Sag Harbor is 11 yrs old, but it’s a side of CWhitehead that might surprise readers that know only his two most recent novels. AND it’s about the summer AND an African American setting that many readers might not know exists https://t.co/3XIFvnrNDO#DisruptTexts#SummerReading
— Joel /hō•ÉL/ Garza is cofounder of #THEBOOKCHAT 📓 (@JoelRGarza) June 10, 2020
When I first began teaching, I used a lot of picture books. I still do, actually; I didn’t this past year as much because well, it was this past year. One book I loved as a read aloud was Skippyjon Jones by Judith Byron Schachner. And something didn’t sit right after a few readings. And then the book was panned by critics, and yes, it’s racist. No question about it. So, out it went. I never read it again or shared it. Know better, do better (Angelou).
Let’s start taking a look at how books impact our students. If white kids are only taught a narrow narrative about enslaved Blacks, that narrow line of thinking will shrink their critical thinking and empathy processes. And since I taught 7th and 8th grade most of my teaching career, this quote from Nic Stone took my breath away. Is this why my students stop reading in 8th grade, because they’re tired of waiting for books, mirrors, and sliding doors (Rudine Sims Bishop)?
Up until that point, required reading was either minimal or animal—shout-out to Mrs. Frisby and her NIMH-ish rats—but then eighth grade hit. And I started to disappear.
Nic Stone, “Don’t Just Read About Racism–Read Stories About Black People Living.”
The emotional, spiritual, education, and economic costs of racism are complex, chaotic, and connected. But there are verifiable receipts to these costs, and if I was a better statistician or social mathematician perhaps I could write with more scholarly credibility. But I do know the data are available, and historically white people have ignored these costs to others, themselves, and future generations. It costs billions to clean up fractured lives, and it can’t possibly cost as much to build sustainable, equitable lives for us all. Think about the amount of money and conscious choice it takes for Republicans to maintain their racists infrastructure of voter suppression. Think of the economic health of our nation if we ended racism and racist practices in law, civil interactions, and upheld our principals of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
This post provides links to articles and data regarding the economic cost of racism.
Read these articles and consider using them in a Socratic Seminar, argumentative reading resources, etc. Ask students if they think racist policies and practices in this country have affected them, either by privilege, benefit or disadvantage.
Why should students know their rights? What if their rights are violated? What does that cost them in time, emotional and mental health, money, and opportunities? How do students advocate for themselves and others safely?
Anti-racist work for white educators: prioritize understanding how this looks like in your own classes and your relationships with students:
Finally, consider the economic costs of trauma. Racism and violence cause trauma. While trauma and injuries are not always connected with racism and racism violence, it is clearly a portion of the costs represented in the $671 billion dollar figure.
There are real, calculated costs to racism. Racism and systemic racism props up wealthy white people. It maintains their vast wealth. It maintains their infrastructure of police protections and brutality. If we continue to work toward a more just nation and world, always consider the money: who benefits, and who seeks to maintain the status quo. And speak directly to that with your voice, power, votes, and information.
I am an amateur in so many areas, it’s really kind of lame. One of the mental games I like to play with myself is the hidden costs of things, like trying to pull data from chaos. I am ill equipped and humbled. All I can offer is I like to think about big things, and this will be separated by multiple posts.
The question is: How does racism affect white people? Understand this question is not intended to center white people. We’ve been centered plenty. It’s meant to explore why this construct of race and power keeps getting propped up, exploited, and used to keep groups in fear, confusion, disoriented, and in danger.
When I was in high school, I went to a predominately white, wealthy parents, large high school in suburban Denver. Kids wore $300 boots and drove BMWs. I was not one of these kids. I was friends with a boy named Bryan. Bryan was Black. He was funny, smart, and always cracked me up. One evening, when we were at a football game, he told me he and his family were moving so he could attend the mostly Black high school. I did not understand fully why, and was heartbroken. I didn’t have the emotional means to express what was happening then, and I’m not sure I do now. It may have been a mixture of things: wasn’t our current school ‘better?’ And trust me: I tell the truth when I say I also recognized why going to the other high school was important and was indeed, better for him and his brothers. Was my friendship not enough to make him feel part of a community? But we lost. We lost his smile, his gifts, and his friendship. I knew once he moved, even if it was only twenty minutes away, he was moving to the other side of the world, our world.
I found my high school yearbook during the great Quarantine Time of Purging All Closets, and saw his picture. I miss that friend.
