Stopping the Violence at Home and Abroad: The Power of our Words in Today’s Media-Driven World

Over the summer of 2014, even a passing glance at news outlets would reveal the particularly troubling state of today’s world. The media portrait that has been constructed is one of fast-growing monstrosity, whether it is based in Gaza, Iraq, Syria, or as close to home as Ferguson, Missouri. Countless politicians and political analysts have appeared on CNN and elsewhere, either calling for the President to act more forcefully in navigating these complex situations, or heralding his political strategies as brilliant and preservative of everything we the people hold dear.

I by no means intend to spend my words proffering yet another assertion about what is right in any of these current crises, for as with any binarized statement, the process of heralding one faction as right while the other as completely wrong collapses under any amount of pressure. I am also unwilling to again assert the White House as a scapegoat for the violence unfolding in the world today. Rather, I intend to highlight a troubling tendency I have found not just on the news, but also among my own conversations with friends and formidable opponents concerning the progression of these various events. There is a part each of us can play in stopping the violence at home and abroad, awareness and a desire to understand rather than retaliate crucial to the healing of this broken world in which we live.  

This morning on CNN, Republican congresswoman Ileana Ros-Lehtinen of Florida appeared on News Room to discuss and analyze the role of the President and Congress in the current conflict with ISIS. While her interview was frustrating on numerous levels, what I found most unnerving was her repetitive use of the word “cancer” to describe this radical organization, asserting that excessive force must be unleashed as soon as possible in order to eradicate this disease from the world. The image of a detrimental and violent plague spreading to infiltrate our own country was accomplished fully by juxtaposing her interview with a story about the San Diego native revealed to be a sympathizer of ISIS. Thus, thousands of humans are dehumanized and equated with a disease to be eradicated, and yet another person of color is portrayed as a violent threat on national media. Two birds, one stone.

The repetition of her phrase was obviously planned, as nobody repeats a phrase 6+ times unless they meant to say it. My question is why she felt it would be so powerful to make this parallel, and so important that people remember it that she repeat it as many times as she did. I think the answer is rather obvious, and is similar to the reason the host of the program referred to ISIS as savage at the beginning of the hour. These words function as a means of dehumanizing the Other, placing blanket assertions of inhumanity and evil over large groups of disadvantaged people as a means of justifying more and more retaliatory violence.

I want to be clear. I am not in any way attempting to justify brutal murder, threats of terrorist action, or compulsory religious compliance. I do however want to be sure we all realize what we are doing when we use the language we do, and the effect it has on the people towards which we direct it.

I recently learned of an initiative through the EU to deport individuals particularly of Iraqi or Afghani origin, titled the European Return Platform for Unaccompanied Minors. This legislation, masked in rhetoric of family reunion and reaffirming asylum programs in countries like Norway, Sweden, the UK, and the Netherlands,  has been examined by many academics who argue that its true intentions are much more sinister. Though the programs mandates shelter for those that are sent home, and professes to find their families when they arrive, the implementation of these goals is much easier said than done, and many children and young adults find themselves forced into militant groups when they are forced to return home and their families are nowhere to be found.  Are these people evil, equitable to a cancer we must eradicate with any force necessary? Certainly if they are, it is a cancer of our own making. The very people we send away, who become too much of an economic burden to help, those are the ones who later appear on our news programs and who must be destroyed.

My point is simple, though sometimes, easier said than done. The nameless individuals towards whom we are directing our blind hatred are humans too, and the popular narrative of dehumanization and mass criminalization are just as detrimental to the well-being of these people as the bombs we are dropping on their homes. When we equate people to diseases and monsters, it makes it that much easier for us to forget to be empathetic, to harden our hearts to the very thing that binds us all together in the first place. It makes it easy for us to deport children back the violent countries they fought so hard to escape, to assume just because they share the brown skin of the extremist leaders we so fear that they must also be evil. Yet every time we do this, we put another life at risk.

