Our March 2025 Departmental Spotlight features Assistant Professor Henry Washington Jr., interviewed by Graduate Student Endria Richardson.
Tell me about your work. What do you care about in the world, and how did you come to care about it?
My work is broadly concerned with the centrality of cultural representation to the logic of antiblackness and, in turn, to black people’s efforts to contend with the antiblackness of the world. I was initially politicized by the state-sanctioned murders of Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown, and I remember being struck by how perceptions about the cultural contexts from which they emerged—from the structure of their families to the clothing they wore or the music they listened to—functioned to legitimize their ruthless slaughter. At the same time, I was struck by how crucial art and media were as mediums for black people’s resistance to the state in those murders’ wake. I continue to care about bringing greater awareness to how cultural representation does things in the world, for better or worse, rather than merely passively reflecting it. This means inviting my students and the people I care about to think critically about their roles as cultural consumers—which isn’t always comfortable, but remains urgently necessary.
Who do you love? Writers, thinkers, artists, parents, friends—who has inspired you to think and write the way that you do?
All of my greatest teachers have been black, feminist women. It was my mother who first taught me the history and practice of black image-making. She was intimately aware of the complex ways in which her own self-presentation shaped how others saw her and would see me. Even more importantly, she taught me the antiblackness of this reality. Dr. Wahneema Lubiano taught me how to write. Dr. Karla Holloway mentored and advocated for me, and in so doing taught me the importance of community. Ms. Chandra Guinn taught me that black people deserve the very best. I love them and all the other people in my life who show up for me and ask me hard, important questions.
Where do you come from? Is there a place that feels like home?
I am originally from Pickensville, Alabama—a rural town of around 400 people that borders Mississippi. My roots there deeply inform my self-conception, but I do not consider it home. I am not sure any place feels like home to me, but I feel most whole when I am in community with other black queer folks.
What is your writing process?
I am usually provoked to write by some specific, often mundane observation—and often because what I am noticing annoys or confuses me. The writing then becomes by way of trying to think through my own dissatisfaction, whether toward a text, phenomenon, or way of thinking. My article on Pose, for instance, emerged from my effort to make sense of why my initial excitement about what the show represented (in terms of queer and trans people of color’s status in the history of televisual images) waned over the course of the series. Why, for instance, had I been so frustrated that a black trans woman got to marry the love of her life in the final season?
Pursuing the nagging question I have, I generally set about writing about the text itself, to figure out what exactly I have to say about it. Through writing about Pose I came to greater clarity about the conflict I saw between, on the one hand, the show’s endeavor to tell a truer account of the AIDS pandemic and, on the other, its desire for mainstream legibility. Accordingly, in the show’s narrative logic, only passable trans girls with positive attitudes were afforded happily-ever-after stories.
Once I have said what I need to say about the text, then I can go about situating my reading within a broader field of inquiry. My reading of the museum heist in the show’s first episode as evidence of its self-consciousness as a critical historiography of AIDS was resonant with and enriched by engagement with art historical critiques of the museum as a site of epistemological authority. My analysis of the show’s appeals to a broad public was deeply resonant with and enriched by theories of homo- and transnormativity.
Then of course, there is the work of revision. I have two key friends who help me with this: one with whom I workshop ideas in-progress (testing out section structure or paragraph flow, for instance), and another who reads my full drafts and offers me overall feedback. I went through several drafts of the Pose article, which I actually write about in the essay itself. My friends helped me realize that I did not need to settle whether Pose was ultimately a positive or negative representation—that it was in fact more precise and more interesting for the paper to hold together the show’s brilliance as a historiographic critique and its limitations as an appeal for trans people of color’s incorporation.
What are you reading (or watching, or listening to) lately?
I must confess that I do not read for fun. But I am dutifully reading and rereading lots of Sylvia Wynter and Hortense Spillers for my current graduate seminar on “Black Feminist Theories of the Human.” I am almost always listening to gospel music—most especially to Le’Andria Johnson’s voice; but I have a love for 90s/early 2000s R&B as well.
What are your meaningful pursuits outside of academia? What do you do for fun, or to relax?
I am a major foodie, so I like to try out a new recipe or new restaurant. I also love reality TV as well as live music and performance (and was almost a professional actor).
Any news or projects you want to tell us about? Where can we find your work out in the world?
My two peer-reviewed articles can be found linked on my faculty page. I have a forthcoming piece on the gospel artist Twinkie Clark, which should appear in print next spring. I also have a short keyword entry soon to appear in a volume curated by the Practicing Refusal collective and edited by Dionne Brand. Finally, my book will appear…eventually. Send hopes and prayers.
In times of war, genocide, and fascism, what is the purpose of the kind of thinking and learning that we do in academia? How do you understand the role of academia in activism?
I think it is important not to overstate the possibilities in academic work, particularly in this era of black studies’ full incorporation into the U.S. university. Of course the field is undoubtedly also now under attack. I think we can always sharpen our students’ analyses of power. And I think we can practice making those analyses usable in community, IF we take the time to build reciprocal relationships with folks grounded in integrity, accountability, and purposefulness. But mostly I think we should listen more to those who are actively engaged in political struggle.
What do you want to do with yourself when you finish this program? Teach? Write? Something else?
Of course I am finished with my training, but I have been hoping for a long while to achieve proper balance between my work and the other things that matter to me. I look at how much this profession has taken from folks—particularly black women and queers—and it makes me want to prioritize being a whole person. Philosophically this means insisting on my status as a laborer; practically it means imposing healthy boundaries around my work.
I also have a recurring thought that I might enjoy pursuing more formal musical training, and I think it would better equip me to say exactly what I want to say about gospel music
Is there anything else you’d like your colleagues to know about you?
Just that I really do consider it a privilege to think with and learn from all of you! If we have not met already, I welcome invitations to chat, particularly during my office hours.