{"id":2,"date":"2023-02-16T20:36:06","date_gmt":"2023-02-16T20:36:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ascjcapstone.com\/spring-2023\/penapopo\/?page_id=2"},"modified":"2023-05-05T00:45:02","modified_gmt":"2023-05-05T00:45:02","slug":"sample-page","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/ascjcapstone.com\/spring-2023\/penapopo\/","title":{"rendered":"Untitled"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Subheading: <\/strong>In the midst of white-dominated hiking groups on-campus, a group of Black students are deciding to venture out on their own. By carving out a space of their own in the outdoors, they are rebelling against the racist roots of recreational outdoors culture.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

A group of about 30 sweaty smiling faces assembled in front of Millard Falls in Pasadena. As the water trickled from the sandy-colored cluster of rocks, families, and dogs looked at us with glee. The sun filtered through the trees and poured onto the stream of crystalline water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Among the huddle were giggling, smiling Black faces, laughing, and throwing Gushers into their mouths. Little did they know that their ascent to this waterfall was a rebellion against the racist legacy of outdoor recreational culture. A legacy where Black people were excluded from natural spaces and parks for centuries in this country<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The club that led the hike was Woodlums, a Black hiking club prioritizing Black students in a hiking culture that is dominated by affluent white people, especially at a school like USC. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Woodlums and other Black-led organizations people are trying to carve out a community in a hiking culture that has become exclusionary due to the history of segregation, stigmatization, and discrimination of Black people in outdoor spaces for centuries. From segregating people from the very parks they helped build to a generational trauma of natural landscapes, the outdoors has become inaccessible for Black people, even today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Morgan Darby stands tall in front of Millard Falls in Pasadena in February. The Woodlums hike was her first outdoor experience with Black people.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Hiking While Black<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes the looks can be subtle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the Millard Falls Hike, people glanced in awe or wonder, but never enough seem rude. They did vocalize their curiosity, however, with one dad asking us why there were so many of us hiking in the woods that day. Even at one point, someone thought we were all part of a sports team, every though we were made of a haphazard collection of size, ages, and heights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike, yes, I can talk back. I am not an exhibit. I’m a black person walking.\u201d<\/p>Taylor-Corrine Benton<\/cite><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s usually how it goes hiking while Black.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cHonestly, it was just a lot, a lot of stares. Just yeah, people would just be surprised that I’d be outside,\u201d said Taylor-Corrine Benton, who is the vice president of Woodlums. She grew up accustomed to the microaggressions that came with being Black and outside whenever she would hike in her hometown of Seattle. \u201cAnd I can say that like, thankfully, it was never anything else than like, maybe like little hushed tones or people, you know, like whispering between themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Benton always pushed back at the microaggressive side glances and whispers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike, yes, I can talk back. I am not an exhibit. I’m a black person walking.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve also had these alienating experiences when I would go out hiking in Atlanta myself. I grew up in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia, a metropolis often dubbed \u201cThe City of Trees\u201d. As a result, I had the woods in my backyard and would encounter deer, foxes, and raccoons on my afternoon walk with my dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It also meant that every so often I would force my mom to take me up north to the Blue Ridge Mountains or the Chattahoochee National Forest for brisk hikes. While the crunch of mulch under my feet and the fluttering of birds wrong provided a serene soundtrack, this lullaby was often interrupted by small bouts of racism: the uneasy glances, the un-exchanged hellos, people clutching their dogs close to them. It didn\u2019t help that the areas we were hiking in were often highly conservative and mostly white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But this racism isn\u2019t individualistic. It’s not just individual actors that ostracize Black people in the outdoors–there’s been a structural and collective push for over a century to exclude Black bodies in outdoor recreational culture. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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History of Racism in Outdoor Culture<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Briana Brody and Nia McMillan walk on the Lost Palms Oasis Trail in Joshua Tree National Park.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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The seeds of National Parks and conserved national lands were conceived by men with racist and eugenicist ideologies. John Muir is heralded as the father of National Parks, as his writings and advocacy were the catalysts for establishing recreational protected national lands. During his time in the Sierra Club, he helped to create Yosemite and Sequoia National Park in the1890s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, his advocacy was stained by bouts of racism against the indigenous people who called these places home. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

