A UT Austin professor offers a rare glimpse behind the scenes into a cultural commentator’s process and professional life.
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Story by Pamela Price
It’s not every day that one turns on the car radio to hear a college friend speaking about a heated contemporary topic on a national news program. Yet having known Dr. Richard Reddick Twitter) since our days together at The University of Texas at Austin in the 1990s, it’s happened to me on more than one occasion.
In recent years, Reddick, an education professor and native Austinite, has established himself as a compelling thought leader in the public domain with his always thoughtful analyses of contemporary culture. A graduate of UT and Harvard, he’s been featured on PBS, NPR, BBC and in a variety of mainstream print, digital, and scholarly publications. In addition to his work at UT’s College of Education, he co-chairs Harvard’s Institute for Educational Management (IEM). (He’s also a former Jeopardy! champion.)
Curious about how Reddick made the leap from academic to public scholar–and what motivates him to undertake this kind of work, I sent a few questions to him. In response, he graciously reflected on his creative process, tipped his hat to individuals who inspire and support his work, and shared what he keeps him rooted to his hometown.
TW: In the last few years, you’ve increasingly taken public stances on essential social issues of our day through your public essays. How did that come to be?
Following a national conference panel, University of Pennsylvania’s Dr. Mary Beth Gasman invited me to write a chapter [in Academics Going Public (Routledge, 2017)] about how scholars can use social media to amplify, clarify, and magnify focus on issues that we are engaged in researching.
Writing the chapter was fun, but as I read the other chapters in the book, I also felt compelled to follow the advice inside it. I, too, needed to bring my voice and perspective to many of the conversations about issues around higher education and social justice. Primarily, it was a combination of noticing that the arguments I would make weren’t present in the discourse, detecting a lack of factual and intellectual engagement with the topic, and feeling like I was on the bench in a great kickball game. I can kick, I can catch, I can run—I need to be out there!
The question, of course, was: “How do I jump into the fray?” My first opinion pieces were those where a senior mentor took me under their wing and allowed me to write with them. In 2014, Dr. Greg Vincent, UT’s former vice president for diversity and community engagement, and I wrote for the Austin American-Statesman about how young Black males were profiled as threats by society and our role as members of 100 Black Men of Austin in disrupting this perception. It was closely tied to my research and an issue I felt passionate about, so seeing it in my hometown paper (one I used to actually sell subscriptions to as a teenager) was a thrill.
I have to admit, I wasn’t prepared for the comments left by anonymous internet trolls. When the article was printed, Greg called me and said: “Two things: congratulations on the op ed, and don’t read the comments page.” So, of course I did. I figured many were just trolls, but there were also those who appeared to be real people, asking why we would write something so divisive? Why did we bring race into the conversation, and so on. And I was like, “How can I not?” That’s when I realized that there are folks out there who are living lives completely devoid of any analysis of how race, class, gender, sexual orientation, and other aspects of identity impacted the lives of others. That spurred me to write more and to focus on bringing these perspectives to the forefront.
TW: Can you talk about the creative process? What tends to spark your thinking—news reports, observations from others, requests from editors, a mix?
RR: My process is usually sparked by anger. One of my life philosophies can be found in the song “Clampdown” by The Clash. (Yes, I am a child of the ‘80s.) There’s a line in the song: “Let fury have the hour, anger can be power, do you know that you can use it?” So I try to translate the anger into something productive.
Sometimes it’s like a klaxon in the ear: a public actor says something that is on the spectrum of obliviousness to outright racist/sexist/classist, and I’m like, “that’s a load of crap… somebody ought to say… er, that’s probably me.” I used to wait days, assembling my ideas and the research to support the arguments. I soon learned that wait-and-see approach isn’t conducive to journalism. You have to respond instantly, and you have to engage with research and literature–but not too deeply that you’ll lose readers who only have a cursory connection or understanding of the issue.
I remember the day that the Fisher II case was decided. I’d been teaching at an institute at Harvard and was packing my luggage to leave when the breaking news alert came out that the Supreme Court had ruled in favor of The University of Texas at Austin. Of course, I was elated. I was walking to the subway when I got a call from a website called TheConversation.us. They’d spoken with my colleague Dr. Stella Flores at NYU, and she suggested that they invite me to write a piece about the impact of the decision. They needed it that afternoon, so I would need to write it on the plane, email it during my layover in Dallas, and respond when I landed in Austin so it could go live that evening. I sort of felt like an academic James Bond and took the assignment on. I learned that I could write cogently fairly quickly, and I enjoyed it.
TW: How does the university staff help connect you to news outlets?
RR: I have a pretty awesome set up at UT Austin. Our communications office in the College of Education does a great job of “pushing” articles and op-eds. Yvonne Taylor will often send me a note, saying, “Did you see this news story? Are you interested in writing?” I almost always am. Sometimes I see something, and I see where the storyline is missing an analysis of identity and power, and I’ll reach out to Yvonne and Matt Pene, who is in the University’s communications office, to see if the idea and timing are right.
This part of the process is key. Sometimes Yvonne and Matt point out that there’s a saturation of responses, or I’m too late in the news cycle to respond. But usually they make a suggestion about what would be the best pitch— “Can you incorporate this recent event?”— and so on. And then I get to work. I’m usually aiming for 650 words, and I rarely get there initially. Usually I’m around 100 words over and Yvonne and Matt will review and offer edits. We get to the magic number, and Matt is typically the one who reaches out to op-ed editors at the state and national major newspapers. However, I’ve built relationships with many of the op-ed editors myself, and occasionally I’ll reach out to them directly. They will sometimes say, “I’ve got three people writing on this,” and I’m too late. However, with my position as a professor of education and Black Studies, with a background in K-12 teaching, mine is a voice they’re often interested in hearing.
