Rationale
I teach at a creative and performing arts magnet school located in a downtown cultural district. The students take regular academic classes while devoting three hours a day to their chosen arts areas. It is both exciting and a challenge to teach a course in African American Literature to a multi-cultural classroom. Although most of the students who take the class are of African descent, about a third are not. Eastern European immigrants, Hispanic, Asian and white students constitute the rest of the class. Most students are seniors; this year two juniors took the class as an elective. The fact that the teacher is a middle-aged white woman adds another dynamic to the mix. The first year I taught it, my race was an issue with some students; last year, my second time teaching the course, my ethnicity was seldom mentioned. I'm not certain whether this is due to additional experience on my part or to the particular group of students. The ways I have addressed the question of my legitimacy to teach this course are 1) to admit what I know and do not know, 2) to face uncomfortable moments and talk them out, and 3) to give my students the intellectual space they need to incorporate their ideas into our classroom activities. In any class in which race is an essential element, there has to be an atmosphere of trust so that productive discussions can take place. A colleague of mine recently stated an important pedagogical truth: "We shouldn't avoid discomfort in the classroom. We learn by pushing through the feelings of discomfort. That's where important things really happen" (Myers 2012). Thus, to avoid race in this class, or to go around it, won't get anyone anywhere. Knowing how to talk about difficult topics and trusting the process takes time and commitment; when it succeeds, the payback is huge.
Trouble at Home
Even in the twenty-first century, there is an urgent need for students to study material about race and citizenship. For me, the urgency comes from an incident which involved a former student, whom I will refer to as "Jay." Jay is an African American music major who graduated two years ago. He stands about 5'6", has a broad face and an even broader smile. He used to have dreadlocks until the incident; now his head is shaved. I was his senior English teacher.
In January of 2010, two days after his 18 th birthday, Jay was walking home late at night from his mother's to his grandmother's house, both of which are located in a predominantly black, predominantly poor neighborhood. He was wearing a new "big" coat he had gotten for his birthday. It was cold, and there were large patches of ice on the ground. As he was walking, three white undercover police officers jumped out of an unmarked car and shouted at him: "Where's the gun? Where's the money? Where's the drugs?" Jay, frightened, began to run. The men chased him, catching him when he slipped on some ice. The three beat him severely, pulled out several dreadlocks out by the roots and caused serious damage to one eye. Jay fought back, hard. He thought they were trying to kill him. He had no drugs, no money, no gun. There was talk of a suspicious lump in his pocket, a Mountain Dew bottle, but Jay never drank Mountain Dew. The three men may or may not have identified themselves as police officers. They took him to the hospital, where Jay was admitted and then charged with resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.
Jay's race and citizenship had both been violated; all of us, his classmates and teachers, were profoundly shaken. It was 2010, not 1950. How could things like this still be happening? The students peacefully marched on his behalf, addressed the city council, spoke to the press and wrote letters. When Jay returned, the entire school threw its support behind him; at graduation, he received a standing ovation. That summer, the charges against Jay were dropped. Still, the police admitted no wrongdoing. This summer, the three officers are on trial for their actions, and I am one of several witnesses from our school who will appear on Jay's behalf. I don't know what sort of damages the lawyers are seeking; to me, the important part of this trial is to help Jay to regain his self-respect. As I sit in a seminar discussing narratives of race and citizenship in their historical context, I wonder if anything has changed. I'm also angry, very angry, that a nice, quiet black boy with dreadlocks and a big coat can't walk two blocks in his own neighborhood without being chased and beaten by three white police officers who have as yet to admit that they made a terrible mistake.
Some of my current African American students joke that "a bus [public transit] will go right past if there's a group of black kids waiting at the stop." Others observe that certain stores will admit only one black student at a time. What amazes me is their ability to put their anger aside. They have bigger things on their minds, goals that won't be derailed by the pettiness of certain bus drivers and store owners. Would I have that same resolve?
No doubt many teachers have students who have been victims of over-zealous and outright racist police procedures. Teachers of color have been victimized as well. It's still going on, in far too many places. What can one teacher in one classroom do? As stated earlier, honesty and trust go a long way in creating a space for purposeful dialogue. Reading and studying narratives of race and citizenship are ways we can help our students to understand the complex issues that surround social justice, and to address the work that remains to be done. The works will provide information and, one hopes, inspiration. The students' own narratives will move the story forward, continuing the drive to make America a home that promises and delivers justice for all.
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