Celebrating the Good America while lamenting the Bad America

This week in North Philly Notes, William Gee Wong, author of Sons of Chinatown, writes about growing up in Oakland’s Chinatown and how that shaped his—and his father’s—worldview

Until I was 13 years old in 1954, I thought the world was, well, Chinatown, where I was born in Oakland, California. It was such a safe, secure place, like a yellow blanket warming me up against the cold, white world nearby. The first words I heard were in my parents’ Chinese dialect, but I quickly acquired English-language skills going to the neighborhood “American” school.

Then I started the 9th grade in a mostly white high school two miles from Chinatown. Uneasy and mostly mute at first, I learned to adapt, got friendly with white students, did well in my classes, and became active in student journalism activities, eventually becoming editor of the school yearbook. This new environment disabused me of my illusion that the world was Chinatown.

My father never had this identity transformation. A mid-teenager from an obscure, isolated rice-growing village, he came to America in 1912 during the height of China’s quake-like governance revolution and the U.S. Chinese Exclusion Act, which barred most Chinese from entry into America. He managed to get in legally using partially false papers, settled in Chinatown, went to the nearest “American” school to learn English, worked and lived in an herbalist shop, and returned to China several times to marry and have three girls before bringing his young family to settle for good in Oakland’s Chinatown, where he operated small businesses until his death in 1961 at age 65.

I tell our shared and divergent stories in Sons of Chinatown: A Memoir Rooted in China and America to shed light on a rarely told positive American immigration story that began under negative circumstances. How Chinese migrants, like my father, survived the century-long period of unofficial then official discrimination isn’t widely known. Sons of Chinatown illuminates America’s ongoing complex, solution-defying struggles to address its deeply confounding immigration conundrum.

The positive part is my father’s hard work, resilience, and legacy of four generations of law-abiding, productive wholly or partially ethnic Chinese American citizens. For example, I emerged out of the Chinatown bubble to gradually join the white-dominated mainstream by serving my country as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Republic of the Philippines and as one of a small group of Chinese American/Asian American pioneers in newspaper journalism. My commentaries unveiled untold Chinese American and Asian American stories, captured in Yellow Journalist: Dispatches from Asian America (Temple University Press, 2001).

The negative part is the continuing racism against us on an individual and systemic basis despite our multiple generations of rock-solid Americanness and adherence to the core constitutional values and principles espoused by the wealthy white men who founded the United States of America. After so many generations as Americans of Asian descent, some of us wonder whether we truly belong in the land of our birth or legalized national adoption.

During my father’s time and early in my life, there were relatively few of us of Chinese and Asian descent in America. Beginning in the mid- to-late 1960s, thanks to a major liberalization of U.S. immigration laws, many more immigrants and refugees from East, Southeast, and South Asia came to America, the vast majority of whom are valuable, if not exemplary, cogs of our powerful multicultural, multiracial, multiethnic, freedom-loving society.

I celebrate the Good America while lamenting the Bad America, with more hope than fear that collectively we will resist the bad aspects of who we are to further embrace the good and forge ahead to be even better.

The struggles of Black migrants and refugees are everyone’s problem

This week in North Philly Notes, Philip Krestedemas, coeditor of Modern Migrations, Black Interrogations, writes about the impact of the wet foot/dry foot policy.

