In
a conversation with a neighbor recently about the town where we live, I was
reminded that no matter how much work I do to educate myself about systemic
oppression, regardless of the effort I put forth to change my thoughts and
behavior, despite all my good intentions, I am still so white.
I
was drawn to live in Braddock because of The
Ohringer, an apartment building that contains a space for art
exhibitions and performances. Once a furniture company named for the Ohringer
family, the building was renovated several years ago and transformed into an
artist’s community. We are a group of painters, photographers, bakers, writers,
and fashion designers who believe we can be a part of the revitalization rather
than the gentrification of this once-thriving steel town.
Named
for General Edward Braddock, commander of American colonial forces during the
French and Indian War, it’s home to still-operational Edgar Thomson Works.
Thanks to Andrew Carnegie, it has pumped out steel since the mid-1800s,
providing the raw materials needed to build bridges and buildings across the
United States.
In
the early 20th century, this area was a thriving
community. A ten-year economic downturn and the Iranian Revolution contributed
to a steady industry decline from the late 60s into the 80s. Although the mill
still operates, Braddock is not the same.
Many
of the row houses once filled with steel workers are abandoned, boarded up and
falling apart. White residents, who weren’t limited by red lining or blocked in
their ability to get a mortgage, left in droves leaving black residents stuck in
an area that soon descended into poverty. The
history is sad and filled with bureaucratic blocks that have had an enormous
impact on the ability to revitalize.
There
have been many, John and Giselle Fetterman being the most well-known, who have
tried to “turn it around” and some progress has been made. But I realize now
that a lot of residents just see white folks coming in, shiny new grant in hand,
to build or develop empty buildings and turn them into something that will only
attract more white people to visit. And when they leave, feel grateful they
don’t live here.
My
neighbor didn’t feel that much had been done to integrate the people who’ve
lived here for generations in the “good” they’re doing and cited examples of
people from the community who had been doing things to support their neighbors
long before the redevelopment began along the main drag. Like Miss Dorothy, who
showed up in a parking lot every week with a grocery cart filled with clothes,
household goods and shoes to give to neighbors who needed them.
While
it’s wonderful to see the $20
million renovation being done on the very first Carnegie Library and a
few newer restaurants and bars finding homes in the business district, my
neighbor cited high prices and unwelcoming vibes as reasons why old-time
residents don’t patronize them. As I continued listening to her share history
and perceptions, I realized the idea I had for an event at the gallery over the
summer would only add to the exact problems she cited.
The
original idea was to do a Haiku writing competition – a Haiku Smackdown, if you
will. Inspired by the Art
Battle, where local artists duke it out round-robin style for a grand
prize and the Great
Pittsburgh Spelling Bee, where I notoriously was the first to bow out
in 2016, I envisioned a fun night of competitive Haiku writing and a trophy with
Haiku Ninja Master engraved on it. In my
head, I was ten steps ahead, identifying who I could get to donate refreshments,
extra chairs, and the trophy.
It’ll
be great, I thought. I’ll bring people to Braddock. Good for me!
Then
I had the conversation with my neighbor, and I realized this was just one more
bougie act by a bougie white girl bringing more bougie white people to Braddock
for fun. And when it was over, they’d drive home on the fumes of “I’m so glad I
live where I do.”
It
didn’t even occur to me how I could engage my neighbors, 70% of whom are black.
Why? Because whiteness, although it is a social
construct and not really part of biology, has largely formed and
shaped my thoughts and actions for most of my life.
I
grew up in the era of Archie Bunker and Good Times, filled
with stereotypes and fear-based tropes that wormed their way into my mind and
unconscious belief system. I make every effort to be aware of perceptions that
sometimes offer me negative or fear-based thoughts around those with darker
skin.
I
have spent time educating myself, reading DuBois and Baldwin, going to
productions written by August Wilson and Lynn Nottage, learning from black
educators on social media willing to do the labor to teach me, and participating
in relationships with people willing to share their perspectives on experiences
that are so different from mine.
But
I’d be lying if I said I had completely eradicated it.
Because
it still exists within me, a virus that worms its way into my subconscious
behavior, it never even occurred to me that the right thing to do in this
situation would be to find a way to engage and support the people of my
community to participate in my brilliant idea, should they be interested. My
neighbor had the antidote.
Awareness.
But
it doesn’t come all at once. It requires willingness to be aware and then to
change after something has been brought to your attention. It’s thousands of
itsy bitsy steps, consistently taken over time.
Because
of that conversation I have revamped my idea to include several Haiku Ninja
Training sessions for locals who are curious. I want to welcome them into the
Gallery and share my love of those 17-syllable nuggets that cut through the
white noise of thought to say what it is you really mean.
I
want to inspire them to pause, look around and capture the essence of their
thoughts and feelings in that moment. And I want to prepare them to write the
best Haiku they can. Prepare for the Smackdown!
Your
words are a sword.
Shape
thoughts. Cut through noise. Carve gems.
Patience
is required.
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