We Do It For the People

All of us live within “imagined communities” (to borrow the phrase from Benedict Anderson). Oftentimes, these “communities” are verbalized as “the ____ community,” where you could insert global, American, New York, Harlem, Black, activist, Columbia, etc. But all of these communities extend from and exceed the physical presence and interactions of their individual members. They are also fragmented, with constantly shifting and sometimes contradictory boundaries and definitions. Yet, identification with imagined communities is a powerful force, responsible for some of history’s greatest triumphs and darkest hours. In my experience, identification with larger communities (like the history of the Black Freedom Struggle) has been a great source of strength, but has also rendered me vulnerable to having my individuality compromised and confined.

As a board member of the Black Students Organization, the rest of the group and I often struggled with defining the mission of our organization and how it should guide our actions. As a “cultural” organization, it has an orientation and responsibility toward black students and issues relevant to them, but it must also deal with the (obvious) fact that there is a great deal of diversity among black students on this campus, most of whom don’t participate in our programs. There were discussions about whether or not the group should take certain stances on contentious issues due to a fear that the board’s decision could alienate some black students by making them feel like they weren’t represented by the group. However, we often did decide to take political positions because we arrived at the conclusion that a responsibility to black students did not mean that we had to agree with all of them. This is a stance that recognizes that “the black community” is not static and uniform, but dynamic and contested.

There is an insidious racism that is often inherent to the representational qualities that are ascribed (willingly and unwillingly) to cultural groups and to individuals who speak out on issues of race. These groups and individuals can often be seen as spokespeople providing the “black,” “Asian,” etc. perspective or opinion on a topic, and may thus be contacted by reporters or administrators a disproportionate number of times. Students who share the same identity may become upset when they do not share the same opinion as their “representatives” and have to go out of their way to point out that they have a different opinion. In these circumstances, there is a devaluing of the individual perspectives and experiences of the people who (unfairly or not) become spokespeople, and there is a racist assumption of greater uniformity among their communities. A black student on this campus who doesn’t agree with what I have to say shouldn’t have to note that not all black people agree with me because that should simply be expected. In writing this column, I want to draw on and address collective experiences, but I hope to be appreciated for my individuality as well.

The tension between collective identity and individuality also works its way into interpersonal relationships. At a recent ROOTEd discussion on “White Allies,” students talked about some of the difficulties of cross-racial dialogue and relationships. In these attempts at connecting with people across racial identities, race could be both too important, and not important enough. I was reminded of James Baldwin, who said, “I don’t like people who like me because I’m a Negro; neither do I like people who find in the same accident grounds for contempt.” We talked about how in many of our experiences, cross-racial relationships worked best when they existed in an unstable area which recognized the importance of race and identity, but ultimately was based on a human interest that appreciated the complexity, nuance, and individuality of our experiences.

As much as holding onto imagined collective identities (not that we necessarily have a choice) can invite the danger of dehumanization and devaluation of individuality, I wouldn’t suggest abandoning this practice altogether. I do feel a responsibility to and identification with various communities. I am therefore left to struggle with how to arrive at a productive and creative tension between the strength of collectivity and the appreciation of individuality. Part of this process begins in recognizing the dynamism and diversity of imagined, but nevertheless forcefully real, communities. In seeing these communities as fields of struggle, rather than timeless and static, we can appreciate our own power to shape them and participate in them as individuals, and that the diversity within them is not something to be seen as alienating or divisive, but as an affirmation of their vitality.

Christien Tompkins is a Columbia College senior majoring in African-American studies.
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