Kinghorn 1 Keolanani Kinghorn Weber State University Master’s Thesis June 15, 2020 Decolonizing English Curriculum and Academic Culture: An Analysis of Stanley Fish’s “Interpretive Communities” 1. Preface Letter 2. Introduction: Systemic Violence in American Legal, Medical, and Educational Systems 3. Stanley Fish and “Interpretive Communities” 4. Academic Discourse: The Language of Academic Communities 5. “The Students’ Right to Their Own Language” Debate 6. Setting Up My Framework: Decolonization, Colonization, Coloniality, and Decoloniality 7. Decolonization and Rhetoric 8. Critical Race Theory 9. Curricular Interventions A. Adaptations of Classic Literature • Orson Welles's “Voodoo” Macbeth (1936) • Kenny Leon’s Much Ado About Nothing (2020) B. Fiction Literature: Sing, Unburied Sing by Jesmyn Ward o Fein’s “Universe of Obligation” o Parchman’s Prison o An Introduction to Southern Gothic Literature o Discussion Questions/Assignments o Additional Readings on Ward C. Nonfiction Literature and Resources ● Book Recommendations ● Clint Smith Resources ● TEDx Videos ● K-12 Resources: The 1619 Project, Born on the Water, Drawing Conclusions ● Facing History Resources, Lisa Delpit on “Power and Pedagogy” New Learning Online by Mary Kalantzis and Bill Cope ● Technical Writing Assignment: How Artifacts Afford in a Technical and Socially Unjust Society ● Other Assignment Ideas and Practices 10. Conclusion 11. Works Cited Link to presentation: https://express.adobe.com/page/jmA9fs9M8mmvs/ Kinghorn 2 Preface “Racism is a reality. It is a reality embedded in knowledge. It is embedded in power configurations and dynamics. Race in the knowledge domain authorizes comparative studies with Europe as the template, and others being measured against. Remember, it was race that was mobilized and deployed in the very processes of social classification of people and their corresponding imagined differential ontological densities. There emerged the very colonization of being human into ‘human’ and ‘subhuman.’” -Sabelo Ndlovu-Gatsheni (qtd. in Omanga 2019). In writing this thesis, my intent is to contribute to the cause of decolonizing education by providing a safe space for instructors to explore decolonization within English classrooms and higher education. I encourage educators to change the system from within—one lesson at a time. In addition to my thesis, I have compiled an appendix of English resources in the hopes that they will aid teachers in their efforts to teach from a place of truth and reconciliation. Carol Azumah Davis explains: A decolonising education disentangles itself from all power which is not constituted by free decisions made by free people. It rejects the academic and pedagogic posture, premised on colonialism, that assumes that the mainstream (that which is Western, colonial, or Eurocentric) is global and universal and others - indigenous, local knowledges are a deviation. (201) As a white woman raised in the United States, I acknowledge that I am privileged in ways that have benefited me in my educational experience. I understand that my skin color has never made me more capable or qualified, but because I looked, talked, and behaved the way I did, I felt I belonged in classrooms and higher education, and that confidence, coupled with hard work, has led me to a master’s degree in English. I have often wondered how many of my Hispanic, Hawaiian, Pacific Islander, Native American, or Black friends would be standing in my place if they had the privileges my white skin and Western culture offer me. Today, my message is that we—teachers—must rid ourselves of the notion or feeling that there is an “ideal” student (or race) within classrooms; I think that with the help of decolonization, teachers can create an ideal classroom setting for every student, but we are not there yet. For far too long, we have used not only language use but the appearance of our students as indicators of their abilities and success. This includes their dress, hairstyles, and even quality of speech, all of which are formed by Western ideals that are centuries old—biases existing in us that influence how we judge and assess our students. The weight that these social norms carry in classrooms varies across the nation, depending on teachers and regions. However, we are all raised in the same educational system and, so we all experience this bias. And yet, when this topic is brought up, a common response is: “But, I don’t do that! I am not racist.” I have learned that intent does not always match the outcome. While most teachers have good intentions, intentions are not everything. I don’t believe that most Americans are blatantly racist, I generally believe people are good and trying to treat others with respect and kindness, but I do see remnants of a violent and racist past still working in ways that benefit white Americans within Western culture today. I am writing this thesis as much for my own benefit and learning as I am for others, and I have realized that silence and blind complicity are no longer an option for me. I expect organizations Kinghorn 3 that have benefited from a history connected to colonialism and racist ideologies, whether in the past or present, to admit to that privilege by offering apologies and making amends to the communities affected (this idea was introduced to me by Dr. Clint Smith). One of my guiding voices throughout this thesis has been Maya Angelou, who says, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.” As educators in higher education, we know better because we have studied history and critical theory in depth. We have read painful accounts that confirm the reality of structural racism in the United States (and other countries), and, frankly, we must do more. Each of us harbors unconscious biases towards people different from us, and sometimes those biases turn into fear, especially if we cannot talk openly about our differences. This type of fear has gotten out of control in America and led to an “us” versus “them” outlook in almost every aspect of our lives. The United States can no longer live in a state of denial. In order to move forward, we must process America’s painful past and acknowledge that America was founded on racist ideals despite the fact that much of the language used in our founding documents refer to “liberty” and “equality.” The Declaration of Independence states: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” However, these inspirational words were written at a time (1776) when many of our founding fathers did not believe these words applied to every human; how could they when many of them would go on to own thousands of enslaved people? Due to disagreements between the North and South, the U.S. was one of the last countries to abolish slavery in 1865. America is sadly a land of contradictions when it comes to “liberty and justice for all.” I hope this thesis offers understanding and hope for the future of academia, and while it will inevitably fail in ways I can and cannot predict, I hope you accept my apologies for its misgivings and take it for what it is: an intended tool for teachers (to aid) in a much longer journey. Introduction: Systemic Violence in American Legal, Medical, and Educational Systems “America is still a racist country. Now however unpleasant that sounds, it is the truth and we will never solve the problem of racism until there is a recognition of the fact that racism still stands at the center of so much of our nation and we must see racism for what it is. It is a myth of an inferior people, it is the notion that one group has all of the knowledge, all of the insights, all of the purity, all of the worth, all of the dignity. And another group is worthless, on a lower level of humanity, inferior. To put it in philosophical language, racism is not based on some . . . empirical generalization which after some studies would come to the conclusion that these people are behind because of environmental conditions. Racism is based on an ontological affirmation. It is a notice, the notion that the very being of a people is inferior. And the ultimate logic of racism is genocide.” -Martin Luther King Jr., March 12, 1968 (“The Other America” 7:44). In 2020 the world watched videos from bystanders of forty-six-year-old George Floyd telling officers of the law twenty times, “I can’t breathe,” while he was pinned to the ground for mere reports of a fraudulent $20 bill. Floyd died nearly ten minutes later. Six years earlier, in 2014, these same words, “I can’t breathe,” were uttered by forty-three-year-old Eric Garner, who was known as a “neighborhood peacemaker” (Neumann) as he was held in a chokehold by New York Police for selling untaxed cigarettes on a sidewalk. Garner also died. In both Garner and Floyd’s death, nationwide outcry demanded justice, but only one of these officers was charged Kinghorn 4 with murder. The officer responsible for Garner’s death was only removed from the force without a pension. And yet, there are countless more people of color (POC) victims of police brutality who have died, crying, “I can’t breathe” but have had no video of their death to hold officers accountable. An article by the New York Times claims that from 2014 to 2020, another forty people have died while crying “I can’t breathe” to officers of the law, who were legally bound to listen, but ignored because [quoted from a cop] ‘If you’re talking, you’re breathing — I don’t want to hear it’ (Baker et al.). Baker et al. found 70 deaths documented due to police brutality where “I can’t breathe” was first spoken but ignored; over half of them were Black men. After personally verifying the records, I noticed most remaining names were Hispanic. I was not surprised by this since I had recently read a 2020 article in the YaleNews that reported despite increased body cameras on police officers, “Black people were killed at three times” the rate of white people and “Hispanics at 1.45” in the last five years (Belli). And yet, somehow, a large group of Americans deny racist motivations exist in these crimes, but structural racism is not limited to the streets or men of color At the age of thirty-six, three weeks after giving birth, medical professional Shalon Irving died from complications of “dangerously high blood pressure,” but Irving’s mother says that her daughter “died because her pain [wasn’t] taken seriously by her health care provider” (Cruickshank). As a Black epidemiologist at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Irving was passionate about eradicating “disparities in health access and outcomes” (Nina Martin, ProPublica, and Renee Montagne) and wrote in her Twitter bio, “I see inequity wherever it exists, call it by name, and work to eliminate it.” The tragic irony of Irving’s case shows that you can be a highly educated, well-insured, connected, and supported POC working in public health and still fall victim to the injustices of structural racism. Harvard School of Public Health editor, Amy Roeder, remarks, “viewed up close, the deaths of mothers like Irving are devastating, private tragedies. But pull back, and a picture emerges of a public health crisis that’s been hiding in plain sight for the last 30 years.” A 2019 press release from the CDC reported, “Black, American Indian, and Alaska Native (AI/AN) women are two to three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women.” CDC stated these “findings suggest that the disparity observed in pregnancy-related death for black and AI/AN women is a complex national problem.” Why does this happen? Tiffany Jewell and Aurella Durand’s book, This Book is AntiRacist, states “one of the biases held is believing Black folx have a higher tolerance for pain, which results in doctors not believing them when they seek help” (42). Research suggests that this is a problem for many POCs within healthcare, but it is out of control when it comes to Black expectant mothers. A 2017 NPR report about this topic explains “[p]ut another way, a Black woman is 22 percent more likely to die from heart disease than a white woman, 71 percent more likely to perish from cervical cancer, but 243 percent more likely to die from pregnancy- or childbirth-related causes.” This is just one example of a much larger problem within healthcare for people of color in America. But again, many Americans deny that structural racism could motivate such statistics. How does this happen? And why do some doctors and nurses treat people of color differently when it comes to healthcare? Medical care within a Western system is centered around white bodies and ultimately overlooks diseases and complications that affect other ethnic groups, but it all starts with an education that preferences Western ideals. Danathony, a Black male student attending an unnamed Michigan law school, was walking down a hall on campus when a white female teacher noticed him and remarked, ‘Oh, I should have locked the door. My purse is in there’ (qtd. in Smith et al; 9). Danthony didn’t Kinghorn 5 confront the teacher or tell her how her comment made him feel, but “reported feeling annoyed by this experience and that because of these kinds of racist events he has to pretend to ‘become somewhat blind sometimes’ just so he can get through a typical day” (qtd. in Smith et al. 9). Danathony’s experience is not uncommon; these types of aggressions happen all too often, especially to male students of color. Former U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, stated in 2015, ‘I mean, if we’re honest, for a lot of well-meaning, open-minded white people, the sight of a young Black man in a hoodie still evokes a twinge of fear’ (qtd. in Holloway). Research shows that for Black and Hispanics, higher education is especially difficult because of “four Black misandric stereotypes in which the student was viewed as: (a) a criminal/predator, (b) the possessor of ghetto-specific knowledge and behaviors, (c) as an exclusive non-student athlete, and (d) an anti-intellectual (Smith et al. 9). In a 2021 report on racial violence and stress within higher education, William A. Smith said that “Black and Latino men have consistently reported facing both blatant and subtle discrimination . . . at historically White institutions. They are often sought out as potential suspects and treated as if they have an overwhelming propensity toward enacting criminal and deviant behavior, even if there is no credible evidence” (1262). Smith attributes this unfair treatment to gendered racism and racist stereotypes. Smith explains: Students who are victims of hypersurveillance believe that their every word and action is compared against a negative racist stereotype and threat. The research on hypersurveillance points to direct evidence of exhibited signs of self-doubt and mental health struggles. (1263) This ultimately leads to less success in college and “racial battle fatigue” for POC students (1263). With all of this in mind, it is not surprising that in 2011, Congressional Black Caucus Foundation found that only 45% of Black men over the age of 25 have attended college, and of that 45%, a meager 16% graduated (Atuahene 29). Furthermore, a Pew Research study conducted in 2017 found that about “eight-in-ten Blacks” say they have “faced discrimination or been treated unfairly because of their race or ethnicity” in college (Anderson). College campuses are failing POC students, which is, frankly, not surprising considering that only 20% of college instructors are POCs (Davis and Fry). Representation is severely lacking. We need more POC instructors, but such an outcome is unlikely if current instructors do not support and help their diverse population of students succeed. A shift in academic culture is needed that results in the success of all students, not just white ones who write compelling admission essays or have connections. Universities need to be