Recovering Black Storytelling in Qualitative Research

Endarkened Storywork

S.R. Toliver

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2021
• eBook ISBN: 9781000474671
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Psychology
• Subtopic: Research & Methodology in Psychology
• Index: Psychology

This research-based book foregrounds Black narrative traditions and honors alternative methods of data collection, analysis, and representation. Toliver presents a semi-fictionalized narrative in an alternative science fiction setting, refusing white-centric qualitative methods and honoring the ways of the griots who were the scholars of their African nations.

By utilizing Black storytelling, Afrofuturism, and womanism as an onto-epistemological tool, this book asks readers to elevate Black imaginations, uplift Black dreams, and consider how Afrofuturity is qualitative futurity. By centering Black girls, the book considers the ethical responsibility of researchers to focus upon the words of our participants, not only as a means to better understand our historic and current world, but to better situate inquiry for what the future world and future research could look like. Ultimately, this book decenters traditional, white-centered qualitative methods and utilizes Afrofuturism as an onto-epistemological tool and ethical premise. It asks researchers to consider how we move forward in data collection, data analysis, and data representation by centering how Black girls reclaim and recover the past, counter negative and elevate positive realities that exist in the present, and create new possibilities for the future.

The semi-fictionalized narrative of the book highlights the intricate methodological and theoretical work that undergirds the story. It will be an important text for both new and seasoned researchers interested in social justice. Informed and anti-racist researchers will find Endarkened storywork a useful tool for educational, cultural, and social critiques now and in the future.

1 INTRODUCTION My name is Jane and this is my world

DOI: 10.4324/9781003159285-1

May 1, 2085

The bluer the eyes, the more successful the programming. That's what they tell us anyway. The Dreamers’ eyes are brown, amber, green, gray, or hazel. My eyes and the eyes of all the Endarkened are different shades of blue, some as piercing as the color of LED lights and others as bright as the sky on a sunny day. I sometimes wonder if the brightness of our eyes is what stops us from dreaming. Darkness is the space of dreams; it's the place where imagination can grow; it serves as the backdrop for the magical. But I think the piercing blueness of my eyes punctures the darkness, keeps the darkness at bay. I long for the days when I’ll be able to close my eyes and see blackness. But to dream is to imagine something better, to envision a reality that's different from this one. That's why we’re not allowed to dream. The Dreamers haven’t allowed us to do that for a long time.

In history, we learned that in the early 2000s—2019 to be exact—the experiments started. They’d been experimenting on us for centuries, but that was the first year they started the dream extractions. They used Black women first due to the procedure's scientific infancy. Black women were prime specimens, proud mules ready to bear the burden of scientific progress for the betterment of society. Well, better for the Dreamers anyway. A lot of Black women died in childbirth. Too many. The extractors never took an accurate count because they didn’t care how many of us died as long as they reached their scientific goals. And they did.

An old government entity, the CDC, said Black women died at higher rates, but at the time, the scientists didn’t know what was really happening in the hospital's maternity wards. Later, some activists discovered that the deaths were due to procedure rejection, and they posted their findings for all to see. Many people thought this information would lead to revolution, but it didn’t. Instead, it made it easier for the public relations teams to change the narrative and blame the deaths on divisiveness. They said that Black women refusing or fighting against the extraction was a disruptive tactic to tear America apart. Endarkened rights weren’t being infringed upon; we were infringing upon the world's right to scientific innovation. Now, if one of us dies, people just say survival of the fittest is doing its magic, weeding out those who lessen the greatness of this country. I sometimes wonder how many chose to die knowing they’d be defamed upon their deaths. I wonder how many chose to jump off the operation table to save themselves and their future children.

Girey Cuviems, INC., otherwise known as GC, funded the first procedures, financing our deaths long before other large industries followed suit. Because they controlled the experiments, a practice many Dreamers supported, they gained power over time. GC controls the procedure, so they control the government and the majority of the nation's people. Because more than half of the country's population is Endarkened, we now have a society filled with Endarkened children who can’t dream and Endarkened adults who don’t remember the dreams of their youth. We have a society filled with people like me.

