Happy Sunday, blog lovers!

I am so excited about today's post because it's a first here on Unapologetically Pam. A few weeks ago, I posted to my social media accounts (instagram, twitter) as well as some amazing online communities that I have the privilege to be a part of - DivorceForce, Bloggers of Colour, and Black Bloggers United - to see if anyone had some questions they'd like to ask me.

To be honest, I didn't think I'd get any questions, because, ya know you never know. But I did! I got questions on blogging, my education, my favorite films, and divorce/dating. Here they are:

Blogging
1) How long have you been blogging and why did you start?
2) Blogger or Wordpress?
3) Do you automate your blog posts and social media? And how do you feel about automation overall?
4) When blogging do your stock pics or personal pics grab more readers?

Personal
5) What is your Master's Degree in?
6) What is your favorite film?

Divorce/Dating
7) Are you divorced?
8) What is the biggest lesson you've learned from your divorce?
9) How long after my divorce should I wait to start dating again?
10) What is your ideal date?

I'm sooo honored to answer these questions! So, without further ado, here is my first ever Q&A. Hope you enjoy!

There are striking similarities between Davis' life and my own. She struggled with her Jewish identity in her younger days and I have wrestled with what it means to be African American. The complexities of African American identity sometimes astound me. It's interesting that no matter how old you get, you still never fully grasp or understand it...for the identity is a paradox in itself. It is ambiguous because it attempts to be both African and American, while simultaneously, it is neither. You're no longer found in the motherland, abandoned instead on strange soil. Yet this is your home...but here you are often rejected, often despised, often misunderstood. You feel an unspoken separation from both localities. So, in the end, where do you stand?

Davis' work really got me thinking about this when she talks about being the only woman in a room filled with men (some who often ignore her or treat her as less their equal), forced to reconcile between her position on the periphery while participating in the center. As a black woman, I have often felt the sting that makes you firmly aware that you are...somehow different from those around you, whether that means you're the only black person in the room when the topic in class is American slavery, or you're the only woman in the room during a discussion of the evolution of feminism. This idea of "encounters and crossings" has been my entire life. Specifically in the world of academia, my position as an African American woman has often bewildered or enthused people. Reactions to my presence have ranged from unmerited curiosity to accolades and rewards. By unmerited curiosity, I mean I have been the recipient of curious excitement when I walk into a room, as if people are saying, "ooh, a black girl, how fun!" Yet, I have also witnessed the befuddled looks on the faces of soon-to-be colleagues as they say something to me like, "Oh, this is the modern Europe class" as if I stumbled into the wrong room (that actually happened to me, by the way).

Truly for me in the field of liberal arts, in history in particular, my African American identity is a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that, I suppose it makes me unique. I find that in every department I go to, people whom I've never met have heard of me or know of me simply because I am "that black girl." Although it's unfair to leave it just at that, because I do work hard. There have certainly been those professors who have heard of me because I've done well in one of their colleague's classes and that has often led to high expectations of my work, which I gladly oblige. I've always enjoyed a challenge. But, on the other hand, it's led me to times where professional historians approach me, automatically assuming that a) I should be doing black history and b) that I won't make it in this field dominated by mostly white males.

My southern upbringing, modest background in the French language, and the few opportunities I had to study French history in my undergrad have served me in interesting ways. I've found sources of great encouragement from those who say things such as, "Everyone is going to want you in their department when you get your PhD. You are an African American woman from the south with very little French background who has claimed this field as her own." And that's fine. That's actually awesome. But it's also afforded me some discouragement such as, "No one's going to expect that you can make it in this field. You're setting up a very hard road for yourself ahead..." or "Your lack of background in French history will be a stumbling block for you along the way." How all of this will play out remains to be seen. However, it is striking that I'm constantly forced to make peace with these different opinions and reactions to something as seemingly simple as being there...my presence, my skin, my gender. Certainly, my life is filled with paradoxes. Filled with ambiguity, filled with irony, oxymoron's...

The reason I define the African American identity as ambiguous is because, like the word suggests, it is: “open to more than one interpretation; it has a double meaning. It is unclear or inexact because a choice between alternatives has not been made.” If I am honest, this ambiguity ties directly into why I am not an American historian. 

As a historian, I have to recognize my own position in the historical community. I must admit that my decision to do European history was very much a conscious one. It was more than just my own fascination with France (which is certainly a major part of my decision). It was also a means of discontinuity with an "African American" identity. Before you misinterpret my words, when I was growing up, one of my biracial friends would constantly protest to us in defiance, "I am NOT black!" This is in no way what I mean by discontinuity. I am an African American woman, and of that I am quite proud. My discontinuity was simply getting lost in the pages of history…where I no longer felt the pressure of being "African American," but instead I was just "Pam"...a historian attempting to understand life through the eyes of a nineteenth-century peasant.

But, if I'm forthright about my "position" then that requires a careful analysis of the society that shaped my values and beliefs. Growing up in Arkansas, I feel that I was constantly reminded of my "place" as an African American in the south. Whether that meant that I was discriminated against or seen as "one of the good one's," I was constantly aware of the weight of being an example of my race. My decision to study European history was an attempt to step away from that weight. European history offered me the chance to not be inundated with my race. 

