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Volume 24, Numbers 3 & 4 reprinted by permission Legal Studies Forum FROM CRITICAL RACE THEORY TO COMPOSITION STUDIES: PEDAGOGY AND THEORY BUILDING JUDY L. ISAKSEN* “Race has become metaphorical–a way of referring to and disguising forces, events, classes, and expressions of social decay and economic division far more threatening to the body politic than biological ‘race’ ever was.” Over the last 15 years, the field of rhetoric and composition has taken on a decidedly interdisciplinary flavor as our work in composition studies has been and continues to be richly informed by a variety of intellectuals such as anthropologist Clifford Geertz; liberatory educator Paulo Freire; feminist and cultural critic bell hooks; philosophers of science Sandra Harding and Donna Haraway; psychoanalyst Luce Irigaray; and philosophers Michel Foucault, Antonio Gramsci, and Jean-François Lyotard. Most recently, composition studies is beginning to experience the positive influence of yet another group of intellectuals, legal scholars, as the emerging movement of Critical Race Theory is developing from a fledgling effort to a well-established corpus. It is not surprising that those of us in composition studies could readily identify with Critical Race Theory, for we have much in common. For example, in theorizing about the law, critical race theorists are informed by the same issues that are vital to many who work in composition studies: feminisms, debates over essentialism, praxis-theory debates, critiques of liberalism, postmodernism, multicul-turalism, postcolonialism, cultural studies, queer theory, discourse theories, and social constructionism. It is no wonder, then, that merging the work of critical race theorists and composition theorists can lead to new theory-building to help us to negotiate the issues of race and racism both in and out of the classrooms. With this in mind, this project serves first as a bibliographic essay as I attempt to define Critical Race Theory and historicize some of the key writings of the movement. I will then move along the natural trajectory from Critical Race Theory to Critical Race Pedagogy and explore the possibilities for educational reform. I will conclude by mapping out one possible way that composition teacher-scholars can provide students with racial agency by using dissonant discourse as sanctioned by Critical Race Theory. While there is no definitive birthdate to this movement, Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw places the first stirrings in 1981. Crenshaw, along with Mari Matsuda, Charles R. Lawrence III, and Richard Delgado, published in 1993 a small, six-entry collection of their essays, Words that Wound: Critical Race Theory, Assaultive Speech, and the First Amendment. In their introduction, they locate the 1981 student boycott at Harvard Law School and the subsequent organizing of an alternative course as the genesis of the collective discourse today known as CRT. When Derrick Bell, Harvard’s first African-American law professor, departed due to Harvard’s failure to grant tenure to a woman of color, the students demanded that another person of color be hired. Upon losing the battle, students organized alternative means to continue offering the course, “Race, Racism and American Law,” regularly taught by Bell, who is also the author of the germinal casebook of the same title. Crenshaw and Matsuda, then students at Harvard, arranged for leading scholars and practitioners–including Lawrence and Delgado–to come each week to lecture and lead discussion. Unwittingly, Bell’s early works and the consequences of not replacing him with another black scholar were the beginnings of a group identity that soon carried over into study groups, conferences, and a proliferation of political scholar-ship (3-5). Two years later, in 1995, Temple University Press endorsed the measurable growth of CRT scholarship in publishing the substantial reader, Critical Race Theory: The Cutting Edge, edited by Richard Delgado. Containing 50 articles from leading theorists such as Derrick Bell, Ian F. Haney Lopez, Patricia Williams, and Delgado himself, and dealing with such issues as nationalism, critical pedagogy, structural determinism, and revisionism, this reader is extremely useful for graduate courses in both law and rhetoric and composition programs.1 Delgado, as do nearly all CRT scholars, notes in his introduction a variety of premises or defining themes upon which CRT is predicated. While the list of themes appears to be growing along with the move-ment, here are a few of the key principles: Racial ideology is an invisibly normal rather than aberrant feature of American society; racist assumptions are not only encoded in our everyday landscape but also in our legal system, which CRT soundly critiques in an attempt to eliminate racism. Another principle is that of narrative theory; working from the social constructionist notion that culture has enormous bearing on reality, CRT sets forth to construct