Flash-forward to the election of 2016. White kids chanting “BUILD THE WALL” in those predominately white schools in my former district. When I told my principal about her previous school and what the students did she said no, it wasn’t them, it was another building. Her denial was somewhat shocking at the time, but now considering she’s still social media friends with a teacher in the building who is a loud and proud Trump supporter, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The amount of energy and time for white educators and parents they spend on building their mental fort is incredible. What if…WHAT IF…they spent that time and energy saying and doing something ELSE. ANOTHER ACTION.
What if
What if all teachers had to do a study with Jane Elliott’s and Cornell West’s work in educational philosophy? Why, when I was in second grade, did I get the teacher who, when asked if she believed in “women’s lib” answered, “Oh no, I like having the doors opened for me!” I was crushed. I was born a feminist, and to hear my teacher say this was devastating. And the little boy’s smug face as he got the answer he wanted is burned in my brain. Now think of all the trillions of micro and macro aggressions: what if?
What if when people had land, resources, built a community they understood that the community is better with diversity of experiences, gifts, talents, and contributions?
What if…
Threatening teachers’ voices is a common tactic.
Because right now we have administrators, parents, school boards and parents who force teachers into subterfuge and “asking forgiveness” whenever they talk about Malcom X or want to teach books from the #ProjectLit or #DisruptTexts communities. Right now, I’m trying to remind myself as a new person in a district/building that change takes time, even if I’ve been doing this work for almost 15 years as a teacher. Just getting some titles that aren’t white, colonized canon approved is painstakingly slow. There are gatekeepers and bureaucrats.
The hidden costs may include:
losing a friend
no collaboration
decreased joy
stale thinking
fixed mindsets
destruction of parent/child love and relationships
loss of respect and inclusion (think of cancel culture but more hidden)
Since this series is “White People Homework” keep in mind it’s not for BIPOC to do your work for you. Take some time, pray if that’s something you do, meditate, relax, and think: how would your life be better if we all practiced anti-racism work?
One idea: if an administrator asks you to do something in your classroom that is counter to anti-racism work, ask why, and request a detailed response. Ask if they are willing to have a conversation with the school board, the parents, and other teachers and students: identify the real stakeholders in the community.
Resources:
Merritt, K. (2017). Masterless Men: Poor Whites and Slavery in the Antebellum South (Cambridge Studies on the American South). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi:10.1017/9781316875568.
I will try to write this as simply as I can. But it is long. Push back as needed.
My first job, and one where I stayed for twelve years, was a middle school located in South King County, Washington. Being at a school for that long is an honor: I became part of the teaching and family community, and being a consistent, collaborative voice was one of my greatest joys. I am still a fan, mentor, supporter, and friend of many former students who have families and lives of their own. It’s not unreasonable for me to understand since I spent more time (and often money) on my students, putting my own sons at equal or second distance through the love of my job that I would gather years’ worth of memories, notes, and communal shared respect and love. I did, however, notice a change or shift, and it’s taken me the past two years of reflection to recognize what may have been happening. I noticed during about the last two years I was there, that Black male students were hurt. So much so, often power struggles escalated to the point of being concerned for my and their safety (not from me, but from other safety officers).
From 2019-2020 (I left after the 2017-2018 school year, and may have changed the average years of teaching)
There are a few key points to share:
There were few BIPOC teachers on staff at any point in time
We did have occasionally BIPOC assistant principals and principals, but mostly white women in administrative roles
We had teams, and then we didn’t. These teams, when functional, (and the ones I was on were functional) were one of the best supports for students in our cohorts we had–hands down.
A cross-content team worked together to contact parents, confer with students we felt were in academic or emotional danger, and provide supports and shared expectations. The teams were comprised of white, Hispanic, Black, female and male teachers by default.
When we didn’t have teams, as in the last two years I was there, we had little or no support. And the support we did have was limited. We had a team of white women administrators, and that’s a story for another time.
Anyway, I began to notice Black male students were struggling. Many students were, but two in particular had a very difficult time. None of my solid classroom engagement strategies or “management” (which is a problematic word) seemed to help. And even though the current administration dabbled in culturally-relevant teaching and offered what I’m going to term as “CRT Lite” any change of substance or conversation was nonexistent.
During the penultimate year, one student of the two seemed to hate me. He was from another district, and he complained to his mom and other community advocates that I was racist or picking on him. And that was his truth. So one of the family volunteer advocates, a Black woman in the community who knew him and other BIPOC students well, asked if she could come in and observe me. Now, if I had chosen, I could have said no and had admin and union support alike. But that’s not who I am or my practice. She said she was there under the pretense of observing him. She observed me in my class a few times, and then in a quiet voice, told me, in honest surprise, that I was a good teacher and was ‘helping him.’ Well, yes.
