Tiffany Jenkins

Making history | 22 September 2016

The Smithsonian’s new National Museum of African American History and Culture, which has taken a century to come into being, has a difficult mandate

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After a fresh push in the 1970s, the proposal picked up new support. In the 1980s the Democrats John Lewis and Mickey Leland introduced legislation for a stand-alone African-American history museum within the Smithsonian Institution. They had little success; for 15 years, the bill met defeat. ‘Once Congress gives the go-ahead for African-Americans,’ Senator Jesse Helms, one opponent, warned in 1994, ‘how can Congress then say no to Hispanics, and the next group, and the next group after that?’ It wasn’t until 2003 that George Bush signed the bill authorising the national museum.

Much has changed since then. In 2003, the Museum of the American Indian opened on the Mall and in 2013 legislation was introduced into Congress to create a National Museum of the American Latino; though the project languished, the opening of the African American museum is generating new pressure for the cause. The past few years have also seen the rise of the protest movement Black Lives Matter. Never before has the politics of identity seemed so charged.

Bunch, a skilled political operator, neatly refutes Helm’s concern, echoed by others, that American history will fragment along racial lines when told through ethnically-specific museums: ‘This is not a black museum,’ he says of the National Museum of African American History and Culture. ‘This is a museum that uses one culture to understand what it means to be an American.’ You can’t understand America, he argues — the struggle for equality and the civil-rights movement, jazz and rock’n’roll, nor the progress of the first black American president — without understanding black America.

Bunch hopes to strike a balance between a narrative of progress and recognising the suffering of the past and how it continues today. In an essay for Smithsonian, he writes, ‘The museum needs to be a place that finds the right tension between moments of pain and stories of resiliency and uplift,’ and that, ‘I hope that the museum can play a small part in helping our nation grapple with its tortured racial past. And maybe even help us find a bit of reconciliation.’

This is probably why, although the museum will take the visitor through the history of slavery and the civil-rights movement to the present day, the first thing they will see is contemporary art, setting an optimistic tone — the work of three artists: a five-panel painting by Sam Gilliam, a sculpture made from tyres by Chakaia Booker and a ceiling sculpture by Richard Hunt. Rather than make a historical point, as art is often used to do in history museums, the work is included on the basis of artistic merit.

But there is no avoiding the fact that this museum has a difficult mandate: at a time of fractious debates over history, with the frequent assertion of the reality of racial difference by black and white activists for whom victimhood is a badge of pride, achieving closure, to mimic Bunch’s therapeutic language, seems wildly optimistic.

When the museum released 28,500 timed-entry passes for the opening weekend, they were gone within an hour. All the Saturday passes were taken in 14 minutes. Perhaps the next challenge facing Bunch is managing the weighty expectations of what one museum can achieve.

Tiffany Jenkins is the author of Keeping Their Marbles, on calls for museums to hand back their treasures.

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