Adolphus A. Ward on:
AFRICAN AMERICANS
Why cultural progress is slow
When I look at architectural structures, works of art, and sculptured images created by persons who have made significant contributions to the development of American culture, I’ve always found it difficult to ignore the apparent difference between the contributions made by European Americans and those made by African Americans. It's as though African Americans have contributed very little to the cultural landscape of our country.
I know that the founding fathers of this Republic envisioned a country by and for European people: African and Indian peoples were not in that vision. If African and Indian peoples had not been so vital to and entangled within the fabric of the growing Republic, and if world condemnation would not have been certain, genocide might very well have been the way to realize that vision. I know the Republic set its roots in land taken from Indian people and by exploiting the free labor of African people. Its successful growth and prosperity is welded to that reality. I know African people were denied access to the benefits of that growth long after the period of forced labor. The affects of that denial still remain. But as choices have made it so we are all here in these United States together and here we will all be for the better—provided we choose it. I know that a better tomorrow is made more certain by the choices all Americans make today. I know that a change in our collective mindset is necessary before choices can be made that ensures a healthier tomorrow.
Out of the vast catalog of music created by African Americans few songs celebrate the memory of our parents, grandparents and African ancestors. Few tell of our painful laughter, our imprisoned hope, and our deadly games of escape. Few songs tell of our heroes and their triumphs and what it means to us and our children. With comparatively few exceptions, there are no sculptured images of individuals of African decent whose sacrifices made it possible for African Americans to survive in this country. I doubt if more than a few of us can point to a building or statue and say it was designed and built under the direction of a black person. It’s as though we don’t exist; it’s as though we don’t expect to be here long enough to have our presence known. Why haven’t we commissioned our artists to create works of art that celebrate us as a people: the kind of works which inspires a common identity, pride, admiration—solidarity? We, for the most part, do nothing to support our artist: we commission nothing, buy nothing and look to them for nothing. Yet it is the African American artist who gives presence to our lives. Artists are left to their own imaginings and meager financial resource as they struggle to give our lives a reason for existing while on the discriminating landscape of this American culture. The artists and architects could make it possible for us to see ourselves in the images and structures around us. Our own images and structures would give us a presence, a sense of belonging. They would help instill the attitude that we belong here; that we are a part of this America.
African Americans do not, as a group, have the mindset that we belong here. It is difficult to find an individual who feels he or she belongs here. A cultural ethos born out of African Americans does not exist. The reason, in part, stems from the fact that there is nothing in the environment that testifies to our existence. Considering our environment a gigantic mirror, no matter how hard we look we cannot see ourselves. Outside of a few family pictures, African Americans hardly ever see a representation of themselves in their homes, workplaces or recreational areas. There is almost nothing in the cultural landscape of the U.S. to validate an African American’s right to be—nothing in there to create permanence in the mind of an African American. Some black folk find it difficult to say they are an American. It seems we are still waiting for something outside of us to establish that fact. Even though we don’t intend to leave we still can’t call the U.S. home. It’s as though we will some day be moving on. I think this is an indication of a temporary, transient, mind set. As a collective, we do not see ourselves as Americans. Nor do we see ourselves as Africans. We are not a collective in the true sense of the term—except possibly in the census count. We are clumps of black people scattered about the United States with each clump having only a vague notion of its relationship to other clumps. The African Diaspora is little more than a vague cliché to most of us. We neither have a collective consciousness of other Africans scattered about the globe nor they of us.
Without a clear sense of place and belonging a collective consciousness can never be developed. We are ambivalent about calling ourselves Americans. We are undecided about claiming America as our own. We are here but deny ownership. Our collective mindset is that nothing here belongs to us. We are a displaced lot destine to stay in limbo for the rest of time.
Until we come to know that America is our home we will continue to see ourselves as temporary citizens. We must begin to see ourselves as belonging here—permanently not temporarily. Our place here has been bought and paid for by the involuntary and voluntary labor and blood of our fathers and mothers, our fore-parents and our African ancestors. We will be eternally indebted to them. Our place in this land and indeed the world has been paid for with the blood and labor of those who came before us. The mortgage has been burned. We maintain our citizenship by serving in the defense of this nation, by maintaining our homes, our neighborhoods and paying our taxes. We don’t have to ask permission to be here in America: it is our home. And everything around us should speak to that fact. We should pay our artist and architects to make that abundantly clear in all of their works. Their works should inspire and inform all who live or set foot in these United States that we are a proud people; that we live here; that this is our home.
