Published Monday, June 7, 2004
It's Greek to Me: A Call for Responsive Curriculum
By Rhonda Henderson

Normally, hearing someone quote Cicero does not do it for me. Or any of his contemporaries, for that matter either (contemporaries loosely defined to include Herodotus, Caesar, Aristotle, Plato, etc). Once I hear the names uttered, I sigh and wait until the moment passes and relevant conversation resumes.

The failure to grab my attention and get my intellectual juices raring for a discussion on the state of man and the republic is not due to lack of exposure.  Indeed, as an undergrad, I suffered through over-exposure to the Western canon and all of its literary, musical, and artistic achievements, complimented by a chronicle of the founding of Western civilization. 

For two years, I listened to lecture after lecture on the accomplishments of Greek and Roman civilizations—perhaps the greatest being convincing the rest of the world of its eminence.  I watched slide shows celebrating the Mona Lisa, David, the Pieta, and…. other major works that have escaped me.  I knew that to be taken seriously in the academic world, which I planned to enter, I would have to “understand” the works, make comments that include the word “chiaroscuro” and confer the same value (“breath-taking”).  I would have to develop the cultural capital that included knowledge and appreciation for the “fine art” of Western civilization. I did for the time it took to write the paper, complete the final exam, and get out of the class.

In the mean time, my colleagues seemed highly engaged, asked thoughtful comments, and on the whole appeared to “get it.” They nodded, interrogated the texts, talked with the professors after class, and were generally annoying. I tried to nod, interrogate the text, talk with the profs, but did not quite “get it” the way they did (but probably did annoy them with my irritation with the course).  I felt almost completely alienated from the content.  It did not seem relevant to me as a young black woman, as a citizen of a republic, as a curious person, or any other of my identities.  I wanted to know how Aristotle, the knower of all things, could help me explain my political condition in the U.S. I wanted to know how Michelangelo’s definition of beauty influenced American conceptions and designations (and why colored women were either excluded or exoticized). I wanted to interrogate the various interpretations and manifestations of slavery, and question how classic understanding of slavery informed the work of the founders of the American republic.  Not many of my questions were answered, and the courses were an extremely frustrating and unsatisfying experience.

Fast forward to a typical Saturday morning for a grad school student: surrounded by articles, TV in the background, coffee pot brewing.  As I was reading an article on the black-white achievement gap, journalist Tavis Smiley was hosting a panel discussion on the Brown v. Board decision.  The panelists, including representatives from Harvard Law, Howard Law, the National Education Association, and the NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund (LDF), were committed black leaders of the academic and educational communities.  In their closing remarks, one scholar used Cicero to remind the government of its responsibility to provide quality education for all children: The greatest deed a republic can do is to educate its children, she said.  I turned to see the voice belonged to a black woman. 

Elaine Jones, the former director of the NAACP LDF, leaned forward in her chair and did what my profs in undergrad did not: erase the years of distance and cultural dissonance, and make the texts relevant to me today. She answered my question “What does this have to do with me—as a citizen of a republic, as a black woman, as a scholar?”  Speaking through all of those identities, I seconded Jones’ charge: educating its children—low-income, colored, female, disabled children—is the most noble deed a republic can do to secure its future and growth. That she could take wisdom from the Western world to galvanize a movement to educate black children was inspiring. I was inspired to believe if the work of the canon were presented in a context that related to me personally and politically, I could find meaning in its words. 

If my professors had taken time to explain how the great theoreticians related to our collective and individual conditions, I would have engaged much more deeply in class discussion, and had a more rich intellectual experience.  And my profs did not have to be black women, although it would help me to see a woman of color found entry into the predominantly white male universe that is the Western canon.  What is most important is that a meaningful connection is made between the words on the page, and the life that I live.