I Am a Black Kansan in a Sea of Red, White, and Blue
By: L.L. Mckinney
Tags: Midwest, Kansas, Culture, Race, Black In The Midwest

When people talk about the Midwest, it no doubt conjures images of little White families wearing MAGA hats and working on a farm, surrounded by miles and miles of flat land filled with corn or wheat or something that goes on a box of bland cereal. To most of the world, this is not just a face of the Midwest, it is the face of the Midwest: proud, patriotic, and fraught with economic anxiety. The media focuses all of its attention and resources on this “ideal” image of life in flyover country. In doing so, Black Midwesterners are forgotten, and so is what we have to live with, especially in Kansas. After all, the empire of the Koch brothers is based here, as is the Westboro Baptist Church. Imagine what it’s like having them and the people who support them as neighbors, teachers, and authorities over various aspects of your life.

It’s a widely known secret that, before the right wing rolls out pretty much anything, it uses Kansas as its political sandbox, often testing policy and theory here before trying to implement it nationwide. Because Kansas is a heavily red state, these policies are often passed without much, if any, opposition. As a result, the marginalized people here are often victims of laws and government proceedings harsher than most of the rest of the country. Neglect from the blue is just as much to blame. This ideal face of the Midwest is allowed to chew us up and spit us out without any opposition from moderates, progressives, leftists, whatever folks want to call themselves. Black people in the Midwest are a prop, a political tool to be used and then discarded, and it leaves us open to further abuse. It’s always been this way, clear back to before the Civil War, during the days of Bloody Kansas. And this face, this ideal Midwestern visage, is one we cannot escape.

This face belongs to my neighbors and coworkers. It belongs to the woman who told me I was “lucky I can get away with that,” when I wore a head wrap to work one day. It belongs to the board member of a project I was part of who told another woman of color that she couldn’t introduce a speaker at a function because they belonged to the same ethnic group, and things would be too matchy-matchy. This face teaches my sisters’ children and, for the entire month of February, “forgets” to present anything on Black History Month. When asked why this was the case, this face smiles and says no one’s history is more important than anyone else’s and they won’t play favorites.

This face is the one I have to go to for medical treatment and is often the one that denies it under the pretense that my pain is imagined or not as bad or that “we all” (Black women) end up single mothers anyway. That face is gentrifying historical parts of our city without a second glance at the population it’s displacing, foreclosing on homes that were built by strong backs and stalwart hearts, only to be snatched up by redlining banks, the lots set to be repurposed and resold. This face strips away our rights, leaving us all but bare. It steals from us then jails us for the theft. This face is always there to greet me in the morning and follows me home at night. Kansas is incredibly conservative, the population is predominantly White, and the more liberal parts of the country have all but written us off, sentencing us to a lifetime of fending for ourselves. Or we’re told to leave. Go somewhere better. Go to the east, go to the west, you don’t need help, just go! That is easier said than done.

I still live in Kansas for many reasons. For one, this is my home. This is where I grew up, these walls contain the multitudes of my life and the lives of those I love, the lives of those that came before me. My family is here. My friends are here. My roots are here. And if that wasn’t reason enough to stay, going somewhere else would be too expensive. Well, going anywhere that might be friendlier. The cost of living in Kansas is very low, especially compared with the coasts.

For example, the monthly cost of my two-bedroom apartment at nearly 1,100 square feet of space is less than $900. In New York, I’d pay more than three times that amount for the same space. For less than half the space, I’d still have to pay at least twice as much, and I can’t afford that along with utilities, food, etc. While I love my home, as much as one can, all things considered, there are times I feel trapped by my financial circumstances. It’s the same for a lot of Black folks in the Midwest, but, thankfully, we have each other, and that’s what makes all of this bearable.

Hi, my name is Elle, and I was born and raised in Kansas City, Kansas.

Yes. You read that right, Kansas.

I am a Black woman adrift in a sea of red, white, and blue, and it’s only because of my people — the Black Midwesterners who are often overlooked — that I haven’t drowned.