“Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood”: Ruminations on Teaching Black Masculinity in the

United States
Author(s): Courtney L. Thompson
Source: Women, Gender, and Families of Color , Vol. 6, No. 1, Trump's America?
Disquiet Campus? Marginalized College Students, Faculty, and Staff Reflect on Learning,
Working, Living, and Engaging (Spring 2018), pp. 103-109
Published by: University of Illinois Press

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 “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”: Ruminations on
Teaching Black Masculinity in the United States

Courtney L. Thompson, The University of the South

This innocent country set you down in a ghetto in which, in fact, it

intended that you should perish. Let me spell out precisely what I mean
by that, for the heart of the matter is here, and the root of my dispute with
my country. You were born where you were born and faced the future that
you faced because you were black and for no other reason. The limits of
your ambition were, thus, expected to be set forever. You were born into a
society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways as pos-
sible, that you were a worthless human being.
—James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time (7)

To be black in the Baltimore of my youth was to be naked before the ele-

ments of the world, before all the guns, fists, knives, crack, rape, and
disease. The nakedness is not an error, nor pathology. The nakedness is
the correct and intended result of policy, the predictable upshot of people
forced for centuries to live under fear. The law did not protect us.
—Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me (17)

I
n The Fire Next Time (1963), James Baldwin offers a cogent critique of the
status of black men in the United States. In his analysis, he bemoans the way
black male subjectivity is perceived as expendable and, as a consequence,
equated with nothingness. Baldwin draws our attention to the reality that,
in American law and life, black lives have been misconstrued as worthless,
deemed socially inferior, and vilified as unfit to serve in any capacity other
than that of a subordinate. Ta-Nehisi Coates’s most salient observations about
black manhood in Between the World and Me (2015), penned a little over
50 years later, resonate with Baldwin’s assertion that society is purposely
structured in a way that excludes black men. Without mincing words, Coates
describes an unmistakable “nakedness” that exposes the condition of blacks,

Courtney L. Thompson is an assistant professor at the University of the South. She identi-
fies as a black woman from a working-class background.

Women, Gender, and Families of Color  Spring 2018, Vol. 6, No. 1  pp. 130–109
©2018 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

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 104  thompson

revealing that they have been stripped of the rights and responsibilities—in
effect, the benefits—associated with citizenship. Taken together, a striking
parallel emerges between these two texts as they denounce a racially stratified
society that engenders sustained attacks on black bodies from one genera-
tion to the next.
After a turbulent year marked by civil unrest and massive protests in cit-
ies across the nation in response to the senseless killings of unarmed black
men and women, I felt compelled to offer an undergraduate course that
focused on black masculinity in the United States.1 I envisioned an intellec-
tually discursive space where students could begin to confront some of the
perceptions of black men found in the news, on social media, and within
their neighborhoods and communities. For some students, interpreting and
grappling with mainstream representations of black men was nothing new.
Either they self-identified as black men, or they had spent a good deal of
their lives exposed to black men in the form of fathers, uncles, brothers,
cousins, and friends. For other students, their racial identities and social
locations prevented them from understanding the experiences of black men
beyond the superficial. They did not know firsthand about the dimensions
of black manhood or how these dimensions impacted the daily lives of black
men—regardless of socioeconomic status, sexuality, religious orientation, or
ability. They were not black; neither did they have black grandfathers, fathers,
brothers, or uncles; some did not even have black friends.
In the wake of what felt like an onslaught of state-sanctioned violence
that targeted black men and women, the constant negation of black identity
as marked in nuanced and complex ways led me to think carefully about
protester Ali Delan’s plea: “We need answers for Michael Brown.”2 By exten-
sion, I reasoned that we needed answers for us all. As an educator striving to
be both conscious and compassionate, I felt I had a responsibility to affirm
black identity, defend its fluidity, and participate constructively in dialogues
intended to advance a broader discourse on blackness. I was committed to
using my sphere of influence—albeit a small and unassuming classroom—to
foster progressive, student-centered exchanges about black manhood that
would prompt students to think critically, and in some cases introspectively,
about the plight of black men, their families, and their communities.
We needed to theorize democracy in order to enhance and expand our
collective understanding of what it meant to be a black man in the twenty-
first century. By contemplating American identity from the standpoint of
black men, we would be challenging the ways in which essentialist notions
of democratic practice rendered black men invisible and undermined their
rights as citizens. I envisioned an integrative course that would generate

