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Category: Transformation

Love (December 2013 #4)

“Love is as love does. Love is an act of will – namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love.” – M. Scott Peck

Happy New Year.  I am not one for traditional resolutions; rather, I try to reflect on the year before, consider the current context and envision the year ahead to inform specific and intentional actions that otherwise not become a daily priority.  My resolution this year is the same as last… it may very well be my resolution every year to come: to love more.

bell hooks describes love as “a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust.” She says, “To know love we have to invest time and commitment…’dreaming that love will save us, solve all our problems or provide a steady state of bliss or security only keeps us stuck in wishful fantasy, undermining the real power of the love — which is to transform us.’.”

Her definition helps me to accept that real love is not limited to the less difficult (yet still difficult) task of loving what and whom I like.  No, my challenge is to approach with love even that and those I do not like – with as “a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust”.  This love will require ongoing and continuous work.

It is easy to say that I need to work on loving person who annoys me.  It even is easy to say I need to approach with love the person who is against what I am for. I recall when a student had a homophobic outburst in my last year of teaching.  I was surprised when the principal gave me, as a gay teacher, the option to remove him from my class permanently.  I believe I had enough care, commitment, and knowledge to recognize that I had a responsibility to educate even our homophobes – just not at the expense of those they feared.  While I lacked respect and trust, working to attain these was a difficult but reasonable challenge to accept.  When I think back, I wonder – if I was willing to teach this student who overtly expressed is disapproval of my very self, who were the students I was less or unwilling to teach (even unconsciously) and what could cause this vast difference?

Another black, young man died at one of my schools this month.  A ninth grader, he was the victim of gang related violence – and therefore the victim of the long reaching and iterative arm of racism in America.  He lay in a coma for nearly a week before passing. His teachers and administrators were very responsive to the needs of the community during this challenging time.  The communication and response when the student passed were caring and thoughtful.  The day before he died, I sat with one of the vice principals, a white woman who seeks to do whatever it takes to best serve each of her students.  She was sharing how much responsibility the teachers felt for the outcomes of their students.  I asked a hard question for this day, “Acknowledging that his life conditions are complicated, do they feel responsibility for the outcome of this student who lay in the hospital?  Do they believe their interactions with him – even if they did not cause this situation, may not have helped interrupt it?”
“Absolutely!” she shared emphatically.

I opened her door to the adjoining room, which was the school’s “time out” room for students who are sent out of class.  It was less than 5 minutes into the class period.  There were 11 students in the room.  100% of them were African American.  About 25% of the school is African American.

This same month, a panel of “at-risk” students presented to the administrators of SFUSD.  When asked what they wanted of their teachers, besides good teaching they said they wanted to feel “loved”.  I believe the vice principal believes her teachers feel some responsibility for their students.  Yet according to hooks, responsibility alone may not let students know they are loved.  Some teachers might argue that removing a student who is acting different than what is expected may be “responsible”.  Do those African American students sitting in the time out room feel cared for?  Do they feel a commitment to their success?  Do they feel well known, respected, trusted?  What do they feel, think or believe when they look around and see only other African American students in the same room?

Now flip the script – think of YOUR least-reached, most challenging student:

 

  • How much do you care for her/him?  Whatever the answer is, does s/he know?  How do they know?  How would s/he answer this question?

  • How committed are you to her/ his success?  What are the limits to your commitment?  What are the caveats for your commitment?  Are these answers the same for each of your students?

  • What do you know about this student and her/his family and community?  How do you know what you know about her/him?  What don’t you know?  How does this matter to her/his success in your classroom/ school?

  • Regarding this student, to whom or what do you feel the most responsibility?  The student?  Her/his family?  The other students?  Your own job requirements?  When and how do these contradict each other?  How do you respond?

  • Do you respect this student?  Why/ why not?  Do you respect her/his culture?  What does that look like?  Does s/he respect you?  Why/ why not?

  • What do you trust about this student?  What does s/he trust about you?  What should s/he trust about you?  What have you done to develop a trusting relationship given all these conditions?

 

My colleague, Kim Feicke once shared that every action comes from one of two emotional drivers – love or fear.  Perhaps the first step to loving each of our students is to understand who and what we fear within our least-reached students – for without facing our fears, we may remain in the unconscious realm of fear – regardless of our best intentions and resolutions.

Healing Harm (December 2013 #2)

“The time for the healing of the wounds has come.” – Nelson Mandela

I join the world in grieving the loss of a man who reached hero status for those who value justice and freedom.  I first got news from a New York Times tweet.  I remember feeling both sadness of the loss and celebration of his life and the unifying impact he had on our world.  Living in Oakland, I have heard from many who remember fondly the opportunity to hear him speak in our city some 23 years ago.  I was not there.  Yet, I too have been fortunate enough to feel the influence of his life work.

