You spend years working in history museums and you think you know what to look for when you visit one: Are there interesting objects? Is there enough information? Too little? Too much? How is the flow? Is the exhibition easy to navigate without a guide? Are you asking open-ended questions or just giving answers? What are your educational goals? Is the visitor going to follow your train of thought or will they come up with their own? Are you giving them a reason to think at all?
And then you go to a history museum where there are no artifacts, not even one, and the newly constructed building feels like a complete after-thought, no logical pattern, too many stairs, no guides, just clock watchers to keep you going in a timely manner because the place is packed and they need you to move… and you have one of the most powerful experiences, and you realize you still know so little, and have so much to learn.
It’s a clear and chilly day when I approach the Center for Civil and Human Rights. I hate to drive downtown, but today is an unusually smooth ride, I pull in the absolute perfect parking lot, take a few steps and here I am, 50 feet away from my destination, and 10 minutes early. I am waiting for my daughter’s class: I get to chaperone their field trip and I am just as excited as she is.
The school bus arrives and unloads an enthusiastic group of 5th graders. They are full of energy, hopping around the plaza and eager to explore. Rose meets my gaze and all of a sudden I am surrounded by a dozen gorgeous and curious eyes asking a thousand questions: Are you Rose’s mom? Can I have a play-date with her? Where are you from? Do you have other kids? What’s your name?
I am assigned to a group of 13 kids and before we go in I spend a few minutes talking with them, memorizing their names, and asking the same questions I just answered… well, minus the play-date one, I get to play with Rose every day. It doesn’t take long to realize that I have a mini sample of the United Nations in front of me, or maybe just a perfect picture of what this magnificent country we live in is all about. And then I look at the building we are about to enter, and I know that this is an incredible moment.
13 answers to the questions we will ask ourselves in a minute. 13 questions to every answer we thought we already had. 13 reasons to keep our hopes up and our beliefs strong. 13 people to do right by.
It doesn’t matter that this museum has too many stairs. It doesn’t matter that there are no artifacts, no logical pattern to its galleries, no guides to take you through. These children could not stop listening, inquiring, feeling, being moved, and I with them.
Little by little they became part of the story, through photographs, voices, and testimonies. They became the segregated children, the marching students, the freedom riders, the political leaders. And when they arrived at the National Mall, looking at footage from the March on Washington, I saw them quietly cross their arms and hold hands, just like the hundreds of thousands of people they stood in front of.
It doesn’t matter that the newly constructed building feels like an after-thought. Sure, there could be improvements, but this place delivers an experience like no other. And today, two weeks after an unsettling Presidential election that is still hard to process, it’s exactly what I needed.