decolonized, but that is complicated for organizations whose origins are tied to European colonialism. Higher education originated at a time when slavery was legal. Because of that, some of the oldest and wealthiest universities in our country—often Ivy Leagues on the East Coast—are part of a culture and history that are only possible because of slavery. So, what is the difference between colonization (the violent event) and coloniality (the concept)? According to Walter D. Mignolo, an important voice in Latin theory, coloniality is the theoretical framework or logic that “all Western (North Atlantic)” people are instilled with (724). Western colonialism is a deep-seated need to modernize, Christianize and civilize foreigners and their resources that goes as far back as the 1500s (Mignolo 724-25). Mignolo explains that a unique and distinguishing feature of coloniality is particular “control and management” taken to “regulate all areas of human experience with an intervention in all co-existing civilizations to ‘distort, disfigure and destroy’ their past, disturbing the present of the people intervened” (724-25). Colonialism was (and still is) a consuming mindset for colonized populations and their posterity: or as, Mignolo would call them, unfortunate victims of the “rhetoric of modernity” and Kinghorn 6 Westernization (Mignolo 725). We need decolonized education because, according to Lori D. Patton, “the academy functions as a bastion of racism/White supremacy” and that “U.S. higher education institutions serve as venues through which formal knowledge production rooted in racism . . . is generated” (317). In other words, higher education’s lack of diversity directly contributes to a lack of legislation that addresses racist systemic roots and policies because, according to Patton, “the overwhelmingly White composition of the U.S. Congress and, Senate, and Supreme Court. . . . have attended college and law school or some other post-baccalaureate training” (319). And it’s been this way for centuries, even before slavery was abolished. The fact that most U.S. leaders, even today, have graduated from college “without being prompted or encouraged to examine race and racism is reflective of how colleges fail” their students (Patten 319). Further, the majority of the citizens raised in the U.S. do not understand the extent of America’s racist past or how the origins of our country have led to modern structural racism. In a recent interview conducted by author Brené Brown, Black poet and Ph.D. graduate of Harvard University, Clint Smith explained that a “Southern Poverty Law Center study” from 2018 “showed that only 8% of U.S. high school seniors at the time were able to identify slavery as the central cause of the Civil War.” Smith remarked to Brown: I remember reading this survey and seeing myself in it, because I grew up in Louisiana surrounded by Confederate iconography everywhere I looked. In my Louisiana history class, in my American History class, never having been taught, what should be one of the first things said when teaching about American history in this country is that, for example, the Confederacy was a treasonous army that fought a war predicated on maintaining and expanding the institution of slavery. And the insidiousness of white supremacy and systemic racism and the Lost Cause is that it turns that statement, it transforms it from an empirical one to an ideological one. Brown was stunned by this information as well as Smith’s recent book, How the Word is Passed (2021), which talks about the extent of racism in America’s history. Brown, who is a white research professor, and beloved author, remarked, “why am I so shocked? I read broadly. I’ve studied history. Why am I so devastatingly shocked when I read about these stories and these places and these histories? I have no control over source material for my education. Let me just say that first. . . I’m shocked. Why am I shocked?” The short answer, put succulently by Linda Alcoff, is that U.S. has subjected its citizens to a “hegemony of Eurocentric knowledge systems” (83) “achieved through a project of persuasion” and “claims to truth” (85). But Brown is not alone; essentially the entire nation is in the dark regarding the history of America’s violent past. However, not everyone is willing to admit the uncomfortable feelings Smith’s novel can bring up. Brown said, “I mean jeez! . . . I had to wrestle with some shame when I was reading this. Not general white shame, but shame about thinking I’m an educated person in terms of history.” This is coming from Brown, a professor at the University of Texas—and a widely read author and podcaster. The fact that Americans, especially highly educated ones, like Brown, can teach higher education, utterly unaware of America’s violent past, is a sign of an epistemic failure on America’s part. In a resource, referenced, later on, called “Teaching Jesmyn Ward’s Sing, UnBuried Sing,” I talk about the general publics’ reaction to Ward’s novel and how negative Amazon.com reviews show white privilege and ignorance when it comes to structural racism in America. The truth is that Ward’s themes are unknown to a good portion of America because education is failing to represent people of color. This is why many Americans deny structural racism could motivate the aforementioned acts of violence or that racism is a problem. And so, to Kinghorn 7 address the structural racism present on college campuses, we need to go back in time. The oldest American universities date back to the 17th century. However, for the purposes of this thesis, I want to go back to a very specific and significant year, in both legislative and academic terms: 1964. In 1964, Stanley Fish introduced the concept of “interpretive communities” Is There a Text in This Class (167). In his theory, he essentially grouped people into academically and culturally shared spheres of understanding. In a shared interpretive community, members understand one another “because a way of thinking, a form of life, shares us, and implicates us in a world of already-in-place objects, purposes, goals, procedures, [and] values” (303-04). Fish’s concept offered a new way to interpret texts, but admittedly, POCs are still not adequately represented in higher education. After all, 1964 was when America issued the revolutionary Civil Rights Act (1964) that ended the legal segregation of POCs from white citizens. And yet, 58 years later, POCs are still not commonly found in academic circles of higher education. This thesis offers a critique and repositioning of Fish’s “interpretive communities.” To be clear, I believe that Fish’s concept is still relevant, perhaps even more so in the current political climate. I find “interpretive communities” to be helpful in addressing systemic inequalities. Fish’s “interpretive communities” are a direct example of academe’s exclusive nature because the creation of an “interpretive community” excludes—whether purposefully—those with different understandings or cognitive strategies: however, they can also offer us inroads into racist structures to both identify and turn educational justice. If “interpretive communities” are formed based on our experiences and education, acceptance into an academic interpretive community is “intended” only for the “optimal” reader: those “whose education, opinions, concerns, linguistic competences . . . make him [presumably only white men] capable of having the experience the author wished to provide” (Fish 160). Fish’s ideas were revolutionary but need to be extended beyond white patriarchal privilege that still permeates university campuses. The point is that Fish and his contemporaries could not see the ways that colonialism continues to affect, contribute to, or disrupt education. Or, in turn, how education perpetuates a system of colonial epistemologies. I believe that they—and many instructors today—were and are doing their best given their knowledge. I am not here to judge them or anyone else. I am here to ask what can be saved and what should change? This thesis aims to find ways to embrace diversity in higher education, specifically within English or composition classrooms. Drawing on the work of Linda Alcoff, Walter Mignolo, and Gloria Anzaldúa, I urge teachers in academia to engage in “Border thinking, as Mignolo develops it” (Alcoff 96), which “does not have a denotative or representational aim. It is not focused on an object domain that it wants to ‘get right,’ but on an epistemic field of operations that it wants to transform” (Alcoff 97). For teachers, decolonial praxis (Mignolo and Walsh) is a work that engages with problematic theories of our past to ask what can be saved, what holds value, and why? Cancel culture that assumes fault without proof or careful consideration; sometimes, erasing any value past or present work goes too far. And so, while I don’t agree with many of Fish’s stances, I find him useful as an epistemic project, and I look for decolonial resonances in his work. I start by historicizing Fish and analyzing his “interpretive communities.” Next, I explain how academic discourse within higher education results in exclusive communities. I offer a brief history of the Students’ Right to their Own Language resolution and debate. I follow with a definition of decolonization and frame my decolonial approach and praxis. I connect that to decolonization in contemporary composition and rhetoric programs as well as critical race theory (CRT) and end by offering concrete examples of non-hierarchal curricular interventions through literature and Kinghorn 8 assignments. I add my voice to those who came before me to underscore and exemplify that decolonization is an important and never-ending work (Wenzel 23). Stanley Fish’s “Interpretive Communities” “Education may well be, as of right, the instrument whereby every individual, in a society like our own, can gain access to any kind of discourse. But we well know that in its distribution, in what it permits and in what it prevents, it follows the well-trodden battle-lines of social conflict. Every educational system is a political means of maintaining or of modifying the appropriation of discourse, with the knowledge and the powers it carries with it.” -Michel Foucault, “The Discourse on Language” (227), 1972 Like many literature students, I was introduced to Stanley Fish as an authority on John Milton. Say what you will about Fish, but I will always respect his comprehension of and expression of Renaissance literature. His humanizing view of Satan in Paradise Lost ruffled a lot of feathers within academia when he published Surprised by Sin, but Fish never let public opinions bother or influence him and most certainly “never turned down a good (verbal) fight; it seems to be what he lives for” (Olsen 5). This made Fish an interesting yet frustrating editorial writer for the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, which he did in addition to chairing an English department for several years. Fish had a unique and wide reach within academia as a critical theorist and Renaissance writer but is known for his contributions to reader-response theory. Fish is truly unique in this way: his influence, and contributions to the field of English have had a considerable effect. Stanley Fish put the power of a text’s interpretation into the reader’s hands, but he later clarified through his theory of “interpretive communities” that the meaning of a text or idea is dependent on the community to which one belongs. Fish says that “no interpretation is said to be better or worse” (531). In this way, I think Fish was on to something few academics could imagine back in the 60s. And yet, as a member of an academic interpretive community himself, Fish could not grasp the injustice of them. Royster says in academe, “we form communicative/interpretive communities based on sets of values, expectations, protocols, and practices” (Royster 25) and Kenneth Bruffee points out that mastering a “knowledge community’s normal discourse is the basic qualification for acceptance into that community” (643). Raised in a Jewish family and a supporter of Anti-foundationalism Fish follows the same rhetoric as Thomas Kuhn, who writes on the philosophy of science (The Structure of Scientific Revolutions). Despite priding himself as an accessible writer, Fish is a traditionalist within the academy and defends the “conservatism of intellectual and academic institutions” (qtd. in Olsen 7). Gary Olsen, who wrote a biography of Fish, said that he “takes issue with those who hope to transform literary studies so that it is more directly connected with contemporary political issues and struggles such as sexism, racism, and homophobia” (2). Olsen says, “the shift in focusing to a ‘cultural text’ is not, in Fish’s view, a shift from an epistemological or ontologically superior text; it is simply a shift to a different text” (Olsen 20). When I first read about interpretive communities, I was intrigued and wondered if they could be used as a pedagogical tool in composition classrooms. While I still think it is a possibility if considerable work is done to reframe and decolonize them, I realized that while “interpretive communities” can bring awareness to differing groups with unique understandings, the mere creation of an interpretive community naturally excludes—whether or not purposefully— those with different Kinghorn 9 understandings or cognitive strategies. When asked which community is more valuable, Fish always dodges the question. Fish says: If everyone is continually executing interpretive strategies and in that act constituting texts, intentions, speakers, and authors, how can any one of us know whether or not he is a member of the same interpretive community as any other of us? The answer is that he can’t, since any evidence brought forward to support the claim would itself be an interpretation (especially if the “other” were the author long dead). The only “proof” of membership is fellowship, the nod of recognition from someone in the same community, someone who says to you what neither of us could ever prove to a third party: “we know.” I say it to you now, knowing full well that you will agree with me (that is, understand) only if you already agree with me.” (173) In this passage, Fish says the “proof” of belonging comes from a “nod of recognition” from the surrounding community. But again, not everyone is capable or ready to step up as an authority of discourse to “nod,” and although some may want to (according to this passage) if they dare to disagree with the majority on a point, they risk ousting themselves—someone who does not belong to the intellectual interpretive community [or what Kuhn calls the “relevant community”]. Higher education desperately needs to make room for relevant intellectual work that does not come from the same dominating lane: disagreements should not cause alarm but opportunities for growth. Fish’s motivations and methods were admittedly different from my own: Fish challenged new criticism and the notion that all meaning must be derived from a text, but he was also pushing back on the reader-response assumption that shifted all meaning to the reader. Instead, Fish saw “reading as a function of neither the text nor the reader, but of the reader’s particular assumptions about the text and the world” (Harned 10). Fish claimed that readers are grouped into communities that similarly comprehend, converse and experience the world. But Fish failed to acknowledge how non-white students (not sharing the same educational opportunities) are not only at a disadvantage but excluded because of different “interpretive strategies.” If we, like Fish, admit that interpretive strategies are based on our upbringing, our wealth, our race, our parent’s opinions, etc. . . then we also must admit that in America, at least, higher education