About Carmen Kynard

Carmen Kynard is Lillian Radford Chair in Rhetoric and Composition at Texas Christian University. Her award-wining research, teaching, and scholarship interrogate anti-colonialism, Black feminist pedagogies, and Black cultures/languages.

“The Snowy Day” in Brooklyn 50 Years Later… Visual Emancipations Continued

Though I do not like cold weather or shoveling, spooning away the snow so that I could open up my iron gate and shoveling out my stoop and sidewalk to get myself out of the house today was, I confess, a little fun.  This is the first, real snow in Brooklyn this year and it seems to have brought calm and quiet (there are no power outages or serious emergencies nearby).  No one is driving, honking, walking, working, hustling, or hammering at the factories across the way.  So there’s really nothing to do but stay indoors or go out and play in the snow.   Of all things, snow like this makes me think about one of the cutest, little black boys I know.  His name is Peter and you can see him in Ezra Jack Keats’s The Snowy Day (there is an online version at this link).  This Snowy Day today comes exactly 50 years after this children’s book was first awarded the Caldecott with Keats using his own hometown of Brooklyn as the inspiration for the book’s setting.

The book is about a child’s experience of wonderment after waking up from a night’s sleep to a world blanketed in snow.  What made this book such a landmark was that this child is black!  In 1962, a children’s book with a black male child as the subject was unheard of.  In fact, most people never even realized that Ezra Jack Keats was white, a Jewish artist who grew up poor in New York feeling the results of invisibility and ethnic hostility himself.SnowyDay

As Jerry Pinkney, award-winning African American illustrator of children’s books, reminds us (himself inspired by Keats’s depiction of Peter), in 1962, a children’s book about a little black boy would never have been published by a black author and illustrator. Keats faced some deserved criticism for never explicitly referencing the race and culture of the child in his written text.  We don’t really see or know much about Peter’s neighborhood, his family, or his (cultural) context.  What is striking though is that the book still upturned the children’s literary world anyway with just one thing: the visual rhetoric of a little, black boy who simply plays and smiles and looks out the window and wonders.  Keats himself was inspired to create the book after seeing a photo essay of a little boy in 1940 in Life magazine who he thought deserved to be the center of a really innocent child’s tale about joyfully playing.  Keats may not have understood cultural context, but he certainly saw the aesthetic beauty in black children. 41mVs1m7wPL._SL500_AA300_I myself have the book in three, different iterations and I even have the doll that was made a few years ago.  What Keats missed in cultural context, he captured in visual rhetoric by creating the cutest, little black boy in a red snowsuit who is absolutely mesmerized by seeing his footprints in the snow, finding a stick to shake snow off of a tree, feeling snow plop on his head after he shakes the tree, and making snow angels.  Yes, absolutely adorable!

I don’t think enough of us realize that the children’s literature that we have today that features (non-Sambo-typed) children and stories related to people of African descent was a result of Black Freedom Struggles related to the Civil Rights/Black Power Movements.  Before that, only white children counted as children/human in this literary world (not that this isn’t still the case given the fascination with Harry Potter, fairy tales, and the likes). The context of these Black Freedom Struggles explains not only why we have Black Children’s Literature now but also why so many prominent African American writers and visual artists, people who you would normally think would focus their attention only on adults and the world of art galleries, have always been involved with children’s literature.  I have always been mesmerized that artists like Tom Feelings turned their aesthetic gaze toward depicting beautiful and powerful images of black children rather than only toward the fine arts world.  The work of presenting an alternative, aesthetic and ideological world to black children will always be deeply political under structured inequalities.  We need only think back to how nervous Hoover and COINTELPRO became by the Breakfast Program for children that the Black Panther Party ran— this was what Hoover saw as most dangerous, as dangerous as guns.  This is worth noting, especially for those of us who think the images, contexts, and experiences that we serve up to black children can ever be racially neutralized.

Honey-I-Love-and-Other-Love-Poems-9780808567431While Keats introduced me to the cutest little black boy ever, it was the Dillons, as illustrators, and Eloise Greenfield, as writer, that gave me little black girls so that I could better see myself and the little girls I played with.  That book is Honey, I Love published in 1978.  In Rudine Sim Bishop’s interview, Greenfield tells Bishop, a noted historian and scholar of African American children’s literature:

I liked that phrase, “Honey, let me tell you.” It was a phrase that was used a lot by African American people, but it had not reached the point where it had become stereotyped. So I wanted to use that, and that’s where the title came from. And I wanted to write about things that children love, about childhoods where there may or may not be much money, but there’s so much fun.

