The Politics of Identity and Leadership in the Life of a Black Lesbian Professor
JUDY A. ALSTON
Those of us who stand outside the circle of this society’s definition of acceptable women; those of us who have been forged in the crucibles of difference—those of us who are poor, who are lesbians, who are Black, who are older—know that survival is not an academic skill. It is learning how to stand alone, unpopular and sometimes reviled, and how to make common cause with those others identified as outside the structures in order to define and seek a world in which we can all flourish. It is learning how to take our differences and make them strengths. For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support. (Lorde, 1984, 112)
Standing outside of the circle … I am one who stands outside of the circle of acceptable women because I hold these identities: Black, lesbian, soft stud (masculine-of-center), ordained Reverend. Yet I can sometimes stand inside of the circle because of other parts of my identity: upper middle class, degreed, full professor, author, sorority girl, former debutante. “These ‘axes of identity,’ public and private, create the intersections of my selfhood and give me a particular set of truths that are not checked at any door, particularly the door of academia in my leadership position and as a professor in the courses that I teach” (Alston, 2011, 35).
It’s the way that I walk, the way that I dress, the way that I talk, and the way that I carry myself. It is my authenticity that while in theory should make me acceptable is what really puts me on the outside looking in, even while I am inside. However, I refuse to not be authentic. Brown (2010) noted that “authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen” (49). I consciously choose to be authentic both inside and outside of the academy. I consciously choose to show up in the world just as I am. This can, however, be problematic and have adverse effects for me sometimes. In this chapter I will examine the position of “standing outside” via the lenses of the invisibility syndrome, reciprocity, and leadership as a lifestyle.
“Some achieve greatness through people who lift them higher. Others find it when they have to stand alone.”
—R. Hamilton
“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return …”
—1 Peter 2:23, ESV
How does one stand in the world when you are an African American, masculine-of-center lesbian? Oftimes you are either overlooked, side-eyed, or simply ignored, as if you are invisible. Franklin and Franklin (2000) noted that the invisibility syndrome is a “conceptual model for understanding the inner evaluative processes and adaptive behavior of African Americans in managing experiences of racism” (33).
Yet, there can be power in invisibility. In Ellison’s (1952) Invisible Man, the author noted that to be invisible means to be construed by others as a collection of general stereotypes rather than an actual, individual person. Stolyarov (2014) observed of the notion of invisibility in Invisible Man: “[W]hen people of the dominant society think of the narrator, states he, ‘they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination—indeed, everything except me’ ” (para. 1).
The power in invisibility can lead to establishing influence and status within the larger context. It is here that an application of Hill Collins’s (2000) concept of “outsider within,” a place of marginality that “stimulated a distinctive Black women’s perspective” (11) serves this analysis well. As she stated:
For Black women who are agents of knowledge, the marginality that accompanies outsider-within status can be the source of both frustration and creativity. In an attempt to minimize the differences between the cultural context of African-American communities and the expectations of social institutions, some women dichotomize their behavior and become two different people. Over time, the strain of doing this can be enormous. Others reject their cultural context and work against their own best interests by enforcing the dominant group’s specialized thought. Still others manage to inhabit both contexts but do so critically, using their outsider-within perspectives as a source of insights and ideas. (Hill Collins, 1990, 238)
It is precisely this “outsider-within” invisible space that breeds and develops the tempered radical persona: the one who is the subversive, behind-the-scenes change agent. This tempered radical is as Debra Myerson stated in a 2005 interview:
… a way of being, a stance toward a dominant culture, organization, or profession. It’s being both an insider and an outsider, working to fit into what is currently acceptable and working to change norms of acceptability. It’s about rocking the boat, but not so hard that you fall out of it. (Sparks, 2005, 21)
So, while invisible, I stand outside of and within the circle to gain power, knowledge, and ultimately to press toward the goal of change. As a tempered radical, I want to fit in and yet want to retain what makes me different (Meyerson & Scully, 1995). Thus, it is from this particular standpoint that I as the Black, lesbian, soft stud (masculine-of-center), Reverend, upper middle class, degreed, full professor, author, sorority girl, and former debutante share and produce what Hill Collins (1986) called a “distinctive analysis of race, class, and gender” (S15).