has never catered to non-white communities. Furthermore, Fish’s framework always anticipates and rejects any criticism of his theories, which is very characteristic of traditional attitudes within higher education. In the afterword of Olsen’s biography of Fish, American literary critic J. Hillis Miller ends with a tribute to Fish, saying: I am sure my friend, Stanley if he reads this, will say (or try to prove) that my arguments are without merit. Or, more likely, he will claim that the points I make he has already foreseen all I say, and has already abundantly responded to the points I make. I would then have some things to say in reply to that. The interchange is potentially without end, which is the way Stanley Fish likes it” (147) While I love a good debate as much as another intellectual, the never-ending debate that Fish loves to engage in does prevent progress and structural change from taking root within our education and legal systems. And while Fish does take pleasure in the debate, I have learned it is a reflection of his commitment to his work of generating meaningful conversation in academe more than anything else. In this way, Fish becomes an example of non-hierarchal ways of thinking in the academy. Kinghorn 10 Fish realizes he is criticized by both the right and the left, but he is not concerned with what others think, and this is actually a good thing if used in a non-hierarchal way. Fish says: There are basically two criticisms of my work; they come from the right and the left. The criticism from the right is that in arguing for notions like interpretive communities, the inescapability of interpretation, infinite revisability of interpretive structures, I am undoing the fabric of civilization and opening the way to nihilistic anarchy. The objection from the left is that I’m not doing that sufficiently. My argument to both is that on the one hand, the fear that animates right-wing attacks on me is an unrealizable fear because one can never be divested of certainties and programs for action unless one believed that the mind itself could function as a calculating agent independently of the beliefs and connections which supposedly we’re going to lose; and on the other hand (or on the same hand), therefore, a program in which our first task is to divest ourselves of all our old and hegemonically imposed convictions in order to move forward to some new and braver world is an impossible task. On the one hand hearkening to me will not lead to the decay of civilization, and on the other hand hearkening to me will not lead to the canonization of the status quo. In fact, on these kinds of points . . . hearkening to me will lead to nothing. Hearkening to me, from my point of view, is supposed to lead to nothing. “What’s the point?” The point is that there is no point no yelled of positive pragmatic kind be carried away from these analyses. Nevertheless, that point (that there is no point) is the point because it’s the promise of such a yield either in the form of some final successful identification of a foundational set of standards or some program by which we can move away from standards to ever-expanding liberation—it’s the unavailability of such a yield that is my point and therefore it would be contradictory for me to have a point beyond that point. People go absolutely bonkers when they hear that, but that’s the way it is. (qtd. in Olsen 113) I have to admit that it took me a minute to realize that by refusing to choose sides or be accepted by either side, Fish was providing a useful tool for non-hierarchal epistemology. And this is precisely why Fish is relevant in decolonial efforts. Teachers need to strive for a similar non-hierarchal epistemology in their classrooms—one that I define as non-right, non-left, and most importantly, non-Western. I admire the way Fish moved forward when critics from the right and the left claimed he was ill-educated and irrelevant; we must all embrace this attitude in our efforts to decolonize. That does not mean to embrace careless or lazy attitudes in our choices as teachers; far from it. It means that once we choose to teach in a way that embraces efforts to decolonize, we do not back down when co-workers or neighbors shake their heads in disapproval. Fish was far from perfect, like so many literary critics from the past, but his work has redeeming qualities, and I see elements of “border thinking” that I argue make him relevant as we move forward seeking to decolonize the academy and academic language. Next, we will dive into the reasons higher education needs to change to fit the needs of more students and how. In what follows, I explore how we can refigure academic discourse communities to be able to be responsible to each other and to the mission of making academe in the United States a place for all people, a place that acknowledges that power differentials are real and that they need structural correction, a place where we substitute infinite debate for moral suasion and historical and epistemological accountability. Kinghorn 11 Academic Discourse: The Language of Academic Communities “Education is not a process of assimilating ‘the truth’ but as [Richard] Rorty has put it, a process of learning to ‘take a hand in what is going on’ by joining ‘the conversations of mankind’” -Kenneth Bruffee, 1984 (“Collaborative Learning and the ‘Conversation of Mankind’” 647) Upon entering college, students encounter new language, content, and ideas that make up an academic community. According to Jacqueline Jones Royster’s uptake of Fish’s lexicon, “In academe . . . we form communicative/interpretive communities based on sets of values, expectations, protocols, and practices” (25). Students are often shocked at the difficulty of adjusting to these new expectations, and many fail in the attempt. David Bartholomae calls this “inventing the university” as students mimic campus language by “finding some compromise between idiosyncrasy, a personal history, and the requirements of convention” (5). Bartholomae says students “must learn to speak our language. Or they must dare to speak it, or to carry off the bluff, since speaking and writing will most certainly be required long before the skill will be ‘learned’” (5). In a book written as a response to Bartholomae’s article, Schroeder says academic discourses are “the sanctioned versions of literacy—not only certain ways of writing and reading but also, through these practices, versions of who to be and how to see the world” (Reinventing the University 5). Part of the difficulty stems from expectations to assume authority and originality in their writing and students simply not knowing how because they have never been asked to read or write this way before. Additionally, Bartholomae says, students, jump from disciplines daily, writing as a “literary critic one day and an experimental psychologist the next, to work within fields where rules governing the presentation of examples or the development of an argument are both distinct and, even to a professional, mysterious” (4). While many students may be used to high praise from their high school teachers, universities have different standards, and many of them are left unsaid in classrooms. Language and writing are only part of academic expectations. In addition, a person’s image, speech, and ability to respond thoughtfully in conversations or discussions are all unsaid standards. Change is needed because the academy’s standards are not only outdated but founded upon racist ideologies and leave many students disadvantaged. Outdated standards such as formal speech in class discussions, flawless grammar in essays, and grades that are based on written tests, especially multiple-choice questions worded to confuse students: these sort of standards no longer make sense in our day and age, and really, did they ever? Lisa Delpit calls traditional English discourse a “language of power.” She says: Issues of power are enacted in classrooms. These issues include: the power of the teacher over the students; the power of the publishers of textbooks and of the developers of the curriculum to determine the view of the world presented; the power of the state in enforcing compulsory schooling; and the power of an individual or group to determine another’s intelligence or “normalcy.” Finally, if schooling prepares people for jobs, and the kind of job a person has determines her or his economic status and, therefore, power, then schooling is intimately related to that power. Delpit is very clear that it is not an indication of talent or ability, but rather, a power play. She says: “There are codes or rules for participating in power . . . The codes or rules I’m speaking of relate to linguistic forms, communicative strategies, and presentation of self . . . ways of talking, Kinghorn 12 ways of writing, ways of dressing, and ways of interacting” (Delpit). In other words, academic literacy has become a rite of passage and a way of being that favors those raised in privileged settings over those without connections or resources. Royster says we cannot continue to view language and discourse as a “disembodied force” (25) but as a living, breathing entity that can and should change. Kenneth Bruffee points out that “Mastery of [a] knowledge community’s normal discourse is the basic qualification for acceptance into that community” (643). As long as universities treat other discourses as substandard, the people who use those discourses will receive similar treatment: they will be othered. After earning degrees, most instructors no longer struggle to understand academic discourse and tend to employ it as much as possible in their lectures and assignments. Thus, when a student immediately approaches an instructor, confused, teachers are frustrated and assume the student was not paying attention. Instead, let us assume that most instructions utilized academic discourse and the student could simply not keep up with translation. Fish was always interested in reaching crowds outside of academia: he wrote for newspapers, as a literary critic, and as a Milton authority. Christopher Thaiss and Terry Zawacki explain, “If we assume that a student just wants to be contrary [or lazy], then we may not extend to that person the help or opportunity—or even the simple advice—they might need to succeed” (94). Further, Bartholomae explains that when students say, “I don’t know,” they do not mean they have “nothing to say” but rather that they “are not in a position to carry on this discussion” (8). Bartholomae explains that to successfully write within a discipline, students must “imagine for themselves the privilege of being ‘insiders’—that is of being both inside an established and powerful discourse, and of being granted a special right to speak,” and they do this by assuming “privilege without having any” (10). This is a tricky task for any new student but asking non-white students to “assume privilege,” and authority in academic discourse is problematic for several reasons: the biggest being that they have been raised in a society that silences them. Telling students of color to write with authority in a language they may not understand simply won’t do. By assuming confusion and perhaps conflicting societal messages over defiant behavior, teachers approach the situation with an intent to further teach and learn, not condemn. Patience and understanding are critical, and, unfortunately, academic instructors are known to struggle with patience. When teachers approach a classroom with understanding rather than frustration, students are provided with the optimum setting to learn: one where both parties are responsible for comprehension. Teachers should try utilizing enough everyday discourse or “everydayspeak” (as Gerald Graff and Cathy Birkenstein suggest) so that students are not lost. Then, slowly introduce academic discourse by defining concepts when introduced. Ask students to translate complex concepts into their own vernacular. Teachers will not always succeed in employing simpler speech which is why a teacher’s attitude and pausing for questions often is crucial. Bruffee says: If the task or assignment that the teacher has given is unclear or too difficult or too simpleminded to engage students effectively, then the teacher has to revise it. Throughout this process the teacher has to try to help students negotiate the rocks and shoals of social relations that may interfere with their getting on with their work together. (644-45) Bruffee clarifies that the responsibility for comprehension and flexibility lies more on the teacher than the student. However, students must be prepared to work hard and take responsibility for their own education. Teachers can only dedicate so much time to this pursuit. College instructors are often hesitant to take responsibility for students’ comprehension because it is very different from how they were taught, and the task can easily overwhelm them. Kinghorn 13 It is admittedly easier to label a student as “remedial” or “underprepared” and push the responsibility over to someone else. Nevertheless, when students desperately try and still fall short of expectations, it is a sign that pedagogy practices and standards need to be reassessed. For example, Aja Y. Martinez describes a Chicana graduate student named Alejandra in a Rhetoric Ph.D. program. Near completion of the degree, professors began to question whether Alejandra was the right “fit” for their program because of one C grade and work that was deemed “unconventional” (Martinez 41, 43). Rather than taking time to mentor her through her degree’s completion, professors wanted to push Alejandra out with a master's degree. This is precisely the type of attitude that must change in academic communities. With Alejandra, teachers failed to accept responsibility for any part of her failure. Instead of stepping back to evaluate program expectations and how professors were working to help her succeed, they labeled her as unfit. LuMing Mao says, “Because discourses are contingent upon power relationships, and upon social conditions, it becomes only necessary to critically evaluate them, and to heighten our awareness of how language or discursive tendencies function in some most opaque manner’ (122). By evaluating teaching practices, language use, and expectations, teachers will make the difference between a minority student’s success and failure in college. Academic standards currently need to be adjusted to consider a student’s background because true academic literacy takes years. Currently, minority students are not given adequate support or resources to succeed. Students may struggle—even more than reading and speaking—to write utilizing academic discourse, especially those who use voice-to-text or translation technology to write papers. Critical discourse analyst, Norman Fairclough, calls this “conventionalization.” Expanding on Fairclough, Mao explains, “this increasing blurring between our daily conversation and our academic discourse [is] ‘part of a process of cultural engineering and restructuring cultural hegemony.’ It is this kind of linguistic blurring, according to Fairclough, that presents new opportunities as well as challenges” (Mao 114). Conventionalization is proof that the academic culture and discourse are slowly shifting, which means that change is not only possible; it is simply a matter of time. However, conventionalization can only take us so far. If the central goal of a course is to help students succeed, then the current dominant academic standards must take a step back as teachers adopt an attitude that “all writers and their texts deserve to be handled with respect” (Spooner 158). April Baker-Bell says that standard English is a “myth” and the “belief that there is a homogenous, standard, one-size- fits-all language is a myth that normalizes white ways of speaking English and is used to justify linguistic discrimination on the basis of race.” Baker-Bell suggests that teachers ask themselves the following questions to see “where they fall in the war between ‘good English’ and ‘bad English:’” • How can I work against my own assumptions that Black students are linguistically and morally inferior and (that) their language practices reflect incompetence and a lack of intelligence? • Do your language policies uphold the belief that Black students must eradicate Black language to succeed in school and life? • Does your teaching about audience prepare students to participate in a multilingual, multiliterate, multicultural society? (Baker-Bell) Obviously, it is not only educators who use such measures of “good” and “bad” language. Baker-Baker-Bell said, “other professions — hiring managers who review resumes, attorneys, public officials, law enforcement officers — could also benefit from such self-reflection.” Baker-Bell Kinghorn 14 says “Black lives won’t matter until Black language matters” and this is ironically a notion first addressed in composition fifty years ago. Clearly, rhetoric and writing studies finds itself at an impasse of sorts, caught between two discourse communities that, at first glance, feel incommensurate. “If y’all actually believe that usin ‘standard English’ will dismantle white supremacy, then you not paying attention! If we, as teachers, truly believe that code-switching will dismantle white supremacy, we have a problem. If we honestly believe that code-switching will save Black people’s lives, then we really ain’t paying attention to what’s happening in the world Eric Garner was choked to death by a police officer while saying ‘I cannot breathe.’ Wouldn’t you consider ‘I cannot breathe’ ‘standard English’ syntax?” -April Baker-Bell, 2020 (Black Language, Literacy, Identity, and Pedagogy 5). Coming to Terms with “The Students’ Right to Their Own Language” Debate “There’s really no such thing as the ‘voiceless’. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard.” -Arundhati Roy, 2006 (Ordinary Person’s Guide To Empire). In 1974, the Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC) presented a resolution called “The Students’ Right to Their Own Language” (SRTOL) to encourage teachers to think out of the ever-restricting academic discourse box. The resolution states: The claim that any one dialect is unacceptable amounts to an attempt of one social group to exert its dominance over another. Such a claim leads to false advice for speakers and writers, and immoral advice for humans. A nation proud of its diverse heritage and its cultural and racial variety will preserve its heritage of dialects. We affirm strongly that teachers must have the experiences and training that will enable them to respect diversity and uphold the right of students to their own language. This language is clear: diversity should be embraced, not squashed out of students. Further, responsibility is put on teachers to “have experiences and training that enable [us] to respect diversity” and language. This is Mignolo’s “border thinking” in practice. And yet, more than 50 years later, not much has changed in university composition classrooms because there is sound evidence for continuing to teach academic discourse. Two important publications by Vershawn Ashanti Young (“‘Nah, We Straight’: An Argument Against Code Switching”) and Jeff Zorn (“‘Students’ Right to Their Own Language’: A Counter Argument”) present the issues teachers face regarding the SRTOL resolution, but on opposite sides of the spectrum. Young supports the resolution and questions the ethical treatment of minority students who are expected to live in a state of constant “code-switching” or “language substitution” (50), and Zorn calls the resolution “shameful” (315) and a disservice to minority students. There are countless other arguments made in academics on both sides, but these two articulate the compelling struggle of the debate. In 2010, Zorn’s passionate rebuttal to the [then] 36-year-old SRTOL resolution argued that such an application in classrooms would result in a “Pyrrhic victory” (315): an apparent outward win for diversity but an overall loss for language and the disadvantaged (315). He compares composition studies to the learning of the sciences or an instrument; in both, there are standard processes that are easy to evaluate success. With music, learning to read notation Kinghorn 15 provides access to an unlimited collection of songs. However, there are alternative approaches to learning and playing music that have equal merit and value. For example, improvisation and jazz rely more on knowledge of chords and playing by ear. Is one better than another? It depends on who you ask. Helen Fox admits that current academic expectations are “socially and culturally constructed by scholars who are both narrow in their vision and exclusionary about their club” (58). And yet, she enjoys this language, and further, students want access—and expect—to be taught it (Fox 58-59). Most college instructors sit in a similarly conflicted position. They support the use of alternative discourses but still acknowledge, as Paul Kei Matsuda does, that encouraging “students to construct alternative discourses without providing them with an accurate understanding of the dominant discourse practices would be irresponsible because . . . newcomers to academic discourse are not granted the kind of authority that established scholars have” (195). In both scenarios, minority students seem to whether they learn to use academic discourse. Nevertheless, an urgency for change and equality is gaining momentum, as evident in Inoue’s 2019 CCCC address. At the meeting, Inoue called on his fellow colleagues of color to demand more equality, and he boldly reprimanded white teachers in the room, stating, that “many . . . sit on their hands with love in their hearts, but stillness in their bodies.” A change will not come about by “stillness.” All voices are needed. Further, this “stillness” is a big reason for the division we face today. Peter Elbow suggests, “A good strategy for handling contradiction [and disagreement] is to introduce the dimension of time” as teachers...work towards the “long-range goal of changing the culture of literacy, and the short-range goal of helping students now” (Elbow 126). I agree that our students need help now, but they need help everywhere. One class is not enough. Pedagogical practices and content need diversification, but how realistic is it to expect every teacher to replace their curriculum? And even if they were willing, many university instructors—including myself—find value in classic literature and feel it deserves a place in an academic curriculum. So, where does that leave us? It leaves us in a difficult position of trying to do both. It is not easy, but I think we can solve this problem through adaptations of classic literature. I also believe that systematic change to better support non-white language learners will include discovering silenced voices from our past. We must expect and demand this of our leaders. Carol Azuman Dennis says, “A decolonised pedagogy thinks alongside, from and within knowledges that have been rendered invisible” (199). The future is bright for scholars and historians eager to explore the past and recover lost history. We can follow examples of feminist authors like Sarah Hallenbeck, who wrote Claiming the Bicycle. As for the rest of us, there is much work to be done decolonizing existing curricula and reframing racist literature to acknowledge unjust practices of the past and present day. But how do we strip academic culture and concepts like “interpretive communities” of dated biases and racist tendencies? Nick Cartwright and T. O. Cartwright explain that “to ‘decolonise the curriculum’ there has to be a general acceptance that the curriculum is colonised and has been for a long time” they “argue that the process of decolonisation must therefore, necessarily, involve an explicit exercise of the decolonising . . . ‘ourselves’ before ‘collective decolonisation’ is possible” (532). In other words, we cannot simply change curriculums and hire more POC teachers to solve this problem. Ashis Nandy, a respected Indian theorist and Doctor of Psychology, says that when we remove practices put in place by colonialism without also removing those epistemologies, they never really go away (Omanga, Duncan, and Sabelo Ndlovu-Gatsheni 3). In an interview conducted by Phillip Darby, Nandy stated Kinghorn 16 I would suggest that hegemony is the most dangerous form of domination as the victims or targets themselves come to internalise the coloniser’s categories. Also, most political systems that use only dominance do not last very long. The Third Reich lasted only 12 years; the Soviet Union lasted the longest in recent times, about 70 years. But hegemonic systems last much longer because you have somehow managed to transfer your ways of seeing to your victims. (283) Nandy brings up an important point. When conquered people lose their language, culture, and educational control, they are essentially erased. The United States is also a hegemonic educational system that perpetuates epistemic violence in the form of valuing particular discourse community practices over others. Since it is responsible for the education of Native Americans, Native Alaskans, Native Hawaiians, the posterity of victims of slavery, and other cultures, but raises them with minimal understanding of their people’s history, which has essentially been erased and replaced with a Western-centered curriculum, minority, and indigenous children become complicit to Western ways of devaluing not only their history but themselves. Generally speaking, the Western-dominated history presented in curriculums has either villainized native populations to justify the behavior of white settlers or completely brushed over terrible injustices of the past and glorified white settlers’ behaviors. This is why colonization is so harmful, and decolonization is necessary. Setting Up My Framework: Decolonization, Colonization, Coloniality, and Decoloniality “‘Modernity’ was imagined as the house of epistemology” -Walter Mignolo, 2006 Decolonization, as a concept, originated as a response to a horrific, prolonged, and structurally implemented series of events and the aftermath of those events, which started in the 1500s: colonization. In this way, Patrick Wolfe says that settler colonialism is better understood as “a structure rather than an event” (390). This is an important distinction because otherwise, we run the risk of viewing colonization as an event of the past, further “denying the agency of peoples who have emerged from and been transformed by this encounter” (McReynolds and McCall 4). Phillip McReynolds and Corey McCall say that “understanding decolonization as an ongoing” and creative process “will enable us to better attend to the distribution of creation in the realm of ideas, no longer identified exclusively with Europe or with U.S. settler culture” (4). There are essentially two ways to decolonize: materially and epistemically. However, because the term decolonization is used both ways there are misconceptions surrounding it as well as disagreements about the level of material versus epistemic aftermath of colonial rule. Many acknowledge the epistemological significance of decolonization but fall into the trap of using it as a metaphor, never moving beyond the idea. Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang explain: “Decolonization as metaphor allows people to equivocate these contradictory decolonial desires because it turns decolonization into an empty signifier to be filled by any track towards liberation,” but true decolonization is “hard, unsettling work” (7, 4). Broadly speaking, there are two ontologies referred to when talking about decoloniality: the first includes South Africa, Southeast Asia, Australia (English and French colonies), and the second includes Latin America (Spanish and Portuguese colonies). I use elements of both, using decolonization as praxis for higher education; I seek to apply them materially, economically, and pedagogically in university classrooms. Kinghorn 17 Ngũgĩ wa’s book, Decolonising the Mind, published in 1986, is a call for “Africanization.” Speaking to Africans, Ngũgĩ says that education is “a means of knowledge about ourselves” and that after we “have examined ourselves, we radiate outwards and discover peoples and worlds around us,” but to do that, we can’t exist as an “appendix or a satellite of other countries and literatures,” instead “things must be seen from the African perspective” (94). Ngũgĩ marks a critical shift in African culture; up until this point in Western history, Africans only spoke and published in the English language. Describing Ngũgĩ’s call, Achille Mbembe says: It is about rejecting the assumption that the modern West is the central root of Africa’s consciousness and cultural heritage. It is about rejecting the notion that Africa is merely an extension of the West. It is not about closing the door to European or other traditions. It is about defining clearly what the centre is. And for Ngugi, Africa has to be placed in the centre. (Mbembe 35) The liberation and self-acceptance Ngũgĩ inspire is refreshing and somewhat reminiscent of Queer and Feminist communities within higher education, as they have battled “academic” stereotypes and fought for acceptance. Ngũgĩ says, “In suggesting this we are not rejecting other streams, especially the western stream. We are only clearly mapping out the directions and perspectives the study of culture and literature will inevitably take in an African university” (94). But self-acceptance is only one part of the equation. Professor Ndlovu-Gatsheni says, in addition, we must “think deeply about ethics; we must think about subject-to-subject relationship method[s], not the object-subject relationship” we have to “unlearn” that “one geographical space in the world cannot be teacher of the world” and then, “relearn, that all human beings are born to valid and legitimate knowledge” (Omanga and Ndlovu-Gatsheni 5). Africa’s liberation from Eurocentric systems of oppression is an ongoing process. One of the African pioneers of decolonization was Frantz Fanon (1925-1961), author of The Wretched of the Earth (1963). Fanon continues to be an important but controversial voice in the decolonial conversation. Fanon famously wrote, “Let us admit it, the settler knows perfectly well that no phraseology can be a substitute for reality” (45). If he were alive today, I think he would agree that decolonization can easily become a metaphor instead of an action. Tuck and Yang explain: “Fanon told us in 1963 that decolonizing the mind is the first step, not the only step toward overthrowing colonial regimes” (19). Indeed, Fanon, Achebe, and Césaire (among others) provided critical first steps toward the decolonization of Africa, but an important next step was to reclaim their dignity (Achebe 157) and, above all, their languages. As I said, this is a complex process, and we’ve only begun. Colonization’s reaches go much further than Africa: Professor Ndlovu-Gatsheni says “colonization institutes colonialism” (Omanga and Ndlovu-Gatshen 2). In 1884, European nations gathered in Berlin (The Berlin Conference, 1884) to split up West Africa without consulting indigenous Africans; their mission was to bring Christianity and trade to the region and to quite honestly control Africa’s resources. Africa is important because it shows the effects of colonization are damaging and permanent, even for the countries that have been returned to the indigenous people. As a result, African writers have become paramount in decolonization theory, and important voices have come from its struggle: Aimé and Suzanne Césaire, Frantz