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Short Notes: Whereupon We Speak Our Truths and the Issue of Torii Hunter

by Jose on March 14, 2010 · 0 comments

in life

Angels' Torii Hunter Screams at Umpire

A few notes:

  • A great example of what happens when we try to control every little part of a staff’s speech in order to make them sound like they’re “normal.” [Vocalo]
  • Google buys into Pi Day. [Mashable]
  • An ed-techy’s case for pedagogy … in tech. [Box of Tricks]
  • You ever wonder what Twitter would be like if someone drew out everything some random celebrity said, spelling mistakes and all? Wonder no longer. [TweetMuseum]

There’s something funny that emerges whenever you put several opinionated, proud, and disconcerted members into a confined place and make them play nice. This doesn’t always happen. While in some places, there are no bosses manipulating the intricacies of these relationships, Major League Baseball is certainly not one of them.

In one of the more “controversial” stories of the off-season, Torii Hunter of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim said Black Latino players are “impostors,” later stating that they’re not Black players but Latin American players. The outrage behind the comments spread amongst many Latinos, especially those concerned with the racial disparities across Latin America and its implications here in the United States. That notwithstanding, I think the definition of “Black” to Torii Hunter falls in line with many African-American in the States, and that’s the part we lose in the sensationalization of this topic.

This is nothing new. People like Gary Sheffield have been discussing the lack of black players and the “replacement” of African-American players with Black Latino players or Latino players as a whole, and in a sense, I agree. African-American baseball players have been encouraged to go to other sports like basketball and football. I’m not a fan of baseball’s quiet underground market for Latino players either. I see there are tons of factors playing into Torri’s comment, much of which I understand.

Yet, the one thing that seems to perpetuate this divide is simply these misgivings about nomenclature and shared ancestry / struggle / heritages. This also unfortunately showed up at the SXSW conference, highlighting social media and technology use around the world, the biggest such conference. In the Blacks in Tech meeting, Kety Esquivel discussed an incident with a particular provocateur who questioned why she and an Asian panelist were included in this panel. Kety gracefull answered the question, and upon further reflection, posted this:

There is always not just one truth.  My father’s lessons from childhood when he taught me Aesop’s fable about the elephant are as true now as ever.  We are all blind men and women standing around the elephant and all of the pieces that we hold are true and yet none of them are true on its own individually.  The elephant has a tail that resembles a rope.  The elephant has an ear that resembles a fan.  The elephant has legs which resemble tree trunks.  And in the end it is in truth an elephant.

The elephant here is the truth, and while everyone has their truth, we become less blind when we work together towards finding the elephant, not by sticking to our assertions about what the trunk might feel like. That’s where we’re missing the point.

It’s also the opportunity where we get to talk about elephants as the larger beings they are.

Jose, who’s working with transformations this week in math …

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Dear John: Where I Disagree With Legend

by Jose on March 3, 2010 · 14 comments

in life

John Legend

Dear John Legend,

Last night at the Avery Hall in Lincoln Center (NYC), you and Common headlined an awesome town hall between some of the brightest and influential Black / Latino men in education. The line-up read like a starting roster for a hypothetical NYC Black educator panel: David Banks of the Eagle Academy as moderator, followed by Dr. Pedro Noguera, Common, Dr. Marc Lamont Hill, Ruben Diaz Jr., and Eric Snow. On paper, the roster was dynamic and possibly influential enough to break some ground on the topic of the moment: why the system has failed men of color in education. While I don’t expect much for Teach for America, I know plenty of educators from that system that have done good things for their children.

Having said that, you, my friend, did not bring your A game.

You brought a set of talking points akin to the wonks that, in changing public education, have silenced the voices of the most underprivileged. Your assertion that students who don’t do well on the standardized state tests are not ready for the real world conflict with real life, where no one asks you in the job force to fill out a bunch of bubbles to do the best job possible. Your case study about that one school that did so well with passing the test doesn’t say much about how they’ll do in the future nor does it coincide with the reality of education as a whole, where charter schools only make up 5% of NYC public schools. Your vision of the perfect school and how that aligns to the educrat movement sound more like a page out of a war stratagem than public school reform, with your talk of “getting rid of teachers.”

Nevermind that the policies of charter schools directly influence public schools in the area. For one, charter schools have more choice as to who gets in, and who leaves. Public schools have more paperwork in that respect. Charter schools thusly don’t house as many ELLs or children with special needs as public schools do. Plus, where do they go when they’re not deemed fit to attend this prestigious school? Public school, of course. Worse still is that the correlation between the amount of charter schools popping up and the amount of Black and Latino children in the neighborhood in which they arrive is pretty high.

