engw105andbeyond

[engw105andbeyond]

A Fever You Could Sweat Out

When I was in middle school, I mostly listened to whatever played on the radio. I didn’t have an artist that I really liked or tuned into so when I first had my Apple music subscription, I barely used it. This all changed for me when I was browsing Youtube one day. I clearly remember that day when I had come and was trying to find a video to watch after I ate a snack, and stumbled across “Teens React to Panic! At the Disco” by the Fine Bros channel. I blame that video for the rabbit hole I found myself stumbling into. It featured “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” from their debut 2005 album “A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out”. I immediately fell in love. It fully encapsulated that spirit of pre-teen angst at the time, and with its high riff guitar and synthesized music, it was provocative and attention grabbing. Brendon Urie’s voice was able to transform with the music, allowing him to transmute into whatever the song needed him to be. I adored the album so much that I begged my mom to take me to Hot Topic so I could buy two shirts– in comparison to today the only way I am getting a shirt of any of my favs is going to a concert. Listening to Panic! At the Disco would have my heart racing with its pound drums, as Urie’s voice became a rollercoaster of hormonal feelings that I couldn’t “sweat out”. 

But unfortunately, I did. It is hard to pinpoint when I stopped like Panic! At the Disco, because to this day I still love their debut album. However, it was around 2016 when I noticed a difference. He had come out with the album “Death of a Bachelor”, and honestly this was the death of me being a fan. The best way to explain the shift is the quality of music. Panic! used to be a band, but as members left, Brendon Urie was the only one who had stayed. What used to be clear use of instruments combined with synth, became overproduced. Songs would begin with a clear sound, whether a bass or a kick drum, and then quickly dissolved into a modge podge of sound. It is obvious that Urie had tried to capture that same high energy found in their debut album, but failed to understand what caused that fever in the first place.

[engw105andbeyond]

Education as Liberation

Education as Liberation

Education has the ability to grant unique opportunities that would otherwise be nearly impossible for marginalized peoples,  having the power to change oppressive systems which undermine Black communities today. Having an education can serve our communities in not only being less likely to be taken advantage of, but liberate them from instability through education passed down, and being better prepared for the future. Wangari Maathai in excerpts from her memoir Unbowed holds this sentiment deeply.  The memoir largely focuses on Maathai’s life during British colonization in Kenya, and the negative attitudes formed against indigenous culture within the education system. Maathai would go on to utilize that education however to create the Green Belt Movement, working alongside women in Kenya to conserve the environment within. In considering Maathai’s journey, the way I view the potential of education is to be able to liberate not only those who are able to seek higher education, but for it to be passed down to future generations. I share these two seemingly contrasting viewpoints. I have the goal of becoming a public defender, in helping my community. But, just like Maathai had to reconcile her cultural identity with her education, I also have to navigate between the opportunities presented by education while also remaining true to my values in that pursuit of liberation. 

Maathai’s journey to conservation started when she was a child, even without realizing it. The women in her village were in charge of cultivating the fields, where she would be provided “...the wisdom of my people, and how generations of women had passed on their daughters the cultural tradition of leaving the fig trees in place” (Maathai 99). In my life, the women in my family have represented a charge to stand in the face of oppression, despite constantly navigating systems that seek to marginalize us. Much like the fig trees, we have learned to hold our ground, passing down wisdom and values that have helped us survive and thrive through generations of adversity. My mother is a great example of this, as she navigates through corporate America in order for diversity in the workplace. It was where my interest in the justice system would begin, as it is one of the root causes of systemic oppression marginalized communities face today. However just like Maathai, there would be the drift between personal identity and education that would challenge me.

This tension between the power of liberation through education and the potential loss of identity becomes evident when examining my own educational experiences. Up until college, a good portion of my time has been spent less on focusing within community or culture, but more so on how they function within a system. A recent instance of this would be in my junior year of highschool, where I was exposed to Black writers such as Ralph Ellison and Invisible Man, which explores what happens to the Black identity in an oppressive white society. Maathai discusses a similar experience in how Kikuyu stories “reflected my environment and values of my people” (Maathai 43). The lesson had the opportunity to expand on how we navigate through our own lives, and how much it connects to us as people, similar to what is laid out by Maathai, but that was not the case. Despite the story connecting to many Black students in the class, we had only examined the contents in the restrictions of the book, discussing the story almost as if it were just fiction, not examining its real world relevance, for the end goal of taking a  test on rhetorical analysis. It is similar to Maathai’s encounter with western stories, “...merely memorized the words on the page for examination” (Maathai 43). I had felt that same disconnect in what I was learning, despite the topic pertaining to me. This particular example was not a one off in my academic career, but in fact a constant. Oftentimes the curriculum in school would frame Black literature and Black history with a level of disconnect, only for it to be used on content on a test or research paper. I had felt disjointed from the narratives we would engage with, despite knowing my heritage. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but that would be a defining factor in my college search senior year; I wanted the content to intertwine with me and the course material, I did not want my culture to be confined. 

