Education, cadence, and the pitfalls of perception

CHRISTOPHER BONASTIA

 

In The Battle Nearer to Home », I assess the politics of school integration in New York City from 1954 to the present. I examine policies and practices of the New York City Board of Education that perpetuated a system in which Black and Latinx children often attended substandard, segregated schools that fundamentally failed them, in a system that nonetheless, retained the glint of integration and inclusion. Crucially, I also spend many pages trying to capture what the long, exhausting, and ongoing quest for racial justice in schools felt like to those who were fighting for it: the determination, the exasperation, the frustration, and the sense of community that comes with waging an uphill struggle. My project Soundtrack to the Battle will, I hope, aid in this effort.

I’ve been making beats since the late 90s, when I transitioned from live deejaying—working until 4 AM didn’t mesh well with the academic life—to music production. The simplest reason for creating Soundtrack to the Battle is that I love making music. I love to write as well. Yet, as anyone who creates in more than one medium can tell you, the joys and struggles of each one are distinct. In many cases, I can create a demo of a song and enjoy it recreationally on my runs or in the car in a matter of days or weeks. I forgive my "mistakes," which are sometimes the secret sauce in a song. I live and breathe with it. Of course, writing a book entails a more stretched-out timeline and rhythm, and that marathon contributes to the feeling of accomplishment and pride when your book enters the world.

Some of the songs on the soundtrack are instrumental. One listener commented that the album has "driving in the rain vibes." Another said: "It’s really a city soundtrack." I love those interpretations: people typically don’t react to academic books in such rich, impressionistic language. While the instrumentals refer abstractly to the emotional landscape of school equity struggles, other songs include interviews with friends who attended New York City public schools. (Those interviews were conducted after the book was complete.)

I’ve been making beats since the late 90s, when I transitioned from live deejaying—working until 4 AM didn’t mesh well with the academic life—to music production.

In the album’s first song ("How’d Ya Get Here?"), I weave in a conversation with my friend Bree, who is now in her late 20s. In the opening section, she speaks about the hierarchies that develop at co-located schools, which are quite common in New York City. "Washington Irving campus had over 6 schools in that building. If you went to Irving [the specific school], you’d hear ‘Ewww–you go to Irving?’ But if you go to Gramercy: ‘Oh, you go to Gramercy? That’s the acting school!’ But we’re all in the same building, learning different things….I saw it as a class system….I always saw myself as at the bottom."

Later in the song, she breaks down the racial dynamics of her high school experience: "Language & Diplomacy and Gramercy were also mainly Black and Brown kids. If you saw any white kids in the school it was like–this is gonna sound ignorant but it’s like: ‘What happened?’ It’s almost like: ‘How’d ya get here?’ You’re supposed to be in a better school with better academics. And because they were white, a lot of the kids just assumed they were a lot smarter than us. They put [the white students] on a pedestal–because of how much of our academia was lacking."  

The transcription fails to convey the emotional textures in Bree’s voice. She laughs as she says "How’d ya get here?" (I did as well), but then her voice becomes plaintive as she observes that the academic preparation accorded to her and her fellow Black and Brown students was grossly inadequate. If the songs on the album allow people to connect emotionally with what it’s like to be marginalized by the school system, I will consider it a success. It’s not as if most Black and Brown students yearn to be in overwhelmingly white schools. But surely they don’t want to feel they deserve inadequate resources, or that the schools they attend represent a last resort for white students.

I am fascinated by the possibilities and limitations of words. That may be related to my struggles with speech disfluency. I don’t struggle because I’m especially nervous or self-doubting, and it’s not because I speak too quickly. Telling me to relax doesn’t help (though stress can exacerbate speech disfluency). Disfluency is rooted in genetics and brain chemistry. In recent book talks, I address my speech issues at the outset. Rather than trying to hide my stutter by substituting easy words for difficult ones, or simplifying the point I want to make, I do my best to say exactly what I mean. It’s freeing to let go of the shame and embarrassment.   

Music and writing allow me to translate the rhythms I hear in my head without interference. I am trying to do the same when I speak, moving on from any stumbles that occur and realizing that connection, rather than perfection, is the goal. For many years I have hidden the way I speak. I am ready to share my secret sauce.

I hope you immerse yourself in the rhythms on the pages and in your headphones. And if you have the chance to hear me speak, those rhythms just might move you as well.

Start reading The Battle Nearer to Home »

Start listening to Soundtrack to the Battle on YouTube »

Start listening to Soundtrack to the Battle on DistroKid »

 

Christopher Bonastia is Professor and Chair of Sociology at Lehman College-City University of New York and Professor of Sociology at The Graduate Center, CUNY. His most recent book is Five Years without Public Education in Prince Edward County, Virginia (2012)