college

Disciplining Women: Alpha Kappa Alpha, Black Counterpublics, and the Cultural Politics of Black Sororities

annette — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

I learned a lot about Black Greek-letter organizations while reading Disciplining Women: Alpha Kappa Alpha, Black Counterpublics, and the Cultural Politics of Black Sororities, specifically about the title sorority, Alpha Kappa Alpha (AKA). The author, Deborah Elizabeth Whaley, does a good job of laying out the socio-political arena in which the members lived, from the importance of stepping to the brown paper bag (skin hue) test to the members’ activism in the public sphere.

Disciplining Women is split into five chapters and includes copious endnotes for the dedicated reader. Whaley introduces us to Black Greek-letter organizations (BGLOs) generally in the first chapter by referencing the recent movie Stomp the Yard and Spike Lee’s School Daze. She notes, however, that neither film is historically complex and both are about men’s organizations, not women’s, which creates kind of a vacancy in popular imagination about the specifics and importance of Black sororities. The first chapter is a stepping point from BGLOs by and large to AKA in particular.

The second chapter focuses on placing AKA and, by extension, other BGLOs into a historical context by connecting the sorority to other culturally significant events: everything from anti-lynching activism at the turn of the last century to1990s AIDS activism and all the way up to the present. Whaley duly notes AKA’s members’ good deeds but also mentions with caution that the sorority’s “politics of respectability and reform ventures” may actually have hurt (and continue to hurt) Black Americans as a whole. One step forward, two steps back, it seems.

The third chapter was the most interesting and informative to me because it covered stepping, something I’ve been interested in since I learned about it in college. (My school had no historically Black sororities or fraternities, but the Black Student Union often hosted groups from other schools, many of which included step performers.) Whaley briefly analyzes stepping by centering it in the step performances of the African diaspora and then centers on how stepping has evolved on college campuses and how young women reproduce and recreate gender, sexual identity, and ethnic loyalties through public ritual. Though other publications have covered stepping more thoroughly, Disciplining Women expands upon Black women’s contributions to discussions of femininity and sexuality.

In the fourth chapter, from which the title of the book is taken, Whaley tackles the minefield that is hazing in a BGLO (or any Greek-letter organization). The primary AKA case study about unofficial pledge activities that resulted in a criminal trial in Kent, Ohio, provided a dark, complicated look into sorority initiation rites.

In the last chapter, AKA sisters and alumnae comment on the future of BGLOs and raise three main points of concern: “class, gender, and racial struggle; regrets and mistakes pertaining to pledging and hazing; and maintaining hope through action in the Black public sphere.” Including the voices of women in AKA proved to be an important point for Whaley; she lets the reader draw his or her own conclusions by setting historical narrative and present-day socio-political and cultural discussion side by side for review.

Disciplining Women does not work well as an introduction to Black Greek-letter organizations and seems more easily approached as a case study of one such organization, Alpha Kappa Alpha, so long as the reader already has some background knowledge of Black fraternities and sororities, stepping, and/or hazing on college campuses. The reading is verbose and intense; more than once I had to reread a sentence to understand what it really meant. Essentially, it’s an academic text rather than a popular history or easy-to-read guide. Any one of the chapters could have been exponentially expanded and, when I was able to follow the author, I often wanted it to; the discussion, when I understood it, was all too brief for my taste. Disciplining Women provides a lot of great information, but make sure you’re prepared to focus and engage in the reading without interruptions or distractions.

Written by: Viannah Duncan, December 5th 2010

Stranger Here Below

tina — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Joyce Hinnefeld

Unbridled Books

Stranger Here Below tells the stories of three generations of women whose lives are connected by a single institution and a changing America.

Amazing Grace “Maze” Jansen and Mary Elizabeth “M. E.” Cox meet at Berea College in Kentucky in 1961. Maze is a poor white mountain girl and M. E. is one of just a few African American students at the college. The young women come from difficult backgrounds and both have mothers who have struggled. Hinnefeld tells the stories of the four women, mothers and daughters, and a fifth woman named Sister Georgia. Sister Georgia went to Berea College decades earlier and is now the last surviving Shaker in Pleasant Hill, a Shaker community near Berea College.

Maze and M. E. are college roommates and scholarship students, but they are not necessarily fast friends. M. E. was raised by a stern preacher father and by Sarah, a mother who retreats into a strange world where she is incapable of simple communication. Both her race and her family background make M. E. unsure of her place in the world and she seems unable to enjoy her musical talents or her friendship with Maze. Still, Maze pursues their friendship doggedly, inviting M. E. to spend time with her at her mother's home. Maze's mother Vista raised Maze on her own, her husband having abandoned her after one night of marriage. Vista is now Sister Georgia's caretaker and the two young women stay with Vista in Sister Georgia's home.

