This is the call to create and fully manifest a new path toward an architecture meaningful to African Americans. Before we consider what American society might gain, consider: What have we lost? What miracles could have occurred? What comforts might we of this nation have afforded ourselves? What might we have offered to the world? What penalty has our society paid for its biases. There has been a lot of talk in the media these last few years about implicit bias. Mostly this centers around the tendency for police to imagine African Americans as significantly more dangerous than European Americans no matter what controverting evidence is available on the spot. This often results in abuse. More often than desirable It sometimes also results in the death of the man or woman of color. Profiling of black shoppers, coffee drinkers, air travelers, college students, family barbecue attendees and others is also laced with discussions of implicit bias. Yet, having read the book Blindspot: Hidden Biases of Good People by Mahzarin R. Banaji and Anthony G. Greenwald, I find the discussion focuses mostly on the direct harm that comes to victims of bias. Very little attention is given to the societal cost that bias inflicts on us all. Banaji and Greenwald suggest that implicit bias has not allowed society to reap the benefits of the creativity, perspective and genius which people of color could bring to most fields if not for the preference to give more privileges to those who are already privileged. Yet, none of what I saw and liked was me. It did not represent me or express my beliefs. It did not have echoes of the pain and ambiguity of being black in America. I cannot tell you about other fields. I have chosen to be an architect. I cannot tell you for certain what has been missed. Yet I can tell you of the architecture I dream I could build. As an African American my architectural dreams have long varied from what I have seen in the industry and the preferences expressed by non-architects. I will not demean this conversation by asserting that I saw nothing good in the 40 years I have participated in the industry. There is plenty that was good. I was most impressed by the works of Aalvar Aalto, Luis Barragan, Santiago Calatrava, Gunnar Birkirts, Tadao Ando, Emilio Ambasz and others. What I like spans the globe. Yet, none of what I saw and liked was me. It did not represent me or express my beliefs. It did not have echoes of the pain and ambiguity of being black in America. It did not bring me closer to the connection to the land. It did not strengthen my sense of community. I found little healing and less joy. Well built buildings in brick and stone, floored with marble and expensive carpets did not make me feel relaxed or uplifted. I was amazed sometimes at the expense but unmoved in my heart. This was not mine. I did not belong to it nor did it belong to me. In the last few years I have discovered what was missing for me: meaning. I wanted buildings that told me a story that gave an identity to my past, a community to my present and a purpose to my future. I wanted expressions of my world in poetry and song; in the lyrics of the slave chant and work song; in the jubilant hope of the spirituals, in the healing laments of the blues. While the bluesman cries for lost love, I cry for lost dreams.
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Louis B. SmithI am an African American Architect, writer, teacher, poet, Tai Chi player and an advocate for culturally relevant design in Architecture. Archives
April 2019
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