In 2005, SF-CESS had just formed and I was growing the organization slowly while I remained at Leadership HS as its co-principal. I received a call from the Oprah Winfrey Foundation, which was in the midst of planning its new school for girls in South Africa and upon researching schools, wished to learn more about Leadership. After a few planning meetings, it was decided that I and a group of my teachers would fly to Boston and join the school’s design team to conduct two days of training about some of our core programs (leadership, Advisory, professional development, etc.)

As is the case with our work, it took only a little time of collaboration between the richly diverse South Africans before invisible influences and squelched squalls surfaced. On day two, I decided to pause the work and to facilitate a conversation instead. While any attempt to codify what happened would oversimplify it, what I can say is that the discussion that followed was amazing. In hindsight, I believe I may have been experiencing one of the most mature race-based conversations I had ever witnessed – not because the group dynamics had evolved beyond the pain of apartheid, but rather because the group had embraced and accepted its reality.

It is no surprise that discussion of important school design decisions that would either interrupt or perpetuate historic oppression evoked emotions. Yet, these emotions were neither feared nor dismissed. Furthermore, the managing of these emotions did not seem to break down strictly along race. Rather, there was a collaboration amongst the members of the team (obviously not to the person) in which black South Africans spoke – AND WERE HEARD – with authority and respect, and also some white South Africans served as allies across differences to bridge the work between divergent perspectives.

When debriefed and questioned later, the South Africans spoke passionately of all the arduous work that followed the end of Apartheid. Specifically the Truth and Reconciliation Commission provided opportunities for mass and symbolic truth telling and healing. Many said that the resulting catharsis allowed for the collaboration that we were witnessing.

I sat in awe. We were asked to join this team to provide “training” around some technical components of schooling that could and should be liberating, and in turn they modeled what true liberation could look, sound, and feel like! (I could not help but wonder what America might be had we committed to similar nation-wide work immediately after our civil rights movement.)

To this day, my work values – even more than it did before this experience – the importance of healing, collective meaning making and alliance building for liberation. As educators, if we truly believe education equals freedom, then our schools must include this work! I frequently hear critique from those less comfortable with the affective work of healing and relationship building: “We don’t need touchy-feely work,” or “Show me how this work will improve test scores.” No one in that Boston hotel room would have suggested that the work of the commission alone led to all the results they were experiencing as a nation (nor would they say they were close to finished); but what I heard from them that day was that their progress was at least in part due to the Commission’s necessary work.

As educators, administrators and decision makers – in what ways do we explicitly and intentionally create opportunities for students to heal and learn from the pain and damage systemically caused by schools and society?Schools and districts must be places where our most disenfranchised and least reached can be heard – not in general, but by those who cause harm. Consider how any of the following do or should occur:

 

  • In classrooms and schools, where discipline practices are designed to be disproportionately punitive to and to retain and regain control over our black and brown students – are we willing to introduce and use restorative practices to allow for healing to these same individuals and their communities?

  • Are adults, who frequently represent dominant culture, off limits to accountability or are there systems to allow for mediation and healing when an adult hurts another (adult or child)?

  • When districts make decisions that will have long-standing impact on our underrepresented communities and their children, how are these communities informed and involved? Do they provide input?  Are they included in the decision?  Are they responsible for the decision?

  • Finally, if we are accepting of the fact that damage already has been done – and continues to be compounded for many in our community based on their demographics, what are we willing to do – or not do; what power are we willing to relinquish, and what diverse leadership are we willing to follow in order to make amends and ultimately prosper as a whole?

 

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” – Nelson Mandela

Thank you President Mandela.  May your spirit and influence live on.

 

Dear School System (November 2013)

What do we hear differently when students tell us what we already know from our own data?

Last month, I was asked by a district to conduct a focus group of African American students who were experiencing challenges in their academic progress.  As is true for so many school districts, this one has identified African American students as one of the sub-groups it is least effectively educating.  With the students’ permission, I did a mash up with the students’ collective quotes and wrote a letter from a composite African American student for that district.

At the end of this week, we will be hosting CES’ annual Fall Forum. This year’s theme is “Making the Invisible Visible: stories and counterstories for educational equity.” The message from the focus group students is one counterstory that makes an invisible perspective quite visible.

 

October 2013

Dear School System,

I am your African American student.
I am your black female student.
I am your mixed student who looks and identifies as a black male.
I am the student who has attended your schools since I first attended school.  And I am the student who has had experiences outside this school system, but now am in your hands.
I have attended your west side schools – and your east side schools – sometimes in the same year.  While the schools are different, my experience has not been.
I am the black student who did not do so well – because I wasn’t understood in my classroom – because I have a strong voice and good vocabulary.  I am the black student that might intimidate you.
I am the student who should have the same privilege as other students in class, but I don’t.