a different social reality by way of situated knowledge and discourse. Narratives, storytelling, parables, science fiction, and family histories are some of the methods used to analyze the oppressive myths and presuppositions that are endemic to our culture. A critique of liberalism is another theme that helps to dismantle the interstitial race, class, and gender framework, for too often civil rights laws provide greater benefit to those in power than to those in need; in fact, a theory called “interest-convergence” holds that in many cases, advances for minorities occur only when they also promote the interest of the dominant culture (xiv-xv). That same year, 1995, also brought the publication of Critical Race Theory: The Key Writings That Formed the Movement. This valuable collection of 27 essays provides an historical framework of the move-ment beginning with Derrick Bell’s 1976 essay “Serving Two Masters: Integration Ideals and Client Interests in School Desegregation Litigation.” In this cutting essay, Bell raises controversy as he calls into question the sacred Supreme Court opinion of Brown v. Board of Education. Bell argues that the decision’s effect on the black community was “disadvantageous,” for desegregation did not account for the difficulties black children–who had been denied all their lives–would have in achieving equal education opportunities. Bell further argues that the Brown strategy was pursued by “public interest” lawyers who were more concerned with desegregation than with improved education (7-8). Bell’s belief that the law is an unpredictable ally in racial liberation struggles is fleshed out further in his 1980 “Brown v. Board of Education and the Interest-Convergence Dilemma” where he argues that the Brown decision was a failure in that it converged with the self- interests of whites in terms of economic and political advantages rather than the educational interests of blacks. These two essays were strong factors in the inchoate energy of CRT’s development. This anthology also details CRT’s outgrowth from Critical Legal Studies (CLS), the ideologically left movement of the late 1970s. Members of CLS were predominantly white and male, and initially the members of what would become CRT shared some basic assumptions with members of CLS–namely, that law is neither neutral nor apolitical. Before long, however, an ideological split took place as CLS failed to incorporate a racial analysis into its theories. Richard Delgado’s 1984 essay, “The Imperial Scholar: Reflections on a Review of Civil Rights Literature,” cogently explains why those interested in matters of race had to split from CLS. Upon compiling a list of the leading law review articles on civil rights, Delgado found that all were written by white males. He describes an “elaborate minuet” of an “inner circle of about a dozen white, male writers who comment on, take polite issue with, extol, criticize, and expand on each other’s ideas” (47). If an authority were needed about race, they would cite either each other or the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, thoroughly excluding minority scholars from civil rights scholarship. Beyond the violence of being silenced, Delgado found their arguments to be at times naïve, incomprehensible, and lacking empathy. While masquerading as objective scholars, they ultimately revealed themselves, according to Delgado, to be self-interested. Most troublesome is the notion that their “ideas are read and discussed. . . . They affect what goes on in courts, law classrooms, and legislative chambers” (51). In 1992, Delgado followed up his study with “The Imperial Scholar Revisited: How to Marginalize Outsider Writing, Ten Years Later.” He found that some of the old “inner circle” had retired only to be replaced by a new crew; unfortunately, not much has changed. Granted, minority writers are publishing in top journals, but they have not been fully integrated into the conversations of the “inner circle.” Other critiques of CLS include Harlon Dalton’s 1987 essay, “The Clouded Prism: Minority Critique of the Critical Legal Studies Move-ment,” also anthologized in CRT: The Key Writings, as well as Cornel West’s 1993 monograph, Keeping Faith: Philosophy and Race in America. Another evolving direction of CRT that needs recognition is legal writings by women of color. The 1997 Critical Race Feminism: A Reader edited by Adrien Katherine Wing is a comprehensive multidisciplinary work of 45 essays that deals with both the theory and practice of law. Issues of essentialism, motherhood, sexual harassment, and women of color as “the Other” in the academy are explored by prominent legal scholars such as Patricia Williams, Anita Hill, and Lani Guinier. In addition to these edited collections, in 1993, Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic published “Critical Race Theory: An Annotated Bibliography” listing 217 works beginning with Derrick Bell’s ground-breaking “Serving Two Masters” in 1976 through mid-1992. Notably, in 1995, they published an