Together the girls watch Sister Georgia perform her Shaker rituals, her dancing, and her shaking and they go through a Shaker ledger from a century ago that contains herbal remedies and recipes. Sister Georgia is old, alone, and the last member of a religion of celibates. What the two young women do not know about Sister Georgia is that when she was in college she fell in love with a black man, but her father, an abolitionist, forbade her to marry him. Her life, like and Sarah’s, is one marked by loss.

Mary Elizabeth is a talented pianist who was courted by the university for her musical abilities. School officials seemed to imply that it was unusual to see such talent in an African American. M. E. is confused by their attentions and turns away from her music. But in the early 1960’s, Maze imagines a different kind of America. She dreams of a twentieth century communal living experience that would nurture people like the five women of this book.

It's a grand scheme, and this book covers a lot of territory in few pages. Hinnefeld begins in 1968, with Maze writing a letter to her missing friend Mary Elizabeth. The next chapter takes us back to 1872 and the birth of Sister Georgia. The lives of all five women unfold in a nonlinear fashion, in isolated sections, and these sections weave in and out of the book's present and deep into the past. Perhaps this weaving back and forth in time reflects the fractured nature of these women's lives. Sometimes it's hard to put the pieces together, just as it's hard for the women to keep their own lives in order. As readers we have to work for it, but in the end I think it's worth the effort. I cared about these women and the pressures they stood up to in their struggles to make themselves whole.

Written by: Natasha Bauman, November 23rd 2010

The Selves

admin — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Sonja Elizabeth Ahlers

Drawn and Quarterly

Sonja Ahlers’ The Selves is a visual essay which combines collage, poetry, watercolor, calligraphy, prose and fabric. The result is a multi-layered and textured work that reveals something new every time you leaf through it. Although pastiche and mixed media immediately come to mind to describe Ahlers’ work, it may also be considered a new genre or a new way of looking at our lives as women in relation to mass media. As passive consumers of pop culture, we assimilate the images and narratives that mass media serve us. Unable to discern the promoters from the products and the dreams they’re selling, we model our various “selves” from babyhood to old age around the ideals these promoters project. At least, that’s my interpretation of the book, but yours may be very different. Now imagine someone appropriating these same images and presenting them in a new way as social commentary. For instance, Ahlers presents an intellectual side of Marilyn Monroe using a rare photograph of her reading, next to a text by Gloria Steinem describing how hard it was for men to reconcile Marilyn’s love for books with her physical appearance. We also see repeated images of Princess Diana throughout her life, from a young woman who marries a prince, to a princess who never lives happily ever after. We also see a very young Angelina Jolie in the company of her father, reminding us that beauty and fame do not exempt anyone from pain. The public is indeed very different from the private. Some serious themes such as suicide, child abuse, self-mutilation, female rivalry and abortion are raised in The Selves, but this book is not without humor. The images Ahlers uses are readily recognizable to any woman born in the 1970s or early '80s, and nostalgia is guaranteed. I enjoyed the author’s unapologetic acceptance of these images into her life and presenting them in a new light to show another side or expose another issue. This visual essay may be hard for some to embrace, but I applaud any artist-cum-author who takes on this challenge and does it well enough to land a publisher. Moving away from the old confines means not letting others define what an acceptable genre is.

Written by: Heather Leighton, August 26th 2010

No Longer Separate, Not Yet Equal: Race and Class in Elite College Admissions and Campus Life

admin — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Thomas J. Espenshade, Alexandria Walton Radford

Princeton University Press

No Longer Separate, Not Yet Equal is a thorough and accessible study of race- and class-based dynamics at elite American colleges and universities. Sociologists Thomas J. Espenshade and Alexandria Walton Radford report on the racial and class makeup of student populations at top U.S. schools at various stages of their college careers, and conclude with suggestions for closing the racial academic achievement divide in American society more broadly. The result is a lucid and informative analysis that will benefit students, parents, admissions officers, teachers, and anyone interested in how race and social class come to bear on prestigious campuses.

