An Open Letter on Racism in Music Studies

Especially Ethnomusicology and Music Education

In 2014, I resigned my position as an Assistant Professor of Music History and Cultures at Syracuse University because of my dissatisfaction with academia in general, and ethnomusicology in particular. After my resignation, I started My People Tell Stories based on the premise that people of color need to tell and interpret their own stories, and published the ethnographic memoir, East of Flatbush, North of Love: An Ethnography of Home. The book was a reaction to the gross underrepresentation of Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC) in the field, and represented an alternative to academic writings that largely remained in the ivory tower. Since 2017, I have been giving presentations and conducting workshops with the goal of making music studies more diverse, equitable, and inclusive. I earned a Ph.D. in Music (Ethnomusicology) from New York University (NYU) and I am Kodály certified. I have worked at the intersection of ethnomusicology and music education for almost twenty years. I am a Black, first-generation, Caribbean American woman from Brooklyn, New York. Below are candid thoughts on the state of music studies in the United States, addressing primarily issues in ethnomusicology and music education. These thoughts are my own, and are not meant to represent those of any other person, though I am sure many will be able to identify with my story.

I entered the field of ethnomusicology, following in the footsteps of my mentor Lise Waxer, who tragically passed away a couple weeks before I started my graduate studies at NYU. I had an immense admiration for Lise and her work, but nothing of my experience with her could have prepared me for what would come to be my experience of the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) and ethnomusicology as a whole.

My first SEM Conference was a strange and uncomfortable experience. This was not because I was one of the few BIPOC in attendance. What was strange and uncomfortable was the ways that predominantly white scholars in attendance presumed that they understood BIPOC and were authorities on cultures to which they did not belong. Over the years, I have witnessed white ethnomusicologists attempt to dominate and exert power over scholars and artists of color who did not kowtow to their status as an expert. And it is very clear to me that although many white ethnomusicologists understand interpersonal and systemic racism on an intellectual level, they just don’t get it.

Getting it means understanding that an organization, whose predominantly white members by and large research people of color, is and can be nothing other than a colonialist and imperialist enterprise. Period. It is a hard pill to swallow but swallow we must. No matter how hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise, until ethnomusicology as a field is dismantled or significantly restructured, so that epistemic violence against BIPOC is not normalized, Black lives do not matter. And that’s real talk.

This means that white members of the society and in the field at large need to come to terms with how they contribute to systemic racism and do something about it. I can assure you that statements, lists of resources, curriculum guides, roundtables, panel discussions and so forth will not put a dent in the system. They might change individual minds and hearts and make people feel better, but I repeat they will not put a dent in the system. All they will do is redesign the system and create another economy within the system that benefits white people.

Does this mean that those who spent decades studying a culture have no right to teach and write? Not necessarily, but changing the system does mean that people of color must be at the forefront of telling their stories until some sort of equity is reached. Remember, for years it was fashionable to suggest that BIPOC could not be objective when studying their own cultures. This despite the fact that Western music has been taught in schools predominantly from a Eurocentric perspective, using books written by white people. Changing the system also means that when large numbers of BIPOC are finally put into certain leadership positions that white people show up. Show up, listen, and learn without making claims that the organization is deteriorating (because you refuse to adjust to something different), or leave in the academic equivalent of “white flight.” It’s also important that white members do not bawl or hint that they are the victims of reverse racism or affirmative action policies. After all, white people have been the beneficiaries of affirmative action since the founding of this nation. Their actions are affirmed. Their voices are affirmed. Their knowledge is affirmed. Their being is affirmed.

The alternative is that BIPOC members create their own institutions and leave organizations like SEM and others that either silence them or that have been and continue to be built on their backs. Regardless of the eventual outcome, white voices cannot continue to dominate the conversation about BIPOC. That script only leads to ideologies that support white supremacy and contribute to inequalities for BIPOC—not just with respect to police brutality, but education, housing, and healthcare, to name a few.

In the years since starting My People Tell Stories and straddling the worlds of ethnomusicology, music education, and business, I have found that many white music educators are ready to learn about the impact of race on the field, become allies and “support” their BIPOC colleagues, and make changes to their repertoire, pedagogies, and curricula. However, as I’ve said elsewhere (Brown 2019), I worry that diversity, equity, and inclusion have become “buzz words,” part of what I call a “diversity fad” and that many are willing to jump on the bandwagon because it is timely; it is popular. However, this moment cannot be a trend. It cannot be a phase where educators spend their time learning new jargon—“systemic racism,” “white privilege,” “implicit bias,” etc.—and fail to grasp it beyond an intellectual understanding. This is not about the regurgitation of words to show that you are educated or “woke” for personal and professional gain. Black people don’t need to know these terms to understand what they mean.

What has been interesting for me to observe since starting My People Tell Stories is the ways that white individuals, institutions, and businesses have been able to profit off calls for diversity, equity, and inclusion in music studies. While there are some white allies doing wonderful work, there are many pseudo-allies in the midst who are both popular and deeply problematic. Any white person that is squeamish about the topic of race or cannot say the word “Black” when giving workshops about music from Black communities should not be teaching about issues of diversity, equity, and inclusion in music. No way. No how. Period. Quite frankly, they should not be teaching any class related to music of the African diaspora or any other non-Western culture, regardless of how many years they may have been studying these cultures. Years of study do not absolve people from holding beliefs about BIPOC that are not only problematic but also harmful. If you cannot do the most basic of things, like acknowledge the existence of the people whose lives and cultures your job is based on, you have no right to make your living off of them.

Another troubling observation has been the ways that certain white individuals, institutions and businesses in their zest to capitalize on the “diversity market” simultaneously exploit and silence the voices of BIPOC trying to promote social justice in music. I am deliberate in not naming names, but suffice it to say that my BIPOC colleagues and I have seen every manner of trickery and deceit in the book from white individuals, institutions, and businesses trying to make sure that they are the lead voices when in it comes to diversity, equity, and inclusion. And what is frightening is that many of them are lead voices. They gain prestige and reap financial rewards by addressing issues pertaining to BIPOC even while marginalizing BIPOC in these discussions. Again, this is an example of the system replicating itself. The system replicates itself by telling white people that they can “learn diversity” and then teach it to others with merely the appearance that BIPOC voices are included. How do they learn diversity? From BIPOC who they mine for ideas. Often, they want these ideas for free, or below market value, and with the explicit request that BIPOC give up their Intellectual Property rights to the same powerful institutions that are a part of the problem. This (familiar) practice suggests that BIPOC do not have to be paid adequately (or even at all) for their labor.

There is a lot to unpack here, but I want to make a final point. In my workshops, I very intentionally teach that diversity, equity, and inclusion are a package deal. Because, without achieving all three, our social justice goals are incomplete; our anti-racist goals are incomplete, and “the system” remains fully intact. Invariably the mood shifts when I begin to discuss equity and the elephant in the room—the underrepresentation of BIPOC in the music classroom. When the conversation turns to not just having, but actually increasing the numbers of BIPOC music teachers, white people fall silent. History and my experience have shown me that this country is resistant—not reluctant, but resistant—to providing equity to BIPOC and particularly to Black and Indigenous Peoples. This resistance is woven into the very fabric of this nation and is part and parcel of every aspect of our lives. Music is no different. Many music educators (PreK-12) are still grappling with this notion. Ethnomusicologists should know this. Not admitting that ethnomusicology remains a colonialist and imperialist enterprise is part of the resistance to equity and justice for Black, Indigenous, People of Color and simply tells me what I already know—White Lives Matter.