I have owned many copies of this book in my day— all replicas of the original, small pocket version, pictured above, that I would stuff in my purse when I was trying to imitate the grown-up ladies, stuffing it, also of course with nothing but small toys and candies (I also, however, have the equally stunning later 1995 version illustrated by Jan Spivey Gilchrist).  greenfield 2These little girls with hair/afros that come alive and dance all over the page as much as their arms and legs are absolutely stunning. Honey, I Love, just like The Snowy Day, offers us counter-hegemonic and revolutionary visual images of black children; but where Honey diverges is that we get a Black Story, a Black Girl story, a series of poems no less, to go along with the visual emancipation of what Greenfield calls “sweet little gingerbread girls” (see the poem, Keepsake).  In the book, you can find one of these little, black girls trying on her momma’s clothes and learning to stuff things in a pocketbook too; while yet another is dancing to Earth Wind and Fire and The Jackson Five!

As someone who studies, thinks and write about literacies and composition studies, these books— or, rather, these AfroVisual manifestoes— offer me an important reminder: radical texts do not simply offer us new, powerful ways to read and write and do language.  They also help us SEE.  After all my shoveling and playing in the snow today, this is what I will be thinking about.

“I think this anthropology is just another way to call me a nigger.”

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“I think this anthropology is just another way to call me a nigger.”  That’s a heavy title for a blog post.  It is the epigraph to the introduction of John Gwaltney’s Drylongso, words spoken by one of Gwaltney’s research participants. Drylongso remains the book I turn to when I see/read/hear mainstream white scholars christening themselves and their research as THE work that critically engages race and the lives of people of color, all while, of course, maintaining their own white privilege in academic institutions (and often perpetuating acts of racial violence rather than fighting against it).  I don’t mean these things in the abstract either, I mean everyday practices that I have witnessed… but those details will be for another post for another time.

What you see with Gwaltney’s methodology and politics are communities of black folk who unwrap oppressive white worlds with wit, political consciousness, and uncanny navigational abilities.  Gwaltney’s book, first published in 1980, chronicles his interviews with more than 40 African Americans, mostly working class, from 12 northeastern black communities in the early 1970s.  Gwaltney’s very methodology and communications are a community endeavor.  As a “blind ethnologist,” Gwaltney was, quite literally, escorted and driven to each interview setting, what he calls “seminars,” where his participants kept and transported his tape recorder, typewriter, and brailler.  Reciprocity is the foundation on which Gwaltney built this study, making sure he was not one of those academics who talked with “paper in hand.”  Like I said, I come back to this study when I encounter white scholars who imagine that they and their white colleagues originate and ground intellectual and social analyses on race.  I am thinking of one of my graduate students who is focusing on Derrick Bell, Cheryl Harris, and Richard Delgado who had to listen to a white male tell her she needs to incorporate the work of (white) scholars in his field who have already addressed the issues of race she examines.  Gwaltney, however, reminds us that these scholars maintain codes of race and white liberalism more than they have ever analyzed it (what Delgado called “imperial scholarship”)… as Gwaltney’s epigraph, a quote from a black factory worker, states:  “I think this… is just another way to call me a nigger.”   

1I am also thinking about Gwaltney in relation to a white scholar whose work on race I have valued, particularly the arguments that have remained undervalued in ways that I have always found perplexing.  I am talking about Catherine Prendergast’s text, Literacy and Racial Justice: The Politics of Learning after Brown v. Board of Education.  I won’t go into detail here and spoil what I say in the inaugural issue of Literacy in Composition Studies next month.  I will just say that I have always found it interesting that there has been no real, vociferous debate around one of Prendergast’s most critical contributions, her chapter on Shirley Brice Heath’s Ways with Words, chapter three.  After that chapter, given Prendergast’s racial analyses, some of this stuff we talk about in composition-rhetoric studies should just be a WRAP!

Part of the obscurity around Prendergast’s challenge to Heath’s work comes from the fact that few compositionists really know educational histories of race, connect that history to their current work, or know the history of race across a K-16 spectrum.  Heath just gets relegated to the K-12 scrapheap, seen as work that is intellectually beneath composition rhetoric. On the flip side, educational scholars in k-12 realms do not respect composition studies as work with rigorous methodologies, social science lenses, or publication standards.  Mix into that cauldron, a legion of white composition scholars who write about race in the most liberalist and anti-critical ways and you got one helluva eclipse-stew on Prendergast’s chapter three.  If we knew any better, we would know that Heath’s Ways with Words helped launch the disciplinary norms we deploy to talk about multiple languages and students of color in post-Brown schools that see large numbers of students of color today.  And if we knew any better, we would see that those disciplinary norms have, at their root, a very conscious and deliberate erasure of analyses of race.

chain gang

This photo depicts a chain gang near Asheville, NC in 1915 (see NC Office of Archives and History in Raleigh, NC). Following Reconstruction into the 1950s, chain gangs were used to re-organize slave labor: black men like those pictured here essentially built and maintained the public roads and highways of the South. It was only when road building was more mechanized that this system of neo-slavery subsided.

