Baltimore and Brown Boys

All week, I have been trying to decide what to write. 

Thousands fleeing unspeakable violence and the unbearable weight of poverty have been sinking, in broken boats, into watery graves in the Mediterranean. A volcano erupted in Chile, burying farms and livelihoods under deep layers of rock and ash. Nepal trembled and shook and structures tumbled and thousands died (and are dying still). And I was really struggling to choose a blog topic.

Then Baltimore riots began to dominate media coverage after police killed another young Black man. And then all I could think about how the media chose to show those few hours of lawlessness over and over, while the many days of peaceful demonstrations that preceded and followed were largely ignored. And how people like Wolf Blitzer, interviewing community activist DeRay Mckesson, demanded, "I just want to hear you say there should be peaceful protests, not violent protests, in the tradition of Dr. Martin Luther King." I believe in nonviolence, but as DeRay Mckesson so appropriately responded, "I don't have to condone it to understand it." 

I found myself thinking about how brown children are seen by so many adults in our schools. I remember a New York City assistant principal, who I'll be kind enough not to name, saying to two African American boys, "You two are going to make great cell mates!" Comments like this are common. In that same school, teachers got children's attention in the cafeteria by using the siren function on a megaphone. Whooop! Whoooop! Sometimes they slammed yardsticks down onto the cafeteria tables, startling children and narrowly missing their fingers. 

When you teach, you do your best to create a safe space for learning and growing in your classroom. You give your children tools you hope they can use to survive the many obstacles to their success, and even to their very existence, obstacles built into a system that is inherently unjust and racist. You cringe each week when the science teacher declares the one white child in the class is "the smartest" and you try to stem the flow of tears that follows when "the smartest" is given a pencil or a cookie and the rest are left feeling less than worthy. 

In our classrooms, we must examine our own biases, so that we do not perpetuate the racism, sexism and classism that surround us. We do not generally like to think of ourselves as biased, but it would be impossible to come of age in this world without internalizing some of what we are bombarded with. So we must begin having tough conversations with and amongst ourselves, as educators and parents. We must ask ourselves questions about gender and race and class and culture and how these pieces of our students' backgrounds play out in our interactions with them. Because they do.

I have tried on occasion, unsuccessfully, to raise issues of racial bias with administrators. I have questioned why some children (brown boys, generally) receive such harsh punishments for behaviors we laughingly overlook or call "feisty" and "spirited" when exhibited by white girls. I have pondered why some (brown) teachers are seen as less competent than other (white) teachers, despite evidence to the contrary. Often the response from the people I raise these issues with is that they don't even see color, that there is no bias. I am imagining it (along with all of the other staff and students who experience it on a regular basis). These conversations make people uncomfortable, but they are necessary if we are to make changes.

None of us are colorblind. (Feigned) Colorblindness, someone said, is the new racism. (See an article from Teaching Tolerance on this topic, here.)

Usually this is where I create a list of things you can do in your classroom, but this week I'm tired and I don't have answers. I just hope you will think critically about your own practice, as I do constantly, and ask yourself where your own biases lie, and how you can confront them. Ask yourself if your school is doing everything it can to make sure brown boys, and all of your students, recognize their own value and humanity. And if your school isn't, ask yourself how you can begin the conversation. This article provides a good starting point.

The poem I'm including below is one I wrote for my son some years ago, and updated again last year. It was my hope that it would help people to see the complexity and humanity contained within each and every child, and in particular within brown boys who sometimes aren't seen that way.

During his Harry Potter obsession/phase, with his wand. In school that week, he was written up for brandishing a ruler at someone, threateningly. When I asked what happened, he said, "Me and my friend were just having a spell battle."

For Jibreel/Superhero

When you were five

You wrapped a brass paper fastener around your chubby finger

Look, Mommy! 

you said,

I’m the Brown Human! I’m a superhero!

After we read about Trayvon you said,

It must be scary for a 17 year old to have a man with a gun following him

People listening all around while he screamed for help

no one

helped him

If I was standing behind the guy with the gun

I would go up and take the gun from him

quietly

like I come down from handstands

You know?

And I thought,

Stay a superhero

Survive.

You will need all of your powers to stay alive

Because

When you bounce down the block

No one imagines you are adding

28 and 82 which make 110

and then adding 110 and 011

Which make 121

And that’s a palindrome

And also

You are wondering how the combination of

1 brown boy wearing 1 hoodie with 1 crazy man and 1 gun

In certain places

Makes a terrible feeling of sorrow and bubbling of fear

that pushes tears from your eyes

When you stroll along uptown streets

No one sees the detailed maps of the world and select cities you carry in your head

or the blood of three continents flowing through your veins

No one knows that at ten, you planned out where you would live

by where you might not get racially profiled

If everyone is brown, Mommy, they won’t think brown people are bad

Passers by would never suppose that now, 

at twelve,

You are pondering theories of the universe and planets being named

Wondering whether new thoughts add a little blob to space

Yesterday you told me,

The more people discover, the more space goes on

and so

space may be infinite

Infinite

Like my fear for you

When I am afraid,

I want to say,

after pressing my lips against the sharpening angles of your soft brown cheek,

Keep your hands out of your pockets, my love,

Don’t travel with 3 Musketeers bars or Skittles or cans of iced tea

Don’t wear hoodies or carry a wallet

Or drive a car or walk these streets

While wearing your brownness

Someone may feel threatened

Shuffle, my son,

Cower,

Speak softly and with great restraint

Liberty and justice for all?

They’re not talking about you

Your very humanity is tenuous

Suspended by fragile threads

But I tell you instead,

Trayvon did nothing wrong.

Being brown is not wrong.

Wearing a hoodie is not wrong.

You have my permission to wear a hoodie every day if you like

Some will fear you for your brown skin and your brilliance and your boldness

But stand for what’s right

If you are afraid,

Speak anyway

And if there comes a time when

You need to hide the fire inside you

Suppress your screams of “It’s not fair!”

To keep yourself safe

That’s all right, too.

And then, SPEAK UP AGAIN.

A wise man once said,

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing

So do something

Speak truth

Sing justice

Walk proud

Be free

And love fiercely

For your love

is your greatest superpower

And as you once said,

my wise child,

Love is the strongest thing because nothing can break it

And you

are

love.