updated bibliography in the Colorado Law Review that lists 50 new entries with coverage from late 1992 through January of 1994; yet another bibliography in progress is due out in 2000. Despite the “inner circle” of white males who continue to dominate our legal system, the voice of minorities–as seen by their body of work–is steadily being heard. they point out, “represents a form of intellectual property” (54). Another useful corollary between CRT and education can be seen in notions of multiculturalism: just as the civil rights laws have often been “sub-verted to benefit whites,” the multicultural curriculum, they argue, is often “mired in liberal ideology that offers no radical change” (62). Daniel Solorzano employs the theoretical framework of CRT to help teacher educators of color learn to avoid and eliminate racial stereotyping as detailed in his 1997 article, “Images and Words that Wound: Critical Race Theory, Racial Stereotyping, and Teacher Education.” Institutional stereotyping toward students of color creates and/or justifies numerous oppressing effects such as low expectations, remedial curriculums, and separate tracking. Further, acts of racism can be subtle and unconscious, ranging from macroaggressive code language like “illegal aliens” and “quotas” to microaggressive expressions like “You’re not like the rest of them. You’re different” (10-11). Solorzano posits that these issues must be dealt with first in our teacher education classrooms before they can be curtailed in our students’ classrooms. Perhaps the most recent appropriation of CRT to educators comes from Marvin Lynn in his 1999 “Toward a Critical Race Pedagogy.” Lynn articulates a critical race paradigm of education to benefit our “racially and culturally subordinated students” (615). Based on the findings of his ethnographic study of eight African-American pedagogues “commit-ted to social justice agendas” (612), Lynn came away with four general issues that are remarkably similar to the basic premises of CRT: “the endemic nature of racism in the United States; the importance of cultural identity; the necessary interaction of race, class, and gender; and the practice of a liberatory pedagogy” (615). Lynn cogently argues that a Critical Race Pedagogy has the potential to “provide more theoretical grounding and direction” in our educational system just as CRT is doing for our legal system. By all indications, drawing upon the theoretical framework of CRT may be a viable approach for shattering the deep institutional oppression that resides within our educational system. been published.3 And in 1998, Catherine Prendergast brought critical race theory to the attention of compositionists in her CCC article, “Race: The Absent Presence in Composition Studies.” She explains that much of CRT’s literature “confronts, investigates, and plays” with rhetorical and discursive issues: “Critical race theorists have often been noted (and often faulted) not so much for their arguments–what they are saying–as for their departures from standard legal discourse–how they are saying . . .” (37-38). Prendergast notes the “deliberately dissonant rhetorical stance” that critical race theorists take to expose issues of race and racism both in legal and public discourse (38). Because CRT deliberately employs rhetoric as a means of fighting social inequities and because their medium of expression is a significant aspect of their message, I posit that CRT can have direct and immediate relevance to that other discursive space in which compositionists reside, the writing classroom. In what follows, I shall first theorize briefly the racial texture of our society that parallels CRT’s views and then put into pedagogical practice a writing course based on the use of counter-discourse vis-à-vis CRT. This course not only reveals the racial ideology that underrides our composition pedagogies, but also attempts to legitimate students routinely silenced by classroom discourse. In other words, I shall, in the spirit of CRT, confront, investigate, and play with dissonant discourse as I envision one possible way in which CRT and composition studies can serve each other. The struggle for agency that the CRT movement experiences within the white legal world is predicated on the fact that in our culture race is ideologically defined by whites; however, for whites, that same notion of race, unless one is thinking from a critically conscious perspective, refers only to people of color. Because of reigning social norms within our white supremacist society, whiteness holds the position of colorlessness, and the very ubiquity of that position constitutes not only automatic privilege for white people but also the established norm against which all else is measured. Such sensibilities hold true in our legal system and also in our nation’s classrooms, including our composition classrooms. Just as the “inner circle” of white law scholars resist minority law scholars from having a voice, so too does the majority of composition classrooms resist people