Black History Museum facing its problems

PHOTO CARL-JOHN X. VERAJA Alibaba Lumumba Entering the front office of the Williams Academy Black History Museum in Fort Myers, one might not get the best first impression and Alibaba Lumumba, the new president of the Lee County Black History Society, is not entirely happy with the situation.

"Look around this place," said Lumumba, who wears a white turban and a graying beard. "Your front office is the window on your world."

The window on this particular world is soiled. There are black streaks on the rug, possibly the residue of a thwarted steam cleaning, shelves with out-of-date literature, wear and tear is evident on chairs, tables and desks, a paint job awaits blank walls and .

Lumumba explained some of the problems the Black History Museum faces. There are issues of monies and sociological desiderata and years of management decisions that Lumumba feels have caused the Black History Museum to become part of a blind spot that exists in the eye of the City of Fort Myers.

When I arrived at the Black History Museum last week, it was dreary and raining. I wasn't sure that I was at a museum at first and had to trust that Mapquest had led me to the right place.

Lumumba had expressed concern the day before that I would "stand him up." So, of course, I had unwittingly turned my alarm clock off in a sort of trance state in the middle of the night and showed up half an hour late in a opposing state of pure panic.

Luckily, he was still willing to speak with me when I came in somewhat moist through the front door.

And, I had something to share with him.

Recently, I had written an article about what I call racist memorabilia. A North Fort Myers resident named Doris Stack has a collection of thousands of pieces of it and I thought there was a chance the museum would want some of it for their display.

Lumumba took her card and I took a few pics of the inside of the front office, produced my notebook and asked, "What changes are in store for the museum now that you're in charge?"

Lumumba turned out to be rife with ideas.

"Part of my job is letting people know there is a lot of history out there we don't have in here," Lumumba said. "We want to go out and secure these histories."

What the museum actually consists of is what has been called an addition to the Williams Academy, although it was never attached to the academy. The addition was built in 1942 - the original Williams Academy was constructed in 1913.

However, Lumumba believes there was also an old black library and a nursing home from stories his grandmother had told him.

"I'm also trying to stabilize the organization," Lumumba said. "…get funding for programs, get committees together…I've gone on Lee Pitts Live…it's a show on channel 8 and 35."

I asked Lumumba to show me around the grounds and take me to the museum proper.

Between the museum and the front office there is a city park. It has benches, a yellow slide, swing sets, an orange merry-go-round and some menace.

"I have asked the police to help with enforcement," Lumumba said.

There has been little help. Lumumba said that despite the park being used by local children that there are often homeless men sleeping on the benches. He then took me to the front deck of the museum and showed me burns in the wood.

"This is from where they cook their drugs," Lumumba said.

He shook his head in discouragement.

"Look at the rest of the city parks," he said. "This is the worst in the city."

Following us to the museum was Cozell Francis, Lumumba's grandson whom he is raising. Once we were inside, and Lumumba had turned off the security system, we all went into a classroom which had artifacts serving as tribute to the Negro Baseball Leagues.

Lumumba spoke of some of the stressors in his job.

"Got to walk on eggshells and make people happy," Lumumba said. "I have to ask myself…do I be me and alienate some people or be Mr. Nice Guy?...I praise God that I've had a lot of people come in and help me…I've finally come to the conclusion I have to be me. I feel like the Creator has guided me."

Lumumba told me he had moved here from Baltimore, Maryland where he was a manager at BJ Wholesale Club. His experiences there as a manager and as an imam, or Muslim preacher, taught him a great deal about how he sees racism as still a factor in society and about how being a boat-rocker has its dangers and benefits.

"When I became manager now I was one of them," Lumumba said. "In the differences of treatment of managers to regular workers I saw the prejudice in them. They kept telling me Puerto Ricans were stealing."

However, he failed to see any evidence of this.

Once inside, Lumumba mentioned other plans he has for the displays.

"I want there to be a Caribbean element in here," Lumumba said. "Slavery existed there as well…part of the black diaspora."

I asked Lumumba about the classroom's future and he said he'd like to see it be a living classroom again.

"I want to educate the African-American people about self-love and self-hate," said Lumumba. "Do you know who Bob Marley is? To quote him it is about emancipating yourself from mental slavery…As a preacher or a manager there is a Mr. Bobo factor that can come into play and has going back to Caesar...Mr. Bobo doesn't acknowledge this force."

And what is this Mr. Bobo factor? Lumumba explained that it is the tendency among people, whether black or white, to see others as greater than or less than.

"I would tell my congregation we are all one under the universal spirit," Lumumba said. "…some preachers use the pulpit and religion as a means to have control over their congregation."

In the workplace and in his job as a preacher, Lumumba said he was perceived as a troublemaker. He refused to even call himself a Sunni or a Shia saying both were the same.

"But I am a subtle boat-rocker…They use you there, too," Lumumba said. "You serve the purpose of being to blame for things outside of your control…I found myself asking how did I come to have so much power? It was simply because I said things as I saw them."

I suspected that Alibaba Lumumba's name was not his original name. He said it had been changed. He said it was because he didn't want Mr. Bobo to designate him by his slave name. He also calls the NAACP the NAAXX.

When I asked if he had converted to the Muslim religion he said it was more proper to say he had "reconverted" since Christianity was foisted upon his ancestors.

Other than the classroom there is a separate room in the museum where displays were under various headings: Religion, Law Enforcement, Pioneers and Business Professional Services. Each told brief histories of blacks who had been prominent in these arenas. However, I thought it was a bit stuffy.

"That is because the air conditioning is turned off," Lumumba said. "It is because of the budget. There are also termite infestation and the ceiling is sagging."

And when I had run out of questions, Lumumba was eager to mention that he was open to speaking to anyone.

"I don't have all the answers," Lumumba said. "Anyone who wants to share ideas I'll talk to. Mostly, I'll listen. A lot of us don't have the art of listening. If you don't have patience you can't sit there and listen."