A part of me wants to understand, too. Men of color do not exist monolithically. The depth and breadth of opinion within this demographic might make outside observers blush. We have so many routes by which to attack the issue of Black men that the one path we should all choose gets distorted by various interests and beliefs. That much, I believe. Even my attendance to an event sponsored by an organization I don’t fully support shows the complexity of education right now. Plus, not many in the audience (excluding me) expected you to know much about the plight of Black men in education outside of the banalities of men of color failing.

There, your opinion failed. Unfortunately, you were Soulja Boy in the middle of a catalogue battle between Jay-Z and Lupe Fiasco. A recent Golden Gloves championship winner discussing boxing with Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson. That’s why, no matter how talented a musician you are, people could see through the distortions and false-ttos. Upon entering the Empire City, please note that, while the house is owned by people who readily accept what you say as fact, the neighborhood is guarded by watchmen who’ll boo you the minute you get it wrong.

Take that weak stuff outta here.

Jose, who doesn’t do personal attacks. This is purely professional …

p.s. – Part 2 tomorrow (and some takeaways) …

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Black History Month: The Importance of Arturo Schomburg and Why I’m So Steadfast on Quisqueya

by Jose on February 26, 2010 · 0 comments

in life

Arturo Schomburg by Marcano García at Taller Borinquen

A few weeks ago, a few people asked me why I helped create the now annual event Quisqueya, a celebration of Afro-Latino history throughout the Americas at Syracuse University. Honestly, it had a tinge of selfishness: by then, I helped run a series of workshops dedicated to understanding the relationships between Blacks and Latinos at a time when others kept seeing schisms. Plus, my Dominican-Haitian background spurred me to explore that in a more open forum, i.e. a celebration where I could subliminally prove that schism false. It’s also the most obvious representation of Blacks and Latinos on the same “field”, whereas other lands in the Americas aren’t known for this dual identity, even with the plethora of races occupying Brazil, Peru, Colombia, or Mexico, for instance.

To wit, as the education chair of La LUCHA at the time, I never got asked why it made sense to have such an event; it was obvious how much unity such an event would bring on a campus where the split even existed within organization of mutual interest. The questions of whether I should lead a Latino organization enraged me at the start of my tenure, but instead of taking a reactionary stance against the critics, most of whom never confronted me personally, I decided to take to the streets, finding ways to build bridges in spaces where I didn’t even know I could fit in.

As with any of these experiences, I learned something critical to my formation: the idea of Quisqueya.

“Quisqueya” is a word I’d known so commonly because Dominicans often referred to their part of the island as such. As it turns out, while La LUCHA and the Haitian American Student Association sought funding for Hispaniola, the original name of the aforementioned event, one of the members of the committee pulled us aside and asked us to change the name of the program to Quisqueya. Whereas Hispaniola is a name placed upon the island by people who never originated from there, Quisqueya (or Kiskeya, or “mother earth”) was a name the Tainos used to designate for the entire island, before the countries occupying the island split it into the current countries they are now. That made more sense for the purposes of the event, so we kept it.

This serendipitous lesson on Quisqueya planted the seed for me to go to an event at the Arturo Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture at Harlem. It’s the first time I’d ever been to the museum, and the first time I’d ever heard about him. Naturally, I was annoyed for a bit because, even after I’d met so many  intelligent men and women in Syracuse U, no one ever told me about this man.

I think it was Howard Dodson Jr., head of the Schomburg Center, who said it best when he mentioned that Arturo Alfonso Schomburg’s history was often ignored and ostracized when it came to Black history. He alluded to the fact that his contributions to Black history were only recognized later on in his career, even with the many allies he had. Thus, it was almost ironic to see that the primary center for Black history is under his name. Once equipped with knowledge, Schomburg found purpose for his work when others didn’t, or didn’t think he was the one who should do it. As a Puerto-Rican immigrant (an Afro-Borinquen at that), he had tons of battles, primarily for identity and membership.

For me, these were the most important contributions to history as a whole: he not only validated Black history, documenting and preserving the important parts of a history still not regularly integrated into our society, but he also validated Afro-Latinos as an essential part of Latino and African Diaspora history, because, while he may not have had the voice, he certainly had the knowledge, proof positive that history shouldn’t simply pass us by.

By being proactive in one’s history, you eventually become an integral part of that.