My focus on Gwaltney here is not coincidental. He conducted his study at almost the exact time Heath did hers— publication dates are also very close to one another.   As a refresher, Heath’s linguistic ethnography broke new ground in how it documented the literacy practices of a working class black community and a working class white community in 1960s/1970s South Carolina; both communities, according to Heath, had the same conflicts with the middle-class schools, thus, positioning these social clashes with school as a cultural clash.   But all of this clashing in school together was the result of desegregation and the Civil Rights Movement, which Heath’s book leaves unaddressed, precisely the thing that Prendergast takes up.  This notion of a culture clash also, non-coincidentally, does very little to take up the  histories of structural racism that impede white communities’ ability to respect communities of color who, left at the bottom, do not need to be seen, heard, or taken seriously.  Prendergast reminds you that Heath quoted people like a white working class male who said he only went to college when the town’s mill (where he worked) began hiring blacks because “when the niggers (pause), uh, the blacks, you know, started comin’ in, I knew that wasn’t for me.  I wasn’t ever gonna work for no nigger….”  Obviously, his clash ain’t with the white middle class folk… and it don’t sound like his clash is about “culture” either.  So here we have a canon on the cultural and social meanings of literacy that precludes a real conversation about race, all while acting like it is having just that kind of conversation… nuthin like talkin outta both sides of your mouth.

And so, now, to my last point.  I must admit that I almost fell outta my chair when I read Prendergast’s dissection of Heath’sWays with Words. Prendergast goes to the library that has archived Heath’s notes from her study and reads that stuff (hard-core right there!). Of course, she finds a gem: a letter Heath wrote to a colleague/respondent dated September 13, 1975 about a conversation with a black father who wasn’t too impressed with the research that Heath was doing. According to Heath’s notes/letter, the man told her: “I’ve heard my wife say you study me and other people, and I want to know how you do it and why… I also want to know why you care so much about my wife and kids… there is this black-white thing.  I am what I am and you are what you are.”  Heath decided that those last lines were about the “am-ness” of two human beings and that this was a conversation about gender.  Now see, I like to read these lines aloud to black folk, especially those who call themselves ordinary— drylongso— black folk. I have never found one who shares Heath’s interpretation or who regards such “researchers” as smart people (but I’ll keep looking for the naysayers.)  Here is where I insert Gwaltney back again.  I hear this man telling Heath EXACTLY what Gwaltney’s participants openly discussed and critiqued about academics and their research on Race and Black Folk:  “I think this… is just another way to call me a nigger.”   I am with Prendergast on this one: we HAVE to take these omissions seriously.  Despite self-celebratory claims suggesting otherwise, it looks like many of us have offered up pedagogical and language theories inside of and into a racial vacuum.

Public & Private Writing on New Plantations

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See 2008 South Carolina State Museum Exhibit

My graduate advisor, Suzanne Carothers, is one of the most thoughtful pedagogues that I know, someone who thinks about the education of pre-school and elementary black children in strikingly alternative and radical ways.  In a recent conversation, she reminded me that black children’s role on slave plantations was to take care of white children close in age group.  Until that conversation, I had not thought of the wide-ranging ramifications of this.  It immediately triggered the countless histories and narratives I have read of African American adults explaining how they learned to read and write in slavery via the required chores they had to perform as children: carry  white children’s books for them to school; stand outside the schoolroom and wait for white children to finish school and carry their things home; stand in attention while white children learned or played, eagerly awaiting a command from them.  We know from the archives that black children used these moments to eavesdrop on school lessons, learn the alphabet, and trick white kids in disseminating the information white children had learned.   We have not talked enough though about what this relationship between white children and black children as learners meant for the epistemological construction of plantation life.  What is most interesting to me is the way in which Carothers marks this relationship as central to classrooms today: black children are still always expected to teach and help white children understand race or African American lives.  In my teaching context, I am talking about those moments in the college classroom where the issue of race or black history comes up and all the white people in the classroom turn to look at the one (or two or three) black student(s) in the room.  Or, there is the moment where a certain theory or issue comes up that is so obviously racialized, but it is up to that one (or two or three) black student(s) in the room to point it out, not the teacher’s role, and the room (or digital interface), of course, just goes dead silent. This seems like a story every black college graduate I know can tell and you can read about this kind of psychic warfare in countless educational accounts of black students’ experiences in schools.  I don’t think, however, we are often inclined to call and link these experiences of black students to slavery in the way Carothers has for me: these kind of moments in classrooms are simply the vestige of a plantation economy of knowledge and learning in the context of white dominance. That kind of framework pushes me to think about race and classrooms in a whole different way and question how, when, and where white children are made dominant.