Adolphus A. Ward
AFRICAN AMERICANS
Why cultural progress is slow
When I look at architectural structures, works of art, and sculptured images created by persons who have made significant contributions to the development of American culture, I’ve always found it difficult to ignore the apparent difference between the contributions made by European Americans and those made by African Americans. It's as though African Americans have contributed very little to the cultural landscape of our country.
I know that the founding fathers of this Republic envisioned a country by and for European people: African and Indian peoples were not in that vision. If African and Indian peoples had not been so vital to and entangled within the fabric of the growing Republic, and if world condemnation would not have been certain, genocide might very well have been the way to realize that vision. I know the Republic set its roots in land taken from Indian people and by exploiting the free labor of African people. Its successful growth and prosperity is welded to that reality. I know African people were denied access to the benefits of that growth long after the period of forced labor. The affects of that denial still remain. But as choices have made it so we are all here in these United States together and here we will all be for the better—provided we choose it. I know that a better tomorrow is made more certain by the choices all Americans make today. I know that a change in our collective mindset is necessary before choices can be made that ensures a healthier tomorrow.
Out of the vast catalog of music created by African Americans few songs celebrate the memory of our parents, grandparents and African ancestors. Few tell of our painful laughter, our imprisoned hope, and our deadly games of escape. Few songs tell of our heroes and their triumphs and what it means to us and our children. With comparatively few exceptions, there are no sculptured images of individuals of African decent whose sacrifices made it possible for African Americans to survive in this country. I doubt if more than a few of us can point to a building or statue and say it was designed and built under the direction of a black person. It’s as though we don’t exist; it’s as though we don’t expect to be here long enough to have our presence known. Why haven’t we commissioned our artists to create works of art that celebrate us as a people: the kind of works which inspires a common identity, pride, admiration—solidarity? We, for the most part, do nothing to support our artist: we commission nothing, buy nothing and look to them for nothing. Yet it is the African American artist who gives presence to our lives. Artists are left to their own imaginings and meager financial resource as they struggle to give our lives a reason for existing while on the discriminating landscape of this American culture. The artists and architects could make it possible for us to see ourselves in the images and structures around us. Our own images and structures would give us a presence, a sense of belonging. They would help instill the attitude that we belong here; that we are a part of this America.
African Americans do not, as a group, have the mindset that we belong here. It is difficult to find an individual who feels he or she belongs here. A cultural ethos born out of African Americans does not exist. The reason, in part, stems from the fact that there is nothing in the environment that testifies to our existence. Considering our environment a gigantic mirror, no matter how hard we look we cannot see ourselves. Outside of a few family pictures, African Americans hardly ever see a representation of themselves in their homes, workplaces or recreational areas. There is almost nothing in the cultural landscape of the U.S. to validate an African American’s right to be—nothing in there to create permanence in the mind of an African American. Some black folk find it difficult to say they are an American. It seems we are still waiting for something outside of us to establish that fact. Even though we don’t intend to leave we still can’t call the U.S. home. It’s as though we will some day be moving on. I think this is an indication of a temporary, transient, mind set. As a collective, we do not see ourselves as Americans. Nor do we see ourselves as Africans. We are not a collective in the true sense of the term—except possibly in the census count. We are clumps of black people scattered about the United States with each clump having only a vague notion of its relationship to other clumps. The African Diaspora is little more than a vague cliché to most of us. We neither have a collective consciousness of other Africans scattered about the globe nor they of us.
Without a clear sense of place and belonging a collective consciousness can never be developed. We are ambivalent about calling ourselves Americans. We are undecided about claiming America as our own. We are here but deny ownership. Our collective mindset is that nothing here belongs to us. We are a displaced lot destine to stay in limbo for the rest of time.
Until we come to know that America is our home we will continue to see ourselves as temporary citizens. We must begin to see ourselves as belonging here—permanently not temporarily. Our place here has been bought and paid for by the involuntary and voluntary labor and blood of our fathers and mothers, our fore-parents and our African ancestors. We will be eternally indebted to them. Our place in this land and indeed the world has been paid for with the blood and labor of those who came before us. The mortgage has been burned. We maintain our citizenship by serving in the defense of this nation, by maintaining our homes, our neighborhoods and paying our taxes. We don’t have to ask permission to be here in America: it is our home. And everything around us should speak to that fact. We should pay our artist and architects to make that abundantly clear in all of their works. Their works should inspire and inform all who live or set foot in these United States that we are a proud people; that we live here; that this is our home.
Adolphus A. Ward
