Black Don’t Crack

Having gone now to dozens of events this summer, I’ve gotten to where I can usually get from my car to the bar with just the slightest of butterflies. But I have to admit that crossing the threshold into the openHAUS Coworking space at the historic corner of Alberta and MLK last Thursday was to step outside of my comfort zone.

The event, sponsored by Cameron Whitten’s Brown Hope, was celebrating Black Business Month. In attendance were Black-owned Portland businesses and their families, customers, champions and mentors. I felt like I could go and sit in the corner at an event like this and it would still be a worthwhile thing to do — the kind of thing that many white Portlanders would do if competing priorities could be eliminated on the night of.

I also hoped to find Portland businesses there who might be interested in HERE. I felt like it was my business to be there because of what I’m trying to build, and because of what I believe in. And at the same time, as a white person entering a celebratory Black space, I wasn’t sure if it was my business at all. Maybe just the opposite, as in “none of your business,” and “mind your own.”

However these kinds of organizations and events always promote themselves as welcoming to all, and besides, I’ve never once felt othered by Portland’s Black leadership in all my years of working alongside their communities. Sure enough, I was warmly greeted upon entering the old Adidas storefront on MLK and saw a few other white folks mingling about, which both relieved and horrified me: relieved not to be the only one, horrified by the strength of that relief and the unexamined privilege it exposed.

I planned on staying for an hour, maybe passing out a few cards. I ended up staying for almost three, until the last poem was recited, the final bubbles blown, the sermon on happiness concluded and the tears, hallelujahs and passions of the 50 or 60 in attendance all released. It was unlike any other event of the summer — really of my career.

I think that when Black Portlanders gather like this, community is enacted differently than in white spaces. I’m always reluctant to overgeneralize and theorizing with such limited knowledge is foolish. But I can tell you what it felt like.

It felt like celebrating Black businesses mattered a whole damn lot. That the stories of endurance, of success, of hardship, were intense, and intensely alive. That when Theotis Cason of Cason’s Fine Meats spoke about the need for the Portland Black community to come together on its own behalf, that he wasn’t speaking. He was preaching. That John Tolbert, President of the Black American Chamber wasn’t there because it was his job. That he was there because he had something urgent to say to his people. That when he said “Black don’t crack,” he was summoning both history and prophecy. That the younger people there were hanging on the words of the elders. That the white people there were happy to be a part of a community, even if it wasn’t theirs.

I was given a chance, along with everyone else, to share a little bit about my business, which I did with more nervousness than I’m used to. I did end up passing out a few cards and meeting a few consultants who will become part of HERE, adding more talent and some needed diversity. It was good to network with folks I hadn’t met yet, and probably would never meet but for showing up and being courageous enough to share in both directions.

But this wasn’t networking. This was a chance for me to soak up the vibes of a community celebrating itself and challenging itself. It was a demonstration of real inclusion, real welcoming. I got to slice off a little piece of this community feeling for myself, to borrow it, even if only for a night. It made me proud of myself for overcoming my anxiety, but even more proud of my Black neighbors, who encouraged me to raise my hands with theirs and to take part in their gathering and rejoicing.

It was a night that taught me one more way we are all HERE.