Articles

The face of America is changing.In 40 years, the United States will become a minority-majority nation – a remarkable milestone for a country that already boasts one of the most religiously, ethnically and racially diverse societies in the world.But you wouldn’t know it looking at our nation’s schools. Census and school data tell a very different story.

When you hear about a school bully, you might automatically picture that big-for-his-age fifth grade boy or a teen girl whose manner of dress and speech makes her look and sound a bit rough and tough. All too often, however, school bullies are actually the grown-ups in charge.

When I was growing up, most of my friends were a lot like me. We looked a lot alike, lived in similar neighborhoods and rarely questioned the racial and cultural uniformity that was the fabric of our lives. This isn’t to say that my high school lacked all diversity. Like many high schools, our student population was fairly segregated, and I stuck with the group where I felt most comfortable. It wasn’t until college that I experienced some authentic diversity, developed friendships with people who were different from me, and began to recognize how isolated I had been in high school.

It’s summertime, and students have replaced class time with free time. In the wake of the Trayvon Martin shooting, parents and teachers are painfully aware of the widespread racial profiling targeting men of color—particularly younger men who are more apt to be out and about during these summer months.

In a recent discussion about a history reading, I asked students if they understood the need to think critically about what we read, even if the reading is labeled “historical.”

Many of my third-graders are very angry. They have good reason. Growing up in the most violent area in Oakland, many have lost family members to violence or experienced racial injustice. They distrust the people who are supposed to protect them. Anthony was one of my angriest students. His father was in prison. Anthony told me that he wanted to kill his father because fathers aren’t supposed to leave their families. He was 6 years old at the time.

My 4-year-old daughter Sophia was confused. She looked to me for an answer. “Greyson's not black,” she said. “Her skin is brown.” This was the first time I had heard my daughter bring up the issue of race or skin color.

We are all still thinking, talking, teaching and grieving about the shooting death of Trayvon Martin, the 17-year-old in Florida, wearing that universal hoodie. Again, as a nation, we confront the issue of race and what it means to be an African-American teenage male in this country.

My third-period students rushed in at the start of class, wide-eyed and excited. Something had happened. “Quentin hit Ms. Combs!” Helen Combs was my friend. She taught language arts. “He knocked her down,” one student reported. “They took her to the hospital, and the police took him away in handcuffs!”

The whine of the projector subsides. Someone clicks on the lights. As the professor asks for commentary, the rapid raising of hands signifies an eagerness to respond. I remain still. Listening to my peer’s criticism of the Appalachian people featured in the made-for-TV special, I am humiliated.