The Problem(s) with Diversity Workshops

On Monday, I attended a series of mini-workshops on diversity and inclusion. In the span of a few hours, I was ready to call it quits. I was tired and irritated. Diversity talks are becoming increasingly popular and sometimes required by employers. However, I’ve concluded that these talks are merely emblematic of the bigger problem in our society- we talk a good game, but lack true action.

In these workshops, we were given handouts over the definition of diversity and why diversity is important. Honestly, most people will never say that diversity isn’t important. However, society often shows how inclusion is a tough pill to swallow. In these small, one-hour workshops, we nodded our heads to the reasons behind striving for social-equity in our classes, places of work, and etc. But we never discussed the need for diversity. We simply started the conversation on how we can become diverse and inclusive in our practices.

These workshops were relatively easy to sit through and didn’t require much critical thinking.

In efforts to appease the predominately White audience, Whiteness was never a part of the bigger picture. The concept of Whiteness was never on the table to be deconstructed. It was completely ignored. Out of sight. Out of mind.

As being a Black woman, I couldn’t ignore this huge elephant in the room. I was bewildered that this wasn’t the first point of discussion in our conversation on diversity and inclusion.

The speakers would speak about ‘the other,’ ‘voice,’ ‘cultural-relevancy,’ and etc. However, there was no mention of Whiteness and how it perpetuates the inequities that plague the lives of Black and Brown people. In order to have a true conversation over this issue, we have to contextualize the issue. There wasn’t any contextualization. The conversation continued as if there wasn’t a reason for why these social inequities persist in our society. I guess, these social inequities are just inherent.

As I shuffled between the mini-workshops, I only saw a handful of people that looked like me. Why? In a place that parades the necessity of ‘diversity’, where was this diversity?

In arriving at the rooms in which these workshops were held, I wanted to scream and pull out my own hair. I was being told the necessity of diversity by a White person in a room full of White people. I was being told that there were external organizations available that could facilitate an easier existence in the space I would occupy for work.

In the numerous diversity workshops I’ve attended in the past and present, I believe they play to lip-service and have no real impact on changing the climate of a space. If the issue of Whiteness isn’t deconstructed then the cause is lost. The content in these workshops are very sanitized and lack real depth. Inequity may be used, but the concept is very much misunderstood. In most cases, structural changes are usually not a part of the conversation.

In being a Black woman, I am deeply enraged by these workshops. I find them extremely nonsensical and unhelpful in the fight for creating equitable conditions for underrepresented and historically oppressed groups.

Diversity and inclusion are two separate concepts.

In my opinion, we must aim for both. We must aim to create, sustain and enforce new ways of including those that are continuously silence and marginalized in our society. There’s no benefit of having diversity if people are being structurally excluded.

If tokenism is the aim, diversity may be the route for you. But if you’re aiming to be inclusive, you’re digging deep to change the structures in place to create space for all voices to exist and maneuver.

 

 

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My Experiences with Double Consciousness

As I sit here reflecting on my experiences in school, I can say that I struggled the most in the suburban schools I went to. Academically, I was fine. Psychologically, I was fighting a war daily. As one of only a few Black kids in these schools, I had to trust that my parents knew what they were doing. They kept telling my brother and me that education was the way out of poverty. We needed to learn the ways of the White people. We needed to learn how to navigate this White world in our Black bodies. But every day, I had to decide who I wanted to be. With my Black friends, I could be myself, but I didn’t know which self to give to my White friends.

I remember my White bestfriend told me that her mom didn’t want her hanging out with me because I wasn’t a good influence and made F’s. I remember that phone call. On the contrary, I was an excellent student and made great grades. I met her mom and her family a few times and never had an issue. Where was this coming from? I don’t know if it was a race issue or a class issue or maybe both, but we were great friends.

After that experience, I was heartbroken. Her mom pulled me from a great friend. In these schools, race and class were issues that went unaddressed but were important to the fabric of the community. As a poor Black girl, I didn’t have the luxurious car to drive to school or the extracurricular activities that many parents would have their kids in. We didn’t have money for many things. No, we didn’t wear designer clothes but that was almost a requirement for the student body. And of course, I didn’t look white.

But this was a part of the plan- to learn how to navigate Whiteness. On top of this socialization, I had to learn how to control my tongue when teachers made racist and classist comments. I would go home and tell my parents and they would say that I had to learn when to pick my battles. It was a huge game that I felt I was losing at. I didn’t fit.

