America - Day 9
This afternoon I walked SE from Capitol Hill for around 2.5 miles to the Anacostia neighbourhood, the site of race riots immediately after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. The stiff order of the city seemed to unravel as I walked away from Capitol Hill. The sidewalks became uneven and broken with paving stones now cracked, not the smooth stone and marble of Capitol Hill. Litter appeared on the sidewalks and the suits turned to jogging pants. But there was colour now. Rather than the clean sculptured stone, the properties became painted, the streets also had colour with stalls and vendors and posters. The further I got from Capitol Hill the more I saw creativity on the street, and the colours of the people changed too. I passed a wonderful street garden centre just before I crossed over the river into Anacostia, with planters and cuttings and vegetables on racks displayed somewhat chaotically on the pavement. Next door there was something all the more sinister - a grim looking building with spiky railings, two rows of them and a well-armed security checkpoint. I couldn't tell wether they were trying to keep people in or out - a prison or a government building. Later I found out it was the entrance to a Navy base on the river. By now there were helicopters flying low overheard, sometimes in tandem. I got to recognise which were to do with the government and which were police. The government ones were in two's and looked very purposeful, like they had an important passenger on board. The police helicopters flew up and down the river and over the neighbourhoods as though they were patrolling the city like hungry lions. I crossed the river by the bridge and reached Anacostia. The first thing to met my eye was dereliction, boarded up shops, tacky looking food markets and loan shops. I noticed that drivers were staring at me - as though a pedestrian shouldn't be here. I passed a dollar(pound) shop which was grilled up and closed. The housing advice centres, non-profit clothing shops and community arts centre were signs of improvement initiatives past and present. This is a poor neighbourhood, but one where vibrant arts and creativity live comfortably together. I read about how there were riots here following the assassination of Martin Luther King, the iconic leader of the American Civil Rights movement who embodied the idea that no person was powerless. King infused black Americans, mostly descended from slaves, with a stubbornness and a determination to pursue their own equal standing in American society. When he was assassinated - anger and frustration boiled over here and people took to the streets. But they continue to experience powerlessness, less than three miles from Capitol Hill; so near and yet so far. Following the riots, many businesses in the neighbourhood moved out and it sank even further. I find the Church I'm looking for but it's closed; not much happening here today. So I walk around older parts of the neighbourhood, looking at houses which experienced the riots. They are mostly wooden, not stone, but they're still standing. I find a banner hanging outside one of the houses: Live Laugh Love. I'm not sure which way the owner of the house leans, they may be one of the new comers into this older part of the neighbourhood. But down in the centre, where deprivation presses into you, the people are still crying out for justice - the street art says it all. I begin to walk back to Capitol Hill, on the way I bump into this street vendor's stall. The owner is elderly, thin and black. His stall is covered with civil rights campaign shirts, hats and memorabilia. I wonder who he's met in his time and if he was there at the riots. He is happy for me to photograph his stall, but I think he'd rather I do something - and spend some money.
This afternoon I walked SE from Capitol Hill for around 2.5 miles to the Anacostia neighbourhood, the site of race riots immediately after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. The stiff order of the city seemed to unravel as I walked away from Capitol Hill. The sidewalks became uneven and broken with paving stones now cracked, not the smooth stone and marble of Capitol Hill. Litter appeared on the sidewalks and the suits turned to jogging pants. But there was colour now. Rather than the clean sculptured stone, the properties became painted, the streets also had colour with stalls and vendors and posters. The further I got from Capitol Hill the more I saw creativity on the street, and the colours of the people changed too. I passed a wonderful street garden centre just before I crossed over the river into Anacostia, with planters and cuttings and vegetables on racks displayed somewhat chaotically on the pavement. Next door there was something all the more sinister - a grim looking building with spiky railings, two rows of them and a well-armed security checkpoint. I couldn't tell wether they were trying to keep people in or out - a prison or a government building. Later I found out it was the entrance to a Navy base on the river. By now there were helicopters flying low overheard, sometimes in tandem. I got to recognise which were to do with the government and which were police. The government ones were in two's and looked very purposeful, like they had an important passenger on board. The police helicopters flew up and down the river and over the neighbourhoods as though they were patrolling the city like hungry lions. I crossed the river by the bridge and reached Anacostia. The first thing to met my eye was dereliction, boarded up shops, tacky looking food markets and loan shops. I noticed that drivers were staring at me - as though a pedestrian shouldn't be here. I passed a dollar(pound) shop which was grilled up and closed. The housing advice centres, non-profit clothing shops and community arts centre were signs of improvement initiatives past and present. This is a poor neighbourhood, but one where vibrant arts and creativity live comfortably together. I read about how there were riots here following the assassination of Martin Luther King, the iconic leader of the American Civil Rights movement who embodied the idea that no person was powerless. King infused black Americans, mostly descended from slaves, with a stubbornness and a determination to pursue their own equal standing in American society. When he was assassinated - anger and frustration boiled over here and people took to the streets. But they continue to experience powerlessness, less than three miles from Capitol Hill; so near and yet so far. Following the riots, many businesses in the neighbourhood moved out and it sank even further. I find the Church I'm looking for but it's closed; not much happening here today. So I walk around older parts of the neighbourhood, looking at houses which experienced the riots. They are mostly wooden, not stone, but they're still standing. I find a banner hanging outside one of the houses: Live Laugh Love. I'm not sure which way the owner of the house leans, they may be one of the new comers into this older part of the neighbourhood. But down in the centre, where deprivation presses into you, the people are still crying out for justice - the street art says it all. I begin to walk back to Capitol Hill, on the way I bump into this street vendor's stall. The owner is elderly, thin and black. His stall is covered with civil rights campaign shirts, hats and memorabilia. I wonder who he's met in his time and if he was there at the riots. He is happy for me to photograph his stall, but I think he'd rather I do something - and spend some money.