of color from expressing their authentic voice. As composition educators, we must ask ourselves if our pedagogical practices are self-serving. Are we helping to uphold white supremacy through our use and teaching of discourse? My own schooling in recognizing myself as complicitous with such oppression has clearly been undertheorized. As an educator, I have been trained to perceive myself as a liberator, not an oppressor. In fact, academia has often inspired me to partake in the notion that whites have it and people of color clearly need it, so it is my job, even my moral responsibility, to teach it, whatever it is. As white critical scholar-teachers, and the majority of us are, indeed, white, we perhaps solipsistically spend too much energy focusing on those who endure discrimination, the Other. We might benefit more if we spent equal amounts of energy critiquing how whites inherit privilege invisibly and nearly always at the expense of people of color. By following the lead of CRT, we might consider theorizing about our own racialized identity and the representation of whiteness that exists within the black imagination. As educators who intend to create changes within systems of oppression, the very intents of CRT scholars, we might benefit by turning our own critical gaze toward whiteness.4 Peggy McIntosh rightfully claims that the word “privilege” carries desirable connotations, but when such privilege is, in reality, a means to confer dominance, it becomes “at best, thoughtless, and, at worst, murderous” (101). She warns that once we are consciously aware of the oppressive forces of white privilege, we are, or should be, “newly accountable” (95). CRT scholars too seek accountability for white hegemony, but they give equal attention to a prerequisite concern: that conscious awareness. Whites cannot be accountable without first recognizing and accepting the fact that racial acts are not merely isolated outbursts of bigotry; rather, assumptions of white superiority are normative and mostly invisible, and they texture our day-to-day existence. Many compositionists, myself included, regularly design writing courses which address such issues of racial awareness and accountability, and we must continue to do so, for I believe they have immense value. But I also can’t help but feel bedeviled that stopping there is once again an act of white privilege. After all, we are doing this work in institutions that are established and controlled almost entirely by whites, we are using texts that are written and published predominantly by whites, we are operating and teaching a discourse that is used and endorsed by whites, and in terms of racial awareness, whom are we attempting to reach? White students. Escaping the cultural capital of whiteness, even with the best intentions, appears impossible. Nonetheless, CRT scholars work to resist the hold of whiteness, and they do it by way of discourse. What follows is my attempt to reappropriate discourse–our specialty–CRT style. I offer some rudimentary ideas for a writing course predicated on several of the key principles of CRT–the invisibility of racial ideology, the social constructed nature of discourse and reality, and, most specifically, the belief that using a dissonant rhetoric and writing from situated knowledge is a primary means of dismantling social structures of oppression–with the intent of moving beyond what I fear may be a limited approach to exploring race. I offer some of the hoped-for benefits and vexing problems that surround this course, which I shall soon present to my institution’s College Council, the governing board of curriculum that grants course approval.5 As we all know, course titles can be laden with value. They should accurately represent in-little 16 weeks of work; they should be compelling to draw students’ attention; and they have an extended shelf life, as they live on in the form of cv lines. With this in mind, I have been playing with various course titles, some of which have been rather tame. But I keep returning to “Privileging Blackness: Dis Be My Life.” My play on words in the course’s subtitle is quite deliberate; dis is the Black English form of this, but, currently, dis also has a popular reference: to dismiss or disrespect, which is exactly what standard academic English does to black people’s language. “Dis Be My Life” translates into “my life is dismissed.” Historically, civil and human rights have been linked to property rights. Ladson-Billings and Tate make the connection that our standard academic curriculum represents a form of intellectual property that aids in sustaining white supremacy. I extend that connection and charge likewise that standard English represents a form of discourse property. Simply put, by teaching composition which privileges, even demands, standard English, we tacitly engage in acts of discourse inequities by dismissing the discourses of others. And so my course design is an attempt to be honorable to both discourse rights and our discursively subjugated students. As