Keep that in mind when I share this next part: the next year, my last year in that building, we had one student who also really struggled. But his story, and his actions are traumatic and painful for himself and others. My admin wanted me out, and they got their wish. I moved to another district, a building with mirror demographics of that school I was leaving. I thought it would be great: the admin practically leapt across the interview table, hired me on the spot, and off I went. I got a call from another principal in the district and when he heard I accepted the position at XYZ school, just scoffed and said, “Good luck!”
This school was in a challenging transition. They had a young, white principal who hadn’t received her admin credentials yet. She had been a teacher at a charter school for about three years. School discipline reform, much needed and long overdue, was still in its shaky beginnings. We had a restorative justice person who was forced out of the building mid-year. There were many highlights, one of which I was introduced to Zaretta Hammond’s Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain. However, I didn’t have anyone to collaborate on this new learning with because my previous colleagues who shared neuroscience and education work were still at my previous school. This loss of institutionalized knowledge and feelings of isolation grew. And I didn’t realize how much losing connection with my previous school’s community would affect me: but more importantly: how this loss of connection affects students.
Through that year, I had some traumatized students. Behavior is communication. And I realized, just now, that what they saw in me was a threat. A very real, present threat: another white woman teacher, just like every other white woman teacher they’d had. I was the enemy. And they treated me accordingly, and they were justified. They were justified because unless I worked very hard to check my privilege, power, and bias, they were not going to feel safe to learn.
Some facts:
The school’s population is almost 900 students in a building designed for maximum capacity of 600.
Important: I could not find data on BIPOC educators.
They came to me with having been shamed, humiliated, and judged by white lady teachers for nearly all of their schooling. Many BIPOC students have to fight all their lives to be heard, respected, and receive equitable and rigorous education. They came prepared to fight, and their movements, actions of leaving classrooms, was their way of expressing what their words couldn’t say. And if they did use words, it was often expletives and tears. They carried in their young bodies the harm of white teachers from day one. How could they see me, Mrs. Love, when I was just another middle-aged, white face? The same race as the president. The same race as police and their principals and the security following them through stores.
This isn’t easy to write. And I have a big ask. White teachers: please–do this internal work. It’s not comfortable, and it’s never ‘done.’ Fight for decolonizing curriculum. Fight for inclusion. Fight on behalf of your students and their families and never, ever expect a reward, thank you, or pat on the back. Do not fall into the savior trope. And yes: take it personally. Because if your student is screaming at you they have the fierceness and bravery of more lifetimes than you can ever imagine. This does not mean you need to dissolve your own dignity or self-respect. But please; do not give the ‘respect’ lessons first: self-respect and dignity matter more. Black lives matter.
And finally: we need to flip the table. I am angry that Jane Elliott’s work wasn’t in my teaching Masters coursework. That work on social justice isn’t the first things we work on as future and current educators. That we don’t confront the questions of if we’re teaching predominately white students or Black and students of color, how is it the same, and what matters?
Whereby I confront my fears and try to work through them.
Note: this is about white people’s fear, and measurement of fear: the existential fear of BIPOC is real, systemic, and daily. As white people work toward equality and abolitionist actions, we must look toward our privilege, beliefs, faith, and values. If we have privilege, and white people most certainly do, what ways can we confront our fears toward action?
What are you willing to die for? We all die. In fact, it’s our mortality that may be at the heart of our conflicts. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. What an incredible philosophy. Because the “willing to die” question could be the most personal, catalyst and human of questions? It comes with huge judgment and zealotry. It’s confrontational and ill-equipped for love. And for clarity: I’m talking about BIG LOVE, love from the universe, gods, goddess, and creation. Love that is patient and kind love. Asking someone what they are willing to die for asks too much, and I’m not sure it’s infused with BIG LOVE. Saints and sinners alike have their own thoughts about mortality, from sacrificial martyrdom to uninvited interruption of work and purpose.
“I don’t know what will happen now; we’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life–longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over and I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. And so I’m happy tonight; I’m not worried about anything; I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,” King concluded.
I’m toggling between this platform and FB and notice a friend who’s at a #BLM protest in my little town. I am not there, and can’t risk bringing #COVID back to my family.
