Slave shackles are seen in a display case at the National Museum of African American History and Culture on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. Kevin Lamarque / Reuters

In early February of this year, the Smithsonian announced that President Barack Obama would be cutting the ribbon for the grand opening of the long-awaited National Museum of African American History and Culture.

When I say long awaited, I am referring to the museum that has been under construction on the National Mall since 2012, after legislation calling for the museum was passed and signed in 2003. That legislation had been proposed annually by Congressman John Lewis since 1988 and was building off the original requests for this museum from African American Civil War veterans dating back to 1915.

So with 100 years in the making, and particularly after learning that our nation’s first black president was going to be opening the museum, I decided I wanted to prioritize being there for the occasion.

Bringing my family was a big deal for me. At only 8 months old, my daughter Hannah won’t remember her first visit to the museum, but I already look forward to being able to tell her the story of the time that we stood witness for the occasion of its opening.

Maurice and Melissa Cheeks with daughter Hannah at the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington D.C.
Maurice and Melissa Cheeks with daughter Hannah at the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington D.C.

The opening ceremony was a huge public celebration. With over 100,000 people on the Mall; celebrities, dignitaries, elected officials, citizens of D.C., people from all across the country, and indeed folks from all across the world had traveled to be there.

The event itself was a magnificent thing to be a part of, and to my own surprise it actually felt a little familiar to me. Building up to the President’s speech, a dozen people offered warm remarks about how proud we should be for acknowledging our history and how great it is to be able to witness this occasion to mark our progress. During this anticipation of Barack Obama addressing the crowd, it occurred to me why this once-in-a-lifetime event felt not entirely unfamiliar.

The last time that I was in a crowd of this many people was almost exactly 8 years ago. It was in a large public park, this time in Chicago, my mother and I waiting for Barack Obama to address a crowd of people on November 4th, 2008. In both events, there was optimism in the air, and probably also a faint sense of unbelief.

Eight years ago, 100,000 people gathered in Grant Park with the great hope that they might stand witness to a game-changing moment for a country rooted in slavery as we seized the opportunity to elect a black man to lead our country. And now I’m standing here, this time with my wife and daughter, waiting for Barack Obama to speak to another 100,000 people. This time as President of the United States, and commemorating the establishment of a national museum dedicated to the history of the African American people.

As the day would go on, I would repeatedly reflect on this wild idea. I wonder what percentage of the thousands of Americans honored in this museum dreamed that a day like today would ever come. Probably more than we would assume.

My timed pass to enter the museum was for 3:30 p.m., so after the speeches finished, we had just enough time to grab lunch and get back to the museum.

If the museum looks large on the outside, it is startling to learn that it goes almost as deep underground as it appears above ground. The museum itself is 400,000 square feet and 8 stories tall. On the Smithsonian’s website they encourage you to not necessarily plan to see the entire building in one visit.

Upon entering, they encouraged everyone to take the elevator to the bottom floor. The museum is meant to be experienced from bottom to top, which follows a chronological story of history from past to present.

A display depicting the Mexico Olympic protest at the National Museum of African American History and Culture on the National Mall in Washington, U.S.  (REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque)
A display depicting the Mexico Olympic protest at the National Museum of African American History and Culture on the National Mall in Washington, U.S. (REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque)

Growing up, I had mixed feelings about history classes constantly framing black history so strictly through the lens of American slavery. As a child you were left to wonder if blacks on earth had any relevant history before slavery, and if their story in America is truly best understood as rooted in being an uneducated, despised, underclass of humans without rights or dignity.

This is why it was a pleasant surprise that while the museum starts you on the bottom floor in the 15th century, it provides some key context along the way. You learn right away from an audio presentation on the first floor about the economic motives of the early slave trade, and how it was not until the 17th century that whiteness was invented as a racial concept to distinguish class and justify inhumane treatment.

A (white) friend of ours who was touring the museum at the same time would later remark on how useful it was to be reminded of this European construct of race, which continues to sharply define our present culture.

None of this context would change how horrifying it was to see shackles on display that were made in children’s sizes, but, of course, that wasn’t the point.

Speaking of context … when I saw this 1774 quote on the wall, I thought long and hard about our modern context.