Luckily for us, the world is changing. Social media provides the opportunity for an alternate narrative to surface. Movements like Humans of New York, and the countless news outlets that publish the images and stories of the people caught in the middle of distant political power struggles, do the hard work of illuminating the faces and the stories that populate the stereotypes to which we cling, revealing the way their stories contrast with the popular narrative.

It is up to each of us as members of the world community to consider the impact of the things we say about others before we voice them. It is up to us to let go of fear and anger and remember our common humanity, understanding that disadvantaged and desperate people are often driven to great and sometimes terrible acts of desperation. It is up to us to do the hard work of understanding others, of learning their stories and perhaps acknowledging our implicit part in them before we condemn them to death.

One act of violence does not justify another, and suppressing the anger of the world with more violence is a temporary solution that will not lead to long-term healing.

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My Beef with Academia #1: “Who Is Our Public?”

Not long ago I attended a lecture here at Wake Forest University called, “The Humanities and Their Publics: Four Futures.” I was really excited about attending this talk, because for one, I’m a classic nerdy graduate student who not-so-secretly loves rubbing elbows with the academic elite, and also because I’m coming into a crisis in my perception of this field I’ve chosen. I initially began to pursue a career in academia because I wanted to learn how to make a difference in the world. However, since my arrival at graduate school, I’ve been left wondering: to what part of the world does this field of study grant me access, and is it an effective means of evoking change?

Because of these questions, I was instantly drawn to this talk I understood to be an exploration of the future of the study of the humanities, asking questions about who our “public” should be, and if we are reaching it in the right ways. After all, as the speaker highlighted, the humanities are becoming more and more interdisciplinary: History, English, and the Classics all intersect with a variety of disciplines including the sciences and the social sciences (issues of gender, sexuality, etc.). The humanities have therefore transformed into a voice for human rights issues, and I hoped this would be mentioned in the conversation, helping me to mediate some questions I have about my future in this field.

However, Ian Baucom’s talk was not what I anticipated, and left me with more questions than answers about what I understand to be the future of the study of the humanities. In a presentation entrenched in esoteric language, Baucom presented what he believes to be the four “publics” of humanities discourse: the disciplines of the humanities themselves (and discussions by faculty therein), college and university administrators (Deans, Provosts) and faculty in the sciences and social sciences, the national civic/public sphere, and the university as a transnational institution.

As I was listening to Baucom speak, and observing the question and answer session that directly followed, I became more and more concerned about the tone of this discussion, and the direction it was headed.

First, there was no mention of students, in the classroom or online, when considering the “publics” of humanities discourse. I found this to be extremely troubling, despite the fact that for many professors, teaching functions as a somewhat necessary evil in the greater scheme of producing one’s own academic scholarship. This should not be the case. It should be a privilege to share one’s knowledge with young minds and inspire them to grow and pursue their own interests and passions. This is one of the fundamental reasons I initially thought I would pursue a Ph.D and teach on the university level, for I wanted to fill this inspirational role many professors had filled for me over the years.

Secondly, I was bothered by the way in which online options were addressed in the lecture, however not necessarily surprised, as this section of the presentation functioned as a rather adept image of the way academia functions in relation to the outside world. Baucom highlighted the efforts being made through online options to create international relations between universities, sharing resources and expertise with the goal of reaching as many students as possible. That all sounds great. However, Baucom went on to question whether a student unable to pay the 50,000 dollars it takes to get in the door of a school like Wake Forest should have access to that classroom, and further if the teaching methods would even reach a “public” outside of carefully trained, Liberal Arts majors.

These questions underscore a central problem I have with my discipline in its given moment, and allude to the greater set of reasons I have been rendered disillusioned a year into my Masters. As writers, should not our discourse be open to public eyes? Should it not be phrased in language people can understand? Why do we spend so much time deconstructing essentialist identity if we ourselves are creating another form of caste system that keeps those of "lower" intelligence or means out?

