expand your reading: Black voices and the power to educate

This essay is partially revised from an earlier draft, and it concludes with a list of incredible books penned by writers and poets and musicians of color. You are welcome to skip my words and go directly there! To hear me read the essay (but NOT the list), click here: https://youtu.be/5_0-UTDacPc

I am the victim of an incomplete education.  Most of us are.  I attended elite schools and am grateful for the many ways I was invited into excellence, rigor and curiosity; however, like most Americans, I was exposed primarily to curricula written, sourced and designed by white Americans.  The last two decades have revealed large gaps in my knowledge and the work I must do to find a complete education.  Having now encountered the incredible diversity of thought that functionally shaped America, I realize the insularity—the poverty even—of our educational norms.  Aware of this, and because Black History Month seems like a good time to advocate for robust education, I want to remind us that American writing, thinking and creating is the product of many distinct voices.  We have an incredible wealth of cultural, literary, historical and artistic legacies from every race, and we are diminished as a people when these voices are not actively taught in our schools. 

Our educational norms, sourcing and standards create and sustain a culture built upon racialized hierarchies that diminish the contributions of people of color, making space only for white creativity or analysis. Any school or system unwilling to grapple with the legacy of this bias is likely promoting white supremacy. You don’t have to do it on purpose; it is baked in already.

When we are primarily exposed to American history and literature through the work of white folks, we are taught to privilege white perspectives.  We begin to believe important cultural trends and innovations come exclusively from one segment of society.  This narrow exposure lays a foundation for cultural racism, suggesting that people of color are physical in nature, while white people, with their higher order thinking and artistic expressions, meaningfully impact our national narratives, our literary heritage, our community ethics, and the production of culture. 

American culture and history have been shaped by the voices, inventions and perspectives of a rich variety of people from all walks of life.  The idea of complete democracy suggests that every person has value and should contribute to our whole in necessary ways.  It is disingenuous for us to believe this while also pretending as if every important contribution to the common good came from one race of people.  Although this hypocrisy that affirms equality while codifying systems of inequality is one of our great national habits, America itself has nevertheless been deeply influenced by contributions from all types of people. 

In the South we love to think about our culture as one of genuine hospitality, gorgeous grounds, fine food and excellent music.  Because we have a legacy of erasing or diminishing the contributions of Black folks, our educations failed to teach us that so many Southern traditions only exist because people of color worked independently of or collaboratively with whites to create norms of hospitality in settings we cherish.  In many famed Southern kitchens, Black cooks created the recipes published by white chefs, now beloved as Southern heritage.  Even Jack Daniel’s Distillery now explains that Nearest Green, an enslaved man, taught Jack the wonder of whiskey making.  Best practices in agriculture, building, sewing and carpentry were perfected by Black ingenuity.  I offer these anecdotes to remind us that any American historical narrative that does not include the contributions of Black, indigenous or immigrant people is incomplete. 

 Most of us understand that our musical heritage is not complete without the contributions of jazz and the blues, the vast majority of which was created by African Americans.  Jazz and rock n roll were largely commoditized by whites but created by Black Americans; indeed, Elvis became famous by publishing songs first performed by Black folks.  What do we sacrifice if we examine our cultural understanding of ourselves, and make room for all those who contributed?  Our educational norms often fail to reflect our entire heritage, but we need not remain in ignorance. 

Some of our best early links between literature, sociology and ethnography were established by Black writers like Zora Neale Hurston.  A gifted writer of fiction in her own right, she travelled through Florida recording the stories of African Americans as they experienced the world.  Hurston helped prove that anthropology is incomplete without ethnography and auto-ethnography.  Many of us were taught to celebrate early writers who noticed such cultural differences through travel like Herman Melville or Mark Twain.  Black writers like James Weldon Johnson and Paule Marshall, far less read, continued and advanced this style of writing about the helpful collaborations and differences one discovers as they travel at home and abroad.  Acknowledging the pull of diaspora while claiming our full history speaks powerfully into our current discussions about identity and the ways that we explore national loyalties.  If such voices were celebrated in education, we would be better equipped to now face a world in which citizenship, migration and nationality seem to clash in violent ways. 

