and asked me to stand on the outside, though that’s not good manners. “There are raccoons on the inside, Mimi. Haven’t you noticed?” “What’s a raccoon?” “You don’t know what a raccoon is?” A white man with a beard and tattoos came out of a shop. Clinton addressed him, “Tell this woman what a raccoon is.” The man described a rodent. I said, “I think he means a person.” “Oh. I don’t know. I’ve never heard of that.” Clinton was referring to garbage collectors, men and women who dumpster dive for their survival. He was protecting me from their pleas.
Greensboro City Council
I looked at the Greensboro City Council Community Calendar for February. No mention of black issues or black history or anti-racist work, though four of the current nine city council members are people of color. The website has a very thorough lists local food pantries and info on the Farmers Market.
Wednesday 25 February
Crossing the tracks from the black ghetto to the white ghetto used to be life threatening. Now minorities outnumber whites in Greensboro. But despite a changing population, racial tensions haven't disappeared. Residents acknowledge a geographic racial divide between the minority-heavy east side and the mostly white west side.
I watched the hour-long documentary about the Greensboro Four, “February One: The Story of the Greenboro Four.” It is a remarkable piece of history that clearly demonstrates the need for racial unity.
I went again to the Beloved Community Meeting. The group was larger with some of the same people and some new. One new member said he was filing a civil suit against the Police Department for planting drugs on him. Zalonda came with her two children. They were just placed in a house. She was beaming. They told the story of how it all starts with a home. When it was my turn, I showed my map and asked for advice on places to go to listen for love and invited their messages of encouragement to the community. I felt supported. Heads nodded in approval.
A white woman at the meeting stated this statistic. “There is a 15-year difference in life expectancy from N Elm to S Elm Street.” Elm Street runs N-S through downtown Greensboro from white to the black. It follows that, “Life Expectancy Depends on Where You Live,” but I think to be accurate one would need to include: “And Where You Live Depends on Your Class and Your Class Depends on Your Color and If You Are Black in America, or Worse, if you are Native American, You Are Screwed Because the System Is Against You and There Is No Justice for All.” “Things like income and education, access to healthy food and access to medical care are rolled up in that number,” says Laila A. Bell, a researcher compiling data for the N Carolina Child Health Report Card. In the other hand, “North Carolina has some of the wealthiest pockets in the nation. But at least one in four children live in poverty.”
Thursday 26 February
I walked the “O” in LOVE today. The path passes Greensboro College and travels south on Tate Street past the Weatherspoon Art Museum on the UNCG campus. I stopped into Tate Street Coffee House and met two young white students who looked at my map and told me where the wealthy people live and pointed out places to see and go. They said no one goes to the rich neighborhood because it’s gated with country clubs.
The Weatherspoon Art Museum is a gorgeous space and is free every day. I toured the current exhibit and saw some works from the permanent collection. It felt to me like one of Greensboro’s most equitable places. The number of black and whites working and visiting the museum felt evenly distributed, which reflects the city itself. I especially enjoyed “To the Hoop: Basketball and Contemporary Art” with works by Jeff Koons, Gina Adams, André Leon Gray, Esmaa Mohamoud, Paul Pfeiffer and more.
I am scheduled to attend two meetings of the Guilford Anti-Racism Alliance. GARA is an anti-racist, discussion-and-action group. It has 3 overlapping caucuses (People of Color, White and Joint). The caucuses provide safe spaces to challenge individual, institutional and cultural racism and to develop sustaining networks that work towards an anti-racist society. It is time I joined the effort to dismantle systemic racism.
Sunday 1 March
Warm. Sun. I went out to walk the “V” and “E” in LOVE today with my map and phone. I met four teenagers having fun on Elm Street, posing and taking pictures. I opened up my map. They received calls. Two left messages. They told me about an antique shop and said, “Whatever you do, don’t go to MLK Street. It’s dangerous.” They were full of determination and gentleness and grateful to have met me, and I was blesses to meet them.
City Park and LeBrauer Park in downtown Greensboro allow for the curve in the “V” I was looking for. In this planned geography, I see the embodiment of LOVE, two connecting green spaces with paths that wind between Davie and Church Streets by the Cultural Center and Central Library and Children’s Museum. These parks invite a diverse group of city dwellers with benches, tables, bathrooms, water fountains, food stands, flowers, trees, water features, dog parks, playgrounds, public art, stages and programming. Black and white and Latino and Asian-American families were out walking, sitting, talking, eating, playing and waiting in the sun.
A black man outside the central library told me about the greenway on Murrow Street. It is currently under construction. One day it will offer safe passage for cyclists. For now it feels industrial and passes close to Murrow which is an arterial street. The Interactive Resource Center is on the corner of Murrow and Washington. The IRC offers lockers, showers, laundry, wifi, a computer lab, job training, a free sit-down meal every Monday and, when it’s cold, a floor to sleep on. The IRC was pointed out to me and now I find it sits on the “V” in the LOVE LINE! How nice. It is the organization Food Not Bombs that uses donations from local grocery stores to prepare the free community meal every Monday.
