Consciousness-Raising?

            Critical White Studies scholars work to counteract the “invisibility” of whiteness
through consciousness-raising. Consciousness-raising, as defined by bell hooks, is the act
of learning and teaching about a “system of domination, how it became institutionalized
and how it is perpetuated and maintained” (hooks 2000, 7). Similar to early feminists’
struggles to raise consciousness about patriarchal domination, Critical White Studies
scholars aim to raise consciousness in white people about the structure of white
supremacy and their position of power through white privilege (McIntosh 2002, 97).
Barbara Flagg characterizes white “dysconsciousness” as the “transparency phenomenon:
the tendency of whites not to think about whiteness, or norms, behaviors, experiences or
perspectives that are white specific” (Flagg 1997, 269). This lack of awareness is a
consequence of the invisibility of whiteness, which is often understood in oppositional
terms to blackness (Grillo and Wildman 1997). Ruth Frankenberg suggests that “the more
one scrutinizes it, the more the notion of whiteness as an unmarked norm is revealed to
be a mirage or indeed, to put even more strongly, a white delusion” (Frankenberg 2001,
73).
          Whether understood as invisible, delusional, or transparent, most Critical White
Studies scholars agree that there is a general white “dysconsciousness” that needs to be
taken seriously to “foster racial justice;” that we need to “look for ways to diffuse
transparency’s effects and to relativize previously unrecognized white norms” (Flagg
1997, 630). Peggy McIntosh “led the way” in creating consciousness-raising techniques
through her conceptualization of “the invisible knapsack” of white privilege (Rothenberg
2002). McIntosh states that white privilege is “an invisible package of unearned assets,which I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was ‘meant’ to remain
oblivious” (McIntosh 2002, 97). McIntosh then lists examples of everyday occurrences
that white folks take for granted, which include the following among many others:

5. I can turn on the television or open the front page of the paper and see
people of my race widely represented.
7. I can be sure that my children will be given curricular materials that testify
to the existence of their race.
21. I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group
24. I can be sure that if I need legal or medical help, my race will not work
against me.
46. I can choose blemish cover or bandages in ‘flesh’ color and have them
more or less match my skin. (McIntosh 2002, 98-99)

Even though many examples listed should be obvious, white hegemony shields many
white folks from obvious structures of social inequality and more importantly protects
them “from many kinds of hostility, distress, and violence” (McIntosh 2002, 100).
          When Critical White Studies scholars work to raise consciousness to “undo the
invisibility of whiteness,” it demonstrates a preoccupation with the white condition
(Mahoney 1997, 462). Also, “the declaration that we must see whiteness… assumes that
whiteness is unseen in the first place” (Ahmed 2004, 15). People of color know about
whiteness. People of color have always known about whiteness. People of color have
resisted and communicated the horrors of white supremacy time and time again. So, what
does this say about Critical White Studies? To raise-consciousness is to regurgitate the
words of Black feminists amongst ourselves (white folks) until we legitimize and “hear”
what people of color, or more specifically, African American women have been saying
all along. In order to remain critical, we must acknowledge that one of Critical White
Studies’ key anti-racist strategies is to tell white people what everyone else already
knows. Teaching and understanding white privilege is undoubtedly important to have any
hope for white involvement in abolishing white supremacy. However, it is evident that
consciousness-raising as social justice is limited by re-centering whiteness in Critical
Race Theory. Grillo and Wildman explain that whites re-centering whiteness is a product
of white supremacy:

White supremacy creates in whites the expectation that issues of concern to them
will be central in every discourse. The center stage problem occurs because the
dominant group members are accustomed to being center stage. They have been
treated that way by society; it feels natural comfortable, and in the order of things.
(Grillo and Wildman 1997, 621)

In order to counteract Critical White Studies’ center stage problem, we must unlearn the
white dominant narrative that convinces us that our histories and lives are the norm and must be at the center.


Lauren A. Martin is a second year law student at Wake Forest University and a Senior Justice Law Fellow for the Decarceration Collective, an anti-carceral law firm based out of Chicago. 

Diaspora Wails

By : Karine Mkrdichyan

what they never tell you 

is when you leave 

when you flee 

you will 

never 

get back 

this thing more 

gripping than genocide 

colonialism occupation war 

 

you will lose you 

 

when you take someone’s identity // you take the air out their lungs

 

diaspora seduction 

mythic you are 

unattainable 

always slipping 

out my grasp 

 

you cant reassemble what was 

we are shattered cross this dirt 

 

a dream cant be strangled 

or realized 

these cut deeper 

than 

any government 

bullet.

Karine Mkrdichyan is a writer and poet based in Los Angeles.

