December 17: the danger of a single ethnographic essay

As one does post-interview, I am mentally reviewing what I believe I was asked, what I remember saying, and what think I should have said.

And, as one does in pretty much any academic interview these days, the committee asked me about my commitment to diversity.

I could have said, “Do you see my last name?”—actually, I think I did say that—but I also acknowledged that a —z name alone doesn’t give me expertise on what it means to be conscious of and practice diversity in a college community.

But it certainly helps.

While the question of diversity in higher ed is legitimate and crucial, it—the question itself—needs to be diversified.

I focus on exploring identity and identities in my classes. Most of my writing assignments ask students to use personal/lived experience in support of their claims in order to connect themselves to the characters and stories we study.

In 101 we read and watch Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “Danger of a Single Story” which deals with the problem of judging a culture based on the dominant narrative of that culture. Yes, stereotyping, but also disregarding the actual lived experiences of members of that group as disingenuous or inauthentic if they do not match the dominant narrative.

Based on this reading, I assign my students an autoethnographic essay to explore an identity they hold that people misunderstand—what is one lens through which you see the world but through which the world doesn’t see you?

The autoethnographic essay, a piece in which students write about their culture using lived experience and field research, is an honest and valiant effort by many a writing teacher to help students explore and validate their non-dominant cultural experiences.

Everyone assigns it. And most assign it to discuss race.

The first time I assigned this project, there was a faint, but audible, collective groan from the class, and Alejandro Lopez, one of my favorite students, raised his hand and asked, “Does this mean I have to write about being Mexican again?”

I responded, “No, Alejandro, you don’t. You are welcome to, of course, if that is an identity you feel needs more exploration, but that is not my intent. What I would like you to do is look at something you do, a belief you hold, a space you inhabit, that is unexpected. How do you revise the dominant narrative in unexpected ways?”

My best paper ever was from a student who wrote about the judgments and misconceptions others make about her because she is vegan. A few students have written about being labeled evil because they attend heavy metal concerts when they were actually there with a church group or being seen as lazy because they play video games when they are actually playing competitively as part of a collegiate team.

Alejandro wrote about his love of ballroom dance.

By being in a college classroom, students of color are already revising the race, culture, and class narratives others—including college professors—cast on them. These students want to revise other narratives, too.

So, committee, when you asked about my commitment to diversity I should have said, which one?