In school, many of us were exposed through literature to the tension women face as they struggle to position themselves as whole subjects with needs, wants and the agency to act on those needs and wants.  We read Emily Dickinson or Kate Chopin or Sylvia Plath, celebrating the singularity of their voices.  Many of us were not exposed to writers like Nella Larson, Maya Angelou or Gloria Anzaldúa, though, who wrote compellingly of the intersection of gender, race and culture in a woman’s desire for agency.  Larsen’s work is accessible, exploring the life choices of a disappointed upper class woman in a way that Chopin’s work can’t.  Activists like Sojourner Truth revealed the subtle ways that the voices of Black women were diminished, doubted and ignored.  She was a forerunner to feminism, asserting that gender and racial binaries are often used to silence women who do not conform to cultural norms. 

 So many voices shaped American identity, and we don’t have to privilege one voice at the expense of another.  Our cultural norms, heritage, conceptions of self, and identities are, in fact, shaped by the many brown, black and white voices of America.  Our educational norm is to celebrate and memorialize the white voices, rather than to openly teach a wide variety of perspectives, recognizing the myriad voices that shape American culture, literature and history.  We are not products of brown labor and white innovation; we are the culmination of many voices expressing their God-given giftedness to help us translate and understand experiences of life in America. The hope of this moment is that diminished voices of color have always existed, we only need to recognize the deficits we have and do the work to complete our education. 

Idealist that I am, I suppose I hope you will make a habit of searching for and then relishing the rich cultural traditions that our American educational system has often minimized or erased. Don’t be the victim of an incomplete education. I spent nearly 24 years getting educated, and I would have missed so much of the literature and history that now shape my vision of community, heighten my awareness of the breadth of human experience, and humble me at the stunning beauty of the resilient human soul, had I not finally, in Graduate School at the University of Miami, been exposed to brilliant voices of color. I fell in love with their words and stories, and I invite you to discover the beauty and insight that captured my imagination and respect. These voices have, in fact, shaped the places we call home, and it is time we recognize and delight in them. Enjoy!

Below is a list of books I recommend, with newer (last 4 years) books **. For a list of kids, tween or teen books, let me know!

#BlackHistoryMonth Reads!

Claire of the Sea Light by Edwidge Danticat

Haitian, now Miamian whose poetic prose crafts a story about the devastation of poverty, the trauma and hope of adoption, & the choices we make for the people we love. Gorgeous book!

*Deacon King Kong By James McBride

One of the best books I’ve read, McBride masterfully crafts a tale of the resisting and reviving power of Black churches in urban centers (set in New York city), and of the networks that sustain communities. These characters will move in and stay with you in wonderful ways.

Omeros by Derek Walcott

Saint Lucian Nobel Prize winning poet who offers a postcolonial, African, diasporic reworking of Homer in this epic poem. Caribbean poetry at its best!

*The Vanishing Half By Brit Bennett

A new take on an old genre, Bennett explores the way we construct our identities and experience belonging through the phenomenon of passing. For Bennett, understanding the ties we have to race and family is a process always in flux. It is fabulous.

Stamped from the Beginning

*How to be an Antiracist By Ibram X Kendi

Kendi explains the history of racialized thinking in the first, and helps Black and White folks explore how they were taught to think about race, identity, and value in the second. Under Kendi’s tutelage, you will begin to notice racialized thoughts or instincts, deconstruct them, and take away their power.

*Black Bottom Saints

*Soul Food Love (a Cookbook, written with her daughter, Caroline Randall Williams) By Alice Randall

These new books ooze with family strength, habits and drama, stories told with food or drinks to go with them. I am cooking my way through, and loved every Saint’s story (with a cocktail to match). Nashville is one of the stars in both books, so drink up!

A Gathering of Old Men By Ernest Gaines

Gaines grew up in Louisiana & writes better than anyone about the importance of community in our efforts to tell our own stories. For Gaines, confessing the way we participate in oppression brings healing.