In order to keep myself from going crazy, I started gravitating towards sub-cultures- the emo kids, students of color, Muslims, LGBT community and etc. Honestly, these groups were seen as subhuman in their proximity to Whiteness, but I didn’t want to continue my fight in fitting in with White students, especially the wealthier ones. I didn’t fit. I tried straightening my hair, dying it blonde (my hair fell out), talking White by way of code-switching, wearing designer clothes I couldn’t afford nor fit, and disconnect myself from Blackness. All of these attempts failed.

I understood why my parents wanted us to go to those suburban schools. I get it. As a parent, you want the best for your kids. But in my humble opinion, I felt traumatized from those years. Doing my schoolwork was easy, but everything else was mental gymnastics.

As W.E.B DuBois called it, “double consciousness”- having to live in the world as a Black person but feeling divided into parts because of Whiteness. You try to figure out how to live in your Blackness in a world that rewards and upholds Whiteness.

Where Are You Looking?

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Over the last two months, I’ve been immersed in a certain topic. I’ve made it my priority to read all of the existing literature out there. In opening and closing different books and putting down journal articles, I was told to stop. I was told to refrain from going down the path I’ve been going down. In this rather unexpected demand, I was shook. Honestly, I didn’t understand the request. I thought I heard wrong. No, I was hearing it right.

“Lauren, I’m going to need you to suspend your readings- completely,” said my professor

“What do you mean? This is my topic. Didn’t you say we needed to review the extant literature for the literature review?”

As the answer carried itself in the air, the book in my lap had closed. He went onto the next student to hear about their research topic and their developments. As the trend continued, I was frustrated that he told me to suspend my reading. However, I was quite done with his request. So, I offered up a question.

“Excuse me, but you said that we can be on two sides of the spectrum- either objective or subjective, willing to research for change or to simply track trends,” I stated

The class was quiet. A pen couldn’t drop without its sound being heard.

“Yes, you’re correct. What do you want to be? Do you want to be an activist or a deal in scholarship,” he responded back.

“I want to do both. I want to be an activist and a scholar,” I argued.

“I understand. However, you need to be clear on what you’re saying. Your scholarship will be your vehicle for initiating change. Look, there’s been numerous scholars that has changed the world through their scholarship- the doll’s test, the stereotype threat study, etc”

I sat there. I looked dissatisfied. Maybe I was. He knew. The class felt the uneasiness. For me, I knew that the world needed a big thinker, as my undergrad Philosophy teacher said. So, I sat there. Twenty to thirty minutes later, my professor dismissed us for a break.

“Lauren, can you come here?”

Once again, I was shook. Like, what did I do now?

“Yes?”

“I understand that you’re passionate about your topic. It shows. Also, I see that you have a grasp of the topic. That’s good. However, you’re looking at it the wrong way,” he said with a stern look.

My mouth dropped.

“Look, you are saying what all of us know. You and I both know that racism and sexism exist in schools. Heck, all of us know that. That’s no surprise”

So, he started to draw an analogy on the board between patients and hospitals. He began to say that patients come into the hospital with an array of conditions. Now, on the other end, the hospital has its own things that it brings to the table. In this exchange, you have two entities/groups/populations that are either work with one another or against each other.

In bringing this full-circle with my topic, the professor said that I need to understand that schools are structures/institutions with their own beliefs and cultures. In these institutions, they function to produce something outcomes.

“Cultural hegemony, Lauren. I’m talking about hegemonic beliefs”

“I see what you’re saying. These schools function to keep out individuals or groups to produce the outcomes that they strive for. For those individuals and groups that aren’t serving the interests of the structure, they are marginalized until they are pushed out,” I exclaimed in an epiphany.

“Exactly. However, you need to bring this to your research. You need to look at the history of education, schools and teacher’s education programs. You need to understand the historical nature of why certain groups and individuals are pushed out of schools. We are talking about structures. Systems. Machines.”

“I understand. I will make sure to do the research. However, will any of this change?”

“Revolution, Lauren. Revolution.”

