How often do we hear the phrase "trials and tribulations"? Although it is certainly not an everyday occurrence for most people, the phrase is pretty common in parlance, especially for those of particular religious backgrounds. Lately, having heard the phrase come up a few times in speech, I have been reflecting on how the concept of "trials" affects our understanding of our lived experience and our perceptions regarding our own social responsibilities. As I reflected, I began to wonder whether, (and then even conclude that) the language of "trials and tribulations" can sometimes function to exclude the possibility of seeing the need for concepts like social justice. "Trials" after all are a way one's character is shaped. They are obstacles to be overcome, not consequences of the actions of wounded people with desperate needs left unmet. I suspect in fact that often when we label something a "trial" instead of an injustice, we run the risk of excusing a socially passive response to wrongs and simply allowing the wrongs to compound.
I'll give an example. When I was 14, myself and one other friend were returning to my house from dropping off another friend at her house, just literally down the street from my own. The neighborhood we lived in at the time was struggling with gang violence, poverty, and a rampant drug trade. It was not late, but being October, it was already dark. Just before we reached my house, my friend and I were attacked by a group of about five teenage or early 20's males. We were lucky in that my house was within sight, and having grown up the proverbial Tomboy, I had done a lot of play fighting. Without getting into all the details, I managed to break away and get to my porch, at which point they scattered when my mother opened the door. My friend and I were bruised and a bit bloody, but had managed to get away before things went much further. But I knew from what they said when they attacked that the intent had been to do a great deal more harm than they actually managed.
At the time, I knew the attack was wrong. I insisted we call the police, but when they did show up hours later, they wouldn't do anything about it. They had bigger problems than dealing with two young girls who had been roughed up but managed to get away. There was a national recession, leading to massive unemployment in my community, and it had broken my community's fragile ability to care economically for itself. Poverty led to despair, and despair led to all sorts of social problems. Added to this mix of poverty and despair were racial tensions that had always been just below the surface and were now, for a variety of reasons, bubbling over again. I suspect all these issues played into that violence. The police didn't even bother to take a statement or open a file. And yet at no time in this process did I, as a 14 year old, really perceive a systematic problem. My understanding was that what happened to me was just another, albeit traumatic, "trial" I had to go through, a "thing" that had happened to me and my friend as individuals. I understand now that this meant I didn't see the people who attacked us as people with their own struggles (however poor their actions were), but as instead I saw them as Problems.
As time went on and I continued living in that neighborhood I began to suspect that something(s) was wrong on a deeper level, however. What happened to me was not just a thing or event, but also a symptom of a much bigger problem. And gradually I came to the understanding that what was wrong was a whole plethora of compounding social injustices that were causing all this (continuing) violence--and that many of those injustices were structured well outside the bounds of my particular community. I also started wondering what had led my attackers to be out that night, and what it was that had filled them with such rage toward two young girls who were complete strangers to them. I began, though still angrily, to see them as people and not Problems. The more I watched and lived, the more I understood that "trials and tribulations," the way I had explained to myself what had happened, didn't cut it as a category for dealing with social issues. Both their lives and mine were wrapped up in compounded layers of social practices and broken relations that had became part of, or were interwoven with, deep and pervasive injustices. Trials are something you live through, to show your mettle. Injustice is something that needs to be confronted and fought systematically, not just for you, but for society as a whole, or it consumes in a way that even "trial by fire" can't.
To my knowledge, I never saw those boys/men again. If I did, I didn't recognize them, and I doubt they would have recognized me. It was dark, the struggle was brief (though violent), and it was just chance that our paths crossed at all. But it is in looking at experiences such as this one that I was eventually able to realize that the "story" or phrase by which I had organized my understanding (this was a "trial" that happened to me) was not permitting me to see systematic issues. Concepts like justice and injustice, however one works them out, are necessary to social flourishing, and do work that concepts like trials and tribulations cannot do. It was experiences like this one that made me want to work on issues of social justice--partly so that what happened to me and my friend happens to fewer (better, zero!) people, but also partly as an understanding that there are two sides to my story, and that, though I can't say with certainty because I don't know who they were, it is likely that the actions of those people who hurt my friend and I were largely products of an unjust society. I still can't excuse their actions, but I have come to an understanding that those actions didn't happen in a vacuum. I came to believe that if we look systematically at issues, we may be able to find ways to prevent contexts where gross injustices are allowed to flourish and nurture violent (re)actions. Instead of seeing such violence as a society "given", just some "thing" that happens, perhaps we need to see it in terms of something gone drastically wrong somewhere; a communally grounded injustice, and not an individual person's "trial"--or simply an individual person's crime, for that matter.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Friday, May 04, 2012
Returning to Work
Over the past weekend the Centre for Philosophy, Religion and Social Ethics, out of which this blog is run, co-hosted a conference on Social Justice and Human Rights--the theme this blog has been picking up on. The conference brought people from many different walks of life together; social advocacy workers, academics, judges, lawyers, activists and other people who are simply concerned citizens (or immigrants) to speak about and listen to a wide range of topics on which social justice and human rights are key concerns. As someone who was there, I can say there was a lot of excitement and the feeling for a great deal of potential moving forward.
