Florida Avenue, Divided
by Zena Almeida-Warwin
FLORIDA AVENUE
is divided into two sides.
One for you: Whole Foods, Coffee Roasters, animal hospital,
the mural of a mother golden retriever sheltering her litter
above the Wet Dog Tavern that seems to say
don’t worry babies, I’ll protect you from them.
One for them: walking to class, walking to party, walking but not living—
They from Howard can only afford the other side of Florida Ave.
FLORIDA AVENUE COPS
are divided into two kinds.
One for you: hungry eyes, tight hamstrings,
sitting but scarcely resting— they’re focused (don’t worry)
One for them: leaning on car hoods, fleshing their cheeks,
finding any way to say don’t worry, I’m not like the others.
FLORIDA AVENUE RESIDENTS
are divided into two demeanors.
One like you: frequents the Wet Dog Tavern,
jumps seeing them exit the elevator,
but staying put, staking claim (don’t worry)
One attempting to mimic them:
“I ♥ BIG ASSES” T-shirt by night,
hood-tongue slipping on and off like a costume,
white vernacular by morning—
owns the Wet Dog Tavern,
claims affinity on one side of the street
just to cross back over by sunrise.
Ironic, because we were here first,
preceded only by another them.
The message is perfectly clear—
They can’t live here.
They from Howard
belong on the other side of
FLORIDA AVENUE.
My visit to Howard University Homecoming, the annual week-long celebration that draws students, alumni, D.C. locals and Black Americans from across the country to “the Mecca,” has proven difficult to describe to friends and family. Typically, I resort to a general “I had a blast,” but, digging deeper, I felt overcome by an energy, or spirit, much grander than I’m used to and in many ways foreign, so I took to journaling between the weekend’s festivities.
Coming from the small liberal arts bubble of Pomona College and, before that, a tiny private school, the idea of being completely immersed in a collegiate Black environment was novel and extremely exciting. Whatever reservations I might’ve had subconsciously dissolved immediately upon arrival, as I became surrounded by Blackness in all shades and iterations.
At Pomona, I’ve grown accustomed to a certain social dance — a careful identity calibration that many students of color navigate daily. A fine line between academic credibility and try-hard, social and “overdoing it.” In short, I’ve learned to modulate myself and be hyper-aware of how I’m being perceived, finding a delicate balance between being seen as genuine and dismissed as “loofy” or fake. At Howard, students possessed a freedom in their stride that suggested a lack of this burden. The ease, the lack of tension, helped me realize how exhausting it is to always be performing and has pushed me to embrace a less manicured version of myself.
What struck me most wasn’t just the celebration itself, but how Blackness persisted and thrived despite everything working against it. The “radical realness” I felt that weekend emerged through contradictions — joy existing alongside surveillance, community flourishing amidst gentrification and the energy of it all persisting uncontainable even as the outside world tried to frame it.
I don’t mean to suggest that all moments at HBCUs like Howard are like this, nor do I claim expertise after one weekend. I merely wish to share the brilliance of an environment that often inspires surface-level preconceived notions — as it did, even from myself.
A narrow lens is used in capturing historically Black institutions. Take this headline from Fox News: “Violent D.C. weekend after 12 shot, including child and several near Howard University.” Yes, a shooting did occur near the University during my stay there, but I wasn’t aware of it until hours after the fact when concerned friends reached out to me.
The shooting is horrific — but I began to think about how my friends from Claremont would interpret my Homecoming experience. Suddenly, a moment of Black celebration was minimized, reduced to violence. Suddenly, my weekend in DC became risky, rather than transformative, with violence and Blackness, once more, positioned as synonymous.
It didn’t take long to notice the prevalence of gentrification in D.C., or at least on Florida Avenue, a street parallel to Howard’s campus. Take this note in my journal, for example, “Sunday, Oct. 26: I’m not sure if I ran to the Coffee Roasters for sustenance or for whiteness. Maybe they’re one and the same…”
Just a couple of blocks from campus lies a region suffused with whiteness: Whole Foods, coffee shops, taverns and animal hospitals frequented by residents living in majority-white high rises. I stayed in one of these buildings with friends — two Howard students who were among the few Black residents in the entire complex.
It was really interesting to have a recurring character from the weekend be a white neighbor who seemed to oscillate between whiteness and perceived “Blackness.” I almost consider it a living and breathing manifestation of the corruptiveness of gentrification. Living beside a Black community, he can benefit from lower rent costs and modern amenities. He can claim affinity with a community on one side of Florida Avenue one night, just to cross the street for a “coco realness” latte from a white-owned establishment the next morning.
This performative affinity exists alongside another form of control: the surplus of police present on campus. I wasn’t accustomed to the hyper-surveillance of three cop cars at every street corner. It felt like a cognitive dissonance, remaining prideful and radiant under constant monitoring — and still, Homecoming-goers succeeded, as I was swept into unbothered dance halls and street crowds.
What struck me that weekend was Blackness insisting on itself. Not despite gentrification, surveillance or narrow media framings, but through them. Each gathering, dance and moment felt like a minor act of resistance and reclamation. The students and alumni at Howard radiate a cultural force that refuses to be surveilled into submission, exuding a “radical realness” that seems to emerge through each limitation. This is what I suspect created that poignant sensation of HERE and NOW, which no outside lens could reduce.
Zena Almeida-Warwin PO ’28 is from Brooklyn, New York. She’s looking forward to finding any excuse to return to “the Mecca”— next time she’ll skip the gentrified coffee shops.
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