Week after week, I have argued and gone back and forth with my professor. We’ve butted heads about the trajectory of my research and now I understand. In life, you may think this but it could be that. You are sometimes looking in the wrong place. Sometimes, you are looking at things wrong. Sometimes, there is a bigger picture. In our fifteen-minutes break, I became aware of an issue that plagues the American landscape. I mean, I knew that schools were cultural producers of dominant values, but I didn’t have the research to back up my claims. So, my professor challenged me. He said, “research”.

In educational reforms, we hear about this new law or regulation, but we don’t hear about revolts. Well, I don’t think you will. Revolutions usually occur when the oppressed and marginalized are fed up. It’s very Marxist. The underdog bites back. The marginalized carves out space and occupy it.

So, I ask you, “Where are you looking?”

What They Don’t Teach You In School!

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It’s been a long time since I written a blog post, but I’m back in full-bloom! As some of you may know, I just started an exciting new adventure in academe. Did I have all of this planned out from the onset? No. Heck, I didn’t even think I would graduate high-school.

In being accepted into my doctoral program, I am beyond ecstatic about the possibilities in front of me. Why? I hope to gain a deep understanding of race and gender equity in education. As a Black woman, the issue of equity has always been an issue for my own existence. I could give a laundry-list of reasons for why I am interested in equity beyond my own life, but that isn’t going to be necessary.

In growing up in a Black working-class family that struggled in many ways, I saw and experienced the inequities that so many others are and have experienced. In school, I didn’t get the chance to think critically about the systems at play and how they correlate with one another. I didn’t understand the nature of White Supremacy and its hands throughout the world. Yes, I understood racism, but I didn’t understand that White Supremacy is a system that functions on multiple levels throughout societies all around the world.

In being ignorant of the language, frameworks, theories, and theorists that center their work on cultural production, I was in the dark. For this reason, I believe schooling and education are two different things. Yes, education is great because you are able to learn and to develop as an individual and citizen of the world. However, schooling comes with a set of behaviors and expectations that are rewarded and punished, accordingly. In school, we are taught certain values and we are told how to carry ourselves in a way that is culturally acceptable in school. For non-White students, it is extremely challenging to adjust to the value-system of many schools because they aren’t representative of home-life and our communities. However, we are expected to simply accept the rules to avoid punishment.

Rule #1 of White Supremacy: Whiteness will ALWAYS be rewarded.

In seeking to move beyond my own socialization through schooling, I am working to decolonize myself daily through the way I view myself, the world and others. Yes, it is extremely hard because you’re countering everything you’ve been taught about yourself. In moving towards liberation, I’ve found myself loving myself even more. How? When you’re no longer subjugated to the ideals of the dominant culture, you become more at peace with your own truth(s). You are no longer looking to appease others, but you’re seeking your own ultimate truth or reality.

Rule #2 of White Supremacy: Your OTHERNESS is only rewarded through capitalism (entertainment) whilst your existence is constantly up for debate (police brutality, lynchings, housing discrimination, New Jim Crow Era, lack of access to health-care, lack of access to quality education, etc).

In school, you are limited to what is taught. You are truly subjected to the bare minimum. You have to reach beyond the classroom and take full ownership of your education. Remember, schooling and education are two different things. It wasn’t until I reached college that I understood the significance of taking ownership of my own education. But isn’t that too late? Yes. For some students, college may not be an option. So, we have to prepare students now to understand that there are a plethora of resources out here in the world to learn from when it comes to educating oneself. You should never restrict yourself.

Rule #3 of White Supremacy: Schooling is meant to socialize the masses to accept dominant culture’s values.

Ultimately, schools are entities that represent dominant society and they work to propel values and belief-systems that are prevalent. How do I know this? Schools are not isolated from the outside world. On the contrary, they work in conjunction with the political system and become influenced by stakeholders (politicians, lobbyists, private sector, federal government, and etc). Furthermore, teachers are usually the last group of individuals at the table when it comes to educational revolutions.

Did they tell you that at school? Probably not. Are teachers cognizant of this? Maybe.

So, what is the meaning behind all of this? You have to think beyond what you’ve been taught. You must take full ownership over what you’re accepting and start the process of decolonization.

Did anyone at school tell you to decolonize yourself? Probably not.

To decolonize is to re-educate yourself and to re-socialize yourself on the world and your relation to it outside of Whiteness.

But why is that important? It’s important in order to seek true liberation and true community based in love and not domination.

