Race matters.
A lot.
I chose to do this project on segregation because race is a topic that frequently reaches the forefront of my mind. Race bothers me. The racial divide in our country is stronger than ever. Yes, we have ended slavery, and we have a black man as President. But, I would argue that black and minority children are still enslaved by a culture that de-emphasizes education and promotes youth violence. When it is likelier for black men to be selling drugs on the street corner than attending school, I'd say we still have a problem. When the academic proficiency of white children in our country is a solid 20% higher than that of black children, I'd say that we still have a big problem in this country.
I'm a white woman from a privileged background. My parents are highly educated from the top schools in this country, and my siblings and I grew up attending predominantly white, private schools in Atlanta, GA. I never thought twice about attending college. Education and hard work, in my family, were expected, and my parents spent the majority of their incomes on the best schools possible for my siblings and me. However, I quickly recognized that not all American children placed such a high value on education when I took the ACT at an inner city Atlanta public school during my senior year in high school. I'll never forget walking into the auditorium as a minority; only about 10 other white students chose that test location. I vividly remember one of the teachers standing in front of the room to say, "You guys must take this seriously. This is your future. It's not a joke." Those words struck a chord with me; I had never considered not taking my future seriously. Yet, there I was watching underprivileged, minority students close their test books after five minutes, laugh at the test, and mock the proctor. I left that day with tears in my eyes, realizing later that I had just witnessed the failure of our public school system.
Later that year, I attended an assembly during Service Week at my high school where a speaker discussed the failing education system, poverty, etc. He opened his talk with the statement, "You all are sitting right now in one of the wealthiest zip codes in the nation. Right next store is one of the poorest." As he began to describe how the poverty/wealth of the zip code affected the education systems, I got angry. How was it fair that I was able to attend a nationally recognized private school when students miles away were receiving terrible educations? It wasn't right. At that moment, I became committed to fighting in the education reform movement.
College led me to numerous programs where I interacted with children and adults of different races in the community. I became involved in an organization called Family Connection-Communities in Schools (FCCS), an Athens-based non-profit with the Whatever It Takes initiative: an initiative "that works neighborhood by neighborhood to ensure all children are healthy, safe, involved in the community, and on track to graduate from a post-seconary education." Through FCCS, a few students and I were able to found Whatever It Takes at UGA, a student organization which has now created two after school programs within local Athens communities. I tutored and mentored through numerous organizations. And, yet, for the first year and a half of college, I didn't think about race. I was naive. I thought that our country had shattered all racial divides.
During my sophomore year, my world view changed. I had the opportunity to attend a Teach for America conference for about 150 college students interested in education reform. We all met in D.C. for a weekend long workshop. Once again, as one of about 20 white students, 5 Southerners, and probably 2 Republicans, I was definitely in the minority. Most students were first-generation college students. Most students had a legitimate reason to be interested in the education system, as they had experienced failing schools themselves. I honestly felt like I didn't belong in this movement. I became ashamed of my background, ashamed of my race. I wanted to be a first-generation college student of color. For the first time, I recognized that, as a white woman, I lacked the ability to do what I wanted to do so badly: influence minority, underprivileged students. I realized that the people of greatest power were the minorities who chose to receive a college education and go back to their own communities. Let's be honest--what child wouldn't choose to listen to someone who looked like them, talked like them, and acted like them over someone who didn't?
As the year continued, I kept thinking about race. My mentee, a 7-year-old African American girl living in Athens, would frequently bring it up with me. She would make comments like, "Why is that white girl walking? Don't all white people have cars?" and "Anna, you're nice. Most white people aren't." It broke my heart. She made me realize that children think a lot about race. And, when the majority of public school teachers are white women, it's easy to understand why many minority children refuse to cooperate.
I finally reached some clarification about race when I read Geoffrey Canada's book, Fist, Stick, Knife, Gun. By sharing his own stories of inner-city America, he opened my eyes to the struggles that children face as they battle youth violence, the drug trade, and a gun industry that targets children. He taught me that fixing the failing school system isn't as simple as throwing money at failing schools and creating policies. It's about understanding that black parents don't parent the same way as white parents or Hispanic parents; that white values aren't the same as black values; that minority children are violent because they have to know how to defend themselves on the streets; that white professionals are (intentionally or unintentionally) still very suppressive of minorities. It's not an easy issue.
Race still matters. A lot. It is an important issue that not enough people are aware of. And I adamantly believe that we will not fix the education system until we address it.