Fanon, Chinua Achebe, Maryse Condé, Ngũgĩ wa, Achille Mbembe, Maurice Bishop, Amílcar Cabral, and Sabelo Ndlovu-Gatsheni are just some of the many influential voices. These voices (many of which have since passed) span several decades and come from different countries, but each carries pride for Africa and hope for its future. Kinghorn 18 Mignolo and Catherine Walsh agree that decolonization as a concept changed after the Cold War and the introduction of neoliberalism (106). In her chapter explaining the concept, Jennifer Wenzel explains: This “Bandung Spirit” (named for the 1955 meeting of the Non-Aligned Movement in Bandung, Indonesia) endures as a vision of solidarity and other possible worlds that is all the more poignant and necessary in an era of imperialism resurgent, capitalism unchallenged, inequality exploding, and oceans rising: “The Third World project is forever…. the new living map of the planet … a project of futurity whose potential lives on as a critique of globalization” (Veric 2013: 5, 16). (Wenzel 23) The Third World included those countries that refused to align with the West or East: Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Australia/Oceania. Mignolo and Walsh say that decoloniality reached a point of “no return over the ruins of the Cold War” and 9/11 as history was bent and erased where convenient, on every side (129). Decoloniality found new meaning stemming from Latin American scholars who refused to give in to Western pressures; they have since received support from African and Indian scholars1 and have gained a global following referred to as Global Social Theory. In their influential book On Decoloniality: Concepts, Analytics, Praxis, Walter D. Mignolo and Catherine E. Walsh explain that “It is crucial to remember that while dewesternization maneuvers in the sphere of state-regulated institution and economic institutions (regulated or not), decoloniality works within the sphere of an emerging global political society” (Mignolo and Walsh 130). Similarly, Nelson Maldonado-Torres proposes or calls for a “decolonial turn” within the academic community: What I am suggesting, and what intellectuals seeking to advance the discourse of decolonization make clear, is that . . . we have to add the imperative of epistemic decolonization, and in fact, of consistent decolonization of human reality. For that one must build new concepts and be willing to revise critically all received theories and ideas. This is part of the “stuff” of the decolonial turn, and here resides the fundamental contribution of Ethnic Studies: Ethnic Studies is not merely a province in the Enlightened or Corporate University; it is, rather, a decolonial force.” (4) In this way, Maldonado-Torres sees decolonization not as an imposition but as a “gift” and “invitation to engage in dialogue” (261). Such a global dialogue is what Ramon Grofoguel explores further: if ethnic studies departments or programs proposed to open themselves up to transmodernity, that is, to the epistemic diversity of the world, and redefine themselves as “transmodern decolonial studies,” offering to think “from” and “with” those “others” subalternized and inferiorized by Eurocentered modernity, offering to define their questions, their problems, and their intellectual dilemmas “from” and “with” those same racialized groups. This would give rise to a 1 Siphiwe I. Dube, Gurminder K Bhambra, Angela Last, Lucy Mayblin, Lisa Tilley, Stephen Ashe, Behzad, Baghidoost, Shalinee Bahadur, Adam Barker, Jose-Manuel Barreto, etc… Kinghorn 19 decolonial methodology very different from the colonial methodology of the social sciences and the humanities” (88) Mignolo and Walsh say “decoloniality focuses on changing the terms of the conversation” while “Dewesternization, instead, disputes the content of the conversation and leaves the terms intact” (Mignolo and Walsh 130). I am seeking to find a balance between the two. Connecting theory to pedagogy, Walter D. Mignolo and Catherine E. Walsh’s book present a combined analysis and praxis (227) of “the ongoing serpentine movement toward possibilities of other modes of being, thinking, knowing, sensing and living; that is, an otherwise in plural” (81), and a “delinking from CMP [the colonial matrix of power] to engage in epistemic reconstitution … to germinate coexisting’ (Mignolo and Walsh 223). The “serpentine movement” referred to by Mignolo and Walsh between discourse communities and “interpretive communities” is critical to my argument and framework, although my goals for the decolonization of the American educational system differ from theirs. They explain: In our thinking alone and together, theory and praxis are necessarily interrelated. Theory and praxis are constructions that presuppose the basic praxis of living. Without our daily praxis of living, it would not be possible to make conceptual and second-order distinctions between theory and praxis. Following this line of reasoning, this volume delinks from the modern concept of theory versus praxis. For us, theory is doing and doing is thinking…By disobeying the long-held belief that you first theorize and then apply, or that you can engage in blind praxis without theoretical analysis and vision, we relocate our thinking/doing in a different terrain. (7) According to Mignolo and Walsh, breaking from the academic conception that forbids us from moving freely between the worlds of theory and praxis is acceptable and necessary if we are to “delink from the theoretical tenets and conceptual instruments of Western thought” (7). Wenzel says that “the rise of postcolonial studies in the academy from the late 1970s onwards can be understood in ambivalent or even somewhat antagonistic relation to earlier decolonization struggles” (8-9) which is why we need new voices that break the mold and bring practical application of decolonization into our classrooms. Understandably, teachers are hesitant, not knowing the theory well or how to do so respectfully. However, if you are a white teacher, “Self-decolonisation is necessary because otherwise, we risk falling into the trap of colonising in a different guise, that of white saviours” (N. Cartwright and T.O. Cartwright 546). But Gloria Anzaldúa brings in the important perspective of borderland people, those who live in-between two worlds. Decolonized educators offer a perspective that is critical as outsiders: someone that understands how to live in-between the realities of two worlds (like Fish). In a sense, this is what I am asking of decolonized educators; to find a way to live in both worlds (the academic world and a decolonized world). Sometimes it feels impossible to balance higher education with values of decolonization, but Gloria Anzaldúa reminds us in Borderlands/ La Frontera that it is better to develop a “new consciousness” a mestiza consciousness like those who have had to learn two languages, it is a strength: At some point, on our way to a new consciousness, we will have to leave the opposite bank, the split between the two mortal combatants somehow healed so that we are on both shores and, at once, see through serpents and eagle eyes. Or perhaps we will decide to disengage from the dominant culture, write it off altogether as a lost cause, and cross the border into a wholly new and separate Kinghorn 20 territory. Or we might go another route. The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react. (100-101) Anzaldúa does not tell us what to do but makes it clear that we can’t stay still, stuck in the past: there are multiple paths to pursue, and only we can choose the way forward, but we must move forward. In order to move forward, America must first look to its past: it must account for the wrongs of its past and change its educational system to account for those wrongs. Decolonization and Rhetoric “An educator in a system of oppression is either a revolutionary or an oppressor.” -Lerone Bennett Jr., 1963 Author of Before the Mayflower: A History of Black America, 1619-1962 One way that teachers can live in this metaphorical “borderland” to this is to follow in the footsteps of rhetoricians like James Berlin. Berlin explains that “at any historical moment, it is common to discover a number of different rhetorics, each competing for attention and coming to be the one, true system” (3). Berlin continues, “The difference is not . . . a matter of the superficial emphasis of one or another feature of the rhetorical act. The difference has to do with epistemology—with assumptions about the very nature of the known, the knower, and the discourse community involved in considering the known” (3). Knowing this, it is no longer appropriate for teachers to teach as if they have all the answers because they don’t: they have one answer. I have found that learning about and incorporating a Freirean (1968) approach to education helps me teach with a decolonized mindset. According to Freire: Education either functions as an instrument which is used to facilitate integration of the younger generation into the logic of the present system and bring about conformity or it becomes “the practice of freedom,” the means by which men and women deal critically and creatively with reality and discover how to participate in the transformation of their world. (Pedagogy of the Oppressed 34) That is to say,“[t]here’s no such thing as neutral education. Education either functions as an instrument to bring about conformity or freedom” (Richard Shaull qtd. in Freire 34). Freire is interesting because he taught students and educators how to liberate themselves and liberate their oppressors, but his work also has its limitations. Freire put the bulk of the work of decolonization on POCs which leads to burnout. POCs need the support of white allies, especially since there are so few of them currently working in higher education. But I agree with Freire that structural change is needed within classrooms from a banking educational model to a dialectic and collaborative teaching experience. Teachers need to ask themselves and their students whether their class liberates or further restricts and confines. In this way decolonizing education becomes a “shared project” and a safe community for both students and teachers to learn (Freire 72). How should we approach this type of education in the classroom and academia? Angela Haas says: Reading stories of everyday racism may help students from all backgrounds to realize that racism still persists and is further compounded by the burden placed on people of color to be the only ones who recognize that—and they affirm the stories of students whose lives have been controlled by and bodies have been marked by racism. (286) It is problematic for white teachers and students to not understand the extent of racism still existing in higher education because it leads them to believe that there is no problem and that Kinghorn 21 nothing should change. But if we listen to the voices of students of color, we will understand that racism goes so much further beyond treating a person kindly. However, listening is not the only answer. Again, relying only on POC students’ experiences puts most of the responsibility and burden onto POCs. Gargi Bhattacharyya et al. explain, “one lesson of attempts to dismantle institutional racism has been the difficulty of enacting such institutional change, not least due to the continuing challenge of naming racism, as opposed to some other factor such as alleged cultural deficit.” Instead, stories coupled with reflection and analysis on the part of students and teachers will make a bigger difference. After all, if witnessing racism was all it took to end racism, then we would not be in the mess we are in today. Addressing teachers, Inoue says: I add to this list the way we judge, assess, give feedback to, and grade writing by students of color in our classrooms. Yes, the ways we judge language form some of the steel bars around our students and ourselves—we too maintain white supremacy, even as we fight against it in other ways. We ain’t just internally colonized, we’re internally jailed. (353) Inoue understands well that when we deem a certain type of language, interpretation, or rhetoric as “correct” or “desirable” in academia, we contribute to white language supremacy attitudes. Inoue effectively conveys the urgency of change within academic institutions; after all, how can we expect a change in our governments and judicial systems if we are unwilling to acknowledge that places of learning are also complicit in perpetuating unjust social norms. b. hooks (1990) claims, “we must engage decolonization as a critical practice if we are to have meaningful chances of survival even as we must simultaneously cope with the loss of political grounding which made radical activism more possible” (513). CRT is a direct example of the loss in political battles happening today. Critical Race Theory “In order to get beyond racism, we must first take account of race. There is no other way”-Justice Harry Blackmun, 1985 Critical Race Theory (CRT) was coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw back in 1988, but last year in an interview with Joy Reid, she explained it this way: CRT says let’s pay attention to what’s happened to this country and how what has happened to this country is continuing to create differential outcomes so we can become that country that we say we are. So, Critical Race Theory is not anti-patriotic, in fact, it is more patriotic than those who are opposed to it because we believe in the 13th and the 14th and the 15th amendment. We believe in the promises of equality and we know we can’t get there if we can’t confront and talk honestly about inequality. Crenshaw is right; most Americans sweat just talking about race, so how can we really claim to offer equality for all when we cannot even talk about it. Stephen Sawchuk (2021) explains that “there is a good deal of confusion over what CRT means, as well as its relationship to other terms, like ‘anti-racism’ and ‘social justice,’ with which it is often conflated,” not to mention the fact that CRT “is now cited as the basis of all diversity and inclusion efforts regardless of how Kinghorn 22 much it’s actually informed those programs.” This is all to say that CRT is complicated, and teaching it cannot be done well in just one conversation. CRT origins go decades back as an important anti-discrimination tool to transform and legitimize law and its racist nature (K.W. Crenshaw, 1988). CRT did not appear in academia until Ladson-Billings and Tate’s book, Toward a Critical Race Theory of Education (1995). But, truthfully, the majority of articles addressing social justice within the field of Rhetoric and TPC (technical and professional communication) were written in the last five years, as it has gained legitimacy and interest-at least as a “sexy” (Walton et al. 4) and “exotic” (Haas 294) topic. Lori Patton (2015) says the sudden interest in social justice results in universities show-casing “diversity courses” as an easy fix that further benefits White supremacy as they “commoditize diversity” under the guise of being “progressive” (321). Patton says such courses rarely “promote deeper learning and knowledge acquisition about diversity,” and consequently, students leave these “stand-alone cultural diversity courses unchanged” (321-322). A “stand-alone” course educating students on social justice at a university is ironic, at best, if students learn to theorize the ways injustice occurs and then see universities ignoring those injustices. Further, these courses can do more harm than good if students leave these courses understanding social justice, as simply a theory that one can agree or disagree with. Patton says diversity is “espoused in higher education, but not sufficiently enacted” (322). Patton continues: The idea of diversity is a fashionable concept used throughout