Confessions: The Burden of Wokeness

As a PhD student at Azusa Pacific University, I was required to write a blog on the integration of my faith and my academic study on the issues of race and social justice in higher education. Throughout the course I have struggled, not in the academic sense. The subject matter was by no means foreign for me. I have struggled emotionally. I sat down several times with the intent of writing this blog and kept feeling... physically feeling... myself hit the roadblock. I’m struggling with these words because it’s hard as hell to be Black, a Woman, a Christian, Working in Higher Education and Woke all at the same time. In a world of oppression, being a member of one of the most clearly and consistently marginalized racial groups is typically enough trouble for one to handle but to be Black and a woman feels like more than double the trouble. Reconciling the gravity of these marginalizations within the context of Christianity and the consistent missteps of the Higher Education profession tends to be a constant struggle of turning the other cheek or activating a never-ending blind eye.

Being “woke” in the face of all these things is nothing short of a burden… a burden that insures a running ticker of constant questions challenging my commitment to invest in cultures and communities that have consistently proven that they mean me and mine no good.

In the last year or so everyone and their mama has been attempting to prove their wokeness to the masses. A think piece here, and clever Lorde or Baldwin quote there. A bold declaration that you have awakened to see the world for who it truly is and how it chooses to see, manipulate, and harm you or others. Urban dictionary defines wokeness in terms of “knowing what’s going on in the community.” I think wokeness is the deliberate action of being honest, regardless of the pain or frustration that it will bring you, about ones environment or reality. Of course there is beauty in truth…and once you know better you do better… and <insert any bogus statement that is meant to make one feel better about having to deal with disappointment in one form or another>.

Being Woke as a Black Woman and Working in Higher Ed… #AllTheStruggle. This issue is so convoluted that this sentence alone has taken me an hour to write. What does it mean to support and uplift women of color while modeling oppression for them? Am I teaching you to code switch or am I teaching you the language and functionality of our marginalization?

It’s being driven to ascend to the mountain top but knowing that there are rules, regulations, and principalities that still question a woman’s ability to not just climb but also lead.

It’s knowing that even those who believe that women can make it… never meant Black women but are way to savvy to ever say it in dignified company, or are they.

It’s fighting for access for marginalized students, but knowing that they more than likely will share classrooms or quite possibly be graded by a bigot.

It’s knowing that my professional mobility is dependent on top notch credentials and an extensive track record of excellence while my White and/or male counterparts are statistically proven to travel farther based on a good ol’ boy or their kissing cousins.

It is knowing, and thinking, feeling, and living all of these things and still having the courage to keep going…Because you know that its been a long time coming… but change will only come at the end of a well played game… and You feel responsible to play the game.

Being Woke as a Black Woman, and Giving Honor to God, Who is the Head of Your Life, While Acknowledging that the Practice of Christianity and Christians are Problematic AF is difficult.

There, I said it. No one with good sense can look at this past election, with all its racism and bigotry and not notice that the majority of folks cheering it all on claim to be followers of Jesus. But how can one be “woke” and not acknowledge that Christians and Christianity has been cheering on BS since Jesus dipped out on his 11 homies after his resurrection. Christians and Christianity have been gas-lighting folks since forever. Conquest, rape, slavery, colonialism, murder, genocide, homophobia, classism. racism, misogyny, and oppression, Oppression, OPPRESSION.

How can folks claim to follow Jesus while leaving such a wake of destruction? Consistently. It’s hard to be Black Woke and Christian and not feel the pain of acknowledging that the middle passage and all the hell that came from it was facilitated by followers of Jesus.

What does one do with the knowledge that Christianity was literally given to my ancestors with the intent of controlling them and subsequently controlling me?

How can I have serious conversations with White Christians about our supposed “shared” faith and know that White supremacy to this day infects them and unfortunately me as well?

How can I sit up in the good ol Black Baptist Church Sunday after Sunday and watch Black folk model their oppression with the same messages of liberation and freedom that have been poured down from misogynistic pulpit to pulpit, and lapped up by misused and under supported Black women?

How sad is it that even in this critique I know that someone will question my love for the Lord or my trust in perfect will and that I am conflicted about defending myself or even playing into this age old TIRED conversation?

Its wrestling constantly with the beauty of Jesus and the demon of the social constructions and manipulations of religion…It’s hard…painful… indescribable…

I’ve written nearly 1000 words and don’t know that I’ve said anything. I guess the fact that you can read this and walk away confused might clearly communicate how genuinely conflicted I am. In reflecting on this semester, I realized that I walked into each reading searching for hope. Looking for something that would make my chosen path less difficult. I wanted the lit to prove me wrong… to challenge the negative truth I know… I am struggling to remain motivated toward what I feel purposed to do…Alas… It is what it is… I’ve said what I’ve said.

Reflections on Diversity’s Promise for Higher Education

I used to work at a small liberal arts college in a well-placed cornfield in southern Indiana. It was a terribly isolating and completely life changing experience. I walked into my time at Hanover with fear. That’s the appropriate word. I was afraid of the loneliness and onlyness that came with being one of few people of color in the county and even fewer at the institution. There were millions of reasons why I should have said no to the job and only one big reason why I was taking it… I felt God pulling me there.

The early years were tough. There were so many times when I walked into the local restaurants and felt the world screech to a halt as everyone realized that a black woman had entered the building. I’ve been stared down by confederate flag wearing men in grocery stores. People randomly grabbed my hair. I was the representative for all Black people on all the occasions. AND once, while driving back from a college fair, I found myself passing through a Trimble county Klan Rally. Yup Klan rally.

My home/work life (because I lived on the campus these experiences were inseparable) was a continuous love-hate relationship. I believed in Hanover, the place and the people. It was a genuine and warm place but the microaggressions were plentiful. That was hard to unpack. I needed these folks and I needed them to be good people and when you first begin social justice work, its really hard to not separate internalized oppression and the overall character of an individual. (This is still difficult and truth be told sometimes people aren’t good people.) But I had to learn that sometimes people have a want to be good and an internal leaning towards white supremacy.

A bigger challenge was coming to terms with the fact that these problematically good people had created some equally problematic systems and policies that negatively impacted marginalized folks. As the designated diversity staff member, it was my responsibility to point out and dismantle these policies. A great deal of vulnerability came along with this. I was an outsider in every possible way. My work seemed to be and totally was attacking the White status quo of the institution. All the White fragility… so many White tears. I cannot take credit for changing all of Hanover, but I can certainly be proud that a great deal of change came at my expense.

I say all of this to say, I appreciate Darryl Smith’s holistic approach to institutional change. As someone who has felt extremely marginalized and solely responsible for transforming an institution, I find her willingness to call out institutional Whiteness and its constant vigilance in protecting the White status quo both refreshing and long overdue. It wasn’t until reading the section of Smith’s writing that called out the unfairness that is being an administrator of color in higher education, that I finally reflected on the pain and pleasure that came along with my time in Hanover. It was honestly second nature, experience oppression while attempting to undo it.

I often feel guilty for beginning my reflections on Hanover with the not so nice moments of my time there but I can talk about my triumphs with out clearly outlining the truth about the environment. We couldn't have achieved triumph in Hanover without being honest about the environment.