fear of a black future

preface OR white tenured professor mourns an imagined bygone era

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a professor in my department. It was one of those long meetings where we ended up discussing just about everything. This particular professor enjoys a prestige and esteem most would find enviable. And he wielded his status like a weapon, in the ways professors of such clout typically do. As we were chatting, I began to unfold my aspirations and my fears for the coming years. As I feel like everyone knows at this point, I am planning to take the next two years to study for my dissertation, conduct some archival research and write my dissertation, presumably and preferably away from campus. I’ve thus been in the process of applying for grants to fund these two years of travel and study and was asking this professor for advice. Interweaved into this conversation were my inevitably legible trepidations about my job prospects. Comp Lit at Yale has a decent hiring record, but the lack of any semblance of institutional support for my research project and the rather vague and open-ended image of my dissertation committee has left me with a feeling of insecurity I’m sure won’t go away until I’ve accepted a job offer somewhere.

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