The U.S. government’s wet foot/dry foot policy for Cuban and Haitian refugees, which was rolled out in the mid-1990s, is often cited as an example of the racially biased double standards that are baked into U.S. refugee policy. Under this policy, Cuban asylum seekers who touched ground on U.S. soil were eligible to receive asylum. Haitians who did the same thing were detained and returned to Haiti. But on closer inspection, the wet foot/dry foot policy is not just a story about how Haitian refugees were treated differently from Cubans.  It’s also a story about how the exclusionary treatment of Haitians established a precedent that weakened asylum rights for all Caribbean asylum seekers.
            The disparate treatment of Haitian and Cuban asylum seekers is most apparent in the way the “dry foot” criterion was applied (i.e., what happened once refugees reached U.S. soil).  The “wet foot” criterion was applied the same way to Cubans and Haitians. This wasn’t much of a change for Haitian refugees. For Cuban refugees, on the other hand, it marked the end of the more generous “open arms” policy that had been in effect since the early 1960s. Under the “open arms” policy, Cuban refugees were fast-tracked for asylum whether they were apprehended at sea or on the shores of south Florida. Under wet foot/dry foot, this generous asylum policy was limited to Cubans who touched U.S. soil. Cubans who were apprehended at sea were treated no different from Haitians. 
            The saga of wet foot/dry foot is just one example of a story that has repeated itself many times over in U.S. history. Black communities are often the first to be affected by deprivations, coercions, and incursions on personal liberty that, eventually, spread to the wider society. Modern Migrations, Black Interrogations aims to give the reader an insight into the depth of this problem, examining it from several theoretical, historical, and geo-political vantage points.The book’s contributors note that anti-Black racism doesn’t just describe a group-specific experience of race; it is foundational to the structures of thought and feeling that gave rise to the modern world. One implication of this analysis is that the problems that Black people contend with can tell you a lot about problems that pervade our entire society. 
            Think of a house that is built on top of a sinkhole. The people on the bottom floor of the house are more at risk of falling into the sinkhole. The people on the upper floors of the house may not feel the same sense of urgency to address the problem and may feel comforted by the thought that they are in a somewhat better situation. But they are ignoring the fact that when the foundation finally gives way, everyone’s falling into the hole. 
            This may not be a perfect metaphor, but it captures a dynamic that is very common to the Black experience. Haitians, for example, were the first U.S. refugee population to be subjected to mandatory detention. Thirty years later, mandatory detention is not only standard for most asylum seekers in the US., it has become the norm for how governments around the world manage refugee populations.  The same can be said for the interdiction practices initially rolled out to control Haitian asylum seekers in the 1980s. These were expanded throughout the 1980s and 1990s to all refugees trying to enter the U.S. by water, imitated by European governments in the 2000s that were trying to control flows of African and Asian refugees trying to cross the Mediterranean, and were also cited as a precedent by the U.S. government in the 2010s when it rolled out programs to control the growing numbers of asylum seekers (mostly Central American, but also including Haitians and many other nationalities) at the US–Mexico border. These are just some examples from the recent history of U.S. refugee policy.  You can find similar processes at work in the U.S. history of mass incarceration, predatory lending practices in housing markets, unsafe work conditions in low-wage employment sectors, medical neglect in the health care sector, and the list goes on.
            Although Modern Migrations, Black Interrogations is focused on the migrant experience, it engages this experience with an eye to the bigger picture I’ve just described.  Our analysis is premised on the understanding that the Black experience can be used as a starting point for diagnosing problems that affect everyone, and also in a way that elevates the value of Black life. But in order to do this, we have to step outside of the ways of seeing that normalize all of the problems I’ve just described. This sums up  the purpose of the book—to invite the reader to take this step.
 

The issues raised by this blog will be discussed in more depth at a free webinar hosted by the Acacia Center for Justice, to be held on Monday, February 26, 3pm (EST), featuring faculty from Morehouse College, Temple, and Bowdoin Universities and guest speakers from Undocublack, Families for Freedom and the Haitian Bridge Alliance. Click here for more info and to register.  

Do you remember Leslie Jordan?

This week in North Philly Notes, Royal G. Cravens, III, author of Yes Gawd!, writes about the connections between religion, politics, and the late actor Leslie Jordan.

The Tennessee-born actor, comedian, and singer Leslie Jordan was an icon of southern queer culture who left an indelible mark on the world. Perhaps best known for his portrayal of the character Beverley Leslie on Will & Grace, Jordan’s status as a queer hero was cemented (in my opinion) by his portrayal of Brother Boy, the uncle of Ty (Kirk Geiger), the protagonist in Del Shores’ cult classic comedy, Sordid Lives.

I am not a biographer of Jordan’s life, but I have admired his work through the years. Like so many others during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I found joy in his viral videos and I grieved with many when I learned of his tragic passing in October 2022. One of my biggest regrets is not asking Jordan for an interview when writing my book, Yes Gawd! How Faith Shapes LGBT Identity and Politics in the United States.

While doing research for the book, I found an interview with Jordan that contained an example   of what I found in my survey and interview data about the religious experiences of LGBT people. It stood out, so much so that I quoted it at the beginning of chapter 2: “I never walked away from the church,” Jordan told country music legend Shania Twain in a 2021 podcast interview, “I just quit going.” Jordan’s quote sums up many of the experiences I document in Yes Gawd!

