Opinion

Teaching While Black: Practicing American History at a Majority White College

Keith Berry

On March 28, 2008 the OAH Annual Meeting took place in New York with the theme of "Bringing Us All Together."  It was fabulous listening to the various paper presentations and meeting a few professors who I knew only through their scholarship. At one particular session I had an epiphany. I lamented that, unlike my colleagues, I did not feel the unfettered freedom to discuss issues that were presented at numerous sessions regarding racial thought. I currently teach six American survey lecture courses at a large multicampus community college in Florida with roughly forty thousand students, and while I do have the academic freedom to discuss anything in my classes, too many of my students feel otherwise.

The OAH panel discussion I attended was entitled, "Black Power, Politics, and Pop Music in the Post-World War II South," where all of the panel participants were white with the exception of closing remarks given by a young African American scholar from a southern university. The papers were solid studies that seemed to help define a people who were intimately involved in the struggle for dignity and in the efforts to create a more democratic ideal. However, my academic freedom is muted by the fact that I continually have to justify why I mention blacks at all in course lectures outside the generality of slavery.

My first teaching job was as an adjunct in the early 1990s at historically black Florida A&M University. Thank goodness I was able to build confidence as an instructor in that setting, because when I walked into class students already respected me. I did not have to earn their respect--I simply had to make sure that I did not lose what was naturally given. However, when I began teaching at the predominantly white community college where I currently work, I find that every semester I have to continually earn trust and respect from many of my students.

My approach to this problem may be a bit easier for me to adjust to because of my southern black middle-class background. My grandfather was a barber who owned his own business and he always wore a suit to work. My father is a retired college art professor who always wore a shirt and tie, even while cutting the grass at home. I grew up with an appreciation of classical music and attendance at symphonies and art galleries with my parents, while dutifully attending my local Episcopal church on Sundays. I have always known how to present myself in a nonthreatening manner in a southern culture that often seems skeptical of African American men.

My seemingly safe and conservative style, however, did not shield me from the inevitable questions of race from students and some faculty. For example, a white student once asked, "Are you embarrassed by the fact that you got your job based upon Affirmative Action?"  Near the end of another class, a student stood up and asked, "Why do you talk about black people so much?"  Waves of heads--normally attached to scrambling bodies determined to exit class first--remained frozen awaiting my response. Stunned by the question, the first thing that popped into my head was the 1860 census. I mentioned that in the American South there were roughly 9 million people, of which 3.5 to 4 million were black. The class seemed satisfied with my answer. I then stood in the empty room wondering what had just transpired. Finally, at my first graduation at the college as I sat down to eat in a faculty dining area, a fellow faculty member sat beside me and asked, "So what do you think about Louis Farrakhan?"  Confused by the question, I instinctively asked him what he thought of Reverends Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. He remarked that he "got my point," and he left the table where I sat alone, chewing my turkey sandwich.

Often, I am told by whites and blacks that it is that older generation of people who have racial issues to overcome. However, every semester since 1994 that I have taught American history, I have consistently received one or more comments like the following; "Sorry, but not everyone wants to know everything about black history. This was supposed to be a history class, not African American studies."  Another student intoned, "This was a black history course. Which is okay, but I signed up for American History 1020."  One of my all time favorite remarks was from a student who said, "The problem with Dr. Berry is that he teaches American history from a black man's point of view." 

Too often there is the assumption that everyone I mention is black. That's why I found to my surprise that students in my American history class instinctively believed that John Brown was black. I also find that few students read very much, therefore a reading component remains an important facet of my course. However, I must be very careful which books I choose so I will not have students recoil and resist African American subject matter unnecessarily thrust upon them. For example, back in the 1990s I felt compelled to choose a book that highlighted the death of a white woman named Viola Luizzo who was killed by the Klan to introduce the subject of violence toward blacks during the civil rights era, so it would not seem like a course in African American history. Sadly, these attitudes are coming from young people who fail to see as Langston Hughes did that "I, too, sing America." 

 Since I was at a Florida institution of higher learning, I thought it might be enlightening to put a copy of the July 1997 magazine entitled, Black Issues in Higher Education on my office door that year, because my alma mater--another Florida school--was highlighted as leading the nation in granting baccalaureates to African Americans. (In 2005, the magazine changed its name to Diverse Issues in Higher Education.)  Regrettably, a white student, a black student and a Hispanic student all left messages on my door implying that I was somehow racist for exposing them to the magazine. I envied the fact that historian David Garrow was interviewed in the same publication regarding Martin Luther King Jr., and I assumed that white historians like Garrow and the OAH participants I watched, enjoyed the luxury of researching and teaching in less hostile environments than African American educators.

I am certainly not naive enough to believe that white scholars do not face a similar backlash regarding gender, or negative accusations from some African Americans and other whites concerning their work. However, when African Americans are presented as part of the narrative of American history, this issue remains troublesome for far too many students at my community college to accept, especially when the lecturer is black.

Each semester I feel compelled to take time to explain to students why African Americans will be mentioned periodically in class. In fact, to begin each semester I read an excerpt to the class from Professor Louis Harlan's 1990 presidential address to the Southern Historical Association entitled, "Broadening the Concept of History."  The hope is that this effort will cut down on negative feedback like I experienced back in 1999 in the form of a note scrawled on my posted class schedule stating that my course was "Black History 101."

The majority of students at my rather large educational institution are eager to learn what they feel will prepare them for success, and they possess a keen sense of right and wrong. Unfortunately, many students have never been challenged to think critically, and possess limited knowledge of basic historical information upon which to base their ideas. Too many students--and teachers--feel compelled to stick with "safe" subjects that require little more than rote memorization. However, teaching in the South provides unique opportunities to explore sensitive subjects regarding history and race.

Currently, Florida has statutes that protect the Confederate Flag from "mutilation or disrespect."  In 2007, the county commission where my college is located honored an African American man for his civil rights activity, but before they honored him, the commission first issued a proclamation honoring General Robert E. Lee. This year, the Sons of Confederate Veterans raised a massive Confederate flag that is 30 feet high and 50 feet wide atop a 139-foot pole near the junction of Interstate 75 and I-4 on the very day that Senator Barack Obama clinched the Democratic nomination.

I am confident that the total number of students who harbor tendentious racial concerns are in the minority, but the consistent expressions of dismay regarding a more complete understanding of American history should be a concern to all educators. Teaching American history outside the racial paradigm can be lonely. However, it is imperative to understand that no matter what informational expertise one brings forth, all students ultimately recognize passion and integrity, and educators can use that energy to bring us all together.