Formation

“The fact that I’m white has everything to do with why I’m standing in front of you.” I still can’t decide if that comment I made to the small sea of black and brown students  was on point or, like so many well-intentioned whiteism, just plain ignorant.

My formal career as a teacher began at a turnaround school in Denver, CO. I was determined to gain some experience in the Sunshine State before returning to my East Coast homeland as a Teach for America Corps Member. I finagled a position as The Learning Center Director on the ninth grade team and unwittingly dumped myself into a divisive conversation about race and privilege. I replaced a well-liked, black, male teacher who continued to teach content classes, seemingly relieved of the undesirable task of managing The Learning Center.

He told me that he did not receive the resources or guidance he needed the make The Learning Center work well. I didn’t realize the significance to his reflection at the time. He felt ousted and unsupported. He felt I was his replacement. I believed at the time he did not understand how to uphold high expectations for students or how  The Learning Center was intended. While that might have been true, he was entirely unsupported if he did not receive coaching or a clear message about the Center’s purpose.

When I joined the staff the principal handed me her credit card and told me to order whatever supplies I would need to make The Learning Center a supportive environments for the ninth grade students​​. I too received absolutely no instruction about what and how The Learning Center was operate, so I conducted my own research, knowing the idea for the support center was modeled after a successful program founded by the Adlai E. Stevenson High School in Lincolnshire, IL.

Even if all I received in terms of support  was a credit card where my predecessor did not, it is difficult to interpret the gesture as anything but racist. While I do not know if this scenario was factually accurate, it was the narrative adopted by many of the teachers of color. The students did not know I was going to be the new Learning Center Director until they returned from vacation and found a rearranged, decorated, highly organized Learning Center complete with a new, white, female teacher.

My students in Denver were vocal, defiant, and disappointed. While not all of them outright rejected me, most of them did, at least at first. In a less poignant and succinct fashion, we spent months divulging in conversations and developing a homegrown curriculum to explore many of the points expressed in the MTV News video “4 Black Lives Matter Myths Debunked.” My students had a living, working knowledge of the Black Lives Matter movement, mission, and message that enriched our classroom on a daily basis. While I certainly consider myself to be “woke” and racially aware, both of my place and privilege in society, I did not anticipate the perceptions many staff members and students would a new Learning Center Director. Yes, the Learning Center quickly became a bright, rich space because most students are flexible, understanding, and forgiving; many of them ended up telling me I was the best teacher they ever had. However, it doesn’t take away from the carelessness of how my transition affected the culture and community of the school, further percolating deep-seeded impressions of racial and social inequalities, regardless of the intention.

My present classroom is equally devoted to discussing issues of race and other “isms” as that of the learning space I attempted to curate in Denver; however, there is a stark and remarkable difference. The majority of my students are Latinx. While they share similar socioeconomic backgrounds to those of where I worked in Denver, they are not black, and therefore, not “a part of the Black Lives Matter movement.” My current dilemma is much different than what I faced with my students in Denver: buy-in.

The calls to action described in “A District Profile: Black Lives Matter at School” by Maya Lindberg and “Why Teaching Black Lives Matter Matters, Part I” by Jamilah Pitts are nothing less than urgent. A call to action is best enacted through significance and relevance; the experiences of my students are the bodies and brains of Black Lives Matter - but they don’t feel like the message is for them. I am working towards creating a sense of community and urgency for the Black Lives Matter movement in my classroom, hoping students understand how they can be part of the conversation without having strict categorizations be the primary justification for their voice. Many of my students consider themselves Black Lives Matter allies, like myself, while some of them outright resist the movement, claiming “I’m not black” (I’ve heard this more than once) - which is as ignorant as stepping into a school expecting that my honest intentions would override the perceptions of an historically oppressed student population. Ironically, my students may not be or see themselves as black, but that doesn’t mean the rest of society understands the nuance of their racial identities. To commence the conversation and buy-in, I start with "Formation." It's as great a place as any to join an unfinished symphony.