Dyson Visits, YDS Documents and Interacts

From the Left (no pun intended): Nicole Iaquinto, Co-Founder MSUYDS; Michael Eric Dyson (top), Professor of Sociology, Georgetown University; Michael Davidson (bottom), MSUYDS member; Allison Voglesong, Co-Coordinator MSUYDS

Many a YDS member came to MSU's Kellogg Center to fill the Big Ten room on April 9th to hear Dr. Michael Eric Dyson speak at the 2009 Race in 21st Century America 6th National conference. Dyson went above and beyond the theme of "Health Care and Communities of Color," delivering (and occasionally singing) a rousing address well into the night. Participants were given the opportunity to dialog with the guest, and YDS members stuck around to snap this photo at the end of the night.

The Language of Oppression: the degradation of Black languge in the USA and South Africa

I know about structural racism …. Racial oppression through entrenched systems in society through various public bodies, laws, corporations, the prison system, universities...you name it. But when the idea of racial oppression through use of language was introduced to me, I was suddenly taken aback. I had never though about it before-- was there such a thing as a linguistic hierarchy? After making some connections in my mind, I came to conclude that this is so. For the sake of making this blog entry brief, I will say that English is at the top of this hierarchy. I come to this conclusion because it seems like everywhere you go, you can find some sort of evidence that English is spoken there.

In a world where global politics are becoming more important than ever, how will people continue to communicate with one another? Will people continue to place an emphasis on learning to speak English as a common language, or will they attempt to broaden their horizons and learn to speak the language of others?

Some more things to ponder:

Have you ever stopped to think about the words you are using, or the way you are speaking in order to express yourself? How does your language or diction differ from that of other surrounding you? Do you think you speak "better" English than others?

Picture this scenario. It’s a stereotypical one at best, but it speaks to my point. An African-American child grows up in the ghetto where she learns to speak a form of colloquial English known to some as "Ebonics," or in more technical terms, Black Vernacular English. She grows up in a community where this is the dominant form of languages spoken. She doesn't think anything is wrong with the way she talks, it's just how she grew up. However, the outside world of "proper English speakers" would tend to disagree. The way she speaks is unacceptable and crude. She is accused of sounding ignorant and stupid because of the way she speaks and misses out on many opportunities in life such as being considered for job, housing, etc. How is this fair? Why isn't it OK for her to express herself in a way that feels comfortable for her? Why must she conform to certain standards of language in order to be taken seriously?

Geneva Smitherman, a university distinguished professor at Michigan State University, explores such oppressive parallels between the Black speech communities in both the United States of America (USA) and the Republic of South Africa (RSA). Though the culture, history, demography, legal structure, and other important elements of both countries have significant differences, there is a basis for comparing the Black politics in both countries as it relates to language (316).

Both the RSA and USA are attempting to adopt policies centered around the creation of the English language as an official and premier language of the country. In the RSA this would be a policy of “English Plus,” and in the USA “English Only” (316). This presents fundamental problems for all linguistic minorities, including those who speak African or Pidgin Languages in the RSA or Black Vernacular English (Ebonics) in the USA (317).

According to Smitherman, such impositions can be though of as modern day “internal colonialism” in both countries, similar to the extermination of Native Americans from the USA, the introduction of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade to the global market, and the conquest of South Africa by the Netherlands and later Great Britain (317-18). Such internal colonialism is not just a polarization between and oppressor nation and a colonized people but an entrenched system of “racial capitalism” where Europeans are socially constructed as the “superior” race with superior qualities and characteristics (318). In order to do this, the Europeans created elaborate systems of law, education, politics, customs, and cultural belief sets to support the economic exploitation of the indigenous peoples (318). One can see how the European claim of superior language could greatly affect each one of these systems.

Linguistic colonialism in both the RSA and USA negatively affects the Black populations. The colonizers’ languages, English and Afrikaans in the RSA and English in the USA are considered to be much more prestigious than African languages or Ebonics. Such imposition of language makes it impossible for Africans and African Americans to experience life and learning, as they are forced to use a language that makes it impossible to properly reflect the real life of Black communities (320). Though Blacks share this major similarity, they do experiences some differences as well in their experience.