“He could preach, preach, preach:” growing up a southern Evangelical

In Sordid Lives, Jordan’s character was institutionalized for being gay.  A major subplot involves unpacking the ways conservative Christianity facilitated his involuntary committal and society’s negative views about Brother Boy and his gay nephew. The role of conservative Christian religion in the oppression of LGBT people is especially pronounced in the film’s sequel, A Very Sordid Wedding, and in another of Shores’ productions, Southern Baptist Sisses, which features Jordan as “Peanut” a “backsliding, homosexual, former Baptist.”

Jordan was vocal about his own experiences with organized religion. Literally vocal —he recorded an album of Christian hymns featuring country music royalty like Dolly Parton in 2021. When asked by NPR’s Ari Shapiro why he decided to record a gospel album, Jordan expressed a sentiment that I found to be relatively common in the research I explain in my book.

“I grew up in the church,” Jordan said. “When you grow up in the church, everything that we did — even socially — was around the church. It was just such a big part of our lives. And I loved that music.”

Jordan grew up Southern Baptist, but my work shows that LGBT people who were raised in Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, and more faith traditions have a shared experience. Namely, religious socialization (the milieu of institutions, practices, beliefs, and people that teach us about faith and politics) is a powerful force that can have lasting effects on their identities and politics.

Importantly, I conceptualize socialization as positive, negative, or neutral with respect to affirming LGBT people and rights. Some, like Jordan, who experienced negative religious socialization had “an axe to grind with the church” that didn’t “embrace” him after he realized he was gay. Most of the LGBT people I surveyed who identify as religious pointed out that “organized religion” is frequently wielded as a weapon to divide and suppress not just LGBT identity, but also pluralism – the spirit of appreciation for diversity and democracy.

For example, I found that growing up in a non-affirming Protestant denomination is significantly related to coming out (openly identifying as LGBT) later in life,  even though the LGBT people raised Protestant I surveyed thought they might be LGBT at roughly the same age as LGBT people raised in all the other faith traditions. There could be  several reasons, but it is likely that being raised in a non-affirming faith tradition, especially a Protestant tradition, contributes to stigma and internal identity conflict. Experiencing both of those things makes it more likely that an LGBT person will leave the faith tradition in which they were raised.

Even after disaffiliating, negative religious socialization influences LGBT identity and politics. Like Jordan said, he didn’t “walk away from the church,” he just stopped attending. As I show, these negative experiences can inform an activist politic primarily to prevent the consolidation of political power by conservative religious forces. Negative religious socialization can also inspire LGBT people to seek out faith traditions that affirm their LGBT identity or to reimagine their faith and spirituality altogether.

This comes across most in my evaluation of affirming faith traditions and how the efforts to create inclusive, pluralistic religious communities have helped LGBT people – cognitively, by helping resolve spiritual and psychic conflict; physically, by providing resources and tangible benefits; and politically, by inspiring and facilitating political activism – assert agency in matters of faith in politics that have long been foreclosed by hetero- and cisnormative religious institutions.

In detailing the experiences of LGBT people and the intersection of faith and politics, Yes Gawd!, is not only a story about the political weaponization of faith against LGBT people. Neither is it solely a story of religious disaffiliation. Instead, Yes Gawd! is a story about LGBT people drawing on previous experiences with religion – both positive and negative – to inform who they are and how they engage with the political world. What emerges from the book is an understanding of the ways LGBT people democratize both American politics and religious spaces, holding America to its pluralistic ethos.

Adoptees in reunion: Moving beyond happy endings

This week in North Philly Notes, Sara Docan-Morgan, author of In Reunion, writes about the complexity of birth family reunions.

A few weeks ago, my family and I went to see the movie Wonka. The film centers on a young Willy Wonka as he outsmarts villains in his pursuit of opening his own chocolate shop. Along the way, he befriends Noodle, a smart and watchful preteen girl who becomes his assistant. Throughout most of the film, viewers are led to believe that Noodle is an orphan; however, at the end, she learns that her birth mother is alive and heartbroken, having believed her daughter had died many years ago as an infant. Shortly thereafter, the two reunite. After running toward each another, they embrace and cry tears of joy and healing. Their family and individual journeys are both assumed to be complete.

I admit that I groaned a bit at this storyline, not because I can’t appreciate a happy ending but rather, because the media too often portray birth family reunions in ways that elide the complexity of these interactions. I was likely the only one in the theatre thinking, “What’s next? How will Noodle and her mom transition from being strangers to being family? What similarities and differences will they find with one another? How will they navigate challenges in their relationship?” But these are the types of questions I have been exploring for the last 15 years as a family communication scholar and even longer as a Korean adoptee in reunion.