We all have similar names: Jane, Jill, John, or Jack followed by our birth number. It's an easy way to keep track of us, I guess. The numbers started after the first successful extraction, June 2030. Now, 55 years later, there are so many of us that we all have long numbers after our names. Those with unique names have either died or had their names forcefully removed.

The good thing is that no one mispronounces our names anymore. They get it right within four tries. My name is Jane–9675214. I’m the 9,675,214th Jane in GC's United States.

I decided to start writing about my history and who I am because I’m hoping it will help me remember. I’m not sure what I hope to remember, but I do know that recounting my past gives me courage to do what I have to do. A few days ago, after writing down what I know about this country, I decided to try something. It would require me to go against everything I know, but I’m out of options. I can’t keep pretending like everything is ok, like this world is an Endarkened utopia. I can’t keep acting like the removal of Endarkened dreams creates unity. I have to do something, and I chose to do the only thing I could think of. It may sound courageous or even a little daunting, but I decided to steal a book.

The library enforcers are always on high alert during the morning shift. When they log off, and the afternoon workers arrive, there's a little more freedom because the librarians are allowed to enter, taking away some of the enforcers’ authority. Libraries were technically defunded over two decades ago, but GC thought they should leave them open to alleviate political unrest. People get mad when you take their books. GC funds the enforcers, and outside donations cover the librarians. I know they don’t get paid much, but the librarians come in every day to sneak books to those of us who are brave enough to take them. They’re on the front lines of change.

People used to be able to checkout whatever they wanted as long as they brought the book back, but now, most of the library is “restricted.” The sign doesn’t say who is restricted, but we know. I heard John–1 had his hand chopped off and one of his eyes gouged for reading a restricted book. They left one eye and one hand to remind him that they could take the other just as easily. Of course, that's all hearsay, but none of us want to test our luck. In this society, the loss of a hand, an eye, or both mean you can’t get a good job. If you can’t work, you’re nothing. GC has made that pretty clear. In fact, “if you can’t work, you’re nothing” is on several posters and billboards, so we don’t forget.

I sat at the library all morning, waiting for the afternoon group to arrive. As I waited and watched, I kept looking at the ominous bookcases and wondered if I should risk it. After all, a lot of people thought Jane–12 was mentally unstable when she started talking about reading restricted books. People kept their distance, knowing she could cause trouble for them. I mean, she started calling herself Harriet–2 and openly talking about deserting GC. No one understood why she’d name herself when the government gave us names. No one understood why she’d want to leave when there was nowhere to go. Nevertheless, there was something intriguing about her words. Something hidden beneath her ramblings.

“Find the butler. Find the map. Find your dreams,” Jane–12 said as GC took her away again. She was constantly taken back to the First of two institutions that Help the Omnipotent Manufacture Efficiency (FirstHOME) for an injection. Somehow, she kept passing their release exams, but then she would say some nonsense to get her sent back. I didn’t understand it. In fact, when she first said, “find the butler,” I was confused. Butler was no longer an occupation. Once Amazon started shipping Alexa 10s through same-hour delivery, it was only a matter of time before the job became obsolete. Either way, I didn’t understand what she meant until I remembered a message from one of my SecondHOME observers before she was taken by GC for inciting thought.

Lori Jackson wasn’t like me. She had a real name. Lori was a short woman with dark auburn hair and white skin, and she was one of the nicest observers I had during my transition years in SecondHOME. She was one of the only ones who actually saw me if that makes any sense. Every so often, she’d randomly repeat this string of words, and no one knew why. Hopkinson, Lorde, Butler, Due, Hurston, Morrow, Forna—every few months or so. We’d ask her what she was talking about, and she would just say, “remember my name.” That was it. I’ll never forget those words, though, because they were the last words she said to us before she was taken away for good.

“Jane! Jane–9675214!” I heard an enforcer say.

They don’t like when you sit too long. Staring into the distance looks like daydreaming, and they can’t have that. The good thing is that I was prepared.

“Jane! Jane–9675214!” The enforcer said again, a little too close to my ear.

“Yes?” I replied.

“Jane, you have been occupying this seat for 37 minutes. You have the King James version of the history text in front of you, but you have not been reading this book. You appear to be engaging in daydreams.”