Africans brought to the USA as slaves were almost completely stripped of their native languages while Africans were allowed to keep their languages in the RSA. However, the British policy in the RSA regulated other African languages in the RSA as having a lower status by considering them “dialects” instead of “languages” (321). Africans who learned to speak English were given rewards by the British in form of allowing them to become part of a class of Black elite with special economic and social privileges.
On the other hand, African Americans developed a form of pidgin English in order to communicate with their masters as well as other Blacks who were brought to the USA as slaves. Their masters often mixed slaves who spoke different languages and came from different parts of West Africa together, and they developed their own forms of communication as a survival mechanism (322-3).

Presently in both the USA and RSA the legacy of internal colonialism continues to connect to Black language politics and pose barriers to moving toward a linguistic democracy. Blacks who speak primarily Ebonics or an African English are scrutinized for not speaking “good” English and award social and economic benefits such as jobs and mobility to those who can speak English properly (340). Language is being used to divide the Black community into groups competing with one another for material and social wealth, making it that much more impossible for Black people across the globe to stand in solidarity against the capitalist systems that continue to oppress them. At the end of the article Smitherman pushes for the Black community to unite and pressure the dominate white elite toward linguistic democratization (341).

One thing is for certain—these languages with their variations, history, and cultural influence aren’t going away any time soon. Both sides need to develop a way to make room for the diversity of people within them and the way in which they express themselves. If some happy medium can't be reached, future generations of Black people will be both physically and psychologically damaged by the internal colonialism of language heiarchy and its practices.

Another thing that certain-- respect should be given to all people, regardless of what words they choose to use. All language is sacred; it brings dreams and ideas to life, sharing the thoughts, feelings, and emotions of humans to the rest of the world.

Works Cited:

Smitherman, Geneva. “Language and Democracy in the USA and the RSA.” Ed. Roseanne Dueñas González and Ildikó Melis. Language Ideologies: Critical Perspectives on the Official English Movement. Lawrence Elbaum Associates, 2001. 316-344.

Why the "white girl" joined "the Black struggle."

Last week I wrote about a certain transformation of mine--one of racial transcendence and of forming bonds of solidarity with African-African Americans. I told you how I overcame my fears about personally interacting with Black people and how I was able to build strong relationships with people I would have otherwise avoided, simply because they were “different” from myself. But what I failed to tell you was why I was moved to do it. Why was it so important for me to learn more about Black culture, or to truly understand the consequences of Black history in the United States? What motivated me from just knowing about the history of racial struggle in this country, to actively doing something about achieving racial justice in the present by joining Black organizations on campus? What moved me to study African American and African studies in school or decide to devote my life to working toward equalizing educational opportunity for children of color across the Diaspora? In a world where many would argue racism no longer exists, I can’t help but point to the overwhelming amount of racism that still exists. Though outward and obvious forms of racism such as slavery or segregation are no longer allowed, a new kind of racial exploitation has taken its place. Now it is through racist institutions and structures such as laws, public bodies, corporations, and universities that perpetuate racial disparities. The fact of the matter is my dedication to the Black liberation struggle is not one that is seen among the majority of white people in this country. I hope that by sharing my reasons and the stories of two other brave white women, Viola Liuzzo and Silvia Baraldini, I will be able to convince others to see the truth as I did, and to be moved away from the status quo and toward action against injustice.

In March of 1965, a group of peaceful protestors in Selma, Alabama were attacked by state troopers as they Marched toward Montgomery. A few days later another group of protestors, led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., won a court order allowing for another march from Selma to Montgomery directing the state to protect the marchers. The Governor at that time, a well known racist, told the White House that the state couldn’t afford to pay for the mobilization of the National Guard, so President Johnson sent in 1,900 of Alabama’s National Guard, 2,000 regular army soldiers, and 200 FBI agents and US marshals to protect the march. Viola Liuzzo, a 39 year old housewife from Detroit watched the second march move toward the Alabama capital. Liuzzo had watched the disaster of the first march on TV and decided she needed to do something to aid the Civil Rights marchers. Against the wishes of her husband and five children, Liuzzo drove alone from Michigan to Alabama in her family’s car to assist where she could.