Now that the conference has happened, though, the question of course is what next? Topics such as were discussed (things like the rights of children, environmental issues, women's rights, aboriginal rights, immigration and movement rights, and disability rights, as well as inter-religious dialogue on the question of human rights in Canada, etc) are too important to simply talk about and then let go. Speaking and listening are only the first steps. Reflecting on that question--what next?--the answer that came to me was everyone returns to their work.
At first such an answer felt too obvious and as though nothing of what was said or done mattered if we all just went back to work. Of course everyone returns to their work. We all have food to put on the table, bills to be paid. Aren't issues of justice and rights bigger than that? Well, yes. But as I continued reflecting, I began to have a deeper understanding of the word work. On the one hand, the majority of people who attended this conference are doing work in their professional lives that is directly concerned in one way or another with the conference themes--hence, returning to work will mean re-engaging with issues of social justice and human rights, now perhaps with an expanded vocabulary of rights, or renewed hope, or heightened urgency, or new ideas for partnering to make important and necessary things happen. Surely that much at least is true. But in addition to that sense of work as one's profession, I thought about a term that I heard conference presenters and participants use again and again in describing what they were doing: calling or vocation. And when I thought through that, I realized that this conference was not so much a "Big Event" or interruption of daily life and work but rather a part of people's work--whether their professional work, or as something they "worked on" outside their professional lives.
Humans are social creatures, I think that much is safe to say. One theme that seemed to run through many of the sessions of which I was a part was an emphasis on relationships, and on healing, strengthening and building relationships in order to have a more just and less violent society. When we, humans, gather together as a group and share food, drink, conversation, work, hope, fear, and open up to each other, relationships are healed, strengthened and built. We all know too that relationships, in order to stay healthy, need that deep but elusive word: work. Coming out of this gathering of people, this conference, we all go back to work. I'm working on it we say when there is a problem we are trying to address, an issue that needs to be resolved. And we are working on issues of social justice and human rights.
What shape does this work take after our gathering? That is what will be sorted out in the coming months. For myself, I know I will continue writing (and reading) on this blog as a forum for discussing issues and, hopefully, potential solutions. I'll be following up in other ways on connections made during the conference, and on trying to distill conference themes into a format that others can engage with. I'll have some more thinking and reflecting to do as I process much of what was said. I know many others are already engaged in similar work. Moving forward while we all return to work, I invite everyone to keep up the conversations begun already and to see how our social abilities (and disabilities) can reflect in positive ways on the work we do for a more just and healthy society.
Now that the conference has happened, though, the question of course is what next? Topics such as were discussed (things like the rights of children, environmental issues, women's rights, aboriginal rights, immigration and movement rights, and disability rights, as well as inter-religious dialogue on the question of human rights in Canada, etc) are too important to simply talk about and then let go. Speaking and listening are only the first steps. Reflecting on that question--what next?--the answer that came to me was everyone returns to their work.
At first such an answer felt too obvious and as though nothing of what was said or done mattered if we all just went back to work. Of course everyone returns to their work. We all have food to put on the table, bills to be paid. Aren't issues of justice and rights bigger than that? Well, yes. But as I continued reflecting, I began to have a deeper understanding of the word work. On the one hand, the majority of people who attended this conference are doing work in their professional lives that is directly concerned in one way or another with the conference themes--hence, returning to work will mean re-engaging with issues of social justice and human rights, now perhaps with an expanded vocabulary of rights, or renewed hope, or heightened urgency, or new ideas for partnering to make important and necessary things happen. Surely that much at least is true. But in addition to that sense of work as one's profession, I thought about a term that I heard conference presenters and participants use again and again in describing what they were doing: calling or vocation. And when I thought through that, I realized that this conference was not so much a "Big Event" or interruption of daily life and work but rather a part of people's work--whether their professional work, or as something they "worked on" outside their professional lives.
