Post by motherhuldra on Mar 8, 2006 1:39:35 GMT -5
Reading reviews of _The Convenant With Black America_, I'm drawn again to contemplate the fine line between maximizing personal responsibility... and blaming the victim.
As a survivor of abuse, I came to adulthood with a trait of analyzing every minute thing I could have done differently in a bad situation-- finding, reinterpreting, <i>inventing</i> something I could have done differently. This gave me the psychological edge I needed to believe to that my life was under my control and I could do better.
The cost I paid for this edge was a secret belief that I was to blame for anything I suffered. I could not distinguish between pain and failure.
Like every survivor of abuse, I needed to take responsibility for my life. I needed to believe I could change my life, and to do so. But it took me a long time to understand that, by simplifying or ignoring those factors out of my control, I was creating obstacles to my own power. My actions were only effective when my understanding of a situation was realistic.
I am much in mind of this as I read through a variety of responses to _Convenant With Black America_ (which I look forward to reading as soon as my library acquires it.)
While this looks to be a book that deserves a wide audience, whatever the motivation, I find myself keenly aware that some corners are hailing this as a recipie book for black people to solve black problems.
I must ask,<i> to what extent does focusing on the problem of dysfunctional families and communities cost us all by obscuring the more difficult problem of traditional black family and community *strengths* that run counter to the expectations of an arguably soulless and rootless mainstream culture?</i>
The greatest of these strengths is the sense of greater obligation.
Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana dectective series has been such a darkhorse bestseller in America and England in part because it exposes Western readers to a sense of connection much missing in their lives. In Smith's Botswana books, the first concern of the successful is providing jobs for others. The majority of our dectective's cases involve helping people navigate their obligations to one another, and over the course of the series our hero herself-- a middle-aged, middle-class woman struggling to break even on her first business-- is slowly revealed to be responsible for the livelihood of three adults and six children.
Where else have I seen this? In Stephanie Coontz's _The Way We Never Were_, in the chapter considering the much-reviled black family in America. At one point she speaks of an older couple who had a financial windfall that they hoped would mean a down-payment on a house and security in their declining years. Instead the money was gone in weeks: "some relatives needed money to attend a funeral; another would have faced eviction without help; still another needed a little bit to keep her phone."
This is not a picture of a dysfunctional social system, but neither is it easily compatible with mainstream expectations for individual advancement.
As a survivor of abuse, I came to adulthood with a trait of analyzing every minute thing I could have done differently in a bad situation-- finding, reinterpreting, <i>inventing</i> something I could have done differently. This gave me the psychological edge I needed to believe to that my life was under my control and I could do better.
The cost I paid for this edge was a secret belief that I was to blame for anything I suffered. I could not distinguish between pain and failure.
Like every survivor of abuse, I needed to take responsibility for my life. I needed to believe I could change my life, and to do so. But it took me a long time to understand that, by simplifying or ignoring those factors out of my control, I was creating obstacles to my own power. My actions were only effective when my understanding of a situation was realistic.
I am much in mind of this as I read through a variety of responses to _Convenant With Black America_ (which I look forward to reading as soon as my library acquires it.)
While this looks to be a book that deserves a wide audience, whatever the motivation, I find myself keenly aware that some corners are hailing this as a recipie book for black people to solve black problems.
I must ask,<i> to what extent does focusing on the problem of dysfunctional families and communities cost us all by obscuring the more difficult problem of traditional black family and community *strengths* that run counter to the expectations of an arguably soulless and rootless mainstream culture?</i>
The greatest of these strengths is the sense of greater obligation.
Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana dectective series has been such a darkhorse bestseller in America and England in part because it exposes Western readers to a sense of connection much missing in their lives. In Smith's Botswana books, the first concern of the successful is providing jobs for others. The majority of our dectective's cases involve helping people navigate their obligations to one another, and over the course of the series our hero herself-- a middle-aged, middle-class woman struggling to break even on her first business-- is slowly revealed to be responsible for the livelihood of three adults and six children.
Where else have I seen this? In Stephanie Coontz's _The Way We Never Were_, in the chapter considering the much-reviled black family in America. At one point she speaks of an older couple who had a financial windfall that they hoped would mean a down-payment on a house and security in their declining years. Instead the money was gone in weeks: "some relatives needed money to attend a funeral; another would have faced eviction without help; still another needed a little bit to keep her phone."
This is not a picture of a dysfunctional social system, but neither is it easily compatible with mainstream expectations for individual advancement.