As I said above, I became an English major because I wanted to make a difference in the world, and I thought there was no better way to accomplish this goal than by studying those who, through words, had made such a profound impact on the past. I took on a focus in Victorian Literature, not necessarily because Nineteenth Century British Fiction keeps me up at night (though Wuthering Heights will always be my favorite book). I chose this moment in history because a society with the most rigidly policed rules and norms creates the most possibilities for disruption, and I spent four years of undergraduate experience writing about every representation of expansive gender spectrums, non-normative gender and sexuality, and constructed racial hierarchies evidenced in any Victorian novel I could get my hands on. I believed I was fighting for human rights, and that arguing for greater social justice through a vehicle of education and literature legitimized my words.

I wanted to be a teacher because I wanted to emulate professors like the ones I had in the English department at Furman University, individuals who challenged the small-minded, conservative ideology I toted with me from my hometown, encouraging me instead to think for myself and construct my own worldview.

It is for these reasons I believe that academia is valuable. The study of the humanities provides an incredible mirror for the world in which we live, and if done well, this can be used as a tool to help prevent history from repeating itself, working towards a more expansive, open world.  

However, this is not the picture of academia created by Baucom in his discussion of the University and its “publics”. His talk revealed a world of intellectual work that was anything but open to the public: phrased in language a select few understand, accessible only to the upper class elites who have the social and economic status to reach it, and kept out of the hands of the masses by a refusal to make resources available to lower brackets. Students were forgotten in favor of highlighting one’s own intellectual achievements. At the end of the day, the essential premise that academia is in some sort of transitional state was proven false, as this is the same, self-consumed world that has always existed.

This conclusion is a hard one to swallow, and I fully believe one can love something and still have deep problems with the ways that it’s executed. I love academia, and I think the study of the humanities is deeply valuable to our continuous growth as a society. I’m grateful for the resources it has given me in the pursuit of my passions. However, I cannot imagine myself in six years in stuffy auditorium, discussing a public for my words that will never hear what I have to say. Just as it is not the healthy that need a doctor, I want my words to be read and understood by those for which they matter. I want the things I say to make the world a better place for them, and not just function as another way I assure the world of my own brilliance.

I hope we can one day penetrate the bubble that sections off the elite university from the world outside, uniting the most brilliant minds of today in a quest for a better world. Who knows, maybe I’ll start the revolution.

Hello World!

Writing should be fun. I believe it was Wordsworth who called it, ‘a spontaneous overflow of powerful feeling’, which is an idea I’ve always enjoyed. I like the idea of writing being an almost innate expression of self, words that overflow from somewhere inside to give shape to all that you’re feeling and experiencing in life. Writing is a privilege, one that people have had to fight long and hard to obtain. In Ethnic lit classes, we speak often of the ways that the capacity to create is a mark of humanity, and minority groups have long sought to demonstrate through literary expression that their capacity for the creative and beautiful is just as valued as others.

As a student of this very thing- writing- I often wonder at how easy it is to forget that this is a discipline that is meant to be fun, and to be beautiful. I’ve spent years locked away in the ivory tower of academia, crafting high minded commentary on the state of gender in x,y,and z Victorian novel, making broad claims about the way my personal opinion is going to change the state of humanity for the better. After years haunting the Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies departments at multiple institutions, I’ve realized that my writing has become so densely theoretical and full of academic jargon that, when read to a person outside my department, the only response is…”whaaaatt?”

So, it’s back to basics, starting with this year. I began my journey into academia with the goal of changing the world for the better, and pursuing something I love. However, no amount of work published in an academic journal is going to change the life of a woman struggling on the street in this world today, and no amount of picking apart my favorite Alice Walker novel for non-normative gender expression is going to make me love her beautiful prose any more completely. I’ve reorganized my focus of study to include a focus in journalism, and am going to see where it takes me. I want to write about what I love, and I want it to be fun again.

This blog is about that. It’s going to be opinionated, at times political, at times a place of reflection. The rest I don’t know yet.