One problem is that American ideas of what it means to be a “good school” start from places of racism and deficit.
In my first year of teaching, teachers shared tales of the district superintendent ripping down bulletin boards and tossing notebooks. The dean would call a “Code Blue” on the loudspeaker to mark his appearance for every adult. His slovenly appearance belied his desire to impose his will on schools from Harlem to Inwood. He believed his tough and belligerent demeanor would push adults to improve educational outcomes for students.
Getting to know him over the course of eight years, my opinion of him didn’t change. My opinion of a system that created the permission structure for him did. How can the evangelists of a school system that promotes kindness, empathy, and higher learning simultaneously act so heartless and detached? I could say “I don’t know,” but I do.
This was just one part of trying to make my school great again in my early years. My school withstood a dwindling student population, mass retirements, neoliberal education reforms, and gentrification. After doing some research, I found out my school reflected much of the violence occurring in the neighborhood in the 1980’s and 90’s. The school in which I taught changed principals at least seven times over 15 years. My school may have been good or bad depending on who you asked and their relationship to it. Also, my school was not immune to the centuries-long idea that it must be a bad school simply due to its student racial composition.
Few of my colleagues would call our school a bad school, but we were told it wasn’t a good school, either.
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