I had my own existential crisis and fear bargaining this past week. A dear friend and colleague posted a confrontation by one of her former acquaintances. This acquaintance turned out to be a racist, bully, and all-around garbage human. There have been plenty of groups who’ve been posting pictures of racists caught in the act, and the charge to “get ’em!” And I had to confront my own cowardice when one of those lives metaphorically next door. Most of the ones people post are those who lives miles and states away. Or, outing big corporations for their heinous acts. And since the internet has long given us a false sense of anonymity and safety, in these days of important and monumental shifts, will we begin to judge one another on how we use our physical (not metaphysical) lives to continue this change? I am confronting my own cowardice for not outing this woman. White nationalist scare me. I am in flight, fight, or freeze mode. And I had to work through my own power and privilege to determine how I can keep myself, my sons, and my husband safe.
In other words, if I am not okay with dying in a protest, what can I do that considers multiple factors that decenter my privilege or uses it for abolitionist causes? Zealotry of any kind makes me skittish. I did post the question on Facebook, and received many responses. One woman, the mother of one of my students, said to leave her be, pray for the racist, and go with grace. I’m still grappling with it, but that was where I left it. And in later conversations received a somewhat pedantic lecture on the Holocaust by another friend. And I think I would have been the person to hide people in my house kind of person. But I don’t know. I am here and existing now: so what am I doing now? Because anything I do walks the line between performative and silence. There will be criticism, no matter what. And so what? So how do I balance fear of physical, emotional, and spiritual safety when nothing is truly safe? We all die: so how do I make choices in my life?
What can I give: I have a gift for creating curriculum. I have a gift for friendship and love. I have a gift and talent for creativity and art. I attempt to write and communicate. When I have funds, I share them. I look for legitimate resources. I listen to new information and facts and adapt. And if there is a higher being, I recognize that these gifts are a blessing. And I will strive to keep my pride in check, and not be baited into conversations of ‘who’s more of a warrior.’ (And to be clear–it was my own pride that baited me, not anyone else.)
And I’m still learning from others, every day. Nearly every hour.
I am not an expert on abolition. I’m a student of abolitionism. But I can tell you this. As someone who has studied it pretty intensively for about 5 years now: a lot of these people who are using the word abolition right now, do not even know what it means.
— Abolition Is A Presence (@jaybeware) June 7, 2020
We have an opportunity to change. Right now. No more waiting. Right. Now. We teachers have a responsibility and moral directive to change. Every piece of literature, every writing assignment, every single assessment and classroom “management” piece must be viewed through the lens of equity, justice, and culturally relevant teaching. This series will touch on many of those ideas and practices. This is just a start.
Every parent wants the best for their child. No judgement, buts, or exceptions. And if a white parent is teaching their child racism, prejudice and bigotry, it’s up to us, teachers, buildings and districts, to correct this teaching of hate and ignorance. That’s our job.
The fact of the matter is Derek Chauvin went to school, Amy Cooper went to school, so did Gregory and Travis McMichael, and William Bryan. Their schools failed them, as they have done to much of white America, for all of history. And by extension, they have failed the rest of us, with deadly consequences.
For those unfamiliar, @ProblemAreasHBO spent its entire first season examining policing in America and what reforming it looks like. Recently, @BarackObama spoke about the need to be specific in trying to bring about reform. Our show tried to do that along with some dumb jokes. pic.twitter.com/0QI2Mwpo6M
A man was murdered by the state in broad daylight, with witnesses. And maybe, this time, most of us in the United States finally, finally realize that we have gone over the edge of the abyss. While many of us screamed over the injustices, for others, cruelty was the point. We’re not there yet. We’re not anywhere near a place of peace and equality in our nation. When we address the militarization of our police we must address the grip of fear instilled in us by Republicans. They’ve used fear and the military force to keep us silent. Privilege benefits from the silence.
The Trump era is such a whirlwind of cruelty that it can be hard to keep track. This week alone, the news broke that the Trump administration was seeking to ethnically cleanse more than 193,000 American children of immigrants whose temporary protected status had been revoked by the administration, that the Department of Homeland Security had lied about creating a database of children that would make it possible to unite them with the families the Trump administration had arbitrarily destroyed, that the White House was considering a blanket ban on visas for Chinese students, and that it would deny visas to the same-sex partners of foreign officials. At a rally in Mississippi, a crowd of Trump supporters cheered as the president mocked Christine Blasey Ford, the psychology professor who has said that Brett Kavanaugh, whom Trump has nominated to a lifetime appointment on the Supreme Court, attempted to rape her when she was a teenager. “Lock her up!” they shouted.