I passed over Murrow on Washington and walked east to Bennett College. Dick Rhyne stopped to ask if I needed help. I had my map out. I told him about my work. Dick knew Sylvia of Elsewhere and knows David Jr, son of David Richmond, one of the Greensboro four. David works at Bennett College. Dick suggested meeting him. Dick is a renegade advocate for the homeless. After years of working with organizations, he now works alone, just driving around checking in on people. He is at Urban Ministries every day and is currently offering shelter to a homeless woman in the bed of a spare truck. I asked where he didn’t go in Greensboro. He said, “I go everywhere,” but then he pointed out the areas with high crime, MLK, Wendover. Wendover is at the tail end of the “E” in LOVE. Dick is an antiques dealer and owns a warehouse on Washington Street. My father’s name was also Dick. He was also an antique collector who taught himself clock repair and had a collection of 500 clocks, but unlike Mr Rhyne, he did nothing for the poor and little for me.
I have now completed one full LOVE LINE. I will go back and walk again, looking for old friends and new, listening to their words of LOVE and encouragement. I walked for 7 hours today through many loving spaces, parks, museums, a resource center, a greenway, a bicycle trail, college campuses, tennis courts, a river, a farmer’s market, several churches. There were spaces devoid of love too and places where love looked different. I had lunch at Winner’s Chicken & Biscuit on Summit Ave. It was cheap and greasy and tasteless. Each bite said this is your last bite, then I got hungry and took another. Fatty, salty, unsatisfying.
A few blocks from home, I met a soft-spoken, black, homeless man sitting on the street. His name was Alan. We talked. He sleeps under the deck of a restaurant near the tracks. The owners said it’s ok so long as he is clean. He was dressed in double layers, sitting on a mat. We talked about solidarity in the homeless community, about who is friendly and how. I said my experience, walking in black neighborhoods, was that 90% of people I passed said hello. It didn’t matter if they were walking past or on their porches. Walking in white neighborhoods, I found no one said hello to me. Especially in downtown Greensboro, whites did not say hello, even when I said hello to them. And blacks mostly did say hello to me, even when I did not say hello to them. And the homeless all responded to eye contact, to smiles and to hellos.
Alan was grateful for so much in his life. I said he was an optimist. Though phone was dead, I told him about my project. He said you never know when someone needs to a word of encouragement. I gave him $2, which was all I had. He is working with a case manager to get Habitat for Humanity or HUD housing. We wished each other well and stay safe.
Monday 2 March
As I fine-tune the LOVE map, thinking, should I enlarge the “O” to include Tate Street & the Weatherspoon Art Museum, I wonder if the LOVE LINE is about curating my idea of LOVE onto the walk or semi-randomly finding LOVE in the space, and how important it is to enable someone else to make the same walk I made. Do I leave exact instructions or instructions about how to wander intentionally, outside of your own likeness, outside your comfort, how to move into difference, how to recognize LOVE in an urban environment, how to walk LOVE by seeing and receiving it.
I am considering how to show this work at Elsewhere. Does it have a physical form? Is it a paper map? A project description? A large map painted on the floor? A phone booth where visitors can send and receive calls? A booth into which people can bring an object from the Elsewhere collection that embodies or expresses LOVE and take a photo? Is it a LOVE LINE, Greensboro t-shirt to fund a social justice group in Greensboro? Is there time to affect any of this in 9 days? I believe this work will develop and expand beyond Elsewhere.
I am grateful for Karen Day of Beloved Community Center who stopped by to ask to meet and talk about walking LOVE in Greensboro. She will be out of town for the group walk this Saturday.
Food Not Bombs
I worked with Food Not Bombs at the Interactive Resource Center (IRC) on Monday, cooking, setting up, bleaching tables, serving and washing dishes from 1:30 to 5:30 for a community meal that fed 60 people. Lots of feelings about the work, the volunteers, the diners, but it was an active, sweet, nonjudgemental, supportive community I took lessons in tolerance and gratitude from. I struggled quietly with the attitude of someone in the kitchen who talked about wanting to get back on duty and shoot some Russians. After all were working with Food Not Bombs. When I mentioned that, he said "I know I shouldn't be saying that." He was proud to have withstood the harsh treatment his army sergeant and was looking forward to training other recruits. He chopped vegetables with intensity. The chef on duty said he didn’t need to chop them so fine.
At the end of the day I left the building and talked to Paul, a black man with a walker at the bus stop. He said he needed a hip replacement. We talked for a while. He listened to and sent a message to his fellow Greensboroians. He talked about how as a homeless person it is important to have faith in whatever you believe in. That will get you through. Two other men at the stop just wanted to hustle me for my phone. When they heard I had no phone service on it, they stopped engaging with me.
At the end of the day I left the building and talked to Paul, a black man with a walker at the bus stop. He said he needed a hip replacement. We talked for a while. He listened to and sent a message to his fellow Greensboroians. He talked about how as a homeless person it is important to have faith in whatever you believe in. That will get you through. Two other men at the stop just wanted to hustle me for my phone. When they heard I had no phone service on it, they stopped engaging with me.
Comments
Post a Comment