Not our place
“Race doesn’t really exist for you because it has never been a barrier. Black folks don’t have that choice.”
Last night, while I was scrolling through one of my favorite Facebook pages—For the love of old houses—I came across a house in Mississippi that just floored me. It was beautiful.
Then, I started reading a little more about the house. Built in 1792. Located in the southwest corner of Mississippi on 135.88 acres of land. Old outbuildings on the property. I felt sick. I had no doubt in my mind that this was probably, at one time, a plantation and a slave owner’s house.
Now granted, I could be wrong, but that is not likely. It is even located on Plantation Road. So, I wanted to read the comments. I wanted to see if anyone else had the same gut-punch reaction I did about the property.
Many did. Some of the comments said things like:
“Amazing house…beautiful…but I couldn’t live in a place with the history this house likely has.”
“It’s pretty on the outside but with a dark horrid history on the inside. Ruins it all for me too.”
“Would love to know more history about the house if anyone has information… think that would impact whether someone would buy the house (the description is so “cheery” but I strongly suspect the history isn’t, unfortunately).”
“I could never live in a house in the South that was that old and which has ‘outbuildings’. The vibes even from the pictures make me a little uneasy.”
“The govt should buy this house and give it to an African American family as reparations.”
“The suffering that went on here, and people here glorifying this place. The total denial is mind boggling.”
One of the “Outbuildings” pictured in the post
I was relieved to see others with the same reaction. Unfortunately, far more people were talking about how lovely it was, and how amazing it would be to live there. This, as a previous comment I shared stated, was mind-boggling.
Then, I came across one specific comment from a Black woman that stated:
“No thanks. As a Black woman all I can think of is how many people who looked like me were servants there. I could never be comfortable.”
I wanted to stand up and clap when I read that. It is exactly what I was thinking. Not that the servants and slaves looked like me, but that I don’t know how anyone could be comfortable in a house or on a property where such atrocities occurred.
Then, I read the replies to her comment—made by several very white people:
“I can’t understand people who frequently return to locations of pain and sorrow only to have the agony of those experiences revisit their heart. Unless you have a purpose and resources to change what is damaging to yourself and others, avoid the discomfort.”
“politically charged architect. Such a disgrace to those who think that way. Y’all need to grow yp”
“Now tho you could own it and rise above those times.”
“Jesus Christ, can’t people move on…”
“You probably can’t afford it anyways!!”
This is when my mood switched from disgusted to angry. Let me pass on a little message to my race: When your ancestors commit atrocities on the ancestors of black people, and you live in a society that still effectively works to oppress those same people, you do not have a right to tell those people when they should “move on” from something or “let go” of something.
Black people, Native American people, Latinx people, etc do not have to move on and forget the atrocities of white people so you feel more comfortable with your life. We don’t get to decide that because we are the ones who perpetuated them.
And I’m saying that as someone whose family didn’t even come to the US until well after slavery. That doesn’t change anything.
Let’s take race out of it for a second, and I’ll give you a barely relevant anecdote:
When I was married, my husband cheated on me with 25 different women over 5 years. Yes, he was very busy. We have been divorced since 2005. Even though it was 16 years ago, I am still angry about it. I don’t let it hinder my life, but I did learn from it, and I don’t want any part of him because of it.
Guess what? He doesn’t get to tell me when it is time to get over that betrayal. That’s not his decision. That is my decision. Because it was committed against me.
Black people don’t owe us anything. Not one damn dime, place at their table, or an ounce of their forgiveness. Strangely, in many cases, they give it to white people anyway. But they don’t owe it to us. And they sure as shit don’t need to white wash their history or hide their feelings on it to make us feel better.
If 2020 taught America anything, it should be that the veil is pulled back. We can see the oppressive policies our society has put in place to continue to rule over minorities. And we should do everything in our power to break those policies and put in place a society where Black and Brown lives matter as much as White lives. Where Black and Brown people are allowed to hold up the mirror of history to white faces and say, “This is what you did to us!”
And we should be forced to look.