I chose to do this project on segregation because race is a topic that frequently reaches the forefront of my mind. Race bothers me. The racial divide in our country is stronger than ever. Yes, we have ended slavery, and we have a black man as President. But, I would argue that black and minority children are still enslaved by a culture that de-emphasizes education and promotes youth violence. When it is likelier for black men to be selling drugs on the street corner than attending school, I'd say we still have a problem. When the academic proficiency of white children in our country is a solid 20% higher than that of black children, I'd say that we still have a big problem in this country.
I'm a white woman from a privileged background. My parents are highly educated from the top schools in this country, and my siblings and I grew up attending predominantly white, private schools in Atlanta, GA. I never thought twice about attending college. Education and hard work, in my family, were expected, and my parents spent the majority of their incomes on the best schools possible for my siblings and me. However, I quickly recognized that not all American children placed such a high value on education when I took the ACT at an inner city Atlanta public school during my senior year in high school. I'll never forget walking into the auditorium as a minority; only about 10 other white students chose that test location. I vividly remember one of the teachers standing in front of the room to say, "You guys must take this seriously. This is your future. It's not a joke." Those words struck a chord with me; I had never considered not taking my future seriously. Yet, there I was watching underprivileged, minority students close their test books after five minutes, laugh at the test, and mock the proctor. I left that day with tears in my eyes, realizing later that I had just witnessed the failure of our public school system.
Later that year, I attended an assembly during Service Week at my high school where a speaker discussed the failing education system, poverty, etc. He opened his talk with the statement, "You all are sitting right now in one of the wealthiest zip codes in the nation. Right next store is one of the poorest." As he began to describe how the poverty/wealth of the zip code affected the education systems, I got angry. How was it fair that I was able to attend a nationally recognized private school when students miles away were receiving terrible educations? It wasn't right. At that moment, I became committed to fighting in the education reform movement.
College led me to numerous programs where I interacted with children and adults of different races in the community. I became involved in an organization called Family Connection-Communities in Schools (FCCS), an Athens-based non-profit with the Whatever It Takes initiative: an initiative "that works neighborhood by neighborhood to ensure all children are healthy, safe, involved in the community, and on track to graduate from a post-seconary education." Through FCCS, a few students and I were able to found Whatever It Takes at UGA, a student organization which has now created two after school programs within local Athens communities. I tutored and mentored through numerous organizations. And, yet, for the first year and a half of college, I didn't think about race. I was naive. I thought that our country had shattered all racial divides.
During my sophomore year, my world view changed. I had the opportunity to attend a Teach for America conference for about 150 college students interested in education reform. We all met in D.C. for a weekend long workshop. Once again, as one of about 20 white students, 5 Southerners, and probably 2 Republicans, I was definitely in the minority. Most students were first-generation college students. Most students had a legitimate reason to be interested in the education system, as they had experienced failing schools themselves. I honestly felt like I didn't belong in this movement. I became ashamed of my background, ashamed of my race. I wanted to be a first-generation college student of color. For the first time, I recognized that, as a white woman, I lacked the ability to do what I wanted to do so badly: influence minority, underprivileged students. I realized that the people of greatest power were the minorities who chose to receive a college education and go back to their own communities. Let's be honest--what child wouldn't choose to listen to someone who looked like them, talked like them, and acted like them over someone who didn't?
As the year continued, I kept thinking about race. My mentee, a 7-year-old African American girl living in Athens, would frequently bring it up with me. She would make comments like, "Why is that white girl walking? Don't all white people have cars?" and "Anna, you're nice. Most white people aren't." It broke my heart. She made me realize that children think a lot about race. And, when the majority of public school teachers are white women, it's easy to understand why many minority children refuse to cooperate.
I finally reached some clarification about race when I read Geoffrey Canada's book, Fist, Stick, Knife, Gun. By sharing his own stories of inner-city America, he opened my eyes to the struggles that children face as they battle youth violence, the drug trade, and a gun industry that targets children. He taught me that fixing the failing school system isn't as simple as throwing money at failing schools and creating policies. It's about understanding that black parents don't parent the same way as white parents or Hispanic parents; that white values aren't the same as black values; that minority children are violent because they have to know how to defend themselves on the streets; that white professionals are (intentionally or unintentionally) still very suppressive of minorities. It's not an easy issue.
Race still matters. A lot. It is an important issue that not enough people are aware of. And I adamantly believe that we will not fix the education system until we address it.