Ten Crack Commandments for Inviting Speakers to Things
I am writing this post against my better judgment but I am writing it anyway because it needs writing. It also needs reading, and I hope that its intended audience reads it closely. The intended audience includes anyone, anywhere who is planning a Thing (a conference, symposium, panel, or class meeting etc.) and wants a speaker to come to your Thing and say words to the attendees of said Thing. I author this post from my experiences in the field of archives and libraries as both a planner of Things and a speaker at them.
First let me address the title of this post: it’s a reference to a classic song by Biggie. If you have never heard this song, 1) I feel sorry for you and 2) listen to it below. Also about the title of this post: it’s a lie. I’m not writing about crack and actually I don’t even have ten points. The allusion to the song is apt, though, mostly because of Big’s line, “There’s rules to this shit,” and the reality that far too few folks in archives and libraries abide by them.
Second, let me address why I am writing this post now: quite simply, some of yall — including professors, students, and professional archivists — have no couth when asking people to come speak at Things and I can’t bear to allow this mess to continue without publicly naming and shaming it. All three of those groups have come into my email inbox in rude and reckless ways with rude and reckless requests. At times, the manner and form in which people have “asked” me to speak at Things has been so crude that I chose not to respond because, as the ancestors say, I don’t give my mind to people who’ve shown that clearly they’ve lost theirs. But it takes energy to ignore your bombardments and having spoken with others in the field, I know folks come into the email inboxes of my brothers, sisters (especially), and other family members with similarly asinine asks. So I hope this post alleviates pressure for them, too, and results in more respeck on their names when you reach out to them.
Without further ado, here are the (not) Ten (not) Crack Commandments for Inviting Speakers to Things:
1) Incentivize the Invitation
Why should I speak at your thing? What tangible benefit(s) will you offer me to compensate my time and my labor? Will you pay for transportation, lodging, meals in transit, and an honorarium? Or will you pay for some of these and not others? Will the payments be supplied up front and in US dollars (for international events)? If you can’t cover all or any of these, offer me a compelling reason or two why I should devote my time and my labor to your Thing. And please: state the incentives in your initial contact! It shouldn’t take me asking about these things. State them in the first piece of correspondence, or if not then, state that you are still working those details out and indicate when you expect to have them resolved. Stop asking black people, black women especially, to give away time and labor without compensation.
2) Ask in Ample Advance
This shouldn’t need stating, but it does. No, I can’t come to your Thing that’s two states over on next Saturday. Or to your thing in a different region of the country next week on a Wednesday night. When you ask me these crazy things, you’re implying a) I ain’t got shit to do in my life other than drop everything and prepare for your Thing and/or 2) you know I got shit to do in my life but you don’t care because what *you* have going on is more important. Rarely whatever it is you have going on is more important for me than what I have going on for me. This applies to everyone you’re asking to show up at Things. At minimum, send your invitation six weeks in advance. For folks who you think are really busy, make that minimum three months.
3) Deliberately Design the Dialogue
Explain why you want *me* to be there and what you will do to make the space a transformative one, and not just a run-of-the-mill, wacktastic event that many (white) people attend only for their own moral licensing. “I saw [insert_angry_black_person_here] speak at this Thing so therefore I’ve done my part to upend structural inequality.” No you haven’t, Boo Boo Kitty. But it’s not really your fault; it’s the fault of the organizers for not structuring the space in such a way that requires you to be a) vulnerable and 2) uncomfortable. I, nor folks like me, don’t show up to talk about daffodils and daisies. Usually I’m coming to hold space for black lives taken and erased by the state. If you’ve done your research into me and not just invited a random black person that another random black person mentioned to you, then you should know this. Knowing that, plan for your space to be one that requires (white) people to do more than just show up and be entertained by the performance of pain.
4) Cut the Crap
No, I won’t send you my slides a couple days in advance. Yes, I will need audiovisual equipment with an internet connection in this Year of Our Lorde Two Thousand and Seventeen. Stop asking questions to which you already know the answers. You’re wasting your time, my time, and the NSA’s. Our tax dollars shouldn’t be paying them to read emails with predictable questions and even more predictable answers.
5) Respect the Rejection
If I said no, I meant it. I don’t need to reconsider. I don’t need more time to think on it. I can’t make another date. If any of those were true, I’d tell you. A simple “thanks for taking the time to respond” will suffice, assuming you haven’t violated all of the above commandments, in which case I’m not responding.
Okay, that’s all I got. Not ten. Not crack. Sorry if that’s what you came for. What other commandments should be followed when inviting speakers to Things?
