It’s hard to become what you do not see. For some of us it’s hard to imagine living in a safe neighborhood with well-lit sidewalks and streets, safe green spaces to relax in, with connecting nature trails, a public pool and shade trees. For the less fortunate the journey to wellness begins with being able to imagine life differently and feeling empowered to do something about it.
Try this—imagine yourself wading a river in rural eastern Washington in pursuit of wild fish and solitude, or camping near a remote lake with Black friends and family. Imagine yourself employed by the National Park Service, or perhaps employed as an outdoor guide and outfitter. We are rarely in those professions or spaces because they are often not safe or welcoming. It’s hard to imagine being “us” in them. We feel safer in places and in professions where we are seen, that are familiar, even if they are short lived and environmentally unhealthy.
You might recall the racist incident in New York City’s Central Park in 2020 between Christian Cooper, a Black bird watcher, and Amy Cooper (no relation), a white dogwalker that made the national news? Christian later wrote about the incident and his experiences of being a Black birder in his book, Better Living Through Birding: Notes from a Black Man in the Natural World. Even in the heart of one of the largest cities in the US, it’s hard being Black in green spaces.
I have often been asked to explain why there are so many of us in the NBA, WNBA, the NFL, on certain track and field teams, and top winners of road races. Remember what Spokane looks like during Bloomsday and Hoopfest?
One explanation for our overrepresentation in certain sports is, in part, a biological one, that Black folks are genetically hardwired to be athletes. We can’t help it. Like rhythm, we are perceived to have “air in our bones” and the right combination of fast and slow twitch muscles. Africans do seem to own the marathon distance.
I remember living in Pullman in the early 80s while at WSU and being out for a family drive down the canyon to the Lower Granite Dam for a picnic only to see African Olympian Henry Rono running up the steep grade. Not only was he striding with apparent ease, he was smiling and waving at those of us passing him going in the opposite direction.
Although there is some truth to the biological argument, I would argue that it is easier to imagine our Black selves as athletes than it is as a Ranger in Yellowstone National Park, or leading a group of bird watchers for the Audubon Society. Although these choices and outdoor professions are obtainable, the path to them and the professional survival rate are imagined differently. It’s easier to imagine pushing our young bodies to their physical limit surrounded by teammates and coaches who look like us than it is seeing ourselves as a lone, Black, “wild lifer.”
We are socialized to choose sports. In the poorest neighborhoods, we often find lit outdoor basketball courts with chain nets or posted open gym signs and courts crowded with young Black aspiring athletes wanting to “be like Mike”. For much of our young lives we hone our athletic skills while having plenty of Black heroes to look up to. Coaches begin to take an interest in our athletic aspirations. We likely know of a Black athlete from our neighborhood or school that made it big. “If they can make it, so can I” creeps into our consciousness.
It will be to our peril if we continue to inspire and encourage one profession, lifestyle or pastime over the other. We need to be intentional in educating and empowering current and future fishers, hunters, outdoor pleasure seekers, and naturalists who look like us. What appears unimaginable involving our integration into our natural world will require a heavy dose of encouragement from Black parents, Black and white teachers, Black outdoor trail blazers and activists. We are out there!
Dr. Bartlett is a retired educator. He retired from Gonzaga University in 2007 and Eastern Washington University in 2020.