“No, sir,” I said as I plastered the sweetest smile I could muster on my face. “I work for Altered Truth, and I was trying to use our history to figure out the best way to tell the truth about what happened earlier today with Jane–12. The history guides us to the truth. Without it, we know nothing. So, I was letting it guide me.”

I put it on a little thick at the end, but I couldn’t take any chances. One injection, and I’d be reset, not forgetting my task but losing my will to do anything but what I’m told to do. The injections are GC's way of making sure we’re consistently compliant. They can’t perform dream extraction surgeries too often because they’re expensive. Plus, the surgeons found out that repeated operations destroyed a person's mental functions to the point where they were no longer able to work. They couldn’t afford to lose their unpaid labor, so they came up with the injections. They’re safer, and they can use them more often.

“Very well,” he said in a huff. “Please finish your duties expeditiously.”

I know that tone. My job in GC's Altered Truth division means I’m a “good one,” uppity and privy to government secrets even he doesn’t have clearance for. He hates me for the knowledge I hold. I hate him for the dreams he's wasted on hating people like me.

With one last scowl in my direction, he moved to his next victim. “John! John–47563! You have been occupying this seat for 34 minutes …”

When the enforcer was out of earshot, I noticed John–762940 walk in. He's like Harriet–2 because he changed his name to Elonnie–2, but instead of outwardly defying GC, he's been helping us from the inside. He's the one who helped me understand Harriet–2's riddle, and he's also the one who told me the words Ms. Jackson repeated were names. I guess I would’ve figure it out eventually since Ms. Jackson gave us a hint, but I’m glad Elonnie–2 was there to help.

“Jane, I see that you’re finished with this book. Shall I put it back for you?” Elonnie asked.

I knew my response to this question was my last chance to go back to my sedated life. I could’ve said no. I could’ve backed out and continued pretending to look through the history book. If I said yes, though, I was telling him I was ready, ready to find the map and learn to dream—or at least to try and dream. When I walked to the library this afternoon, I already knew my answer. I wasn’t turning back.

“Sure, John. Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. There's a book that fell over there,” he said, pointing to a book in front of the restricted section. “Can you grab it for me, so I can put it away?”

“Sure,” I said, my eyes darting to the illegal book on the ground. The cover had been removed and replaced with a shiny, black hardcover casing. I couldn’t figure out what it was, which was good because if I didn’t know, I doubt the enforcers could figure it out at first glance. I walked over to the spot and picked up the book. I flipped through several pages, careful not to linger on any one for more than a second.

“John, I think I can use this in my most recent PR case,” I said a little too loudly and a little too quickly. “Can I check this out?”

“Hard, black binding means it's on its way to be burned, so I don’t see why not. Just make sure you bring it back before the incineration date stamped on the cover,” he replied with a slight smirk on his face. Once a book was stamped for incineration, no one would be looking for it.

I stuffed the book in my bag and hurriedly walked toward the door. I didn’t know what was in it, but it must be important for it to be classified as restricted, for Harriet–2 to go through so much to get this book in someone's hands, and for Elonnie to risk his life. It's important enough for me to risk my position. My life. I thanked Elonnie and left the library before I could change my mind.

May 2, 2085

As I walked back to my dorm, I kept looking behind me to see if an enforcer was on my trail. I outranked the enforcers in terms of occupation, but my credentials didn’t mean much when they were looking for someone to make an example out of. Enforcers aren’t friendly neighborhood protectors, charged with upholding the law. They are there to enforce the will of GC by any means necessary. “By any means” often meant one of us was killed to “preserve the peace.” Enforcers were never charged for murder, never held accountable for the deaths of my people. But then again, why would they be? Most of the Dreamers don’t see us as people anyway. It's almost as if they don’t consider us to be human, like we’re zombies walking among the living, always hungry for dreams and humanity.

