Little white lies: Insights from my first year as #BlackIntheIvory
It has taken me some time to put words to paper, to describe and document the experiences I had as a first year, Black woman faculty member. In all truth, I wasn’t at all positive that I wanted to relive those moments — the trauma. Or, that it would be worth the time vested in stringing together a series of charismatic phrases constructed to convince the reader that the events illustrated really happened to me. However, after many long, deep discussions with friends and colleagues, in the process of witnessing similar injustices play out for others, and with actual physical distance, I’ve felt the grave urge to share this story — my story. Figuring out how was the next step.
Black In The Ivory
In a recent scroll through my Twitter feed, a new hashtag was trending that caught not only my attention, but it captured what seemed like the essence of my experience in just a short phrase: #BlackInTheIvory. As I read through the post from Black folx about their experiences in the academy, I felt like I found sanctuary. Though through this very public platform, Black people from all over were sharing their experiences with racism in graduate, faculty, and administrative roles whether influenced by age, gender, class, or internal racist ideology. The posts resonated with me, as I saw they did with others — many of us have contended with racism in the same ways. Tweeters shared how they were demeaned, denied promotions, lost jobs, reprimanded, deceived and lied upon as a result of strongly held anti-Black sentiment. Like them, I posted my own <140 characters in attempt to describe a year worth of race-based harm as a new full time faculty member:
When you’re the 5th Black faculty to be pushed out of the job under a tyrannical and racist chair, being told you don’t know your place for calling out their mistreatment, not being paid for being overload, & then being told the problem is not at all about race #BlackInTheIvory.
#BlackInTheIvory arrived on the heels of the tragic murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. These Black souls were taken by white people who subscribed to the lie that Black lives are to be devalued and discarded. In the midst of emerging protests and a growing movement in support of Black lives that have suffered at the hands of white supremacy and structural racism, this hashtag powerfully spoke to one facet of the Black experience. Contending with the violence of racism (physical, psychic, and/or emotional) is not new for Black folx. However, the events of the time seem to have brought heightened visibility. For those of us navigating the “Ivory Tower,” the pinnacle of perceived esteem and prestige, we are not exempt from anti-Blackness nor the white rage spewed upon those who dare to represent anything that is not white. What #BlackInTheIvory co-founders, Joy Melody Woods and Dr. Sharde M. Davis, did with this phrase was that they provided a venue for sharing experiences that are so common to Black folx and calling out those ideals and actions that are so in need of acknowledgement and change.
Symbols of Progress
Having worked at two R1 institutions, and a few other colleges and universities, my experience has spanned across roles as a practitioner, administrator, adjunct, and assistant professor. While there is certainly a level of privilege that comes along with the assumed height of my access to these institutions of higher education, I’ve never been missed by systemic oppression and the racist ideologies that shaped the very ways in which those institutions operated. Despite the slow climb I made through position or even status, the depth of anti-Blackness snuffed out any influence presumed granted because of my role. In particular, shifting from an administrator to the role of a full time faculty member showed me that any keys I thought I might receive to The Ivory was a figment of my Black imagination.
In Derrick Bell’s 1992 seminal work, Faces At the Bottom of the Well: The Permanence of Racism, he described the symbols or “trinkets” of freedom and deference dangled before Black people in a true representation of interest convergence. He recounted a conversation held with his driver, a middle aged Black man named for one of Langston Hughes’ quick-witted characters and a scholar in his own right. In a run-down of the concessions seemingly made for Black Americans (such as the Emancipation Proclamation, the Civil Rights Movement, and the institutionalizing of Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday as a national holiday), the two surmised that these offerings were nothing more than symbolic, meant to pacify rather than to liberate. Similarly, I learned that becoming a full time faculty member was not so much as a step up as it was a step behind the veil of little white lies told by The Ivory.
As I proudly moved into the new assistant professor role (non-tenure track, but that’s a whole other story), I was of no misconception that this work or the institution would be absent of some issues. After all, I understand higher education to be inherently oppressive and racist. However, I succumbed to the idea that I might have a bit of time to revel in the glory of my new coveted status. But, the thing about racism is that it is the cornerstone to America’s institutions. And anti-Blackness, the deep-seated disdain and disregard for Black people and their lives, is the very thing dominant society hangs its hat on to maintain power and the systematic division of its members. As Bell (1992) contrived, non-Black people measure their closeness to whiteness by their distance from blackness. Both racism and anti-Blackness are endorsed by a fallacious and insidious mix of irrational fear, the inferiority of Black/Indigeous/people of color, and the superiority of whites. Further, the denial of racism fuels the Ivory Tower’s stronghold on white supremacy and fans the flame of anti-Black sentiment so many Black faculty face.
Lies We’re Told
Inspired by the outpouring of comments for #BlackInTheIvory and expanding upon my own post, I offer a look behind the veil illuminating some of the symbols that colored my experience — bringing truth to some of the lies we’re told while being Black in the Ivory.
“We Value Diversity”
It is not at all uncommon to find “diversity positive” language in a university’s guiding statements. I almost expect to see it. However, hearing my potential colleagues share their appreciation for what I personally brought to the table during my interview and campus visit, and further discuss the value for achieving justice and equity in education seemed like a win. Though I asked pointedly in a couple of side conversations what it would be like for me, a Black woman, to work in a large, midwestern, research university on a faculty where I’d be the only Black person, I was assured that I’d find allies in my white and non-Black colleagues of color. It was hard to read through the thick smiles interviews afford us to find any dissent from the excitement of the moment, so I trusted that the crafted language on the website, the scholarship around critical issues, and the prominence of the faculty in the field — the logics of valuing diversity that were represented — added up to a perfect fit. What I discovered soon after taking the contingent assistant professor role was that the value for diversity was a matter of filling a quota.
