-
Title
-
Article, "White Faces and Black Studies," 1970
-
Identifier
-
1976-03_000003
-
Creator
-
Dillon, Merton L.
-
Date
-
1970
-
extracted text
-
©
9
© G O
© © © ©
Is there a monopoly on interpreting the past?
MEJST0N t, DILLON
(
The furious hostility aroused in certain quarters by
William Styron's Confessions of Nat Turner should
serve to warn others who also venture to write or teach
about the Afro-American past of the reception that may
await their efforts. But more immediately instructive is
the implication the controversy has for the black studies
programs that are now being established in universities
from Massachusetts to California.
The opposition to Styron's novel revealed a state of
mind that cannot help but influence the new AfroAmerican curriculums. Styron's unpardonable sin was
not that he portrayed a Turner whose experience and
psychology some black persons found offensive. It was
simply that as a white liberal he ventured at this time to
reconstruct a crucial incident in the Negro's American
past. This is the arrogance, the persistent white chauvinism, that blacks of a particular persuasion find impossible to forgive. Having deferred so long to white domination, blacks now have no intention of relinquishing a
claim on both present and future. As they well understand, control of the record of the past can be a device
to direct events in the present and in that way help to
shape the future. For that reason the historical Turner,
a black revolutionary, cannot be allowed to become the
object of white interpretation and thereby be deprived
of his present political and ideological utility.
Those who seek evidence to support that view may
read the charges a number of critics writing in the New
York Review of Books, Nov. 7, 1968, brought against
Styron and especially against his defender, Eugene
Genovese. Genovese's flaw was not shown to be ideological or intellectual. Like Styron's, it is genetic. However deep Genovese's researches in black history may be,
those who found Confessions of Nat Turner so objectionable seem unwilling to accord him the right to make
statements related 'to his findings. Those who plan black
studies programs will have to take account of the attitude revealed by the Styron-Genovese incident.
The awkward truth is that certain black scholars have
declared a monopoly of the right and authority to interpret the past. Their history, they assert, is surrounded
by a mystique which only blacks can penetrate, and no
white scholar should- try. A tenable intellectual justificaMERTON L. DILLON
State
University.
teaches in the history department at Ohio
V \
*"—*-
tion for such a view cannot easily be found, any fibre/
than earlier white advocates of segregation and tbV
herent inferiority of blacks found rational defense of
their position easy, but we are dealing in both instances
not so much with reason as with politics, the drive for
power—in the one case for the attainment of power and
in the other for its preservation.
Although the anger represented by the exclusionist
attitude of blacks toward their history is understandable,
its implications for the study and teaching of the subject
are nonetheless disturbing. The claims to monopoly expressed by certain black historians and critics have been
embraced by black university students who, like so
many of their generation, possess both convictions and
courage. Let a white teacher venture to instruct a class
containing black militants in the facts of the AfroAmerican past, and he quickly learns the basis for this
assertion. However well informed in his subject he may
be and however sympathetic he imagines himself toward
the grievances and aspirations of blacks, he probably
still will encounter so much skepticism and thinly veiled
hostility as to make his task unpleasant and difficult, if
not impossible.
Such was my experience as I conducted History 260,
a newly introduced course in black history ai Ohio
State University, a few semesters ago. Reports from other
universities where similar attempts have been made suggest that my experience was not unique.
From a pedagogical standpoint the situation seems
ideal. Rarely does a teacher encounter students so eager
for engagement. Student motivation could hardly be
greater. An air of high seriousness supercharges the
classroom. There is little opportunity for humor or iclaxation of pace. Both instructor and students understand that the mere offering of the course is a political
act. No member of the class is likely to be unaware that
at Ohio State as at many other institutions the introduction of Afro-American, history into the curriculum was
related to vociferous demands made earlier by a black
student organization. On that account the rationale of
the course is generally understood to be at least as much
political as it is intellectual. As such it is not an enterprise that invites only nominal involvement. Everyone
senses that merely by his presence in the class he is
himself making history.
