A dream deferred
“I mean, I just walked up. You good.” The curt tone was a small detail by this point during our night adventure in our nation’s capital, Washington, D.C. He didn’t mean any harm, just straight to the point. But I was raised in a different Southern culture. His was an approach I observed repeatedly from Washingtonians over the course of a few days. It’s also the approach this organization, Georgia Educators for Equity and Justice Inc. (GAEEJ), had taken heading into a conference in the city. It’s the approach we need from educators, like my friends, comrades, and co-conspirators. If our highly-attended, well-executed session at the conference proved anything, it’s that now is the time for young, bold leaders to take their place in education. Educators from the South got something to say.
As we rushed down the stairs of a club on U-Street, my fellow Board members and I realized we were the only ones leaving as the fire alarm blared. It had been three or four songs but the crowd was unfazed. Someone in our group asked the bodyguard, “This how y’all do?” To which he replied, “We just lit. This how we do.” I caught a spirit of pride in his words, a constant reminder that Washingtonians hold a deep connection to their relatively small city. It reminded me of my scholars at Douglass High School, who taught me about their neighborhoods and community as soon as I began teaching there. Like many of the interactions I witnessed in D.C., my kids’ directness is their form of authenticity and love. In the classroom and schools, they crave equally direct signs that they are welcome and included, that they belong, that they are home. The reality of our schools is that they reject the communitarianism and cultural connections that produce joyful geniuses. As I explored DuPont Circle and U-Street over the weekend, I was reminded of my own isolation as a Black man studying at the University of Chicago in Hyde Park. I recalled the active gentrification in communities I’ve served, from Atlanta to Stone Mountain to Norcross. On my way from Howard University, I noticed the crowd of pedestrians whitened. My observation runs parallel to a historical phenomenon of white dominance and invasion. Whiteness has disrupted Black spaces. And yet, we’ve flourished. One example is the rise of the Daughters of the Confederacy and the resilience of fugitive pedagogists. Another is Georgia’s Protect Students First Act (aka HB 1084), which bans divisive concepts (e.g. the United States is fundamentally racist). Still, Black educators have protected the academic, cultural, and social emotional well being of their scholars, even at our own risk.
“I caught a spirit of pride in his words, a constant reminder that Washingtonians hold a deep connection to their relatively small city.”
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Our system of education is violent and anti-Black. It praises white mediocrity while demanding absolute excellence as the minimum from Black people. I was reminded of the centrality and supremacy of whiteness every time I returned to my hotel room at the Generator. Upon my arrival, I was greeted - haunted, rather - by the presidential portrait of Thomas Jefferson, edited to include two female hands wrapping around his face and shoulder. I don’t know if the hands were a commentary on the legacy of this slave-holding rapist. Nevertheless, I, a descendent of the products of slavery and rape, was uncomfortable falling asleep. Imagine how our scholars feel when they must learn about the Great Triumvirate in Georgia history or explore the legacy of the first five presidents in U.S. history. In fact, I argue that the prevalence of white figures, events, narratives, and more in our curriculum and instructional materials violates the new law, which prohibits teaching that “[o]ne race is inherently superior to another race.” But we do teach this, don’t we? The preservation of white supremacy and cultural exclusion in our curriculum could not be clearer.
This dilemma, however, is not surprising. Not when you have a lack of representation and inclusion in the educational decision making process. Many school leaders have not taught or studied this or even last decade. Our policymakers often do not have backgrounds in education and are not experts. The practitioners are the last rung of the ladder, absent from the table. Our leaders, with their disconnect from our youth of today, have set their sights on other issues: critical race theory and the purported “indoctrination” of their children, the school choice of white families, transgender students having an advantage in certain sports. But I spent hours with our students every day, and on many weekends and breaks. They’re concerned about other things that echo my own experiences: they want good food and clean water, teachers who respect and represent them, engaging lessons that give them choice, education that feeds their souls and prepares them for their unique futures. Our students, not policymakers, hold the keys of success, the solutions to endemic educational inequities. So do many of the young educators who serve them. No, we do not have all of the answers. And no, we do not represent all in our racial group or generation. The conferences we attended in D.C. and Philly, the progressive rooms we enter, however, are dangerously void of the voices of those most impacted and most equipped for today. I would need several hands to the count the number of times I’ve heard, “I know we need to prepare our children for the future but I’m not sure how.” Abolitionist and ratchetdemic educators are qualified to develop scholars who are ready not only for a distant, drastically different future, but a contemporary world that past generations have not fully grasped.
“They’re concerned about other things that echo my own experiences: they want good food and clean water, teachers who respect and represent them, engaging lessons that give their choice, education that feeds their souls and prepares them for their unique futures.”
On my last night in D.C., I overheard a conversation between friends at the bar. One of them shared the experience of a friend teaching in a charter school. The discussion focused on the unfairness of the selection process, which was mixed between lottery and application. The points made echoed my own beliefs - that meritocracy is unfair, exclusive, and racist. This perspective is one banned by the Protect Students First Act. The law prohibits teaching that “[m]eritocracy or traits such as a hard work ethic are racist or were created by individuals of a particular race to oppress individuals of another race.” Again, the policymakers reveal their ignorance of our reality and oppression in the U.S. But I found this exchange intriguing. I wondered to myself, Do folks truly understand the plight of students and educators? Do they give a shit? And will they do something with their voice, their vote, their ability to hold leaders accountable and fight for us? Or would the care end with this conversation? To move beyond lip-service and transform our schools, we must change how decisions and policies are made in education. Our educators and students don’t just deserve a seat at the table but a position at the head of the table. Otherwise, we’re not serious about authentic, equitable education for all. Our future demands students like Zakeryia and Quan rise to the White House or any position of power, not another Thomas Jefferson. The truth is that in education and throughout society, Jefferson’s descendents and their allies are still in charge. But not for much longer. This organization and our new civil rights movement WILL abolish the barriers to belonging and liberation for Black people in education. Our ancestor and comrade, Lerone Bennett, Jr., declared, “An educator in a system of oppression is either a revolutionary or oppressor.” Consider this a warning: We have come to free our kids. Join us or move out the way.
