“Representation and Respectability Will Not Save Us”: Activist Clarissa Brooks on HBCUs and the Limitations of Black Excellence
Organizer, activist, and movement journalist, Clarissa Brooks. Photo courtesy of Clarissa Brooks.
By Jaimee A. Swift
Queer activist, organizer, and movement journalist, Clarissa Brooks (she/her/hers) is here to remind HBCUs that respectability politics, symbolic representation, and “Black Excellence” will not save us.
Clarissa Brook’s interview is a part of ‘Voices in Movement’ February 2020 theme, #MakingBlackQueerHistory: Black LGBTQ+ Women and Non-Binary Student Activism at HBCUs. To read the descriptor, please click here.
Clarissa Brooks is only 24 years old but has grassroots organizing and movement-building experience beyond her years. Born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina, Brooks’ activism and leadership has been seen, heard, and felt at Spelman College, a historically Black liberal arts college for women in Atlanta, Georgia, and beyond. Notably, Brooks was an organizer with #AUCShutItDown, a social justice movement that mobilized students of the Atlanta University Center Consortium (AUC), which consists of four HBCUs––Spelman, Clark Atlanta University, Morehouse College, and Morehouse School of Medicine––in Atlanta, Georgia. Also, she, along with others, spearheaded a movement against rape culture and sexual assault in the AUC.
An organizer with Black Youth Project 100 (BYP100), a member-based organization of Black youth activists creating justice and freedom for all Black people, Brook is also a movement journalist and she has written extensively on various topics including racial justice, student-activism, politics, music, and more.
As a conspirator in the movement for the liberation of all Black people, while at Spelman, Brooks confronted and called attention to structural and institutional issues such as the limitations of ‘Black Excellence’, respectability politics, homophobia and transphobia, misogynoir, classism, patriarchy, and more. While Brooks’ activism and leadership, as detailed above, certainly extends beyond the confines of Spelman’s campus, it is her work at Spelman in challenging injustices and systems of oppression on and off the campus that should be given more attention; as it draws on a much-needed dialogue and meditation on the triumphs, trials, tribulations, and even trauma of student-organizers––particularly queer, transgender, and gender non-conforming student-organizers––who challenge the status quo at HBCUs.
Her interview with Black Women Radicals raises critical questions that speak to not only the profound legacy of radical queer organizing at HBCUs but also the impacts movement building can have on queer, transgender, and non-binary activists who diligently work to demand equity, justice, and radical change while students at historically, Black academic institutions. Some questions include: What does ‘Black Excellence’ mean at HBCUs when oftentimes, poor, working class, Black queer, transgender, gender-nonconforming, non-binary and disabled students have been excluded from that narrative? What does ‘Black Excellence’ or respectability politics mean when you do not fit into gender essentialist stereotypes, characteristics, and imagery of a “HBCU woman” or “HBCU man?” What happens when queer, transgender, and gender non-conforming students challenge these ideas and start creating safe spaces for themselves and others? How often have they been ostracized and excluded for living their full truths and because they refused to assimilate? How often is their activism and leadership tokenized, exploited, surveilled, and even erased by administrators, faculty, and students alike? What is the price for students to catalyze Black queer history and radical change and inclusion at HBCUs? How rewarding is it? How taxing? Grueling? And the question that always seems to loom is––in the future, will it get better? And how?
Brooks’ work and interview illuminates this very important dialogue, as she shared with me why she chose to go to Spelman College; her activism on campus; her thoughts on the future of HBCUs; and why representation and respectability politics will not get us free.
What compelled you to go to Spelman College? Why a historically Black college?
Clarissa Brooks (CB): “In North Carolina, my high school, South Mecklenburg High School, was pretty racially segregated. When it came to school prospects, I really wanted to major in journalism. I really wanted to go to Northwestern University or Columbia University, and I also applied to Howard University. I didn’t get into Northwestern but I had a counselor who suggested I apply to Spelman. I had never heard of Spelman before. I didn’t know much about it but I applied and I got in. I also applied to a school in New York City and I got into that school, too. I just knew I had to get out of North Carolina, so Spelman was my next best option. I never visited Spelman before I got accepted and really didn’t know what I was getting into. My whole thinking was coming from just getting out of North Carolina. I didn’t really have an HBCU legacy or anything like that. Coming from poverty, I was just really lucky to get into college and to get out of North Carolina. I think my love for Spelman came when I got there and I learned about the traditions and the Black women who were previously in that space. Going into it, I was not aware of the impact Spelman would have on me.”
“I didn’t really have an HBCU legacy or anything like that. Coming from poverty, I was just really lucky to get into college and to get out of North Carolina. I think my love for Spelman came when I got there and I learned about the traditions and the Black women who were previously in that space. ”
What is the climate like towards queer folks on Spelman’s campus?