Yet despite the excitement generated by the aware-
Commonweal: 476
ness of being near the center of an important movement
and despite the stimulation of association with intense
and articulate young people, the general effect is depressing. It soon becomes obvious that the "usual past" many
of these students seek is not one that recognizes and
maximizes the achievements of black people and the
creative part they have played in American development,
as some of us in our innocence had supposed. Neither
are they satisfied with a New Left interpretation that
emphasizes the injustice and the exploitative aspects of
white management of race relations and which admits
the contradictions" and hypocrisy that have marred so
much of American history, although they certainly
would not let the absence of those strictures go unpro tested.
The core of their expectation is something few academically oriented historians are likely to give—exhortations to "liberation." Or, as one of my students bluntly
put it, "Black history must be taught by a black revolutionary," presumably for the same reason that novels
portraying black revolutionaries must not be written by
white liberals such as Styron. The educational goal of
courses in Afro-American history then is seen as strictly
utilitarian, a highly selective sifting of the past to yield
information and to produce attitudes that together will
support programs of radical action. This is the "racial
and cultural identity" such courses are expected to help
achieve.
A white instructor is not likely to be qualified to
promote such a cause, nor would black militants welcome his efforts if he tried. After hearing a classroom
presentation of some of the uglier aspects of the American past, a black co-ed addressed this plaintive appeal
to me: "Then don't you think we are justified in what
we are doing?" It was a rare effort to secure approval,
a lapse in militant role playing, as she immediately
sensed, and she never repeated her error; yet in that
question were revealed the meaning and purpose of the
course for her, and perhaps even the meaning of the
blacks' American experience itself. It could only be
impertinent for a white instructor to address himself to
such a question posed in such a setting. A black man
would have to do so, for he would be inescapably encompassed within that plaintively expressed "we."
Persisting as an undercurrent through all the weeks
the course lasted was resentment that a white person had
ventured to instruct blacks in history which was pecu-
liarly their own. Race had unfitted him for the task. A
black man was needed, it was argued (even by some
white students), because some mysterious power would
enable him to see the black past as it actually was, a
vision forever veiled from the eyes of whites. A racial
bias common enough in its application to blacks but
rarely felt by whites was pinching at me. It was beyond
the reach of argument, and it hurt.
Militant students expected the course to be shaped to
satisfy their particular political goals and pronounced
disapproval when they found it deficient in that respect.
They were impatient with discussion of historical figures
who did not fit their model of appropriate "liberative"
behavior. Mere mention of the early black New England
poet Phyllis Wheatley, who was anything but a revolutionary leader, aroused protest. The abolitionists—
"white liberals who felt sorry for blacks," as one student
described them in the ultimate condemnatory phrase—
were scorned immoderately. Analysis of Booker T.
Washington, in spite of his unquestioned magisterial
qualities, was judged irrelevant. They were quick to denounce all conciliatory black figures as having attained
position through treason to their race, scarcely even
venturing sympathy for them as victims of an overpowering white hegemony. Many of the students brought to
the classroom a dogma and a doctrinaire approach to
the subject that within my experience are rare among
undergraduates.
Although the obstacles to free discussion and to the
wide-ranging examination of history in such a situation
clearly constitute a hazard in the black studies programs,
skillful teachers, black and white, can go far toward
overcoming them if they are intent on making the effort.
It is nonetheless obvious that to make that effort is in
some degree to destroy the very intent of the programs.
The intellectual objections that legitimately may be raised
to the movement for black studies seem on balance less
pertinent than the more immediate social and political
problems it presents.
One of these grows out of the character of the educational system itself. It may be that much education in
America has been simply an enterprise in indoctrination
supportive of majority views and elitist control, and that
what we now are witnessing should be regarded as an
attempt to alter the direction of the indoctrinating process. While such efforts on the part of black students
may be objected to, objections coming from white persons must be recognized for what they are—the protest
of a threatened elite. Since the aim of many advocates
of black studies clashes with entrenched interests, it
would be unrealistic not to expect such protests. The
political import of the black studies movement is not
likely to be ignored for long. Louder calls for militancy
and separatism will emanate from the universities and
echo throughout the cities. These calls will be responded
to—both favorably and unfavorably—in many quarters,
30 January 1970: 477
I
with who Knows what threats to the integrity of the
universities. We must ask whether, under those conditions, university administrations and the men who support them will long tolerate the institutionalized advocacy of "liberation." If they fail to be patient and forbearing, and out of apprehension attempt to control or
even check the movement now underway, then the
resiliency and malleability of American society, already
severely tried, will be tested still further, this time
specifically in its educational sector. Instead of diminishing tensions, as its white advocates appear to hope, the
black studies movement eventually may intensify them
and itself become a focus of new conflict.
