RECENT POSTS
How Much of Myself Do I Share?
Last summer, my father passed away suddenly. I and other people have written elsewhere about the mourning and grief while in graduate school. It’s a long and exhausting process that makes the demands of graduate school much more difficult. It was also a reminder of the strength of my community and the different resources that are (and aren’t) available to me as I move forward into a new reality. Last Fall, I got engaged. Our proposal was a complete surprise – I truly had no idea – and I was over the moon excited to come back from Thanksgiving break and tackle what was sure to be a really challenging end of the semester. I shared the news with my friends from school and from other chapters of my life. Once again, I was reminded of how dope my community is. I was lucky to be able to share my joy with the many wonderful people I’d grown close to over the years. However, during both of these hugely life-changing moments, I found myself asking the same question: who should I tell at school?
How Dance Hlped Prepare Me for the Rigors of Academia
I’ll never forget my first heartbreaking rejection. It came in the form of a thin envelope - a rejection letter from my dream dance company. I felt utterly defeated and found myself ruminating over what could have been, rather than celebrating the slew of acceptances that did come my way. I trudged around with my shoulders low as if the confidence I fought so hard to build was snatched away from me with one simple sentence, “We regret to inform you…” My mom neatly folded up the letter, put it back in its envelope and told me, “Something better is always on the horizon.”
I stopped Wearing Blazers to Class
The month leading up to my first teaching assignment was full of unsolicited, well-intentioned advice from older graduate students who stressed the importance of establishing authority in the classroom.
“You look young,” they said, “and you’re Black and a woman, so it’ll be harder for you.”
I was advised to dress up and assert myself. One friend even suggested I have students refer to me by my last name —Ms. Taylor. I tried saying it out loud to myself, and it sounded strange even to me. So with assurances from my godmother I quickly abandoned that piece of advice. “Hi, I’m Ebony.” I practiced it over and over. In the mirror, walking to the train, even in phone calls with my sister, and my anxiety around the question of authority grew.
“You look young,” they said, “and you’re Black and a woman, so it’ll be harder for you.”
I was advised to dress up and assert myself. One friend even suggested I have students refer to me by my last name —Ms. Taylor. I tried saying it out loud to myself, and it sounded strange even to me. So with assurances from my godmother I quickly abandoned that piece of advice. “Hi, I’m Ebony.” I practiced it over and over. In the mirror, walking to the train, even in phone calls with my sister, and my anxiety around the question of authority grew.
ease on down the road
Have you ever seen pictures of mountain climbers on their journeys? They have their backpacks and the necessary gear. That is it.
When I see pictures like that, I am reminded of the main song from The Wiz “Ease on down, Ease on down the road…don’t you carry nothing that may be a load, just ease on down ease on down the road!” (I want you to imagine me holding that last note all the way out!)
When I see pictures like that, I am reminded of the main song from The Wiz “Ease on down, Ease on down the road…don’t you carry nothing that may be a load, just ease on down ease on down the road!” (I want you to imagine me holding that last note all the way out!)
Reflections on Dr. King in The Classroom 50 Years Later
It has been exactly 50 years since Dr. King was gunned down on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. 50 years since we first began the changing of his narrative. 50 years since the day his dream began to die.
In anticipation of this day, I’ve been doing some work to remind myself of who Dr. King was, what he stood for, and what his vision for this country truly was. In my reflections, I couldn’t help but think of what we’re teaching our children about his legacy. About what we ourselves have been taught about his legacy.
In anticipation of this day, I’ve been doing some work to remind myself of who Dr. King was, what he stood for, and what his vision for this country truly was. In my reflections, I couldn’t help but think of what we’re teaching our children about his legacy. About what we ourselves have been taught about his legacy.
Five Things I learned from 72 Hours of Silence
Two weeks ago, I needed a break. BAD. I had had too many of those “the world is too much with me” kind of days. In an attempt to salvage what was left of the wellness I had stored up I took a 72-hour hiatus from my phone and all social media and here’s what I learned...
Look back at it: It's been a year!?!?!
Like Tiff said, I can’t believe it’s been a whole year already. An entire 365 days...and then some, but ya know: CP Time.
A YEAR END REVIEW
As I sit here reflecting on a year (at this point it’s more like 15 months) of Blackademia, I still can’t believe how much Autumn and I have accomplished in such a short time span. Just two years ago, Autumn and I used to be on the phone venting to one another about some of our frustrations with work and the issues our colleagues were dealing with. I still remember when she was like we should write a blog about this and do a podcast and talk about all of these things because they are real and I feel like we don’t dialogue about this as a community. If we do, we do it in silos, and not together.
bLACK HISTORY MONTH 2018
African Americans in Times of War
AFRICAN AMERICANS IN TIMES OF WAR
Okay! So, before you roll your eyes at the debatable oxymoron in the title or smirk while mumbling something along the lines of “well when were WE ever really NOT at war,” just hear me out. If you looked at the title and did your own rendition of any of the things I just previously mentioned, then let’s just say you have a great sense of exactly what it means to be at war. War is technically defined as a state of armed conflict between states or societies. It is generally characterized by extreme aggression, destruction, and mortality. The absence of war is referred to as “peace”.
African Americans in times of War
In times of war, we often forget about how our society changes domestically and abroad. Not only does it change the way we identify with each other given that our “enemy” is usually some foreign entity, it also challenges us to rethink what makes us American.
In George Orwell’s 1949 dystopian novel, 1984, we are introduced to the official slogans of the ruling party in Oceania: War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. Within the book, Orwell introduces us to the Ministry of Peace who is directly responsible for the armed forces. Peace is seen through the perpetuation of war. Within the constant state of being in conflict, resources are used to keep many of the citizens in constant hardship. Through these means, citizens are not able to question what is really going on. There is a false belief that the system is working in the best interest of the individual. Yet, the book goes on to highlight how the system functions for its own personal gain.
In George Orwell’s 1949 dystopian novel, 1984, we are introduced to the official slogans of the ruling party in Oceania: War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. Within the book, Orwell introduces us to the Ministry of Peace who is directly responsible for the armed forces. Peace is seen through the perpetuation of war. Within the constant state of being in conflict, resources are used to keep many of the citizens in constant hardship. Through these means, citizens are not able to question what is really going on. There is a false belief that the system is working in the best interest of the individual. Yet, the book goes on to highlight how the system functions for its own personal gain.