*An American Marriage By Tayori Jones

A remarkable novel that tracks the devastation of incarceration on a family system, the conflicting legacies our families leave us, & the ambivalent journey we all must take to claim (or even understand) agency.

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem By Maryse Conde

Telling the backstory of a West Indian woman mentioned in the historical record & imagined first in Miller’s The Crucible, this novel troubles the history of the Americas from a postcolonial point of view.

Americanah

Feminist Manifesto By Chimananda Ngozi Adichie

A Nigerian writer who also lives in the US, Adichie offers stunning clarity into how we find our normal, & how we manage our national, class, gendered & political identities.

Passing By Nella Larsen

Written out of the Harlem Renaissance about the Harlem Renaissance, Larsen writes of friendship & loyalty, the temptation to perform our race, and the fluid nature of identity. A beautiful, heartbreaking book.

Feeding the Ghosts By Fred D’Aguiar

A Guyanese poet, novelist and playwright, D’Aguiar’s novel reveals the excruciating acts of resistance that empowered the victims of the middle passage. Haunting & empowering, it stays with you.

The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man By James Weldon Johnson

Johnson captures the rich creativity and cosmopolitanism of the Harlem Renaissance, all on a backdrop of racial ambiguity, power dynamics and cultural appropriation. Fantastic.

To Pimp a Butterfly By Kendrick Lamar

Pulitzer Prize Winning poet who deconstructs the American experience in stunning ways. Lamar elevates and explores the fluid nature of identity construction in the search for agency.

Between the World and Me

Black Panther By Ta-nehisi Coates

Wielding comic book power, long form cultural critique (the Atlantic) & the memoir as a force for contextualizing historical erasure, Toni Morrison calls him “required reading.” So, yeah.

Cane By Jean Toomer

Toomer’s only novel is remarkable for his fearlessness in content & form. He raises questions about the possibilities & realities of black lives in various parts of the country, showing the gap between the dream & the reality.

*The Nickel Boys

*The Underground Railroad By Colson Whitehead

Whitehead’s novel sears images of abuse and courageous sacrifice into our American collective consciousness, calling us back to a history we erased through his liberal imagination.

*I’m Still Here By Austin Channing Brown

A prophetic witness to the indignities of carrying one’s blackness into nearly all-white spaces, Brown narrates her life, revealing deep wells of resistance & calling everyone to sit at a new table.

*The Hate U Give By Angie Thomas

Thomas burst onto the literary scene, shaping the shared experience of a generation of young people seeking to reach across lines of difference as they understand what it means to grow up knowing BlackLivesMatter.

Blake, or the Huts of America By Martin Delaney

Written across the African diaspora in the Americas, Delaney articulates a vision for resisting racialized oppression through black nationalism. Politically intuitive, he shapes a generation.

Mama Day  

The Women Of Brewster Place By Gloria Naylor

Naylor describes and celebrates black women, celebrating the places they belong, the homes they create and the power they display. Beautiful texts.

My Brother

See, Now, Then

Autobiography of my Mother By Jamaica Kincaid

Antiguan born, Kincaid writes better than anyone on the ongoing erasure of African diasporic peoples, of the complicated mobilities/voices left in colonialism’s wake.

*Red at the Bone, By Jaqueline Woodson

Showing off her agility to write for kids and their parents, Woodson explores how family legacies empower and suffocate the young people growing into adults around us.

Invisible Man By Ralph Ellison

Ellison’s iconic text makes room in the American canon for the voices and bodies of those whose presence shape & form a nation who refuses to acknowledge their existence. DuBois’ musings come to life here.

*Sing, Unburied, Sing

Salvage the Bones By Jesmyn Ward

Ward crafts tales about generations and the places that shaped them, about families who survive at great cost, about systems that destroy us. She reminds me of Faulkner...

Paradise

The Bluest Eye

Beloved

Sula By Toni Morrison

Too many to list & too necessary to describe, Morrison writes so compellingly that literature in America had to readjust, not just to make room, but to place her stories in the center.

