At ages 3 and 2, Keith and Maceo, respectively, have little patience for workbooks and sitting down for long lengths of time as a means to “practice” literacy skills. So at this stage, to grow their vocabulary, build skill in strategic thinking, and support their practice of various ways of learning, speaking, thinking and doing in situ for successful interactions (what I am defining as literacy as contextualized action), I try to do so while “on our feet.” Because Keith and Maceo like to hang out with me whenever I am in the kitchen, I have begun thinking of ways to use that space as a “real life classroom.” Rather than work through a list of words, or decontextualized workbook drills, I try to situate my sons’ skill acquisitions and the building of them contextualized in shared spaces, experiences and familial routines.
Ironically, an effective and impactful way has been through cooking and doing chores together. Here are a few practices that are proving fruitful.
Learn and practice vocabulary in applicable situations. Keith and Maceo have a fascination with the dishwasher. Maceo is engrossed with the mechanics and inner workings of the machine, pulling the drawers and objects in and out. Keith has appointed himself as Mommy’s helper, interested in helping me load and unload it. So when it is time to use the dishwasher, I use the moment to foster and facilitate their acquiring of relevant vocabulary. As Keith is helping me, I ask him to name the different things we are loading into the machine, spell out the name of an object, or explain how a particular object (plate, pot, spoon, etc.) is used. With Maceo, as he now at the stage of learning and practicing sounds, I name the objects both in the dishwasher and throughout the kitchen, then practice with him repeating their names. In another chore-based scenario, Keith LOVES helping unpack groceries, which I use as an opportunity to build vocabulary. As he removes objects from the bags, I ask him to name what it is he is removing from the bag (canned peaches, frozen spinach, chicken, etc.), and “help” Mommy by telling me where it goes (in cabinet, in fridge, in freezer, etc.). As a caveat, I don’t do this with them EVERY time I run the dishwasher, or extend to EVERY task and chore we do, as that would probably burden the fun and at some point burn out the kids and their interests.
But when interests and curiosity intersect, I pounce.
Simulate chores and then deconstruct step by step the procedures to fulfill them. We bought our sons their own play kitchen, prompted by observing Keith during a recent dental visit. He was so engrossed with the one in the office we spent an additional half hour after his appointment just to let him play. Seeing how much he engaged with the kitchen—simulating cooking, putting dishes in the sink, opening and closing the microwave and fridge—gave me an idea to situate learning procedures and vocabulary within the context of family rituals. Keith (who is quite verbal) typically asks questions while I am cooking about what I am preparing and how. I’ll share details about the food I am preparing, describing step by step what I am doing, explaining what is happening to the food as it is cooking and why, illustrating the overall process. He usually brings a stool to stand next to me and observe. I am deliberate in telling him what I am doing step-by-step and how I am doing it because I am trying to model the use of procedures. At times I use vocabulary such as “first,” “second,” “next,” and “then” to cue him in how I progress through a task to familiarize him with the procedural language I use throughout that experience. Maceo’s interests lies now with opening and closing cabinet and refrigerator doors. But given this interest, his emerging skill in reciting sounds, and his autonomous play with the play kitchen, I am thinking of ways to support and scaffold similar growth.
Use familial and familiar experiences as launching pad to explore new concepts. Cooking in the kitchen has also begun to make Keith curious about time. I use time as a means to measure how long to cook something, and in scheduling how to cook multiple things at once. Noting how and why I use time in this way, Keith has begun emulating me. Whenever I begin cooking, Keith asks me the time, which then leads me to explaining to him how to represent the time on his own play clock. This interaction has given me entrance and access to teaching the vocabulary of time (11:25, 4:50, big hand, little hand, half past, ten minutes to…), as well as how to represent time visually on his play kitchen clock (big hand on the twelve, little hand on the 3, for example). In addition, I watch several news stations, and Keith has noticed numbers and symbols across the television screen. I explain them as the current time and temperature (a current fascination of his), leading many times to him pointing to and reciting them. Now that we have an intersection of interest, platform, and opportunity to build time-telling skills, I have brought in a few ancillary resources. One is a poster from the local dollar store illustrating how to tell time. Two others are books, one showing different times of day and the rituals people perform at those times, and another detailing how to tell time both visually and digitally, inclusive of new vocabulary associated with telling time. I also bought a clock that tells time physically, digitally and audibly, which we use to further explore his interest in time and skill to tell it. The books we read as a reference when needed during daily reading time. The poster is a visual reference we use whenever Keith asks questions about how to tell time.
Keith is transferring these experiences of us in the kitchen, autonomously employing procedures and procedural vocabulary within tasks we do together or him separately. When helping me clean in the house, particularly when doing his favorite chore of cleaning the floors, he tells me that first he will spray the cleaner, then I will mop, and then he will take over. I smile. In another example, he has begun pacing himself when he is play cooking in his own kitchen, speaking out loud what he will do each step of the way. When looking for toys he verbalizes his steps, marking “First, I will…,” and “Then, I will….” Both of the boys have taken interest in the new toy clock, winding the big and little hands to represent different times, then awaiting the clock to announce out loud the time represented on its face.