This experience really pushed me to consider what type of education I wanted to pursue in college. I was seeking a place where education would not be defined by passing exams but connecting with my culture and identity. HBCUs offer an environment that bridges academic achievement and the celebration of Black culture. These institutions provide a space for students to explore both, different from the disconnect I had experienced in highschool and what Maathai experienced at the covenant school she went to growing up. I had chosen Howard University with this goal in mind; to receive an education that would not only prepare me for my professional career, but also retaining a sense of pride in my Black identity. The road to becoming a public defender is not an easy one, with how demanding nature does not match the pay, however I see my role as a form of liberation for my community. I could be the representation for those who have been disenfranchised by the justice system, granting them the same respect and rights to a fair trial and processing. The pursuit of education is not merely for me to better myself, but to benefit others in finding freedom from oppression. The question I pose to myself lies in the balancing of remaining true to my cultural heritage, while also preparing my career in law. 

This opportunity presents itself in attending Howard University, and its emphasis on Black identity which has shown me the importance of nurturing both academic and cultural growth. Even in classroom discussion there is major focus on our own identity in the curriculum, where my cultural background coincides with my intellectual growth. In just my first year alone, it has greatly centered my goals in wanting to pursue a career as a public defender, and the importance of education as a means of liberation. The system is not perfect, as although there are conversations that occur in the classroom or on campus, there is a disconnect with the surrounding area of Howard, as many people face homeless and inadequate care overall. It is also easy to become lost within an institution, where it can be easy to lose sight of one’s goals. It is easy to get caught up in the pursuit of personal success, to forget what your goal is. 

Wangari Maathai used her education to reclaim her identity and fight for her people, and I see my education as a similar tool for liberation. The women in my family, like Maathai’s, have shown me how to stand firm in the face of adversity while holding onto my cultural values. Howard University has given me the space to honor my Black identity and prepare for a future where I can serve my community as a public defender. Just as Maathai’s work was rooted in her culture, I want to use my education to empower others and fight for justice, all while staying true to who I am.

[engw105andbeyond]

Connie Porter and the Suppression of Black Intelligence

There is the belief that the current system of society rewards those who are of high intelligence; their ability to quickly understand concepts and problem solve will be appreciated, and they will excel in most facets of life. Connie Porter’s “All-Bright Court” challenges these seemingly conventional notions of intelligence in examining how race and class ultimately end up shaping the way society treats and recognizes intellectual capacity. The social construct that currently stands is one that privileges certain forms of knowledge while actively suppressing others. This dynamic is no better demonstrated than between Mikey and Isaac, who despite being on opposite ends of the spectrum, never will be fully recognized in their identity alongside intelligence. Through the trajectories and ultimate crossing of the boys’ lives within the novel, Porter exposes the systems that ultimately suppress Black intelligence. It argues that in paralleling Isaac’s neglected potential with Mikey’s shame and rejection of cultural heritage, that the idea of Black Intelligence is not able to exist due to a white-centered agenda and supremacy. 

At the center of “All-Bright Court” lies the argument that intelligence is not immutable, but rather a social construct which is broadly rooted in the belief that proximity to whiteness is the only way to be recognized for intelligence. In Isaac’s case, his function as a character often seems to exist outside of himself in contrast to other characters. His function extends beyond just being a character, but a representation of unrecognized potential, due to his behavior and ultimately the color of his skin. Chapter 2’s Trouble opens up with the lines “There something wrong with old-man children. They slow or they crazy”(Porter 15). Isaac is already predisposed to the judgement of the All-Bright community. He can only fit into one of the two molds, which are supposed to suppress his potential. Although not explicitly stated in the novel, Porter makes it a point to demonstrate Isaac’s behavioral issues, as despite being very advanced for his age, heard “...talking in full sentences to his father, who was even an old man then”, he often gets worked up easily and becomes difficult to work with (Porter 15).  Most people in town either write him off as being crazy, or his mother believing him to be bad, and needing his behavior to be beaten out. The neglect he faces by his community outside of the brief compassion his father offers affects him further in the novel. 

