Mary L. Bogumil and Michael R.

Molino

Pretext,
Power

Hughes,
Luther

Subtext: Textual Context, in the of Langston Writing Richard and Martin Wright, Jr. King,

In recent years, as poststructuralist criticism has achieved a certain amount of acceptance and even dominance in some English departments, many scholars who are interested in bridging the gap between what they believe and publish professionally and what they teach have begun to construct pedagogical systems in which the analysis of texts, various entities that may fall within or without the customarily prescribed canon of literature, is the focus of study. Robert Scholes, in Textual Power, the third book in his critical trilogy, advocates bridging the gap between professional/critical stances and pedagogical practices, especially for those critics who espouse structural, semiotic, and poststructuralist practices. Scholes asserts that teachers of English have an obligation to teach their students about textuality: how texts function (both on a synchronic and diachronic level), how texts can be read (often in different ways and with different results), what informs texts (pretextual, contextual, and subtextual meaning always already inscribed in the text), how texts become part of readers' consciousness and spawn new texts (reading, interpreting, and critiquing), and how so much of what we refer to as culture (especially in a postmodern economy that is information- rather than industrial-based) is textual. Many authors, both directly and indirectly, have discussed the change from an industrial-based economy to an information-based economy as one of the characteristics of a postmodern era (see Huyssen; Jameson; Lyotard; Rowe). Reading (encountering a text), interpreting (creating a companion text), and critiquing (generating a dialectic or dialogic text) are essential acts for students as readers of literature, for students as writers, as well as for students as individuals. Scholes concisely summarizes the teacher's role in this process: Now we must learn instead to help our studentsunlock textual power and turn it to their own uses. We must help our students come into their own powers of texMary L. Bogumil is an adjunct assistant professor at Iowa State University. She is currently studying the use of synaesthesia in Joyce's Ulysses. Michael R. Molino also teaches at ISU. He has published on the Irish poet Seamus Heaney and is currently studying the role of the language of the '"other" in Heaney's poetry.

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Copyright 1990 by the National Council of Teachers of English. All rights reserved.

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tualization.We must help them to see that every poem, play, and story is a text related to others, both verbal pretexts and social sub-texts, and all mannerof posttexts includingtheir own responses, whether in speech, writing,or action. The response to a text is itself always a text. Our knowledgeis itself only a dim text that brightensas we express it. That is why expression, the makingof new texts by students, must play a majorrole in the kindof course we are discussing.(20) Most importantly, Scholes advocates teaching students about textual power, the ability of those who create texts to present and repress ideas, to mold and to mar human experience. In fact, it is often the goal of those who generate texts to obscure that very fact, to attempt to hide the very textuality of their texts, to make their texts appear neutral and natural (see Fish; McCanles). In what might be referred to as a polyvocalic articulation of beliefs (although dissenting voices are conspicuously silent in the document), the English Department at Syracuse University circulated a position paper, entitled "Not a Good Idea: A New Curriculum at Syracuse," regarding the place of textual analysis and criticism in the classroom. Similar in many ways to Scholes' position, the writers of the Syracuse paper see a political consequence to textual awareness: For those committedto understanding and resistingthe role of texts in producing oppressive race, class and gender relations, the end of an education in literature will be, not the traditional"well read" student, but a studentcapableof critiqueof actively pressuring,resisting and questioningculturaltexts. The consequences for a curriculum will be a shift from privileginga particular body of culturallysanctioned texts to emphasizingthe mode of critical inquiryone can bring to bear on any textual object and the politicalimplicationof such modes. (Cohanet al. 1) A common idea occurs in the stance taken both by Scholes and by the Syracuse writers: students living in a complex, pluralistic culture such as that of the United States will either have the ability to read, interpret, and critique the multiplicity of texts that compose a culture or they will be controlled by them. In his article "Authority, (White) Power, and the (Black) Critic; or, it's all Greek to me," Henry Louis Gates, Jr. addresses this issue specifically in reference to a critical approach to African-American literature: How can the use of literaryanalysis to explicate the racist social text in which we still find ourselves be anything but political? To be political, however, does not mean that I have to write at the level of diction of a Marvelcomic book. No, my task-as I see it-is to help to guaranteethat black and so-calledThirdWorldliterature is taught to black and ThirdWorld (and white) students by black and Third World and white professors in heretofore white mainstreamdepartmentsof literature and to trainuniversitygraduateand undergraduate studentsto think, to read, and even to writeclearly, helpingthem to expose false uses of language,fraudulent claims, and muddledarguments, propaganda,and vicious lies-from all of which our people have sufferedjust as surelyas we have froman economicorderin which we were zeroes and a metaphysicalorderin which we were absences. These are the "values" which shouldbe transmitted throughblack criticaltheory. (336) It is in this context that a study of certain African-American writers is invaluable. Many African-American writers, even without the extensive and often complex critical nomenclature that one finds today, knew of the power of textuality to free and to bind.

