Decompiling Oppression #107
Sam McVeety
Once again, it's time to ask: how long 'til Black Future Month? To me, that suggests another question: what does it mean to create the conditions for Afrofuturism? It means imagining the future, and, it means attending to the present. For this year's Black History Month, I want to write something that focuses on this fabric of joy, trauma, and hope that connects the past, present, and future, one that is grounded in a sense of space, specifically, a collective of brilliance called Wa Na Wari.
To contextualize that sense of place, we'll begin with Seattle. Here, the acceleration of wealth inequality and persistence of structural racism threaten to make parts of Seattle's Black history strictly historical (rather than bridges to the present) with the ongoing gentrification of the Central District and attendant displacement. A quick refresher on that: federal and local governments redlined Black families into the Central District by racist lending practices, back when the area was considered undesirable. Now, with huge amounts of capital pouring into Seattle, it is one of the hot "new" neighborhoods that (largely non-Black) people are moving into.
Rather than frame this around a deficit narrative, though, I want to center the work that Wa Na Wari is doing, to build community power and resilience in the face of these threats. Wa Na Wari is simultaneously an art gallery, a community space, an advocacy hub, and a commitment to hope against the tide of gentrification. As a singular space, Wa Na Wari bridges these worlds, providing a platform for art that reckons with not just the trauma of the past, but also the joy, joy that will help build the future that we dream of. Located in a house that has been owned by Inye Wokoma's family for generations, Wa Na Wari anchors Blackness in a spatial and cultural way that radiates outwards in all that it does. For example:
Love Offering is a community meal program that provides free-of-cost African diasporic and Native American-inspired cuisine, prepared by Black/Indigenous chefs, three days a week.
I want to pause here, to highlight that there are so many liberatory ideas wrapped up in a program like this, grounded in an ethos of abundance. The idea that food is a human right, not a privilege. The idea that food can be a vehicle of cultural recognition, dignity, and celebration, and not just a raw means of sustenance. The idea that sharing and reciprocity can create power, not just through economic means, but also through reifying a sense of self and solidarity. These are meals that feed the future.
More broadly, Wa Na Wari espouses the idea that all of these facets of society, from basic needs to art, are interconnected. Rather than take a single-minded approach to delivering just one thing (as many nonprofits are encouraged to do, and chastised for "scope creep"), they embrace this web of connection. As a community hub, the house itself hosts everything from artist talks to movie nights. For the neighborhood more broadly, projects like CACE 21 provide support and advocacy for Black Central District homeowners.
Returning to Black History Month, I wonder what my role as a white person should be, holding a generational legacy of perpetrating violence and trauma. In its community agreement, Wa Na Wari elevates the importance of perspective and positionality in an explicit way, declaring itself to be a proudly Black-led space ("on the land of the Coast Salish People"), one that welcomes guests in many different contexts, yes, and a Black space first and foremost.
I see this as offering an answer, then, to my question of how to reckon with Black history: I should consider myself a guest, one whose ancestors arrived uninvited, and caused tremendous harm. How can I conduct myself now, in a way that acknowledges that my presence should be contingent on the grace of my host? Some rooms may be opened to me, and others may be closed. When I am welcomed in, I can meet that generosity with gratitude and curiosity.
Here are this week's invitations:
Personal: How can you be a gracious guest in honoring others' histories?
Communal: What are communal spaces where we can collectively and individually explore our past and future?
Solidarity: Support Wa Na Wari and their commitment to Black ownership, possibility, and belonging through art, historic preservation, and connection.
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