The dismissal of Isaac’s intellectual abilities is not a self contained tragedy to him, but the erasure of how easily discard Black intelligence is when they are not as easily assimilated. As Isaac attends school, he is viewed as a problem child; vulgar, and difficult for teachers to deal with. This ends up with him being placed in a special education classroom that, albeit allows him to stave off some of the energy, does not fully challenge his higher intelligence because of the predisposed belief shared by his teachers that due to his behavior and ultimately the color of his skin, they are unable to view his intelligence. Instead, he is hidden in the school’s basement classroom, where no one else has to deal with him. The novel treats Isaac the same way, as his presence diminishes, suppressing not only his intelligence, but his being. The institutional bias demonstrated by his community is echoed within the writing of the novel, only seeing a few moments of Isaac before he is fully shrouded towards the end of the novel, later to be explored. 

In contrast to Isaac’s journey, Mikey’s experience offers a different view on Porter’s commentary in relation to intelligence. Instead of fading into the pages, Mikey emerges as the new protagonist and focus of the novel, yet at the expense of his Black identity. Many encounters that surround Mikey pertain to whiteness, with one of the most prominent moments occurring when he had first started at Essex. This time is categorized as deceiving snowstorm, 

“And at first, they too brought beauty, a softness. But when the snow rose, it began covering up, obscuring, hiding. The kind of change that came with little snow had been working in Mikey since he had begun attending Essex” (Porter 175, 176). 

Mikey’s shift started small, with being placed in language classes to be prepared for formal conversation. His teacher places an emphasis in taking care of pronouncing the -ings at the end of sentences, “...like juggling eggs,” (Porter 176). He begins to notice how everyone else in Essex takes care not to drop their eggs, as he becomes hyper conscious. This insecurity inevitably ends up becoming rejected in his family, as he now becomes hyper aware of the language used at home, and begins to view his family differently. His view then shifts to embarrassment, as one semester he tells a white classmate a story his father says, “I’m telling you, pay no attention to they screaming. They smart, smart enough to talk. But they won’t, ‘cause if they do, they know white people going to make them work” (Porter 178). Due to Mikey’s growing insecurity in Essex, this story ends up confusing him. When he tells his classmate, that classmate then tells the whole class as they end up laughing at him. Even though his father wasn’t being literal and the true meaning was hidden under subcontext, his takeaway from this moment is that his father is stupid, and in turn made him look stupid. Just as the snow begins to pile, so does the shift in his character, where he begins to distance his school life and home life, unknowingly coating himself in a field of white, and resents any form of Blackness.

The two storylines of Isaac and Mikey intersect at the crossroads of a winter storm, both of them covered in whiteness. Isaac yells at Mikey, 

“‘You think you somebody?’ the man asked. ‘Answer me paperboy.’

‘No, I don’t think I’m somebody,’  Mikey said. 

‘Good. ‘Cause you aint nobody. You ain’t nobody. You ain’t nothing. Hear me? You not shit boy.’” (Porter 167). 

He robs Mikey as he is out on his paperboy route, something Mikey only got to be due to circumstance, an opportunity that Isaac had missed. The snow blurs the scene, where it is interpreted that both boys are piled under the pressure of whiteness, and white intelligence. The vast white landscape conveys Porter’s point on intelligence clearly, that neither boy has escaped from white societal expectations. Where one boy is hidden and then ultimately detained for his defiance, and the other forced to fit a mold that may promise success, but only at the expense of losing oneself Blackness. Neither boy is able to reach his full potential. Mikey is expected to wash the Blackness of his skin, as Isaac is supposed to be hidden, as after this scene his last mention is maybe sitting in a jail cell. As it exists, society does not allow for Black intelligence to flourish, let alone overshadow whiteness. In the end, both are consumed.

[engw105andbeyond]

Black People Love Paramore*

the asterisk is meant to be hyperbole*

I can’t really say that, because this phrase itself is not entirely true. Black people are diverse, and aren’t just limited to all liking the same artist or genre. But Paramore is different. Which is funny to me, because on the surface they seem like your average rock band–with christian roots. Most members are white, including the lead singer, Hayley Williams. 

But if you told me that in 2015 after I just heard Paramore for the first time, I wouldn't have believed you. I was ten years old. I had been dragged along to my mom’s triathlon of shopping at Aldi, Tj Maxx and Kohls. We were finally heading home, and I sprawled out in the back seat, relieved that I could finally return to my room to go back to drawing magical horses. It was just like any Saturday after ballet class for me. 