Earlier in the week before the second march, Liuzzo had spent most of her time working at the hospitality desk in Brown Chapel at Selma and used her car to take people back and forth to Montgomery’s airport. The last day of the march to Montgomery, she worked at the first aid station, aiding those who had fainted from heat or exertion during the march. She then watched Dr. King deliver his "How long will it take? ... Not long, because mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord” speech. When the march ended, there were thousands of people from across the country who had come to participate in the marche, just like Liuzzo, that needed to get out of the city. She loaded her car with passengers, mostly black, and headed back toward Selma. When the passengers were dropped off, Liuzzo and Leroy Moton, a black teenager, headed back to Mongomery to pick up more people. After being harassed several times before leaving Selma, they stopped at a traffic light. Soon another car pulled up beside them. When the lights changed, the car began to speed up and chased Liuzzo. The chase went on for almost 20 miles as she tried to outrun her pursuers. All the while she was singing “We Shall Overcome” at the top of her lungs. Soon the other car closed in—a car full of Klansmen. One of the men fired twice into Liuzzo’s car, killing her.

An all white jury in Alabama acquitted the three Klansmen for the murder of Liuzzo. Since they could not be charged with murder in federal courts, they were tried under another law with conspiring to deprive her of her civil rights. They were found guilty, and served only 10 years in prison. The punishment given to these men was hardly appropriate for such a heinous act of injustice.

Another great woman, Silvia Baraldini, gave up her white privilege to aid in the struggle for people of color. At 14, she moved to the United States from Italy with her parents. Later on in life she attended the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where she became a political activist. She became active in both the Black Power and Puerto Rican independence movements in the US between the 1960s and 80s.

In 1982 Baraldini was sentenced to 43 years in prison for conspiring to commit two armed robberies, driving a getaway car during the prison break of convicted murderer and fellow political activist Assata Shakur, who was wrongly accused of shooting and killing a New Jersey State Trooper, and for contempt of court for refusing to testify before a Grand Jury that was investigating the activities of the Puerto Rican independence movement.

Soon after her conviction, a campaign for her release began in Italy, mainly among leftist parties and movements. Her supporters claimed that the harshness of her punishment was due to her political beliefs and for her participation in the Black Liberation Army. Her punishment was seen as unfair and disproportionate to her “crimes.” Had she been convicted for the same crimes in Italy, her sentence would have only been a maximum of 25 years in prison.

After serving time in several maximum-security prisons, and after repeated petitions by the Italian government for her transfer, Baraldini was transferred to Italy to serve the remainder of her sentence. According to the terms of the agreement, she was supposed to stay in prison until 2008, but was released on house arrest in 2001. In 2006, she was released from detention in September of 2006 by a general pardon approved by the Italian Parliament.

Both of these women recognized the injustice that their brothers and sisters of color were facing in the United States. Both knew that despite what anyone else told them, they were doing the right thing by stepping up and taking on the burden of joining the struggle to end racism against people of color. They realized that the Black struggle is what American socialists and communists recognized earlier in US history: the struggle for true democracy. They struggled for a kind of democracy where racism, class division, and feelings of fear and hatred toward people “different” from the social norm were abolished. Viola Liuzzo and Silvia Baraldini were willing to give up the privilege that so many white women cherish and achieve freedom for all human beings at any price, including their lives. They believed, as I believe, that everyone on this earth deserves the right for equal opportunity. Seeing that such equality was being denied to people of color through racist institutions and structures, seeing the contradictions within our own government, we must be willing to face scrutiny and disapproval from the loved ones in our lives as well as expulsion and punishment from the society around us in order to do what’s right. In the face of great suffering, where do you stand? Are you willing to watch your brothers and sisters get beat down in the street, are you ready to watch democracy burn, or are you ready to take a stand and do something to change it?