The likelihood of this happening appears greater
when one examines the issue of who is to staff the new
programs. Not many whites will be judged adequate for
the posts, we may be sure of that; indeed, for reasons
already suggested, the black studies vogue at present
offers few opportunities for white scholars. Will they be
staffed by traditionally qualified blacks? Ideally, yes.
But on account of past inequities and miscalculations
there are not nearly enough to go around, and the
movement will not wait while more scholars are being
trained. Who then? The question remains to be answered, but probably in some instances by persons who
are very close to the "liberation" movement and who
are perhaps selected by students themselves—instructors
who will both sway and be swayed by their classroom
constituencies. This at least is the expectation of some
student-movers of black studies programs, and at this
advanced stage of the movement it seems unlikely that
their expectation will in every instance be unrealized.
A moral question also must be raised respecting the
establishment of these academic programs, even though
to raise it is no doubt to be both old-fashioned and
irrelevant. Should the university endorse programs that
advocate and are accompanied by self-imposed segregation as the black studies movement is? The movement
The turmoil that rocked the nation's campuses this
last year grows partly out of the character of the young
black students reaching college for the first time. The
situation is likely to be more acute before this year is
out. The Ivy League, for instance, accepted 86 percent
more blacks this year than last. And such schools as the
City College of New York are playing with special admissions procedures to accept blacks and Puerto Ricans
who could not qualify under traditional academic standards.
Even the best-meaning college administrators have
been, and continue to be, grossly unprepared for the
impact of these young blacks on their campuses. Many
of these students come straight from urban ghettos, and
thus possess their own special attitudes and mores few
white academics can understand. As one faculty member
at Valley State College in suburban Los Angeles told
me: "We expected 200 Roy Wilkinses and wound up
with 200 Eldridge Cleavers."
It does no one—neither the college nor the kids—any
good to ignore the fact that many of the new black students are unprepared academically, socially and culturally for the environment of a big college campus.
Many whites are not much better prepared. Freshman
year is a wrenching and frustrating experience for almost
anyone, even a well-adjusted kid from Scarsdale. Imagine
what it must be like for a kid from Harlem. One Harvard
professor put it this way: "Many of these 'high risk'
people from core areas are incapable of plugging in here
right away. They get obsessed with the idea that what
they're learning is not relevant, they get frustrated, their
grades drop, and they feel the whole place is against
them."
The result is that some of these students tend to take
out their hostility in the way they always have—through
physical violence, or at least the threat of it. Hence the
guns at Cornell, and at several other schools as well.
It is well-known at Harvard that several freshmen kept
guns around and threatened to use them on the moderate
leadership of the Afro-American Association if the
leadership compromised with the administration in a
fight over a black studies program. Students are demanding black studies for many reasons, but one is that they
are seeking a refuge in an alien and threatening environment.
What can be done? In terms of academic preparation,
special courses could be provided that would improve
students' basic skills—reading, writing, etc. Many schools
give them now. The problem is that blacks tend to see
such courses as second-rate, or even segregationist; students in the SEEK program at Queens College, for example, rebelled against courses designed to prepare kids
with poor backgrounds for' college work. In other words,
the whole subject must be approached with great tact
and sensitivity—qualities that seem conspicuously absent
on many campuses.