My family and my community expect a lot from me.  As long as I can remember, they have told me to go to school and get my education.  They said I would need it if I wanted to be somebody in life.
My Mom – she wants me to graduate.  She tells me all the time to do my work – not to become a statistic.
But my family and my community know – they told me – it would not be easy.
They taught me, “You are who you are, and you aren’t gonna get treated the same as everyone else.”  They told me straight up, “you probably won’t be liked.”  They even told me to expect people to hit me at school – but they also told me, “if someone hits you – hit back!”  They said,
“Make sure your ass graduates!”
“If you are not getting attention, sit in the front.”
“Do what you gotta do to pass.”

But it ain’t that simple.
I know you don’t like me
I knew in the kindergarten that you didn’t like me.
I knew in the fifth grade that you didn’t like me.
I knew in the eighth grade that you didn’t like me.
I know you don’t like me.
I get it. It’s ok that you don’t like me – but with all the effects of life out of school, I need someone to understand me – better.  I need someone who won’t start with the negative when talking to me.  Even in your black schools – where most of you and most of us are black, when all you say is negative, I hear you; you are telling me I am a lost cause.
Some of you act like you know me off the top – just because I came from a different school or because you looked at a paper about me or because you knew my brother (or someone you thought was my brother). I already know that is what you do – and I hate that.  I know what I need to do; I just need acknowledgment of what I am feeling and experiencing.  Can you talk to me and ask me where I am coming from before you judge me because of what is going on or what I am doing?  If you cannot – the conversation is over.
I think I am treated this way because you think black people act a certain way – not all of us do.
I think you probably have past experiences – and since I am black… I gotta put in effort.  Because I am who I am, I have to do more to get what I am entitled to have. 
It’s not enough just to do good work.  Even when I come in and am good right from the start, I don’t even get noticed.  But when I am bad, I am deemed as bad because you had a bad student before who was black. 

Ms. F. – Mr.. M. – Mr. O. – Ms. Y – Ms. K. – I know you don’t like me.
I see you when you are having conversation and then when you see me, you stop.  I believe you have something to say – but you won’t say it. You are the same as the woman on the bus who grabs her purse when she sees me.
But you do compare me to other students who are sitting still and not doing anything and tell me that I won’t amount to anything if I don’t act the same. I hear your message – I am not going to pass.  It is the same message even when I do the work or ask for help.
When I do what you ask, you say nothing – until I do something wrong.
When I ask for help – you don’t have time for me; then someone else asks for help and I see them get a lot of help and wonder, “why not me?”
When I don’t do what you ask, I get sat in the back – and then you don’t come back there.  I get sat somewhere you know you won’t come.
I have to sit in the front to get noticed – and still, I see others getting all the help they want with doing so much less.

Listen, I know you don’t like me, but I need credits.
I hear you; you are trying to push all your stuff on me and trying to convert what I am thinking to what you are thinking!
I don’t have patience to sit in your classroom.  So I fight – a lot, or I miss class – a lot.  But I need credits.
You expect me to keep messing up.  How is it that you gave me an F AND an S?
Don’t tell me to read from the book and make me teach myself. How am I supposed to learn if you are not teaching or helping me?
I learn the same way as everybody else does.
Do what you gotta do.
Teach me.

I want to pass.  I am scared.  I always try but the message never changes.
My family was right – I am treated different than other students.
I am publicly shamed – I am told I am lazy – then left not to be bothered with.
Still, I stay – even though I know this is not my place.
No one wants to feel like they are doing nothing, so at the minimum I can say, “I went”… and “see, you are not teaching me.”

I know we are all human.
When I think of you, I think of white people.
When I see you, I see white people.  (Even though it’s not just white people.  Even some black teachers act white.)
White people feel they are more entitled to stuff.
Not all white people – but white people
…think they know where I come from
…they are better and have more stuff….
Even in my own school, when white people walk in MY school – they look at me like I’m hella strange!
They don’t understand who we are and what we have been through – well some white people.
I don’t experience this with the teachers who teach me.

Can I have teachers who don’t come off as racist?  Can I have a teacher who works well with all races – can you check if they really know how to work with all races?
I need black history teachers – not just in February – but throughout the year.  It doesn’t matter what race they are – as long as they know what they are talking about – and won’t change it.  I have been taught about MLK and Rosa Parks and Malcolm X.  I know there are more people who can be role models – I just don’t know about them.  I feel like I am being kept unaware.
I want to be more creative in class – not stuck.  I want to work with teachers who have patience and are willing to understand me – and help me to help myself.
I need teachers who will try to get me to be successful – who will just try. 

Sincerely,
Your Student