Rhetoric vs. Reality

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A few days ago, I was invited to attend a school-tour of a local Kansas City school that is praised for students’ high-performance on standardized tests. In the first few minutes of the tour, the school official introduced herself and began to tell the group about the school’s approach to education. The first statement that was stated after “Welcome” was “Our school serves some of the most disadvantaged students in the local area and their neighborhood schools are failing, but since our school is accessible to anyone within the immediate area, we are able to take in students from various parts of the local area”.  Now, I had to give the side-eye to this statement. Why? In listening to this rhetoric that streamlined throughout the tour, I felt as if this particular school had the view that their students needed to be saved.

As we continued our tour, we were led into a number of classes for observation. We had the chance to see: teaching style, students’ responses to instruction, academic work and etc. In the classrooms, students were expected to take in information, regurgitate it and to be quiet. Structurally, students were placed at desks in a traditional format. It felt very formulaic. The school official was noticeably a product of the school-culture from the way she communicated with the group- quick to question our knowledge of what we saw, slow to actively listening to responses and a bit aloof to her own child-like behavior with us. For one group member, she called on a gentleman to reprimand him for his silence during the tour. After our responses to questions posed to us after each classroom visit, she would remark with canned responses and a smile that would scare anyone.

Okay, I can’t say that the school is a bad choice on grounds of their selected tour-guide for visitors but there was a leery feeling that raced down my spine during the entire visit. During the visit, I saw various college banners placed on walls and classroom doors. I saw only two students in the hallway for disciplinary action. In all of the classes, students were placed at their desks in an organized fashion with the minimum chaos of books and papers. I didn’t see much laughter or smiles from students. In the week prior, I went to a similar school that was college-prep and students were visually happy and joyful upon seeing visitors. But for this school, the vibe was a lot different. For me, I have the belief that school should be engaging, pleasurable and rigorous. However, this wasn’t quite the case for this school. Yes, coursework appeared rigorous but students weren’t enjoying their classes nor engaged with the content.

In a recent journal article I read “Engagement of African-American college students through the use of hip-hop pedagogy” that was published in 2013 and written by Tracy Hall and Barbara Martin, the article argued that Black students will not graduate college at the same rate as White students because curriculum and instruction isn’t representative of or geared towards the Black-experience. In reflecting on this argument, it is more than important to advocate for students and to get students to become advocates of their own education.

At the end of my undergraduate program, I went to the chair of my department and argued that the curriculum lacked diversity and centered Whiteness. Now, I can’t see if much has changed over the years but speaking up is vital. I do not agree with the idea that a student has to go through an ancillary department to get what they need. No. I believe that students should be able to take required classes that are fundamentally diverse in nature. In all of my years of schooling, I have never felt that school offered me space to feel confident in my identity.

For many students of color, school is an extension of greater society. Yes, you will hear the rhetoric that school will propel you forward and give you the ability to find a great job after you’re done. Sure, this could be the case. However, the curriculum at many institutions is steeped in Whiteness and further marginalizes the marginalized.

A question I frequently ask is, “What good is an education that doesn’t care about your existence?”

Yes, I will fight tooth and nail for schools and institutions that are truly as diverse and inclusive as many have claimed. Yes, you may have prepared my child for college, but have you taught them that #Blacklivesmatter is equally as important? Just a question. Have you taught them that their humanity is not up for debate and that their right to exist and live is a right and not a privilege? Just a question. Or have you taught them how to pass a test, answer questions and get an acceptance letter to their top schools of choice. Just a question. Or have you taught them to think critically abou the world around them and to fight for the rights of those that are marginalized and invisible. Just a question. Since I hate binary-thinking, I believe that you can prepare students for college and have them prepared to be citizens of the world. However, its not always the case.

 

She Told Me…

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I was a sophomore in high-school when I was told that I did a ‘great and professional job as an African-American’ after I performed my poetry for the talent show. As I heard this compliment or microaggression, I curled up my lips into a smile and walked away. As a student, how could I respond to this? What was I to do?

Who was this person? It was my Health and Sex Education teacher.

The comment has never left me. If anything, I keep it as a reminder for the work that is required of all of us in this fight for equitable conditions for underrepresented and marginalized students. In my high-school, I was a part of the 10% of minority students. I was a part of the 10% that was absent from the curriculum. I was a part of the 10% that was seen as trouble-makers in the school. I was a part of the 10% that was suffering in silence.