Jose, who should always write like this when we have snow days …

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On Why It’s Lonely Out Here for a Black / Latino Teacher Blogger. Really.

by Jose on December 15, 2009 · 3 comments

in life

img_0566-vi.jpg

Me Looking Out

A week or so ago, I ended a blog entry about my appearance at GothamSchools.org’s fundraiser likeso:

While at times in that gathering, while chewing on some wonderful chocolate chip cookies, I mulled over whether a Black / Latino man severely outnumbered ethnically and culturally in the many educational arenas I’m involved in even really belonged in this set, I couldn’t help but feel like part of a community genuinely interested in bringing positive change to life through this relatively new media.

That’s mostly true, and in my heart of hearts, I’d like to tone down the color consciousness in favor of understanding how many true and sui generis teachers and administrators, promulgating fantastic ideas, and continuing to push a larger agenda of honest education reform here and across the states.

And then it hit me: I might be in a small handful of Black / Latino bloggers who people consider part of this edublog echelon. That scares me.

I didn’t pay much attention to this fact until I saw the latest nominees for The Edublog Awards, a forum I’ve rarely ventured except when asked to do so. I often find that award nominations of this caliber in any arena often help to read the pulse of its constituents, sifting through millions of published bytes by the same process that a microwave heats popcorn. They have as little control over how people vote as the Black Weblog Awards does (except in how they choose nominees, I assume).

I’m neither claiming discrimination nor racism on the part of the organizers, simply because omission from the popular vote works just as well on the Internet as in real life. I’m simply stating that this digital divide even within the edublogosphere makes even the most popular among us question the representation of “popular” as a whole.

The digital divide here not only exists with Black and Latino children and children from urban districts, but also Black and Latino teachers, many of whom still fear the negative effects of putting their efforts on the Internet. Then again, if we think about the digital divide amongst Black and Latino children with access to technology compared to their White counterparts, we still see a big gap, even with all the initiatives used to decrease that gap. This will inevitably add another dimension to the already stratified experiences of education for different groups of students.

The same can be said for teacher bloggers.

Personally, I understand many of the questions Black and Latino teachers have about using blogs and other technology not under Microsoft’s domain. I thusly admit to a few advantages I have compared to other teachers of my culture(s):

  1. I have a degree in computer science, so I don’t have trepidations about technology or information.
  2. I have a good eye for web design, so I don’t worry too much about making things look presentable.
  3. I’m younger, so I grew up with some tech savvy.
  4. I’m also situated somewhere that has a strong union that (however controversial) actually fights to make sure I get due process for whatever I may say and / or do. (here’s hoping the UFT sticks to their guns here.)
  5. I have some serious cojones. Either that or I never developed a real off-switch.
  6. I’ve been told I can write.

Yet, my nervousness lies with knowing just how many strides teachers have made in helping build a movement online pedagogically, professionally, and technologically, evolving the image of “teacher” in many off-shoot but assorted versions that put holes through the silhouette of the aforementioned image with speed … and Black and Latino teacher bloggers have often been overlooked in that process BECAUSE we are so few and far between.

What’s more amusing about this whole thing is that the White educators who I have met have frequently validated and congratulated my work here. From The Weblog Awards of 2007 to the Teacher Leaders Network, these outlets where I’ve consistently found myself as the sole Black voice or 1 of 2 in a room have also helped me my voice as a teacher, something my other spheres of influence on the web haven’t done for me as effectively.

Maybe because of my role as the urban Black / Latino teacher in the edublogosphere, I’m able to have some influence in this dialogue and not leave it up to higher ed professors on TV or people who left the classroom long ago writing in popular newspapers. Maybe my continued focus on writing about that abandoned and desolate bridge where it’s not “edu-tech” and it’s not “edu-politics” will help sand the wooden figure that is our discussion on K-12 education just enough so more people like me see themselves talking more about their experiences.

Maybe I’ll find the answers across that bridge …

Mr. Vilson, who’s always willing to engage in this dialogue …

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Notes from The Black and Latino Males in High School Forum

by Jose on December 3, 2009 · 3 comments

in life

Black Male Student and Teacher Writing on Blackboard

Black Male Student and Teacher Writing on Blackboard

On November 24th, 2009 at around 9am, I had the distinct pleasure of going to the NYU Metropolitan Center Policy for Urban Education Educational Forum. The topic was “How are Black and Latino males faring in our high schools?” hosted and moderated by Dr. Pedro Noguera, professor in the Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development at New York University and Executive Director of the Metro Center and the co-Director of the Institute for the study of Globalization and Education in Metropolitan Settings (IGEMS). As you can expect, the tension in the air was a bit palpable, because we truly wanted to see just how desperate the situation is with them, but also because we wanted to see whether they’d get to the heart of the matter or simply skim over the finer parts with no real discussion.