My book, In Reunion, draws attention to the experiences of transnational Korean adoptees who have reunited with their Korean birth families. Longitudinal, qualitative, in-depth interviews with 18 adult Korean adoptees revealed that there is no single reunion story, but one finding was most apparent: the first meeting between an adoptee and their birth family is the beginning of a story.

Reunion is risky. Adoptees risk losing the Hollywood-based fantasy of reunion—instant connection and comfort, unconditional acceptance, and heartfelt emotions. Instead, reunions most often involve moments of discomfort, as adoptees are confronted with family members who they don’t know and who may be very different from what they envisioned. Adoptees also risk their sense of security, as reunion opens up the possibility of being abandoned by their birth parents a second time. Birth families risk coming face to face with adoptees who feel angry or hurt, who pose difficult questions about the past, or who have lived lives marked by alienation and trauma. Additionally, birth mothers may risk being outed by reunion if they haven’t told others about their relinquished child. Adoptive parents may also experience reunion as risky, particularly if they fear that they might somehow lose their child to the parents that society often deems as “real.” These risks put a great deal at stake for families in reunion.

In addition, transnational Korean adoptees assume a great deal of responsibility in reunion. Along with the extensive logistics involved planning overseas travel, they bear communicative responsibility—what I call discursive burden—to build relationships with their birth families while maintaining relationships with their adoptive family, given that some adoptive family members feel threatened by reunion. Some specific discursive burdens include accommodating to Korean culture, expressing forgiveness to the birth family, narrating a positive life story to the birth family to assuage their guilt, learning some Korean language, masking uncomfortable emotions during reunion meetings, asking questions about the birth family’s past, and reassuring their adoptive parents. This list, which is far from exhaustive, suggests that the idealized reunion stories portrayed in the mainstream media may lead to unrealistic expectations and unpreparedness.

In many ways, adoption requires adoptees to release the past—their birth culture and birth family—and live in the present, in their adoptive country with their adoptive families. Reunion, however, asks them to dive into the past—even if it’s painful—and step into a present and future with multiple families, both of which are real in their own way. Through knowledge of the risks, complexities, and responsibilities inherent in reunion, adoptees can be best equipped to meet their birth families with an openness, not just to what could have been but also to what might be.

Getting an Education

This week in North Philly Notes, Grant Farred, author of The Perversity of Gratitude, writes about what his apartheid education taught him.

I write this blog on the 4th of January, 2024, having just hours ago received my advance copies of The Perversity of Gratitude: An Apartheid Education. It’s CLR James’s birthday today, and James figures, tangentially, in the book. I was introduced to James by one of my teachers, a Trotskyist who held James’s The Black Jacobins in high regard.

Long before it arrived, 2024 had the feel of a tumultuous year. Half of the planet’s population goes to the polls this year: India, just to begin with; South Africa, where the African National Congress seems destined to capture less than 50% of the vote – and not a moment too soon, say I; and, of course, the United States, where God alone can possibly know what will happen.

Fear. Dread. Expecting the worst.

Surely a good moment for revolution, James would have said. If only . . .

If we start with the failure of the post-apartheid regime in South Africa, then today is surely an opportune moment to reflect on what it meant to have lived and been educated, as a member of the disenfranchised, under apartheid.

“Apartheid made me think.” That is the opening line and the resonant sentiment that animates The Perversity of Gratitude. I am grateful to my apartheid education, perverse as that might seem; my anti-apartheid teachers prepared me for this moment. They did so in no small measure because the rise of black petit bourgeoisie nationalism, ethno-nationalism fueled by the fires of religious fundamentalism and the United States’s impulse toward hegemony were always made a matter for thinking by them.

Today I write from an academic position securely located within the United States. But, even after almost 35 years of living in this country, I retain more than a vestige of the tendency toward political skepticism and philosophical critique instilled in me as a high school and college student.

Not one of us is sufficiently ballasted against the political headwinds that are approaching and will shortly reach gale force strength.

Certainly not me.

But I do have a singular advantage: my apartheid education. It prepared me, against the will of the white minority regime, to live in the world. Fully. And it encouraged me to be open to the complexities of the world and its uncertainties. To live in anticipation of the event.

On CLR James’s birthday, I am moved to reflect on the perverse gift made to me by apartheid in the 1970s and 1980s, when the tumultuous was the order of the day in apartheid South Africa.

In this way, it might be that The Perversity of Gratitude is a gift most timely. A gift I am able to make myself.