*The Awkward Thoughts Of W Kamau Bell By Kamau Bell

Hilarious and pitch perfect, Bell describes what it means to create art as a defiant act of communal meaning making in an age of independent arrogance. You will laugh and cry, and wonder.

Why are all the black kids sitting together in the cafeteria? By Beverly D Tatum

She gave sociological roots to a necessary reality: in the best hope for integration we all have to find a way to belong. The *updated introduction is CRUCIAL.

Notes of a Native Son and Go Tell it on the Mountain By James Baldwin

Baldwin epitomized the beauty of Black cosmopolitanism, as black cultural appreciation rose in America, the West Indies, and France among others. Gorgeous writing.

*Ordinary Light and Life on Mars By Tracy K Smith

Former National Poet Laureate, Smith is an artist, a mom, a poet, a philosopher, a prophet, and a pro. Her voice is shaping our time, in real time.

On Beauty By Zadie Smith

Everything she writes is worth reading. Her way with words is so gorgeous that one could be forgiven for overlooking the astounding insights about humanity she layers into each page. She is the best writer going...

Selected Poems By Langston Hughes

His way of capturing the angst, the pride, the grief, the beauty, the longing, the being...of black folks in America...simply can't be matched. He's better than you remember.

Homegoing By Yaa Gyasi

Capturing the migratory paths of a family, Gyasi layers intra-African journeys on top of the Middle Passage, then explores diasporic wanderings across America as figures discover & create meaningful contexts for life.

Amanda Gorman’s forthcoming books! Read and relish (and Youtube her!)

Newish Christian Picks

The Color of Compromise & How to Fight Racism By Jemar Tisby

Reading While Black By Esau McCaulley

Bonus Picks (because February is too short!)!

The Color Purple By Alice Walker

The Dragon Can't Dance By Earl Lovelace

Black Skin, White Masks By Frantz Fanon

Brown Girl, Brownstones and Praisesong for the Widow By Paule Marshall

The Piano Lesson By August Wilson

Black Lives Matter

I first wrote this essay eight years ago. Every year I read it, and every year it rehearses arguments I still regularly hear. This is devastating and true. Halfway through 2020, it feels slightly dated for the first time. I hear fewer people trying to silence those who assert, “Black Lives Matter.” Instead, I am regularly undone by the number of folks posting about or marching under the banner of BLM. Maybe we white folks finally see how our cultures of silence and apathy, when bolstered by a foundation of accepted white supremacy, kill some while wounding all. I accept the call from black leaders that we need reckon with our sick need to be centered and comfortable at all costs. I’m ready to look more closely, to discuss and confess, to dig until I understand the destructive power of my need to win and to be comfortable while doing so. I will become a better ally, more consistently antiracist, while asking others to come along. Ready for our next chapter together, I still found it helpful to remember that just a few years ago, affirming the value of black life was a radical act for a white person. I hope you find it useful to remember, to grieve, and to reaffirm a commitment to support and value the beauty, work, resiliency and creativity of black lives.

Here is the essay in its original format:

A cursory view of American headlines in the past year reveal a deep sickness in the way we relate to and value each other.  The spotlight on the unjust treatment of people of color has unfortunately led to an increase in the societal divide we experience in our view of race.  When Obama was elected, celebratory cries of a post-racial society were heard.  When Trayvon Martin’s death kicked off a spree of monthly spotlights on the killing of men of color by white civilians and police officers, thoughts of a post-racial society were arrested.  At times I feel like we are experiencing a time warp, as if this pattern of openly killing members of our society must be viewed as an admission that men of color are seen as criminals at worst and as expendable, or not valuable, at best.  In other moments, when I remember the long view, the historically slow path resistance and change must take, I am encouraged that at least such routine and rampant injustice is finally being broadcast.  Exposing the status quo as unsustainable must happen before resisting the status quo can take root.  Surely these reports are a good thing. 