Here are some of my bullet points (and for those in NYC, I may share more of my notes on ARIS and also by request)

- FIrst, it’s easy to forget that the plight of males in education doesn’t just extend to Black and Latino males, though it’s most severe in those cases. The lack of male participation in education is really disappointing except in a very small select group of privileged boys who “eventually run the country.” (quoted from Dean Mary Brabeck) In a related point, David Banks, founder of the Eagle Academy for Young Men School and founder of One Hundred Black Men Inc., said, “Black and Latino kids need the same thing everybody else needs, but you’d think that we were talking about another species.” It made me think about the proportion of positive and reaffirming energies we give to our children relative to the energy we give to other people’s children.

- Dr. Pedro Noguera likened his affinity for public schools to the New York Knicks saying, “Even though it’s hard to be a fan of the Knicks, I still support them” to a rousing laugh. He was quick to mention that NYC has a higher rate of high-performing high-poverty schools than any other place of its kind, but there’s also a disproportionate amount of Black / Latino makes not succeeding. We know the consequences of “dropping out” are serious and have to understand the implications of failure.

- Ben Meade, research associate for the Metro Center, then presented the statistics for us. To go more in depth, please check this link. I’ll go over some of these in brief:

  • Black and Latino male dropouts tend to be overage.
  • A large portion of those males stayed 3 years, but eventually dropped out.
  • The males also repeated grades often (the data takes into account boys who graduate in 4, 5, and 6 years).
  • A strong indicator of dropouts is whether they completed 9 or less credits by freshman year or not.
  • A moderate indicator of whether they’d drop out is if they got a level 1 in math in 8th grade, and if they were designated ELLs on or after 7th grade.

- Better schools usually had three (rather obvious) indicators

  • High academic expectations
  • Good communication
  • Safety and respect

- Noguera and others mentioned that this study “is not about gotcha, but trying to solve problems.” He was quick to mention that there were lots of factors that had high correlations, including living in housing projects, going to larger high schools, and poverty rates of neighborhoods.

- Noguera then gave some policy considerations for the principals, administrators, and educational think-tankers in the room

  • Carefully consider the potential implications of the phasing out of the local diploma (in favor of a Regents diploma) for the most vulnerale and poorly served students
  • Implement strategies that are shown to be responsive to vulnerable student populations
  • Develop stronger and broader array of resources for supporting student in areas where levels of need are most critical
  • There’s no recipe for success, but traits, so every school needs to decide how they run a successful school
  • There’s a school that already starts counseling by the 3rd grade. In other words, “proactive mentoring works! We’re not going to wait ’til middle school.”
  • The system should target support to chronically under-performing schools (there was a concern here that simply closing down schools wasn’t enough)
  • The splitting of schools can be detrimental since “sometimes in the same school, you’ll have some kids who get sponsored with laptops in the same place with kids that don’t.”
  • Expose teachers and administrators to practices used by more successful schools
  • There is a relationship between kids who have a certain number of infractions against them and how many times they go to school. (We need to be careful about how punitive our system is if we’re trying to have students go to school)
  • Lastly, we should have model schools that people can go to to learn more.

There is a second half to this blog entry including panelists like Merryl Tisch, Santiago Taveras, Roger Blissett, David Banks, and Juan Mendez. These ladies and gentlemen made some great points concerning racism, running effective schools, and having an activist approach to running schools. Stay tuned.

Mr. Vilson, who has had these privileges left and right …

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Short Notes: Day and Age (and My Radio Show Appearance)

by Jose on November 15, 2009 · 6 comments

in life

Sammy Sosa: Before

Sammy Sosa: Before

A few links:

On Friday, I was blessed to be a guest on Rise Up Radio, a program on WBAI Radio, New York City’s awesome radio station on 99.5FM. (Those of you who didn’t get to hear me on Rise Up Radio on WBAI can download the hour-long show here.) On the show, I discussed child sex acts, the 25 Chicago children arrested for their food fight, health care and the Stupak amendment, and Sammy Sosa’s skin bleaching.

While we really went into these topics, I failed to make a few points important to the topic of Sammy Sosa and why it hurt the Black and Latino community when we saw Sammy look so ghastly.

  1. Rafael Trujillo, the most famous ruler of Dominican Republic to date, advocated for white supremacy and changed the whole dynamic of race in a country with a huge African ancestry to a country where most of the darker-skinned people believe they’re “Indian-colored” even when their facial features say differently, differentiating themselves from “Blacks” (read: Haitians, who were slaughtered under Trujillo’s rule). Thus, Sammy Sosa’s color change resuscitates the ideology that pervaded the Trujillo era.
  2. This kind of stuff happened in America often, most notably with Rita Hayworth who changed her whole name, electrocuted her hairline to push it up and straight, lightened her whole skin tone entirely, and made a few other alterations to become acceptable to Hollywood … and became very successful in the process. This is the first time I’d ever known that an Afro-Latino ever went through this process, at least for non-medical reasons. We question, then, why Sammy would do that since he was already successful … at least until recently.
  3. Raquel Cepeda is mulling some of these topics herself on her blog. Check it out.

