No shade to Washington DC, but I‘ve never wanted to visit, especially with The Orange One (that‘s my nickname for Trump) pretending to be leader of the free world like I used to pretend to be a mommy while playing dress-up. And even without the idiot in office, DC was never on my radar. When I‘d think of our nation’s capitol, I‘d think of old, white men huddled together as they conspire to ruin my life (health care, legislative racism, war against women), and the lives of others (abortion bans, separating families at the border, rolling back protections for trans people, I could go on but for the sake of time I won’t). To me, the capitol had always represented what this country truly is: an apathetic place of greed built on bloodshed and suffering. Plus, DC happens to be the safest, most dangerous place in the country—it's got the fire power to protect itself, but with Agent Orange (nickname courtesy of Busta Rhymes) tweeting inflammatory shit by the hour, that whole city's got a target on its back—and I don’t even want to be anywhere near those problems. Needless to say, the idea of visiting was fleeting, and I was certain that the city wouldn't be my cup of tea.
And then, I actually went.
This past weekend, my family and I finally visited Washington DC. My mom was there on business, so my dad, siblings, and I flew out to meet her. She and my dad had been to DC for business trips many times, but I personally had never been, for the many reasons stated above. My dad in particular had been pushing us to go to DC as a family trip for no little than a decade. He's a history buff and thought it was important that he teach us history the way it's supposed to be taught: by experiencing it. But, my siblings and I didn't really take interest (again, see above). Now, with my sister moving to DC for her first "big girl job" in a couple of months, the cause to visit the city had a solid claim.
So, we went. And now that I've gone, I must say: I was wrong.
I was wrong about what that city, that entire DMV area was about. Because when I tell y'all I lived for this trip...I LIVED.
I was wrong to think I would be bored with the history and its make-up. Because the more I think about it, I truly love history! I just don't always like the way it makes me feel (I'm Black and woman in America; history hasn't been so kind to people like me). Though I admittedly looked forward to visiting the National Museum of African American History and Culture (it was literally one of two things I was looking forward to doing), I didn't expect to have such a visceral reaction to experiencing the museum. Look—that museum knocked me off my feet, not even kidding. I was moved and inspired and heartbroken and celebrated and it was so much more than what I expected. Getting the opportunity to approach every artifact, from ancient belongings of African ancestors, to Emmett Till's actual coffin, and say the words "I honor your" aloud for The Ancestors to hear, and also say "Dracarys" aloud to every KKK/slavery artifact I could find (my Game of Thrones fans know what's up—keep up with the times y'all) is a feeling I can't quite put into words. It was electric, like I was a plugged into an outlet, both receiving and conducting energy from the source itself. It was powerful, beyond powerful.
And then we went to Howard University (the other thing I was looking forward to doing on my trip), and I was wrong about that, too.
I thought I had to get an official, in-person tour of the campus in order to truly soak everything in—the atmosphere, the culture, the appreciation, all that. Unlucky for us, school had already let out for the summer, campus was dead, and we were only allowed to view the first floor of the historic Founders Library. I thought I wanted and needed more, but instead I got just enough: the library was filled with important documents, pictures, and artifacts that tell the story of this HBCU, and to stand in the middle of history was to be placed in a time machine, just like the movies. And though I attended a PWI (predominantly white institution) for both undergrad and grad degrees, I was able to appreciate the legacy Howard offers and felt a connection as a young, Black academic. What's more, my dad ran into a frat brother who happened to be a professor at the university, and he was kind enough to give us the run-down on Howard's campus, traditions, and history. So, looks like I got my in-person tour after all.
And speaking of history, I was wrong about that too. Though I still can't quite shake the fact that America was built on bloodshed and suffering, I was wrong to shy away from our nation's history all together. After all, I'm a part of that history, as are my ancestors who built this country from the ground up. Touring the monuments gave me a new perspective to consider—one filled with honor and respect and reverence. Seeing the Capitol building made justice seem grand and possible, and stopping by the White House made me wonder how Barak and Michelle were enjoying their stay (in my mind Obama is still president, so it wasn't an upsetting experience in the least). We strolled down the National Mall, past the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, and of course, we took our time visiting the MLK Memorial, making sure to give him some extra shine.
What I appreciated just as equally were the people of DC. Again, when I envisioned the capitol, my imagination went wild with thoughts of gray-haired, pasty, white men in their seventies and beyond, huddling together like a flock of pigeons just waiting to shit on the entire country. But, DC is nothing like that. DC is more like their work place, not their home. The actual residents of DC aren't pasty one bit! They're well-moisturized folks of all backgrounds and cultures, moving about a city that's constantly buzzing with urgency and agency. DC is for everyone, even folks like me who were initially skeptical to see what it's all about. And, they welcome folks with open arms, something I'm not used to as a resident of Chicago and a corn-fed child of the Midwest. I was genuinely shocked by how nice the people were, and how eager they were to share their experiences, ideas, beliefs—everything. I was so, so wrong.
That's what I get for being a cynic all these years. That's what I get for judging a book by its cover, seeing things from a very biased perspective, closing myself off, not doing the work of finding things out for myself, whether through research or experience. I did the very thing I scold others for doing: I prejudged, I assumed, I got in my own way. And because of that, I missed out on incredible experiences, information, and memories that could have been. I slept on the city, and now I have to sit with that.
Still, I'm fighting as hard as I can to not beat myself up over it. Sure, I was wrong. Sure, I passed judgement, but I don't have to moving forward. I felt the way I felt, and nothing can change that. What I can change is what I do now. Now, I'll be more open to giving things a shot. Now, I'll resist the urge to be a cynic or knock something before I try it. Now, I'll appreciate the subject for all that it is without focusing on reasons why I shouldn't.
I've gained a new appreciation for our history (Black history in particular) since visiting DC. It sounds cliché and I don't care; it's the truth. Now that I've been privy to the wide range of knowledge I've acquired during my short trip, I all-the-more responsible for the part I play in history, and for the legacy I'll leave behind. It's strange to think that all it took was abandoning my negative tendencies to experience things as worth while as these. I'm so glad I was wrong. DC is so much more than what happens on the news. It's a beacon of history and diversity. It's a story, and I'm better for having experienced it. With this in mind, I'll be better for the things I have yet to experience, too.
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