As for social and cultural adaptation, only a limited
amount can, and probably should, be done. Harvard
talked about assigning each freshman his own personal
advisor and confidant, a person who can help guide the
young man (or woman) through the bewildering adjustments that have to be made in college. At the same time,
blacks are demanding their own institutions—dormitories, eating places, social centers—and do not want to
blend into existing establishments. This runs against the
fflSK^ssr
Commonweal: 478
•
constitutes a significant step toward a new separation of
the races and marks a further departure from the dream
that motivated the abolitionists of the last century and
their successors in this one—the creation of a multiracial society in which men of all colors can live together amicably and on terms of equality. And this
retrogressive step is taken at the very moment when a
different, more humane course seemed possible even
though still far from realization. It will not do to blame
black militants alone for a development in which all
Americans through many generations must share responsibility. It may be that white Americans deserve this
reaction and that whatever fates preside over the course
of history smile at their discomfiture now that the shoe
is on the other foot and mock their embarrassment that
blacks who once found all doors closed now themselves
slam them. But to be aware of such ironies makes the
growth of black separatism, especially within the universities, no less to be regretted.
Despite all our reservations about these developments,
we can hardly urge universities to be merely defenders
of existing arrangements, racial or otherwise, nor can
we demand that they avoid innovation simply in the
interest of tranquility. It is unrealistic, nevertheless, to
suppose that the black studies movement will be uncomplicated by turmoil and resistance or to suppose that
it will not create new problems as grievous as the ones it
purports to solve.
University officials justify the new programs as legitimate academic enterprises similar to the earlier established Latin American and Asian programs, as of course
theoretically they are, and some apprehensive administrators no doubt see in them the means to defuse explosive campus racial situations. Their student advocates
more realistically regard them as important political opportunities. We shall not need to wait long to discover
whether administrators or students are more shrewd in
their expectations.
integrationist ethic and undoubtedly has some unhealthy'
ramifications; it is strange to see blacks doing to themselves what the segregationists did to them for so long.
But it is probably useful and necessary. Blacks feel they
have to "get themselves together" before they can deal
with the white world on an equal basis, and that seems
fair enough. Do the same people who object to a black
social center or dormitory object to a Newman Club or
the desire of Jewish students to live together?
The controversy over black studies has illuminated
another interesting issue: what these black students are
being trained for and what they want out of life. Men
like. Roy Wilkins and Bayard Rustin have argued that
without solid academic training, young blacks will not
be equipped to take over the jobs in industry and finance that are rightfully theirs. Black studies, they say,
is self-defeating.
The argument fails to understand several things. First,
it does not recognize the almost desperate desire of
young blacks to foster racial pride, and that pride can
be nurtured, and asserted, through a black studies program. Second, it fails to realize that a growing number
of young blacks just do not want those jobs at IBM and
Chase Manhattan many older Negroes view as the epitome of success. What they want are jobs that will have
social utility, that will enable them to serve their people
and improve their lives. This feeling is part of a broad
desire, among young whites as well as blacks, for professions in which success is measured by social change,
not cold cash. This was clearly evident, for example,
during the Columbia uprising. As much as anything else,
the students were rebelling against the fact that the
university seemed to be training them for jobs in the
great corporate establishment, symbolized by the school's
Board of Trustees.
This is where the whole issue of "relevant" education
comes in. It is unfair and unknowing for critics of black
studies to say the students are wasting their time with
"soul courses." Most of the students now know'that;
few of them want to bother with Chitlins 101 or Militant
Basketweaving. What they want are courses that will
really analyze the society, that will show them how and
why decisions are made, that will give them the understanding, and the skills, to try to alter those decisions.
Some of this is rhetoric. Most colleges are just not
tools of the corporate elite the students envision, and
there is little stopping the imaginative student from
studying almost anything he wants. Moreover, black
students often feel guilty about being in college in the
first place, and they want to show that they remain militant and uncorrupted. Some of them will take jobs in
the establishment. But many of the brightest ones will
not—or if they do, will utilize the resources of the establishment for their own ends. A young black guy at Chase
Manhattan can do a lot of good by urging the bank to
make low-interest loans to ghetto businessmen. A lawyer
in a Wall Street firm can scare a lot of merchants who
are defrauding their customers.
This is the full meaning of the revolt against affluence.
We now have a student generation that can afford to
worry about things other than money; even a black
youngster from the slums knows that once he gets into
a good college, his economic future is pretty secure.
This was not true a generation ago; but it is now, and
reverberations from this basic fact are just beginning to
be felt.
STEVEN v. ROBERTS
(Steven V. Roberts, the Los Angeles bureau chief of
the New York Times, writes frequently about problems
of higher education.)
30 January 1970: 479
1976-03_000003