The history I was taught growing up seemed to be a never-ending tale of black oppression. Now, from a professional standpoint of understanding the "big three" - class, race, and gender - this oppressive tale is absolutely right. For I could never read about the Founding Fathers without remembering that my ancestors were being forcibly carried in chains to this country deemed "the land of the free." Nor could I read about the Roaring 1920s and the Age of Jazz without being confronted with the discrimination that African American musicians were subjected to and the humiliation of using back doors or not being allowed to stay in the exclusive, all-white hotels where they were invited to provide entertainment. And I also cannot think about World War II without remembering that African American soldiers returned home, all the more bitter about their treatment as second-class citizens. I'm reminded of Ezekiel "Easy" Rawlins' reflection on American racism in Devil in a Blue Dress: "I had spent five years with white men, and women, from Africa to Italy, through Paris, and into the Fatherland itself. I ate with them and slept with them, and I killed enough blue-eyed young men to know that they were just as afraid to die as I was." Yet, we were treated as "different."

Now, yes, these are larger American events. I can't even begin to mention the many lynchings, assassinations, beatings, and other forms of diabolical mistreatment African Americans have suffered through.

With this in perspective, there's no doubt in my mind that if I were to go into a Freudian psychoanalysis of my decision to study Europe, I would find that it was a combined effort of the unconscious and self-awareness that brought about my fascination in France. It served as a break away from the America that confused me so much in terms of my identity as an African and an American. 

Of course, as I learned, France and Europe have their own racial history and past, one that is just as exploitative, and perhaps more so. While I am personally connected to African American history, I cannot deny Europeans the recognition of their "civilizing missions" of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the slaughtering of millions in an attempt to make "savages" more like "godly Europeans." And they were quite successful in their mission, as western civilization still currently determines what is beautiful, what is acceptable, what is modern, and what is democratic. As historian Geoffrey Barraclough once said, "By 1900, European civilization overshadowed the earth." Therefore, yes, Europe has its own racially charged history, even if it is not as personal to me. That is an entire story in itself.

Long time, no see friends!

I have successfully completed my first year of graduate school and I must say, it feels good. If you read my blog post on last semester, I figured I'd do a similar post this time around. This semester, I read a total of 91 (yes ninety-one) books and articles, wrote 4 small papers, 14 mini reflections, and 2 gargantuan final research papers.

My two final papers were absolutely delightful to write because I loved the research. One was on an influential twentieth century historian. I chose Natalie Zemon Davis (I adore her). She's a social and cultural historian of early modern France, who focuses on marginalized groups (peasants, women, slaves, etc). One of my favorite quotes from her is, "I was never the historian for kings and queens...it's the others who need me." My other paper was a historiography on French urban centers, national identity, and regionalism. I analyzed scholarship on provincial cities in contrast to scholarship that is more centralized and Parisian to find the ways in which provincial cities can both problematize and work in tandem with national history. Both papers were a joy to write, although the latter was the hardest. My biggest struggle at Loyola has been understanding what a "historiography" is. I think that UCA prepared me very well for archival, primary source research. But I had difficulty analyzing secondary sources. Most of my work was too "book review-ish" instead of a scholarly analysis. When I look back on it now, I realize it was because I just did not understand what historic writing and historiography meant. That struggle haunted me over this year. My first draft of my French urban identity paper was almost disastrous. I had to completely re-work the argument. Nevertheless, after weeks of re-vamping, long nights, early mornings, lots of coffee, and sleepy time tea (for those restless nights when I dreamt in French), my professor wrote, and I quote, "This is an excellent paper. In the future, use this format for your historiographies, as you've finally figured out the genre." I could have literally shouted for joy, right there, in the middle of campus. It was a glorious moment. I feel very relieved.

Now that Year One is over, I realize I have learned a lot. The first, and perhaps most important academically, is that the grade is not the most important. Rather than chasing an A (a mistake I often did in my early years of undergrad), graduate school is about the training. You can get a "B" and still not understand what "historiography" actually is. Instead, I want my "A" to reflect that I've finally grasped the concept fully. That attitude is different from the one I've had in the past. And it is enlightening and in some ways freeing. When I get my "A" now, it reflects that I've been trained well and that I can succeed in this field. That is incredibly rewarding.

The next best thing is that I completed my Fellowship (hoo-ray!)! The four senior students that I mentored for my fellowship program are graduating today. They come from all different backgrounds: minority, first generation, low income, etc. They come from marginalized groups that are not expected to succeed. They are all getting their degrees and also they are all going on to graduate programs. I could not be more proud and honored to be a part of their lives and share in their success.

With this year having been so awesome, I'm wondering how next year can be better, you know? Lol! Nah, it's gonna be great! Already, for the summer I'll be presenting at a conference, taking a language course, and possibly working with a French historian on some research (fingers crossed!). Next year, I already have a couple of organizational appointments lined up, like serving as Vice President for our History Graduate Student Association. For now, I can kick back, go to a bunch of movies, enjoy the Windy City, and hang out with my hubby and puppy love. I know God has amazing things for us yet to come!

♥
Pam