Looking back on my time writing for Spectator, I am saddened by the mostly vicious and unintelligent attacks that have been directed at me. At the same time, though, I rejoice in the opportunity I have had to make my voice heard, especially at a time when so many others’ go unnoticed. However, there have been several individuals who have read my work and offered intelligent, thoughtful criticisms rooted in a mutual respect and desire for truth. In the discussion that follows, I will attempt to clarify and expound upon a couple of particularly contentious points I have written about in the past.
On Madonna Constantine and Justice
Earlier this year, when Teachers College professor Madonna Constantine was first accused of plagiarism, I wrote a column—not to defend her as many have claimed, but to offer a vision of restorative justice I felt would have been most beneficial to our community. I wrote about the need for the alleged victims and the accused to engage each other in dialogue. I called for a University-wide forum wherein we could practice the values we hold in common (e.g. compassion) instead of those which only serve to divide us. In addition to these modest proposals, I suggested that we reconsider the environment of academic competitiveness we have created that only breeds the dishonest and mistrust we so strongly abhor.
Some have wondered what exactly the extent of this notion of justice is. Does it apply to all offenses? For example, ought we to simply talk to murderers about their offenses in hopes of reaching reconciliation? As unrealistic as it may be, the answer is yes, at least in part. Freedom and justice have never been “realistic.” If individuals formed the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, despite all its shortcomings, to seek justice in post-apartheid South Africa, surely we can adopt a similarly loving approach to accusations of plagiarism at a university. I admit that this vision is a very difficult notion to accept, especially for those deeply invested in a conception of justice as punishment, and I am under no illusion that a persuasive account is offered here. Still, I think it is important to imagine the world as it ought to be instead of remaining confined to the limited possibilities of our current reality.
On Blackness
In my Oct. 7 column, “Is Barack Obama Black Enough?” I offered what I view to be the most useful conception of blackness, one that defines blacks as those who are victims of anti-black racism (for a similar but slightly different account of blackness, see Harvard professor Tommie Shelby’s book We Who Are Dark: The Philosophical Foundations of Black Solidarity). This politically-based understanding of blackness differs from cultural ones that define blackness in terms of cultural signifiers such as music preference or style of dress.
Now, instead of attempting to show the reader how blackness should be understood in political terms, it would be more useful to help the reader understand how our everyday understandings of blackness already conform to this model. Take, for example, president-elect Barack Obama’s racial identity. He identifies as black and we label him as such. But why is he considered black instead of white? After all, his mother was a white woman. The answer, I think, lies in the fact that he is subject to anti-black racism. Though we may reasonably call him “multi-racial” or any other term that would signify his mixed racial identity, it would be improper to call him “white,” because that would place him outside the purview of anti-black racism. It is only because he is subject to such anti-black racism that we even consider him black. So it seems that even in our acknowledging the< president-elect as “black,” we are at the same time acknowledging the social and political system of white supremacy.
Why I Write
To conclude, I would like to say a little about why I chose to write for Spectator. Though I have grappled with contentious topics in this column, my purpose has always been to spread the message of love and compassion that Martin Luther King articulated in his 1963 book Strength to Love. I believe that love is the tool that will lead us to a deeper understanding of each other and a more just and free society. I consciously risk seeming naïve in order to achieve the improbable possibilities of freedom. Yet this vision of love does not exclude the rigors of political struggle and the strenuous task of building community. We have to learn to listen to each other and to extend compassion even when it is counter-intuitive and difficult to do so. Building community requires recovering love. We must equip our hearts for the task.
Anthony Kelley is a Columbia College senior majoring in women’s and gender studies. Strength to Love runs alternate Tuesdays. Opinion@columbiaspectator.com