Humans are social creatures, I think that much is safe to say. One theme that seemed to run through many of the sessions of which I was a part was an emphasis on relationships, and on healing, strengthening and building relationships in order to have a more just and less violent society. When we, humans, gather together as a group and share food, drink, conversation, work, hope, fear, and open up to each other, relationships are healed, strengthened and built. We all know too that relationships, in order to stay healthy, need that deep but elusive word: work. Coming out of this gathering of people, this conference, we all go back to work. I'm working on it we say when there is a problem we are trying to address, an issue that needs to be resolved. And we are working on issues of social justice and human rights.
What shape does this work take after our gathering? That is what will be sorted out in the coming months. For myself, I know I will continue writing (and reading) on this blog as a forum for discussing issues and, hopefully, potential solutions. I'll be following up in other ways on connections made during the conference, and on trying to distill conference themes into a format that others can engage with. I'll have some more thinking and reflecting to do as I process much of what was said. I know many others are already engaged in similar work. Moving forward while we all return to work, I invite everyone to keep up the conversations begun already and to see how our social abilities (and disabilities) can reflect in positive ways on the work we do for a more just and healthy society.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Disability and Difference
The Following is a Guest Post from Tom Reynolds, Associate Professor of Theology at Emmanuel College
I am caught up in matters of disability as a parent of a son on the autism spectrum. As an advocate for his “inclusion” on a number of fronts, questions of justice and human rights loom large in my life. Disability interrupts societal mechanisms of exchange based upon ideologies set up to privilege “normal” bodies. A big part of my work, then, is to highlight and even intensify the interruption, not as something troubling but as something potentially transformative. For disability does not simply represent a “body gone wrong,” a problem to be solved physically or remediated by curing. Nor is disability a problem merely to be included, an anomaly that is somehow “other” and outside, which, according to the good graces of a community “needs” to brought “inside” and given access and power to be involved. Both of these become ways temporality non-disabled people claim nobly to give something those others—“they”—don’t have, perpetuating an “us-them” or “inside-outside” dualism that retains a paternalistic ethos of exclusion.
It may be true that without accommodation an impairment (physiological difference, bodily condition) becomes a disability (social and environmental experience of restriction that results from limited access, from being considered to have an impairment). However, outside preconceived programs and expectations fueled by dominant visions of what is “normal”, people with disabilities are persons (equal) with gifts (differences) to offer. Insofar as our communities cultivate relationships of interdependence and respect and friendship between all participants, together we open access in ways far beyond what is often taken for “inclusion”.
In my view, “access” is a continually negotiated process between people with disabilities and non-disabled persons. Accessibility aims to treats all as equal AND different. That is, as equal without therefore being made over and assimilated into the image of what is taken by dominant visions as “normal”—which effectively erases difference—and as different without therefore being marginalized as “deviant” and “abnormal”—effectively denying equality.
In the end, disability is a gift that can teach and empower communities. Disability is about difference, a feature of communities that fosters the diversity, the plurality of life. This is important to stress first of all because such difference is often stigmatized and excluded by ableist ideologies. Second, it is important because disability itself is not singular, but diverse. The lives of people with disabilities are as varied and different as the lives of those without disabilities. And all are in fact part of who "we" are. The upshot is that full participation of people with disabilities is not an option for just communities, but rather a defining feature.
--Tom Reynolds
I am caught up in matters of disability as a parent of a son on the autism spectrum. As an advocate for his “inclusion” on a number of fronts, questions of justice and human rights loom large in my life. Disability interrupts societal mechanisms of exchange based upon ideologies set up to privilege “normal” bodies. A big part of my work, then, is to highlight and even intensify the interruption, not as something troubling but as something potentially transformative. For disability does not simply represent a “body gone wrong,” a problem to be solved physically or remediated by curing. Nor is disability a problem merely to be included, an anomaly that is somehow “other” and outside, which, according to the good graces of a community “needs” to brought “inside” and given access and power to be involved. Both of these become ways temporality non-disabled people claim nobly to give something those others—“they”—don’t have, perpetuating an “us-them” or “inside-outside” dualism that retains a paternalistic ethos of exclusion.