In my first month it became apparent that I was not valued at full measure. My office wasn’t ready when I arrived, I had to use my personal computer because one had not been ordered, and funds that were guaranteed to me in my contract were questioned. When my name plate arrived, my name was listed minus the designation of “Dr.” all of my colleagues had on their doors. And, to add insult to injury, my first paycheck was delayed for over a month because the chair’s assistant claimed that I could not be entered into the payroll system without presenting a copy of my doctoral degree though the person preceding me only held a master’s. If these instances seem insignificant, consider for one moment how this could be my experience, while others who were hired at the same time were granted all of the privileges of timeliness, preparation, and consideration. Some blamed these mishaps on the fact that I was not on the tenure track, however, word of similar mistreatment of other Black faculty who had since left arose and assured me that my eyes were wide open. Whether it was my contingent status or my Black womaness (or a combination thereof, I truly believe), the ways I was questioned, delayed, and not cared for in this new role were incommensurable compared to my other new colleagues. In more than one way, this department — the leadership — was not prepared for me to join their team. Valuing diversity is not just about hiring Black, Indigenous, and people of color, but creating an environment in which they feel safe and can thrive. Words must have actions to follow, and those actions must be supported by accountability.
“Know Your Place”
After realizing that I had to be my own advocate in this new role — as a new full-time faculty member, and having moved almost across the country — I was quickly warned about sharing my grievances as I was “new” in my career and the only contingent faculty on the team. Though I had more than a decade of experience in higher education as a practitioner and administrator with a few years of experience as an adjunct, some of my colleagues and the leadership insisted that I was so green that I needed to follow and listen. So, I did what I know best from my days leading my own team: I documented, I asked lots of questions, I referred to departmental and university policy, I attempted to follow the chain of command. I quickly and firmly expressed my concerns about the inconsistencies between my contract and the actuality of my work situation. And then, I was copied on an email response not intended for me regarding my concerns saying that I was just young and didn’t understand how things worked — I was falsely accused of not having “done what I was supposed to do” in preparation for this role so I was suffering the consequences.
Not only were my concerns quickly dismissed, I was hearing chatter around the office that I didn’t know my place. I kept wondering exactly where “that place” was because if it meant being ignored and working under disparate treatment, I didn’t want to be there. To make matters worse, it seemed like every project I worked on or task I had to complete was met with roadblocks. I was required to attend and host receptions at conferences but was denied the use of a departmental credit account, though the university provided them for faculty travel. My course load was increased and, then, the interpretation of “load” was somehow different than when I was originally assigned courses. When I inquired about time off, I was told I was required to teach over the summer since I was a 12-month employee, though I wouldn’t be paid for that either. It had only been just a few months into the role and I was at my breaking point. I began consulting campus resources because it was obvious that my contract had been breached, only to find out that I was the fifth Black faculty under the leadership of my unit who had experienced these kinds of macroaggressions.
“This Is Not About Race”
Halfway through my first year, there was a change to my unit’s leadership team which was highly favored because of the bad behavior of its other members. The new addition seemed to provide a bit of a buffer between me and the now retaliatory chair. Thankfully, the mistreatment and hostility was apparent to them, and knowing the history of other Black faculty who suffered at the hands of abusive power, they submitted these grievances to the college’s dean. Highlighting the raced patterns of anti-Blackness that seeped in and spilled out of these issues, the unit’s new leader urged the dean to intervene only to have their hand smacked for up broaching race. Even with HR involved, and supporting the claims of racial bias, the dean denied the existence of any problem outside of settling the pay for the overload of my courses.
“Pay Your Dues, Take One For The Team”
While I was trying to weigh my options of continuing a job under hostile circumstances, I sought out counsel from colleagues across campus and my therapist. Most folx had a deep understanding of what was happening as I heard a resounding “you’re not the only one.” Faculty, administrators, and staff alike were sharing their own knowledge of the toxic environment I was beginning to learn that I was immersed in, specifically, the horror that had befallen former Black faculty. The more I brought this up to my senior colleagues, the more I realized that I was being scapegoated. The wind was almost knocked out of me when it was said openly in a faculty meeting that my role was a “dumping ground” for all the things other faculty didn’t want to do. And, since I was contingent faculty under a department policy that forbade me from ever pursuing tenure, I would never find a way out should I decide to stay. Despite the fact that half of my colleagues had no confidence in our chair, they all agreed that it would be too risky to go before the dean with a vote for removal — I would just have to take one for the team and wait it out. In a well-meaning but harrowing comment, one of my colleagues told me to spend the next couple of years there learning and growing because it’d be good for my CV, as if the dues I had already paid in my career were not enough.
Turning The Page
For so many, the experiences I’ve had are just a tip of the iceberg — they’re a part of proving one’s worthiness to be in faculty ranks. However, being Black in the Ivory is realizing that the performative act of proving one’s self is never complete and often comes with subduing or even losing parts of the self in the process. The end of my first year as a full time faculty member did not end with bow tied neatly around it — I never received payment for the overload of courses, the chair was never held accountable for bad behavior, I didn’t even receive notice of a renewed contract until word rose that I might actually be leaving and we were just about three weeks from the start of the semester. Needless to say, I took care of myself and left.
As I reflect on that year, I am still working through untangling the lies of white supremacy from my identity as a scholar. In so many more instances than those listed above, who I am as a Black woman was attacked, distorted, boxed in, and hung out to dry. One thing that was confirmed for me more strongly than ever about The Ivory is that it will attempt to change the narrative, whitewashing and colorblinding its actions and the ways in which those actions are experienced by people on the margins. For this reason, I found #BlackInTheIvory to be a revolutionary stance exposing the fallacies of the academy, but more so, giving voice to those of us who have often been silenced.