higher education. Most within-college and university settings would argue the value of having diversity. However, higher education has not reached a point of true racial diversity, in terms of demographics or within regard to policies, procedures, the curriculum, and the numerous other areas. (332), Higher education has not always loved the idea of social justice but has slowly come around. And yet, even though social justice issues are accepted and even embraced on college campuses, academic culture is still dependent on traditions of the past. This means that while many college instructors embrace diversity and CRT, they still teach language practices in the classroom that perpetuate racism. This is perhaps because many fear “doing it wrong” or because of the risk involved in enacting social justice (Walten et al., 2019, 5). Often educators “would rather tiptoe around the issue of race rather than directly address it” (Patton et al. 136). However, there is a growing number of voices within higher education and TPC that recognize the need for change and are willing to voice these injustices, and they, in turn, are empowering fellow colleagues to speak up. Inoue says, “[e]ven we academics and teachers of color are trapped in cages of such American Whiteness” (354). Inoue told his fellow colleagues of color, “we in this room made it despite the system, not because of it, yet we are part of the system now” (354). We can’t understate the important conversations around CRT that academia is contributing to and “producing richer, more nuanced research” in the field of CRT (Ledesma and Caldoron 214). But, perhaps, the biggest hurdle is getting school leaders, state governments, and their financial supporters to support changing a system that benefits them, especially if a new system could put their power in jeopardy or make them obsolete. However, they and Zorn have legitimate concerns; we do not know what the implications of decolonized college degrees will have on the job market. Bachelor's degrees already have less value than they did fifty years ago. Will the value of higher education continue to decrease, especially for technical writers? Quite possibly. But is it still the right thing to do? Definitely. As a theory in academia CRT poses little threat to such people, but as a pedagogical tool adopted in higher education, professional Kinghorn 23 settings, and K-12 schools, CRT is a real threat to white supremacy practices. Consequently, we have seen a growing number of anti-CRT voices come from (mostly white) communities, and there is a very real battle still going on against CRT in public schools, school boards, and state legislatures across America, and not just in extreme states. According to EducationWeek, “since January 2021, 42 states have introduced bills or taken other steps that would restrict teaching critical race theory or limit how teachers can discuss racism and sexism” (Schwartz). Clearly, things have gotten a little out of hand. All over the United States, schools are dealing with the backlash of misunderstandings around CRT and rushed legislation with vague wording aimed at getting CRT out of schools. According to Sarah Schwartz, writer for EducationWeek, in Tennessee, “a parents’ group ‘challenged the use of an autobiography of Ruby Bridges. . .The parents complained that in depicting the white backlash to school desegregation, the book violated the state’s new law in sending the message that all white people were bad and oppressed Black people.” In New Hampshire, a proposed bill “would ban teachers from advocating ‘any doctrine or theory promoting a negative account or representation of the founding and history of the United States of America’” (Schwartz). And, in Florida, a bill went one step further “giving parents ‘private right of action’ to sue if they believed their children were being taught critical race theory in schools” (Schwartz). CRT’s standing in public school and political settings is delicate, to say the least, and if higher education is not explicit in its support of CRT pedagogy, then we might not be able to recover from this catastrophe. We cannot afford to move backward in the cause of social justice and in order to prevent further damage I believe certain changes need to happen within academic culture. Curricular Interventions “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master's house.” -Audre Lorde, 1983 The first change needed is an acknowledgment from universities of a skewed preference towards language practices that orientate from racist ideologies. In the United States, higher education originated when slavery was legal and enslaved humans were used to build huge and ornate buildings. Many of these universities are still very wealthy and part of a culture and history that are only possible because of slavery. In a video interview conducted by Harvard Radcliffe Institute, Clint Smith said to reckon with the history of slavery, each university and organization should: acknowledge what happened to make that institution possible. I mean, that is absolutely the first thing that has to happen. There has to be an institution-wide recognition and public acknowledgment of what the role that slavery has played in the conception, in the building, in the sustaining of an institution. And then from there, I think one has to consider the ways that should be integrated into the curriculum of the institution, and to what way we can make sure no one graduates from that institution without a really sophisticated understanding of that institution’s relationship to the history of slavery, or maybe genocide, or whatever the case may be. And I think also you have to think very carefully about what making amends for that intergenerational harm looks like. And what Georgetown decided–again, part of it depends on the institution, on the local community, it depends on the specific history of each institution…All of the different Kinghorn 24 institutions have very specific relationships to this history. So, I think acknowledgment, dissemination of information, to both the current students and alumni, and the broader public, and then, thinking about very specific ways to make material amends for that. (46:00) In a world that often overlooks the wrongs of the past, Smith says, “let’s do better,” and I agree. I wish that I had learned about the Indigenous people displaced by the universities I attended. I want to know their stories better; I want to know what wrongs I am unknowingly complicit in. There is still much work to be done recovering stories of Native Americans, Native Hawaiians, and other American territories at universities across the country. One such story comes from Dartmouth University, where school leaders recently disclosed papers they have had in their possession since the18th century that belonged to Mohegan scholar Samson Occom, who was a “gifted orator.” The papers prove that In the 1760s at [Reverend Eleazar] Wheelock’s urging, Occom traveled to Europe to raise funds for what he believed would be a school in Connecticut for Native students. But not long after his return, he learned that Wheelock diverted the funds to the founding of a school in New Hampshire that catered to the sons of white settlers. It became Dartmouth College. (Orson) According to David Freeburg, Dartmouth Library Archivist, Occom raised “more than £12,000 (about $2.4 million today).” And yet, for centuries, Dartmouth has failed to honor Occom’s role in the school’s history and “has denied both Native and non-Native students and the larger community the truth of Dartmouth's founding” refusing “to return a collection of Occom's handwritten papers” to the Mohegan Tribe (qtd. in Orson). Finally, on April 27, 2022, at a Reparation Ceremony, Dartmouth returned those original documents to the Mohegan people. President Philip Hanlon said, “having so many white scholars and so few or no Indian scholars gives me great discouragement. And now I am afraid we shall be deemed as liars and deceivers in Europe” (qtd. in Orson). According to Orson, “[f]ewer than 20 Native American students got Dartmouth degrees between 1769 and 1969. In 1970, the school began actively recruiting. About 1,200 Native Americans have graduated since.” Like Smith, I agree that words of apology are not enough and that amends should be made to communities that have been taken advantage of for centuries, but I don’t think that reparations should be a decision left up to universities alone; I think they need to include the communities affected and ask how to approach reparations in a respectful manner. For Dartmouth, a very reasonable material reparation would be setting up a scholarship fund for Mohegan students to attend Dartmouth in the amount Occom raised for Native students: “more than £12,000 (about $2.4 million today)” (Freeburg). The second necessary change is a recognition of the value from the academy and academic publications of non-white language and “interpretive communities” by integrating their practices and language into classrooms, curricula, academic circles, and respectable publications, essentially showing POCs that they belong in higher education. According to Paul Kei Matsuda: the value of integrating discourse practices of other languages and cultures can . . . create opportunities for writers from other traditions to contribute their unique perspectives, further and enriching the discourse practices within the U.S. academy. Conversely, by not understanding other rhetorical practices, monolingual-English-speaking academics are missing out on the opportunities to learn from knowledge that can only be produced in different parts of the world (194). Kinghorn 25 Matsuda’s integration of discourse practices from both students and the teacher is how I imagine decolonized “interpretive communities” functioning in classrooms. This integration should not only come from class discourse but from course content. I feel strongly that this is a defining step that will prove what we value more than any thesis or book can. Terry Kawi says it is “our responsibility as educators to take steps in finding texts that not only showcase the voices and stories of our students and their ancestors but prioritize and humanize them beyond a month on the calendar.” One of the reasons white language supremacy—and hence white epistemology—still dominates academic culture is that the material mainly studied revolves around dated and sometimes racist narratives. Instead of being exposed to cultures and discourses that offer new insights and narratives, students often leave universities further detached from alternative discourses and the people who use them. Of course, this is not always the case. Many educators are putting in the hard work of shifting tainted ideologies within higher education, but they are currently working against the system when they shouldn’t have to; universities should be supporting them. And sadly, the majority of these college instructors are POCs who are put in conflicted positions because they want to support non-white students and the use of alternative discourses but still acknowledge, as Paul Kei Matsuda does, that encouraging “students to construct alternative discourses without providing them with an accurate understanding of the dominant discourse practices would be irresponsible because . . . newcomers to academic discourse are not granted the kind of authority that established scholars have” (195). In the most recent 2010 Octalog hosted by CCCC, rhetoricians gathered to discuss the future of composition, and most agreed that a pedagogical shift was necessary. Describing the conference, Ronald L. Jackson observed, “We had at least three panelists discuss the significance of a radically progressive multicultural pedagogy. I urge everyone who reads these words and attends these events to do some critical self-interrogation and rigorously revise your pedagogy to be more aggressively culturally inclusive. It is only then that we truly educate our students to be effective citizens” (Agnew et al 131). Teachers should incorporate readings from around the world; both academic sources and unconventional sources that model “code-meshing.” Laura Long points out that when students “hear the rhythms of their own voices in their own literature, a literature that validates their identity, they get excited about their reading. It is as if they never imagined their world was significant enough to be in the pages of literature” (144). In addition, white students learn the value of diverse communities, instead of only their own. The point is not to disregard or ignore any type of reading, but to expose students to modern language and new cultures. Aja Y. Martinez’s article, “A Plea for Critical Race Theory Counterstory” argues that it is “crucial to use a narrative methodology that counters other methods that seek to dismiss or decenter racism and those whose lives are affected daily by it” (33). Although most American universities and college instructors are culturally open-minded, they primarily utilize what Martinez calls, “counterstory” or narratives that “establish a shared sense of identity, reality, and naturalization of their superior position” (38). This is a problem because students are taught to leave behind native identities and assimilate to a supreme academic culture if they want to succeed. When we view academic discourse as the best language, we further support dominant white supremacy within academic culture. Teachers need to infuse existing content with “stock story” (Martinez) to acknowledge the importance of all languages and cultures. Kinghorn 26 I hope to see English departments (and every department across campus) hiring diversity specialists whose job responsibilities includes finding and creating resources for teachers. This is perhaps the most important way departments can show their support of their students of and teacher of color. One way teachers voice support is by providing example lesson plans that incorporate CRT ideals for K-12 and higher education settings. In this thesis, I focus on higher education, but I also provide a section of resources geared toward K-12 educators because I have found these educators to be ahead of the curve when it comes to decolonizing pedagogy. I have learned a lot from them, and I think you can, too. My hope is that by reading some of these lesson plans, teachers that may be resistant to CRT curriculum will realize that they can support CRT pedagogy because it is literally any pedagogy that is anti-racist. With this in mind, I now begin a collection of resources, essays, and links I have put together: real tangible decolonizing praxis to utilize in both higher education and K-12 classes. I hope you find them to be as wholesome and helpful as I have. Resources for Teachers “Let us admit it, the settler knows perfectly well that no phraseology can be a substitute for reality. -Franz Fanon, 1963 (The Wretched of the Earth 45). In order to understand the large-scale epistemic issues at work in the history and practice of higher education, a hugely important practice that teachers can contribute to is creating student assignments and teacher training material geared toward incommensurate “interpretive communities.” In other words, teachers should aim to create content that encourages non-hierarchal epistemology or “border thinking:” which I defined earlier as non-right, non-left, and most importantly, non-Western. I envision carefully-curated assignments, essays, workshops, videos, and trainings that create opportunities for students and teachers to analyze, and enmesh, to be mutually informed and mutually responsible. This is what I am attempting to do in the following sections. A. Adaptations to Classic Literature There is an ongoing debate in both higher education and K-12 on how to approach classic literature that has dominated