Presenting Temple University Press’ Spring 2024 Catalog

This week in North Philly Notes, we present Temple University Press’ Spring 2024 catalog.

Below are our forthcoming books, arranged alphabetically by title. You can also view the catalog online here.

Adoption Memoirs: Inside Stories, by Marianne Novy

Bringing together birthmothers’, adoptees’, and adoptive parents’ portrayals of their experiences in memoirs

Beyond Left, Right, and Center: The Politics of Gender and Ethnicity in Contemporary Germany, by Christina Xydias

Debunks our assumptions about ideology and women’s representation in democracies

Black History in the Philadelphia Landscape: Deep Roots, Continuing Legacy, by Amy Jane Cohen

Philadelphia’s Black history as seen through historical markers, monuments, murals, and more

Carceral Entanglements: Gendered Public Memories of Japanese American World War II Incarceration, by Wendi Yamashita

Critiques how Japanese American public memorializations unintentionally participate in maintaining and justifying a neoliberal racial order

Crossing Great Divides: City and Country in Environmental and Political Disorder, by John D. Fairfield

Forging a path forward toward modes of production and ways of life, less dependent on despoliation and manic consumption, that will be genuinely sustaining

Crossing the Border to India: Youth, Migration, and Masculinities in Nepal, by Jeevan R. Sharma

How the changing political economy of rural Nepal informs the desire and agency of young male migrants who seek work in cities

Death Penalty in Decline?: The Fight against Capital Punishment in the Decades since Furman v. Georgia, Edited by Austin Sarat

Examines how the politics of capital punishment have changed in America since 1972 and the current prospects for abolition

Democracy’s Hidden Heroes: Fitting Policy to People and Place, by David C. Campbell

Turning deeply rooted governance dilemmas into practical policy results

Disability, the Environment, and Colonialism, Edited by Tatiana Konrad

Explores discourses related to gender, race, imperialism, and climate across the colonial era

Displacing Kinship: The Intimacies of Intergenerational Trauma in Vietnamese American Cultural Production, by Linh Thủy Nguyễn

How American children of Vietnamese refugees connect and express their experiences of racialization using the tropes of family, war, and grief

Faith and Community: How Engagement Strengthens Members, Places of Worship, and Society, by Rebecca A. Glazier

Showing how community engagement can build stronger congregations and improve democracy

Female Body Image and Beauty Politics in Contemporary Indian Literature and Culture, Edited by Srirupa Chatterjee and Shweta Rao Garg

Initiates a much-neglected and much-needed discussion of the politics of Indian women’s body image and self-identity

From South Central to Southside: Gang Transnationalism, Masculinity, and Disorganized Violence in Belize City, by Adam Baird

How longstanding socio-economic vulnerability in Belize City created fertile grounds for embedding deported Bloods and Crips from Los Angeles

The Improviser’s Classroom: Pedagogies for Cocreative Worldmaking, Edited by Daniel Fischlin and Mark Lomanno

Exploring improvisation as a fundamental practice for teaching and learning

Play to Submission: Gaming Capitalism in a Tech Firm, by Tongyu Wu

A critical exploration into the gamification in modern workplaces as a means of control

Temple University Press’ Annual Holiday Give and Get

This week in North Philly Notes, the staff at Temple University Press close out 2023 by suggesting the Temple University Press books they would give along with some non-Temple University Press titles they hope to receive and read this holiday season. 

Will Forrest, Rights and Contracts Coordinator/Editorial Assistant
Give: I’m giving Beth Kephart’s magnificent My Life in Paper to my mother, who has had her eye on this book since she got a copy of our Fall catalog. This is a very special book, exploring the everyday paper items that populate our lives with grace and lucidity. It’s the kind of book that I look at and can’t believe that I worked on. It’s a book I would recommend even if it wasn’t from Temple.

Get: I already have too many books I need to work my way through, so I’m not asking for any more. My reading list includes Isaac Butler’s The Method: How the Twentieth Century Learned to Act, which traces the history of acting technique from Stanislavsky through to the Group Theatre and Lee Strasberg and Brando. I have always found acting books to be hard to parse, so I’m looking forward to this book giving clarity to an often obfuscated (perhaps intentionally so) world.

Shaun Vigil, Editor
Give: The Press has published so many volumes this year that warrant a place on holiday lists that it’s nearly impossible to choose just one. That said, The Collected Short Stories of Bharati Mukherjee will certainly be among those I’m gifting this year. Bringing Mukherjee’s complete short fiction under one cover for the first time, this work is sure to offer something new to readers for many years to come.