According to a research paper by Isaac Kantor, called, “Ethnic Cleansing and America’s Creation of National Parks”<\/a> John Muir saw the indigenous people as inferior race, a stain on the natural landscapes of the American West:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the most telling, Muir, having climbed a pass where “in every direction the landscape stretched sublimely away in fresh wilder- ness – <\/strong>a manuscript written by the hand of Nature alone,” encounters a group of Mono Indians traveling the same trail. He notes both men and women “persistently” begged for whiskey and tobacco and “were mostly ugly, and some of them altogether hideous,” having ” no right place in the landscape.”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the initial perspective that fostered the framework for the few national parks that were established in the United States. There was a sentiment that man had to carve out natural territory in a manner that did not disturb it but rather preserved it. Preservationists dreamt of national parks as uninhabited and untouched land\u2013which was a contradiction to the many indigenous tribes that had coexisted for centuries with the land. <\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

As a result, US government violently pushed indigenous tribes off of their land. And this discrimination of indigenous people rolled over into the treatment of other marginalized people after the parks were established. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In an article by North Caroline State\u2019s College of Natural Resources<\/a>, researcher KangJae Lee speaks about the historical precedents that create these outdoor disparities:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cWhite elites promoted this idea that cities were dirty places inhabited by immigrants and people of color and that natural spaces were clean, quiet places that white people should enjoy because they can develop certain characteristics that make them a more competitive race.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

While nature connoted beauty and innocence, Black and brown people were seen as the anthesis of this purity. This need to cleanse Black bodies soon bore its head with segregation, In the 1930s, many Southern states allowed for segregation in their national and state parks, including, \u201csegregated campgrounds…segregated pit toilets, restrooms, and parking lots, along with separate dining rooms, coffee shops, and cabins.\u201d<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In fact, in the 1930’s, about three to four African American Civil Conservation Corps camps were in charge of repairing and building new state parks in Texas. But, “Nevertheless, due to Jim Crow laws and customs, those Black CCC members were essentially creating White parks that they could not use.<\/a>“<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t until 1964, when the Civil Rights Act was passed, that these parks were desegregated. But the damage was already done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This limited mobility these standards created meant that there was a general sentiment that Black should not venture out or overstep their boundaries. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And while there\u2019s a history of racism in the woods, there are frightening incidents today that make the outdoors still a scary place for Black people. One of the most famous cases from the past years was in May 2020, when a white woman called the police on Christian Cooper, a Black birdwatcher<\/a> in Central Park. And in the same year, two white men attempted to lynch and racially assault a Black man<\/a> in an Indiana state park on the fourth of July.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And this has trickled into the otherness that many Black people feel when they do end up hiking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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(Source: The George Wright Forum<\/a>)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The Obstacles At Hand<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are many things that can limit Black people\u2019s interaction in nature:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

COST:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 2017, there was an uproar from outdoor advocates when the National Park Service proposed a increase in weeklong passes from \u201c$25 to $30 to $70 for a single private vehicle,” entering certain national parks across the country\/<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The proposal was criticized by those who questioned how the measure would limit access to the park from communities who needed them the most. While it was never enacted, it shows that the financial barriers to accessing nature can be quite high. Gear, park passes, fuel, and other necessities can add up to a costly bill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kelvina Doss is a Black woman working as Leadership and Trips Director at Rocky Mountains National Park YMCA. She also spoke about how her time in outdoor education has shown her the disparities existing in hiking culture. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike you can go on a hike in yoga pants or jeans or regular tennis shoes,\u201d says Doss. \u201cbut the outdoor industry, the visual aesthetic of it, is you have to have the certain brands or certain types of gear to be successful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And since many black people come from backgrounds lacking generational wealth, it can make efforts to hike much harder. According to the National Alliance to End Homelessness, around 21% of Black people live under the poverty line. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