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A study of the verbal pretexts, the social subtexts, and the interpretive contexts of Langston Hughes' "That Word Black," Richard Wright's Black Boy, and Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from Birmingham Jail" reveals a common experience-that cultural repression is propagated in part through the power of language and that it can be dispelled in part through the power of language. In this light, these texts become particularly relevant to all those, whether a minority member or not, who are concerned with the teaching of textual power in hopes of affecting a change in the direction toward the fair treatment of all citizens.

In Hughes' short piece, "That Word Black," part of a series of vignettes about life in Harlem, Jesse B. Semple, known as "Simple," expresses his views on the use of the word "black" as a negative prefix in so many words. Simplea recurring character in Hughes' vignettes, perhaps the central character-is a combination of "simple" truths, humorous insights, bold honesty, and even the occasional malapropism. The reader recognizes immediately that there are two voices present in the text: one voice-an unnamed speaker, an "educated" voice-who uses "good" or "correct" grammar, who uses a word such as "odium" and knows about such historical entities as the Black Hand Society, and then a second voice, Simple's voice, an "uneducated" voice, as Simple lacks the benefit of an education, although he demonstrates a good deal of common sense. Simple follows Scholes' textual process thoroughly as he expresses his views. He begins with his text: "'This evening,' said Simple, 'I feel like talking about the word black'" (148). He has read his text many times and can make an extensive list of words in which the word "black" acts as a prefix: "black cat," "black-list," "black-balled," "black-mailed." He then begins to interpret his text by showing how all these words have negative meanings, but more importantly revealing that it is the prefix "black" that gives them their pejorative connotation and that the prefix is often used to denote some illegal, unpleasant, immoral or otherwise unacceptable behavior. Subsequently, Simple critiques such usage by arguing that the result has been a perversion of a word that is associated with, defines, and describes a distinct group of people. Thus, his point is that if a word has certain negative associations, ipso facto those people who are defined by that word must share those same connotations. As Simple exclaims, "Now, as I were saying, the word black, white folks have done used that word to mean something bad so often until now when the N.A.A.C.P. asks for civil rights for the black man, they think they must be bad" (148). This passage from Hughes' piece and the litany of pejorative connotations associated with the prefix "black" encourage readers to re-examine their usage of "that" word as well as any attitudes that may be the consequence of such usage. Simple continues by pointing out that those who participated in illegal activities, such as gamblers fixing basketball games and black marketeers dealing in valuable supplies during the war, were predominantly white, not black, but the black race, as it were, receives all the bad press. Simple advocates a new textuality, one in which the word "black" acts as a positive prefix and the word "white" acts as a pejorative prefix, a reversal of the current text. He wants