Get: This year our fellow university press colleagues at the University of New Mexico released The Official Cookbook of the Chile Pepper Institute. The breadth of recipes and chiles represented from across the world will make this an essential in my kitchen, especially in helping to keep me warm during these cold winter months.

Aaron Javsicas, Editor-in-Chief
Give: Digging in the City of Brotherly Love: Stories from Philadelphia Archaeology, Second Edition, by Rebecca Yamin. Wherever you go in Philadelphia, there’s a good chance history is sleeping beneath your feet. Rebecca Yamin wakes it up and dusts it off, revealing the remarkable stories behind once-buried bones, bowls, and privy pits. This second edition is beautifully designed with several new chapters and new color illustrations.

Get: Biography of a Phantom: A Robert Johnson Blues Odyssey, by Mack McCormick. Who doesn’t want to better understand Robert Johnson? I’m curious about this book for that reason, but also because of the questions it raises around storytelling and an author’s responsibility to both the living and the dead. The publisher’s pitch reminds me a little of tales like Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse in which storytellers may be consumed by the same forces they’re exploring in their work. 

Stephen Bassett Gluckman, Graduate Editorial Assistant

Give: Kimberly Kattari’s Psychobilly: Subcultural Survival would be a perfect gift for more than a few people in my circle of friends and family. Kattari’s study is not only a dive into the world of Psychobilly, it’s a fascinating journey into the roots and conditions that shaped this vibrant subculture. It promises to be a thoughtful and intriguing present, one that enlightens as much as it entertains. 

Get: I’m intrigued by Esther Yi’s debut novel Y/N from what I’ve heard about it. With a plot working through the concept of “fanfiction,” Yi’s novel seems to be a unique tragicomic meditation on fandom and the way we center our lives in our globalized and wired world. I hope Yi’s novel proves to be both an absurd yet nuanced reflection on identity, human connection, and their limitations in contemporary culture.

Irene Imperio, Advertising and Promotions Manager

Give: Forklore: Recipes and Tales from an American Bistro, by Ellen Yin.  Celebrate cooking at home with Ellen Yin, winner of the 2023 James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurateur. Great for aspiring chefs and home cooks in your life!

Get: Hoping for this holiday cozy mystery to wind down the year – Blackmail and Bibingka (A Tita Rosie’s Kitchen Mystery) by Mia P. Manansala 

Faith Ryan, Production Assistant
Give: I would give Intimate Strangers: Shin Issei Women and Contemporary Japanese American Community, 1980-2020, by Tritia Toyota. I find immigrant stories endlessly fascinating, and this book studies a group of people—young Japanese women—who aren’t commonly showcased in such stories about the United States. Spanning forty years, right up to the modern day, this book offers so much to learn about our society past and present.

Get: I would love to receive Blood and Guts: A History of Surgery by Richard Hollingham. I’ve always been interested in history in general, and I find medical history to be an especially dramatic way to connect with the past. Exploring so many centuries of trial-and-error medical care is both a harrowing and rewarding way to trace just how far we’ve come as a civilization.

Ashley Petrucci, Senior Production Editor

Give: I would give Building a Social Contract, by Michael McCulloch, because I think people I know would be interested in the point of comparison between housing situations in the early twentieth century vs. today.

Get: I need to build up my cooking repertoire, but in a whimsical way, so I’d like to get something like The Redwall Cookbook, since that was a series I enjoyed as a kid.

Ryan Mulligan, Editor

Give: Bob Angelo’s The NFL Off-Camera. Angelo spent a career humanizing the people behind the NFL jerseys and helmets through his work at NFL Films. In his book, he reveals even more about what those players were like when the cameras were off. 

Get: Colson Whitehead’s The Harlem Shuffle. Whitehead’s understated prose and alluring characters combined deftly with his insight into the antebellum context of Underground Railroad. I’m eager to see him tackle the 1960s.

Alicia Pucci, Scholarly Communications Associate

Give: The Battles of Germantown, by David W. Young. One of the many history buffs in my life would greatly enjoy learning about Philly’s historic Germantown and hearing Young’s powerful take on public history.

Get: Baking Yesteryear, by B. Dylan Hollis, would be a great addition to my kitchen’s bookshelf. I love seeing recipes from antique cookbooks. Plus, who wouldn’t want to try new things like a chocolate potato cake from 1910?