“It rather hurts an European eye to see so many negro slaves upon the streets.” – Patrick M’Robert

(Photo by Maurice Cheeks)
(Photo by Maurice Cheeks)

The context behind this quote is that folks in those times found it annoying how urban slaves failed to pick up after themselves, failed to conduct themselves in ways that were considered polite, and were so brazen with their visibility to free people in the city.

As an elected official, I thought about our modern issues of homelessness in America and how some communities hold a similar disdain for having to cast an eye on people that they see as less than dignified. I desperately want Madison to be a city that learns from our nation’s mistakes and deploys empathy rather than trying to construct a society that sweeps people aside.

There is so much to tell of the museum itself, as the exhibits explore the complex journey from slavery to freedom, and how this story is nothing less than foundational for the entire American story. As the museum took me on an emotional rollercoaster through the slave trade, the nation’s founding, a civil war, emancipation and reconstruction, and Jim Crow, one of the most remarkable exhibits was one from the relatively recent past.

The whole museum was packed for opening day, so naturally moving through the museum was a slow process. There was a particularly long and slow moving line though on the second-to-last basement floor that people were flocking towards. Once I was in line, I heard others asking, “Do you know what this line is for”? Glad that I wasn’t alone in securing a spot in this line before knowing what I was in for, I listened for the answer. “This is the line to see Emmett Till’s open casket,” an elderly white man said. I thought he had a hint of Chicago accent, and I wondered to myself if he had been young and in Chicago in 1955 when Emmett’s mother actually held this open casket funeral for her son who was brutally murdered after being accused of whistling at a white woman.

The exhibit was fashioned just like a funeral. There was only one hallway that served as the entrance and exit, which caused the line to flow slowly. Surely that was intentional. On the walls, there were several signs that said no photography, but also newspapers from the time and accounts from his mother. The room with the casket was quite small, and held maybe 10 people, with only enough space up front for one or two people to see up close at once.

Emmett Till
Emmett Till

I was making my way forward when I noticed how high up the casket was raised. It is higher off the ground than what you see at your average funeral. So you really have to get in close and get on your tip toes if you want to peer down into the open casket.

Just a few people ahead of me, that is exactly what I watched a boy do. This young man was almost my height, but probably only 14 or 15 himself. He was there with his friend, dressed coolly in something Kanye West might wear, and nudged himself close enough to look down into the casket. Quickly he recoiled. He put his hands on his face and gave a huge gasp. He stepped backward and bent over to put his hands on his knees and catch his breath. I can’t tell you what was going through his head, but all I could think of was how a young man his age shouldn’t have to wrestle with the idea that someone who looks like him could be mutilated and murdered for being “out of line.”

And yet here we are.

The Washington Monument rises behind the National Museum of African American History and Culture on the National Mall in Washington..  REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque
The Washington Monument rises behind the National Museum of African American History and Culture on the National Mall in Washington.. REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque

The next person in line was a middle-aged black woman, who took one quick glance into the casket and began to weep. She didn’t stay to slowly proceed through the rest of the exhibit like everyone else. Still crying, she hurriedly weaved around folks to make her way out of this funeral scene. Again, without any insight into her thoughts, I imagined she may have been a mother who grieved for what this mother would have gone through, and how many more have gone through something similar since 1955.

Finally, as it was my turn, I worked up the nerve to get close enough to peer down into the casket. This was indeed the original casket that Emmett was buried in, which his mother Mamie Till Mobley donated to the museum after her son’s remains had been exhumed and reinterred. The view into the open casket was a realistic view into what others had seen in Chicago in 1955 though. It was an unimaginably raw insight into America’s deplorable underbelly.

Shortly after this exhibit, the next section of the museum is called, “A Changing America: 1968 and Beyond.” Naturally, there are plenty of examples of social, economic, political and cultural progress to help lift your spirits as you make your way through this section and the rest of the museum.

The Smithsonian isn’t exaggerating when they describe the museum as difficult to see all of in a day. I made my way through to present-day history, but didn’t get to the top floor exhibits celebrating musical, military, sports and other cultural achievements. I’m already planning my next visit to be able to take in more of the museum.

One of the biggest takeaways for me from the experience was the opportunity to reflect on the speed of social change. It seems to me that a society can change drastically for the better, or for the worse, in less than a generation. Racial dynamics in our country have experienced plenty of change in both directions in our time. The only way to avoid sliding backward is to acknowledge our past and be determined as Americans to live each day with a spirit of equality and hope, and demand that our leaders do the same.