This week, I’ll be discussing my stance on a variety of educational topics. Please check it out. Let me know what you’re thinking.

Jose, who likes his skin color a lot …

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The Tourist (or Not That Black in America)

by Jose on July 27, 2009 · 12 comments

in life

Black in America

Black in America

Sure enough, I didn’t catch most of CNN’s Black in America 2 special. I’ll most likely catch that sometime in the future; reruns prevail over original programming even on a 24-hour news channel. I caught bits of it and found inspiration in the story of Steve Perry, a Black high school principal whose high expectations and stringent attention to detail made his school (and of course, his students) extremely successful. There were other times in the few clips I got to see that resonated with me as someone who’s grown up in an impoverished predominantly Puerto Rican and Black neighborhood, like the fatherless children, the vacated mom-and-pop shops, and more prevalent cases of grown children raising much younger children, even when they didn’t birth them.

However, I had a hard time looking at the stream of messages from Twitter and Facebook because at the end of the day, a big part of me feels like a tourist in the African-American experience rather than someone fully accepted into what others may see as “Black in America.” To clarify, I believe there is no real definition of Black per se, but there is a shared set of characteristics through culture, skin color, facial features, places of origin, and even speech patterns that help people more concretely identify themselves and others as Black, or any other race. Furthermore, I also see that race and ethnicity are not necessarily mutually exclusive, as there are Black people in Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Ghana, Liberia, Columbia, and even in places like India and Russia. It doesn’t make them any more or less Black, but this variety of experiences makes my consciousness about what it means to be Black in this country even more complicated.

This may not be true for everyone or even the majority of Black people in this country, but in a way, because of the legacy of experiences in America, not just slavery and revolts but also wars fought and to a certain extent patronage and patriotism to this country, many groups of African-Americans hold a certain degree of exclusivity when it comes to Blackness (and even certain elements of Blackness) by which any lesser man may be intimidated.

“I never liked the Cosby Show.” I can’t tell you how many people’s eyes bulged out of their heads, jaws agape, cheeks ever-expanded when I said that. While most of my other friends from different cultures would just nod and keep the conversation moving, many of my Black friends made it a much bigger deal than I felt necessary. Yes, I’ve heard of The Cosby Show, and seen the million and one specials. I’m familiar with the plot and characters, how pretty Lisa Monet was, and the pudding sponsorships and TV shows Cosby had before and after the show. Yet none of that even so much as put a dent in my psyche; what could a Black doctor with a full, happy family whose problems weren’t that great in the grand scheme of things and whose problems could be solved in a matter of 22 minutes and every so often a celebrity appearance tell a young dude whose father figures were barely there or were abusive, and whose apartment only stretched the lower stage of his man’s house (if that)? What did I know of Richard Pryor, Stevie Wonder, Prince, The Color Purple, Purple Rain, Fame, collared greens and grits, Harlem, The Apollo, people feeling “the spirit” in the middle of a sermon (that doesn’t happen in Catholicism), Good Times, Sanford and Son, and Denzel Washington movies before Glory?

Maybe it’s even because of my station in life and my temperament, rebellious to the status quo. Even to this day, I still don’t know why people take too much heed to Cosby’s opinion as it pertains to Henry Louis Gates or Barack Obama, no more than I can explain the taste of grits (grits aren’t bad; they just don’t have a real taste until you throw some cheese on it). I can’t explain why in some African-American circles I’ve been in, they limit the slavery experience to the borders surrounding this country, like I can’t explain why too many Blacks (because even a few is too much) blame Latinos for job losses in the jobs some might consider beneath them like janitorial or culinary work when we should look at all the factors surrounding people’s employment.

And that’s where I turn back to Black in America, because TV has had such a strange effect on the ways others perceive all of these cultures. Upon further reflection, I have to admit that, if not for hip-hop, I may have never known ½ the things I do about Blackness. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, at least, had a character who grew up in the hood and ended up raised by rich people; that gave me an “in” that the Cosby Show never did. From the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, I learned of the latest dances and styles (as well as not so popular ones) in the Black community, and eventually, I came to feel like it was my 2nd home.

