Detroit - The Museum of Black History

What is it like to be a slave? To be a living breathing person and yet be treated as nothing more than an asset on paper. A tool. A part of someone’s estate. Something instead of someone.

I asked myself these questions on the way to the museum of Black History in Detroit, Michigan. It was an hour long drive and no matter what I thought, it didn’t prepare me for the emotions that hit me when I saw the exhibits. The walk traces the history of slavery right from when trade relations were established between the ‘white nations’ and the countries that then made up Africa. It explains how most of those nations were cheated out of their own birthrights in the form of their natural homes and how those homes were plundered and their basic rights to a peaceful existence were wiped out by men with no scruples or regard for human life. They were sold into slavery and made into virtual robots, taking no notice of the families that were torn apart, the lives that were destroyed. How many of those children grew up not knowing their families? How many of those husbands watched their wives being led away from them to be ensconced in homes that promised nothing but abuse and torture until merciful death claimed them. How many of those wives watched their husbands being led away to be worked to death in the mines or fields? How many of them watched parents, children, what was left of their families, disappear forever?

As I walked through most of this exhibit, I had to stop at the display that accurately depicted the transportation of the slaves to the biggest slave market at the time “America” and her colonies. The number of people crammed into holds for journeys that took weeks, sometimes months. All chained side-ways to save place. This is when tears came to my eyes and I had to take a step outside to just breathe. The unfairness of it all seemed a little too overwhelming for me to take in at a time.

For anyone visiting the Big D, I would definitely suggest a walk through this museum. The plans that led to escapes, the manhunts that ensued and the punishments meted out for the unlucky few who were caught… and the tremendous strength of those who tried multiple times. The contributions made by the emancipated slaves in the fields of politics, education, music and culture are immeasurable. Where would the US of A be today without icons to look back on, like Martin Luther King Jr, Fats Domino, BB King, Ray Charles and so many others that I would have to find another blog to write about all their achievements. It was not just what they did. It was what they did to inspire so so so many others. In an interview with many TV Stations and Newspapers, Elvis Presley was asked how it felt to be the “King,” his reply was to point to the back of the room and simply state “That ain’t me, there’s the king of rock and roll right there.” He was pointing to BB King.

For those of you who read my blog for my usual sarcasm and annoyed outlook, I apologize and I love you for sticking with me so far. But this post was more about how much I wish people would realize that the color of your skin means nothing compared to what you are worth beneath it.