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The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness
The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness
The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness
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The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness

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Written during his senior year of college, Rodion’s 2011 thesis inquires into the dilemmas faced during the maturation of the black male in America through the examination of events in his own life as well as the review of literature by authors such as Carter G. Woodson, W.E.B. Dubois, Na’im Akbar, and Frederick Douglass. The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness juxtaposes the experience of the athlete with that of the academic, and analyzes the relationship between the two in order to uncover the true nature of the dichotomy and better understand the self as a whole.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRodion
Release dateJan 2, 2018
ISBN9781370451852
The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness
Author

Rodion

Having been influenced by a diverse collection of artists, ranging from legendary hip-hop duo OutKast to famed literary author and playwright James Baldwin, self-published author Rodion ventured into writing as a means to explore truth, develop and refine ideas, and break down barriers—all through the art of storytelling. To learn more, visit www.whoisrodion.com

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    The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness - Rodion

    Foreword: In View of Janus

    For all the love and affection in their wondrous, little hearts, I don’t think children can possibly appreciate their parents as much as they should—granted, we as adults do not seem to be much better at it (if we be better at all). Adults, at the very least, have escaped the level of ignorance that causes them to view a parent as their often/sometimes/rarely considerate warden—and anyone who has not yet done so cannot rightfully claim to have grown up, no matter their age. I recall there being a multitude of practices my parents used while raising me that I promised myself I would never use with my children. Though I do not have children at the moment, I do have every intention of breaking the majority of those promises when the time comes.

    In my pre-adolescent years, if there was one thing I considered more unjust about my upbringing than anything else, it was likely how meticulous and obsessive my mother could be concerning my schoolwork. To my memory, the madness began the very moment I started to bring home graded assignments. When I brought home anything below an A (and the only other grade I would dare walk into that house with was a B), she would have me sit down and redo the entire thing. If I got a low grade on an assignment and took the time to correct it, there was a slim chance my teacher would change the grade to that of the revised version—or at least an average of the two; but even when that was not the case, my repeated attempts at reasoning with my mother and my subsequent pleas for mercy only served to prolong the inevitable. I had committed the crime, I was well aware of the sentence, and there was to be no pardon.

    At the time, it seemed an absurdly pointless and tyrannical punishment, and it was not until I had long since given up trying to make sense of it that I began to recognize the patterns that followed. The first thing I came to realize was that most of my mistakes were not due to a lack of understanding concerning the topic, but a lapse of concentration or attention to detail—a valuable life lesson alone. The second, and far more important, lesson was that the questions I answered wrong on the first go-round and corrected on the second became the questions I was least likely to ever answer wrong again. So it was that I became conscious of the importance of learning from one’s mistakes, as well as the benefits it yielded. So it was that I learned how weaknesses—or, perhaps more accurately, flaws—could be remade into strengths.

    Unfortunately, I also made the mistake of divulging this humbling realization to my mother, and, considering how adamant and headstrong I was in my debates with her, I doubt she has any intention of ever letting me live it down. Of course, that is a small price to pay for the realization that if one intends to fly, one must expect one or two or a lifetime of falls, and be willing to learn from them. Alas, it would seem the aforementioned is a mistake I have yet to learn from, for I must now confess that my mother—no longer my warden, but forever my sage—is also the only reason I remained in the Honors program throughout college, and my being in the Honors College required I write a senior thesis. Thus, in 2011 The Dichotomy of Black Consciousness was born.

    A labyrinth of various circumstances (It is always a labyrinth, is it not?) ranging from wonderful to heartbreaking prompted my rereading it earlier this month, for the first time in at least five years. Overall, it was a strange, bittersweet endeavor. I enjoyed taking the trip down memory lane and reexamining

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