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This past summer I visited America's Black Holocaust Museum with 70 of my closest relatives. No, I'm not exaggerating. There were several of us left back at the hotel that we overflowed and had to take up residence in a second. We are descended from one patriarch several generations ago.
The tour began in a spacious white room and then lead us into a dark cramped wooden enclosure so that we could get a glimpse of what our patriarch -- no, not Kunta Kinte -- must have experienced.
We viewed deeds of sale, advertisements for human merchandise from the eighteenth century and viewed pre-WWII footage of lynching. It is impossible to articulate power of seeing this as a family. As the civil rights era unfolded the exhibits & decor became lighter -- not just paler walls and frames but more hopeful than the dark dank days of the middle passage.
See this exhibit.
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