These are small steps taken in the big journey literacy learning. One chore at a time.
An inquiry board helps our son to formulate and formalize creating questions and seeking answers. It’s also become a means through which we build a community invested in investigating both our interests and world.
Kids ask a lot of questions. From the abstract to concrete, their mind is always turning and churning new ideas about their circumstances, experiences, and environment. My oldest toddler son, turning three, is always peppering me with questions. I try to answer as many as I can, but I also realize that what I know is finite. I am not the only or absolute source for answers. Knowing my limitations, I have begun thinking of ways to affirm Keith’s inquisitive mindset, while also figuring out ways to equip him with mental tools and physical resources that help him investigate answers to his questions.
To begin, I introduced Keith to a book called What is a Scientist? by Barbara Lehn. An informative and accessible book, it breaks down the scientific method in kid friendly language and application, with pictures illustrating the different parts of the process (“a scientist is a person who asks questions and tries different ways to answer them,” “A scientist learns from her senses,” for example). Knowing he won’t grasp the concept of inquiry or the scientific method as a means to an answer in their entirety just by reading about them, nor wanting to just leave the support of his understanding at the “just read about it” level, I have begun exploring ways to affirm his questions, and to make his inquiry tactile, interactive, and responsive. To this end, I created an inquiry board.
I got the idea of an inquiry board from observing Keith’s particular interest in cartoons that are based in problem-solving. From very early, Keith loved the Word World series, in which characters solve problems through identifying what words best fit as a solution, and Super Why, where a team of friends explore answers to personal problems through examining the characters in famous books facing similar situations. Other problem-solving characters that intrigue him include Luna from Earth to Luna, Peg from Peg + Cat, Sid from Sid the Science Kid, and Steve and Joe from Blue’s Clues. Each character identifies a problem, applying particularized ways and innovative means to solve them. Luna imagines herself in particular situations and reenacts them. Peg employs such things as mathematics, geometry and pattern recognition. Sid uses facets of the scientific method and employs his familial community of parents, friends, teacher and classmates. Steve and Joe use investigative strategies, visuals and writing to figure out problems. Keith admires them, constantly talking about the questions they explore, even emulating how they pursue solutions. Witnessing this, I thought an inquiry board might be a great way (and buy-in) to get him invested and involved in not only asking questions but becoming an agent and participant in answering them.
The inquiry board comprised of a 2’ by 3’ whiteboard, decorated with various characters mentioned above, placed there so Keith could see his “fellow inquirers.” Attached are several large post-it notes where we record his questions for the week. Each week I listen for different questions he asks, and ask if he would like to include them on his board.
Recent questions include the following:
Why do we play?
What is a highlighter?
Why do we have to brush our teeth?
Why does Daddy go to work?
Why does paper rip?
Why do Leap, Lily, and Tad stay on Leap Frog? And Professor Quibly and Dad?
How come Scout doesn’t work?
How come our Sippy cups don’t have juice?
Several questions that piqued his own inquiry originate from the Earth to Luna show, with some examples including the following:
Why does yellow and blue make green?
Why do butterflies rub their feet?
Why do things sink?
Just a few weeks in, the inquiry board is a hit. Keith has bought into the idea full heartedly. We have moved from just me directly asking if he has any questions he wants to put on the board. He takes initiative, taking ownership of identifying, recording and exploring his questions. Periodically he will be in thought and then excitedly request, “Can we put that question on my board?” In fact, while writing this post (5:30 am), I went to change Keith, and while doing so, he asked, “Why are your hands so cold, Mommy? Hey, let’s put that question on the board!” Keith extends his community of inquiry to include his dad, who he will ask if they can put questions on the board together. A recent question they wrote together is “Why do we have to let waste go?” Keith also has taken initiative in wanting to write his questions. Gravitating away from asking either me or his dad to write them, he will ask one of us to guide his hand in writing his question, or try to write it all on his own (which, as a by-product, feeds his pursuit of learning to write his letters and numbers). Daily Keith goes to his board, interacting with it, whether through reading questions aloud, or selecting a specific post-it and using it as fodder for us to have a conversation.
While I don’t have specific measurable learning outcomes to report, I can say that thus far that the board and the social experiences we have around it are impactful. It is a tool that I find useful in helping Keith formulate and formalize how to seek out answers to questions. It has also become a means where we as a community invest in and value inquiry. As a parent, I feel this tool and the experiences it has created situates me less as having to be a “know it all” and more of a facilitator of methods and possibilities.
I am not just giving a man a fish for the day, but how to fish to feed himself for a lifetime.
Update, February 2015. Here is a snapshot of recent questions Keith asked:
Why do we have to brush our teeth? Why does soapy water make bubbles? Why do baby teeth fall out?…
Why do planes fly?