This limited financial access means that it can be harder to shell out the funds to buy gear, get ample gas, and buy certain licenses or permits to go camping or backpacking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Generational Trauma and Cultural Perceptions<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For some, the trauma of slavery and America’s grim racial history has colored their perceptions of venturing out into the woods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mariana Akech is half Honduran and half Sudanese. She grew up in the suburbs of Maryland with little contact with nature. Though she loves a good hike, she can\u2019t fathom backpacking or camping due to its reminder of the pain many enslaved people experienced laboring and toiling in the woods. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI, as a black person, have now in the 21st century all these unalienable rights, as they call it,” stated Akech.”I’m going to revert back to not showering, to sleeping on cots? To sleeping on the floor? Okay? Taking a few baths, being my own odors, working, slaving in the hot sun when I have the ability to have AC around me?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The thought of putting oneself through these uncomfortable positions may feel like a regression for many Black people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Amina Niasse is Senegalese. Even though she doesn\u2019t have lineage to American slavery, there is a correlation of the wilderness to a sense of struggle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know so I mean as an African the only context that wilderness is really spoken about in my family was if you know my father was describing struggle,” said Niasse.” Like you know when he was in Quran school and he had to like he was sent to the village, you know, and then you have to go find wood and bring the wood back to light a fire to read the Quran.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Also, there is a legitimate fear of being in the woods or in the desert with no means of easily getting help. Back then bad things happened in the woods for Black people. <\/a>There were lynchings, some people lost their way trying to escape slavery, and there was a threat of slave catchers lurking in the woods. Instead of a refuge for white people, it was entrenching oneself in further danger, into a murkier territory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

…the only context that wilderness is really spoken about in my family was if you know my father was describing struggle.”<\/p>Amina Niasse<\/cite><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

And in the more modern sense, when we think of the cliche horror movie tropes growing, it was always ignorant white teenagers being chased by a murderer in the forest. This fear of the unknown and of the dangers that exist in the woods can make it easy to stay at home or compromise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Education and Access: <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Doss says that there are just certain tips and tricks about venturing into the wilderness that people may just not know, which can either impede them from going outdoors or make their trips more difficult.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Source: American Forests<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