REMEMBER ME

 

“Remember Me”
By Andrés C. López

I am calling on the voices of our ancestors
Those from the past and future
So that when I speak
I speak the words we were never meant to hear

(Repeat throughout)
Remember me                                      Remember me
                                                               When I am gone
Remember me                                      Remember me
                                                               When I no longer traverse the physical side of our spirits
Remember me                                      Remember me
                                                               When you feel like you’re alone
Remember me                                      Remember me
                                                               When you think you’re the only one
Remember me                                      Remember me
                                                               Remember me
Remember me                                      Remember

                                                               I belong
                                                               to a plethora of communities and identities
                                                               And yet in the politics of belonging
                                                               I am lost in the noise
                                                               because I do not exist

                                                               I do not exist
                                                               in the imaginaries of a society that thinks
                                                               they’ve already killed me

                                                               …

                                                               But I am still here
                                                               I come from a long line of people who are still here
                                                               I am the incarnation
                                                               of the blood, sweat, and tears
                                                               of groups of people never meant to survive
                                                               of communities that have been silenced and killed
                                                               of groups of people who cannot afford
                                                               to never look back
(repeated)                                              to forget
I am here
We’re all here                                        I am here
                                                               
                                                               I am here
                                                               as the manifestation of
                                                               the lives, land, and history that was stolen from us
                                                               I am here
                                                               because other people I will never meet or even know
about
                                                               can’t
                                                               I am here
                                                               because the Academy thinks I can be their token
                                                               I am here
                                                               because of the courage of Black women to share
                                                               their vision for new futures through their words
                                                               I am here
                                                               because in the story of where I was born
                                                               I wound up receiving the paper
                                                               that afford me the privilege of passing
                                                               as someone from the U.S.
                                                               And yet the inevitable question always comes up,
                                                              “Where are you from?

                                                                I am from here,
                                                                and from there
                                                                and from a lot of different places
                                                                I carry with me

                                                                Can’t you see it in my body and my brown skin
                                                                Can’t you feel the lashes of the whip
                                                                that my grandmother took for sugar cane?
                                                                Can’t you see the silence in my eyes at the knowledge
                                                                that you stole everything?

                                                                I am from here,
                                                                and from there,
                                                                and from a lot of different places
                                                                and I’m trying to remember what you took away from us

                                                                I’m trying to remember
                                                                the lives of ancestors come to past
                                                                the ways of our people
                                                                and yet I cannot undo the fuckery that are my homes
today
                                                                I cannot undo the destruction
                                                                I cannot undo
                                                                me

                                                                All I can do is try to move forward
                                                                All I can do is remember
                                                                Remember
                                                                Remember

                                                               So that in a future soon to come
                                                               We will never be forgotten
             
                                                               Remember me
       
                                                               Remember

                                                               Remember


Andrés is a Latinx trans and queer writer, poet, musician, and scholar. His activism, pedagogy, work, and artistic projects center the lives and experiences of queer and trans folks of color. Currently, he is a doctoral student in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies with a Minor in Queer Studies at Oregon State University. Andrés is also one of the Editorial Assistants for Feminist Formations, a journal published by Johns Hopkins University Press.

Engaging the Future in Dreams: Race and the Failure of Fandom

By: Angela Stanley (Theme 3)

A teen mother gives birth to a baby. “Congratulations, it’s a girl!” the doctor says. A family comes together to raise the child. Their collective goal is to give that child the best future they can. The family hopes that this little baby can realize dreams beyond her circumstance. Dreams of gaining an education beyond that of her parents’ and close family. Dreams of entering into a lifelong career and not just a job to make ends meet. Dreams of following her passion. Dreams of a white wedding and children. Dreams of grandchildren and a life fully lived, experienced and seized. Dreams of ‘a passing’ on to the great beyond with no regrets, surrounded by love. These were the dreams that birthed me into being.

A being that has embraced some of those dreams while repudiating others much to the chagrin of those dreamers. This is the trouble with passing on dreams to another. There is always the possibility that the one for whom we have dreams and expectations of, will fall short of them. However, is it that we have fallen short of the incorporation of those dreams or that we have birthed dreams for ourselves? The future is a diaphanous concept, one that exists as something that we believe to be true but is so hazy that it can easily slip through our fingertips. However, we put an enormous amount of energy, time and resources into it.

What do I imagine when I think of the future? As a recent convert to the trekkie life. I’ve been fascinated by the hints of today that I see in the future depicted on the show. I’m currently on the final season of The Next Generation and I am surprised, although I am not sure why, by the fact that I very rarely see myself on this show embodied within the main cast. Even the most uncomplicated representation of black womanhood, i.e. the physical presence of a black woman, only makes a guest appearance. In fact, the only representations of blackness are men (Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge and Lt. Cmdr. Worf, and the only representation of women are overwhelmingly white. This echoes the sentiments of black feminists of the 1960s, which undergirded the 2016 twitter hashtags #alltheblacksaremen #allthewomenarewhite, that confronts the erasure of black women and their involvements in civil rights movements and mainstream society and representation.

