Souls of Black Folk, Part II

In Chapter III, DuBois writes "of Mr. Booker T Washington," the chapter for which this book is famous. His standpoint is obvious even by the epigraph he chooses (from Byron), but he makes the statement more clearly a few paragraphs later: "And yet the time is come when one may speak in all sincerity and utter courtesy of the mistakes and shortcomings of Mr. Washington’s career, as well as of his triumphs, without being thought captious or envious, and without forgetting that it is easier to do ill than well in the world" (par 5). Yes, the time has come. And gone, and come again.
One cannot deny that Washington made a rhetorically savvy choice: he knew his audience and context well. DuBois says as much in this chapter. Washington did what was needed for a particuylar time. Unfortunately, his kairotic choice became reified into standard procedure and ideology. DuBois wants to undo that.
DuBois also, however, wants a return to the canon. This seems almost archaic after all the canon-destruction we've been doing the last twnety years. "Classic" doesn't mean much anymore; it's a starting place for us to ask: But what values do these "classics" promote? Who chose them as classic? Why these particular ones? Socrates is lovely, yes, but he's also only one bit of a much larger world of philosophy occuring at the same time. What about the Chinese? (Our new favorite question: What were the Chinese doing?)
DuBois is often read as the first person to analyze African American rhetoric (whatever that may mean?)--while he does not use the term "rhetoric," his analysis of Washington's "tact and power" (par 7), his ability to sway his own people, is succinct and apt. He recognizes the exigency, the audience, the constraints that Washington is under, and yet still has the agency to criticize Washington for giving in to those. For silencing his opposition and allowing himself to be occasionally silenced. And not silenced in a strategic way--silenced as a way of stopping social change.
Again, I come to the point where I feel uneasy, where my dystopian rhetoric threatens to fall apart at its Burkeian seams: Can rhetoric, even rhetoric as powerful as Washington's, actually insight revolution? How quickly must something happen for it to be revolutionary, and how complete must the change be? Can we really attribute cause and effect in this case, or are is the rhetorical situation far too complex to tease out what, exactly, criticism does? Particularly today, when the best critics, the critics within the academy, are never heard except within their own communities?
Do we do what bell hooks did? CAN we do what bell hooks did, and still be radically effective?
Last night, I was listening to Relient K's Jefferson Airplane, my second favorite RK song, when the proverbial ton of bricks hit me: When, exactly, did I stop believing that I was doing good in the world? When did I stop trying to do good in the world? And how can I get it back?
DuBois wrote this book, and we keep reading it, debating the two ideologies (Washington v DuBois) and doing absolutely nothing about it. The pile of books I just bought seem to want to fix the problem through text alone. But despite the years since alterity studies, public knowledge and ideology has not shifted. My students still think blacks can be racist. They still think racism is over.
Agency doesn't mean anything unless you actually use it. And while DuBois created quite a maelstrom, when we write the same things today, no one pays attention. No one who can help us reach a tipping point, anyway.