Truly, people who wish to document the Black experience in America may never get it right, and the least controversial way of documenting that experience is simply to provide an emotional attachment to these pieces and let the thought processes and questions come from the viewers themselves. Even if they decided to include some of the prominent experiences we know are out there, experiences like mine would still be left out.

I have a feeling if we replace Black with Latino in this essay and postdate it to the new Latino in America, it’d still be apropos.

Jose, who doesn’t care if he alienates others, but be civil …

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Letters: Why I Don’t Just Color In One Crayon

by Jose on July 10, 2009 · 9 comments

in life

Audre Lorde

Audre Lorde

Dear Random Commenters and Viewers of My Blog,

In my last post, I contended, from personal experience and other sources, that Black and Latino males were definitely needed as participants in schools across the nation, especially in the role of teacher, head figure of most people’s experience with school and the man or woman in the front lines of this proverbial war. While it may be true that the teaching field needs more teachers, a point I alluded to somewhere in my last scribe, I find the particular dearth of males of color within the school systems with a high percentage of people of color a bit troubling. Many of you corroborated this theorem, from Henry Thiele who provided this wonderful article along the same lines to Sharon Elin who provided this great comment about how the lack of balance and experiences in the urban school setting in terms of sex, gender, and race often leads to an instability amongst the students. In the writing, I hoped to achieve a semblance of objectivity and pragmatism in my line of thinking.

Naturally, some of those who read were quick to say “Why you gotta make it racial for?”

Even without saying it directly, the way some of you reacted shows some troubling trends and why this issue is an unspoken passion for the tons of people who retweeted, posted, and e-mailed my post all over the web. And in no way am I angry, mad, pissed, or even disappointed. I’ve become matured in this dialogue to take offense to this sort of thing. Plus, some of this comes from people who I actually respect for their work. Thus, I write this as a piece for thought. Here’s a list of burning and non-rhetorical questions to consider:

1) How much does my own skin color affect my decision to write this post? I sort of mean that question tongue-in-cheek: there’s a direct correlation between my personal expertise in the topic and the reason I wrote it. But I’m puzzled by a caveat in this matter: I was mentioned as an African-American writer when the original blog was linked. While well-intentioned, I feel that those who aren’t comfortable with race issues use very PC terms to not offend me but end up making a gross generalization anyways. If the person said Black, I wouldn’t be offended. Not that I’m offended by being called African-American either, but if he had read the whole post, he’d see in the first line nearing the end of the post, I clearly give an identifier to my background. This matter is a whole ‘nother post in and of itself.

2) Why do some of us try to generalize an issue when there’s a discussion about a specific group of people? For instance, if we were discussing the disparate rates of pay between men and women in the same position, where women may get paid anywhere from 10%- 25% less on average for the same positions men hold in the United States, it would be implicitly chauvinist or even sexist of me to counter-argue  that everyone’s wages are either staying on level or decreasing as the US as a whole has become mired in debt and other monetary ailments, because it suggests a fatalism about the disparity, as if there was MORE equality when the economy was in better shape. In the same way, I think after bringing up the need for more Black and Latino males in this country, bringing up that we need more teachers in general sounds at least avoidant, as if tackling the issue at hand would be too much.

3) In turn, how can anyone of any color expect children to be interested in the teaching profession when they’re dissuaded from becoming teachers by their primary teachers? In a way, I understand: the school system has a way of making too many teachers scapegoats for the very deceitful policies that ostracizes too many of our talented and bright youth. No one wants to work in a place where all of the blame and none of the aut0nomy goes to the teacher. Conversely, I can’t understand how the solution to this problem is to boycott the profession. Unlike any other business of employ one boycotts, vacating education positions has and continues to have devastating effects on the lives and images of many underrepresented youth. Those in more affluent neighborhoods and better school systems see the value in education because a) they see people just like them and people who support them actually showing them how to become successful in very meaningful ways and b) they have the appropriate funds and structures in place to facilitate success within their edifice. I’d be dumb to say the same about some of the school systems in which we work.

But not once did I think to myself as a teacher, “My job is useless. Why even do this?” Never once did I back down when my mom, who probably thinks along the same lines some of you think, said, “Why even do this?” Even when people put me through hell, fire, and brimstone to see if I could stand the heat of an nontenured NYC Teaching Fellow, I never once told myself, “I think I’ll just quit tomorrow.” Maybe a couple of times, I felt like blaming myself for not being able to push all 90 students into the stratosphere where I think they belong. I just couldn’t see myself going up to someone with my aptitude and attitude about children of color and telling them, “Teaching? Just don’t.” Rather, I mentor as many as I humanly can, answer as many letters and e-mails as possible, comment on as many teacher blogs as possible, and maybe even do an interview or two, just to make sure people like me continue to pursue the classroom, even if it’s for a 5-6 year stint.

