When I started this Emerging Scholar series, I was having an existential crisis, questioning daily my place within the academy. I wasn’t so much questioning my place within the academy intellectually, as much as I was questioning my place in the academy in terms of whether or not my work, and by proxy I, was valued. Most scholars I encounter tell me my feelings are normal and everyone has to prove the value of their work to someone, somewhere. I do not disagree that all scholars have to prove the value of their research; however, all scholars are not Black lesbians. All scholars do not live a “colored” life. All scholars do not have to constantly prove their worth and their value (as humans) on a daily basis.
Because of the struggles I faced proving myself and my work publishable (translation: valuable) in the academy—three rejection letters and counting, I decided I wanted to write about the difficulties I had in this journey to becoming a “scholar” and how the entire process made me feel that I, as a Black woman, had to prove I mattered. Every rejection and every insistence from a colleague, mentor, or instructor to give more of myself, to do more with myself, felt as though I was being asked to do more, being pushed more. However, the rejections from journals felt racial, homophobic, and sexist. When I submit on the lack of Black lesbian images and work in Queer Studies, I hear, “YOU have to PROVE DISCIPLINARY EXIGENCY.” (Translation: Black women don’t matter.) When I submit research suggesting Black women would not favor a National Language Policy, I was told, “This is NOT RESEARCH. You just have the OPINION of BLACK WOMEN.” (Translation: Black women don’t matter.) And while I understand that some of these instances are just the wrong journal or the right journal but the wrong time, this type of dismissive rhetoric placed upon my body by other bodies from the dominant culture feels raced, and this feeling is real and it’s valid.
Yes, one day I will be published. Yes, one day I will be the scholar who intellectually pushes her students and not the student who is intellectually pushed. But in this moment, I am neither of those things. In this moment, I am chasing my dream. I do not know what the stories on the other side of publishing, research, and teaching will be for me once I experience them. However, I doubt the feeling of having to constantly prove I matter will wane, if anything, and most likely, it will intensify. I wrote this series to understand where and who I am in this moment (feeling unappreciated), so I know who I can be in the next moment (a Black lesbian scholar that matters). Because Black women matter.