From my identity and perspective as an ordained Disciples of Christ (Christian Church) minister, when I consider reciprocity, I immediately recall the biblical verse Matthew 7:12 (NASB), also known as the “Golden Rule”: “In everything, therefore, treat people the same way you want them to treat you, for this is the Law and the Prophets.” How is this operationalized in the life of the one who stands on the out(side)? According to Falk and Fischbacher (2009), reciprocity is a “behavioral response to perceived kindness and unkindness, where kindness comprises both distributional fairness as well as fairness intentions” (294). How should I do unto others as they have done unto me?
The truth of the matter is that it is difficult to abide by the Golden Rule, particularly in light of the results of the 2016 U.S. presidential election. We are seemingly a more intolerant society than ever before. According to Eversley (2016), the surge of hate crimes in this country is worse than post-9/11, and has risen since the November 2016 elections.
What is real-life reciprocity for those of us who “stand alone, unpopular, and sometimes reviled”? How do we make sense of/respond to questions about our ability to teach a course or whether or not the information we are imparting is correct? (Do they do this to our white colleagues?) How do we make sense of/respond to aggressive behavior by white males toward us in our classes, departments, and office spaces? How do we make sense of/respond to white students who simply walk out because they disagree with the historically proven facts? How do we respond to white colleagues who simply “just don’t get it” and don’t intend to get it? Why is it that it seems to be the responsibility of those of us who are outside the circle to always do the work of educating, mending fences, or acting with kindness to the degradation, dehumanization, and discrimination we often face?
For me, it is about using the tools with which I have been trained during my 30 years in education—the tools that I obtained at predominantly white institutions of higher learning as well as the foundation that I received in my African American home, church, and social communities in which I was raised. These tools and training have led me to a particular meaning-making that guides me to think, interrogate, analyze, critique, and react. It is within this positionality that my ethic of responsibility has been formed, and thus my recognition that since I have been given and earned much, I am required to do more for others like me as well as for those who are completely different. It is the foundation for who I am as a leader: Black, lesbian, soft stud (masculine-of-center), Reverend, upper middle class, degreed, full professor, author, sorority girl, former debutante.
Mathis (n.d.) noted:
Souls work is the process of bringing the essential self—the soul—out of hiding. It’s a fundamental shift away from occupying the constructed self, and toward the art of living from our soul.
Soul work begins with the knowledge that the soul is always trying to move us toward wholeness. When we learn the movements of the soul we can begin to deconstruct the habits of the self-we-became-instead and yield to the profound joy and wisdom of who-we-could-have-been-all-along. This is a profound shift, one that affects every aspect of our lives—our relationships, our work, our beliefs, and our bodies. (para. 6–7)
Leadership for me is soul work. It is a part of my DNA, who I am at my nucleus, who I was created to be. As Giovanni (1988) stated, “the purpose of any leadership is to build more leadership. The purpose of being a spokesperson is to speak until the people gain a voice” (135). Thus, while the master’s tools may not be able to dismantle the master’s house, I can do my own version of renovations using the tools. These are the tools that have been used to promote racist, sexist, and homophobic patriarchy that have ruled and resided in our culture from the beginning of time. The tools of revolution and oppression themselves are not evil; it is merely how they have been wielded. The challenge is to refashion the use of tools that are already there and utilize them for our own good and advancement. In my life, both professionally and personally, this refashioning and reshaping of the tools in leadership looks like what bell hooks (1994) calls “enactment”—the lived practice of interacting in nondominating ways, making evident to all observers that we are acting in ways that suggest, for example, care, respect, and affirmation of others.