Western curriculums for so long and Shakespeare is never far from this debate. I believe that by studying adaptations of classic literature we find the idea balance of incommensurate “interpretive communities:” traditional vs modern. If you think there are not many adaptations to choose from, think again! The following adaptations of Shakespearean plays prove we can appreciate works of the past while respectfully altering or adapting them to serve the needs of decolonization. The following adaptations are great starting points for Shakespearean works that approach decolonization being written or performed by POCs. By studying these adaptations alone or next to the original play, students can grasp the extent of racism or sexism present in the original play and use the adaptation as a gauge of progress made in social norms. Teachers can ask students what they would change if they were to write a 2022 (or replace with the current year) adaptation of Shakespeare’s play. Would students choose to gender swap roles, rewrite scripts for POC actors and actresses, or for perhaps an all-female POC cast? How would these changes affect the context of the play? Would they also choose to change the setting or location of the play? These are important questions to ask? Adaptations with resources: Kinghorn 27 ● Macbeth — Orson Welles’s “Voodoo” Macbeth (1936), Stage Adaptation ● Much Ado About Nothing—Kenny Leon’s NYC Shakespeare in the Park’s Much Ado About Nothing (2020) Stage Adaptation Other Adaptations for Consideration: ● Othello—Not Now, Sweet Desdemona by Murray Carlin (1967) Play/Stage Adaptation ● The Tempest—Une Tempête [A Tempest] by Aimé Césaire (1969) Play/Stage Adaptation ● Antony and Cleopatra—A Branch of the Blue Nile by Derek Walcott (1983) Stage Adaptation ● Othello—Ophelia by Lisa Klein, (2006) Fiction Novel ● Hamlet—Desdemona by Toni Morrison and Rokia Traoré (2011) Stage Adaptation ● Hamlet—To Be or Not to Be by Ryan North (2013), Fiction (choose-your-own-path version) Animated Novel ● Hamlet—The Steep and Thorny Way by Cat Winters (2016), Fiction Novel ● Othello—Bloodline by Joe Jiménez (2016) YA/Teen Fiction Novel ● Othello—Chasing the Stars by Malorie Blackman (2016) Space Novel ● Othello—Speak of me as I am by Sonia Belasco (2017) YA/Teen Fiction Novel ● Othello—Othello-San by Theodore A. Adams (2018), Movie ● Othello—American Moor by Keith Hamilton Cobb (2020), Play/Stage Adaptation ● Othello—Manga Classic Othello (2021), Manga Novel Image 1: From Orson Welles’s “Voodoo” Macbeth: A Costume Drawing for Malcolm by Nat Karson, Image published on Library of Congress Website Orson Welles's “Voodoo” Macbeth (1936) ● Read “Shakespeare, Orson Welles, and the ‘Voodoo’ Macbeth” by Susan McCloskey Kinghorn 28 ● Read “Afro-Haitian-American Ritual Power: Vodou in the Welles-FTP Voodoo Macbeth” by Benjamin Hilbas ● Watch clip of Orson Welles’s “Voodoo” Macbeth”: https://www.filmpreservation.org/preserved-films/screening-room/t1-we-work-again-1937# There is not an accessible script to study, the only copy is now “held by the Billy Rose Theater Collection of the New York Public Library at Lincoln Center” (McCloskey 407), but don’t let that sway you from studying this adaptation because there are quite a few peer-reviewed publications describing this play, I recommend “Shakespeare, Orson Welles, and the ‘Voodoo’ Macbeth” by Susan McCloskey, “Afro-Haitian-American Ritual Power: Vodou in the Welles-FTP Voodoo Macbeth” by Benjamin Hilbas and a stunning four-minute clip of the live play preserved from We Work Again (1937). Orson Welles’s all-Black Haitian adaptation of Macbeth is a really interesting case to study for several reasons. Welles was only twenty when he debuted the “first Black professional production of Shakespeare” (McCloskey 406) with “a genuine witchdoctor” who drummed and chanted “African spells” during the show (qtd. in Hilbas 663). Not only did this adaptation boldly showcase the three witches in Macbeth, but it received a remarkably positive response for the time. In fact, according to Benjamin Hilb: After selling out every one of its sixty-four performances at the Lafayette, its run was continued for eleven performances at another NYC venue, the Adelphi. Still exhibiting remarkable momentum, the show was nationalized as a paragon of FTP [Federal Theatre Project] success: Voodoo Macbeth, as it has come to be called, traveled to Bridgeport, Hartford, Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit, Cleveland, and Dallas—and this in spite of the fact that 1930s U.S. was “strictly Jim Crow,” so “hotel accommodations for blacks were non-existent in many cases.” (649) It is estimated that at least 150, 000 people saw the play performed live in New York alone; no small feat during the depression (Rippy 84). McCloskey called it “a respectful and irreverent, occasionally clumsy and frequently brilliant adaptation” (406-07). It was a visually stunning show that was made to impress. McCloskey says: “Everything about his production was big, startling, almost impossibly lavish, and loud. Macbeth in 1606 had required at most a company of fourteen actors; Welles employed a cast and crew of 137” and according to one reviewer, “Macduff’s ‘satin-striped red and white breeches,’ Macbeth’s ‘military costumes of canary yellow and emerald green,’ [and] the women’s dresses of ‘salmon pink and purple’ gave the production ‘a hot richness.’” It was a show to stun and please, and it certainly did. Kinghorn 29 Image 2: Photograph of the arrival of King Duncan and his court at Macbeth's palace in Act I, Scene 2, of the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre dated April 1936. *This was a black and white photo in the public domain that I added color to. In film notes from the National Film Preservation Foundation of Orson Welles’s “Voodoo” Macbeth (1937) it says: If few of the available black actors had experience with blank verse, that was all the better to Welles, who, throughout his career, made Shakespeare less highbrow, often by way of massive textual changes. After a long four-month rehearsal, Macbeth opened at the Lafayette Theater (7th Ave. at 133rd St.) on April 14, 1936. Welles’s Shakespeare was very different than any other Shakespeare play that the public had experienced, and it was just what the public needed during the depression: it was scandalous, exciting, and liberating. McCloskey says: Welles had reduced by half the length of Shakespeare’s script, redefined the play’s world, enlarged the witches' roles, revised Shakespeare’s characterizations, and altered Macbeth’s meanings. In other words, as the title page of the working script quite accurately declared, this was a production of “Macbeth by William Shakespeare, [all-Black] Version, Conceived, Arranged, Staged by Orson Welles.” This is what I envision in modern, decolonized English classrooms. Be bold. Adapt where you need to. Give everyone a voice: even the “witch.” Welles not only gave the witches more of a voice, but I argue that he showcases them: they are the stars. Welles was clearly key, as the director in having an open mind, but I think his cast was really the creative genius behind the execution of his idea, as should the students of every classroom should be. Kinghorn 30 Image 3 (below): Danielle Brooks as Beatrice in Kenny Leon’s adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing, Photo by Sara Krulwich of the New York Times Kenny Leon’s Much Ado About Nothing (2020) ● Full Recording of the Play Available with Subscription: Much Ado About Nothing | About | Great Performances | PBS ● Watch: “All in the Details: Why Much Ado About Nothing is Relevant Today” ● Listen to Shakespeare Unlimited: Episode 133 https://www.folger.edu/shakespeare-unlimited/kenny-leon-much-ado Kenny Leon’s production of Much Ado About Nothing satisfies on every level, but it is the small details and modern flair that set it apart from previous productions. For example, the Stacey Abram 2020 sign, the references to pop culture, the black S.U.V. in the background, the signs that read “Now More Than Ever We Must Love,” “I Am a Person,” “Hate Is Not a Family Value,” and “Restore Democracy Now.” All of these details provide a rich setting for this interpretation of Much Ado and are reflective of the current cultural and political ideologies, which are important if Shakespeare is going to stick around and continue to stay relevant (Jan Kott’s Shakespeare Our Contemporary). According to Leon, this production is set in the (then) future of 2020, in Aragon, Georgia (inspired by Don Pedro’s place of origin: Aragon, Spain). There are an incredible number of thoughtful details that Leon employs—“Easter eggs” for viewers to discover—but there is no doubt that this adaptation celebrates Black actors and Black culture by utilizing an all-Black cast. The music, the blocking, the dancing, and the attitude with which the play is delivered point specifically to modern Black communities across America today, and unlike many Shakespeare productions, audiences from various backgrounds and levels of education will not only understand but enjoy this production. In a review of this show, Atesede Makonnen says, “This production, very simply, loves blackness. From the careful lighting to the beautiful wigs to costuming and props, the creative team deliberately crafts a world that pays attention to and celebrates black actors and culture across the diaspora” (Makonnen 112). Shakespeare has long been a vessel for color-blind casting, and we know from Welles’s “Voodoo” Macbeth that this far from the first time an all-Black cast has taken on Shakespeare. But I would venture to say that that Shakespeare is not often done this way: adopting both Black culture, Black vernacular, and utilizing Black actors into a 21st century set of Much Ado. The soulful music and dancing Kinghorn 31 throughout the play stand out as distinctly 21st century and as a symbol of the Black Lives Matter conflict. Moreover, the central conflict is not a literal war, like Shakespeare’s play, but Black oppression in America. The message portrayed is that Black Americans love their country, and it’s time for America to reciprocate that love by standing up for them. Leon kept the dynamics between actors of color in this all-Black cast, which allowed the message that Black Lives Matter to speak in an organic and meaningful way. Music plays a significant role in setting the modern scene. This production opens with music: Beatrice, played by Danielle Brooks, sings a beautiful solo and is joined by her friends as they harmonize a medley of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” and “America the Beautiful.” The most meaningful scene, in my opinion, is the tribute to Hero (who is thought dead) at the end of the play. The soulful music included phrases like, “Please forgive these men that took your child,” “Teach us what to say, to make things right with those who’ve passed away,” “It’s hard to understand,” and “Show us what love is, but most of all forgive.” When hearing these powerful lyrics, it was hard for me not to think about the recent deaths in POC communities. Viewed this way, it was incredibly emotional, and Hero expresses this emotion perfectly. Another clever choice was rewriting Shakespeare’s songs, essentially fitting them into Black contemporary-sounding music. For example, the Shakespeare song, “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,” is translated to “Heart Get Happy.” And “Then sigh not so, but let them go, / And be you blithe and bonny, / Converting all your sounds of woe / Into Hey nonny, nonny” is turned into the rhythmic and soulful song first sung by Balthazar, and later reprised by Benedict that says, “Pack up all your sad songs, / Trade them in for glad songs, / And sing, na, na, na, na” The new lyrics are so catchy that audience members can’t help joining in when Benedict dances to these lyrics. It is so well done. It was interesting to see Dogberry’s character, played by actress Lateefah Holder, minimized in this adaptation. In addition to Dogberry’s lines being reduced, the scenes and lines did not have the same comedic punch, I have become accustomed to. Dogberry can be such a hilarious comedic relief from the serious scenes of the play, but in this production, we did not see the full potential of Dogberry, nor did we see a twist or reinterpretation of Dogberry that could have been meaningful amidst calls to “Defund the Police.” While this could be a missed opportunity, it allowed Brooks and Coleman to shine brighter as comedians. Danielle Brooks (from Orange Is the New Black) leads this cast in the tone of both the serious and funny scenes. Her southern slang and comedic emphasis on words like “Bene-DICK” are essential to making this play feel like a comedy, and she delivers these effortlessly. I have never witnessed a production of Much Ado where the success hinged more on Beatrice than Benedict, but this production did just that, and they pulled it off. It was refreshing to see Benedict take a step back from the spotlight and allow the leading lady to shine. The fact that Leon chose to showcase Beatrice shows how far the play has come in terms of patriarchy and unrealistic expectations for female actors. Not only is Brooks’ interpretation of Beatrice unconventional, but “conveys one of the production’s central themes—the beauty of non-conformity” (Dhillon et al.). Brooks is breaking down gender walls for leading ladies in several ways; she is not the meek and subdued actress we have grown up watching, and she is what the industry would call “plus-sized.” A women’s size should not be a factor in casting, but it is in the theatre and movie business, and Brooks said she knew that the chance to play Beatrice was unlikely to come again and so she turned down a paid movie contract for an unpaid part in an outdoor production because she wanted to show girls that “you can be dark-skinned and thick Kinghorn 32 honey sized 16 . . . and be a Beatrice” (Noah 1:40). Brooks is such a strong actor that Benedict has his work cut out for him. I was skeptical at first if Benedic, played by Grantham Coleman, would be able to step up to Beatrice’s strong personality and wit to fill the part with satisfaction, but Coleman delivers with several standout moments. First, his “Kobe” impression while jumping from one hiding spot to another, during the spying scene (45:00) had fellow actors almost laughing on stage. Coleman is not only referencing Black culture, but he is doing it almost seamlessly, in moments the audience can miss if they are not watching closely. Another example is his hilarious interpretive dance while hiding behind a bush, listening to Balthazar sing (42:35, 43:26). And I cannot forget the moment when Beatrice enters to “Bid him to dinner,” (51:10), and he quickly falls from a standing position into quick push-ups 2to impress the lady. Coleman is a physical actor in the best way. And yet, when he needed to be emotional and vulnerable, later on after Hero was accused, he delivered (1:30:00). This production makes Shakespeare so modern and relatable in every way, except one: the expectation of womanly fidelity before marriage. To be fair, this is a dated element written into the script and it is hard to alter because it affects the plot. However, the expectation of Hero’s fidelity before marriage has too much weight to be believable if the year is 2020. While Hero’s betrayal is still upsetting in modern days, it would not warrant death, violence, or outrage in the U.S. [where it is set] the way it did during Shakespearean time. Further, I don’t believe Hero would be immediately blamed and turned on without further proof in 2020. I wish they had altered the script slightly, to include a more believable plot. Perhaps, even switching the Priest and Leonato’s lines after Hero’s accusation, so that Hero’s own father does not betray