“Lai Lai, oh Lai Lai.” “Lai Lai, oh Lai Lai.” “Ago.” “Ame.”
The entire train ride home that song in the voice of a young girl was running through my head. A rush of emotions and questions ran through my head. I was building comparisons between my previous visit to the African Burial Ground in the 9th grade versus now. As a young adult, I’ve been able to learn so much more about race and society’s lack of respect for race over the years. When walking outside, the museum looks just like another office space. There are security guards outside, traffic, stores and obviously a Starbucks near. In its place right across from federal office space and an area of international trade, the African Burial Ground Memorial and Museum draws in the attention that it deserves.
The act of the fight of the African American community fighting for their place and federal remembrance in so respectable. Michael Blakey said, “We wanted to know things that had been hidden from view, buried, about who we are.” They are a people who were abused and never acknowledged and now was finally their chance. After watching the short film, the concept of slavery came to life: no time, no respect, no honor, no money; caskets were stacked, burials were done at dawn, there was no traditional dress or ceremony.
While approaching the back of the museum, the lights are dim, I hear African drumming, and see reflections of people through the glass making it almost seem as though the statues are alive. The plaques surrounding the statues are cold, metallic and heavy as if you are holding a piece of hard history in your hands. There was a barrel (I’ve attached the image) and after attempting to push it, I felt the expression that the man in the picture had on his face. These poor people had to endure physical and emotional pain because of the color of their skin. African Americans turned on themselves and participated in the trade to save themselves. The description of “shipping” people hurt me inside. There are people! Not cargo. The figure of the women cooking medicine to his left looked sweet but still had the emotion of pain in her eyes. The timeline running across the ceiling seemed surreal. How could humanity allow for such torture for so long? Slavery was all about work, no matter what age you were at.
When exiting to the monument there is just an overwhelming feeling of being a citizen of the world. Walking down the ramp, seeing the signs, thinking about how you could make a difference in the world that you are about to step on at the end of the ramp is overwhelming. Walking inside the boat like stone structure made you think about how trapped these people used to be from a young age; from the time they were put on the ship to the time that they died. You can feel the cold marble and hear the wind strongly. It is a significant symbol for a world project for peace and acceptance and the different countries’ flags just add on to that.
The African American community was right in their fight to build a place to recognize what New York was built on. The African Americans helped build and shape New York to what it is today. The African people deserve respect and honor for all those they lost. We will not forget.
