In a conversation with a neighbor recently about the town where we live, I was reminded that no matter how much work I do to educate myself about systemic oppression, regardless of the effort I put forth to change my thoughts and behavior, despite all my good intentions, I am still so white.
I was drawn to live in Braddock because of The Ohringer, an apartment building that contains a space for art exhibitions and performances. Once a furniture company named for the Ohringer family, the building was renovated several years ago and transformed into an artist’s community. We are a group of painters, photographers, bakers, writers, and fashion designers who believe we can be a part of the revitalization rather than the gentrification of this once-thriving steel town.
Named for General Edward Braddock, commander of American colonial forces during the French and Indian War, it’s home to still-operational Edgar Thomson Works. Thanks to Andrew Carnegie, it has pumped out steel since the mid-1800s, providing the raw materials needed to build bridges and buildings across the United States.
In the early 20th century, this area was a thriving community. A ten-year economic downturn and the Iranian Revolution contributed to a steady industry decline from the late 60s into the 80s. Although the mill still operates, Braddock is not the same.
Many of the row houses once filled with steel workers are abandoned, boarded up and falling apart. White residents, who weren’t limited by red lining or blocked in their ability to get a mortgage, left in droves leaving black residents stuck in an area that soon descended into poverty. The history is sad and filled with bureaucratic blocks that have had an enormous impact on the ability to revitalize.
There have been many, John and Giselle Fetterman being the most well-known, who have tried to “turn it around” and some progress has been made. But I realize now that a lot of residents just see white folks coming in, shiny new grant in hand, to build or develop empty buildings and turn them into something that will only attract more white people to visit. And when they leave, feel grateful they don’t live here.
My neighbor didn’t feel that much had been done to integrate the people who’ve lived here for generations in the “good” they’re doing and cited examples of people from the community who had been doing things to support their neighbors long before the redevelopment began along the main drag. Like Miss Dorothy, who showed up in a parking lot every week with a grocery cart filled with clothes, household goods and shoes to give to neighbors who needed them.
While it’s wonderful to see the $20 million renovation being done on the very first Carnegie Library and a few newer restaurants and bars finding homes in the business district, my neighbor cited high prices and unwelcoming vibes as reasons why old-time residents don’t patronize them. As I continued listening to her share history and perceptions, I realized the idea I had for an event at the gallery over the summer would only add to the exact problems she cited.
The original idea was to do a Haiku writing competition – a Haiku Smackdown, if you will. Inspired by the Art Battle, where local artists duke it out round-robin style for a grand prize and the Great Pittsburgh Spelling Bee, where I notoriously was the first to bow out in 2016, I envisioned a fun night of competitive Haiku writing and a trophy with Haiku Ninja Master engraved on it. In my head, I was ten steps ahead, identifying who I could get to donate refreshments, extra chairs, and the trophy.
It’ll be great, I thought. I’ll bring people to Braddock. Good for me!
Then I had the conversation with my neighbor, and I realized this was just one more bougie act by a bougie white girl bringing more bougie white people to Braddock for fun. And when it was over, they’d drive home on the fumes of “I’m so glad I live where I do.”
It didn’t even occur to me how I could engage my neighbors, 70% of whom are black. Why? Because whiteness, although it is a social construct and not really part of biology, has largely formed and shaped my thoughts and actions for most of my life.
I grew up in the era of Archie Bunker and Good Times, filled with stereotypes and fear-based tropes that wormed their way into my mind and unconscious belief system. I make every effort to be aware of perceptions that sometimes offer me negative or fear-based thoughts around those with darker skin.
I have spent time educating myself, reading DuBois and Baldwin, going to productions written by August Wilson and Lynn Nottage, learning from black educators on social media willing to do the labor to teach me, and participating in relationships with people willing to share their perspectives on experiences that are so different from mine.
But I’d be lying if I said I had completely eradicated it.
Because it still exists within me, a virus that worms its way into my subconscious behavior, it never even occurred to me that the right thing to do in this situation would be to find a way to engage and support the people of my community to participate in my brilliant idea, should they be interested. My neighbor had the antidote.
Awareness.
But it doesn’t come all at once. It requires willingness to be aware and then to change after something has been brought to your attention. It’s thousands of itsy bitsy steps, consistently taken over time.
Because of that conversation I have revamped my idea to include several Haiku Ninja Training sessions for locals who are curious. I want to welcome them into the Gallery and share my love of those 17-syllable nuggets that cut through the white noise of thought to say what it is you really mean.
I want to inspire them to pause, look around and capture the essence of their thoughts and feelings in that moment. And I want to prepare them to write the best Haiku they can. Prepare for the Smackdown!
Your words are a sword.
Shape thoughts. Cut through noise. Carve gems.
Patience is required.
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