her so easily. I may be alone in this opinion, but I believe this is one aspect of modern adaptations of Much Ado that should change to be updated for modern viewers. However, I acknowledge that this scene can be an opportunity for classrooms to discuss gender equality and human rights in a global setting: there are parts of the world (today) where women do not have the rights that women enjoy in the U.S. And, the U.S. has its own history of gender inequality, but particularly in regard to women of color and enslaved women. The ending of this production stands out from other productions of Much Ado and the message is fitting for diverse audiences watching. Yes, there is celebration and dancing, but the wedding party is interrupted by police sirens and Benedict does not wave it off and exclaim, “think not on [it] til tomorrow . . . Strike up” (5.4.131-33). They cannot forget the realities of Black communities even for one night and there is no time to waste— no end in sight to the conflict they face. Embracing their loved ones the men leave again, picking up their signs to return to the protest. And it is Beatrice, not Benedict, who has the last word. Beatrice echoes her first rendition of “What’s Going On,” which opened the show, but this one is different; no one comes in to harmonize with “America the Beautiful.” Instead, Beatrice adds her own words. She sings: “War is not the answer. Only love can conquer hate. What’s going on?” And the lights go down. With an incredibly successful run for a free Shakespeare at Park, at Central Park in NYC, it’s no wonder that THIRTEEN’s Great Performances series decided to record this play that later debuted on the PBS channel for larger audiences to enjoy. Thankfully, it is still available to view on the PBS website, with a subscription. This is a Shakespearean adaptation that beautifully displays the power of a non-hierarchal epistemology, while still using Western words. And yet, 2 You can view a free clip here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZntvRQFivM at 1:20 Kinghorn 33 many of those Western words from Renaissance origin have been given non-Western meaning through the director’s modern interpretation. It is incredibly creative and liberating. B. Fiction Literature The following section was written for Dr. Rebekah Cumptsy’s Decolonizing Gothic Literature Class (MENG 6260). In it, I introduce Jesmyn Ward’s novel Sing, UnBuried Sing and Helen Fein’s concept called the “universe of obligation.” Together, I break them down as non-hierarchal tools that can build empathy to redefine Western attitudes of “obligation.” I recommend teaching Ward’s novel in upper-level undergraduate or master’s level English or Sociology courses and using the resources. Ward does not shy away from challenging topics. In this way, she is comparable to Toni Morrison. I have provided discussion questions at the end of the section that can also be used as journal prompts. I firmly believe that fictional narratives like Ward’s novel—when taught by skilled teachers who understand them—can help build empathy and understanding in a way that is hard to replicate but also protects POCs of having to share and re-share traumatic stories. Teaching Jesmyn Ward’s Sing, UnBuried Sing: A Pedagogical Tool in College English Jesmyn Ward’s (2017) Sing, Unburied Sing is a story about a multi-generational black family living in twenty-first-century Mississippi amidst incredibly difficult circumstances. Although fictional, Ward based her characters and the setting of her story on real circumstances she witnessed being raised in DeLisle, Mississippi, as the daughter of a maid (PBS NewsHour). Like her character Leonie, Ward also lost her brother; he was only nineteen years old when he died in a car accident (PBS NewsHour). Sing, Unburied Sing has received an overwhelming amount of praise and recognition from critics because of its raw honesty, yet some readers say they can’t recommend it because the content is too “difficult” (Jimmy Jeffress from Facebook, posted July 16, 2018). I think this can be attributed to sociologist Helen Fein’s concept called the “universe of obligation” (4). When readers say it’s just not their thing or they would rather not talk about Sing, Unburied Sing what they mean is that Ward discusses uncomfortable topics such as racism, drugs, or limited access to healthcare for Black communities. And for some readers these “uncomfortable topics” go outside of what they consider their “universe of obligation” or what Western society has deemed important or appropriate topics. In this thesis, I argue that Sing, Unburied Sing should be used as a pedagogical tool in higher education to build empathy and understanding in otherwise disconnected (usually white) communities to discuss and redefine Western attitudes of “obligation” with the ultimate goal of building unity. This section will introduce teachers to the novel and the author as well as valuable resources to effectively teach this novel to students. Ward’s qualifications: ● BA in English and MA in Media Studies and Communication from Stanford University. ● MFA from the University of Michigan. ● The only woman to win the National Book Award two times (2011, Salvage the Bones and 2017, Sing, Unburied, Sing) Kinghorn 34 ● Published works: Where the Line Bleeds (2008), Salvage the Bones (2011), Men We Reaped (2013), The Fire This Times (2016), Sing, Unburied Sing, (2017), Navigate Your Stars (2020). After receiving the 2017 Macarthur Ward Fellowship or “Genius Grant,” a prestigious creative award with a no-strings-attached $625,000 gift, Ward said in an interview: In my family and in my community, I see people struggling with drug addiction, I see people struggling with poverty . . . I know it’s been easy for people who are not familiar with them, to see them as being only one thing, to stereotype them, to flatten them. . . I hope people that read my books . . . perhaps feel empathy for us, you know, and really see us as a complicated people. (Ward, RSS) There is no doubt in my mind of the intelligence of Ward’s writing, and my personal feelings are that if people of color (POC) authors, such as Ward, are willing to put themselves out there and have such difficult conversations, then the least I can do, is read their work. But as an educator, I need to do more. I need to make sure I am getting this kind of work out there. I am determined to support artists like Ward and to have those hard conversations. Ward has received a long list of positive reviews for Sing, Unburied Sing, but a few worth mentioning are (listed on Wikipedia): ● The Washington Post’s Ron Charles compared it to George Saunders’s Lincoln in the Bardo and Toni Morrison’s Beloved ● NPR’s Annalisa Quinn found it “reminiscent of As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner” ● It was selected by Time magazine and The New York Times as one of the top ten novels of 2017 Come you compare those three exception reviews to the Amazon.com reviews, it the result it somewhat surprising. Of course, a 4.4 out of 5 rating is not bad, but when you take a closer look, many of the written reviews are brutal. One of the top reviews by Elizabeth Gibson, from Georgia, says “I wanted to love this book. . . Kayla and JoJo are likable and ring true until...‘Richie’ the ghost becomes a character who narrates parts of the story and, in my opinion, derails it.” Another Review by Patricia, from Florida, says, “I can’t remember when I wanted so badly for such a disjointed written book to end. . . The characters had no depth.” Another unnamed Amazon customer from Maryland said: The book is well written and the story is sound, but I’m coming out of a lengthy time of trouble & did not enjoy reading about someone else’s troubles or entrenched racism. My problem with this story was entirely a matter of personal taste. This is a book for someone who enjoys stories about families persevering through very troubled times, navigating the issues of race relations in the South. And Robert Clark, from New York, said, “The text seems workshopped to death with minute detail that does not develop the characters, setting, action or inner life of the characters, but could be misconstrued as beautiful writing. Moreover, everything that takes place is a cliche.” Now, I do not bring these reviews up to put down Ward’s writing. On the contrary, there are countless incredible book reviews of Sing, Unburied Sing by noteworthy critics (as I mentioned earlier). I bring up reviews by normal everyday people to prove a point: a lot of people are uncomfortable with any type of reading that breaks the mold, even when it comes in the format of a fictional narrative. Perhaps these everyday reviewers were expecting a fun and light-hearted book or didn’t know what Ward’s book was about before starting, but reviews that remark on the book Kinghorn 35 characters’ depth or remark that Sing, Unburied Sing was well written, but not a topic they wanted to read about are somewhat alarming and show me more than anything the realities of structural racism in America. The fact that so many readers were offended by its content, and would “rather not” read it, proves to me that white privilege is alive and well because if you are Black and you grow up in the South, chances are that you probably know about these realities without reading Ward’s book: you don’t get a choice to “opt-out.” What these everyday reviewers do not realize is that by rejecting narratives and stories like Ward’s they are choosing ignorance borne from and perpetrated structural racism: the kind of racism that makes it very difficult for some to own a home, escape poverty, and have access to healthcare. As a result, many turn to illegal drugs to cope with mental and other health problems: serious themes we experience through characters like Jojo, Kayla, and Leonie. The rejection of literature like Sing, Unburied Sing is common, but should not be a badge of honor in society and proves that we have a long way to go when it comes to changing Western attitudes of “obligation.” In fact, the first Black woman to win the Nobel Literature Prize, Toni Morrison, is “a regular fixture on the American Library Association (ALA)’s annual list of the top 10 most challenged books.” Emily Knox, author of Book Banning in 21st-Century America, says that Morrison’s books “do not sugarcoat or use euphemisms. And that is actually what people have trouble with” (qtd. in Waxman). Morrison’s Beloved deals with themes very similar to Ward’s novel. Knox admits that “the legacy of slavery is. . . a violent legacy,” and that is exactly why the history of slavery should be taught: We can never mistake the realities of slavery or county’s complicity to the institution. Fein’s “Universe of Obligation” *Have students watch the video “Creating We and They”: Kwame Anthony Appiah *For more ideas on how to teach students about the “Universe of Obligation” 3 Fein’s “universe of obligation” can help students understand why they unconsciously harbor certain biases toward groups of people: it is human nature. A person’s “universe of obligation” can be defined as a group of individuals within a society ‘toward whom obligations are owed, to whom rules apply, and whose injuries call for amends’ (Fein 4). In other words, a society’s universe of obligation includes those people who that society believes deserve respect and whose rights it believes are worthy of protection. (“Universe of Obligation”) Kwame Anthony Appiah explains in his video, that humans naturally develop and harbor “us/them” attitudes which sometimes lead us down terrible paths. For example, Hitler and the Holocaust. The Holocaust can be a good starting point for otherwise resistant or out-of-touch white students because even if they are not ready to embrace the themes Sing, Unburied Sing presents, 3 * Supplemental readings I suggest for students to read are marked with an asterisk Kinghorn 36 they can agree that the Holocaust was morally wrong, as an act of racism toward a group of Eurocentric people. The following quote by Peter Carroll and David Noble may help students understand how Western Christian biases originated and how they might still influence some people today: Europeans in the age of Columbus saw themselves as Christians, the most spiritually pure people in creation. This ethnocentric idea found reinforcement in the ideals of the Roman Catholic Church, which claimed to be a universal spiritual community. Yet this ideology clearly excluded such religiously different people as Muslims, against whom Christians had waged holy wars for centuries, and Jews, who remained outsiders throughout European society. Believing in a single unitary religion, members of the Catholic Church viewed [nonbelievers] as suitable either for conversion to the true faith or worthy only of death or enslavement. Such religious attitudes shaped the Europeans’ relations with Africans as well as Native Americans. (37) As Christians seeking religious freedom from the Church of England, the first settlers in America (New England) brought these anchored biases. It is not surprising then, with such atrocious and immoral attitudes towards nonbelievers, what ensued for the next few centuries. But unlike Germany and the Holocaust, our history is not taught and accepted as a “terrible mistake.” Of course, we cannot go back in time and right the wrongs that have been committed. However, we can accept the fact that mistakes were made, offer formal apologies, and teach a more complete history of America’s past so that such horrible things never happen again. For example, in Germany, it illegal to deny that the Holocaust happened, “or to display Nazi symbols . . . and to give the Hitler salute” Emily Schultheis explains that “Germany is serious about reckoning with its dark past in many aspects of society, and education is no exception. High-school students are required to take classes on 20th-century German history, including the Nazi era and the Holocaust” and many students visit the site such as Sachsenhausen or Auschwitz-Birkenau. Can you imagine if America were as responsible? Fein’s universe of obligation” is a step in right direction and a very useful tool to aid us in this cause (4). Doing this “gives us the opportunity to recognize the internalized hierarchies that influence how we think about and respond to the needs of others. While it is neither practical nor possible that one’s universe of obligation could include everyone . . . acknowledging the way we think about and prioritize our obligations toward others can help us act in a more thoughtful, compassionate manner” (“Understanding Universe of Obligation”). In other words, the circles of obligations we are raised in have deep and complicated roots in Western culture, as well as individual biases unique to our community and family cultures. Although widening our circles of obligation is difficult, it is our duty as human beings to constantly assess those biases and ask how we can do better. Parchman Prison *Have students read the following article: “Inside Mississippi’s notorious Parchman Prison” by Hannah Grabenstein (January 29, 2018) *Have students watch the documentary 13th by Ava DuVernay Parchman Prison is a real-life place in Ward’s novel that was stripped of any human decency and whose history is not well known. Ward knew she wanted Parchman Prison to play a role in Sing, Unburied Sing, but she did not understand how dark of a history it had. She said when she started researching, she was horrified to learn that as late as the 1940s Black boys were charged with petty crimes like theft or loitering and sent to “Parchman Prison Farm . . . where Kinghorn 37 they were basically re-enslaved” (“Jesmyn Ward Answers” 3:30). Ward said she was so bothered by what she learned and by the fact that she had not known about it before that she decided to tell one of