ABSTRACT
Joyce E. King conducted this case study in collaboration with two doctoral students. In the following excerpt, she sets their research apprenticeship in an historical context:
I mention scholarship on “demonic grounds” at the end of this chapter. This term refers to historical spaces where people of African ancestry have been dehumanized—where our humanity has been erased. When I think of how the Dixie Hills [Atlanta, Georgia] neighborhood looks [where this case study took place]—certainly not the people who live there and their struggles for respect and to raise their children with dignity—but the blight, the abandoned homes and buildings that are literally falling down all around the school, then I think of “demonic grounds” where our heritage is not visible, especially to us.
Only by digging deep beyond appearances were we able to discover the community's proud history. As we got to know students in the neighborhood from three-generation families, we gained insight from elders into what had happened to produce such devastation all around, and what Dixie Hills used to be like. It was a thriving Black community that exhibited cultural excellence as reflected in all that is left visibly—the streets named after Black colleges like Spelman and Morehouse and famous people like Joe Louis, George Washington Carver, and Tiger Flowers. It wasn't long before we realized that students didn't know about this local history or its connection to African history and culture. Even though the school walls were covered with Black History Month projects, there was nothing visible about our African heritage. The Songhoy Club was an anomaly, and apparently some teachers and parents did not welcome our emphasis on Africa. Dehumanization and subjugation leave wounds.
My doctoral students learned that Afrocentric curriculum and pedagogy can heal these wounds, and they learned to fully expect that parents and teachers can partner to elevate students' learning and identity development—even when there were efforts to make us invisible. For example, our Songhoy Club students learned to sing a song in Songhoy-senni—”Come, Let's Go to School” (Wa K'ir Ma Koy Caw) in preparation for performing at the holiday “extravaganza.” While students did sing the song and were so proud of themselves, someone decided to leave the Songhoy Club's performance off the program. Then, at the next PTA meeting, when parents were choosing afterschool clubs for the next semester, the Songhoy Club was replaced by an International Club, with the image of a globe in place of a map of Africa that was part of our logo. That's when all these “erasures” started to make sense, including why the booklet a teacher gave me about Tiger Flowers was wrapped in brown paper—like contraband.
Fortunately, we had already proven our mettle to parents. One of the parents came over to where I was sitting with our Songhoy Club display—colorful artifacts and student work. She asked me why the Songhoy Club was not listed on the afterschool brochure. I assured her that I didn't know. She was concerned because she had come out to make sure her younger child would get into the Songhoy Club. I asked her if she would speak for us when the clubs were announced. She said she just wasn't sure she could do that—stand up and talk in front of an auditorium full of people. To my surprise, she did just that and she gave an eloquent testimony explaining why children need to know about their African heritage. Bingo!! We were back in business!