As being a Black girl in a school that left me voiceless and invisible, I faded into the background until I fought my way into the center. At a certain point in high-school, I couldn’t take it. I just couldn’t allow my narrative to be wiped off the face of the Earth. I couldn’t sit in class and allow peers and my teachers to say things that weren’t true about me. It felt as if a war was being waged against me.

In the same year, I was told by a peer sitting behind me in English class that I couldn’t be a terrorist because of the floral pink scarf that I was wearing on my head.

Say what?

As things became worst, I remember going to lunch late one day because I wanted to check the status of my admission at a local university. As I checked the status and saw that I was admitted into my top pick, I flew down the hallway and towards the cafeteria. As I was running, I was stopped by a staff member. As she stopped me, I explained to her the good news and she chuckled and said, “you’re running as if it’s been a terrorist attack”.

Come again.

In reflecting on the experiences of being a Black Muslim student, I cringe. I cry. I hurt. Why? Because the pain runs deep.

As a marginalized student, where do you go when there’s nowhere to go? So, I ask you this question as you engage in this world as a consumer. How do we create safe spaces for all people? How do we make sure that narratives aren’t being erased? How do we make sure that we aren’t creating spaces that leave people voiceless?

For me, I’ve realized that fighting and working towards social-equality is a mandate for all of us. We must work for freedom. We must work to create a global community that is pluralistic.

 

Choosing the Children, Choosing the Community

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It was a hard night for me. One of those nights that consisted of cups of coffee, deep reflection and late-night conversation. Yes, it was that kind of night. Why? In a series of unexpected and unplanned events, I was told some concerning information with the onslaught of grimacing questions to follow.

Snapchat buzzed me. I had a notification. One of my beloved Somali friends sent me a video of a well-known Black speaker discussing the Black-community and the need for deep-reflection and action. In talking to her about the issues of Black struggle throughout the African Diaspora, another beloved friend sent me a text telling me that her young four-years old, Black son wanted to be White.

In being a product of urban and suburban education, I know the plight of Black children. I understand it very well. In the early years of my identity-development, I wanted to be White. It became so bad that I took actual steps in making this happen. I remember making a conscious decision in seventh grade to look White and to be desirable like my White counterparts. So, I decided to buy some blonde hair-dye and skin lightening creme. I tried not eating for a period of time to lose my curves and to look similar to the White girls in my school. I wanted blonde-hair with highlights, a thin body, and White-skin. I didn’t care how I would achieve this goal. I didn’t. I wanted it. I needed it. It was my path to acceptance, love and upward mobility in my environment.

In an attempt to become White, I felt like Pecola in Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. I was deeply moved by Whiteness and the elevation it was given in the classroom, on the streets, and within my own family. In being deeply confused on how to feel about myself, I didn’t know who to confide in. Growing up, I remembered watching Good Times, Parenthood, Sanford and Son, The Jeffersons, The Bernie Mac Show and etc. I remember watching these various Black shows and connecting deeply with them, but I still didn’t know where to fit within the Black community. Even when watching these shows, I saw how complex the Black identity is. You will see Black characters that would elevate Whiteness while others wouldn’t. And in these shows, the White gaze was ever-present.

In my own household, I didn’t receive any special-education on Black History (African or African-American). If I learned anything, I learned it from the snippets I would see on television or at school. Of course, these were unreliable sources in most instances. As a Black girl, I was fascinated by television, magazines, books and the outside world. As a teenager, I would often read Seventeen, Teen Vogue and Cosmopolitan. At the time, these magazines would show White bodies with the exception of a few light-skin or biracial Black girls. Most of the beauty suggestions were tailored to White-skin and those with straight or curly hair. Of course, I became lost in all of this. In asking my parents about Black History, they would laugh and tell me that we are Americans. We aren’t Africans. We aren’t from Africa. It was hard to swallow these words because I really wanted to know about myself. In school and within social-circles, I felt as if I was dying a slow-death. Nobody was giving me what I needed as a Black girl-child.

