The Role of Public Humanities in Reconciliation

There’s a type of generosity that exists, that causes me to tear up when I see it. It’s the type of generosity of spirit that is so magnanimous that it doesn’t require recognition because it simply is pure generosity for its own sake, and there is no other way it could be described.

Let me back up.

Last week, I attended a roundtable event about the failures of Reconstruction at the Historic Franklin Masonic Hall in Franklin, Tennessee. The roundtable was comprised of three black intellectuals: public historian Dr. Learotha Williams of TSU, documentary filmmaker Frederick Murphy, and the first Director of African American Studies at Nashville’s Belle Meade plantation, Brigette Jones. It was attended by a mixed crowd of all ages and races.

To understand what this means, consider Franklin, TN for a moment. It is in Williamson County, the third-largest slaveholding county in the state. Residents of Williamson County enslaved more people than that of Davidson County, home to the state’s capitol, Nashville. It still is the wealthiest county in the state, and was in the top 10 richest counties in America. Most of that money is old money. Much of it is slave money.

The Masonic Hall itself, alongside most of Franklin’s downtown, was built by the enslaved. You can still see their fingerprints that are impressed in the bricks and mortar if you look closely. For hundreds of years, white masons gathered there to network and increase their wealth. Now, it has become a site of learning about history, dedicated to the stories of black Franklin, which have been kept from the public for so long.

Brochure advertising the event, courtesy of the Historic Franklin Masonic Hall Foundation.

Part of this mission, is reconciliation.

In our current political climate, this is a purposeful and radical decision.

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Learning St. Louis

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The bus bumped slowly through the sprawling shopping complex, squeezing past rows of cars and pausing as shoppers sped in front of its path to get on with their shopping. We kept going, past the Trader Joe’s and World Market, even beyond Total Wine and More. We reached the back of the parking lot, just before an intersection with a small industrial road. We were looking for a plaque, our guide told us, but all we could see was the trash dumpster.

It took a moment, but we finally saw it: there, away from the bustling shops, right next to the dumpster, in a place no one ever goes. “Commemorating Evans Howard Place, 1907 to 1997, By the City of Brentwood”.

Memorial

If it hadn’t been for this trip, the first of several mini tours of St. Louis I’m taking this year through the Cultural Competency program at my workplace this year, I would have never noticed this. I don’t shop at the Brentwood Promenade often, but it’s a well-known spot for St. Louisans. I didn’t know, but I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it stands on what was once an African-American community of more than 800.

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