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 spring 2018  /  women, gender, and families of color  105

thought-provoking and informative conversations about an increasingly

toxic sociopolitical climate in which racial antipathy was running high. While
some on campus interpreted the loss of black lives as insignificant, others
discerned troubling patterns that gave whole communities pause and sum-
moned a spirit of righteous indignation—rage—that could not be suppressed.
With few outlets, this anguish and pain materialized in protests, rebellions,
and uprisings across the nation.
Few students had the intellectual tools to unpack the deeply troubling
scenes that were unfolding right before their eyes—scenes of innocent and
unarmed black men and women being killed, poor people and people of
color being systematically denied due process under the law, and social
unrest that sometimes devolved into more violence and the destruction of
property. Seldom could I identify students who felt competent enough to
consider the ramifications of being black and male in a culture that, from
its inception, had devalued black maleness. As a faculty member at a small,
elite, predominantly white liberal arts college, I knew that I could not leave
the questions that many of my students had about black men, and why they
were routinely perceived as dangerous and threatening, unanswered.
Given the liberal arts tradition, which is rooted in a commitment to
ideological diversity and the perception of colleges and universities as milieus
where critical inquiry occurs, I was prepared to engage in conversations
about racial bias. I wanted to deal constructively with the ambivalence and
resistance among students whose worldviews differed significantly from my
own. Though incensed about the unexplained deaths of unarmed black men
and women, I did not want to be antagonistic. I recognized that a compre-
hensive and sustained dialogue about the systematic dehumanization of black
lives in the United States would only occur in the span of a semester. As a
self-identified black woman instilled with working-class values, developing a
course that focused primarily on the experiences of black men felt daunting
but necessary. As I began to compile the readings for the course, I sifted at
times through reflections and analyses that I had no idea existed but were
clearly in conversation with each other. I became even more sensitive to the
fact that, in the minds of some traditional thinkers, I would be transgressing
certain cultural boundaries and gender norms.
The learning objectives were ambitious. As students deliberated over the
realities of living in a hierarchical society wherein whiteness was considered
normative and therefore privileged, I wanted them to understand how this
circumstance impacted the ways in which they moved through the world and
how others, through no fault of their own, were forced to navigate a very differ-
ent terrain. More specifically, I wanted students to investigate the historical and

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 106  thompson

contemporary delineations of black manhood in order to think comparatively

about how these representations have shifted and/or remained consistent in
American culture and society. An awareness of the political, economic, social,
and cultural factors that influenced definitions of black masculinity was essen-
tial to developing a real rather than imagined understanding of it. While the
challenges that black men negotiated in their daily lives would be clear from
studying their experiences, it was also important for students to consider the
contours of black men’s agency. Identifying the coping strategies that many
black men utilize to survive a hostile climate in which they are routinely scru-
tinized, marginalized, criminalized, and pathologized would be critical. By the
end of the semester, students would be able to demonstrate an understanding
of the relationship between mainstream perceptions of black men as violent
and menacing, criminal minded, and sexually irrepressible, and the social
realities that circumscribed black men’s daily lives.
From the beginning, I recognized the benefits of centering the perspec-
tives of black men whose political, sexual, religious, professional, and class
identities varied. Within the dominant narrative, there is a tendency to repre-
sent identities that exist along the periphery in ways that are static rather than
complex and evolving. While I acknowledged that there were commonalities
that existed among black men that were worth noting, integrating first-person
narratives that would highlight the richness and breadth of the experiences
of black men was a core objective. We needed to explore the ways in which
black men’s experiences overlapped and the ways that they diverged.
The black autobiographical tradition provides an alternative narrative of
black identity and creates a broader context in which to understand blackness
by disrupting what Toni Morrison aptly describes as the “master narrative”
that is reinforced by white paternalism and the misguided notion that black
people are better explained by others or left misunderstood.3 It articulates
what it means to be a black man from the perspectives of those who are
most familiar with this reality, not because of what they have studied but
because of what they have withstood. Given the ways in which black men’s
lives and their very survival against the odds subverts the racial status quo,
which denigrates and demeans black bodies indiscriminately, it is not a large
jump logically to interpret the survival of black men as an act of resistance or
their narratives as symbolic of this ongoing struggle. In To Tell a Free Story,
William L. Andrews maintains,
As black autobiography necessarily establishes its relationship to the essen-
tial texts of oppressive American culture, it also becomes a revisionistic
instrument in the hands of its greatest practitioners. It urges re-vision of the

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 spring 2018  /  women, gender, and families of color  107

myths and ideals of America’s culture-defining scriptures while it demands

new sight of white readers to recognize the ways in which autobiography
has become a mode of Afro-American scripture. (986, 14)

