Pedagogy of Black Dignity
Albeit at times a little protracted for my taste, Freire’s Pedagogy of The Oppressed may be one of my favorite reads in a while. As I started the first chapter I thought, as I assume most would, that Freire’s writing was going to be convoluted; yet after finishing the first chapter, I found myself going back and reading the Introduction, Foreward, and the Preface. I was curious to understand where Paulo Freire’s observations came from and how such a pedagogy came about. I don’t know, I guess I just related to a lot of what he was saying. I mean who could better understand oppression than a black kid from the south who didn’t grow up with much?
And to my surprise, in the Introduction Donald Macedo writes, “He gave an African American student at Harvard a chapter of the book to read to see how she would receive it. A few days later when he asked the woman if she had read it, she enthusiastically responded, ‘Yes. Not only did I read it, but I gave it to my sixteen-year-old son to read” (Freire 12). Again, this illustrates my point. Although Freire’s writing was focused on class-based oppression, at the risk of sounding esoteric, there’s something about it that speaks to the black soul.
“But almost always, during the initial stage of the struggle, the oppressed, instead of striving for liberation, tend themselves to become oppressors, or “sub-oppressors.” The very structure of their thought has been conditioned by the contradictions of the concrete, existential situation by which they were shaped. Their ideal is to be men; but for them, to be men is to be oppressors. This is their model of humanity.” (Freire 45)
This quote specifically, when looking through the lens of my own black identity, struck me. Not too long ago I found out a friend of mine, a black young man, had been speaking ill of me behind my back. He’d suggested to a number of my friends that they ought to give up on me, even going as far as to question why my significant other and I remained in a relationship. All the while he said nothing to me about whatever wrong I did to provoke him to make such comments. I remember when I found out I was irate. Disproportionately so. Normally I’d check in with him, I’d try to understand why he was upset with me. But he wasn’t just hurt by me, mentioning to our friends how I had made him upset. He was actively attacking my character. Something about him talking about me behind my back changed the stakes entirely. It bothered me. Deeply. I couldn’t stop feeling like somehow he’d attacked my “manhood,” whatever that meant. I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was disrespected.
Disrespected. That was the word that kept coming up: disrespect. But why? Why was my dignity all of a sudden so important? I’d been disrespected by any number of racially insensitive people throughout my life. I’d been made fun of for being poor as a kid too. Hell, I’ve been disrespected at USC plenty of times. Yet this time I felt the most upset. And perhaps to Freire’s point, my manhood had been attacked. Manhood not in terms of masculinity but in terms of humanity. My friend was speaking negatively about me. I felt like my personhood was being attacked. And I felt angry with him because I couldn’t see beyond the conflict. To me, he was my opposition and in order to understand myself as a person again I had to be angry with him. My manhood, rather my personhood, was now reliant on the conflict that existed, on my contradiction to him. I mean if I wasn’t upset with him, what kind of a person was I? How could I not be upset with him?
“It is possible that in this behavior they are once more manifesting their duality. Because the oppressor exists within their oppressed comrades, when they attack those comrades they are indirectly attacking the oppressor as well.” (Freire 62)
I think Freire also illustrates one more facet to my anger. In addition to feeling like my dignity had been stripped away by my friend’s comments, I also felt disappointed. Disappointed in him as a black man for betraying me in such a way. Perhaps I wouldn’t expect such behavior from a white friend, but I would not be surprised either. Yet for him, as a black man, to stir dissent amongst the people I care about without speaking to me face to face… that hurt beyond understanding. And my anger with him stemmed from that as well. In him I was seeing the behavior of the oppressor. My anger with him was likewise anger at a system that keeps things hidden, a system that tries to destroy the lives of black men. Because of his attempt to pull the proverbial rug out from under me, I saw, personified in him, the judgment and hate of the white system.
Alright, maybe it wasn’t quite that intense. That was just a little bit dramatic. Something about Freire’s writing just makes you partial to intense statements I suppose. But in all actuality, I think there’s so much to unpack in Pedagogy of The Oppressed that speaks to issues not only of class but of race and gender. I look forward to finishing this book and I’d recommend checking out the Introduction, Forward, and Preface if you chose to skip that.