such, we would focus primarily on African-American personal narratives that were written in Black English. We would begin the exploration with various slaves narratives rich with cultural and linguistic history, storytelling rich with black folklore and rhetorical rhythm, sermons and speeches, writings of Zora Neale Hurston, perhaps The Color Purple and the personal narrative chapters of Keith Gilyard’s Voices of the Self. All the while, we would theorize the discourse of these primary texts through the research of cultural linguist, Geneva Smitherman, thereby elevating dissonant rhetoric to a scholarly level. Toward the semester’s end, we would conclude our readings with selected narratives by critical race theorists, such as Patricia Williams’ The Alchemy of Race and Rights and Derrick Bell’s Faces at the Bottom of the Well.6 After a critical look–both rhetorically and substantively–at the writings of professionals, the students would then be invited to write their personal narratives and likewise be invited to do so in their native language. Some may embrace this invitation to use Black English; some may feel discomforted by the possibility; some may not know how or where to begin. But I suspect that they will all try, and work at it, and connect to it. My intent is to position students’ vernacular voices as one of authority and privilege and provide them an opportunity to resist purposely dominant academic discursive practices, for as Min-Zhan Lu posits, writers have both a “need and [a] right to contest the unifying force of hegemonic discourse” (445). In reading the works of the students’ ancestors, we will first uncover subjugated knowledges that were mired in the hegemonic histories of the past; in writing their narratives, I hope students will consider their experiences and self-identity in light of present-day oppositions, all the while exploring the counter-hegemonic discourse of Black English. Because reality is mediated and constructed by language, I intend to use language as the means to create a neo-blackness, that sense of (re)new(ed) understanding about expressing one’s heritage. Some might argue that using Black English is an abandonment of the struggles so many black students daily experience in the traditional writing classroom, but I would counter that using Black English provides black students an opportunity to use language to write their way out of the struggle, whether their personal struggle consists of the lingering effects of slavery, discrimination at work or school, or having nappy hair. Toni Morrison speaks about struggle when she claims that reading and writing mean “being aware of the writer’s notions of risk and safety, the serene achievement of, or sweaty fight for, meaning and response-ability” (xi). In privileging a dissonant rhetoric, I am hopeful to create an intellectual space of understanding where blacks can reposition themselves as meaningful subjects in history rather than mere objects of white hegemonic domination. I am hopeful to create an intellectual space for racial difference, for singularity, for reconceptualizing the individual while simultaneously locating the individual in historically specified political systems. Much too often compositionists advocate multiculturalism in the name of diversity that results only in a watered-down version of benign pluralism, what Sid Dobrin refers to as the “Epcot version” of multiculturalism (153). Such a version rarely addresses, challenges, or provides a voice for articulating racial struggles; rather, it is more often a form of discourse inequity, and it silences. And when black students are silenced, they are nearly always forced to assimilate into the conventions of standard academic English in hopes of gaining not a voice but rather the possibility of a voice. It is true that our students may be getting dappled exposure of multicultural readings, but how often do they get the opportunity to produce writing in their own cultural language? This course might provide an intellectual space that privileges black talk and turns the classroom from one that has historically silenced marginal discourse into one that provides the roots for transformation. Having fleshed out my basic intentions and objectives for this course, bear with me as I become critically self-reflexive about some troublesome aspects. That I anticipate trouble in designing a course that privileges a counter-discourse is indicative of the white supremacist nature of the composition classroom, and I clearly anticipate hurdles. The first deals with enrollment. I am certain that enrollment for this course should be limited to only black students; in fact, I admit that I have naïvely conceptualized this course with only blacks in mind. But I also realize that such a request would be exclusionary if not outright illegal; undoubtedly, some students and particularly my school’s College Council would find an all-black enrollment profile objectionable. However opening the course to people of other colors will result in a phony