Exploring Race in Predominantly White Classrooms

Scholars of Color Reflect

George Yancy, Maria Davidson, George Yancy, Maria del Guadalupe Davidson

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781135045005
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

Although multicultural education has made significant gains in recent years, with many courses specifically devoted to the topic in both undergraduate and graduate education programs, and more scholars of color teaching in these programs, these victories bring with them a number of pedagogic dilemmas. Most students in these programs are not themselves students of color, meaning the topics and the faculty teaching them are often faced with groups of students whose backgrounds and perspectives may be decidedly different – even hostile – to multicultural pedagogy and curriculum. This edited collection brings together an interdisciplinary group of scholars of color to critically examine what it is like to explore race in predominantly white classrooms. It delves into the challenges academics face while dealing with the wide range of responses from both White students and students of color, and provides a powerful overview of how teachers of color highlight the continued importance and existence of race and racism. Exploring Race in Predominately White Classrooms is an essential resource for any educator interested in exploring race within the context of today's classrooms

1

“The Whiteness is Thick”

Predominantly White Classrooms, Student of Color Voice, and Freirian Hopes

Kirsten T. Edwards

Changes, Movements, and Revelations

“Sexy”

I am a critical scholar.¹ I am a womanist, not a feminist.² I incorporate critical race theory, postcolonial studies, counter-narrative techniques, and the like in my research. My desire for teaching, research, and service is always emancipatory.³ And I try to make these intentions clear in my academic and nonacademic spaces. I am a critical scholar of color in a White academy.

As a Black woman with a PhD who writes about issues of equity and access, particularly in reference to race, class, and gender, I surprisingly look great on paper. One of my colleagues tells me my work is “sexy!”. He means my work is provocative and racy (race-y). But, the more I think about this adjective—“sexy”—as a descriptor for my life’s work, which is primarily situated within a “White capitalist patriarchal hegemon[ic]” academy,⁴ the more I recognize its profound truth.

My scholarship is simply sexy in this place—attractive and alluring, inciting arousal and pleasurable recreation—not substantive, significant, or necessary to what is done here; just auxiliary and marginal. Like Fasching-Varner’s claims,⁵ my scholarly work on “race and racism remain fictionalized, untrue, and quasi-literary in the imagination of readers, particularly White readers. In this sense, whites never take responsibility or action for racist behavior, belief, and treatments of whole groups of people”.⁶ Instead of a platform for substantive change, I provide the White academy that little bit of “cut-up,”⁷ or discursive disruption. My work is provocative and offers the necessary edge to keep the intelligentsia publically relevant.⁸ The intelligentsia or White intellectual establishment publicly supports and privately contains/controls counter-hegemonic discourse, while simultaneously perpetuating a common habitus of enslavement. What does this look like in the day-to-day life of a Black female professor? It means I am more than welcome in my university’s diversity report. My Black gendered (read “woman”) and classed body and my work are interesting and add creditability to their claims of equity. It also means the university does not have to make any substantive strides towards responding to ongoing issues of access, privilege, relevance, and cultural competency.⁹ Every day, I realize more and more just how “sexy” I am.

Class in Session

Nowhere is my shallow, non-substantive, sexy academic existence more apparent than in the classroom. While university administrators and White colleagues may be intrigued by my marginal(ized) and intersectional scholarship, or at least begrudgingly find my radical presence a necessary evil for the maintenance of “White supremacist capitalist patriarchy”,¹⁰ many of my White students aren’t buying it. Instead, they find my rhetorical pursuit of equity and justice on college campuses laborious. This is the ultimate and ugly result of a sexy existence:

[W]e must be attentive to the seductive absorption of Black women’s voices in classrooms of higher education where Black women’s texts are still much more welcomed than Black women ourselves. Giving the illusion of change, this strategy of symbolic inclusion masks how the everyday institutional policies and arrangements that suppress and exclude African Americans as a collectivity remain virtually untouched.¹¹

Unfortunately, I believed the “illusion of change.” As a doctoral student attending scholarly conferences, discussing my work with other critical scholars or wanna-be (seen as) critical scholars, or while reading the kinds of literature that strengthen a critical consciousness, I was able to convince myself that my work was valuable and appreciated; that it was important. I found myself surrounded by people who supported my scholarship, valued my contributions, and encouraged my efforts. I was convinced that I was part of the contemporary revolution. Sometimes, I can still convince myself. However, recently I have found it much more difficult to conjure up the illusion, because as soon as I stepped my Black, stiletto-ed feet into the predominantly White classroom as a teacher it was shattered.