But on this particular day something was different. I remember hearing that xylophone with the kick drum, before it opens up with a bass guitar. I hear a woman's voice who is rowdy and powerful, with so much clarity it has no choice but to pierce through me. I remember touching the speakers in the back seat, and slowly raising my head to see the display of the artist. “Ain’t It Fun” by Paramore. My eyebrows raise, because I had never heard of them before. The thing that stuck out to me most about the song however, is how at the end, there is a gospel choir that sings along with her. The best way I can describe it without being sacreligious is how someone hears a sermon at church that resonates with them. That’s what Paramore did for 10 year old me. 

At first it was just another song I loved, but it developed into something more. Paramore came at a time that I felt out of place. I was big into music like twenty one pilots and Sleeping With Sirens, but often felt ostracized because I did not feel very “Black” when I listened to them. On the other side, the fandom spaces felt very exclusive–very white. It didn’t help that I was going to middle school next year, and started puberty early. The dramatics of a pre-teen are very real, but to put it simply; I didn’t know who I was. I had also begun to question God, because there were some questions that I wasn’t old enough to know how to articulate. But finding Paramore changed something in me. It didn't quell my anxieties completely about growing, but I did feel seen. Even when I got to middle school and had a hard time socially, I had often listened to their songs after a bad day. Paramore provided a solace for me, even after all these years. I learned that you are always going to experience “growing pains” in life, and Paramore was there for all of them. Whether it was their album After Laughter during the pandemic for me, or This is Why in my junior year of highschool. I could always rely on a track that would allow me to feel– whether tears or freedom. Paramore had always been there for me. 

What wouldn’t dawn on me until years later would be how I wasn’t the only Black kid having an experience like this. As I got older I would often hear other Black people around me tell me how they love Paramore, even if they weren’t really big on the alternative genre. I even remember my own mom playing “Ain’t It Fun” while we cleaned up the house on Saturdays along with Mary J. Blige. On the internet it has become some sort of a meme that “all Black people can agree that Paramore hits”, but there’s a truth in that. 

“Ain’t It Fun” is a gateway into their sound, and probably the easiest way to understand the appeal.  Just by listening to the song, you can pick up on subtle nods to gospel music–if you know what to look for. The instruments themselves carry a lot of similarities to the genre, with a funky bass and profound drums found in gospel songs like Kirk Franklin. Even with the lyrics– which focus on growing up and learning– are similar to the lessons learned in church. The most blatant of all would have to be the gospel choir included in the latter half of the song that truly elevates it, and knowing now it was an all Black choir. It is not all that surprising to learn that Hayley Williams has a background in the church, explaining the meaning of her songs in the writing of her lyrics which carries perseverance.

For many Black listeners, Paramore’s music represents something familiar– even if you aren’t all that into church. Many of us grew up around gospel, and it is hard to deny the emotions that swell up while listening. The song carries themes of self-discovery and finding a path, experiences that deeply resonate within Black communities. Of course, not every Black person connects with Paramore this way, and I can only speak from experiences with people around me as well as online conversations– like the Black People Love Paramore Podcast– which discuss the widespread influence of Paramore on a part of Black culture and vice versa. However, I feel it is safe to say that many Black people experience that while growing up, religious or otherwise. Paramore resonates in the soul, not just in passing. 

And unlike traditional Christian rock music, which often comes across as preachy to a specific faith, Paramore connects through shared experience. It feels personal rather than performative, which is then amplified by Williams’ vocals with raspy rawness that allow her to be vulnerable and open up to the audience, like reaching out a hand. 

And that hand isn’t just a metaphor. Hayley Williams has openly acknowledged their Black fanbase in interviews and social media, expressing how she feels honored that Black listeners connect with Paramore so deeply. She has also attended Black Lives Matter protests in 2020 in Tennessee, and has even donated money. Even back in 2013 she had performed with the all black choir on stage at a concert. This is all to express that the band was never about slapping on “urban” trends in order to cater to a market, but rather pay homage to where their inspiration comes from, while lifting up Black artists. It is free from gimmicks– and a big reason as to why their Black fanbase is so big.

Paramore has planted itself into Black spaces, and their presence is undeniable. Whether it’s from their raw emotion in vocals and instrumentals, carried by gospel-like harmonies. The way their music carries a sense of urgency, building on a message for a specific song, which lingers long after you listen. I am not surprised when people are shocked to find out how big Paramore’s Black fanbase is, but once you listen deeper you begin to understand.