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Slave Children on Board the “Daphne”

I would like to hold myself accountable to offering black students something different from this “plantation economy of knowledge and learning in the context of white dominance.”   What this means concretely, for instance, right now is that in the first three weeks of my current class, my students do print-based writing (there is an informal writing assignment due each class) that they can email or hand in to ONLY me.  They are not posting their stuff online anywhere for the class or the world to read.  I need to see, hear, encounter their racial ideologies first and take them on.  I need to see who and what I am working with first.  I especially need to see the work we will need to do as a classroom before we can educate people outside of our classroom.  It is a seeming contradiction that so much, if not ALL, of my class depends on digital spaces; yet my students are not writing in the same open, digital spaces that contains the class materials (not yet).   To put it most simply: NO STUDENT in my class will be waxing on online with anti-black comments.  I am thinking here about my first semester teaching graduate classes where white male graduate students wrote quite freely in their weekly seminar papers about how lazy black people are and how slutty black women are.  I deal with that quite readily and willingly on my own, and pretty regularly (and have been able to count on white faculty not noticing or caring).  In my second year as an assistant professor, I encountered a white male student who had text-messaged sexually vile statements to the women of color in one of his classes where students were required to put their numbers on a class-distributed phone list.  When I reported his behavior, it was clear to me that I alone— the only untenured member of the department of the time— had to work with the women to file a complaint and would have to deal with the student alone in my own class in a way that would make sure he didn’t pass my class and, therefore, lose his position in the program— a program that certified teachers to work in urban high schools.  Like I said, I KNOW I am alone on all of this but I am also very clear: such students will not unleash racial violence and distribute their texts online in digitized classroom-discussion boards or in public online spaces as part of the work that happens in my class.  Not. On. My. Watch.  From my perspective, teachers need to be held accountable for such digital texts when white men such as the ones I described go online with this stuff. It is not the job of black students in the class to challenge them, to help them, to push them, all of which, as Carothers helped me to see, is a kind of ongoing plantation logic and relationship system.   Despite the liberalism that would say everyone is speaking their own minds, it is not a democracy when black people are being dehumanized.  I am not talking about the alternative liberal universe either where we don’t talk about race at all (hence, no one noticing the ideas of white male students I am talking about except me).  What I am talking about here is a kind of AfroDigital consciousness that works against these public spaces when the violence of racism is fully alive in classrooms.  No teacher’s classroom and no teacher’s assignment are ever innocent!

My class this semester always enrolls a large number of black female students, probably more than any other class on the campus (I learned yesterday that mine is the only class about black women).  I will not expose them to students who espouse anti-black/anti-black-woman diatribes on class digital, discussion boards. I know the damage that does given how many students of color come to me to talk about exactly such experiences in their other classes (I won’t even tell you how many white students have dropped my classes, no matter the subject, after the first day seeing me and seeing my syllabus).  Black women get enough of this kind of hostility elsewhere; they don’t need more of it in my classroom too.  As we move through the semester, I strategically choose when and where students will go public with their writing—whether with the class or with the wider digital universe.  I think this is especially relevant given a kind of liberalist mantra in my field about the general goodness of all, real audiences when students write digital texts.  I ain’t tryna hear that.  I experience writing and audience in very different ways.

I want to see teachers (and in my field, this means mostly white teachers) held accountable for the epistemological violence their students inflict on black bodies.  I am not suggesting that it is the fault of teachers when their students espouse racism but when they do that espousing within a public assignment that is teacher-required, then teachers need to be held accountable.   In fact, I think it is a crucial aspect of an AfroDigital pedagogy to further this kind of accountability.  It ain’t democratic to let students say and do racism; but we can surely ensure democracy by checking them and their teachers on it.  An AfroDigital pedagogy  does not comfort and take care of white children on our newest plantations in ways that maintain racialized hierarchies.  It must achieve the opposite.