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"whitemail," "whitelist," and "whiteball" to have the pejorative meanings that are currently thrust upon their black counterparts. Simple's hope is naive perhaps, but his assessment is textually sound: he reads, interprets, critiques, and asserts a new text during the course of his brief discussion. It is important to note that Simple's insights are more than mere linguistic play; they reveal the very heart of his identity, his image of himself and those like him. However, there is a transformation in Simple from a malevolent attitude to a benevolent attitude after he has speculated over those pejorative connotations of the word "black," which is illustrated in a contextual shift in his discourse. In other words, he tentatively abandons his microcosmic associations of the word "black" in which he focuses upon the etymological deviations of that word in the language, particular human catalysts of discrimination such as Hitler and Talmadge and specific places of racial discord such as North Carolina and South Africa, in order to explore a macrocosmic perspective of the word "black." This macrocosmic perspective entails a litany of universal images that Simple deems as positive associations. He suddenly envisions a world in which the elements of nature, earth, sky, and people harmoniously coexist, for it is the black soil that enriches the plants and produces an abundant harvest and the black night that provides man with a tranquil rest, a chance to dream and even dispel the light of racism through the absence of color. Through the presence of these positive, universal associations with the word "black," Simple attempts to dispel those feelings of inferiority that have become manifest. The vehicle of this transformation is the mirror, the image of the self that Simple sees every morning. Simple has taken the first step toward defining himself, not only by inventing a new language, but by controlling the old one. He realizes the power of language to spawn new texts, new images, those that do not brand with the mark of Cain but those that liberate: I am black. When I look in the mirror, I see myself, daddy-o, but I am not ashamed. God made me. He did not make us no badderthan the rest of the folks. The earth is black and all kinds of good things come out of the earth. Trees and flowers and fruits and sweet potatoes and corn and all that keeps mens alive comes right up out of the earth-good old black earth. Coal is black and it warms your house and cooks your food. The night is black, which has a moon, and a million stars, and is beautiful.Sleep is black which gives you rest, so you wake up feeling good. I am black. I feel very good this evening. Whatis wrongwith black?(149-50) The piece ends ambiguously, with a question. Has Simple, after his litany of positive associations, returned to a state of doubt, or is the concluding question a statement of defiance, rejecting the negative associations attached to the word? Like Simple, readers are left to answer the question themselves. We as readers become aware of a dialogic text-one that we have engendered through the act of reading and interpreting. By simply assigning a reading, the instructor has no guarantee that a text, such as "That Word Black," will become part of the student reader's consciousness; therefore, a way of examining the text for its textuality is essential. Before students enter this given world of discourse, they must understand that

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this operative interaction amongst the writer, the text, and the reader leads the reader to create a variant text through the process of interpretation. In other words, the reader-like the character, the author, the instructor, and other readers-projects a pretext onto the text, a personal and historical consciousness that affects the interpretation of the text. Gates addresses this issue specifically: Whetherwe realize it or not, each of us bringsto a text an implicittheory of literature, or even an unwittinghybridof theories, a critical gumbo as it were. To become aware of contemporary theory is to become aware of one's own presuppositions, those ideological and aesthetic assumptions which we bring to a text unwittingly.It is incumbentupon us, those of us who respect the sheer integrityof the black tradition, to turn to this very traditionto create self-generatedtheories about the black literaryendeavor. We must, above all, respect the integrityof the separatetraditionsembodiedin the black work of art, by bringingto bear upon the explicationof its meaningsall the attentionto languagethat we may learnfrom several developmentsin contemporarytheory. By the very process of "application," as it were, we recreate,throughrevision, the criticaltheory at hand. (334) Reading, interpreting, and critiquing are thus self-reflexive acts in which the reader encounters the craftsmanship of the author, the meanings of the text, as well as extratextual factors (those beyond the bindings of that particular book). By teaching a text such as "That Word Black," instructors can bring students and themselves to a better awareness of the complexity of textuality. The students can understand that a pretext is any event or language that predates the reading (and perhaps the writing) of the text and informs the text. In fact, in many ways that language may be, and probably is, outside the control of the reader and may have molded the consciousness of the reader, as Simple claims it has. Also, the students learn that the subtext is any social behavior, such as racism, that can be fueled or perpetuated by language. Finally, the students learn that context is the choices of usage and interpretation the reader faces-both within the text itself, Hughes' vignette, as well as within that larger text we call society. Although they are not personally responsible for the pejorative uses of the word "black," the students are capable of changing their own usages of the word. This is not to say that students must follow Simple's contention that a new text be created, an inversion of the old text; however, the awareness of the inequalities of the old text is the first step in creating a new or consciously modified text in which such inequalities do not exist. In Black Boy, Richard Wright reveals how his initial experience into the world of texts altered his myopic perspective as a black youth growing up in the segregated South. This experience, conveyed in the form of a narrative, depicts a racial atmosphere unknown to many modern day readers and foreshadows the effect that a particular writer, in this case H. L. Mencken, would have on Wright's political discourse. The beginning of this chapter entails Wright's quandary over the castigation of Mencken in a local newspaper, the Commercial Appeal: Knowing no more of Mencken than I did at the moment, I felt a vague sympathy for him. Had not the South, which had assignedme the role of non-man,cast at him its hardestwords? (267) The operative word in this passage is "cast," a word which Wright attempts to define in two distinct ways, on a psychological level and on a sociological level.