It may be true that without accommodation an impairment (physiological difference, bodily condition) becomes a disability (social and environmental experience of restriction that results from limited access, from being considered to have an impairment). However, outside preconceived programs and expectations fueled by dominant visions of what is “normal”, people with disabilities are persons (equal) with gifts (differences) to offer. Insofar as our communities cultivate relationships of interdependence and respect and friendship between all participants, together we open access in ways far beyond what is often taken for “inclusion”.
In my view, “access” is a continually negotiated process between people with disabilities and non-disabled persons. Accessibility aims to treats all as equal AND different. That is, as equal without therefore being made over and assimilated into the image of what is taken by dominant visions as “normal”—which effectively erases difference—and as different without therefore being marginalized as “deviant” and “abnormal”—effectively denying equality.
In the end, disability is a gift that can teach and empower communities. Disability is about difference, a feature of communities that fosters the diversity, the plurality of life. This is important to stress first of all because such difference is often stigmatized and excluded by ableist ideologies. Second, it is important because disability itself is not singular, but diverse. The lives of people with disabilities are as varied and different as the lives of those without disabilities. And all are in fact part of who "we" are. The upshot is that full participation of people with disabilities is not an option for just communities, but rather a defining feature.
--Tom Reynolds
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Musings on cultural transformation and philosophy
Again building off our topic and discussion from last week, I want to pick up on the theme of philosophy and cultural transformation. I want to open with a quote from a philosopher writing on the theme of cultural transformation with which we have been concerned. She says, "Social justice cannot be achieved without a cultural transformation, the nature of which we can barely conceive."
Luce Irigaray (for that is the philosopher in question, writing in her book Je, tu, nous) hits on something important here: justice can't happen without cultural transformation, and the transformation required is so far-reaching that we can only "barely conceive" it. Whether or not one agrees with the specifics of what transformation Irigaray believes is needed, one can sense the appropriateness of her comment. Social justice is irrevocably linked to culture and cultural norms (among other things) and therefore in order to be able to "achieve" it where it does not exist or has gone awry, we must effect a cultural transformation.
And yet notions of social justice don't appear out of nowhere. Rather, they are born out of the matrix of culture and cultural norms, legal structures, and history as we tell it. So it seems to me that we have a circle of sorts here: ideas of what is "socially just" arise out of our context and are articulated by us in ways that we think fit with society's present needs. Of course there are competing understandings because the societal context is not unified. And the "present" doesn't last, so we are always, it seems, stuck playing catch-up. The ideas of social justice that came out of our cultural context don't fit what we need--transformation is called for.
Irigaray uses the phrase "we can barely conceive" the cultural change necessary, but "barely" is better than "can't". How do we do it, though? Philosophy as a field and a practice is only one contributing voice (albeit hopefully an important one) to notions of social justice, as we discussed last week. But social justice relies on other conceptions that philosophy and philosophers have spent a good deal of time and energy trying to address--ideas like justice, the good, and increasingly, truth. And so, thinking about such conceptions I was reminded of a second quote from philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty's preface to the Phenomenology of Perception: "philosophy is not the reflection of a pre-existing truth, but, like art, the act of bringing truth into being."
Now there's a conception--no pun intended! Bringing truth into being! Philosophy doesn't have a "corner" on truth, but it can and does offer several important perspectives on truth that help "bring it into being"--that is, help make it come alive as a defining and important concept in our lives and contexts and politics and actions. And if I had to make a wager as to what might spark the kind of "barely conceivable" cultural transformation for social justice Irigaray and others hope and work for, it would be a new and deeper understanding of truth and how truth matters, what impact truth has in our particular societal contexts today. Truth can seem like an abstract concept without much import, until one begins to notice a lack of it. Increasingly it seems, people are beginning to make the connection between untruth and injustice. Much of the deep political and social unrest that has swept the globe in the last year was set off by a desire to end social oppression or injustice in various forms, but again and again as the revolutions and protests and battles have ensued, the issue of truth becomes louder. Protesters in many different areas protesting many different things have claimed that in order to maintain unjust circumstances, a veil of lies is used by those with the power (whether through governmental or economic means) to do so. They are calling for the "ugly truth" to come out, but they are also calling for a new social truth to redefine the culture and cultural norms that allowed such a level of injustice to flourish in the first place.
