On Anger

Our school year began with long-overdue talks on Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion. I was undeniably excited: for the changes I was confident we were soon to witness, for the difficult conversations we were undoubtedly going to tackle together as a community, for the possibility of realizing an institution that bravely meets the challenge of heralding a positive change in the wider Alabama community. Yet these expectations were quickly deflated by a sequence of events–big and small–that soon followed. As the year went on, my initial disbelief at these events was quickly replaced by a wave of pervasive anger that destroyed the initial (somewhat naive) belief I had for immediate, tangible change. 

I struggled to reconcile my love for a school that’d let me down. Beyond that, my anger had become obstructive. My frustrations had led me to denounce the school’s efforts as performative to peers, and while a large part of me continued to aggressively criticize what I’d believed was beyond saving, another part of me wanted to help. I initially rationalized this anger as a passion that transcended and united people, hoping that it could be a vehicle for eventual change. But as time passed, I gradually started to doubt myself. I began to think that somewhere along the way, anger had blinded me into polarizing discourse in an already polarized society. This was what I struggled to–and continue to struggle to–reconcile: anger that I believed was justified alongside a desire to be part of the solution, not the problem.

Yet in between then and now, a lot has changed. For one, I’ve become a lot less angry. For another, this (positive?) change has translated into something more “productive,” into me trying to facilitate and assist efforts instead of impeding them. But even now, I find myself caught up on the idea of anger. I’ve put “productive” in quotes because I believe there’s something bigger to explore here–something bigger to be said about the anger of people of color and the way anger has been traditionally perceived in the world of discourse. 

To quote from a paper I read on anger in educational settings titled “Mobilizing Anger for Social Justice: The Politicization of the Emotions in Education” by Michalinos Zembylas (read it here),

“I speak out of direct and particular anger at an academic conference, and a White woman says, “Tell me how you feel but don’t say it too harshly or I cannot hear you.” But is it my manner that keeps her from hearing, or the threat of a message that her life may change?”

This quote is particularly apt. When we talk about “professionality” or “academic etiquette,” what is most consistently at odds with these ideals is often works by people of color or women (or works by women of color) that emphasize inequity and intolerance. Yet when these individuals react to injustices, they must seek a “proper” way of expressing these raw emotions into something that can be read by majority-white audiences, which often comes at the expense of invalidating their own emotions. 

Anger is most often the target of measures seeking to eradicate or minimize it (see: anger management), yet the overgeneralization of anger as a highly destructive force puts people of color and women at the margins. There has to be a clear distinction between anger as a reaction to perceived injustice (or “moral anger,” as Zembylas puts it) versus other forms of anger, which is not a line traditionally delineated in professional or educational settings when it clearly should be. 

This kind of “moral anger” is immeasurably valuable to examine–especially in an educational context. To have a place to acknowledge and explore this moral anger is what I believe is necessary in all levels of education. The idea that all anger is irrational and dangerous has an accompanying effect of encouraging silence in the face of oppression, overt or otherwise. Women recognize this all too well: the labels of “overly emotional,” “domineering,” or in the simplest terms, “bitchy” are far too common when it comes to women that acknowledge and express moral anger directly–no matter how measured her tone. 

This is why I’ve put “productive” in quotation marks. I don’t know if the way I’ve approached my anger–a sense of regret followed by minimization–was “correct.” I don’t know if I’ve learned to reconcile my anger with a desire for positive change, or if I’ve chosen to put one aside in favor of the other. I don’t know if this decision has unwittingly affirmed the traditional notions of anger that have been set by generations of the dominant groups–white males–or if this decision has unconsciously set me to personally denounce ardent portrayals of anger, no matter how justified they are. I don’t have all the answers, but I am trying to find them.