Today is Juneteenth, and has involved a confluence of appropriately themed events.
This morning I read the first chapter in Beverly Tatum's Can We Talk About Race, one of the texts assigned for the MAT program at Earlham. She discusses the desegregation of schools after the Brown v. Board of Education supreme court case, then follows with an explanation of the re-segregation of schools in the 80s and 90s after subsequent cases allowed schools to evade the integration measures.
Tatum talks not only about the disparity in performance brought about my segregation in schools, but also the challenge of successfully integrating without bulldozing black identity out of the students. After all, of the 3 million teachers in the US, only 7.5% are African American. Hence, most black students are taught by white, female teachers, a curriculum that has little to do with their identity and heritage. She pointed out that in their majority black schools, black students had texts drawn from black artists and black history, (poems from Langston Hughes, words from spirituals, biographies of black leaders...) which, particularly in early days of integration, though today as well, traces of black identity are hard to find.
One of the moving parts of Tatum's essay was her retelling of a teacher's experience in a class that was examining a text that identified the British pioneers as the earliest settlers in Texas. "Knowing full well that Mexicans (his ancestors) lived in what is now known as Texas long before any New Englanders arrived, the student blurted, "What are we, animals or something?"
The class had a discussion of how racism manifests in the school system they are part of. "And they described the stance they took in order to resist that racism and yet not be thrown out of school. It amounted to nothing less than full-blown and cooperate not-learning." (Tatum)
This, of course, makes a teacher's heart sink. Tatum says the answer is a) making sure the environment reflects minority identity as well as majority (have black teachers, administrators, art, texts) and b) affirm students' identities by asking them "Who are you? What do you want to do?" and affirming, "You can do it!"
I might well have black students in my student teaching classroom this year, and will likely have Hispanic students, and I'm looking forward to seeing how my mentor teacher engages their individual histories.
At West Richmond Friends a special service had been organised for Juneteenth, featuring music (Deep River, among other evocative pieces) a children's story about the new $20 bill with Harriet Tubman on it, and a message about Frederick Douglass's speech about the meaning of the fourth of July for the Negro in which he provides a stirring example of using an opportunity to speak out to present an uncomfortable truth.
Bob, who brought the message, emphasised that it is worth celebrating the journey of a nation, much more than its beginning.
The closing query, before silent worship, was "What has this journey of progress meant for me, both personally and as part of the groups I'm part of?"
In considering progress made for women since the original July 4th, I can vote, can go to school, can marry a woman if I want to, can run for public office, can contemplate a life without children, can start my own business, can teach economics, can fight in combat ... and I can wear a skirt and apron, have children, and bake bread all day if I want to! Of course, my privilege makes much of this possible, but I'm conscious of the magnitude of the progress anyway.
This morning I read the first chapter in Beverly Tatum's Can We Talk About Race, one of the texts assigned for the MAT program at Earlham. She discusses the desegregation of schools after the Brown v. Board of Education supreme court case, then follows with an explanation of the re-segregation of schools in the 80s and 90s after subsequent cases allowed schools to evade the integration measures.
Tatum talks not only about the disparity in performance brought about my segregation in schools, but also the challenge of successfully integrating without bulldozing black identity out of the students. After all, of the 3 million teachers in the US, only 7.5% are African American. Hence, most black students are taught by white, female teachers, a curriculum that has little to do with their identity and heritage. She pointed out that in their majority black schools, black students had texts drawn from black artists and black history, (poems from Langston Hughes, words from spirituals, biographies of black leaders...) which, particularly in early days of integration, though today as well, traces of black identity are hard to find.
One of the moving parts of Tatum's essay was her retelling of a teacher's experience in a class that was examining a text that identified the British pioneers as the earliest settlers in Texas. "Knowing full well that Mexicans (his ancestors) lived in what is now known as Texas long before any New Englanders arrived, the student blurted, "What are we, animals or something?"
The class had a discussion of how racism manifests in the school system they are part of. "And they described the stance they took in order to resist that racism and yet not be thrown out of school. It amounted to nothing less than full-blown and cooperate not-learning." (Tatum)
This, of course, makes a teacher's heart sink. Tatum says the answer is a) making sure the environment reflects minority identity as well as majority (have black teachers, administrators, art, texts) and b) affirm students' identities by asking them "Who are you? What do you want to do?" and affirming, "You can do it!"
I might well have black students in my student teaching classroom this year, and will likely have Hispanic students, and I'm looking forward to seeing how my mentor teacher engages their individual histories.
At West Richmond Friends a special service had been organised for Juneteenth, featuring music (Deep River, among other evocative pieces) a children's story about the new $20 bill with Harriet Tubman on it, and a message about Frederick Douglass's speech about the meaning of the fourth of July for the Negro in which he provides a stirring example of using an opportunity to speak out to present an uncomfortable truth.
Bob, who brought the message, emphasised that it is worth celebrating the journey of a nation, much more than its beginning.
The closing query, before silent worship, was "What has this journey of progress meant for me, both personally and as part of the groups I'm part of?"
In considering progress made for women since the original July 4th, I can vote, can go to school, can marry a woman if I want to, can run for public office, can contemplate a life without children, can start my own business, can teach economics, can fight in combat ... and I can wear a skirt and apron, have children, and bake bread all day if I want to! Of course, my privilege makes much of this possible, but I'm conscious of the magnitude of the progress anyway.
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