I’d never ask any of you, my readers, fellow teachers, and those interested in education, to color me in any crayon besides the one designated brown. As a Black Latino, I have my own set of experiences I share with no regret or remorse. I also just don’t see myself settling for anything more than true progress. Many of you continue to inspire me with your actual concern about the plight of urban students as I mentioned before. I encourage anyone who’s truly committed to helping children succeed to get into education to do so. Hopefully this letter clarifies the backbone from which I speak. As we expect our students to raise their hands and respond to our questions and speak from their own expertise and experiences with the material we present, we teachers have to do the same with what life deals us.

And even having said that, something still itches me about this issue …

Jose, who had an Audre Lorde moment a few hours ago …

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On The Reason Why You May Only Get One Black Male Teacher Ever In Your Life (If At All)

by Jose on July 7, 2009 · 25 comments

in life

KRS-One, The Teacher

KRS-One, The Teacher

Here’s a real and researched statistic for you. Before college, I only had 1 Black male teacher. I also believe I had 1-2 male Latino (sorry for redundancy, it’s necessary) teachers in my lifetime before college as well. His name was Mr. Wingate and he taught me Computer Applications. In 12th grade. Nothing profound, but at my predominantly Catholic-Irish-Italian high school, he certainly caught hell for his bowties and manner of speaking (Spoke too properly, frowned upon by those who considers themselves the arbiters of proper speak, I guess). If I do the math correctly, that means out of the possible 40-60 teachers I’ve had in my lifetime, only 2-3 of them were men of Black / Latino descent. For someone who was born and raised in NYC, that’s staggering. That’s a 3% chance for someone like me to go without seeing someone representing us in the field of education.

Maybe some of you are wondering why that’s so important. Many teachers of all races, backgrounds, sexes, and ages have come in the classroom and proven effective facilitators of learning for urban youth, and to a certain extent, that’s true. And if the children is learning (I know what I wrote), then I admit there’s much to be gained there. I love that so many people are concerned about the plight of urban youth that they’re this open to talking about it and making a difference in a field that really needs teachers regardless of background. Plus, I get that there needs to be a diversity of experiences for everyone, as they have to survive in the same world that everyone else does. A small part of me also thinks who better to teach urban youth the tools needed to survive in a predominantly White country than … White people.

But I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t disturbed by the lack of representation of Black / Latino males as teachers. For some, it’s simply that, while they may not be teachers, they’re still in the education field as principals, school aides and staff, third-party vendors, education lawyers, and professors in institutions of higher education. Those that do leave on that cause should still be counted within the ranks (for the most part) because, just as there’s a need for educators in that classroom, there’s also a need for people to make changes happen in school structures. While too many males use the “advancement” in position as a means of staying in education but not dealing with what happens in the classroom anymore, there are also those who’ve inspired us by staying in the classroom.

There go a few.

Then there are those who view teaching as a second-class profession. That speaks volumes about the society that we live in, where too many teachers are spoken of favorably, but when asked if they’d ever be teachers, they respond, “I don’t have the patience for this,” and “You guys don’t get paid enough.” In this capitalist society, money means stature, whether we value the person who holds the position or not. It’s not just coming from this generation either. My mom, whom I love dearly, on occasion wonder aloud why, with all the stress and duress I endure as a teacher, I would put up with this mess when I could make 150% more as a computer programmer.

There go a few more.

Then there are those of us who left the profession because it’s really easy to get jaded about the school system AND the human experience. For how can we continue to put up this farce that students in our schools have equity to those living in more affluent neighborhoods? I don’t know any fellow Black / Latino male (or female) teacher who thinks that every student in their school is getting properly serviced by this school system. We have there a divergent road where one side says, “Man this system is hopeless” and the other that says, “We’ll continue to fight.” While people say that our needs are too great, we only need to peak in other schools and see just how nurturing and inspiring some of these places are. When we see that, even if they’ve had us as a teacher, they can fall through these really big gaps in the path towards true education, and they fall in the stream of the stereotype, the prison, the drop-out, the cast-away.

Thus, when our students see more Black / Latino sports figures populating a multi-million dollar court or field and yet only see one Black / Latino teacher in their whole grade, or 2-3 in their whole school, then they’re probably less inspired to take teaching seriously. It’s why for a good generation or two, rappers kept talking about teaching, because they didn’t feel educated in the classroom. That’s why when we see those men in wild robes on the corner speaking, they’re usually followed by a crowd of men who also believe in that message, even when it may seem far too radical for our tastes.