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On a psychological level, Wright must cast aside his myopic vision of himself as an uneducated non-man. Then, on a sociological level, Wright must maintain the
role of the "unbookish . . . nigger boy" among those who "fit into the anti-

Negro category" (268). These two manifestations in Wright are a primary source of tension-a tension caused by the experience of the language. Even the selection of Mencken's texts by Wright, particularly the titles, reveals to the reader the significance of Wright's desire to discard his "non-man" role but simultaneously preserve it for the sake of survival in a racist atmosphere. The first title, Prefaces, implies a beginning, a forthcoming change in his attitude toward life, the employees at the optical company, and those whites whom he meets in the town. The second title, Prejudices, implies explicitly his fear that the language, those words he encounters in the text will somehow affect his behavior. Ironically, prejudice, which is based upon ignorance, is the sole reason that Wright continues to cast himself in the role of "non-man" after he has experienced numerous texts; he realizes that words can be used as weapons and that words can trigger an empathetic response in him-a "hunger" as he calls it. What options did Wright have to sublimate his anger over racial discrimination: rebel and lose as his grandfather had done; settle down, marry Bess, and submit to a life of domesticity; displace his anger against whites by fighting other blacks like Shorty and Harrison; or wallow in self pity, through sex and alcohol, as his father had done? What, then, was there? I held my life in my mind, in my consciousness each day, feeling at times that I would stumbleand drop it, spill it forever. My readinghad created a vast sense of distance between me and the world in which I lived and tried to make a living, and that sense of distancewas increasingeach day. My days and nights were one long, quiet, continuouslycontaineddreamof terror, tension, and anxiety. I wonderedhow long I could bear it. (277) In retrospect this tension, which is emotively magnified in the conclusion, is illustrated throughout the chapter. In the beginning, due to the presence of Jim Crow laws, his desire to know more about Mencken is further complicated by his need to acquire a library card from one of his co-workers. The decision is a painstaking one because most of them "fit in the anti-Negro category." Don, the Jew, is not an option because he is attempting to ally himself with the WASPs at the company. His boss, the Baptist, is not an option because within the Southern Baptist Church segregation is a matter of fact. Naturally, the "Kluxers" in the company are not an option; thus, the "Pope lover," Mr. Falk, is the only option, for he is a man who is also affected by prejudice: "Since, he, too, was an object of hatred, I felt that he might refuse me but would hardly betray me" (268). Of course, Falk did not refuse him. So, then, Wright composed a "foolproof note," supposedly from Falk, using the language of the oppressor: "Will you
please let this nigger boy . . . have some books by H. L. Mencken?" (270). The

impact of that letter on the librarian was effective and simultaneously produced unexpected results in that Wright had not anticipated that his initial interaction with these texts would create a distance between him and others: In buoying me up, reading also cast me down, made me see what was possible, what I had missed. My tension returned,new, terrible,bitter, surging,almost too

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College English great to be contained.I no longerfelt that the world about me was hostile, killing;I knew it. A milliontimes I asked myself, and there were no answers. I seemed forever condemned,ringedby walls. (274)

As stated, the tension created within Wright was directly caused by his encounter with language through the act of reading, and it was the language of texts that shattered his myopic perspective of the world which was pretextually etched in his memory. In addition, it is this repetition of the operative word "cast" in conjunction with the metaphor "ringed by walls" that re-emphasizes to the reader the psychological and sociological effects of that tension upon Wright: To me, with my vast ignorance,my Jim Crow Station in life, it seemed a task impossible of achievement.I knew what being a Negro meant. I could endurethe hunger. I had learnedto live with hate. But to feel that there were feelings denied me, that the very breathof life itself was beyond my reach, that morethananythingelse hurt, woundedme. I had a new hunger.(274) Whereas Wright's work is an account of textual power on a personal level, Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from Birmingham Jail" is an example of textual power on a cultural level, the struggle of one text that is not recognized (i.e., a part of the status quo) against another text that asserts the power of the status quo. King's letter is a lucid and inspiring piece of writing in response to a public statement by eight Alabama clergymen who took a stand against the marches King was organizing in Birmingham and who used their position in the community to encourage a return to the status quo. While King's letter is often anthologized, the statement from the clergymen, which is the primary pretext for King's letter, is not always included; therefore, the statement is included here, except for the salutation and signatures, in its entirety: Public Statement by Eight Alabama Clergymen We the undersigned clergymen are among those who, in January, issued "An Appeal for Law and Order and Common Sense," in dealing with racial problems in Alabama. We expressed understanding that honest convictions in racial matters could properly be pursued in the courts, but urged that decisions of those courts should in the meantime be peacefully obeyed. Since that time there had been some evidence of increased forbearance and a willingness to face facts. Responsible citizens have undertaken to work on various problems which cause racial friction and unrest. In Birmingham, recent public events have given indication that we all have opportunity for a new constructive and realistic approach to racial problems. However, we are now confronted by a series of demonstrations by some of our Negro citizens, directed and led in part by outsiders. We recognize the natural impatience of people who feel that their hopes are slow in being realized. But we are convinced that these demonstrations are unwise and untimely. We agree rather with certain Negro leadership which has called for an honest and open negotiation of racial issues in our area. And we believe that this kind of facing of issues can best be accomplished by citizens of our own metropolitan