The main cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation

Copied from: http://www.startrek.com/database_article/star-trek-the-next-generation-synopsis

Perhaps, I am picking on Star Trek a bit. Perhaps I am expecting too much from a show that premiered in 1987. This show was meant to be a depiction of a time lightyears into the future, but I found myself thinking a lot about the stereotypes that seemed to overwhelm the narrative. If we take the example of Lt. Cmdr. Worf, it was curious to me that he happens to be from the Klingon warrior race as opposed to the Vulcan race. Being Klingon comes with a fascinating array of weapons, impressive fighting skills and its own specific language. However, I cannot help but parallel this to the way that black people are thought of within a north American context. In particular, black males are thought to be practically always reaching for a weapon, sometimes that weapon is a toy truck or their very bodies. They are believed to be just so much stronger than the average (read: white) male or female. That is to say they have innate strength and fighting skills. And they have their own ‘language’ although to be fair, among mainstream society Klingon is more legitimate than African American Vernacular English (AAVE), patois, or creole. The latter two are spoken by people within the Caribbean and the Caribbean diaspora. It is fascinating to me how people can find words like ‘bae’, ‘turnt’, or ‘gyal’ totally unintelligible but will launch into entire rhapsodies about the sentence structure of Klingon and Elvish, without even thinking of the racist implications that underpin what they perceive to be intelligible.

I think what is forgotten when we discuss the future is that the future on television requires the belief of the viewing public of today. In this regard, the future is really not about people and personal relations, it is actually about the language, the technology even the clothing that we can conceive of. In a future represented on television, creators do not dream of a cast equally represented without a heavy turn to stereotype. It cannot. The North American mainstream viewing public is not ready to see that. If they were, we would not have so many movies and TV shows where the saviours of ‘the future’ are all white, and where the idea of a black stormtrooper causes shockwaves and negative backlash.  

For many of us, the future can be something that exists days or years ahead while for others it exists alongside the current time period. It exists in alternate societies that house mutant families or individuals with extra sensory and fantastical abilities. It requires a special letter for admittance and a knack for hiding within the normal to create space for the fantastic. But how can we plan for a future when very few of the futuristic examples reflect who we are? Whose future are we cheering on when we watch the latest mutant, post apocalyptic, magical future?

Even in the area of fantasy and dreams where one can be anything they want, and do anything they want, I am forced to scavenge to find someone that looks like me. I remember reading the first Harry Potter book and imagining myself in Hermione Granger. She had my black hair struggles, she was just like my friends and I who were smart and had lofty scholarly ambitions. It was a disappointment when the role was played by a young white girl whose hair could only be described as mildly teased in the movies. Then the stage play for Harry Potter and the Cursed Child cast a black woman as the adult Hermione Granger, and I thought to myself, ‘perhaps she was me after all’. Nonetheless, without that casting I am forced to make do with imagining myself within the character’s body that matches some my personality traits, if nothing else. I am told that to believe in this future presented to me I must imagine myself not existing, I must suspend belief in my existence except to show up as an older wiser alien being whose mothering instinct comes with a full bar rail.

To quote this publication’s theme, “credibility has a lineage…it requires power to maintain its credibility” (Cheuk, 2017). The future on earth as per the lineage of the imaginaries of the 1960s to the 21st century seems to occlude me. It is for this reason that I find myself drawn to Jose Munoz’s work on dis-identification (Munoz, 1997). In particular, I am interested in his theory that one must dis-identify with the mainstream in order to accrue the parts of the self that get lost when one is forced to assimilate to mainstream culture, or in this case mainstream futurity. And I am bolstered in my hope for the future in part due to the versions of myself that are increasingly available outside of mainstream television viewing.

My future is imagined in these moments. These moments of futurity that are embodied within the lives of those within my chosen community point to their own lineage. The credibility of its existence is visualized as it is lived by those who exist outside of the mainstream media, whose stories are too messy, too fantastical, or even too ordinary for this medium. This futurity also finds a home in those ancestral dreams. For me, rewriting futurity requires imagining myself outside the mainstream within the realm of dreams. Dreams that encompass the far-flung future or the future as captured within someone else’s present. Dreams that have to exist outside of the mainstream since even the best depiction of my future within it, centers my oppression, not me.

References

Muñoz, J. (1997). "The White to Be Angry": Vaginal Davis's Terrorist Drag. Social Text, (52/53), 81-103. doi:10.2307/466735

Bio: Angela Stanley is a first year PhD student in the Gender, Feminist and Women's Studies Program at York University. She holds an MA in Critical Disability Studies, also from York University. Her research pays attention to the intersection of race/culture, queerness and disability in order to understand how people make sense of their intimate and sexual lives. Her work so far has centered on the perceptions of beauty, sexuality and desirability that inform how young queer and disabled  people create intimate and/ or sexual partnerships.