And it’s also why, as a Black Latino, I see the value of being a teacher. While I can’t always pinpoint what makes me any different from other teachers of different backgrounds, here’s some things I’ve learned:

  • The Black / Latino males respond more readily to me than they do to most of their other teachers.
  • The girls in my class are more willing to share their experiences with me and look to me to show them how a male should treat a woman
  • The people in my class may act like they hate me temporarily after I’ve scolded them about something, but they know I have their best interest at heart
  • They also ask me about what it was like when I was growing up, because they know my experiences mirror theirs.
  • Some of them have considered becoming teachers because of me.

It’s not that gravitate to my color, either, but there’s a part of them that sees an authority figure who looks like them, understands what they’re going through, challenges them, and models for them how to act. Even those who graduated from my school have a hard time using the n-word around me because they know how I feel about it. Soon, because I said it, they’ll also see the value of not looking at themselves in the mirror as something inferior, and that they too can pass it along to people who need it the most. My 3 uncles from my father’s side are all teachers, coincidentally, and I hadn’t known that until I really saw teaching as a possibility.

People with only a 3% chance of ever seeing a teacher like me. And if the teacher isn’t even that good, well, another one bites the dust …

Jose, who wants to keep believing …

p.s. – Yes, that’s another KRS-One reference. I’ma do it again.

{ 25 comments }

The House Negro

by Jose on September 17, 2008 · 9 comments

in life

The House Negro

I’m sitting there with 2 of my favorite educators, exchanging laughs, gossip, and semi-Mexican food. I got a cold Corona in my hand, and the ladies have mojitos in their hands. We’re all sitting there, having discussions about politics and existentialism, when all of a sudden, a debate breaks out.

What is a house negro?

Excellent question in light of the recent debates about this really popular Presidential candidate whose been called everything from “galvanizing” and “inspirational” to “elitist” and “out-of-touch,” and one of the problems with this range of answers comes from the history of Black men and women who achieve a high level of success in a world that hasn’t always been accomodating to them. Upon reaching a certain level, the Black person is either percieved as extremely successful and a “credit to their race” or, and often by his or her own people, a house negro.

For purposes of this conversation, we only focused on the United States, so the time periods get fuzzy as we get more international. Now, the debate rages on about the role and perception of the house negroes, but during the period we describe as slavery time in this country (and in many others across the world), the house negro was usually a Black servant who never had to work in the fields with other Blacks, given better clothing, and sometimes given a chance to learn a little more than the field negro. Often, this created tensions between the field and house negros, as (some) field negros percieved house negroes as haughty and pretentious while (some) house negroes looked down on field work and found field negroes disengaging.

Cornel West and Barack Obama

Cornel West and Barack Obama

Fast-forward to today, and because hindsight is 20/20, historians often disagree about the role of the house negro. Some look at this servant as just trying to survive. If the house negro didn’t do what she or he did to stay in the house, they’d have a higher risk for mortality, and they often served as the conduits for change amongst White plantation owners to developing better relationships across the races. Others take the view that house negroes are nothing but Uncle Toms, negroes who would rather grovel at the knees for a White man’s mercy and gratitude, even at the cost of his own people. Both of these portrayals serve as the basis for how Blacks (and to a large extent, Latinos) are viewed by their peers.

For example, some might call me a house negro because I went to private Catholic school for middle and high school, as well as a highly-recognized university (Syracuse, if you must ask), and even got my masters’, something not afforded to most people of my background. They may also refer to me as such because I can code-switch and have used “the White man’s tools” to excel in life, everything from learning how to put on a suit to speaking English well. On the other hand, some might call me a field negro because I came from the hood and still live in the hood. I came back to work in another hood as a public school educator, and while I didn’t necessarily partake in the negative aspects of the Lower East Side circa 1980-1999, I still have my roots firmly planted in the traditions and cultures of my neighborhood.

Am I a house negro? Even those who consider themselves field negroes find themselves participating in mostly White events and have traditionally White ideas and standards of living. And we further blur the lines if we don’t differentiate between a “house negro” and an “Uncle Tom.” People like Ward Connerly and Clarence Thomas for example, match well with most people’s ideas of this Uncle Tom figure, yet I suppose if someone asked them, they’d totally disavow themselves from those titles. People like Barack Obama and Oprah Winfrey on the other hand often play jump rope between those definitions for some.

Personally, the debate alone made me rethink those ideas of house negro vs. field negro. Any thoughts? Yes, I’m inviting ALL of you to speak on it. It’s at least a forum for you to learn and share based on your experience.

jose, who isn’t filtering …

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