Boulder, CO, has always prided itself upon being a beacon of blissful diversity and an ever-flowing melting pot of delicious opportunity, whether it’s to build your own company, explore your inner wilderness in the outer wilderness, or, as my graduate school once said, to have a platform to transform yourself, and then transform the world. So imagine the surprise at continuous reports of newly arrived BIPOC individuals experiencing genuine shock, despair, and flat-out outrage at the times those very dreams were deferred through racial profiling, flagrant disregard of culture and/or ethnicity, and being treated as “other,” mainly by those who are fond of calling themselves “native” in terms of being born in Colorado—and who are usually lacking melanin. The allostatic load becomes so intense that often, ironically, they make a point to perform their own personal Exoduses out of Boulder and move to metropolises that offer actual belonging.
To some, this topic may feel like it’s already been approached and handled because there’s a documentary called This Is [Not] Who We Are. There’s also an exhibit at the Museum of Boulder called “Proclaiming Colorado’s Black History.” Have you visited the exhibit yet? It features detailed overviews of how and why certain African-Americans arrived in Colorado, highlights at least 26 different Black Coloradans that have contributed significant endeavors in varying arts, sciences, and social activism, such as Penfield Tate II, Dr. Justina Ford, Julia Greeley, Barney Ford, Wanda James, O.T. Jackson, Leslie Herod, Joseph H. Stuart, and Pam Grier, acknowledges the power of faith in the Black community by holding space for a small-scale replica of Boulder’s first Black house of worship, Second Baptist Church, and pinpoints both a few of Colorado’s best attempts to show respect towards and acknowledgment of its BIPOC residents and a minute selection of instances where the more violently race-based intrusive thoughts won.[1]
Better still, have you witnessed This Is [Not] Who We Are, the heart-wrenching yet hopeful documentary that zooms in with Goldeneye precision upon the usual experience of IBWB or In Boulder While Black? Katrina Miller and Beret Strong created and released this integral film to Boulder’s blended history & current state of affairs in 2022, which highlights previously overlooked gems of knowledge such as recognizing some of the earliest African-American residents in Boulder and what happened to their neighborhood. It also reveals glimpses inside the experiences of BIPOC residents, showcasing powerful interviews of Zayd Atkinson, Sammie Robinson, and Celine Mariam Samuel, a few of the many brave individuals who shared their vulnerability, strength, and wisdom gained through their experiences of being Black in Boulder, and emphasizes the progress that’s already been made and the potential progress in the days to come. One might be tempted to believe that this is plenty of acknowledgment of BIPOC individuals of Colorado, despite the disregard for the Black sense of self still being showcased on a national, sometimes global, scale. The exhibit has two rooms, right? Some might declare it sufficient enough. And this is where the trap lies. What is this trap I speak of? The trap of complacent niceness, of aversive racism,[2] of being an irresponsible white American.
How does one avoid such a seemingly negligible and inconsequential trap? Taking the time to listen and sincerely hold space for those with different experiences is the first step, and it can be considered by some paradoxically the easiest and hardest one.[3] I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of interviewing a handful of people who either live in Boulder or visit frequently from surrounding areas, including Katrina Miller and Beret Strong, the creators of This Is [Not] Who We Are.
