The Discomfort of Equity

This past Wednesday, I was privileged to attend the 2019 Rowland Conference, keynoted by Dr. Robin DiAngelo. DiAngelo is the author of, among other books, White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism. As she began her remarks, she told the mostly white audience that we should prepare to be uncomfortable, as, in her experience, white people have difficulty discussing issues of race and racism. She was right, I was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

Let me share just some of the things that she said that made me uncomfortable:

• If you have not devoted years of sustained study, struggle, and focus on racism, your opinions are limited and superficial. 
• The status quo of our society is racism; it is the norm, and we are quite effective at reproducing it. 
• We (white people - Dr. DiAngelo is white as well) see ourselves as unique individuals, unaffected by the culture we live in. 
• Racism is a system, not an event. 
• None of us are exempt from the anti-blackness in our culture and in our country. 
• Smiling does not interrupt the system of racism. 
• Niceness is not antiracism. 

As she was speaking, and I was listening to these things, I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable. So I began to make excuses and justify and rationalize what I was feeling. It's called "credentialing," according to Dr. DiAngelo. Here's what I was telling myself while she was speaking: 

• I grew up in Mt. Vernon, NY; I had plenty of black students in my schools growing up. 
• When I visited New York City, I saw plenty of black people. 
• I played on of sports teams growing up that had black players. 
• My first teaching job was in a school that was almost entirely full of black students. 

In other words, those were some of my "credentials" that made it, so I was not a racist, and therefore I was immune to the discomfort I was feeling in the Davis Center on the campus of the University of Vermont that day. The truth is, I am not free from the patterns of racism, simply because of these experiences in my life. 

The fact is, I've been benefitting from my race for as long as I've been alive, and even before that. As Dr. DiAngelo pointed out, my own mother benefitted from the prenatal care she had while she was pregnant with me in ways that black women in 1974 would not have had access to. I had teachers that were the same race as me beginning in kindergarten, and I saw the first teacher of a different race than me in seventh grade. I had only one black professor in my undergraduate education and no professors of a different race in graduate school. 

And yet, I expect that the families of color in the St. Johnsbury School District will just entrust their precious children to me because the first time I was a teacher, I had a room full of black children? I must work to earn the trust of these families. I must struggle to be someone who shows, not just tells, the families of color that their children are in a building where we are aware of this inequity. I must work against the systemic, institutionalized racist structures in the second most white state in all of the United States. 

Who will work with me? Who will stand next to me? Who will struggle with me?

Our students are waiting for those who will be allies. Who will ask the hard questions? Who will advocate? Who will step up? 

Our students are waiting for our answers. 

Photo courtesy of Dr. Robin DiAngelo

What's On Your Tray?

One of my favorite parts of being a superintendent, particularly in St. Johnsbury, is having lunch with students. Being in the cafeteria where there is such a buzz of positive energy, children are truly themselves, and I get a chance to talk to students more than during learning walks or classroom visits. The students for their part, seem more comfortable, easily engaged, and happy to find me at their table.

What makes it even better in St. J is the fabulous, fresh salad bar that we have available to all of us. For the past two years, I've heaped as many vegetables as I can onto my traditional cafeteria tray (can't fit it all onto the squares and circles provided). In addition, I add cheese and hard-boiled eggs to round out the meal. I find a spot for a child-sized carton of milk or two and I head to find some students to sit with.

This past Friday as I went through the line, I didn't see any cheese nor hard-boiled eggs. I didn't think anything of it, as my tray was already pretty full. But as I approached Tammy, one of our wonderful cafeteria workers, she looked down at my tray, looked at me, and said, "Wait, we've got more eggs and cheese!"

I was truly touched - we have more than six hundred students in the St. Johnsbury School and more than two hundred adults working in our building. Tammy had noted what I usually like on my salad and did something about it. I feel incredibly grateful to serve in a school district where the people in the cafeteria take note of what we put on our trays.

Now the skeptic will say, she only did that because I am the superintendent. If I was not at the top of the food chain, I would not be able to write this blog post. That may very well be true, but if you believe that, then I want you to consider something else.

In our district, every individual is assigned a number that is entered into the computers to track how much we owe for our meals. I have observed both Tammy and Carolee Stuart (our Director of Food Service) routinely remember the four-digit code for any number of students who have forgotten it or who have never committed it to memory.

Some of our first graders have just completed their first full month of having lunch in the cafeteria. Their eyes were wide open, answering questions about what they wanted or didn't want on their tray, meandering through a line that sometimes moves quickly but also sometimes stands still. When they finally get to the end of the line, they need to tell either Tammy or Carolee their number before they can get to their table, sit down and start to eat. Truth be told, I've forgotten my number a few times as well! Both women knew it before I could remember it myself.

Lunch is one of the few times where we don't ask our students to do anything but be themselves, to be children, to eat and spend time with their friends and classmates. We don't ask them to recall facts and figures, recite poetry and prose, or list the planets in the solar system. Mealtime should be relaxed and comfortable, and if say you've forgotten your four-digit code or what you typically put on your tray to eat, it brings me great pride to know there are people looking out for us.

The cafeteria, like our other learning spaces in St. Johnsbury, is a place where relationships matter.

Photo courtesy of www.yourmoderndad.com

How Do You Learn?

