This is definitely a tough one to discuss…not only because it’s a serious and heavy matter, but, because there’s so much to say. Better humans than I have tackled this issue because they have lived it. As a white woman, growing up in rural Colorado, my experiences are severely limited. I feel foolish attempting to have an opinion simply because I am white and acknowledge that my credibility is nil. However, to not speak on this is unjustified, complicit, and, frankly, irresponsible as an educator.
When I was in school, K-12 was in one building in a town of 750-people. This was a town where everyone knew everyone, and if a stranger drove through and stayed a minute, it wasn’t long before they were the main talk of the town. Now, there were only two black families in this town. One practiced Islam, and the start of my Freshmen year was marked by 9/11 and the world turning against any Muslim. My best friend was a black, Muslim and I found myself at her side frequently defending the racism she endured daily. We were active in every sport because we didn’t have a team if everyone didn’t join. Nearly every basketball game, a referee attempted to eject my pal because her uniform included leggings, long sleeves, and her head-scarf. The excuse was it did not match all of us…what they really meant was she didn’t match the rest of these white girls. Not to mention that she was a fantastic athlete; frankly, she was better than all of us, which was another problem…we can’t let this black Muslim beat us at anything!
I knew at an early age that I was a supporter of the underdogs in my town, the outcasts. I wasn’t afraid to approach those referees and engage in a confrontation about the obvious—“It’s part of her religion!” was usually all I could get out before my coach was calling me over to settle down. I am honored to have been by her side and to have taken the time to get to know her culture, both her black-roots and Islam faith; it shaped my early foundations of recognizing that the world was quite different than what I was being taught in school.
When I became an SLP, I knew that I didn’t want to focus on the typical articulation therapy with a few sound-errors that really didn’t impact the individual’s intelligibility nor their academic growth. I wanted to focus on language, the common thread of every academic and social standard. I intentionally chose schools with high rates of poverty, knowing the needs would be different than schools in high-income neighborhoods. It was nearly everyday that I heard a teacher say, “If his parents would just be more involved, we wouldn’t be having these challenges with [insert black/brown name].” Lack of family involvement didn’t deter me, because I’d rather take on that challenge than deal with white, “helicopter moms,” (in today’s language, they would be referred to as, “Karens”) who frequently barged in during educational hours with their Starbucks in hand wondering if Brad ate his organic snack completely, and if his /s/-sound was improving.
What started to become quite obvious in the early days of my career was the profound judgements placed on black and brown families. Although the majority of my caseload consisted of minority groups, I’ll always remember four, black siblings. Their mother was primarily a single-mom attempting to find work to support the family. Without directly communicating with her, I empathized with her situation simply by building rapport with her children, who opened up to me about their challenges, spoken with a no-big-deal attitude that broke my heart. One child had difficulties staying awake during the day because they often moved around, staying a few weeks with friends and relatives, while finding different housing options due to frequent evictions. He never knew what his sleeping situation would be day to day and he became a pro at sleeping with his eyes open— He was very proud of that skill! The youngest girl was caught stealing the snacks from her classmates’ desks simply because she was starving. The approach I felt should be taken was one of support and compassion, but, punishment was more often the result for these innocent children trying their best, coming from a home that was simply doing its best.
One time, during a scheduled IEP, the team waited for mom to show with the regular comments, “I doubt she remembers.” When the 6th-grade teacher called mom to remind her of the meeting, mom’s boyfriend answered indicating she had just started a new job at a Tobacco Hut and that her hours were irregular. He said the team could meet and that we could follow up with mom. My first response was, “Good for mom! She landed a job.” The teacher, with a scorn, turned on me, “A Tobacco Hut?! (scoffs) I would never miss my child’s IEP!” to which I responded, “Well, you’ve never had a struggle finding employment” (I’m really good at using my social filter and prevented the thought of, “F* you! Ya white, uppity b*!” from slipping out). That teacher’s attitude fueled my desire to advocate for the children on my caseload.
The young black and brown individuals on my caseload, have taught me more than I will ever teach them. These individuals are impacted on the daily because my white counterparts have placed obstacle after obstacle in their way…obstacles that are often too great to overcome.
Our flawed system of educational policy ensures that minority students are too frequently suspended for behavior and are overrepresented in special education. In my career, I’ve advocated for using my training in language-based literacy development as a unique tool to prevent future reading struggles and over-identifying black and brown children as needing special education services. I recognize that systemic racism has created a term I’ve coined— The Language of Poverty.
The Language of Poverty is the result of children growing up in poverty-stricken communities, where their families are constantly in a state of survival and trauma. Because they are disadvantaged, as a consequence of discrimanatory hiring and pay practices, Mass Incarceration, and school-funding based on property taxes, Kindergarten students are not coming to school “prepared” to learn. They have not had the opportunity to explore their communities beyond survival. They don’t get to regularly visit the zoos or museums, go camping, attend a movie theater, or try a variety of restaurants. Those things are simply reserved for the white-privileged. As a result, these children lack the vocabulary exposure and experiences to connect to new learning. Additionally, their parents are attempting to hold down jobs, often working three just to pay rent. Big corporations have ensured that regular work schedules are not typical; so, predicting a work week is a juggling act. Therefore, families are unable to engage in reading activities or play that foster language development—they can’t afford quality books and don’t have “a routine” when balancing multiple work-schedules. These children spend their first five-years in survival mode, by no fault of their parents, but the direct “success” of the systems that were intentionally designed to keep communities of color from prospering.
Many public schools are funded by property taxes and federal monies. For generations, politics have pushed our black and brown people to the outskirts, taking their jobs, homes, and dignity; ripping families apart with unreasonable criminal justice policies. Forced to live in crumbling neighborhoods, in homes of little value, which are later taxed to fund neighborhood schools, the children of these communities inherit the consequences of white supremacy and institutional racism. Our political values continually cut funding to public schools and salaries for educators continue to decline, while responsibility only grows.
How can a school function on limited resources, limited staff, while attempting to educate individuals who every day are focused on surviving? They come to school hungry, worried about where they may sleep tonight, and then are given the “second-hand” materials and untrained staff that often under-represent themselves. The books are tainted with false information, the rules insure that these students are suspended more often than their white classmates, and, ultimately, the odds are not in their favor to do well in school. Again, they where dealt a shitty hand and nobody even explained the rules of this game.
We spend approximately $13,000 a year per student in the public sectors. Is that enough? We spend upwards to $30,000 per prisoner, while corporations make millions off of the free labor of those inmates. The Police are simply the conduit for enforcing racist policy designed to keep their pockets full and those of corporate America. We’ve bulked up funding for Law Enforcement and decided that it’s okay for police, who have no training in psychology or education, to take on those roles. Do you know on average how much a new teacher makes? About $38,000. What about a cop? Closer to $60,000 (I could cite several sources here, but I encourage you to question these facts by doing your own research).
We talk about private and charter schools, and giving families a “choice,” but we shouldn’t have to choose a different school than the one down the block…education is a human right and the choice should be simple—all children deserve a robust curriculum with equity in resources, with highly-trained staff who are paid well and are effective in designing opportunities for our youth to establish foundations in how to effectively learn, while developing skills to contribute positively to the growth of their local communities as future citizens.
There are so many untouched subjects in this blog and so I encourage you to educate yourself about the many aspects impacting our youth. The big term of Educational Accountability has been a major stressor on educators since the Bush era and No Child Left Behind, with the ongoing Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP). But I ask, where is the accountability of our lawmakers? How can we expect our children to show up and “pass the test” when policy has ensured their failure?