The first question I asked Katrina Miller was how long she had lived in Boulder. Her response was a surprising—not to mention rare—24 years. She arrived here for graduate school and had planned to leave upon finishing, but as we know, destinies have a way of unfurling in unseen directions, and as she established her career and family, she attempted to strengthen her sense of belonging. But the struggle to gain that very sentiment was immediate and lengthy. There were no solidified places in town that represented a community space for Black people, but the most jarring challenge was realizing that virtually everywhere she went, people stared at her. When she would look up, turn around, walk into a room, sit down, or put food in her mouth, she’d almost always lock eyes with someone, usually White, and they’d do one of two things in response: hurriedly look away with a twinge of guilt or hold their stony gaze with no hint of a smile, as if examining and waiting for a reaction. “I felt eyes on me all the time in a way I’d never experienced. And what seems not to be understood is that staring is a form of aggression, a form of hostility, and a subtle yet distinct act of ‘othering’ someone.” One might even think after 24 years, the “othering” stares have stopped. They haven’t.[4]
That hasn’t stopped her, of course, from being the creative, innovative, and inspiring filmmaker who created the documentary Blacklash, which explored the reasons behind CU Boulder’s lack of ethnic diversity. It also hasn’t stopped her from working with the Museum of Boulder, Red Rocks, e-Town, and the City of Denver regarding numerous projects. What it has done is made her realize she’s essentially the only prominent woman filmmaker of color in Boulder and has been for a while. But after having to seek out community for herself, she discovered people and stories and energies of her most optimistic dreams and more, and came to this conclusion: “When you’re a Black person in Boulder, you’re not just living your life, you eventually try to uplift others in the community to help them come into their own.”[5]
This is why her passion and energy are prominently felt in This Is [Not] Who We Are and why she and co-creator Beret Strong have been so passionate about sharing it with the Boulder Valley School district. Though numerous screenings have been shown, efforts to introduce it into some sort of local Social Studies curriculum have been met with statements asserting that change and enlightenment on race relations are welcomed but no actual follow through. Moreover, she said since the Boulder Valley School District has restructured its DEI program and changed Equity Directors, notions to make the film available to age-appropriate students have unfortunately become quieter and quieter. “I hope there are people there who are thinking about these issues and are showing concern for the students and putting their best interests at heart,” Katrina mused. “I feel the film has made tremendous strides in highlighting the racial injustices in our community. There’s a shared vision of people understanding that harm, however unintentional, is being made, and instead of being complacent or getting distracted by the next thing or getting defensive when points are presented, we’re hoping to ask questions on what to do about it and move forward.”[6]
“Thousands of people in Boulder County have seen the film, and when George Floyd was murdered, that woke people up,” said Beret Strong, co-creator of This is [Not] Who We Are and a White Boulder resident of 28 years. She has spent a little over a decade heeding the call to devote sincere amounts of energy to comprehending & combatting racism in all its malicious intent and impact to & upon not only BIPOC individuals, but to humanity as a whole. “I think that the film has sparked a dialogue. I can see that a lot of people do care, and I don’t think we’ve lost the ground we’ve gained in terms of openness with engaging with our racism as a community, but there is always some reaction & pushback, so I think there is still work to be done. This is especially true for those who just don’t get it, they just don’t get what goes on in our schools, because somehow it’s becoming more apparent that children are learning to be racist and behave in such a way, sometimes at a very young age. Of course not all kids are doing this, but I think in barring some sort of active educational effort, not just by schools, but also by parents, we’re going to see ongoing racist bullying in our schools.”[7]
Beret also holds onto cautious optimism for the potential progress of her town. Though she admitted to not engaging much with the Black community growing up and not paying much mind to racial affairs for a solid portion of her adult life, she also noted that she realized she needed to do something about it. She needed to educate herself. So, not only does she spend time reading famous African-American authors, she also reads everyday columnists and journalists who, as she describes, “are simply pissed at White people.”[8]
“But I wanted to really shut up and listen,” she added. “I come from a somewhat diverse background myself, but I’ve had to do my own personal work around my own emotional stuff regarding the legacy of our country. So my role on this film team is to see and understand the White baggage, even if I don’t identify with everyone. And I feel this film is a dialogue towards the White community’s legacy of how it has treated the Black community, it allows Black people to speak loudly to Boulder County about their experiences. As Katrina says, ‘You can’t argue with people’s lived experience.’ You can’t shout down DEI. All you can do is listen. There’s no rebuttal to that. We think that’s why the film is working. You can’t rebut it. It just is.”[9]
Katrina and Beret sent out a press release towards the end of the school year offering any schools in the district the opportunity to experience a free screening of This Is [Not] Who We Are. Unfortunately, no response was received. All that needs to be done to be granted this knowledge is to visit https://www.thisisnotwhowearefilm.com/contact and ask them directly by sending a message. Better to know your own history before someone else reveals it just to burst your bubble, right?
