On this hot, humid 4th of July, I find myself wandering about the hallways of the Smithsonian Art Museum. A cool way to beat the heat a visit the highly anticipated John Miro exhibit. As I walk into the museum I feel stares of confusion from people wondering if I'm aware of the building I'm entering. This can be viewed as presumptious, but I have almost grown accustomed to the strange looks from passerbys. With some confusion I leave the bag check desk as the guard tells me to wear my backpack purse on one shoulder( no bookbags allowed I assume...) As I climb the stairs towards the exhibit I realize I have yet to see a single Black person among the Whites and Asians. A phenomenon I attribute to the same reasons we selectively exclude ourselves. I imagine all the African American baking in the sun on the lawn of the National Mall, while freedom from the blazing sun sits only feet away. Shade that includes history, art, knowledge, and culture. FREE mind you. I see a Black guard... I wave at him and sigh at the irony. Finally, I see a Black couple meandering down the stairs...