In the latter years of my education, I went off to the university and thirsted for Black-History.  I knew that a Black Studies’ class would quench this thirst. Dr. Clovis Semmes, professor, and director of the Black Studies’ program at the University of Missouri-Kansas City became a lifeline for me. I would ask questions, send emails and visit him in his office because I wanted to know myself. I wanted to know about my heritage. I wanted to learn what I wasn’t given in my previous years of schooling. In searching my university for this kind of education, I was turned away from numerous departments- Religious Studies, Women and Gender Studies, English Literature and Language and the History department. I was told to go to the Black Studies’ program. Out of an entire urban-based university, I was told to go to a place that isn’t even considered a department. In finally finding my way in the right direction, Dr. Semmes told me, “You have to study on your own. You have to seek out the answers for yourself. You have to supplement your education with Black-education. You can’t depend on this university”. I will never forget those words. In being told these words over four years ago, I have done exactly that. I have challenged myself to learn about the Black-experience throughout the African Diaspora.

In going through all of this, I know I am not yet done. The fight to love me in a world that doesn’t love Black or Brown people is hard. However, I can’t give up. In working with Black and Brown children for the last three years, I made a commitment to them. I made a commitment to making an impact on Black and Brown communities. In stepping outside of academia for the first time, I went to work

In stepping outside of academia for the first time, I went to work in the Center Public School District within Kansas City, Missouri at an elementary school. In working with kindergarten through fifth-grade students, I saw that many things had not changed from when I was growing up as a young Black child. In giving students the option of drawing a self-portrait, basketball or board-games, some chose to draw themselves. In checking on the students and making my rounds, I saw that many of the young, Black girls were drawing themselves with blonde-hair and peach-skin. I asked some of them why they chose to draw this version of themselves and they told me, “she is beautiful”.  In remembering the words of Dr. Ominata Okpokodu, “whenever you see an injustice of an issue, you must interrupt. You must disrupt. You can’t allow the cycle to be ignored. You have a duty to change what isn’t right,” I told the young girls that their skin, hair, and bodies were beautiful and didn’t need to be changed. Of course, this may not be the ultimate solution, but I believe that this is necessary. In an urban-school in which most of the teachers and staff members are White, I knew that the children were searching for themselves in what appeared to them daily.

In a scene on Good Times, the young-son Michael placed a Black Jesus on the wall as an attempt to resist and counter the White Jesus on the wall. In walking in on this change, his mother, Florida Evans became dismissive of this swap. She told her son that this particular phenotype of Jesus was wrong. Not only was it wrong, but she wasn’t raised with this Jesus. She argued that her White Jesus was an heirloom and she wouldn’t replace it with anything else. In seeing this back and forth argument between a Black mother and her son, I was puzzled. Why? I knew that Michael was looking for the same thing as me. Michael was looking for his Black self in a world of Whiteness. He wanted to see his image somewhere. But like most images, Whiteness would be the only acceptable image and representation to look to.

In 2014, the young, Black girls at the table drawing themselves were only drawing the image that they had seen through their Black eyes. Their image wasn’t elevated. Their image wasn’t on the wall. Their image was shunned and denied space to exist. And like those Black little girls and like Pecola, I wanted to be White so that I could be loved and accepted.

However, this must change. It has to change. Children are the future. And tomorrow will be their world. As I think about Black America, I cry because the struggle continues with the children in our households, in our classrooms, in our places of worship and within our communities. We have to teach them to love themselves. We have to teach them to resist. We have to teach them to create their own narratives. We have to teach them to create and build. We have to give them the space to be Black and proud.

We have to create communities of young, Black leaders, entrepreneurs, teachers, writers, film-makers, activists, lawyers, painters and etc. We have to love them. We have to love them.

We have to love them because this world sure doesn’t.

When we choose the children, we choose the community.

A Call for African-Centered Schools and Curricula for Black Students

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As a first-grade student, I attended Sanford B. Ladd, an African-centered school in Kansas City, Missouri. In looking back on my years within various schools in various districts, I can remember this particular school very well. Every week, we had a morning assembly that consisted of a chant starting with Harambee. Students dressed in traditional African-dress and played the drums and danced.
 
In a school-wide culture, we learned The Nguzo Saba or the Seven Principles of Kwanzaa in addition to learning Kiswahili. Not only this, but we learned about Africa. As a young Black girl in the urban-core, I saw teachers and administrators that looked like me. I saw myself in curriculum and I saw myself on the walls of the halls. We were taught to value ourselves as African folk.
 
Since I was into extra-curricular activities, I stayed after-school and participated in a quilting club and an entrepreneur club. Listen, I was in the 1st grade. I was around 7 years old and learning about myself and how to be economically independent.
 
