One of my favourite authors, John Green, says when we’re talking about literature, we’re really laying out "how to use language in ways that foster deep understanding."
Shamefully, I have to admit that I didn’t understand what he meant until now. Every so often I feel a flash of understanding and a glimmer of truth in the books I read and the art I partake of. I thought this was a special event, an isolated incident with little connection to the art itself. Though the sensation is special, I never considered that this was one of art’s jobs. My Uncle Edward introduced me to this concept when I made the mistake of saying "I am not an art person". Himself an artist, he was quick to correct me by explaining how art both adds beauty to the world and illuminates human truths that are difficult to express through more empirical methods.
I tend to err on the side of empiricism. When I am explaining something like climate change or racism to someone who is unfamiliar with it, I like to stick to tangible facts. As I’m learning, though, that is not the only way to go about convincing someone of pain, or injustice, or even of happier things like pride and joy. Facts do their part in convincing our logical brains, art does its part in convincing our emotional brains. As is frequently pointed out to me in my Theory of Knowledge class, reasoning and emotion are two ends of the same spectrum and two sides of the same coin. It stands to reason that to fully convince, you should use facts to convince with logic, and art to convince with emotion. This understanding has revolutionized how I think about expressing my stories and histories (be they personal or socio-cultural) to the world. In the last few weeks, my art of choice has been literature. It has strongly colored how I see the world.
In English, we’re reading Professor Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. What started off as the exciting experience to read a book from a black author in literature class, turned into an incredible emotional journey with my new English teacher, Mr. Armstrong, as the class’ guide.
I understand, logically and historically, the racism Maya Angelou faced in her day. I know that segregation cordoned off black communities and that black women did primarily menial labour. What I didn’t know or understand or feel was the self-hatred she felt when she looked in the mirror and did not see a white face with blond hair. I didn’t know or feel or understand the humiliation of being denied medical care because a white dentist would rather stick his hand "in a dog’s mouth than a n*gger’s", even though he’s a care provider and most likely took the Hippocratic oath.
In learning about Angelou’s experiences through her literary work, I understand things about the world I didn’t before. I knew the N-word was ugly, but I didn’t emotionally comprehend the poignance, humiliation, and pain, attached to it until I felt the shame that radiated off the pages when Professor Angelou described the indignities she faced. Knowledge informed me, but literature gave me "deep understanding". Now whenever I have to explain to a white person soaked in ignorance why they should not use that word, I can send them Professor Angelou’s way so they too can emotionally comprehend the hurt and humiliation inflicted by that word.
Today, I came upon a part in the book that sparked a similar understanding and empathy. After living in a car junkyard for a month with a group of runaway children, Professor Angelou opined, "Odd that the homeless, silt of the war frenzy, could initiate me into the brotherhood of man" (254). The sentiment of understanding shocked me as if I’d put my finger in an electric socket, again 😳.
When I was fourteen years old, I went to the Center for Talented Youth for the first time. There, I found another home and also found that I, as a whole person, was embraced. Though I had been made fun of for my whole life because I was a "nerd" (or more hurtfully and incorrectly put an Oreo), nerdiness and every other aspect of my person was accepted and celebrated. The fact that I’m from a tiny island, that I love to sing, and that I am a less than perfect cook was all received with open arms. As I’ve previously mentioned, my family, my territory, and my friends gave me the love and confidence that I navigate life with, but at CTY, my fellow nerds "initiat[ed] me into the brotherhood of man". After that experience, much like Professor Angelou’s, when I walk through the world I no longer understand myself as an other. Instead, I feel firmly situated inside, for all its positives and negatives, "the pale of the human race" (254).
It is now my mission, and I hope yours too, to receive through art the deep emotional understanding that empirical evidence often does not bring. In my world, this has meant diving into literature with a new zeal and opening my mind to the lessons it brings. Whether that art is music, or a painting, or a book, or an oral story.
Speaking of music, thatssokathlyn now has a Youtube and a SoundCloud