That's also, incidentally, exactly why I find it very striking that Merleau-Ponty draws a connection between philosophy's ability to bring truth into being and art's ability to do so analogously. (I would love to write more on that, but it would be another post entirely.) On the perspective he offers, both philosophy and art are understood of as creative processes that bring something vital to society into being. Perhaps viewing philosophy as a creative process undertaken to continually bring concepts vital for cultural transformation into being is a good place to start when we look at the question, what can philosophy do to contribute to social justice?
Luce Irigaray (for that is the philosopher in question, writing in her book Je, tu, nous) hits on something important here: justice can't happen without cultural transformation, and the transformation required is so far-reaching that we can only "barely conceive" it. Whether or not one agrees with the specifics of what transformation Irigaray believes is needed, one can sense the appropriateness of her comment. Social justice is irrevocably linked to culture and cultural norms (among other things) and therefore in order to be able to "achieve" it where it does not exist or has gone awry, we must effect a cultural transformation.
And yet notions of social justice don't appear out of nowhere. Rather, they are born out of the matrix of culture and cultural norms, legal structures, and history as we tell it. So it seems to me that we have a circle of sorts here: ideas of what is "socially just" arise out of our context and are articulated by us in ways that we think fit with society's present needs. Of course there are competing understandings because the societal context is not unified. And the "present" doesn't last, so we are always, it seems, stuck playing catch-up. The ideas of social justice that came out of our cultural context don't fit what we need--transformation is called for.
Irigaray uses the phrase "we can barely conceive" the cultural change necessary, but "barely" is better than "can't". How do we do it, though? Philosophy as a field and a practice is only one contributing voice (albeit hopefully an important one) to notions of social justice, as we discussed last week. But social justice relies on other conceptions that philosophy and philosophers have spent a good deal of time and energy trying to address--ideas like justice, the good, and increasingly, truth. And so, thinking about such conceptions I was reminded of a second quote from philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty's preface to the Phenomenology of Perception: "philosophy is not the reflection of a pre-existing truth, but, like art, the act of bringing truth into being."
Now there's a conception--no pun intended! Bringing truth into being! Philosophy doesn't have a "corner" on truth, but it can and does offer several important perspectives on truth that help "bring it into being"--that is, help make it come alive as a defining and important concept in our lives and contexts and politics and actions. And if I had to make a wager as to what might spark the kind of "barely conceivable" cultural transformation for social justice Irigaray and others hope and work for, it would be a new and deeper understanding of truth and how truth matters, what impact truth has in our particular societal contexts today. Truth can seem like an abstract concept without much import, until one begins to notice a lack of it. Increasingly it seems, people are beginning to make the connection between untruth and injustice. Much of the deep political and social unrest that has swept the globe in the last year was set off by a desire to end social oppression or injustice in various forms, but again and again as the revolutions and protests and battles have ensued, the issue of truth becomes louder. Protesters in many different areas protesting many different things have claimed that in order to maintain unjust circumstances, a veil of lies is used by those with the power (whether through governmental or economic means) to do so. They are calling for the "ugly truth" to come out, but they are also calling for a new social truth to redefine the culture and cultural norms that allowed such a level of injustice to flourish in the first place.
That's also, incidentally, exactly why I find it very striking that Merleau-Ponty draws a connection between philosophy's ability to bring truth into being and art's ability to do so analogously. (I would love to write more on that, but it would be another post entirely.) On the perspective he offers, both philosophy and art are understood of as creative processes that bring something vital to society into being. Perhaps viewing philosophy as a creative process undertaken to continually bring concepts vital for cultural transformation into being is a good place to start when we look at the question, what can philosophy do to contribute to social justice?
Sunday, April 01, 2012
Philosophy and the question: what can I do?
One of the questions that was raised in the comments during the last post seemed to warrant a post of its own, though I will be extrapolating a bit. I spent quite some time formulating a comment in response to the exchange between Mad Professor and Bob Sweetman (only to have that carefully crafted response suddenly erased beyond recall by a computer malfunction...) but in writing it, I realized that there are some tensions at play in our posting here that are well worth addressing.
Part of my reflecting on this took place while I was away at a family event in Detroit, which area I am originally form. The case surrounding Trayvon Martin that we were discussing last week is, with good reason, a major topic of discussion in Detroit and the tension was palpable. I, like both the Mad Professor and Bob seem to be saying, "get" the response of anger and disgust. It is certainly where I started when I began looking into this case, and those feelings still exist. But, particularly as I re-entered my old home grounds in Michigan, I also wondered, what can I do? What can I as a person do in response to this and to stop things like this from happening again? What can we as a community do? And then, reading Bob's comments, I asked myself, who am I when I ask 'what can I do'? and likewise, who is this we that I am speaking of?