And since these are teachings that are often passed down from generation or learned on the field, it means that a lot of Black people might be left behind. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It may be more practical things, like getting permits to hike in the backcountry or having a reservation for busier parks or conservation areas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But also, the more technical things and tips in hiking, like making a fire, wearing polyester to keep yourself warmer when camping at night, and knowing not to camp in canyon valleys in cases of flash floods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The discrimination isn’t just in the woods. The lack of natural spaces in Black communities has excluded Black people from outdoor havens.
(Source: The Guardian<\/a>)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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The Origin Story Of Woodlums<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nia McMillan, fellow Woodlums President and Oakland native was the mastermind behind the project. Growing up in a family of former sharecroppers and gardeners meant she had a connection to the Earth from a young age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Nia McMillan (far right) speaks to the Woodlums group at the Joshua Tree campsite.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI’ve been going on hikes since I was like a little kid,” said McMillan. “My grandma, she’s super like earthy, crunchy–into nature and foraging and all kinds of weird shit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it wasn\u2019t until she went to a private and mostly white all-girls school that she finally experienced the \u201coutdoors\u201d. With the help of her friends, she camped for the first time, ever, went skiing, and got to go rafting\u2013 all things that had formally felt out of reach. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then one day, in junior high, she got caught shoplifting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had a choice\u2013either get in trouble with the law or enter a restorative justice program. She chose the latter. It was through the program she met her mentor who ended up working for Restorative Justice for Oakland Youth<\/a>, or RJOY. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few years later,  RJOY bought a farm in the rural city of Jackson up in Northern California. There, they opened up the Ubuntu Retreat Center. In the wild expanse of the evergreens, Ubuntu strove to use nature to reconcile with the consequences of environmental racism and stigmatization in the Black community, especially for formally incarcerated people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it was while working there last summer that Woodward had her first real experience hiking with Black people. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhich was just such, such a beautiful experience for me to like, be healing and growing in those ways, like together,\u201d said McMillan. \u201cAnd be like, patient with each other and understanding of each other’s like lack of experience and background in these spaces.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A weight was lifted from her shoulders. The rejuvenating lightness of the excursions differed from her youthful experiences growing up with her white affluent friends. While there were never any bouts of explicit discrimination, McMillan felt a distance from her white friends in terms of her lesser knowledge and experience.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She recalls a time when all her friends were swimming. And even though she didn\u2019t know how to swim, her shame and pride washed over her, prompting her to dive headfirst into the water. Luckily she survived, despite her lack of experience. But the shame and self-awareness didn\u2019t stop there\u2013even later on it made it difficult to exist authentically within natural spaces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Ubuntu was new.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a space where people understood your inside jokes and played the same \u201cterrible\u201d Detriot rap. It was a nuanced sense of cultural understanding that would not click in predominantly white spaces. As feet trekked, thoughts converged and mingled\u2013it was an organic union that was once foreign to McMillan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it was this first Black experience where McMillan longed for more natural spaces like this. One where you could trip in mud, clumsily start a fire and admit that you couldn\u2019t know how to swim\u2013and get help regardless. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOutdoor education is learning through process learning through mistake. You’re gonna have to fall, you’re gonna have to get dirty,\u201d says McMillan.\u201d And I think those safe spaces for black people to just try to fail, to fuck up and mess up, not just in nature, but in general are so so rare. And so needed and necessary.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s the framework that transferred to McMillan\u2019s aspirations for a space at USC that could cater to Black students. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Joshua Tree Trip<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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From left to right: Jennifer Ayissi, Morgan Darby, Taylor-Corrine Benton, and JayLoni Fisher rest atop of a rock formation on the Lost Palms Oasis Trail in Joshua Tree National Park.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The Woodlums club took their first-ever camping trip to Joshua Tree National Park in late April. We all met up on a cloudy Los Angeles morning, the wind nipping at our legs, protected only by our gym shorts. Huddled on a bench in front of the Rock ‘n Reillys bar was the Woodlums crew, eyes heavy with exhaustion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we packed our stuff into the car, Endiya Griffin, the club’s Special Projects Chair, offered the tired crew Trader Joe’s donuts and pastries. One of the drivers had unfortunately dropped out, so we were left to squeeze 6 bodies into a 5-seater, shuffling and apologizing for every squirm or shift of the leg. But despite the claustrophobia, the group was ecstatic. Packed into Griffin’s car were McMillan, Benton, Muriel, Rachel Somers, and I. As we drove out into the Inland Empire, Griffin’s smooth R&B reverberated through the muggy heat of the car. We eased into the arid terrain, filled with brush and towered over by large verdant mountains, lush from the winter rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As we rode, Somers joked about the fears one of her friends had when she told them she was going camping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“He was like, are you bringing a strap?”, she chuckled. As in, was she bringing a gun to the trip to protect herself?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The whole car chuckled along, with a bit of uneasiness at the idea. While they joked about their slight fears– like having to set up a fire for the first time ever– their faces shown with excitement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I hope I get abducted by aliens”, McMillan. said confidently as she looked straight ahead to the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The rest of the road trip devolved into talk of aliens, A.I., and some occasional conspiracy theories. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Rachel Somers and Endiya Griffin chop vegetables to prepare for lunch.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

As we entered Joshua Tree National Park, the desert floor was bursting with color–light purple and golden yellow wildflowers dotting the road. We settled down on the campground and stretched out our legs as the other cars and participants trickled in. There were about 16 participants, mostly girls and a few boys spanning a variety of majors and camping experiences. For more than half of the students, this was their first time camping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cheerful faces giggled, smoking blunts and nodding to the rap music blasting from the speaker on the picnic table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But even with the sun shining over our heads, one of the students, Lauren Davis, was apprehensive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“I don’t know, I’ve seen all the true crime documentaries, girl. I’m like, You could just like, we could just disappear. Yeah, we’re black!”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was Davis’ first ever time camping–and her first ever time doing it with an all-Black outdoors crew. Even though she grew up in Houston, Texas, where many folks around her went hiking and fishing, her family was not fond of the inconveniences nature brought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Bugs? <\/em>Like bugs for sure. Like, I hate feeling like something’s crawling on me. I hate feeling sweaty\u2026I like to wear wigs, sweetheart, like with the glue\u2026”<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Listen More To Learn About Lauren’s Experience Here:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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