Remembering PhDivas…

C-DayToday, I celebrated my birthday with family and friends.  I like the day to be one where family and friends cocoon one another so I went with my mother and friends to my favorite Mexican restaurant in Manhattan.  In the section where we chose to sit, we were near two large Latino families, a Latina lesbian couple, a group of late-20-sumthin, beautifully adorned black women who commanded the room’s attention, and a group of Jamaican women my age who gave the most exquisite analyses of the problems with black men I have ever heard.   My Indian waitress was very fly and kept my favorite drink flowing, the restaurant’s specialty Prickly Pear Cactus Margarita. James Brown, Lakeside, and Julieta Venegas (especially my favorites,  “El Presente” and “Me Voy”) bumped in the background. It was a perfect New York City outing— I am convinced that you really just can’t get this kind of mix anywhere else. Though I certainly should not have been thinking about work as I celebrated, I found that I was, most specifically in relation to my course that starts next week on Black Women’s Rhetoric.  Friends, work, and birthday seem to coincide for me this year.

My two closest friends from graduate school— more affectionately known as Honeijam and Yoyo— are two people who I am thinking about most.  I don’t really know how we decided to start sending each other lavish birthday gifts, usually art or rituals for self-care, but I know it started in graduate school and continues today.   We were the only women of color in our cohort in graduate school and we made a pact to one another that we would finish the coursework in three years, plus two more years for the dissertation.  We called ourselves the Ph.Divas! I was the most unbelieving which probably accounts for the reason why I was the last to finish in our final year.  Honeijam was no joke and got in your face all the time and was, unsurprisingly, the first to finish.  Yoyo bridged all communication and birthed a beautiful baby girl at the same time that she birthed her dissertation.  Baby Diva was in full Diva attire at our graduation ceremonies.

We kept our pact to one another and I know that I would not have made it out if it weren’t for them.  The alienation and hostility that you can encounter as a black woman in graduate school is very real.  It is still all too common that you don’t see anyone who looks like you; and no one from your history or background is included in the books you must read for your classes and exams. Yoyo and Honeijam were my buffers.  That’s what we did for one another.  It extended beyond mere support during coursework and dissertation writing though.  On one occasion, during the writing of my dissertation thesis, I just couldn’t pay the fees required to maintain matriculation with my 36K/year job as a college instructor with a 5/4 load.  This meant that I couldn’t access the library or the other campus spaces/documents that I needed. By that time, I had inherited a house that was a fixxer-upper in a crack-neighborhood that no one wanted to live in at that time, to put it mildly, from an engagement that ended very badly.  I was learning how to be my own contractor, putting up dry wall by myself on the weekends, teaching, and doing graduate school, all at the same time, pretty much with a broken heart the whole way through. I had no family in the area and no family with the funds to even ask for twenty dollars, much less a personal loan.   Any extra penny went to a bucket of paint; credit cards had to be kept clear to do things like fix the roof before it caved in.  In that context and in New York City, that 36K meant cup-of-noodles pretty much every night.  I went to campus one day to try and arrange something when I couldn’t access anything anymore because of my unpaid bill (you cannot enter doors of any building in NYC without ID).  The desk help just looked at me like I was crazy.  “Your bill has been paid”  the woman told me.  “What?!”  I asked her to look again and then the light bulb went off: the Ph.Divas paid it!  I was right and it was like pulling teeth to get them to allow me to pay them back and it’s not like they had the extra funds themselves.  I could tell countless stories like this about my Ph.Divas— like the time I was really sick, immobile, with no food in the house, 5 dollars in the bank, and no energy to walk to the store to get even 3 dollars worth of something. My then-boyfriend was, of course, nowhere to be found.  All of a sudden, I heard a knock on the door and there were the Ph.Divas with groceries and then just went to town in my kitchen and on me until I felt better.  That was what graduate school was like: three soul-sisters who pulled each other through.  It feels like every conscious black woman that I know can tell this kind of story about their sisters.

Happy C-DaySo, yes, this is what I am thinking about as I plan my class that meets this week and as I end today’s celebration. I often have my students do presentations where they have to do rhetorical analyses, not of famous activists but of black women they know or are somehow part of their lives (this includes popular culture).  I don’t think I have been so good at helping students see that the everyday practices of love, care, and sustenance that Honeijam and Yoyo embody as black women are black women’s rhetorics.  I mean rhetoric here as something much more than the persuasive style to move an audience towards your goals.  I am talking about a disposition where the most maligned group effects a kind of shift, an alteration of the geographies of white privilege, where you imagine and enact an alternative future and way of being human.  It is a counter-ideology that manifests itself in the daily workings of making a black woman’s life possible in settings where that life is not welcomed.  I don’t know how to communicate that to my students other than to tell them the stories of my Ph.Divas.  One of the best parts of my birthday today was my reminder to do so.