In the quilting club, myself and others, had the opportunity of being around older, Black women that looked similar to our own grandmothers and they would tell us about the symbolism in quilting during slavery. They taught us about the messages within the patches of the quilts.
 
In the entrepreneur club, we were taught how to create our own businesses in order to create wealth for ourselves. Yes, we were young, but it makes sense now. We are not taught this at a young age. As Black people, learning how to break free of our poverty and learning how to create generational-wealth is important. We have to teach ourselves and teach our children at a young age. 
In working with urban-youth, financial-literacy isn’t taught until students are a lot older and in the upper-levels of schooling. In my opinion, this is detrimental. Black children should be taught about themselves and how to liberate themselves- financially, spiritually and mentally. In the average classroom, this type of education will not happen. However, White students, on average, will have more access to resources than Black students at birth.
In understanding this reality, the Black community must push to teaching these fundamentals at a young age. The mainstream curriculum will not teach Black students about their history as Africans or about the importance of financial-literacy.
And for me, as an Educator and Black woman, I feel it is crucial that students of color are given exactly what is needed for success. It is vital that this generation become innovative in our we approach the re-education of Black children. We have to educate for liberation.
We can only save this generation and the next generation by believing in this generation and their endless possibilities. We have to give the love needed to make this happen. We have to have open discussions about our trauma and work towards healing. We have to extend our resources to one another. We have to create coalitions within communities. We have to believe in this vision and trust in it.

Pedagogy of the Oppressed: Black and Brown Children

As a twenty-five years old woman, I understand that this identity-work can be hard. Heck, I know that it can be downright frustrating and a struggle. In the language of my mother, “just be you”. Now, for the young-folks, life isn’t really this simplistic. We’re told to be this and we’re told to be that, but who are we?

So, what does it mean to be yourself? I guess it’s when you are totally comfortable in the skin that you’re in. However, this gets a bit complicated when you are a Black or Brown person. Struggling with yourself becomes a daily task. It becomes a full-time job. It becomes a location of emotional labor.

As a twenty-five years old, working-class Black woman in the United States, I am at the intersection. In being told by Black and Brown students that they fear their lives because of what they see on television and social-media, how do we not struggle? How do Black and Brown parents raise their children in this unfortunate reality of cameras catching the constant dehumanization of folks that looks like themselves and their children? How do we hold it all together when we can’t walk without being criminalize in some form or another? How do we tell our children to play outside when playing with a toy gun will get you shot and killed? How do we tell our children to simply listen to the police officer and to follow directions when following directions gets you shot and killed? We are definitely strange fruit.

Struggling with this skin. Struggling with this skin. Struggling with this skin. Struggling with being a Black or Brown person is a full-time job that doesn’t give you breaks or paid-vacations off. When mother tells me to be myself, how hard is that when being yourself gets you shot and killed?

As I stare into the faces of Brown and Black students, I understand their struggles. I understand how hard it is to be a child, but yet treated like an adult. I understand how hard it is to be child, but treated as if you are well into your years of adulthood. You are not child when you are Black or Brown. You are adult. You are not child. You can never be child. You will always appear older than your White counter-parts. You will be the exception. You will be the reason why their guns are pulled more quickly. You will be the reason why they will place you in Special-Education at a higher-rate than your White-peers. You will be the reason why you will be suspended at a higher-rate than your White-peers. You will be the reason why you will not be allowed to be child.

But my beloved Black and Brown children, you need to laugh. And you laugh loud. You need to scream out your names and let the syllables of your names perform gymnastics on their tongues. Make your movements bold. Make your presence known. Do not reduce yourself to fit their expectations. Do not be silent. Do not be scared. Be bold, my beloved Black and Brown children.

We have endured four-hundred years of slavery. We have loved in the trenches. Our ancestors birthed us through their pain. They birthed us in their pain. My beloved Black and Brown children, love yourselves and love each other. Let your stories be told in whatever language you have. Make your dancing become the artifacts for generations to come to remember you by. Be bold in your identities. Be bold in your love. Be bold in your Black and Brown. Be bold. Be bold. Be bold.

For this is the pedagogy of the oppressed.