 Just as one can view the last 24 months as depressing or as a step toward health and healing, the dominant responses to these patterned killings are disparate, and seem to feed off of different realities.  For many, the sequential headlines force us to acknowledge our systems and structures of power place an unjust burden of suspicion and criminality upon people of color.  For some, these deaths are deserved, and a result of criminal behavior and disrespect for noble and selfless authority figures.  For others, the fact that these deaths are now headlines is evidence of a biased, liberal-leaning media.  These responses, and the passion with which they are held, belie a stubborn commitment to hold our views tightly, refusing to consider new information or the perspective of another.  Rather than engaging those around us with curiosity, we often resort to shouting our own experience, unaware of our particular bias.  If a person does not struggle under the particular curse of being born into poverty or with darkly hued skin, she can live freely in a world in which she expects to be helped in stores, respected by strangers, and kept safe by law enforcement officers.  However, a poor or black or Hispanic person has no such luxury.  Their experiences of life—not liberal bias or manipulated optics—teach them that strangers treat them with suspicion and the police are often less ally than hindrance.  Until we learn to engage each other’s stories, listening with interest instead of attacking out of a posture of defense, we cannot hope to understand what half of our country believes about the images and reports of the last few months. 

The response to Trayvon Martin’s death gave birth to the Black Lives Matter movement.  The movement, fluid and evolving, orients itself around a few guiding principles: “Lead with love. Low ego, high impact. Move at the speed of trust” (New Yorker).  Although this movement has been characterized as full of angry and irrational people with a chip on their shoulders, these principles suggest a value system built on humility.  A foundational belief in the community’s worth instead of a self-centered orientation.  A way of moving that requires consideration of another’s perspective, rather than boldly moving forward in “rightness”, or even justice.  These principles suggest that change is possible, and can even be achieved, with civility.  Despite the higher calling here, this movement, because of its actively-resisting-oppression name, has given birth to irate counter claims that “All lives matter!” 

Of course all lives matter.  That is the point.  What if, as a society, we started to listen to one another?  What if we decided to recognize that each of us has an experience and a bias, and perhaps we should claim those truths about our selves even as we also listen to the, by definition, different perspectives of an other?  What if we decided to eliminate defensiveness as an option of a response?  The All Lives Matter reaction and claim suggest that their adherents are correcting the Black Lives Matter Movement so that it can be more inclusive.  Not so.  The cry of All Lives Matter is more often a stubborn endorsement of the status quo.  It refuses to acknowledge that in this country, and in many of our laws, educational systems, housing plans, stereotypes, law enforcement officers, financial systems and neighborhoods, black lives do NOT, in fact, matter.  Black lives are underestimated, feared, rejected, suspected and criminalized as a matter of course.  This movement is, foundationally if not always in action, a humble but persistent plea for people to agree on this most basic of assumptions: that all lives matter.  It is also a damning indictment that ALL lives cannot matter until black lives matter.

This easy jump to “all” without acknowledging the “black” has a long history in our country.  Tane-hisi Coates, in his new book Between the World and Me, helpfully reminds us that in this very country our mainstream version of history simply erases the contribution of people of color to our country.  If anything, we celebrate any teacher or curriculum that offers a level of robust explanation about what slavery is and how it worked.  We are thrilled when these questions are answered.  And yet, this easy satisfaction ignores the fact that these very same slaves created the wealth, infrastructure and buildings of the Southern United States.  No, slaves were not just victims; they were craftsmen, artisans, child-rearing experts, chefs, builders, farmers and administrators.  Just as our history has denied the fact that our country was built by—not just on the bodies, but with the help of and under the leadership of—African American slaves, so the All Lives Matter cry seeks to ignore and overlook the needed assertion that Black Lives Matter. The legacy of our claimed history is that black lives were maybe one day abused, but now they matter just like the rest of us.  Until we proclaim all the ways in which black lives have contributed to our country, despite living through centuries of terror and pain, we cannot admit the many ways that black lives continue to be viewed as expendable, despite their great worth.

the dark side of 'you do you'

Nashville is beginning to reopen this week after a Safer at Home decree first ordered on March 22. The easing of restrictions rips away the sense of normal we found in seven weeks of isolation. We realize now that what we think is normal, or safe, does not perfectly align with the plans of friends. Some think it’s time to party, gathering with different friends, sharing food and giving hugs.  Others think it is appropriate to stay home, only going out for food, always wearing a mask. When our notions of normal are different, we should not be surprised to realize our actions will also be different.

