I had gone looking for a field of some sort. As we walked down Broadway, that seemed less and less likely. Feeling pressured by the ticking time, already 5 minutes late, it seemed impossible we would find the right place. Broadway is a busy commercial area. Surely there isn’t space for a graveyard. I pictured the large expanses built on hilltops, like those where all my grandparents were buried. I didn’t think it could possibly fit into a city space.
Seeing the museum made a little more sense. Even that was small though. It was hard to believe that this space was a national park. National parks to me were miles and miles across, places you went on family vacations at for weeks and didn’t see half the place. Clearly there were a lot of misconceptions on my part.I worry about what it is about this museum that you have to go through a metal detector for. TSA doesn’t make you take your shoes off anymore to when going through security at the airport, but the museum had us slip them off and put them into bins. Other national parks, other comparable museums don’t.
I worry about what it is about this museum that you have to go through a metal detector for. TSA doesn’t make you take your shoes off anymore to when going through security at the airport, but the museum had us slip them off and put them into bins. Other national parks, other comparable museums don’t have anything like this. That’s indicative of something.
Inside, the museum was held in low, warm light with spotlights on the different visuals. It had different displays around the circular room, with mannequins in the center. The temperature was nothing to be noted. The air was neutral and without any significant smell.
One exhibit was a little different than the others. For this one, it was a glass case holding artifacts recessed into the wall. One of the things written above was, “‘Pouring libation’ –pouring liquid on the ground to mark an important event– is sacred tradition in some African societies. Giving the ancestors the first taste of a drink is a way to honor them, thank them, and ask for their guidance.” Here I thought of how this could be related back to current culture, and how pouring one out for those who didn’t make it is even now a sign of respect. I was reminded that culture rarely disappears, but rather transforms.
Of the museum, two things made me uncomfortable. I did not like the mannequins in the middle, dressed in real cloth clothing rather than the typical plaster casts used. They stood around a set of coffins, mourning their dead, their faces all taut with emotion. Danyelle told me this is autuomatonophobia, the fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being. Perhaps it is, or perhaps they just make it all too real.
The second thing that upset me was the following wall:
A photo posted by Au_brey (@goldbrey) on Mar 24, 2016 at 8:22am PDT
A backlight diagram of graves, labeled with gender and ages of the deceased stood taller than any of us, and three times wider. You could not avoid being confronted with the death. But going through you realize these burials to be deliberate and treated with care. Each burial was individual with no mass graves. Many seemed to be buried in rows, clusters, or even directly above family members. It became clear that it wasn’t the death of it meant to be displayed, but rather the treatment of the dead. It makes the notion of the burial site being dug up even more horrendous.
Herein we ventured out the actual site. I will leave you with this picture, which I will admit to instagramming, and the caption I included with it.
A photo posted by Acadia (@surplus_sass) on Mar 30, 2016 at 2:58pm PDT
“the trees were golden above the monument, as though to offer quiet reparations”
