I recently had the pleasure of having brunch with a set of folks whose social justice work I love and respect, one of whom was eventually fired for teaching social justice. I normally start by just listening to folks before I turn up my volume. This time, since pancakes and eggs were on the menu, I figured I’d start by talking us into a comfortable space. At some point, the conversation turned to racism in education, and the case that brought us together. As they took turns talking about what happened on the ground, I sat there wanting to ask the questions that burned at me for months about her, about the board, about the police, about everything.
Then she broke out a video of her kids and I shut it all up.
I usually have a handful of hints I look for when anyone calls themselves activists / thought leaders / experts in education, but the one that always sticks out revolves the kids. How they speak of the children matters more than any other factor. It’s not the awards, the qualifications, the degrees, the conference keynotes, the years spent in the classroom (to a certain extent), or even political leanings. It’s about how they speak of the young people they serve.
Do they talk only about a couple of students or do they speak about all of their students warmly? Do they not speak of students at all or speak about them in absolute hypotheticals? Are they interested in how their children live or is the allotted time period enough? Are they ever hard on themselves, or at least reflective about the faults they embody as teachers? Do the students reflect love to these adults back?
What’s that energy like?
The short video of the kids yelling, excited that she’d come back for the brief moment she went to pick up her stuff, moved me in ways I didn’t admit at the time. Around the table, the educators had stories upon gruesome stories to share of the racial inequity our students, parents and conscious educators face from unconscious administrators, police officers, colleagues, parents, all of whom refuse to know better. Even though we each had our different elements to share, the root was racism, inescapable, ubiquitous, palpable in the work we do.
That’s why it’s so telling when people start an initiative and don’t mention students ever in their works, or they work with kids and never actually talk about them in a loving way. This is a sort of exclusion I can endorse: if students aren’t truly at the center of the work, then what exactly are these folks here for?
Actually this is valid in another context. As you know, I am looking for a job for the forthcoming school year, having decided I can no longer sustain a 45 mile each way commute, in part because it keeps me from interacting with students outside the classroom enough.
In most of my interviews there are a series of questions asked of every applicant, although the questions will vary by school. What I have noted is that the questions do not necessarily require an applicant to focus on students, except about how the applicant responds to disruptive students. I point out that I cannot give a uniform answer of how I would respond, because it depends upon the student. Is s/he having problems at home? Is there a vision issue that s/he cannot see? Has s/he not had any food over the weekend, or has the family just been evicted? Similarly, how I deal with an individual student is also influenced by the class context. Each class is not the same.
What I can say is that while I have high expectations, I also am willing to be forgiving – to a point. I want my students to take risks, and learn from them. I want to challenge them, but also to support them. I expect them to help me learn from them.
In an interview yesterday I was asked what I thought about grading. My response was who has done more, the student who arrives in my class already able to get a 90 on the final and does enough throughout the year to maintain that A level performance, but does not challenge him/herself, or the student who struggles for the first half of the year, but by fourth quarter is performing at a low B level. Why should the first have a higher grade, I wonder? How do I reward that effort?
Much of what I have teach – in social studies, whether government or history – is culturally shaped. A student who is relatively new to the nation will not have the same cultural background, but s/he will have a cultural background that is relevant to understanding what I teach them. A student who is Native American or Black or Hispanic and grew up in this country will come to my class with a very different set of experiences and understandings than I had studying these topics as a student from an upper middle class family with two parents with Ivy League degrees.
I appreciate not only your writing on your own experiences, Jose, but also those you share from others, giving them voice. It broadens my perspective and challenges my thinking.
By the way, when I am asked what I teach, I always start with the same answer – students. It is why I try to get to know them. It is the starting point. As a public school teacher I have a responsibility to get them to certain goals in the curriculum, but how I get them there will depend on where they are as individuals and the mix of students in my class. Which is why there can NEVER be an effective scripted curriculum.
Peace.
Here’s a crib sheet:
Do folks say:
“These kids need to…”
or
“My kids need…”