KNOCKING THE HUSTLE: AGAINST THE NEOLIBERAL TURN IN BLACK POLITICS © 2015 Lester K. Spence http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ This work carries a Creative Commons BY-NC-SA 4.0 International license, which means that you are free to copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format, and you may also remix, transform and build upon the material, as long as you clearly attribute the work to the authors (but not in a way that suggests the authors or punctum endorses you and your work), you do not use this work for commercial gain in any form whatsoever, and that for any remixing and transformation, you distribute your rebuild under the same license. First published in 2015 by punctum books Brooklyn, New York http://punctumbooks.com punctum books is an independent, open-access publisher dedicated to radically creative modes of intellectual inquiry and writing across a whimsical para-humantities assemblage. We solicit and pimp quixotic, sagely mad engagements with textual thought-bodies. We provide shelters for intellectual vagabonds. ISBN-13: 978–0692540794 ISBN-10: 0692540792 Cover photo: Lester Spence. Book design: Chris Piuma. Editorial assistance: Bert Fuller. BEFORE YOU START TO READ THIS BOOK, take this moment to think about making a donation to punctum books, an independent non-profit press, @ http://punctumbooks.com/about/ You can click on the link to go directly to our donations site. Any amount, no matter the size, is appreciated and will help us to keep our ship of fools afloat. Contributions from dedicated readers will also help us to keep our commons open and to cultivate new work that can’t find a welcoming port elsewhere. Our adventure is not possible without your support. Vive la open-access. Fig. 1. Hieronymus Bosch, Ship of Fools (1490–1500) CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS FOREWORD CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX / SOLUTIONS BIBLIOGRAPHY Dedicated to LaVita Wright Liverspoon (1969–2014), to Sam Isbell (1968–2001), and to the Spence Clan (Imani, Kamari, Kiserian, Niara, and Khari) ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thanks to my agent Shoshana Crichton for her work. Eileen Joy and the staff at punctum for taking the risk. Tamara K. Nopper for her wonderful editing assistance. The Breakfast Club for the semi-daily affirmation. Abigail Breiseth, Denise Lever, Camilla Seiler, Jay Gillen, and David Jonathan Cross, for thoughtful comments (and to Sam Chambers, Bret Gustafson, Clarissa Hayward, Fredrick Harris, Taeku Lee, Tamara Nopper, Rogers Smith, Steve Teles, and Dorian Warren for comments on the SOULS article this comes out of). The Sons of Blood and Thunder for Manhood, Scholarship, Perseverance, and Uplift (Sam Kirkland, Darius McKinney, Glenn B. Eden, Selvan Manthiram, Lee Rudolph, Kurmell Knox, and Caurnel Morgan in particular). Hanes Walton, Richard Iton, Nick Nelson, and Stuart Hall (RIP) for providing examples. The Department of Political Science and the Center for Africana Studies at Johns Hopkins University for providing a home. The members of Hopkins’ noon basketball game for providing a court. My children and family for providing a reason. The Institute for Research in African-American Studies at Columbia University, the Murray Weidenbaum Center at Washington University in St. Louis, and the Political Science Departments at the University of California at Berkeley and the University of Pennsylvania for providing a platform. Don Palmer and Beth Frederick, for providing a third space. The Red Emmas Collective, LBS, RAF, the Algebra Project, RTHA, West Wednesdays, Equity Matters, BUC, and the general 313, 248, and 734 area codes (Detroit, Inkster, Ann Arbor, and Southfield in particular) for providing alternatives. Marc Steiner for providing ammunition. And as always a special thanks to those who antagonistically cooperated with me in writing this book. The errors of course, are mine. FOREWORD In 1896 Paul Laurence Dunbar published a poem titled “We Wear the Mask”. We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties, Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask! Dunbar writes of black men and women at the turn of the twentieth century forced to “wear the mask” because of racism. I’ve worn a mask, but not that one. I’m writing this draft a day after I received word that my house has been “saved”, with “saved” placed in quotes because I am still in the middle of Bank of America hell. I had gone almost three years without paying—the last check I remember cutting to the bank was in December of 2010 or January 2011. I remember the moment I decided to stop like it was yesterday, just like I remember the moment two men came to my home to repossess my car. Let me back up a moment. * * * October 2006 It was 1:30 AM on a late Saturday night and I was in my office, working. There are probably three aspects of being a professor most people outside of the Academy routinely misunderstand. The first aspect they misunderstand is the role writing and research play in our jobs and in our lives. I wasn’t up at 1:30 AM because I was thinking about a lecture, or preparing for class. I was up “club late” because I was writing. Trying to scratch out one more paragraph, one more sentence, one more word. And failing miserably. Relatedly, the second thing they misunderstand is how hard writing can be, even for someone like me—I’ve been writing in one way or another since I was 3 years old. One of the reasons I decided to pursue a job in the Academy in the first place is because I knew that if I played my cards right I’d be able to write and collect a check doing it. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Particularly under stress. Which brings me to the third aspect. The Academy is like a multi-tiered economy, with four types of intellectual laborers. At the top are tenured professors, people who have the equivalent of lifetime jobs. Under them are tenure-track professors, people who do not have lifetime jobs but have the potential to get them if they work hard. And under them are adjunct faculty, who are not tenured and do not even have the potential to be tenured, and live incredibly precarious lives even though in many cases they have PhDs.1 And then alongside of them to a certain extent, are graduate students, people who want to become tenure-track professors so they can become tenured professors, but given the paucity of tenure-track jobs will have to fight hard not to become adjuncts. I was on the tenure track, and knew I was hanging by a thread. So I worked. In this case about 45 minutes too long. Barely two minutes after I left campus a white Jeep Cherokee smashed into my minivan. I was ok, but the car wasn’t. The minivan was the only car we had. And it was just about to be paid off. My wife and I didn’t have savings for a down payment for another car. We didn’t even have enough money to get reimbursed for a car rental. And we had five children to shuttle back and forth. For a week local friends shuttled us back and forth. I bought a bus pass, and took the bus to work. Because we homeschooled our kids we were part of a large black homeschool network. The parents in this network brought groceries, prepared meals, and helped shuttle our kids around. We were ok for a couple of weeks. Then my children were involved in another accident. Every Saturday my family made the trek up to the YMCA. T-ball, soccer, basketball, dance, you name it our kids did it. Without the minivan we didn’t know how this would continue, but one of the homeschool parents came to our aid. She would drive to our house, pick up the kids in her minivan and would take them to the Y. Not two weeks after my accident, our friend picks up our kids to take them to the Y. Twenty minutes after she leaves we get a phone call. She was in a car crash. The car flipped over. Everyone was ok. Given the nature of the accident it was a miracle. Being hit with these accidents within two weeks of each other was incredibly draining. We needed to get back on sound footing. The first step was finding a vehicle. One of my fraternity brothers worked at a car dealership. I’d told my brothers what had happened. One of them emailed me and told me that he had a car for me. At first I thought he meant that he had a car for me to buy—something I couldn’t do because I didn’t have the money. No. He loaned us a brand new SUV. I didn’t have to pay a dime. All I had to do was bring it back like I found it. He wasn’t the only one. My father-in-law had a working van that he no longer drove, and he promised it to us. Further, another homeschool parent, gave us an older car to drive. Within a few weeks we had three cars to replace the one we’d lost. * * * Every now and then I conduct research experiments. Let’s conduct one now. Change three one details about the story I just told you. Make me a low level Walmart employee with no college degree. Finally, change my parents’ financial circumstance.2 What happens after that first car crash? I noted that I took the bus to work (the MTA 22 to be exact —the same bus I use to this day). As a professor I only have to be on campus on the days I teach. The only clock I had was the tenure clock. In other words I have a relative degree of flexibility. But what if I worked at Walmart? If I worked at Walmart, my single twenty minute bus ride becomes 40 minutes longer with another bus and a metro trip thrown in for good measure. Which on the surface doesn’t appear to be too bad. However, neither the two buses nor the Metro runs exactly on time, so even if I’m at the bus/metro stop on time...the bus/metro might not be.3 And if even one of the buses or the metro is just a bit off schedule everything else is thrown out of whack. The first bus might be on time, and the last bus might be on time, but if the metro isn’t on time...then I’m out of luck. Further, working at Walmart isn’t the same as working as a tenure-track university professor at a high-tier university. If I’m scheduled to work at Walmart from 9 to 5, I’ve got to be there at 9. If I come in late, I’d lose pay...and likely my job if it happened more than once, even if it wasn’t my fault. If I had to rely on public transportation it would likely have cost me my job. And would have put my family at severe risk. I can hear the manager now. “You should have taken the earlier bus.” Being a professor has its own grind but it provides me with flexibility—I work far more than forty hours per week but I work the majority of those hours when and where I want. It also provides me with benefits. Health insurance covered most of the costs associated with the accident. Even if I were somehow able to keep my Walmart job with no car, Walmart’s idea of “job benefits” is to have workers covered by Medicaid rather than provide them with health care. How would my story differ if we took away my college education? If I didn’t attend college, I wouldn’t have access to any of the networks I relied on. I wouldn’t be able to rely on my fraternity brothers because I wouldn’t be in the fraternity. The vast majority of the parents in the black homeschool network I was a part of were also college educated. So it’s unlikely I’d have people in my life who with the ability to just give me a car. I thought about all of this as I was in the middle of it, as I was thinking about how I was going to get to work, as I was thinking about how I was going to get another car, as I was thinking about how I was going to pay whatever bills left over from the accident. I realized how blessed I was to be able to emerge from the accident relatively unscathed, how blessed I was to be connected with people who would look out for me. And I realized that if I were different, if my life had gone just a bit differently, I’d be in a very very different place. Now many would probably say in response that I worked hard to get to where I am, that my parents and my in-laws worked hard to put my family in the position where getting into a car accident isn’t a life changing event. In black (and other) churches around the country prosperity gospel pastors routinely use the phrase favor isn’t fair to argue that God’s blessings tend to go to God’s people. My story then, can be read as the story of someone who—because of his favor (that is, because of the type of job he had and the networks he had as a result of his education and his upbringing), was able to take a couple of minor setbacks and overcome them. My race and gender here makes the story even better—black man faces set back, emerges triumphant! But this narrative told in black communities across the country ignores a couple of important things. The first thing it ignores is that our ability to bounce back from life’s challenges aren’t and should not be simply dictated by favor...by whether we went to the right schools, or by whether or how we believe in God (or the “right” God), or by whether we have the right networks. The idea that “favor isn’t fair” produces and reproduces crises that do significant damage to black communities. We are fooling ourselves if we believe there is something inherent about what we do as people