When I began teaching courses on race, gender, class, and sexuality in higher education, the ugly truth surfaced immediately. As a new teacher, committed to critical and liberatory dialogue, I cluttered my syllabus with rich, challenging, provocative readings. I intentionally offered questions and case studies that pushed my students to analyze the systemic character of power, privilege, and supremacy and their manifestations in universities as well as the larger society. I also encouraged them to question the ways they either support or resist these unjust systems. And, as much as I loved the weekly intellectual engagement and the pride I felt in influencing curriculum for social change, I also labored beyond what I ever could have imagined. It was hard! White students, particularly White men, seemed to resent me. Sometimes, they would just sit in their seats scowling, refusing to participate in the class discussion. No matter how much I worked to create an equitable environment, a safe space where we could thoughtfully engage these ideas, some of my students adamantly refused.

It was here in this pedagogical space that I came face to face with the limits of social justice work. It was in the classroom where I finally recognized the implications of surface-level diversity agendas. I received my first real educational lesson as a Black woman teaching in a predominantly White setting. I learned that, despite all of the rhetoric in support of my presence, I definitely don’t belong here.¹²

Pedagogical Locations

Place and Space

To be fair, in hindsight, my early college teaching experiences were tolerable. In fact, in the midst of great struggle, there were some real moments of connection and learning. Admittedly, I looked forward to class every week. It was difficult and a reality check, but, for the most part, still enjoyable. This sentiment would drastically change when I moved to another predominantly White university. As a new professor, I knew there would be an adjustment period. As a Black woman who had experience teaching in predominantly White classrooms, I also thought I was prepared for the more common issues that arise from such a subject position. I was wrong.

This new university was my former difficult classroom experiences times one hundred! I found engaging issues of equity and access almost impossible. The antagonism was all too real. What I was also unprepared for was the frequency with which the White male students attempted to undermine my position as professor in the classroom. This was a particular challenge for me because I worked so hard to maintain a commitment to equity and mutual respect.¹³ I struggled with balancing my use of positional power (undergirded by White male supremacy) in the classroom with the pedagogical need for hands-on facilitation of learning and engagement for productive dialogue.¹⁴ I also struggled not to tell these White men off! I was angry, frustrated, frightened, and I felt like a failure. None of my teaching and learning techniques worked. I was alone and confused with no direction on how to respond to this difficult place and space. Sadly, I no longer looked forward to class.

One day, after several weeks of emotional, intellectual, and professional turmoil, I confided in a Black colleague who was also a friend. I explained to him my frustrations and feelings of failure. During my escalating rant, I also mentioned my disappointment in my students of color. This was the first time I openly acknowledged the negative feelings I also held towards them. I felt that, at some level, the students of color had abandoned me. I believed they should also be invested in critical conversations in the classroom as the implications were of particular import for them. In my opinion, the students of color had a vested interest in the dismantling of White supremacy and the promotion of equity and socially just practices at the university and beyond. Instead, this less than a handful of students remained largely silent during these discussions, and, sometimes, when they did speak, actually supported their White classmates’ racist, sexist, homophobic, classist, and all around unjust commentary.

Nuanced Perspectives

When I finished my rant and released my pent-up frustration, my colleague told me quite matter of factly, “The whiteness is thick here.” I had never heard this phrase before. It took me a while to process what he was saying. Within a few moments, it began to make sense to me. I had always considered White supremacy a monolithic, unilateral evil. White supremacy just is. It is global, cultural, and systemic, and it has implications for every aspect of our lives. However, what I had not considered was the varying levels of its pervasiveness in the lives of students of color in different locales. What I also had not considered was the influence a collective Black politic (or any raced politic) had on the degree to which White supremacy manifested.¹⁵ Don’t misunderstand me. I realized that an individual’s experiences with racism were complicated by location. I understood that I may be afforded the luxury of political correctness in Connecticut that may not be offered in Mississippi. Nevertheless, what I did not expect was a space where the belief in the superiority of a White cultural, sociopolitical identity could exist unchecked, unmitigated, and fundamentally absolute.