CB: In 2014, I was still straight. The climate is weird. However, the first queer antagonism I realized was in our dorms. I remember our resident director saying, ‘I know which one of y’all are gay’ just based on how we appeared. She [the resident director] would say, ‘I am going to know if you are going to sneak your girlfriend in past visitation.’ I wasn’t queer at the time but I remember just thinking, ‘Who is she talking about and why would she say that out loud?’ Why would you say out loud ‘I am going to watch folks’ who you think in your mind are gay? That was really weird. I will say my freshman year is a little different than it is now. At the time, there was a smaller, more closer community of gay folks at Spelman who knew who the straight girls that were not out but who they were sleeping with. I wasn’t a part of that, but I didn’t know about it until later on. I would say culturally at Spelman that the climate towards queer folks was not as large of an issue than it is at Morehouse. I think it is because Spelman had politically been more of a progressive space but at the same time does not want certain representatives that are openly queer.”
“The beautiful thing about Spelman is the Women’s Research and Resource Center, which was founded by Dr. Beverly Guy-Sheftall. It has works by Toni Cade Barbara and Alice Walker and it is really historic. Every time I am there, I am blown away.”
Was there any present LGBTQ+ student-activism on Spelman’s campus?
CB: “There was actually a ton of activism that I didn’t know about that happened before I got there. In 2008, there was a Vibe article about the ‘Mean Girls of Morehouse’ and the dress code at Morehouse College, which specifically stated students were not allowed to wear dresses or feminine clothing. There was a large group of people at Morehouse in 2010 who were really influential in addressing and calling out these queerphobic and transphobic policies. There is also a group called Afrekete, which focuses on LGBTQ+ issues at Spelman but it really wasn’t activism, it was more like a club. Later on, many of us started doing activism and organizing work around sexual assault on campus but that was mostly myself, my friends, and other folks on campus who were doing this work.”
“The beautiful thing about Spelman is the Women’s Research and Resource Center, which was founded by Dr. Beverly Guy-Sheftall. It has works by Toni Cade Barbara and Alice Walker and it is really historic. Every time I am there, I am blown away. Morehouse, Spelman, and Clark Atlanta University all have Pride weeks. Morehouse also has a LGBTQ+ organization called SafeSpace.”
Why do you think LGBTQ+ student representation at important at HBCUs? What can HBCUs do to increase and enhance LGBTQ+ rights and representation in the future?
CB: “I think a lot of us who come to HBCUs, who are queer and trans-identifying, are not really aware of the long legacy we are a part of in terms of LGBTQ+ activism at historically Black colleges and universities. Before I got to Spelman, I did not know about Moya Bailey nor that she created the term ‘misogynoir.’ I also later found out she is queer and non-binary. I think they do not tell you those things or broadcast them for a reason and I think Morehouse is very similar in this respect as well. You are taught you need to be a certain type of Black person in order to be successful. I think my time at Spelman––and this would have happened regardless of my activism––I just didn’t fit into that role nor did my friends fit into that role either. I didn’t fit into a middle class, corporate image––queer or not. I think HBCUs have to grapple with the fact they are not these safe and inclusive spaces they purport themselves to be. I think Spelman, Morehouse, North Carolina A&T, and Howard are seen to be beacons of Black excellence but Black excellence is only allowed for certain types of Black people. If you are queer or LGBTQ+, you still have to assimilate to fit into this corporate image or you won’t be accepted or visible.”
“I think a lot of us who come to HBCUs, who are queer & trans-identifying, are not really aware of the long legacy we are a part of in terms of LGBTQ+ activism at historically Black colleges and universities.”
“A lot of us do not want to do that––we want to be different. HBCUs need to grapple with the fact they are not inclusive as they say they are. Representation and respectability will not save us. I think that is the downfall of neoliberalism in general because sometimes we think all we have to do is get someone who likes like us and then we will get it free. It doesn’t work that way and that is not enough and it will never be enough. We have to start looking at the root as to why these schools were created, at what harm they have caused, how they can show up for students, and how they have not listened to students’ concerns or trusted our judgement. I think it is a huge undertaking but I think students are demanding this now and saying, ‘This is not enough.’ Queer students are tired of having to be closeted in order to run for certain positions on campus or assimilate to a corporate image to so-called get a head.”
“Representation and respectability will not save us. I think that is the downfall of neoliberalism in general because sometimes we think that all we have to do is get someone who likes like us and then we will get it free. It doesn’t work that way and that is not enough and it will never be enough.”
