Learning How to Die Through Education

In October 2002, public intellectual, philosophy professor, and activist, Cornel West made his public return to Harvard University after a feud with the then president of Harvard, Larry Summers. Summers had accused West of weak scholarship and strongly suggested in a one on one meeting that he be a more productive scholar. This type of admonition might not be unusual for a colleague or a chair to give to a newly minted Ph.D. at the assistant professor rank; however, West was a University Professor at Harvard, the highest possible rank one could achieve as a faculty member there. He had also published numerous academic books on the serious scholarly topics of philosophy, religion, politics, and race. Summers seemed to believe that West’s forays into rap and poetry, as well as his numerous media appearances (and acting in two of The Matrix films), belittled his, and by extension Harvard’s, esteem in the academy. West did not see it that way. He believed that he had rightfully earned the respect of the highest levels of academia, and had shaped entire fields, particularly African American studies, and that he would now turn to spreading his intellectual gospel to the public, rather than keeping knowledge in the isolated tower of the university. West, rather than endure what he perceived to be an insult and lack of respect that would likely be ongoing during Summer’s tenure, decided to leave for a professorship at Princeton. This October evening in 2002 would be his defiant return, arranged by Harvard colleagues, and I happened to have the good fortune of being present.

The occasion for his return was the monthly “Saturday School” at Harvard Law School. Harvard Law Professor, Charles Ogletree, who is African American, started the Saturday School years before. Law students of color sought Mr. Ogletree out for mentorship and solace at a time when the student body and curriculum of Harvard Law School, and pretty much any law school, for that matter, did not represent the diversity of the country at the time; in other words, there were virtually no black folk to be found in the classrooms or the texts. In an effort to provide solace, camaraderie, and enriching knowledge that celebrated the contributions of minority scholars, Ogletree held these regular Saturday meetings. They eventually became institutionalized and supported by the institution, but they nonetheless maintained their radical flair. The main speaker on this Saturday was Cornel West.

The Saturday School had grown enormously over the years. On this particular night there was much anticipation and an overflowing crowd in one of Harvard Law School’s lecture halls buzzed with anticipation of the return of Professor West. There were easily 200 people crammed into a space not meant to accommodate that many, with people lining the walls and the aisles. When West entered the room from the rear, climbing over people in the aisles, giving high fives and shaking students’ hands along the way, the excitement in the crowd rose and then descended into a dramatic hush as Professor West approached the podium. West spoke in poetic verse, as if he were preaching on a Sunday morning. His tone descended and rose as he emphasized his points. About five minutes into his talk, he began to get very quiet as he meditated on the purpose of education and learning. With emphasis he then said, “Education is learning how to die. It is a setting loose, a giving up.” This is a thought that has strongly resonated with me to this day. That evening and that thought in particular is a very fond memory I have of my time in Massachusetts.

Having been through a great deal of formal education, I sometimes feel that I have died a thousand times. Coming from a Mexican immigrant family with parents who had high school degrees, who had limited familiarity with American colleges, who while middle class in income, were still pretty working class in their trades, a hairdresser and phone repair supervisor, university life was a bit different from the intellectual life I had at home.  Pierre Bourdieu, a French sociologist, reflected on his own working class roots in Southern France and the acculturation process he had to go through as a student at the University of Paris. A brilliant scholar, he likely was intellectually equal if not superior to his classmates, yet he struggled at times because he did not possess the insider knowledge, values and practices that were the implicit currency of the most favored students. He termed this knowledge of how to be, of what to value, and how it is tied to status, power, and perceived intelligence, as much as raw individual abilities, "cultural capital." In other words, knowing the secret rules of the game can help you win, even if you are not a naturally good player. Cultural capital along with social capital, the social connections that generate status and power (who you know, not what you know), dictate a lot of success in life. We could probably easily point to more than a few politicians with limited individual intelligence, but who know the rules and have the social connections that have taken them to the highest levels.

There are rules of the game that students need to learn. It does not mean that they are rules that work well for all games or that this particular game is better than other games. To speak directly to culture, no particular culture is better than another, necessarily, but in certain contexts, it is good to know the particular practices of the culture you are in. When in Rome, do as the Romans.

Some misinterpret this though. They take it to mean that a culture that is useful in a certain context is useful in all contexts. Basically, one culture is better than others. And those who believe this have taken this idea to a logical extreme. If one culture is best, then the other cultures are pretty useless. One notable person who made that argument is Richard Rodriguez in his memoir on his own education, “Hunger of Memory.” In that book Rodriguez argues that language minority children should discard their native tongues, or at best hide them, kept at home in private. This is the only place they are useful, communicating with the otherwise useless and ignorant ways of family.

This is point that I certainly don’t agree with, although I must admit at times that it seemed easier to just join the crowd and never look back. And the pull to give up one's own culture is strong in the United States. One must be conscientious about maintaing culture in the face of a school system that typically does not value diversity in its curriculum, in its staff, or in the way that it allocates resources. Being intentional about maintaining culture thus means going against the institutional tide, which is hard.

But, a recent article in Inside Higher Education notes that knowing the dominant culture relates to success in college. So, why would we not give that powerful knowledge to students? They may gain a lot. But, the fear is probably about what they might lose.

There is much to be lost in terms of family connections, traditions, wisdom and knowledge by giving up one culture for another. But there is a danger in reifying what we are familiar with as well. Coming from an immigrant family and having spoken with hundreds of children in immigrant families, especially Mexican, one of the most frequent admonitions I hear parents tell their children is “don’t be like me.” They say to aspire to something better, something different, something more. Isn’t that the nature of being an immigrant? To move? To change? And likewise, isn’t that the nature of education? To move beyond the past self. To die and be reborn anew.