The first six chapters of No Longer Separate, Not Yet Equal analyze patterns of application, admission, scholarly performance, financial aid, and other factors among Black, White, Hispanic, and Asian students at America's most selective undergraduate programs. However, non-specialists and readers most interested in the potential applications of Espenshade's and Radford's research may wish to concentrate on the final chapters, which consider both affirmative action and class-based admissions procedures. Because elite colleges have more financial wherewithal than public universities, the authors charge top schools with the responsibility of recruiting, admitting, and graduating more low-income students. Especially rousing is the authors' call for the establishment of an American Competitiveness and Leadership Project (ACLP), which would work both to identify causes of the racial academic achievement gap between Black-White and Hispanic-White students and work to combat this gap on a national level.

As a first-generation college graduate from a poor family, I found this book both tremendously interesting and, sometimes, a bit at odds with my own college experience. While the authors rightly make the point that on-campus jobs identify less affluent students to their wealthier peers, it seems to me that class divisions among college students can be apparent in much more entrenched and longstanding ways—from clothes to vocabulary, from parental involvement to extracurricular activities—for work-study to be of so much significance as a class identifier. The authors' suggested substitution for work-study, however, is exciting. Noting that students who have on-campus jobs tend to interact more often with people from different backgrounds, Espenshade and Radford propose mandatory campus-wide "community service activity" initiatives that would replace work-study programs and bring together students of diverse backgrounds. Such a program would benefit both campus life and community outreach.

Another drawback is the book’s reliance on four broad racial categories, White, Black, Hispanic, or Asian. The authors are quick to acknowledge the different multiracial, immigrant, and descendant identities that comprise these categories, but at times the groupings still feel a bit reductive. This is especially evident in the book’s treatment of Native American and Pacific Islander students. While “American Indian/Native American/Alaska Native” and “Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander” were options along the other categories on the student survey the authors used, these results are not discussed at length. The authors explain that “There was an insufficient number of individuals responding to the NSCE survey who listed Native American/Alaska Native to constitute a meaningful analysis category.” It didn’t seem to me that the authors spent any sustained part of their study focusing on Native American or Pacific Islander students, and some further elaboration of why not would have been helpful.

I have no background in sociology, so I was pleased with the readability of_No Longer Separate, Not Yet Equal_. Espenshade and Radford demystify elite university admissions procedures and analyze the current state of racial and socioeconomic diversity at selective institutions, all in clear prose and with abundant statistical detail. Should universities implement class-based admissions? What roles should top schools play in eliminating racial inequality across generations of students? Not only does this book offer some answers to these questions, even more importantly, it will give you the tools you need to decide for yourself.

Written by: Barbara Barrow, January 27th 2010

El Reflejo

admin — Sat, 16 May 2009 10:02:00 +0000

By Cal State Long Beach students

Long Beach is unlike any other city in Southern California; it is a place where both million dollar homes and low-income housing co-exist within mere miles of each other, it is suburban and urban, it’s an oppressive, concrete jungle that happens to be surrounded by picturesque beaches, but most compelling, perhaps, is the eclectic mix of people that call the city home. Long Beach is a true representation of the term “all walks of life.” Inhabitants include blond beach babes, immigrants from every country, a large black community, the ultra-wealthy, hordes of homeless, a thriving gay community, and a massive Latino culture, which should come as no surprise seeing as how forty percent of the city is Latino. It is these last two segments of Long Beach society that most concern the staff of El Reflejo, a small, self-published zine compiled by students of Cal State Long Beach.

El Reflejo, which means “the reflection” in Spanish, is quite literally a direct reflection of the lives of its writers. Not all of the zine’s staff members are Latino, but many of them are members of campus organizations such as FUEL (Future Underrepresented Educated Leaders) and La Raza Student Association. The content featured in the zine comes in all forms: poems, essays, confessions, drawings and all of it manages to be optimistic, angry, idealistic, tragic, and hilarious, as only young people are apt to be. Though small in size, the publication makes a big impact for students who would otherwise go unheard; either through their own self-imposed silence or because no forum previously existed for them to be heard.

There are two sections guaranteed to be in each issue: Jotos Anonimos and Mojados Anonimos, which are essentially sections cordoned off for writings pertaining to being queer and undocumented; writers can remain anonymous if they choose. Yadira Arroyo, a Chicano studies major and women’s studies minor, is one of El Reflejo’s most outspoken writers and does not pussyfoot her around her intentions for the zine. Arroyo said:

“Personally, I want to smash that macho/hyper-nationalistic stereotype of Chicano activists. I want to replace it with one of love, as corny as that sounds. Love for who you are and where you come from, but not blind love. Despite public perception, Latinos do not inherently come from a place of malice, which is often assumed in the cases of ‘lawless’ undocumented immigrants, for example. Our culture can certainly be ugly at times, but in the end we are just trying to love and survive.”

