“You really should be speaking out about…” a colleague will begin. I recognize the opening and anticipate the polite “suggestion” that I take a public stand on behalf of a group. It might be a group to which I belong. Too often it is a group or community to which I can only claim familiarity.
This is a rambling rant, but I’m tired of being told I need to be “speaking up” when white men speaking up is counterproductive.
When Black Americans want us to appreciate the Black Lives Matter movement, the most meaningful thing I can do is step aside so those voices take center stage.
When Asian-Pacific Americans want us to appreciate their experiences? I should step aside.
The same goes for every other community with concerns. Go listen to their words. Read their books. View their artwork. Listen to their self-expression and listen some more.
Can I make suggestions from a scholarly perspective? Yes. I certainly will and do observe that “Defund the Police” polled poorly within minority communities. I will certainly argue over strategy and policy.
I have zero claim to the experiences of others.
Yes, here I am posting because I was told I should take a public stand. But that’s not my stand to take.
I could wear ribbons, safety pins, buttons, t-shirts, and so on. I could cover my computer case with whatever the current trendy activist causes are.
But that’s not me. I’m not a sticker, poster, or ribbon person. I’m not much for virtue signaling at work, in my classroom, or in most public spaces.
I don’t even put the “I voted” stickers on my shirt after going to the polls.
When you apply for an academic post, the universities now ask for diversity statements and evidence of an inclusive philosophy. The very request for these statements bothers me.
Teaching is my activism. Or it will have been. I’m not sure what path life will take post-pandemic.
The diversity statement is another polite demand, one that seeks disclosure of personal information in the name of social justice.
I had a hiring committee member ask how I “identified” and what my “intersections” were.
“Why?” I asked.
“So we can better understand your likely scholarship and fit within our community.”
Sorry, but no.
Let me state the obvious: No matter how many intersections I list, what my colleagues see is a white male.
My disabilities, my socioeconomic background, my neurodiversity, my identities… none of that compensates for the real, lived privilege of being a visibly white male.
Intersectionality began as a term for the serious concern that marginalized groups experience layers of oppression, system discrimination, and prejudices. There should be no debate that Black women, for example, experience the “intersection” of racism and misogyny. A nod to Kimberlé Crenshaw for clarifying and naming this concept.
Unfortunately, academia reduced a useful concept to a buzzword, academese to signal “I’m really, really, really oppressed!”
If universities are serious about diversity, they need to graduate a diverse student population. Then, from those graduates, hire the best people to be colleagues.
I want a job. However, if there are two qualified candidates, I’d suggest the real act of promoting diversity would be to hire someone who doesn’t look like most of the department faculty.
If I put a virtual frame around my profile image that problems “Stop the Hate” or “Black Lives Matter” that’s merely hashtag activism. Hashtivism? Tagavism? It’s a gesture. It’s not doing, it’s proclaiming you’re an ally without taking much risk. In fact, virtue signaling helps you fit in within academia.
You’re supposed to be an outspoken ally, even if all that speaking up by predominantly white upper-middle-class academics drowns out other voices.
What my family and I do, we do quietly, because I prefer it that way.
During the coronavirus pandemic, I’ve been spared having to give the expected, proper reactions to political and social materials colleagues inevitably plaster on their university office doors and windows. Survey and voter registrations statistics quantitatively support what I see: a decidedly progressive and frequently Marxist framing of world events among colleagues in English departments.
When faculty unions rise up and stop working until adjuncts are fairly paid, then I will take their activism seriously.
When faculty take a stand, a serious stand, on behalf of the staff who clean the buildings and prepare the means, then I’ll pay attention.
Academia, that properly progressive utopia? It’s a sham and most of my progressive colleagues know it. They will “raise concerns” and write their diversity statements. They will write, and write, and write about injustice and diversity. Too often, academia is a community that doesn’t help its own members. A community that seeks a curious uniformity of acceptable rebelliousness.
When I mentioned that I needed accommodations for a disability, I wasn’t greeted with unified support. When I mentioned I had to take a day to be in court for my then foster children, I was told I needed to think about how that could hinder a career.
Being an ally shouldn’t seem like self-promotion and virtue signaling. Yet, that’s how it often appears.
I am not Black. I am not Asian. I am not a woman. I am not transgender.
Let’s step back, be quiet, and allow those voices to be heard.