“I think the other part of that is that all of the civil rights organizers HBCUs claim, they seem to only claim after they are dead. Howard only started claiming Kwame Ture after he passed. I think HBCUs claim many activists who went to their schools until after they are dead and after they can profit off the work they have done. I think that is a difficult point to grapple with for myself and for other people because if you are marginalized, othered, or have different identities, HBCUs are still businesses and so they have to make money. Many people want you to assimilate because they are a business, they need to make profit, and they look at being queer as not profitable because it doesn’t fit into ‘the HBCU image.’ You then realize that this school is a business and this school has to make money at the end of the day, and if they have to do it off my back, they will. That is what I see a lot of queer HBCU students dealing with and they feel like they are not respected, they don’t feel seen or supported––even though other students do feel repected, seen, and supported.”
“I feel that in order for queer students to be seen at HBCUs, HBCUS would need to directly discuss and acknowlege homophobia, transphobia, and queerphobia which is inherently connected to sexual assault, which is connected to patriarchy, and all of this is connected to white supremacy.”
“I feel that in order for queer students to be seen at HBCUs, HBCUS would need to directly discuss and acknowlege homophobia, transphobia, and queerphobia which is inherently connected to sexual assault, which is connected to patriarchy, and all of this is connected to white supremacy. I think HBCUs need to take a real deep dive about why they were founded; their mission and values; and their purpose going forward. I think at times HBCUs do not want to grapple with homophobia, transmisogyny, and sexual assault because their hands wouldn’t come out clean. I think it requires queer activism and student-organizing for these issues to truly be dealt with and come to light. It is hard because students shouldn’t have to do this––they shouldn’t have to fight for their lives on campus. However, I also feel if we put the onus on schools, we wouldn’t have a lot of the things we have now at HBCUs, and we do not have much.”
Can you speak more about your activism with #AUCShutItDown?
CB: “I joined #AUCShutItDown in 2016. It was founded by Avery Jackson, who I call my ‘Movement OG.’ It was created in a group chat in 2014. I came into #AUCShutItDown with Da’Shaun Harrison, Eva Dickerson, and other amazing people who I currently work with now. I initially came into the group ‘on 10’––I was like, ‘Let’s burn this shit down’ [Laughs]. And that is not how you organize! [Laughs] I still move with that energy but not really but really [Laughs]. My first action with #AUCShutItDown was the Hillary Clinton protest interruption in 2015. Again, I always tell people that specific protest sounded cool but as your first action; it was just a really hot red action and I don’t even think we saw it that way. However, the trauma was so intense after that protest, everything felt not as intense or not that risky. We got a lot of backlash initially from that protest––a lot of backlash from students and administration. We got booed out of the gym. We were arrested by Secret Service. Yeah, it was just a really intense day. We directly saw the other side of HBCUs, which is Black elitism––having Andrew Young grabbing your shoulder and telling you to go away, as they push you off stage. That protest really politicized us in a very specific way.”
“After that, I started working on sexual assault on campus. My work started because at the time, I had a friend who was assaulted and I didn’t have the language for it. I was younger, didn’t have the language, and I felt really helpless. When I got back to campus, I felt an obligation to work with others and organize to address sexual assault on campus because it is pervasive. We did a lot of solidarity work and moments with students and survivors. I think getting into sexual assault work was amazing and I am so grateful for it but I didn’t realize how taxing and all encompassing it is because it requires you to be an emotional support for survivors. It also required myself and others to be the face and the first ones to be impacted by administrative backlash for speaking up and out. You become a person the administration ends up surveilling. Campus security knew my name and every member of #AUCShutItDown. We were being surveilled in really heavy ways. It created a sense of paranoia. From there, we also did some gentrification work in Atlanta and around the Atlanta Superdome.”
You are a journalist, activist, and organizer. How has journalism shaped or enhanced your organizing?
CB: “Journalism and organizing are very similar but ideologically are very different. I recently became a Freedomways fellow and the fellowship focuses on movement journalists and what it means to be a journalist creating space for movement work. Since high school, I always wanted to be a journalist but when I started organizing, I did not have time for it. However, writing became my refuge and it gave me a name to call out the trauma and the backlash and other things that happened when I was organizing on campus. To me, journalism, writing, and culturally critique have been one in the same and a part of each other because there is a huge field of Black movement journalists who are writers, organizers, and journalists at the same time like Ida B. Wells and Claudia Jones. Historically, journalism as a field has been the forebearer of white supremacy and it has upheld the status quo in super dangerous ways by enforcing negative narratives and stereotypes. For example, the New York Times took Donald Trump’s money to run an ad against the Central Park Five for the sake of objectivity, when they didn’t even do the crimes. But I think that many Black journalists like Ida B. Wells, who were movement organizers, have always been there to give a different and more complete narrative.”
You can follow Clarissa Brooks on Twitter @ClarissaMBrooks.
You can read Clarissa Brooks’ work here.