THE ROAD TO SELF-LOVE: BEING BLACK, WOMAN AND AMERICAN

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Four years ago, I took one of my first Black Studies’courses as an undergraduate student. As an undergrad that was wavering in so many directions with so many points of interest, I wanted to do something for myself. I wanted to learn about me. For the first time in my life, I was going to delve into Black History. As a young child, my parents never told my brother and I about our history as Black folks. So, I depended on school to do the work. However, this dependency quickly became my downfall.
As a student of color that attended schools in suburbia, I wasn’t afforded the privilege of learning about my history, thus I felt disconnected. I felt lost. I felt robbed. I felt as if my Blackness was less-important than European-history. I felt as if my peers were gaining insight about their history while I was being erased and treated as an invisible. I can remember my ignorance of self becoming a place of self-hatred. I hated myself. I hated my skin. I hated my hair. I hated being poor. I hated everything about myself that ‘they’ made fun of. I didn’t want to be an invisible anymore. I wanted to be acknowledged. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be validated. I wanted to fit in. However, I never received this during my years of school until I took my first course in Black Studies.
My Black Studies course became a site of resistance for me. It was a place of community and it felt like it. My course had all African-American students with the same desire to learn about self. We were all desiring to learn about our genesis. In our class, we were a family. On our campus, we were outcasts. We were having to face an institution that prides itself in urban-education while enforcing Whiteness.We were expected to unknow ourselves. We were expected to smile in our urban-based institution while being told that Black Studies is where we should go to learn about ourselves. We were departmentalized. We weren’t given the privilege of having our voices, bodies and names heard in a typical curriculum. We had to go to a department that catered to our needs because the other spaces on campus were White with bourgeois values.
For many of my courses at my university, I felt that my Blackness was a disruption. I felt that my voice and my body was unwelcomed. In one of my undergrad classes, a professor asked me on the first day of class to tell everyone where I was from. Due to my brown skin and my hijab (Muslim headwrap), she felt the need to pry into my life and to humiliate me in front of my peers as if my body and visual representation wasn’t acceptable to our predominant White-class. In  seeking to remain calm with such a request, I told her that I was born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri with parents from Mississippi and Missouri. In telling her my answer, she gave a faint smile with the rest of the class gazing upon her expressionless face. However, this was not the first or last time that I felt as if my body and voice was a site of disruption. I soon had to find strength in knowing that I had a choice. I could become knowledgeable about myself and feel pride in my Blackness. Or I could simply cave in. I could curl up. Assimilate. Continue to hate myself.
However, I knew I had gotten too far to simply cave-in. I wanted to grow intellectually. I wanted to begin the process of loving myself. I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to know my history. So, I took my first course in Black Studies’ to start my journey. At the beginning of my first Black Studies’ course, our professor asked our class if we knew our native tongue. In being caught off guard by his question, we all looked around and nodded ‘no’. In feeling upset about this reality, I wanted to do something about it. So, I started learning Kiswahili. In an effort to learn Kiswahili, I knew I would be one step closer to Africa, in someway, in some form. However, he never told us that the English language can be a site of resistance. In Teaching to Transgress by Black feminist, Dr. Bell Hooks, she stated that “learning English, learning to speak the alien tongue, was one way enslaved Africans began to reclaim their personal power within a context of domination. Possessing, a shared language, Black folks could find again a way to make community, and a means to create the political solidarity necessary to resist”.
In thinking about Hooks’ statement, I knew that I have a responsibility to speak. I have a responsibility to be truthful to myself in my endeavor of learning about myself. I do not seek to live my life through the lens of White-supremacy. In knowing the history of Black folks in America, we can take the English language and find it as a starting point for healing. We can take this language of oppression and use it as a place of resistance. We can write books. We can write poetry. We can change the way we view ourselves. The way we start to think about ourselves. We can use this language to center ourselves. To find healing. To find wholeness. In thinking about my professor’s question, I knew the validity of such a thought. He wanted us to think. He wanted us to see the oppressive nature of those that came to take. To conquer. To spread the blood of our ancestors. However, our African ancestors knew that there was power in taking the oppressor’s language to their advantage. They knew that they had to form community, somehow. They knew they had to start somewhere. So, they started with the English language and created a new Black culture out of it. A culture that we can call community. The same community that I had found love and healing within on the first day of my Black Studies’ course. My Black Studies’ course was the first place that I learned to think critically. To think about myself as a whole person. To think about my responsibilities as a student of color. As a person of color in our world.