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area, white and Negro, meeting with their knowledge and experience of the local situation. All of us need to face that responsibility and find proper channels for its accomplishment. Just as we formerly pointed out that "hatred and violence have no sanction in our religious and political tradition," we also point out that such actions as incite to hatred and violence, however technically peacefully those actions may be, have not contributed to the resolution of our local problems. We do not believe that these days of new hope are days when extreme measures are justified in Birmingham. We commend the community as a whole, and the local news media and law enforcement officials in particular, on the calm manner in which these demonstrations have been handled. We urge the public to continue to show restraint should the demonstrations continue, and the law enforcement officials to remain calm and continue to protect our city from violence. We further strongly urge our Negro community to withdraw support from these demonstrations, and to unite in working peacefully for a better Birmingham. When rights are consistently denied, a cause should be pressed in the courts and in negotiations among local leaders, and not in the streets. We appeal to both our white and Negro citizenry to observe the principles of law and order and common sense. (qtd. in "Letter" 5) The purpose behind the clergymen's letter, which acts as the direct pretext for King's famous response, is to affirm the status quo, to use whatever rhetorical means at their disposal to quell the marches in Birmingham and appease white society. The letter opens with a reference to the clergymen's pretext, a letter they had previously published on the issue of racial problems-although the entire issue of white society's laissez faire attitude toward racial issues lingers behind the clergymen's letter as well. However, the unintentional pun on "convictions" in the second sentence belies the effectiveness or justice of such gradualist approaches. Indeed, King's passionate response was written (at least preliminary drafts) from jail where he was sent because he and his followers demanded what was already rightfully theirs. The pun is doubly ironic in that one of the letter's authors is Rabbi Milton L. Grafman. Here, just twenty years after the Holocaust, one finds a Jewish leader who chooses to allow the repression of a group of people based on a distinct characteristic. (This is not to equate the violence against African-Americans in the 60s with the attempted genocide of the Jews during World War II but to demonstrate the inclination of the status quo to ignore incongruities in favor of the expedient.) In order to understand the gravity of the clergymen's desire to prevent the demonstrations led by King, one need only examine the language of their letter. Words such as "unwise" and "untimely" are vague enough in meaning so that the authors can remain behind their veil of objectivity and community concern while reinforcing the status quo. Their advocacy of those people who are "willing to face facts" reveals the clergymen's tacit acceptance of racist, discrimi-

