Abstract
In 1989, I began collecting and populating my university campus office with items reflecting what I knew—from my research, teaching, and lived experience as a Black American—was racist Americana. These items have supplemented my teaching of African American literature and culture for over thirty years, invigorating discussions and breathing life into the texts we study. My collection challenges one of the most esteemed aspects of our profession—alphabet literacy through reading, writing, and books. Embodying past and present, these artifacts are as powerful as books. As my personal traveling library, they go into human spaces in ways books cannot, allowing and inviting viewers’ sensory experiences. Every piece is a story and elicits a range of personal stories, documenting intersectional perspectives on race, gender, sexuality, class, ability, religion, and body size. An exercise in cultural literacy, this collection disrupts mythologies created to restrict and delegitimize the lives of Black people. Challenging my university campus office visitors to confront the reality of me—a Black male faculty member at a predominantly white institution—my collection invites open conversation about race on my terms. My “colored museum” invites all who experience it to reflect on how we experience community building and new meaning making.
Highlights
In 1989, I began collecting and populating my university campus office with items reflecting what I knew—from my research, teaching, and lived experience as a Black American—was racist Americana
Challenging my university campus office visitors to confront the reality of me—a Black male faculty member at a predominantly white institution—my collection invites open conversation about race on my terms
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Summary
As early as age five, I knew that I was Black. I do not recall anyone sitting down to tell me, but I knew. Mr Brewer coached me to serve as narrator for school pageants and for our Homecoming halftime He saw in me what I never saw: a young Black person not solely and negatively marked and mocked by race. For those who know well the Southern literary canon, the Fugitives and Agrarians were not just white mostly male authors but were white authors who longed for the romanticized past when “darkeys” knew their subordinate positions beneath white folks This irony is not lost on me that I was a Black graduate student at Vanderbilt University—one of three in my particular cohort at this wealthy white institution, and on a special fellowship to recruit Black graduate students— working in a Special Collections where my own white Southern literature professor was refusing my assistance. It is a reclamation of my humanity through the lens of racial integrity, racial possibility, and racial liberation—my own and perhaps Others.’
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