I am a Southern woman; a Deep South woman. I am intimately familiar with racism, racial antagonism, colorism, and the like. What I am unfamiliar with is a complete absence of a Black politic. When I use the term “Black politic,” this is a personal definition, informed by several scholars,¹⁶ that helps me delineate between multiple White spaces as I understand them now. For me, a Black politic is an adherence to a healthy, positive valuation of an African-descended identity. It is the recognition of the ways White supremacy undermines the richness of Black culture and community, and a commitment to responding to the material circumstances that manifest under White supremacy. In this new, predominantly White space, a Black politic was largely absent.

Alternatively, the institution I had come from had a small, underrepresented yet thriving Black community that possessed a strong Black politic. Black students along with faculty and staff were constantly engaging in programming and activities to raise awareness about issues of concern to Black members of the academic community. There were opportunities for Black students to commune and support one another. Important yearly markers such as Martin Luther King, Jr. Day (MLK Day) and Black History Month were always recognized and celebrated campus-wide, with high publicity and student involvement. In fact, these events were often student-led and organized. Also, there were specific physical spaces on campus that were “Black spaces,” spaces where Black students could find solace and reprieve and commune with others of like mind and spirit. Most importantly, when issues of blatant injustice were recognized, there was a solid cohort of Black students to respond in protest. The students at my former institution were vocal, active, supportive, and socio-politically Black.

I did not find that to be the case at my new institution. All the markers of a vibrant Black politic, or any type of raced politic, were largely absent here. At the micro level, Black students did not seem to form any kind of strategic collective to support one another. On a more macro level, there was no evidence of a Black consciousness campus-wide. This institution did not have any type of highly visible activity or volunteer opportunities officially in place to commemorate MLK Day. There is also no program of events in February to celebrate Black History Month. And these are simply the obvious absences and silences. It is not that the recognition of MLK Day or Black History Month makes a campus equitable and accessible. In fact, I would argue that my former institution, as a whole, significantly struggles with issues of justice and equity. In a lot of ways, my former institution is an immensely racist space. But in the midst of that racism (and sexism, and homophobia, and classism) is a space of resistance. I did not find a similar resistant space at my new institution. Now, as a new faculty member, I may concede that I might have overlooked these types of activities actually taking place on campus. Yet, I would argue that, if the efforts were significant, then I would not have to look so hard to find them. Probably more importantly, my students should not have to look so hard to find them.

Black Student Voice, Counter-Narrative, and My Pedagogical Toolbox

As I began to mentally unravel what it meant to teach in thick whiteness, I also began to recognize the beauty of my first predominantly White experience: Black student voice. While both universities are predominantly White institutions, at my former institution, I could depend on the Black students to offer a critical read and a resistant analysis. I knew that the Black students would provide counter-narratives informed by the experiences of a Black subjectivity in a White supremacist culture in response to the master narratives undergirded by injustice proposed by their White counterpa...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Series Editor’s Introduction
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction: White Crisis and the Value of Losing One’s Way
• 1. “The Whiteness is Thick”: Predominantly White Classrooms, Student of Color Voice, and Freirian Hopes
• 2. This Bridge Called My Body: Talking Race Through Embodying Difference
• 3. Staying in the Conversation: Having Difficult Conversations about Race in Teacher Education
• 4. Race-ing the Curriculum: Reflections on a Pedagogy of Social Change
• 5. Teaching White Settler Subjects Antiracist Feminisms
• 6. Pedagogical Contours of Race and Racism
• 7. A Letter to My Kinfolk on the One Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of the Emancipation
• 8. Racialized Consciousness and Learned Ignorance: Trying to Help White People Understand
• 9. On Why Race Matters: Teaching the Relevance of the Semantics and Ontology of Race
• 10. Unveiling Whiteness in Higher Education: Scholars of Color and Double Consciousness
• 11. Metacognitive RACLaGE Reflection: A Black Professor’s Journey to Use the Master’s Tools to Dismantle His House
• 12. The Racialized Feminist Killjoy in White Academia: Contesting White Entitlement
• 13. Race In(Out)side the Classroom: On Pedagogy and the Politics of Collegiality
• 14. Immersion Diversity: Teaching Tourism, Travel Writing, and Race From the Inside Out
• 15. Pedagogical Challenges of “Teaching the Global”: Race, Nation, and Transnational Feminist Praxis
• 16. Teaching Indigenous Classes in Non-Indigenous Classrooms
• Afterword
• List of Contributors
• Index