course, or at the very least a wholly different course from the one I envision. I might be able to imagine how students from various oppressed groups–say, migrant workers and Appalachian mountain folk–could embrace the course’s purpose and intent, and I might be able to draw upon the works of Gloria Anzaldúa for Chicana(o)s and Leslie Marmon Silko for Native Americans, but doing so would inherently change the dynamics and intent of the course. Even more problematic, what kind of liberating personal narrative based on oppression would a white, upper-class student who hails from an all-white environment write after exploring the Black English of slave narratives? And yet, should I be concerned where the white students would fit in? Haven’t we always designed courses, even entire curriculums, with no specific regard for where people of color fit in? And haven’t they grown accustomed to suffering on the sidelines, silenced? In the end, of course, I realize that my concerns over enrollment may turn out to be unfounded, and the dilemma may be self-correcting, for once students read the published course description, perhaps only African-American students will be interested in taking this course. Ironically, such an outcome would reflect the racialized commentary that makes both movements such as CRT and courses such as the one I am proposing so exigent. In addition to the enrollment quagmire, other pedagogical concerns will undoubtedly surface. But I am more concerned with the political aspects. For example, will the members of College Council perceive me as a concerned transculturalist? Or will my whiteness–as much as the course ideas themselves–be a threat to the members (all white, mostly male) as I attempt to disrupt society’s neat categorical arrangements? Would I expect such resistance were I a black woman, or better yet, a black man? I think not. Assuming I get College Council’s approval, the course raises further political issues for both the students and me. Designing and teaching a course that deals with transforming knowledges will not only reintellectualize and redefine black subjectivity, but it will also repoliticize my role as teacher. Both the students and I will be faced with critically analyzing how experience, discourse, and knowledge are constructed and legitimated in the classroom. New discursive classroom practices will, in turn, become constitutive of political meaning for all involved. For the students, meaning-making will come, I hope, from the history explored and the black subjectivity created; and, for me, the most significant meaning-making will come, I suspect, in my further awareness of my white subjectivity. And while both the students and I are separately reconstituting our political positions, there is also the matter of the political positions [706] between us. I clearly expect the possibility of resistance from some black students, at least those who are held by white-focused, justified anger. They could very well think and verbalize, “Who is this honky, and what can she possibly teach me about blackness?” Will my students perceive me, a white advocating blackness, as suspect? In Yearning, bell hooks is critical of the white interpretation of black experience, and she perceives the privileging of the academy’s and popular culture’s interpretations of blackness as just that, suspect. While such interpretations profess “political commitment to eradicating racism,” they, in fact, only continue to colonize the discourse of race and the Other (54). Given hooks’ views, I can imagine the negative opinion she would hold of my project. My efforts, drenched in whiteness, she might say, are only demeaning racist views cloaked in “nouveau ethnic cool”–that imagined sensibility by whites of being “in the know” (52). Clearly, hooks would encourage me to interrogate whiteness, but never in connection with my interpretation of blackness. She and others might say that my efforts are merely an academic spin on white guilt. Ishmael Reed refers to white interpretation of blackness as an “intellectual drive-by shooting” (qtd. in Fox 14). But I question the logic and efficacy of such accusations levied by hooks and Reed. I am fully aware that I can never occupy that inaccessible location of blackness, and I am fully aware that I cannot impart black-inspired wisdom. But I can provide both discursive knowledge and the means, an opportunity that the American educational system does not routinely offer, for students to explore rhetorically their heritage. I am clearly aware of my inability to escape the racial ideology that envelopes us all, but I am able to resist it, and I can utilize a small percentage of my writing courses, whether this actual course is approved or not, to do just that. I am not proposing that we discard the use of standard English from our writing courses. Such a notion would be not only fatuous but also damaging. But I am suggesting that we inquire into the whiteness our classrooms uphold by using only standard English. Stepping outside the hierarchy, if