As public discourse continues to shift towards anti-racist education and topics of racial injustice, inequality, and inequity, I find myself thinking about the ways my research fits into this moment. I also wonder how my personal identity may be acting as a potential hindrance to the work that I am doing. On the topic of Black scholarship and decolonization of the digital humanities Safiya Umoja Noble writes in her essay, “Towards a Critical Black Digital Humanities”,
“ The digital humanities is moving to the fore of the academy at a moment of heightened racial oppression, rising white supremacy, anti-LGBTQ hysteria among politicians, anti-immigrant legislation, mass incarceration, and the most profound wealth and resource inequality (which disproportionately harms women and children) to be recorded in modern times. If critical digital humanists are not willing to lead the conversation about the implications of the digital on social inequality and to help develop policy that attempts to mitigate this inequality, then who can?” (2).
As I continue to establish myself academically and carve out a little space of my own within the digital humanities, the question that always seems to be top of mind is, “how do we get people to care?” To really, truly care in a substantive and sustainable way. Though this may seem vague, in some ways it is meant to be open-ended. At the forefront of most digital humanities conversations as of late is this idea of interdisciplinarity. There have been a multitude of conversations regarding this topic, especially over the past several years, both within the confines of the academy but also within the larger public discourse. It’s certainly one that I often find myself thinking about and engaging in, but as someone whose research is centered around empathy studies and digital narratology, what is always a priority to me is to honor, protect, and fight for the very people behind the stories I am collecting and researching and treat their stories with the utmost care.
This past year has been in many ways, (and rightfully so) emotionally charged and paradigm shifting. Between the COVID-19 pandemic, chaotic political transition, and civil unrest and growing socio-political movements, my research has found its focus on transmedial and multimodal activism– particularly through digital storytelling. That means that the stories I am researching and modeling are those from marginalized groups and those enduring ongoing personal and collective trauma. In acknowledgement of who I am and the lens in which I filter information through as a white woman, I wonder and worry about how regardless of the amount of books and articles I read, the workshops I attend, or conversations I have– how are my actions, words, and even participation within this research are potentially problematic. Though my intentions have been and always will be to listen, learn, help, and be of service in any way that I can, the more I become engaged with anti-racist work and pedagogy, particularly within an academic and institutional capacity– I see how the onus is often pushed on Black and BIPOC scholars to guide or lead these changes. What I want to differentiate here is not that these scholars should not be leading these policies and shifts towards social changes, but that the responsibility and the expectation should not be placed on them solely.
I feel not just within academics, but within our culture at large, that there is this sense that we are not supposed to admit to our uncertainties or talk about our questions regarding these topics outloud. This is, in my opinion, a shame. I feel like a level of transparency is necessary within this work, particularly within the digital humanities. As Audre Lorde writes in her essay Age, Race, Class, and Sex: Women Redefining Difference,
“…Traditionally in american society, it is the members of the oppressed, objectified groups who are expected to stretch out and bridge the gap between the actualities of our lives and the consciousness of our oppressor…When the need for some pretense of communication arises, those who profit from our oppression call upon us to share our knowledge with them. In other words, it is the responsibility of the oppressed to teach the oppressors their mistakes” (854).
This is my concern and something that we are seeing happen far too often. Whether it be within the Black Lives Matter protests or even within corporations and communities, there exists a delicate balance that needs to be acknowledged and respected as we continue to strive to be better and make lasting changes. Truthfully, in these moments of uncertainty and out of fear of causing further harm to these communities and movements, I have considered changing my research topics. However, I see the value in digital storytelling and I see the ways that historically marginalized groups are leveraging them in unique and innovative ways that deserve recognition and acknowledgement. These online platforms are becoming a place for not only entertainment and distraction, but for coalition building and organizing, and also changing the narrative and striving for impressive political and social changes. As Roopika Risam writes in her Decolonizing The Digital Humanities In Theory and Practice”, Risam explains,
“…the relationship between decolonization and digital humanities rests on the understanding that humanities-based knowledge production–whether in history, art, literature, or culture, more broadly– has historically been wielded as a technology of colonialism, as important as the technologies of the slave ship and the gun. Therefore, the question at the heart of decolonization and digital humanities is how we can use technologies to undo the technologies of colonialism” (80-81).
It is my goal within my research to help find the ways that social media and these other digital technologies are aiding in the growth of these socio-political changes, and the ways that they are silencing and slowing them down. This research for me is also not one that I believe should stay behind ivy cladded walls, but shared publicly, especially within the specific communities being researched. How can we begin to dismantle these structures if we don’t let the information we find within our research be shared with those that are being oppressed? Though social media is less novel now than it was, the way that we are using it is constantly changing and evolving. We have seen that firsthand just within the last eight months. As I pursue this topic it is important to me that I continue to observe, acknowledge, and actively work to change the ways that colonialism has made its way into my behavior, perspective, and rhetoric. It is imperative not just for the objective and quality of results within my research, but for the human beings behind the data. Within academia, anti-racist work should not be acute or reactionary, but an ongoing call to action that demands a pedagogy of care. I believe that the digital humanities with its interdisciplinary perspectives have a unique opportunity to truly create lasting change both academically, socially and politically. From history, to anthropology, sociology, psychology, etc. allows for both a macro and micro view of these longstanding socio-political issues that we continue to repeat and grapple with. I can only hope that my research adds to this ongoing change and shift between both our society and institutions.
Bibliography:
Lorde, Audre. Age, Race, Class, and Sex: Women Redefining Difference. Literary Theory: An Anthology, 2nd ed., edited by Julie Rivkin and Michael Ryan, Blackwell Publishing, 2004, pp. 854-860.
Noble, Safiya Umoja. “Toward a Critical Black Digital Humanities.” Debates in the Digital Humanities, edited by Matthew K. Gold and Lauren F. Klein, University of Minnesota Press, 2019, pp 2.
Risam, Roopika. “Decolonizing The Digital Humanities In Theory And Practice.” Digital Commons At Salem State University, pp. 80–81.
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