As I have felt judged by others, or sensed judgment rise up in me, I also hear many remind us that such differences are to be expected, that we need to have grace for each other. We should assume we are all doing the best we can do. This desire to live at peace with people living really differently is noble, but putting it into practice is hard, because the choices other people make impact the people around them.

When norms are in flux, it causes discomfort. This tension arises because we have not agreed on a norm, a set of appropriate actions or beliefs, as a city. What is expected of us, and what can we expect of others? Am I responsible only for my speech and actions, or does living in a community require me to respond to the words or actions of those around me? Coming out of quarantine brings these issues to the surface, but these questions are not new. Philosophers, theologians and social activists have long wondered how we are responsible for deeds done or words uttered in our presence.

We live in an age in which tolerance seems to be the highest relational goal. A strong norm permeating our culture is the mantra, “You do you.” Replacing strict moral codes and harsh judgments, I am a fan of folks staying in their lane, taking responsibility for themselves alone. However, you do you has a dark side, with the potential to destroy communities.

In fact, you do you sounds empowering, but it often photoshops a more selfish sentiment: I want nothing to do with you. These words offer me a way to wash my hands of you, to move on without a second thought. If your choices, motivations or actions are hard for me to understand, I have a few choices. One, I can pass judgment, deeming you wrong-headed without taking the time to understand. Two, I can tolerate you, saying you do you as if it is a vote of confidence, when in fact it is a statement of dismissal.  Three, I can demonstrate the value I find in you by asking you to help me understand your thinking around a choice. While you do you sounds affirming, I’m not sure that it is loving. Our cultural norm of tolerance asks us to only tolerate each other, no matter how dangerous or destructive our actions or words may be. I’m afraid you do you short circuits communities, absolving us from engaging with what is said or done around us.

The death of Mr. Ahmaud Aubery, and our diverse responses to it, reveals this break down in community. When it comes to race, our society has proven stubbornly opposed to finding a norm. Some of us live as if every human is worthy of dignity, and take active steps to name injustice and change the foundational systems that privilege whiteness in every power sector. Some of us live as if any challenge to the status quo of white belonging (and brown exclusion) is whining or unpatriotic or race baiting or trouble making. Some of us think racism has never been honestly faced or dealt with in America, and it is the root of massive injustice in every part of society. Some of us think racism ended with the Civil War, and people need to get over it and earn their rights by becoming productive members of a society that rewards hard work and good manners.

Another way to say this is that in some parts of society, antiracist behavior is considered normal, while in others, subtle judgments based on race are shrugged off and accepted as normal. Both of these norms dominate our culture, and probably determine how responsible we feel for what is said or done in our presence.

As quarantines end, we face the reality of changing norms of behavior. It is unsettling and can create tension. Conversations about Mr. Aubery’s death also expose opposing norms on what is acceptable to say or do. Most folks agree that if this was active racism, rooted in extreme exclusion and resulting in physical violence, it is evil. It is not normal or accepted behavior.

Is it normal to suggest he probably provoked them though? Is it normal to joke that I guess he picked the wrong street to run down or explore? Is it normal to stay silent when people of color in every city constantly wonder if their presence causes suspicion that will lead to violence?

If we want to expand our us, to create communities of belonging, to take care of each other, then we must develop the courage to reject norms that hurt people. Instead of allowing subtle racism or suspicion to be normal, make it normal to reject such speech. When it comes to mocking pain or ostracizing people outside your race or tax bracket, take responsibility for what is said or done around you. Make it normal to value others. Make it normal to listen until you understand someone’s perspective. Reject you do you, and make it normal to care about how a person lives and finds meaning.

Fluctuating norms cause tension, but they also give us a chance to reevaluate what we care about. Racism is alive and well and—even if veiled—normal in lots of conversations. Imagine how norms could change if we care enough about our communities to respond to what is said or done in our presence. We might shift what is considered normal, and find ourselves living in a more perfect union.