When I finally closed the door to my dorm room, I felt the heavy load of stress and fear. Once I opened the book, life could change for me. I mean, my current life isn’t so bad. I have a pretty decent home, consistent access to food pills, and a well-paying job. I may not be able to dream, but I am able to mold the truth in creative ways. Last week, I constructed a campaign that explained why the Georgia Annex was getting smaller. The real reason is climate change and how GC refuses to implement laws to protect the Earth. The true answer is GC ignored aid requests when natural disasters struck the former state of Florida and the smaller island territories below it. Due to their negligence and an influx of Category 5 hurricanes, most of the state is now underwater. Now, there's not enough left of Florida to call it a state, so GC renamed it. Now, it's the Georgia Annex. My job was to twist the story and ensure GC was never implicated.

The Florida Weight Campaign is probably what I’m best known for at work. Through it, I showed how the Annexer's reliance on straws and their refusal to recycle and compost added increased weight to the state, thereby causing Florida to sink. For good measure, I added that there was no empirical evidence showing humans have any influence on climate; subsequently, blaming GC and large corporations for the failures of individual people is scapegoating, at best, and discrimination against corporations, at worst. How dare GC residents blame their employers for problems that individual people created. It's ridiculous, I know, but if you say something nonsensical loud and long enough, people start to believe it, and it's my job to twist the narratives so people can’t help but believe.

Although I’m allowed access to climate campaigns and some involving the education given at FirstHOME, I am not involved in acquittal campaigns for the enforcers. Those spots are often reserved for Dreamers, although some Endarkened are allowed to sit in for photo ops. It's always great to have a photo that makes people assume everyone is on board with a campaign, no matter how discriminatory it is. The most successful campaign to ever arise from that PR team is the “fear codes,” a list of statements now posted in the enforcer handbook that allows them to be acquitted for murder:

I was scared to death.

I thought I was going to die.

I had no other choice.

I perceived a threat.

I feared for my life.

These five statements, taught to enforcers throughout the country during their 2 months of training, sign multiple Endarkened death warrants. They also sign freedom papers for enforcement officers. They can’t be murderers if they fear for their life. It doesn’t matter if they charge into our houses and kill us while we’re sleeping. We apparently look menacing in our sleep. Each officer is only allowed to use one fear card per year, but that's enough. I guess, the only good thing about the extraction is that we don’t have nightmares anymore. We’re no longer able to dream ourselves into the positions of murdered Endarkened people.

There used to be protests, outrage-filled people marching through the streets to bring awareness to injustice, but that was long ago. They happened before the Change Rooms were created and before the dream extractions were fully tested. The Change Rooms destroy people, alter their brains in ways I’ll never understand. The dream extractions make sure that once people are broken, their future generations will never fight back again. Anyway, there aren’t any declassified documents left from that time in history, but I’ve heard stories from Harriet–2. She's told me everything I know about the past, things I’d have never learned otherwise because GC edits the history books. To write down the history Harriet–2 tells would be to preserve an account that differs from the altered truth. To write it down and have that writing discovered could result in death.

I think that's why I was so afraid to open the book. Bound in thick black leather, the lightweight text seemed as ordinary as any of the required books included in each dorm room. But it's also a restricted book, a book I’m not supposed to read. What would happen if there were security traps in the book? What would I do if the enforcers decided to engage in random inspections? What could happen if I figured out what made the book so blasphemous that it landed in the restricted section? What might happen if my fingerprints can’t be erased from the pages, and I am taken back to FirstHOME for reprogramming? Or worse, what if I’m taken to the Change Room? All the...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Endorsements Page
• Half-Title Page
• Series Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication Page
• Contents
• Preface
• 1 Introduction: My Name is Jane and this is My World
• 2 Exploring Womanism: Finding the Othermothers, Entering the Harbor
• 3 Expanding the Literature: Speculative Maps, Activated Dreams
• 4 Introducing the Research Partners: Black Girls and their World
• 5 Research Partner Stories: Bailey
• 6 Research Partner Stories: Victoria
• 7 Research Partner Stories: Amber
• 8 Research Partner Stories: Talyn
• 9 Research Partner Stories: Terrah
• 10 Research Partner Stories: Avenae’j
• 11 Conclusion: Going Back, Dreaming Again
• Companion 1: Exploring the Introduction
• Companion 2: Theory in the Word
• Companion 3: Fictionalizing the Research Literature
• Companion 4: The Research Partners
• Companion 5: Concluding the Story
• Author’s Note