Fundamentals of Interactive Journalism

(A note to the reader: This is going to be a rambling post that will probably contain only tangential connections to journalism at best, so consider yourself warned):

Two of my favorite African-American authors, John McWhorter and Ta-Nehisi Coates, had a very interesting back and forth a few weeks ago about the prospects for some kind of larger community acceptance of black nerds now that we’ve elected a highly educated, and, in some ways, very nerdy, black man as president. This is a topic near and dear to my heart because, simply put, I’m a black nerd. Coates writes:

I never had the whole goth/mohawk/black trench coat thing working. I didn’t really hear Led Zeppelin until I was well into my 20s. I loved football and basketball, was about as hobbled as most boys I knew when it came to girls, and  a mediocre MC. Perhaps most importantly, I was terrible at school–I mean really bad. I almost failed the eleventh grade, and I dropped out of college as soon as I saw a viable out. Does all this mean I’m not really a black nerd? Or is it just that the rules are different if you’re a black nerd in a black community.

I never got down goth style (though one of my favorite essays of recent years was Chuck Klosterman’s piece about goth kids visiting Disneyland), never rocked a mohawk (a la Ocho Cinco), and can’t spit game (either on the mic or to females) worth shit.

On the other hand,  I am probably one of the biggest music junkies I know (if you’ve taken a peek at my iTunes library at school, you might have gathered as much). I played baseball and soccer in high school (could have easily played basketball as well) and was a very good student, though that was partially a necessity…pops was the principal.

I read comic books. I collected baseball cards. I could wreck shit on Goldeneye. Nerd credentials are solid.

But besides the fact that I’m just as likely to listen to Wilco or Springsteen as I am to something as funky as this (or this), the argument over black nerds is fascinating because Obama’s election, to me, has recast, at least in part, the discussion over what kind of behaviors are “acceptable” in the black community.

Back in February 2007, the New York Times ran a piece called “Truly Indie Fans” that described the plight of so-called “blipsters”; which, in this case, really means black kids who develop a liking for what might crudely be called “white music”. The article stuck with me because I know exactly how this kid felt:

WHEN Douglas Martin first saw the video for Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” as a teenager in High Point, N.C., “it blew my mind,” he said. Like many young people who soothe their angst with the balm of alternative rock, Mr. Martin was happy to discover music he enjoyed and a subculture where he belonged.

Except, as it turned out, he didn’t really belong, because he is black.

For a long time I was laughed at by both black and white people about being the only black person in my school that liked Nirvana and bands like that,” said Mr. Martin, now 23, who lives in Seattle, where he is recording a folk-rock album.

In response, I wrote this on my personal blog:

I think the real issue touched on in the article is about what is deemed as “acceptable” by the black community in terms of self-expression. To me, this also ties into the long running debate about whether or not black children who attempt to do well in the classroom are acting “white”. There’s a weird kind of pathos at work that says it is ok for black children to act like thugs and gangsters (which, of course, perpetuates long-standing stereotypes), but frowns upon academic advancement or forms of expression that don’t adhere to some arbitrary definition of “blackness”. Rock, after all, has its roots in black music (yes, I picked that link off of a post from Yglesias), so blacks playing rock shouldn’t be considered odd, but, due to the way music is marketed in this country, all black rock bands like Living Colour, majority black rock bands like the aforementioned TV on the Radio, and rock bands with black lead singers like Bloc Party are considered to be anomalies.

So, having said all that, what to do about it? Frankly, I don’t know. Other than continuing to push the now banal sounding idea that embracing diversity can help open doors, break down barriers, and promote understanding, I’m not sure what else can be done as a practical matter. Music, ultimately, is based on deeply personal preferences and it would be ridiculous to expect everyone to like the same thing. For now, I suppose I would consider it progress if a black kid who decided to go to a Killers show didn’t get funny looks from the crowd at the concert…or the kids in his neighborhood when he got home.

I think this is still true by and large, but Obama’s election significantly flips the script a bit. Don’t get it twisted; I don’t subscribe to the “Obama as Magical Negro” theory, but it’s now very much an open question in the wake of his election as to whether or not it will become “cool” for blacks kids to give a damn about school, for example. If we see a generation of black families inspired to be real-life Huxtables, will that be considered a good thing? Given some of what’s going on these days, I’d have to say yes. Again, I’m not saying that education and individuality were not encouraged inside the black community before; I’m just arguing that Obama’s election (and more importantly, his background) may make it more likely that some of the old stereotypes will weaken a bit.

At the close of his post, Coates writes:

The point I’m making is about labels and how they’re applied. I say that I was never a natural for the community mores, but I bet that’s true–in varying ways–for half of all of us. Kenyatta dances like she comes from West Baltimore (or the West side of Chicago) but she can talk like anyone from the Oak Park of her youth. Me, I sound like where I’m from. I stopped bopping after my 30th–it didn’t seem dignified. But I really don’t have much else on the essentialism scale. And yet, for whatever reason, I’ve always been at home in Harlem, or–as Jay would say–on any Martin Luther.

That’s it, in a nutshell. None of us is merely one thing and we each contain multitudes and I find it exciting that I might be able to let loose my inner nerd a bit more and not be accused of being a sell out.

Bonus: If you’ve gotten down this far for some reason, let me actually at least mention something journalistic for your troubles…if you want a good read over break about being a poor, aspiring writer in New York, do yourself a favor and give this a read. You’ll be glad you did.