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natory behavior as a "fact" of life that those who are its victims must learn to live with. Their support of the status quo is seen most clearly in their reference to King and his followers not by name but in the abstract as "outsiders," people who are not from their community and thus not rightly eligible to participate in community affairs. Finally, the clergymen's political agenda is revealed when they write that "this kind of facing of issues can best be accomplished by citizens of our own metropolitan area, white and Negroes, meeting with their knowledge and experience of the local situation. All of us need to face that responsibility and find proper channels for its accomplishment." Such statements reveal textual power at its most insidious. In this line, the clergymen use the words "facing of issues" and "face that responsibility" to create a discourse that attempts to silence dissenting voices-all the while making it appear that they wish to promote dialogue. Also, the "responsibility" the clergymen want "All of us" (i.e., African-Americans) to face is the acceptance of the status quo-that is, it is the responsibility of the citizens of color to labor under the burden of inequality, which is in actuality "their knowledge and experience of the local situation." Indeed, the clergymen create a discursive labyrinth in which the "proper channels" lead to a "facing of issues," the continued repression of the African-American citizens of Birmingham. In his response, King brilliantly seizes upon the ambiguity and textual power of the clergymen's language and presents a logically conceived argument that turns the clergymen's words back upon their authors: "Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was 'well timed' in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation" ("Letter" 5). Although many students may initially misconstrue the letter as a sign of acquiescence in the midst of torrid racial relations in Birmingham because of King's initially cordial tone, King reveals without hesitation that discrimination against African-Americans is an undeniable fact that will not be relieved in the manner advocated by the clergymen, one in which African-Americans retain their inferior and segregated status all the while asking white society to grant them a few extra rights, "rights" that they already possess under the Constitution of the United States. King, a man used to confronting the moral and ethical problems arising from racism, is well aware that the readers of his letter far exceeded the eight clergymen he addressed in his salutation. For King, the audience is society as a whole; consequently, he presents his argument in such a way that it responds to the cloaked racism of the clergymen's letter but also presents his philosophy of nonviolent revolt and the necessity of his campaign. If the letter is to mean anything to the students, the instructor must discuss some of the events that led up to the marches in Birmingham. For example, when King elaborates upon the four steps for any non-violent campaign against discrimination, the students must understand their historical pre-text: the bombing of churches and homes of African-Americans, the unjust treatment of Afthe clerrican-Americans in the court systems, the non-negotiation-despite and African-Americans channels"-between "the proper gymen's reference to Crow of Jim existence the continued and merchant community, Birmingham's Laws.

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King's response to the statement is astute and skillfully written. He is aware of the tactics of textual power employed by the clergymen because he has been a victim of them throughout his life. King's letter, as with his activism, is one of peaceful revolt-rational responses to irrational attacks. Readers quickly see that King is no defenseless victim, though, when it comes to textual power. He would-be rational and objective attacks not only the overt position-the stance-of the clergymen's letter but the spirit of their stance as well. For instance, King attacks the clergymen's argument that he and his followers are "outsiders"-knowing full well that as long as the clergymen, and the community for which they speak, can narrow the scope of the problem to a local disturbance that will pass with time and/or innocuous concessions, they can then ignore the greater issue of discrimination, equality under the law, and fair treatment. King begins by explaining that he was invited to Birmingham, that an affiliate of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference invited King and his people to the city. As president of the SCLC, King felt compelled to assist those who called in any way he can. Although this response to the clergymen's objections satisfy the basic issue of his being an "outsider," it does not touch upon the greater issue King so desperately seeks to address; it still only addresses his particular appearance in this particular town, and King wants his audience to see the overall goals of his organization and to recognize that his position and theirs should be the same. To accomplish this goal, King focuses upon beliefs that he and the clergymen share: he cites sacred texts (the Old and New Testaments), he cites established writers of various religious affiliations (Reinhold Niebuhr, St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Martin Buber, and Paul Tillich), and he cites examples of civil disobedience from the Old Testament, from the New Testament, and from World War II history that he believes are analogous to the practices of his campaign. By this rhetorical joining, King links the plight of human rights activists to that of Biblical prophets and martyrs as well as the Jews and resistance fighters of World War II. By citing sacred texts-those that hold special significance in a culture, whether in a religious, philosophical, or political sense-King attempts to create a unified social body, constituted of various backgrounds and beliefs but linked with a common spirit of justice: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly" ("Letter" 3). This is the brilliance of King's text: he conflates a group of texts from the oppressed into a single, polyvocalic text that is shared by all Americans, whether white Americans, Jewish Americans, or African-Americans. On August 28, 1963 on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, many of the ideas King presents in his letter were succinctly articulated in his "I Have a Dream" speech. King's speech is divided into three sections. The first section is a discussion of the past (paragraphs 1-3) in which King discusses the "rights" of all Americans under the Constitution as well as the fact that African-Americans have long been denied those inalienable rights. The second section is a discussion of the present (paragraphs 4-9) in which King refutes the concept of "gradualism" -the attitude taken toward minorities, women, gays, and any other group

