Why do you teach us racism?

Teacher Porn

The Ticonderoga pencil is the indisputable holy grail of writing utensils. The saint of supplies. The emperor of erasers. The king of clean writing. And that’s all I have to say about that.

One of my kids wrote, “trust your instinks”. Good idea. I’ll try to trust mine.

A student asked me to write a recommendation letter for him, for his citizenship application, and I’m finding it hard not to gush. Though he’s only been in the country since August, his English is quite serviceable, and he works harder than any other student in the class. He also studies harder and actually succeeds; his grade is top of the class. Next time somebody makes a derogatory comment about Latino immigrants, I’m just going to introduce them to him.

I took my 4^th block outside to play a game about the triangular passage. It was going well, kids rushing from Africa to the Caribbean and thence to Europe, when the gym class passed by. Next thing I knew my kids were all chanting “Wenger! Wenger!” and making threatening motions towards the other class. Two responded by barking, “Gym! Gym!” but not before I could reflect on the embarrassment of a potential fight started with my name as the catalyst. How do I explain that to the administration? Luckily it ended amicably with the gym teacher challenging her kids to a race back to get them out of there. My kids spent the last few minutes of announcement time cavorting like puppies, sweetly childish in the spring sun.

In my 2^nd block a student hemmed and hawed before asking, apropos of the Middle Passage information on the board, why history class is all about racism. She said it’s all about how people hate people because of their color, or having power over people. Why do I teach that?

I paused for a long second. I said the idea was to try to figure out why people are racist, why society is unequal, and so I’m teaching about how it got that way—like a doctor, we can’t just cure the symptoms, we have to go back to the root of the matter and find out how people became racist. I kept pausing, feeling my way. Finally I told her I wasn’t sure. Great question. Class, what do you think? Why are people racist?

And the class answered. Startlingly, beautifully, confidingly, students shared their feelings about racism.

 

A klutzy, doofusy, sweet African American guy who can’t hang on to his own shoes if they’re not on his feet said how much he hates hearing the click of locks on car doors as he walks past.

A very smart, quiet, rotund African American student raised his hand (I think that’s his third voluntary time this semester!) to share that whenever he’s out with a group of his friends and there’s one white person, that person crosses the street to get away from them.

The top student in the class, am intellectual, reserved African American Muslim, asked, “but then, why do Black people steal from each other? I mean we steal from each other, Black people steal from each other! So what do you want?”

I was aching to hear their responses to that but didn't want to throw a wrench in the conversation by steering too forcefully, so I let it roll.

The first boy responded that he hates being followed in a store. Hates how people touch their phones reassuringly when he wanders by.

The girl who started it all weighed in that she could buy a thousand-dollar dress, they’d still wonder if she was going to steal something else.

Another girl said that people don’t say it anymore, but they act out their prejudice instead.

The boy right in front of me whispered to me, “yeah, they don’t say n*****, but they’re thinking it. They’re thinking it.”

The one white girl in the class raised her hand. “When I get on the bus in the morning, everyone stares at me because I’m the only white person.”

Oooh! Educational gold! Class, can there be minorities within minorities? Class? Er, class?

Nope. They were gone, everyone dead intent on finding out the exact route of her bus so they could plot the Charlotte demographics against its windings. I sighed and let them interrogate her. At least they were all fascinated by what she said and not rejecting it. At least they’d gotten to share in really interesting ways. At least my 2^nd block had had a deep, meaningful conversation about race. And guess what? Tricky tricky teacher is exploiting their interest and using it to motivate them for their essay-writing marathon tomorrow. Because you know what? Some days I really love teaching.