Identity is a complex issue that could not possibly be sorted out in the space of a blog entry, but one large portion of who both "I" and "we" am/are is a philosopher, or a community of philosophers, theologians, other theorists and activists. That's largely (though not exclusively) who reads this blog. I, Allyson the individual, could go and join protests and carry signs, and write letters to the appropriate authorities on this issue as well as on other equally pressing ones here in Canada. But I am also a trained philosopher, with a vocation to act as one. So what do I do in that capacity?
This is one of the major questions that faces us in the community in which "we" exist, and I think (correct me if I'm wrong, Bob) it was part of what you were trying to get it in your comments on the previous post. "We" who are in this particular community are trained to think in terms of theory, to look for the "bigger questions" that lie behind or underneath whatever topic is at hand. That is, in a sense, part of our job. But we have to be able to do that in a way that matters to the matter at hand (whatever particular issue or set of issues it is that we are addressing.) Bob, you wrote if our conceptual analyses are merely reflective of what is and never transformative or at least potentially transformative, what good are we? That's a question worth asking. It seems quite clear to me that it is transformation that this situation with the Trayvon Martin case requires. And there are many other places and issues that also require transformation: societal transformation, political transformation, ideological transformation--even personal transformation. So when we are faced with issues that rightfully make us react with deep anger and disgust, how do we, in our capacity as academics or activists with a theoretical bent, begin to dig into the work of transformation necessary?
I have some ideas involving more interaction between academics and activists, and working in an interdisciplinary manner to get more input from many different parties who come from different perspectives. This would, however, have to be undertaken in the hope and belief that it will help ensure theory is grounded in experience arising out of practice and practice is grounded in reflection on theory, and that this double grounding is a continual cycle that impacts both how we theorize and what we do. But what are other's thoughts, speaking in the capacity of a trained academic or activist (or both?)
Part of my reflecting on this took place while I was away at a family event in Detroit, which area I am originally form. The case surrounding Trayvon Martin that we were discussing last week is, with good reason, a major topic of discussion in Detroit and the tension was palpable. I, like both the Mad Professor and Bob seem to be saying, "get" the response of anger and disgust. It is certainly where I started when I began looking into this case, and those feelings still exist. But, particularly as I re-entered my old home grounds in Michigan, I also wondered, what can I do? What can I as a person do in response to this and to stop things like this from happening again? What can we as a community do? And then, reading Bob's comments, I asked myself, who am I when I ask 'what can I do'? and likewise, who is this we that I am speaking of?
Identity is a complex issue that could not possibly be sorted out in the space of a blog entry, but one large portion of who both "I" and "we" am/are is a philosopher, or a community of philosophers, theologians, other theorists and activists. That's largely (though not exclusively) who reads this blog. I, Allyson the individual, could go and join protests and carry signs, and write letters to the appropriate authorities on this issue as well as on other equally pressing ones here in Canada. But I am also a trained philosopher, with a vocation to act as one. So what do I do in that capacity?
This is one of the major questions that faces us in the community in which "we" exist, and I think (correct me if I'm wrong, Bob) it was part of what you were trying to get it in your comments on the previous post. "We" who are in this particular community are trained to think in terms of theory, to look for the "bigger questions" that lie behind or underneath whatever topic is at hand. That is, in a sense, part of our job. But we have to be able to do that in a way that matters to the matter at hand (whatever particular issue or set of issues it is that we are addressing.) Bob, you wrote if our conceptual analyses are merely reflective of what is and never transformative or at least potentially transformative, what good are we? That's a question worth asking. It seems quite clear to me that it is transformation that this situation with the Trayvon Martin case requires. And there are many other places and issues that also require transformation: societal transformation, political transformation, ideological transformation--even personal transformation. So when we are faced with issues that rightfully make us react with deep anger and disgust, how do we, in our capacity as academics or activists with a theoretical bent, begin to dig into the work of transformation necessary?
I have some ideas involving more interaction between academics and activists, and working in an interdisciplinary manner to get more input from many different parties who come from different perspectives. This would, however, have to be undertaken in the hope and belief that it will help ensure theory is grounded in experience arising out of practice and practice is grounded in reflection on theory, and that this double grounding is a continual cycle that impacts both how we theorize and what we do. But what are other's thoughts, speaking in the capacity of a trained academic or activist (or both?)
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