By Kirsten T. Edwards
I had an epiphany a few weeks ago.
While walking with a friend, we began discussing how to prepare for the Revolution. We’ve been working on our sewing and food-growing skills, so we’re covering the basics. But on this day we pondered “What does revolutionary practice look like specifically in the academy for Black and Brown women?”
I ruminate on our aspiration for revolution cheekily, but I am also quite serious. My friend and I both try very hard not to give in to academic middle-class complacency; pontificating from the city on a white hill.
So back to my epiphany. This conversation began with my friend and I discussing my recent sabbatical and what I learned during the time away. She asked “After this time of reflection, what do you think you need to do in order to be serious about living revolutionarily?” At that moment one idea became profoundly clear to me:
I need to divest from all performative “diversity” labor.
What do I mean by performative diversity labor?
This is the kind of labor Black and Brown people, women especially, are often coerced into performing in order to add to the multicultural aesthetic of an institution committed to white domination, as all white institutions are; labor that doesn’t contribute to Black and Brown people’s collective freedom.
Let’s be clear: Academia, as presently constituted, will always ensure that “diversity” work does not bring about the type of structural change needed to dismantle class-based white-supremacist-heteropatriarchy. Period. Full stop. (Un)Ironically, decorative multiculturalism supports this aim. Beyond protecting my ever-depleting energy, divestment removes me from culpability in the institution’s counterinsurgent imperialist agenda.
What does this mean for my daily life?
Well I’m trying to be completely indifferent to institutional transformation, and more focused on transformation in Black and Brown people’s ways of knowing and being in the world. As such, I’m unwilling to participate in endeavors that forward institutional diversity agendas. This doesn’t mean that Black and Brown people cannot be served within academic institutions. It just means that those supports will not be institutionally protected or relevant to institutional identity. As I have argued with colleagues in another essay, if we understand the university as a rearticulation of the plantation, then any advances Black and Brown people make ON THE PLANTATION will have to be siphoned, strategic, collective, and beyond the purview of institutional overseers.
It must be fugitive.
Some efforts may happen in plain sight. As our ancestors have taught us, many opportunities are made possible by outwitting the white colonizing enslaver, leading him to believe that our agenda is his agenda. But when that’s not possible, we must move with greater stealth.
What are my barometers?
Recognizing these truths means that I have had to become more discerning. I have two barometers for determining if something is a worthwhile investment of my time and energy.
1. Will this effort humanize Black and Brown people; will it support our freedom?
This one is admittedly tricky. We’ve all been socialized to believe in white markers of success, which are rarely humanizing for Black and Brown people. But for me, in regard to this question, I consider a few factors: a. Who invited me (a white/white-aspiring administrator or critical/radical colleague…yes, sometimes administrators can be radical colleagues, use your best judgement), and do I trust their vision? b. What amount of time and energy will I have to expend on this effort, and is that expense comparable to the assumed benefit? c. Do I believe this effort has a real chance of significantly helping Black and Brown people or does it feel like something that simply sounds/looks good but will only promote some individual’s or the institution’s image? (Note: I trust my feelings. Feelings are a legitimate way of knowing.)
2. Will this effort support my financial security?
Said differently, will this give me some coin! And is that coin comparable to my effort and reflective of my value as a skilled professional? Or will it enhance my ability to access more coin in the future? Is it a good labor investment? Of course, the financial opportunity cannot come at the expense of Black and Brown lives. That should go without saying.
If the endeavor does not serve one of the two above purposes, I will not participate. Admittedly, my newfound unequivocalness is in part due to my post-tenure status (although I don’t believe institutional markers of security are real assurances for Black and Brown people. White supremacy ensures that precarity is endemic to our lives). However, as I reflect on my pre-tenure labor, there were definitely efforts I engaged in that were not coerced or compelled, but I perceived them as good because I had not yet developed a more incisive understanding of the system. You live and you learn. Choose wisely as soon as you are able.
Being aware of resistance and pain
Beyond resistance from the institution, you may also be surprised by ill-will from community members. I have personally felt the sting of judgment from some Black and Brown colleagues when I’ve chosen not to participate in efforts they deemed socially-just, but I knew would make no real difference. These moments are when the choice not to engage is most painful, but still necessary.
Diversity committees often serve as community spaces. They are where Black and Brown people commune and feel supported in their commitment to justice and collective practice. There’s a nexus of ways the institution devalues Black and Brown people as scholars and professionals. It makes sense that we would covet spaces that soothe the trauma.
Still, institutionalized diversity committees are a temporary balm meant to lull us into complacency, distracting from the real work of getting free!
Choosing freedom
This essay is easier to write than it is to live. I am presently one week away from the start of my 2020-21 contract. I’m already receiving Outlook meeting requests, and the anxiety is rising. During my sabbatical, I tried to establish daily practices that will sustain me throughout the academic year: morning yoga, meditation, prayer, email/work boundaries, gratitude journaling, frustration journaling, weekly FaceTime dates with my far-away friends, socially distanced walks with my nearby friends, and regular deep breathes. These habits are helping to soothe my mind and spirit, which will hopefully give me the mental clarity to make wise choices about professional labor. They are acts of self-love for which I am worthy.
You, too, are worthy of self-love.
You have the right to compassion and care. You also have the right to labor in ways that feed your spirit and support your community. Unfortunately accessing human rights as Black and Brown people still necessitates some level of fugitivity. I don’t know about you, but fugitive freedom seems a better choice than institutional delusion. I choose freedom, I hope you do as well.
Photo by Lars Kuczynski on Unsplash