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that demands social change that society does not (will not) change overnight; thus everyone must be patient and accept the status quo until it chooses to change. King also advocates peaceful protest againstgradualismin this section. King makes the same point about gradualismin his letter when he says: "For years now I have heardthe word 'Wait!' It rings in the ears of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This 'Wait' has almost always meant 'Never.' We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that 'justice too long delayed is justice denied'" (5). Finally, the third section of "I Have a Dream" is a discussion of the future (paragraphs10ff.) in which the famous words that are the title of the speech ring out, and King culminates his speech with a vision of America in which there is equality for all people, regardlessof race, creed, national origin, or gender-which, ironically,is the freedomthe Constitutionpromised in the first place. As evidenced in the language of King's letter and his speech, textual power need not be exclusively negative, discriminatory,repressive;it can be unifying, liberating,enlightening.Certainlythose texts we hold as sacred in this country have such qualities. In fact, King's speech is a sacred text to many Americans, one that sets certain ideals to which all of us must strive. This too should be the lesson to students. As Henry Louis Gates, Jr. states, teachers should teach students to recognize the "false uses of language,fraudulentclaims, and muddled arguments," which constitute the essence of the clergymen'sletter (336). However, students should also recognize the power of texts to inspire, to be as King says in "I Have a Dream" a "beacon light of hope" (16). Studentsshould learn that texts have the power to articulatethe goals, hopes, and ideals of a cultureas well as its dissension, shortcomings,and blindness. In fact, texts are that articulation, and without texts of various kinds there is no articulation.The written text is so importantbecause, as Robert Scholes states, "Our knowledgeis itself only a dim text that brightensas we express it" (20). The process of textual analysis is not just a hunt for racist, sexist, repressive language, but a dialectic in which each of us reads, interprets,and critiques the polyvocalic texts that make up our culture. Certainly, racist, sexist, and repressive language can be highlighted and perhaps eliminated along the way, but it is through reading, interpreting, and critiquingthe polyvocalic texts which constituteour culture that we can articulateour own beliefs, and if we do not articulateour own beliefs, we shall fall victims of those who articulatetexts that treatpeople, in Gates' words, as though they "were zeroes" or "absences." We should keep in mind Richard Wright who, at the end of Black Boy, sets out for his new life with a sense of self, a sense he had never had before, a sense providedby his newly found textual power:
It had been my accidentalreadingof fiction and literarycriticismthat had evoked in me vague glimpsesof life's possibilities. . . and in my leavingI was gropingtoward that invisible light, always tryingto keep my face so set and turnedthat I would not lose the hope of its first promise, using it as myjustificationfor action. (283) Works Cited Cohan, Steven, et al. "Not a Good Idea: A New Curriculum at Syracuse." Dept. of English, Syracuse University, Syracuse, NY 13244-1170.

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Fish, Stanley E. "Normal Circumstances, Literal Language, Direct Speech Acts, the Ordinary, the Everyday, the Obvious, What Goes without Saying, and Other Special Cases." Critical Inquiry 6 (Spring 1978): 625-44. Gates, Henry Louis, Jr. "Authority, (White) Power, and the (Black) Critic; or, it's all Greek to me." The Future of Literary Theory. Ed. Ralph Cohen. NY: Routledge, 1988. 324-46. Hughes, Langston. Simple Takes a Wife. NY: Aeonian P, 1953. Huyssen, Andreas. After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, and Postmodernism. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1986. Jameson, Fredric. "Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism." New Left Review 148 (July/Aug. 1984): 53-90. King, Martin Luther, Jr. "I Have a Dream." Negro History Bulletin 31 (May 1968): 16-17. ---. "Letter from Birmingham Jail." New Leader 46 (6 June 1963): 3-11. Lyotard, Jean-FranCois. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1979. McCanles, Michael. "All Discourse Aspires to the Analytic Proposition." What Is Literature? Ed. Paul Hernadi. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1978. 268-79. . "Conventions of the Natural and the Naturalness of Conventions." Diacritics 7 (Sept. 1977): 54-63. Rowe, John Carlos. "Modern Art and the Invention of Postmodern Capital." American Quarterly 39 (1987): 155-73. Scholes, Robert. Textual Power: Literary Theory and the Teaching of English. New Haven: Yale UP, 1985. Wright, Richard. Black Boy: A Record of Childhood and Youth. NY: Harper, 1966.