only temporarily, and experimenting with dissonant rhetoric is one possible means to begin such an inquiry. me to critique the racialized nature of my teaching along with the ways I teach issues of race is a theory that heeds my attention. And as is ideal with every healthy give-and-take relationship, there is much composition has to offer the discursive values of CRT. Indeed, racist assumptions are encoded in our legal systems, but they are also encoded in our day-to-day landscape, including the ways we communicate. In composition classes we do not merely teach our students to write: we teach them to think and to reason. We provide tools, and these discursive tools can be used to help dismantle racist sensibilities. As compositionists, we have the rhetorical agency to expose and make visible the invisible racial ideology that is written into our society. We have the rhetorical agency to help students think critically about the social structures that benefit some and not others. We can help to construct a different and more equitable social reality, and we can do it discursively. After all, it is through legal discourse that social inequities are sustained, and it through exposing legal discourse discursively that critical race theorists are gaining agency. Discourse may possibly be– for both compositionists and critical race theorists–our strongest defense against racism. _____________. Race, Racism and American Law. 3rd ed. Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1992. _____________. “Serving Two Masters: Integration Ideals and Client Interests in School Desegregation Litigation.” Critical Race Theory: The Key Writings That Formed the Movement. Eds. Kimberlé Crenshaw, et al. New York: New York University Press, 1995. 5-19. Crenshaw, Kimberlé, Neil Gotanda, Gary Peller, and Kendall Thomas, eds. Critical Race Theory: The Key Writings That Formed the Movement. New York: New York University Press, 1995. Dalton, Harlon L. “The Clouded Prism: Minority Critique of the Critical Legal Studies Movement.” Critical Race Theory: The Key Writings That Formed the Movement. Eds. Kimberlé Crenshaw, et al. New York: New York University Press, 1995. 80-84. Delgado, Richard, ed. Critical Race Theory: The Cutting Edge. Philadelphia: Temple University Press Press, 1995. _____________. “The Imperial Scholar: Reflections on a Review of Civil Rights Literature.” Critical Race Theory: The Key Writings That Formed the Movement. Eds. Kimberlé Crenshaw, et al. New York: New York University Press, 1995. 46-57. _____________. “The Imperial Scholar Revisited: How To Marginalize Outsider Writing, Ten Years Later.” University of Pennsylvania Law Review 140 (1992): 1349-72. Delgado, Richard, and Jean Stefancic. “Critical Race Theory: An Annotated Bibliography.” Virginia Law Review 79 (1993): 461-516. ____________. “Critical Race Theory: An Annotated Bibliography 1993, A Year of Transition.” Colorado Law Review 66 (1995): 159-93. Dobrin, Sidney I. ”Race and the Public Intellectual: A Conversation with Michael Eric Dyson.” JAC: A Journal of Composition Theory 17 (1997): 143-81. Fox, Robert Elliot. “Becoming Post-White.” Multi America: Essays on Cultural Wars and Cultural Peace. Ed. Ishmael Reed. New York: Viking, 1997. 6-17. Gilyard, Keith. Voices of the Self: A Study of Language Competence. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1991. hooks, bell. Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics. Boston: South End Press, 1990. Ladson-Billings, Gloria, and William F. Tate, IV. “Toward a Critical Race Theory of Education.” Teachers College Record 97 (1995): 47-68. Lu, Min-Zhan. “Professing Multiculturalism: The Politics of Style in the Contact Zone.” College Composition and Communication 45 (1994): 442-58. Lynn, Marvin. “Toward a Critical Race Pedagogy: A Research Note.” Urban Education 33 (1999): 606-26. Matsuda, Mari J., Charles R. Lawrence, III, Richard Delgado, and Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw, eds. Words That Wound: Critical Race Theory, Assaultive Speech, and the First Amendment. Boulder: Westview, 1993. McIntosh, Peggy. “White Privilege and Male Privilege: A Personal Account of Coming to See Correspondences Through Work in Women’s Studies (1988).” Race, Class, Gender: An Anthology. Eds. Margaret Andersen and Patricia Hill Collins. 3rd ed. Belmont, California: Wadworth, 1998. 94-105. Morrison, Toni. Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992. Prendergast, Catherine. “Race: The Absent Presence in Composition Studies.” College Composition and Communication 50 (1998): 36-53. Solorzano, Daniel G. “Images and Words that Wound: Critical Race Theory, Racial Stereotyping, and Teacher Education.” Teacher Education Quarterly 24.3 (1997): 5-19. West, Cornel. Keeping Faith: Philosophy and Race in America. New York: Routledge, 1993. Wing, Adrien Katherine, ed. Critical Race Feminism: A Reader. New York: New York University Press, 1997. Woodson, Carter Godwin. The Mis-Education of the Negro. Washington, D.C.: Associated, Publishers, 1969. |