The zine, which is small and humble… and xeroxed, is a true labor of love. The publication is in no way funded by Cal State Long Beach and none of its eight core staff members get paid. Essentially, it is through the sale of nachos, hot dogs, beer, and liquor at what seems to be a constant stream of fundraisers that El Reflejo gets the meager funds it needs to continue chugging forward into its unsure future.

What began as nothing more than an idea being kicked around at a 2005 student retreat, has since blossomed into a four-year-old publication that gives students such as Pablo Ildefonso, a Chicano studies major, the chance to finally make their presence known on a campus lacking in diversity. “We exist on this campus, which is something the University tends to forget when they generalize the student experience here. Our experiences as Latinos on this campus aren’t known very well and my voice needs to be heard if there are people going through a similar things,” Ildefonso said.

Student publications have famously been the one place where young people can voice their concerns and opinions about the unsure world they are living in. It is only through the blood, sweat, and tears of the unrepresented segment of the Cal State Long Beach student body that this type of alternative media outlet can exist—and that’s not a bad thing. According to Arroyo, the staff’s efforts to keep the zine going and their pained published writings are a record of their existence on campus and it is because of their efforts that people will be able to look back and know how progressive Latino students were managing in a less-than-accepting world.

“This is our voice, our affirmation,” said Arroyo. “We produce work and it validates us in a way that society doesn’t. Mainstream, white-American, classist culture is supposed to be the stamp of approval, but with El Reflejo, we have the opportunity to nourish a beautiful arena—one that’s free from the outsider’s gaze.”

Written by: Tina Vasquez, May 16th 2009

She Said, She Said (3/18/2009)

admin — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 09:07:00 +0000

WorkShop Theater

New York, New York

As a Wellesley alum, I am probably the perfect person to review Kathryn Chetkovich’s She Said, She Said, an intimate portrait of a group of friends who met at a women’s college and are now, years later, forced to contend with many of the sociopolitical issues they faced in the seventies. The triad of feminists, now in varying degrees, is shaken to the core when one of their own, Jamie (Shelley McPherson) reveals that her recent ex-husband Ross (Mark Hofmaier) has raped her. The result is an intense eighty minutes of constantly shifting perceptions and sympathies, with an undercurrent of questions concerning how feminism has changed and what it means today.

Most of these questions revolve around Jamie’s friend Claire (Julianne Carpenter) and the impact the rape has (or doesn’t have) on her relationship with her husband-to-be, Ross’ brother Dan (Tom Berdik). For a play that focuses on such a private, sensitive issue and the subtle ripple effect it has on this network of people, the WorkShop’s black box theater is an appropriately intimate space. Director Peter Sylvester optimizes the relatively small stage by dividing it into smaller spaces for the different scene locations. In a play that runs at almost an hour and a half without intermission, there is not only a space constraint, but also a time constraint, especially considering all the time these characters have known each other. To fully convey this history, Sylvester uses projections of old college photos between scenes.

The scenes that feature Chetkovich’s more everyday, free-flowing conversation play very well, but unfortunately some of the more high-stakes dramatic moments fall flat. As a result, many of the big reveals don’t have as much impact as they could. Still, there are certainly highlights among the performances, like Hofmaier’s Ross, who manages to be quite likeable even though he’s initially set up as the piece’s villain. Ashley Anderson is also wonderful as CoCo, the group’s twenty-something friend who waits tables at the bar they frequent. What could have easily been a one-note, one-dimensional caricature is made very real and sympathetic thanks to Anderson’s intricacy and conviction.

Certainly the biggest draw in this production is Chetkovich’s script, which raises important, timely feminist issues in a refreshing way. The friction between the now almost middle-aged college alums and the young CoCo acts as the perfect embodiment of the generational gap amongst today’s feminists. The group’s shock and concern over CoCo’s sexual liberalism forces us to ask ourselves what it means to be a free woman and how we are expected to live that ideal. More specifically, there is the inner conflict of the women’s college alum readapting to the real world and integrating her feminist views into a traditionally patriarchal institution such as marriage.

In the end, however, She Said, She Said is not so preachy. As the play progresses, Chetkovich makes it more about her characters and their particular issues, unraveling their relationships with an elegant subtlety. Just like us, they are all more complex than they seem, and their problems go far beyond the gender issue.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, March 24th 2009