When I was in third or fourth grade, I learned the multiplication tables that we all know (and some love). I distinctly remember practicing them at the kitchen table with my parents in the evenings. I would sit with one of them and practice until I had most of the stack correct. We did other practice activities in school around multiplication, but I don't remember those as well.

That rote practice left an impact on me as a learner. Flashcards have been a way for me to learn ever since 1983. Currently, I have a stack of them at our home, thanks to Linda Hartwell. They are pictures of all the faculty and staff, with names on the back. I go through the stack to learn the names of the employees in the St. Johnsbury School because, for me, there's nothing more important than learning someone's name. Our children quiz me when they're eating breakfast.

Yes, I am adept with technology. Yes, I tweet many times a day. Yes, I carry an iPhone. And, when it comes to learning people's names, I go back to something that worked for me more than thirty years ago...

No one asked me if flashcards worked for me in 1983. It was something that was routinely suggested for families to do, to practice multiplication facts. Flashcards worked for me then, and they still work for me today.

Part of the brilliance of personalized learning is that each learner will approach it in his/her own unique way, with his/her strengths and weaknesses. I'm sure if you polled my superintendent colleagues, not everyone is using flashcards to learn the names of their employees. I would suspect that some do though.

Still, this question of how do you learn is a valid one, and it's something that we can be asking even our youngest students. Yes, we can ask a kindergartner (with the help of a teacher and parents/caregivers) how do you learn? We can ask for evidence of who they are as a writer, a reader, a mathematician, an artist, a citizen of our school. We can ask this because no one rises to low expectations.

So if we can ask our youngest learners how they learn best, we can certainly ask it of all the other students in our schools. Think of how empowering it would be for our students when their teachers turn to them and ask for guidance on how they learn best. Think of how much agency they will feel when the teacher molds and adapts the assessment for our children, to demonstrate their learning in a way that feels authentic to them.

No one asked me when I was in third grade if I wanted to learn my multiplication tables by using flashcards. If they had, I'm honestly not sure how I would have answered.

I simply do know this; I'm still using flashcards to this day, so it worked.

Photo credit to www.cthawards.com

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It Really Does Take A Village

I started my teaching career as a volunteer in a program called Inner-City Teaching Corps. The idea was simple: take recent college graduates, put them in a house together, train them, and assign them to classrooms in Chicago. The idea came from other models like Teach for America and the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. This program was different in that it was only based in Chicago, it was only teaching, and it was a two-year commitment.

During those two years, while learning on the fly how to teach in a school where the Free & Reduced Lunch rate hovered between 99 - 100%, I ate, slept, and breathed for that school and my community of fellow volunteer teachers. I often was one of the first ones in the door and one of the last ones out. The front doors to the school were chained every night to prevent people from breaking in, and at some point in my second year, I asked the principal if I could have the padlock key for it. I coached some of the athletic teams and wanted to stay working in my classroom beyond when the last person left. 

Since I had the key to the padlock, I could then also be the first one in. There was so much I could get done in a quiet building, and since I was still desperately learning how to teach on the near Westside of Chicago, I had a lot of work to do. 

During one of my many conversations with my principal, I mentioned something about the amount of time the volunteers were spending in the school. Given my age, my lack of real-world experience, and my privilege, I'm confident I was a little full of myself and my fellow volunteers. While I don't remember what she said to me word-for-word, the message put me in my place, and it is something that stays with me to this day. 

She told me that the amount of time we spend, as volunteers, is precisely what we are supposed to be doing. We have no family, we have no children, we have no other commitments outside of this building. My principal then went on to tell me about a teacher that had a spouse in the hospital and had to leave with her students. She told me there was a paraprofessional whose son had moved back in after struggling with drugs. She shared that we had an administrative assistant who had not been feeling well for several weeks, who was also out of sick time because she was caring for her daughter's children, and could not afford to take any unpaid days for herself. 

And that was just what my twenty-three-year-old rookie teacher self needed. I was put squarely in my place. Yes, I was a volunteer. Yes, I spent almost every waking hour at my school, including on the weekends. Yes, I was the first one in the building, and the last one to leave. And that was precisely what I was supposed to be doing. I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.

I still put my pants on one leg at a time, even as the Superintendent of Schools. Simply because I am at the top of the organizational chart does not give me any "superpowers," beyond that of any other member of the St. Johnsbury School District. I am, however, privileged to hear about people's stories when it comes to their work and their need for time away from their jobs.

So I get to know who needs time away for pregnancies and for funerals. I listen to the stories of people who need Family Medical Leave for themselves, and for their family members. I have sat with people who have cried tears of joy in my office, as well as consoled them when they've cried tears of sorrow and sadness. One of the most humbling parts of leadership is that we walk with people on their life journey, and they share their stories with us.

My twenty-three-year-old self would want to remind us of this: Everyone we serve with is doing everything they can, at that time in their life, for their students. I firmly believe that to cultivate and maintain a healthy and vibrant school culture, we must start there. We have faculty and staff that are first in and last out. We have faculty and staff that need to arrive right on time and leave right with our students. We have faculty and staff that can coach and moderate co-curricular activities. We have faculty and staff that have no spare time.

The bottom line is this: we all need each other, at our best. Our school district does not function to the best of its ability without all the people in it. Every single adult makes a difference in the lives of our students and our colleagues. Every single adult has a story that brought them to our building and has a story waiting for them every time they leave our building.

I am proud to be a part of the St. Johnsbury Village.

Photo Courtesy of S.T.R.E.E.T.S Youth Center

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