The System Wasn't Built for Us
First, it was the lack of an indictment for Sandra Bland's death. Then, it was the lack of an indictment for Tamir Rice's killing.
As days and verdicts pass, I am only able to ask this question: if the basic structures built for "safety" will not protect us, then what will?
Moreover, as a teacher, what does this question mean for my students and for me?
For students: Students need the space to learn about and discuss these stories, as well as process what is going on.
I've seen some teachers say, "I don't know how to talk about this, so I'm going to move past it." That fear is understandable, but we must also understand that silence is compliance, and silence is violence. When the system is failing, we are compelled as educators not to act as "a cog in a wheel," as John Dewey once said. We must support our students as they deal with and question the mechanisms in our society that allowed this to happen. We may feel rage (which can look like a lot of things), and that's okay. Even acknowledging current events, as well as our own frustration and lack of answers can be powerful (Teaching Tolerance and Youth Radio had some great resources if you'd like to do a more in-depth lesson).
Even if your students, like mine, may not directly feel a personal connection to these stories, part of our job is to expose them to questions regarding the larger world and teach them to empathize with communities frustrated and hurt by these situations. For students with whom these events hit closer to home, it's important to remember this, from Ta-Nahesi Coates's Between The World and Me:
...all our phrasing - race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy - serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth.
If racism is a "visceral" experience, the space to heal from it is all more important.
For educators: We must begin to reframe our understanding of the system that we work in and, thus, are compliant in. Current events have only strengthened my belief that, frankly, the system wasn't built for me and other people of color or people from marginalized backgrounds. The system will consistently perpetuate existing hierarchies of power.
Unfortunately, our current education system is one of those hierarchical structures. We can either remain silently and willingly compliant, or we can question and change the powers that be at work in our schools. The questions might appear small at first: whose values am I measure by in a teacher evaluation? Do my students feel like they have a voice at my school? Are the parents I work with feeling valued?
As we move forward, though, those questions will get bigger, and the commitment to the work gets stronger. Hopefully, all educators (and administrators and entire communities) will understand this: our job is not to feed content to students. Our job is to prepare young people to dismantle systems that are currently failing them, and help them uplift the voices, and ideas that showcase the best of their generation.
Recently, Trent Gillis of On Being posted a reflection about Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s final Christmas sermon. King's feeling that we were a "bewildered human race. We have neither peace within nor peace without..." resonate now.
The sermon goes on, though, to reminder us of the need for hope:
Yes, I am personally the victim of deferred dreams, of blasted hopes, but in spite of that I close today by saying I still have a dream, because, you know, you can't give up in life. If you lose hope, somehow you lose that vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of all. And so today I still have a dream.
I leave these words here, as a reminder of what we must hold dear in 2016. Our students still have dreams. We do too. We must continue to push so that those dreams can reach the full majesty of their potential.