Karen Baker,  Associate Director, Financial Manager
Give: I would give Color Me…Cherry & White: A Temple University Coloring Book to my grandson, because he is starting to color, and what better to color in than a Temple University inspired coloring book.

Get: I would like to receive I Can’t Make This Up: Life Lessons by Kevin Hart, because I find him really funny, and he’s a Philly guy, so that makes it even better. 

Mary Rose Muccie, Director
Give: Over Thanksgiving, and a week before Henry Kissinger’s death, my nephew and I had a scarily prescient conversation about the U.S. bombing of  Cambodia. When talking about the Khmer Rouge, I described the Press book, A Refugee’s American Dream: From the Killing Fields of Cambodia to the U.S. Secret Service, by Leth Oun and Joe Samuel Starnes. I’ll follow up on that conversation by giving him the book. 

Get: I want to make time to read a book I already have: The Nix, by Nathan Hill. I bought it after the great New York Times and NPR reviews, and then many more, but have been daunted by its size ever since.  This will be the year I tackle it! 

Gary Kramer, Publicity Manager and Interim Sales Manager
Give: A friend of mine is a history buff so I’m getting him a copy of Real Philly History, Real Fast. I had a chance this year to see author Jim Murphy present his book and he was amazing. I sold out of copies. I’d hoped to see him lead a tour but it rained the day we planned. But hey, that’s a resolution for 2024!
Get: While I am not a history buff, I read about two “history” books in the New York Times that intrigued me. Aaron and I were both fascinated by Among Friends: An Illustrated Oral History of American Book Publishing and Bookselling in the 20th Century, so if anyone wants to spend the $200.00 to send us a copy, I’d share it with him when I’m done. The other title was the more affordable novel, The Sleeping Soldier, by Aster Glenn Gray, about a union soldier who “wakes up” and befriends a college student in the 1960s.

All Work and No Play—Or the Reverse?

This week in North Philly Notes, Paul Gagliardi, author of All Play and No Work, writes about the contradictory attitudes towards work.

 

Like most people, when I first think of the word “work,” my mind goes to my career as an English professor. I take a great deal of pride in my career and it provides me with a sense of self-worth. But  “work” extends far beyond a 9-to-5 job and can, at times, feel all consuming. Recently I spent a considerable amount of time explaining to my youngest child that my wife, a middle-school teacher, and I often need to spend our weekends trying to catch up on work, doing everything from answering emails to grading to doing research. He couldn’t quite process why people needed to do work on the weekends, a time that he felt “should be for playing.”

Our professional work has become so pervasive that we might not consider how many other types of work—or markers of success—we encounter.  I might be reading an email about my retirement plan while checking out at the grocery store while the person ahead of me purchases a bunch of lottery tickets. I can believe in the value of an honest day’s work, but I cannot help but root for a swindling character on a television show who is able to outwit an unscrupulous businessperson for a small fortune. I might watch that television program—itself full of a range of visible and invisible labor—while attending to everything from laundry to cooking in an endless loop of home labor.  

These views of and contradictory attitudes about work compelled me to write All Play and No Work: American Work Ideals and the Comedies of the Federal Theatre Project. Our complicated relationship with work in all its forms is not just of the current moment. People have been wrestling with these ideas for decades, as seen in one of the unlikeliest of places: theater produced by the federal government during the worst economic crisis in American history. 

During the Great Depression, a New Deal program entitled the Federal Theatre Project (FTP) was charged with producing plays across the country to provide both entertainment to Americans and jobs to unemployed theater workers. Working under the guiding principle of “free, adult, and uncensored,” the FTP often performed plays that challenged theatrical norms and audiences. Given that most New Deal programs were, at their heart, concerned with working and employment, it should not be a surprise that many plays produced by the FTP addressed those issues, including several s, such as Power or Triple-A Plowed Under, that have been analyzed at length by other scholars.

The discussion of work in the plays I analyze in All Play and No Work is unique. Radically, at a time when seemingly everyone from the Roosevelt administration to everyday Americans were concerned about work, these plays critique the dominant views of working and, at times, question accepted pathways to success. And perhaps even more surprising, these plays were comedies, a mode that is often downplayed by critics and the public as incapable of addressing serious issues. A common refrain was that comedies during the Great Depression simply served to distract audiences from their economic troubles. Yet I have found  that these plays—rather under the radar—connect to larger conversations about work, security, and social status happening in economics, government, and culture at large during the Great Depression. And perhaps more important, these plays pose questions that extend to contemporary experiences with working. They include, how much work should determine our daily lives, what lengths will we go to in order to gain security, and how much are we willing to risk to achieve success. 