This is where it pays to know if you’re a Colorado Native. Remember the history of Chief Niwot and the Sandy Creek Massacre? Prospectors in search of gold arrived in 1858. Upon finding it in early winter of 1859, the prospectors turned settlers founded the Boulder City Town Company despite promising Chief Niwot, leader of the Southern band of Arapaho, they would leave that spring. In 1861, the Fort Laramie Treaty was amended to minimize the land belonging to the Native Americans of the Great Plains to 1/10th of the originally agreed upon space. Then the local bands of Arapaho and Cheyenne Native Americans were encouraged to comply and move to a reservation by Big Sandy Creek, approximately 200 miles southeast of Boulder.[10]
Did you know that despite being promised safety & resources, then Governor John Evans wanted the Native Americans removed entirely? The disregard for life extended to the peaceful, because in 1864, a massacre was authorized upon Sandy Creek, where over 200 people were murdered, including women, children, and the magnanimous Chief Niwot, the primary person who had hoped in vain to see adaptable harmony. At least 46 Boulder residents were among the troops that took part in the attack as U.S. Army Volunteers and were heralded as heroes upon their return. 160 years ago, no one was held accountable.[11]
Since then, and rightfully so, amends & apologies have been applied: The sculpture of Chief Niwot was unveiled at Boulder Creek in 1985; a formal apology to the tribes was issued by the state under Governor John Hickenlooper (what a difference a John makes) in 2014; the 2nd Monday of October was designated as Indigenous Peoples Day in 2016.[12] Beautiful moves have been made, and the recognition of the Indigenous Peoples’ power & perseverance is thoroughly deserved, but how about history you might not have known? In the 1920’s, the first African-American residents lived in along Boulder Creek, often referred to as “The Jungle,” and what was called “Little Rectangle,” a section of Goss Street betwixt 19th and 23rd Streets. Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. was an architect commissioned to “clean up and beautify” that particular part of town. What we know as City Hall, the Boulder Public Library, and the Bandshell all came from Olmsted’s park design that would effectively eradicate those neighborhoods. The city bought up the houses and commandeered those that were forcibly abandoned. No serious effort to maintain the whereabouts of those displaced individuals were made then, so very little is known of their fates.[13]
The results might not have been as violent as what happened with the Native Americans at Sandy Creek, but it’s extremely indicative of the mindset desiring only a particular “caliber” of people as neighbors. Remember those 46 Boulder residents who attacked Sandy Creek and returned as heroes? Imagine discovering you’re a descendant. Wouldn’t you like to use your privilege & awareness to educate yourself and others so that we never have to repeat any of this ever again?
Because despite all of this, Boulder Creek continues to beckon all flows of life: the broken & weary, the affluent & unbothered, the impishly whimsical & vastly contemplative. It offers joy, grace, and connection. It doesn't give a floating boxelder maple leaf about color or class. Along that creek, a pensive 30-year-old man of color named Breylen who has lived here for a decade said to me, “I don’t think Boulder is a racist town, I think it’s just a college town. But, if we actually did what we were supposed to do [as people], your questionnaire would be obsolete.”[14]
As a woman of color who also came to Boulder to attend Naropa (the same university Zayd Atkinson attended while being menaced by the Boulder Police in 2019), I definitely received more than bargained for: I too experienced the intrusive staring (and still do during work & leisure). I received similar asinine questions and remarks that Katrina did (and probably still does). I’ve even experienced a sort of displacement from school. I've written about such experiences, and though a prominent local publication published two pieces, I later received an email declaring I was blacklisted from emailing the publication again. Though all has since been rectified, it once again tells of how Boulder itself still struggles with coming to terms with facing all shades of its identity; though efforts continue to be vocalized, action is deeply desired to match the words. Like countless people of color before me, I have left for more welcoming pastures. However, hope remains that more like me will hear, “Go, now. Go!” and come prove Braylen right, and help Boulder truly live up to the blissful bubble it claims to blow.
[1] “Proclaiming Colorado’s Black History.” 30 September 2023—September 2025. Museum of Boulder. Boulder, CO.
[2] DiAngelo, Robin. Nice Racism: How Progressive White People Perpetuate Racial Harm. Beacon Press. 2021
[3] Ibid.
[4] Miller, Katrina. Interview. By Simone Liggins. 13 August 2024.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Ibid.
[7]Strong, Beret. Interview. By Simone Liggins. 16 August 2024.
[8] Ibid.
[9] Ibid.
[10] “Boulder's Indigenous History.” Boulder, Colorado: Visit Boulder. N.D. https://www.bouldercoloradousa.com/travel-info/boulders-indigenous-history/
[11] Ibid.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Herrick, John. “Boulder's Historic District Proposal Sparks Reckoning with The City's Displacement of Early Black Residents.” Boulder Reporting Lab. 2 April 2024. https://boulderreportinglab.org/2024/04/02/boulders-historic-district-proposal-sparks-reckoning-with-the-citys-displacement-of-early-black-residents/
[14] Braylen. Interview. By Simone Liggins. Interview. 25 August 2024.