The Cruelty is the Point by Adam Serwer, The Atlantic, October 3, 2018
In a recent interview, Ben Carson had the audacity to parse out that it wasn’t “tear gas” that was used. Listening to him support Trump was too much. He got so many things wrong. But in the Cabinet of the Damned, Carson played his role well: he’s Black, a doctor, and is brought out to play some role I can’t describe. The naive, innocent voice? The gentle portrayal of Trump? It certainly isn’t a role any other Trump supporter can play, not even his complicit, birtherism wife. She really doesn’t care, do you? Well, Carson does:
“I am very disappointed with the fact that people have used this as an excuse to vandalize and tear up the neighborhoods of the people who are so vulnerable and are least able to afford such things,” he says. “And, you know, I understand the anger and the wrath, but I do not understand why they can’t see that they’re hurting the very people they purport to be standing for.”
This series for June of “White People Homework” I’ll be writing a post a day, sharing resources and readings. Today is Dr. Kendi’s article in The Atlantic, “The American Nightmare.” He reviews the history and impact of Plessy V. Ferguson, a Supreme Court decision that impacts our nation today, and wasn’t overturned until Brown v. The Board of Education on May 17, 1954.
If I was able to teach this unit (and what next year will look like is ever-changing), putting together how-tos on how to annotate texts with big questions. The “then and now” approach to teaching history makes the most sense to me. The essential or guiding question when studying Plessy v. Ferguson is how did this decision in 1896 maintain and institutionalize racism in our nation through today? I believe our nation is broken right now. Truly broken. The nightmare Dr. Kendi refers to is our nation then and now.
“We don’t see any American dream,” Malcolm X said in 1964. “We’ve experienced only the American nightmare.” A nightmare is essentially a horror story of danger, but it is not wholly a horror story. Black people experience joy, love, peace, safety. But as in any horror story, those unforgettable moments of toil, terror, and trauma have made danger essential to the black experience in racist America. What one black American experiences, many black Americans experience. Black Americans are constantly stepping into the toil and terror and trauma of other black Americans. Black Americans are constantly stepping into the souls of the dead. Because they know: They could have been them; they are them. Because they know it is dangerous to be black in America, because racist Americans see blacks as dangerous.
When Plessy again refused, he was taken a half-mile down to Elysian Fields Avenue for booking at the Fifth Precinct Station. Members of the Comité met him, and a judge released him on temporary bail. The next day a story in a New Orleans daily described Plessy as a “snuff-colored descendant of Ham.” After a hearing, Comité member Paul Bonseigneur plunked down a $500 bond (raised by putting his own house in hock) to guarantee Plessy’s appearance for trial. Plessy was 30 years old. The future of constitutional rights for Blacks in America would ride on his day in court.
*Snuff-colored descendant of Ham: From Noah’s Curse to Slavery’s Rationale The use of Christianity as a means of racism, bigotry and justification to enslave others will be addressed in these posts. I have no opinion as a secular individual. Many of my friends practice a range of faiths; however, family members who have shown themselves to be Christian Nationalists are no longer welcome in my life.
The offer still stands: if ten people who reach out to me want me to buy them a book on the list, who will read it in good faith and love, I’ll be happy to buy you a book. If you want one for your classroom, you can message me on Twitter @mrskellylove
As a follow up to this post, The Racist in the Classroom, I offer these resources that may help you grow and learn. Growth is uncomfortable. Growth can be filled with shame, guilt, and cringe-worthy memories. But maybe that’s just me. And I understand and accept what Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi said (paraphrasing) –this work is never done. It’s continual growth and learning. And warning: you might lose friends. You might get trolled by white ladies like this one:
This is the fifth conversation in two days where a white white woman has taken on the mantle of trolling. Circular arguments and bad-faith responses, never directly answering the question or topic at hand.
When we impeached this president, we warned that he was a dictator in waiting.
I believe now what I believed then: this president is a threat to our democracy, our families, and to us.
Finish reading White Fragility: at this point I’ve pieced together too many excerpts and need to do a deeper reading
Readings and study with critical race theory
Work with Monise S. on our indigenous studies
Work to find a multitude of resources to support my students and organize them to promote engagement, curiosity and purpose
Create curriculum for staff and students: some have already been doing this work, and some are just starting on their journey. I’ll meet them where they are.
Dig deep into STAMPED FROM THE BEGINNING by Dr. Kendi
Share a post-a-day about a resource or voice that must be heard
First assignment: understand Trump’s use of sacred religious texts and teachings to prop up and disguise his racism and violent, anti-democratic acts. Two places to start:
Understand how White Europeans used religion to justify their use of enslaved peoples.
Do not use this to justify or state “Well, African countries had slaves, too.” Knock it off.
Understand your history of your own nation.
For ten people who want to read these books, and I know you personally, email me and I’ll buy you a copy. I’m not buying these for trolls, white supremacists, or other bad faith actors.