Every so often I am asked to write on a topic. I’ve built a relationship with Fortune, and they have asked me (via Matt) to write on an issue. For instance, they wanted to run a piece about Martin Luther King Jr.’s legacy on the anniversary of his assassination. I had about a week to work on that. Occasionally, I’ll submit something that they’ll like and the editors will suggest that I tie it to another contemporary issue. For example, I wrote about the incidents where White people on college campuses called the police on innocent people of color (regrettably, this keeps happening). The editor at Fortune then asked me if I had seen Childish Gambino’s “This is America” video, and if so, could I add something about it in the piece? I had not seen it, so I immediately watched it—they were spot on, there was a connection. That led to a BBC producer seeing a post about my op-ed, and a Sunday morning interview with BBC Radio 4 about the video.
It’s amazing how an idea, or a kernel of feedback, can cascade into additional writing or opportunities to engage in public discourse.
TW: Who are some of your favorite contemporary social thinkers? In other words, who are you reading right now that inspires you to think more deeply or perhaps differently?
RR: There are the Big Names—the Ta-Nehesi Coates, Frank Bruni, Bret Stephens types that spur conversations. But I’m more and more intrigued by bloggers at sites like Jezebel.com, or TheRoot.com. Baratunde Thurston is an inspiring, incisive, and funny writer. Damon Young and the crew at Very Smart Brothas also inspire me. When I go deep and want to examine the dimensions of power and oppression, I look to women of color and their writing. They are both no longer with us, but Audre Lorde and Gloria Anzaldúa are amazing inspirations to me. My colleagues at UT are also amazing: Minka Makalani, Eric Tang, and Daina Berry come to mind. And of course Mary Beth Gasman is a constant presence in my writing on higher education
TW: Last year you sat on a KUT panel at the Blanton Museum of Art to discuss the intersection of art and community in the wake of a controversy involving Houston artist Vincent Valdez’s “The City.” Can you talk about what you took away from that evening? What lessons can other Texas communities learn from what happened last summer in Austin with that particular artwork?
RR: First, any time Rebecca McInroy from KUT calls, I am there. She is such a profound thinker about what makes a great conversation and who needs to be around the table. I was really glad to see such a great turnout and so many White allies.
When you’re speaking with colleagues and there’s an audience, you are getting real time feedback about where there is agreement, confusion, or divergence. There seemed to a really good energy in the room at that event: less self-congratulatory, “look how progressive we are” types of comments and more “this is a profound opportunity for us in our beloved, but flawed community, what do we need to do to get more folks in our community to see and have conversations about this piece?” remarks.
To me, having frank discussions about how race, terror, and oppression are so embedded in American—and Texan—life takes courage. Vincent Valdez differentiates between the aspiration and promise of America and its reality, especially for marginalized people. I think that’s powerful, and I think the same thing: when we hold ourselves accountable to the standards that we aspire to as Americans, as Texans, we can make amazing progress together. If we take the “easy road” and just regale ourselves about how great and tough and awesome we are—in other words, parrot the “Make America Great Again” line of bullshit—we fail miserably, we exacerbate inequity, and we create the dynamic where we pit ourselves against each other. I think a courageous, unflinching look at our metaphorical selves, in harsh light, without makeup or slimming mirrors, is what we desperately need. I hope other communities look at this installation as an opportunity to crack the code about how we discuss our history and complicity in oppression via terror in this nation.
TW: Let’s talk more about Austin and its distinct culture. What keeps you rooted there professionally?
RR: I often talk about Austin in the plural. There are many Austins that I adore. Southeast Austin, Dove Springs, where I grew up, is home—our families live here, and we’re there usually every week for home cooked food and family bonding—I love the diversity, the fact that you see Brown and Black people all around. Gentrifying Austin—downtown and the near East Side, they’re radically different from the community I knew as a youngster. I do like how downtown feels very metropolitan—the shops, the ACL Live studio, the awesome new library—but when I look east I just think about who has been displaced, what families and institutions no longer exist. And the fact that there’s such “presentism”—people don’t know the history of those communities.
The UT campus—a place that I didn’t get to know until late in my early Austin experience despite living seven miles away—is chaotic, beautiful, oppressive, and inspiring all at the same time. And now? I’m a north sider. I’m still getting used to The Domain, being in Austin but physically inches away from WilCo [Williamson County] and Round Rock, gorgeous Mopac and I-35 traffic. Just kidding! Seriously though, I am also excited by the influx of newcomers. I spend a lot of time talking with folks about the history of our community, and it’s usually something they know little about.
TW: Finally, with a new semester on the horizon, your schedule is likely jam-packed. If you could take a day to yourself in Austin (or the wider Hill Country region), from sunrise to sunset, and enjoy your favorite places and spaces, what would you do (and why)?
RR: I’m afraid I’m going to be super unoriginal and go with the obvious: Mt. Bonnell, which is always an incredible view. Maybe get a pal with a boat to go tubing on Lake Austin? I’m a bit of a nerd and would probably want to go to places like the George Washington Carver Library and Museum; I always find something new when I visit. I would also visit Huston-Tillotson University and check out the best view of the city in the city from the patio next to the campus chapel. Auditorium Shores, and tip my hat to Stevie Ray Vaughan’s statue. An ideal day would be a late night game at Darrell K. Royal Memorial Stadium with a Longhorn victory. And then a post-game celebration at The Domain. (I think I’m out of the age range for Sixth Street or Rainey.) I would take some time to get barbecue in Luling, Taylor, Lexington, and Lockhart too. Finally, I would ask a Hill Country expert to take me to one of those unknown spots that only locals know. I’m a city kid, so I need some guidance!
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