“Let me live my life out loud. Don’t dial it back, don’t dilute it, don’t apologize for it. It speaks for itself.”
—M. Obama, 2016
The longer that I am alive, the more that I understand, experience, and embody what my Grandma Janie used to always say to the grandchildren when we questioned things that we didn’t understand; she would simply say “just live.” In other words, as long as the good Lord blesses me to live, I will have the opportunity to experience all (good and bad) that life has to offer, including those things that made no sense to me when I was younger. In my more recent years, I have also understood that phrase to mean that I should be who I am, who God created me to be—that is, be authentic. In this authenticity, I bring it all to the table. The living and leading is my soul work that I do in a parrhesiatic voice that is grounded in authenticity. As Taylor (1991) stated:
There is a certain way of being human that is my way. I am called upon to live my life in this way, and not in imitation of anyone else’s. But this gives a new importance to being true to myself. If I am not, I miss the point of my life, I miss what being human is for me. […] Being true to myself means being true to my own originality, and that is something only I can articulate and discover. In articulating it, I am also defining myself. I am realizing a potentiality that is properly my own. (28–29)
This is leadership as a lifestyle, a way of life. Whether inside or outside of the circle, I am called to be my true self. My identity in authentic leadership embodies the experiences and social factors that have shaped my beliefs. It is this connection to my soul work that causes me to behave and lead in ways that are congruent with my values, goals, and beliefs. As Polonius advises his son Laertes in Shakespeare’s (1987) Hamlet: “This above all, to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not be false to any man” (3).
This authentic leadership works while standing outside of and within the circle. In my life, it works because it is a part of my self-care as a leader; I must be who I am and not who or what the world says that I should be or preconditioned me to be. While in the midst of the double consciousness (Du Bois, 1903), the code-switching tactics, and biculturalism, it is the growth over my lifetime and understanding of who I am authentically that has allowed me to see the value of this way of leadership, this way of being. Palmer (2000) noted that the power of authentic leadership resides in the human heart. That is the center for control and life—it is the soul.
This identity of responsibility looks like me being one of a very small number of out lesbian Black full professors in the country. It is my soul work to interact, admonish, praise, and teach those around me who sometimes do not see the full array of this rainbow of human beings. As a leader and a teacher of leaders, I want to “reflect important aspects of leadership that are absent in the more traditional portraits” (Meyerson, 2001, 171).
This identity of responsibility looks like me being the only one many times in spaces that are soaked with the majority. It is being the first and still only Black woman to ever be promoted (in 2010) to full professor in an institution that first opened in 1878. It is being that same Black woman who is also an out lesbian at the same very conservative and far-right-leaning institution of higher education. It is being that same Black, lesbian full professor who served as a department chair for 8 years. It is being the only Black faculty member at the 2016 Winter Commencement in a group of more than 40 faculty in attendance. My responsibility is to those few Black, brown, and other historically marginalized students who attend the institution and those very few who graduated in the ceremony. That responsibility is so much more than me. It is the “lift as we climb” responsibility. It is the “I am because you (we) are”—UBUNTU. For me, no matter if I am outside of the circle or not, this responsibility of my soul requires that as one who is placed in a position of power, I have the responsibility to do the work and bring others along.
So, here I am back to the beginning—I am one who stands outside of the circle of acceptable women because I hold these identities: Black, lesbian, soft stud (masculine-of-center), Reverend. Yet I am also inside the circle because I am upper middle class, degreed, full professor, author, sorority girl, former debutante. I am only because so many others came before me, and I am dedicated to making sure that those who follow will be educated, cared for, treated fairly, and loved as I continue to pass it on (Alston, 2015).
In a holistic view of all that I am, I connect to that which I believe to be my purpose in life, my soul work of leadership. It is my standing both outside of and within the circle that I am more powerful, more effective, and am guided to leave a legacy for those to come.
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