A few weekends ago, I went to a local flea market event with a friend. This is an annual event that occurs every year and draws people from all over the Midwest. I had been reflecting quite a bit on racial and social privilege quite a bit at this point. Right before this event, I had a moment at work where a person unknowingly made a comment about me not "belonging" with a certain group of African-American coworkers. As an African-American, this bothered me quite a bit. His opinion...I didn't seem to fit in with that group of individuals. It is amazing to me that he was choosing to define where I belong as a white male. Later that day he was leading discussions about dismantling racism and privilege. How odd...he could not recognize his own privileged behavior defining which groups were the best "fit" for me.
At any rate, with this as a frame, I entered our local event. I had not attended one of these in a while. When I had more time, I was an avid fan of antique shops, flea markets, and the like. It was going to be a great morning for my gal pal and I to walk around, look at interesting trinkets, and take in a bit of people watching. The morning was warm and the crowd thin at first. We had paid the extra fee to enter the event as "early-birds".
There were literally hundreds of vendors. As we looked at the various collectibles, I realized that there are specific collector niches out there. People will collect the most unusual and unique items from our collective past. The tables and booths became fodder for conversation for the two of us. As women with a few years behind us, we were remembering seeing much of what we saw in the homes of our now long deceased grandmas and aunts. It was great looking at vintage jewelry, china, and knick-knacks.
While the booths reminded us of our personal family past. They also served as evidence of American social history. A person could really see how the attitudes of many Americans changed over time about certain concepts and groups of people. As we walked around, I thought how I wished there were ways students could come to fairs and festivals like this to find evidence of how Americans felt about certain events and concepts at a particular moment in time. Since we are both educators, this became an ongoing conversation topic as we roamed about. Soon I found myself being drawn into some of the history that had an impact on my cultural background. I wondered why someone would collect some of these things. There were tons of Aunt Jamima-type figurines. Apparently, it is a well-established piece in "Black Americana" collectibles.
It felt horrible for me to pass "Mammy" figures and images from our American era of enslaving others. From what I understand, many people of color collect these figures. I'm not sure why. The figures have a reputation of being quaint and charming. To me they are sad and offensive. It's figures like these that tend to paint images of people in our minds. Large, black, smiling women are not representative of all black women. This cultural stereotype silently feeds the minds of others. Often times at work, if I am in a more reflective mood, co-workers will talk to me about being angry with them because I'm not smiling or joking. Of course small figures on tables at an antique fair are not the sole cause of missed perceptions. But they feed a general understanding of groups of people. Collecting these figures and making them a part of the noise that happens all around us on our tables and in cabinets on display feeds our thinking about people. Why not have a figure of a small framed not so smiling woman? And why would an effigy of an enslaved human be "happy"? Were these women happy? Were they thrilled to be enslaved, worked to death, and raped? That's what really happened to numerous black enslaved women.
Nonetheless, my opinion is just one opinion.
As we walked around, we came across a table that had more figurines from our racial history. But this table also had a sign: "Waiting Room--Colored Only". This was an interesting piece. As we moved closer to the sign, a white man picked it up and yelled to a Hispanic man nearby, "Hey, here's a Christmas present for you!" Needless to say, this left a sour taste in our mouths. Someone with so much social privilege, unable to use it to educate and make positive change. Because it was so public, I'm hoping he was being just insensitive and unaware that his "joke" caused pain and angst for others. My friend wanted to immediately pull the man aside and re-educate.
Reflecting back on that day I think about how fortunate our young people are today. Those figures will slowly fade away, break, and be a part of the past. People like the rude fair-goer will come and go in time. But, knowing that we have moved from the red head scarfed plump salt shaker to women who read and learn and teach--that is powerful. While I am often labeled (as the person and work tried to do), I can never be truly defined by anyone person. I am not a "mammy" and will never be one. I am thankful the darkest part of the past lives in dusty spaces and cluttered tables. My hope is that lessons will be learned about who these women (and women like me when I am gone) were and how they really lived and contributed.
No comments:
Post a Comment