I bet that some of the folks who came to hear Carl Singley and Michael Eric Dyson debate issues of race were disappointed. If someone came expecting a discourse that was comprised of the all-too-usual hand-wringing, garment-renting, insinuation/accusation/apologist style of race discussions, he or she was probably let down.
But if you came prepared for some hard-charging, nuclear-powered intellectual confrontation of communication paradigms (Singley) with a counterpunch of racial/racism deconstruction that reaches back to our societal underpinnings (Dyson), then you got what you came for.
Singley, who served as Temple Law School's first black dean, strides the Philadelphia social landscape as an accomplished attorney, a man of formidable intellect and a significant political operative. He electrified the crowd with his willingness to take on, in graphic terms, some of the problems with cross-racial communication, beginning with the use of the "n" word. He acknowledged that "white folks can't use that word ... and I don't know why," arguing for the necessity of open and candid discourse.
He decries the fact that contemporary discussions on race center all too often on words themselves and "are about somebody's feelings getting hurt." He doesn't buy this as a legitimate gripe, and considers this a far cry from the historic struggles of the Civil Rights Movement. He refers to himself as "an old head," one who has actually heard, in person, the great civil rights leaders of this century speak: Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, H. Rap Brown. He describes racism as much more ubiquitous, and much more complex than contemporary conversations and news coverage would suggest. And his advice? "Just stop it."
Dyson, a Penn professor of Religious Studies, is a rising media star in this academic space, having written several acclaimed books and having become a regular in multiple national news venues. With a rat-a-tat-tat style of delivery that slides back toward the pulpit, he deconstructs the "n" word and its usage by blacks and whites, past and present. His position is that this word is the exclusive property of the black community, just as the word "fag" can be used among gays as a term of endearment, and not by heterosexuals. He bemoans the fact that too many people in too many discussions about race know so little of the facts: "How was affirmative action put into law? What does it actually mean? How many blacks were actually lynched?" Dyson rhetorically asks the audience.
He leans toward further complexity when he asserts, within the same discussion points, that Southerners combined the word "n-----" and "negro," creating the word "nigra," and then expounds on his belief that Lyndon Johnson did more for blacks in America than any president since Lincoln. He did not note, as Johnson biographers Robert Caro and Robert Dallek do, that Johnson used the word "nigra" quite liberally and openly. With this example, Dyson makes Singley's point.
Throughout the two hours that these men spoke, there were moments I felt like I was in church. Not the Catholic church I attend these days, inspiring though it is when Father Jim Dever says Mass. It felt more like the Pentecostal churches of my adolescence, when I was reaching for more than a doctrinal connection to my faith. It's a gut connection, one that goes beyond doctrine, beyond articulation, beyond the intellectually verifiable.
Dyson, whose doctorate is in religion and who is also a minister, was able to summon murmurs of almost Amen-like assent from members of the audience. And the cadence of Singley's remarks rocked you, like a smooth melody that could, at any moment, rip into a thunderous chorus reminiscent of a powerful gospel choir. When they fill the sanctuary with their voices, you know you are in the presence of something extraordinary.
It had to make the event co-sponsors proud. Philadelphia Magazine Editor in Chief Larry Platt, who opened the event, and Wharton professor Kenneth Shropshire, who moderated the Q&A; session, had to have had at least moments when they wondered what they were getting themselves into. After all, discussions on race, however academic or well intended, can be a tinderbox for a firestorm, leaving embers that burn long after the fire is out. As Carl Singley affirmed, we still don't want to bring up the Penn water buffalo incident.
There were clearly moments of tension in the room. When Shropshire opened the Q&A;, you got a sense of the audience holding their breath. Who would ask a question? What would they say? Who would react? And to what? What was immediately clear was that each person who was witness to this remarkable event would apply their personal prism to each question and comment. Given that there were at least a couple of hundred people in the audience, any real, in-depth exploration would take all night ... kind of like an old-time revival meeting.
As the crowd broke, and the book and magazine signing began, what lingered was a sense that sacred cows had been sacrificed, like an Old Testament altar offering. We were in the sanctuary. We were there to bear witness. We say, "Amen."
Donna Gentile O’Donnell is a Ph.D. candidate in health policy history from Philadelphia, Pa. vox populi... will appear on alternate fridays.
