Today Maya Angelou died at the age of 86.  If you're at all present in social media, or really just in the world, you probably already knew this.  You also probably knew that Maya Angelou was an incredible cultural influence with a very important role in the world.  She will, of course, continue to hold this vital place in culture well beyond her death.

So upon learning of Maya Angelou's death today, I was first sad because I understood that our world had lost a woman who contributed a great deal of good.  After that though, I was a bit annoyed with myself.  I was annoyed because for the first time I realized my ignorance to her actual work.  I am fairly ashamed of this as a feminist and as a member of humankind, especially being that I am a member of human kind who has spend much of her life with the sole purpose (and luxury) of learning.  That has literally been my only responsibility of significance in life--to absorb the world. Maya Angelou is a remarkable part of the world.

I pondered this for a while, my ignorance.  Why am I so ignorant about the life of Maya Angelou?  Why do I only know her name, and that she is important, and not why she is important?  Of course part of the reason for my ignorance is that I didn't pursue Maya Angelou.  I could have looked for more information about her, read more of her work.  To a certain extent that was a choice I made, but at the same time, I have persisted through 19 years of formalized education including years of English literature coursework, two college level literature courses in high-school, a liberal arts bachelor's degree, and now an advanced degree in a social science.  Not once along the way have I read a single work of Maya Angelou's.

As a matter of fact, in thinking about it I realized that I can count on one hand the number women authors whose works I have read (1. Charlotte Bronte, 2. Mary Shelley, 3. Harper Lee, 4. Amy Tan).  One of these authors originally published her books in a male pen name and another dropped her first name to sound more androgynous.  Just one of these authors belongs to a minority race.  So, in 19 years and counting of education, I was introduced to a whopping four female authors and therefore heard the voices and world-views of just four women.  How many male authors have I read? Too many to count.

It's probable that my access to literature written by women was limited by the fact that there is a dearth of literature written by women, compared to men.  This is obviously a product of historical context, but I'm not willing to accept that as explanation.  That explanation is a cop out and only perpetuates society's neglect of important minority voices.  "It's not our fault" is never an excuse. Maybe it's not our fault, but the question is, what are we going to do about it?  It seems like the answer to that has generally been "not a lot."

This is wrong.  By neglecting the voices of people of color, varied sexual orientations, varied genders, varied religions, varied ages, varied identities, in literature, and in the teaching of literature, we are also neglecting to assert the importance of these varied identities in the wider world.  Of course I hadn't read anything written by Maya Angelou.  She was a multiple minority who resolutely struggled for representation in the world (as evidenced by her efforts as a social activist and by the content of her work--from what I understand at least), and I was educated in a middle-class predominantly white town.  I had very little in common with Miss Angelou, but that is precisely why it's so striking that I didn't read her works--I never had the chance to learn about our lack of commonality. In essence, the very thing about which Maya Angelou wrote and spoke was what has prevented me from reading her works, and the works of her cohorts, in my tenure as a student.

Maya Angelou is a vital and beautiful voice in our world.  She is, and will continue to be, seen this way. What we need to do is go beyond this basic understanding and actually hear her voice, not just hear about her voice.  It is not until we hear directly from the voices of those who are different from us that we begin to understand our commonalities, but also the beauty in our differences.

In the words of Maya Angelou, "It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength."  I believe that literature provides us with the opportunity to teach this principle. We simply need to use literature as the opportunity to hear the voices of many rather than to hear the voices of few.  It is time.

Keep on thinking,
Josie