Designing a comprehensive resource for community-engagement professionals

This week in North Philly Notes, Elizabeth Tryon, coauthor (with Haley Madden and Cory Sprinkel) of Preparing Students to Engage in Equitable Community Partnerships, writes about the challenges and rewards of integrating community engagement into higher education.

Looking in the rear-view mirror, it’s overwhelming to try to process the impact of events of the last four years. A global pandemic disproportionately affected minoritized communities in a climate of vitriolic hatred and intolerance encouraged by the former president. In the wake of George Floyd’s murder, national protests created overdue heightened awareness of systemic racism. In a short time span, so much of the country’s dialogue shifted that it is mind-boggling to catalog the ramifications, good and bad. The learning curve was steep, especially for community engagement (CE) under lockdown, but universities pivoted more quickly in response to the COVID-19 closure than thought possible for such behemoth institutions. It was gratifying, in our campus Zoom world in the late summer and fall of 2020, to see conversations about equity take center stage. Some academics seemed to have been living a cloistered existence, unaware that inequity and systemic racism persist in the neoliberal construct of academia. Now folks were gamely attempting to wake up and contribute to rectifying some inequities. The gates of the ivory tower seemed to crack open and we heard a new willingness to listen and try new things.

These issues were not new in the context of academic CE. For many, many years we had been hearing from off-campus partners that our institutions didn’t do enough to prepare students in CE coursework (some of it required to graduate) before unleashing them on the unsuspecting populace. And that even with the best intentions, students sometimes interacted with community members in ways that caused harm. At our university a large community-based study, overseen by Professor Randy Stoecker in 2006, categorized those issues using a grounded-theory method. These findings were so extensive that our team published a book with Temple in 2009 called The Unheard Voices. This work led us to plead with administrators to institute policies to improve CE. These calls had largely gone unheeded, and 10 years after the Voices study, a community follow-up showed that not much had changed except that partners were becoming choosier about agreeing to projects and they still needed us to shoulder the burden of student training. (One told us, “Tell your students to stop bringing their white nonsense!”) Higher ed has a moral responsibility to behave better both inside the campus boundaries and especially beyond if universities continue to send students into the community under their auspices.

While the issues chronicled in Voices included everything from students not showing up at their sites to the vagaries of the academic calendar, over the next decade packed rooms for every workshop or conference presentation our team led with words like “cultural humility” in the title pointed to the overarching problem. Once all the available extra chairs were dragged in, people sat on floors or windowsills or hovered in doorways. Instructors kept saying, “I’m not equipped to teach these topics. I need the tools to do a better job of not only ensuring my students do no harm, but also ensuring the CE project is more than a break-even exercise for my community partners.”

During those years we were lucky to have some very skilled student interns who had extensive training in intergroup/intercultural dialogue as well as lived experience and wisdom. They knew how to meet students at their level as they worked toward more equitable partnerships and helped us develop workshop curriculum. This led to the creation of a CE Preparation staff role in 2019, filled by Cory Sprinkel, also a skilled dialogue facilitator, and we embarked on formalizing our student trainings for wider dissemination.

Our new handbook, Preparing Students to Engage in Equitable Community Partnerships, is designed to be a comprehensive resource for use by community-engaged professionals to prepare students for more equitable relationships with community members as they conduct course projects or research. It is structured into three broad sections that loosely mirror a companion set of open-access online modules that instructors can assign: an introductory overview and literature review; essential concepts, including student motivations, identity, privilege, power and oppression, and cultural humility; and additional contexts and considerations that drill down even deeper. We used a developmental approach so instructors can go from simpler to more complex understandings. Every chapter starts with discussion and theory and then moves to specific strategies and classroom activities. The book ends with appendices of activities and resources we have collected over the years.

We could only write from the perspective of a predominantly white institution in a medium-sized city, and our BIPOC faculty/staff colleagues, while very supportive, were too committed to join us as coauthors. So, we solicited short vignettes from small private and large urban campuses, community colleges, HBCUs, and minority-serving institutions. We received contributions from a diverse group of 22 colleagues about a plethora of related issues, including valuable contributions from students. It was a real pleasure to work with all of these contributors and my co-authors and I are excited to see this handbook reach CE professionals that have been looking for resources to help them prepare students for equitable partnership building.