Andrews’s description of black autobiography emphasizes the way in which it

provides a counternarrative to the established texts of the American regime.
The overall condition of blacks historically necessitated the circulation of
literature (specifically narratives) that expressed their humanity and col-
lective desire for freedom and liberation.4 Often in the academy, there is a
palpable tension between knowledge that is gleaned from experience and
knowledge that is believed to be theoretical or more objective. Given the
centrality of the oral tradition in African American culture, I knew that
omitting the voices of the men whose lives we intended to explore would be
counterproductive.5 Using autobiographical texts, I tried to challenge the
notion that personal experience is not a basis for understanding, navigating,
and analyzing the world. As a consequence, we developed an appreciation
for standpoint theory, and, rather than leading to definitive or conclusive
ways of constructing black masculinity, this framework highlighted how
fluid these constructions tend to be.6
As I reflect on my experiences teaching this course, I feel a deep sense
of gratitude to the men whose lives we explored. Although some of these
men were public figures, many were living their lives without accolades or
recognition of any sort. While politics often determine which stories are told,
it takes heart to surrender parts of one’s private self to public scrutiny. For
this reason, those who have been historically silenced, dismissed, or rendered
inconsequential—yet dare to express what it means to be themselves—should
be celebrated.
Every semester that I have the opportunity to teach this course, I learn
something new. Predictably, there are the insights derived from rereading
and juxtaposing the texts against each other, but I also learn from the stu-
dents who come to the class with a range of expectations and experiences;
their levels of investment as the semester progresses are just as telling. The
perspectives that we bring, those that we examine, and those that we embrace
enable this course to be transformative.
Courses, whether electives or required, should have a purpose that extends
beyond the classroom. “Black Masculinity in the United States” has helped
students become more culturally aware, consider diverse perspectives, and
complicate their understanding of the world by rethinking how it works. It
also fosters social awareness that gains new meaning when students leave the
classroom and venture into the world. Students learn skills in the course that

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 108  thompson

are transferable—whether talking to people about their lives and centering

these perspectives or thinking comparatively about the ways in which our
lived experiences are not necessarily universal nor should they be in order
to count.
My desire is that students leave the course feeling more knowledgeable
and better equipped to champion social justice issues that may not affect
them directly but impact the lives of those who are equally human. For
many students, this course will serve as a point of departure for delving
more deeply into the lives of others; for some, this course will prompt them
to take a stand and respond when they notice injustice happening whether
in private or public.
While many in the professoriate have the good fortune of teaching courses
that connect to their research interests, we do not always have the opportunity
to imagine, develop, and teach courses for the common good that address
pressing social issues and speak directly to the human condition. In this
respect, I have had an abundance of riches. My training as an interdisciplin-
ary scholar whose work is concerned with race, gender, and class has made
it possible to approach critical social issues in creative and innovative ways
that not only challenge my own thinking but the thinking of my students. In
the life of the mind, this is where push comes to shove. Intellectually, nothing
is more gratifying.

Notes
1. According to Swaine et al. (2015), “Young black men were nine times more likely
than other Americans to be killed by police officers in 2015, according to the findings of a
Guardian study that recorded a final tally of 1,134 deaths at the hands of law enforcement
officers this year. . . . Despite making up only 2% of the total U.S. population, African
American males between the ages of 15 and 34 comprised more than 15% of all deaths
logged this year by an ongoing investigation into the use of deadly force by police. Their
rate of police-involved deaths was five times higher than for white men of the same age.”
2. According to Somashekhar and Rich (2016), “The [Washington] Post found that the
vast majority of those shot and killed by police were armed and half of them were white.
Still, police killed blacks at three times the rate of whites when adjusted for the popula-
tions where these shootings occurred. And although black men represent 6 percent of the
U.S. population, they made up nearly 40 percent of those who were killed while unarmed.”
3. See Bill Moyers’s interview with Toni Morrison, “Toni Morrison on Love and Writing.”
A World of Ideas, PBS, March 11, 1990.
4. The role of black artists has long been debated. See Li (2015), Gerald (1976), Catlett
(1975), Wright (1937), Hughes (1926), and Du Bois (1926).
5. According to Anokye (1997), African Americans come from a “rich oral tradition”
(230).

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 spring 2018  /  women, gender, and families of color  109

6. In “Standing at the Crossroads of Modernist Thought,” Mann and Kelley (1997)

describe standpoint theory as “an approach that argues that knowledge is and should
be situated in people’s diverse social locations. As such, all knowledge is affected by the
social conditions under which it is produced; it is grounded in both the social location
and the social biography of the observer and observed” (392).

References
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1760–1865. Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1986.
Anokye, A. Duku. “A Case for Orality in the Classroom.” The Clearing House 70, no. 5
(1997): 229–31.
Baldwin, James. The Fire Next Time. New York: Vintage International, 1993.
Catlett, Elizabeth. “The Role of the Black Artist.” The Black Scholar 6, no. 9 (1975): 10–14.
Coates, Ta-Nehisi. Between the World and Me. New York: Spiegel & Grau, 2015.
Du Bois, W. E. B. “Criteria of Negro Art.” Crisis 32, no. 6 (1926): 290, 292, 294, 296–97. Avail-
able at http://www.webdubois.org/dbCriteriaNArt.html?__hstc=223762052.192084a
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Mann, Susan A., and Lori R. Kelley. “Standing at the Crossroads of Modernist Thought:
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.washingtonpost.com/national/final-tally-police-shot-and-killed-984-people-in
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=.72f92cc1e751, accessed March 10, 2018
Swaine, Jon, Oliver Laughland, Jamiles Lartey, and Ciara McCarthy. “Young Black Men
Killed by US Police at Highest Rate in Year of 1, 134 Deaths.” The Guardian (Manchester,
UK), December 31, 2015. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2015/
dec/31/the-counted-police-killings-2015-young-black-men, accessed April 9, 2018.
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