Why is there snow?
Why is there dust on the floor?
Why did the TV fall down? Why does the TV not work? (Sadly, the flat screen TV, like Humpty Dumpty, had a bad fall).
Have a variety of books and materials that are immediately accessible for children to touch. Use them as a means to ignite inquiry and spark dialogue.
Kids are tactile. Having an array of resources within hands’ reach sparks their curiosity and instigates exploration, spawning the beginnings of inquiry and dialogue. So I have devoted time to creating a room full of books, an in home library, housing hundreds of books we collected over the span of our lives (see recent blogpost “Building a Home Library: An Autobiographical and Intergenerational Bridge” at http://wp.me/p1lNcW-ir, for details). Across topics and genres, our collections includes books about screenplay writing and the movie industry, curriculum and lesson planning, cookbooks, poetry, philosophy, religious texts, manuals, even photo albums and high school yearbooks. The boys also have a whole bookcase dedicated to their books, puzzles, and library loans.
Like Spider Man, our oldest son Keith scales the bookcases, exploring their contents, sometimes pulling out a cookbook; other times an old photo album. The availability of so many books intrigues him, catalyzing between us a dialogue about various things. Pulling out an old photo album recently spawned a conversation about the history of his maternal grandparents and what it was like for me growing up with them. Seeing and hearing me read the Bible piqued his interest, resulting in him pulling and perusing different Bibles from the bookcase, then asking me to read portions aloud to him. Scanning his dad’s Entertainment Weekly collection has him now asking questions about the pictures in it (“Why is the baby crying?” based on an ad), and self-testing his letter recognition (“That’s a T!” referring to the T-Mobile logo). Exotic covers capture his eye in particular. He likes pulling out old issues of Poetry journal, and is particularly drawn to the several books I have by two of my favorite authors, Zora Neale Hurston and Toni Morrison. After pulling them and spreading them on the floor, he typically asks, “Will you read this to me?” I then read aloud a short excerpt. He may not understand the vocabulary, content, or context, but I do this to endorse his inquisitiveness.
The tangibility of various texts fosters a dialogic space. Dialogues emanate just because of a book he pulled out. These books and the conversational shared space encourage and stimulate our talking about an array of topics, nurturing the relationship evolving between us. One where inquiry, exploration, and dialogue are fostered and legitimized. These conversations are the hallmark and beginning of him (1) exploring texts, (2) creating and examining ideas, and (3) accessing and assessing new worlds within himself and outside.
And me learning how best to scaffold and support his interpretative and interpersonal possibilities.
What conversations have you had as a result of a child picking up a text and sharing it with you? What has been the impact on you both?
A fondness for reading, properly directed, must be an education in itself. –Jane Austen
Readers have been a part of my life since birth. I cannot remember a time when I was not around someone reading a newspaper, analyzing the Bible and taking notes, or curling up with a good book simply for pleasure. From these experiences, books have become for me tools for excavation, solace in a stormy world, and a portal into possibilities. Family and friends have impacted my experience to become the lover of reading and books that I am today.
And why I am passionate about creating a library and leaving a similar legacy to my two sons.
When I was growing up, my parents made it a point to surround us with books. Dad amassed religious texts, books about the Bible and Biblical figures, as well as those related to his job as a supervisor for the NYCMTA. These included tomes of manuals and large “maps” illustrating circuit systems. When I got older, he gave me several books; Billy Graham’s book Angels (which I still have today), books about astronomy, and an encyclopedia. Dad collected books and texts from numerous sources, spanning from the Strand Bookstore, a particular favorite, to dumpster diving, once salvaging a well-kept composition notebook with copious notes about solving equations (which I found real helpful in middle school). Tuesdays were an important day in our household, because that is when the Science section of The New York Times was published. Dad and I would comb through it, cutting out articles (particularly about astronomy, my favorite subject) and pasting them in my scrapbook.
Mom too kept books and texts circulating throughout the house. She housed philosophical collections by Gibran, Greek tragedies by Sophocles, famous texts by African American writers (Ellison’s Invisible Man and Haley’s Autobiography of Malcolm X and Roots, which I still have), as well as texts about Black consciousness. Mom was an avid reader of newspapers, scouring the current events sections to keep abreast of new developments. She read different local newspapers (Daily News and New York Post) to gain different perspectives. As a member and past Grand Matron in the Order of the Eastern Star, several books were part of the bookcase she and dad had in their bedroom. Although a mystery to me as a kid, I would see her reading from these sacred books, practicing the delivery of their texts and her positioning as she read them, with dad observing and helping her practice (him being a Mason).
My childhood friend Carla grew up around masses of books. Her dad was a voracious reader, historical scholar and herbal enthusiast. I was always impressed by his learnedness about so many things, with facts and data literally at the touch of his hands and tip of his tongue. Creating an environment of scholarship and insight has profound implications. If you meet Carla, a prolific protégé of his intellectual investment, she is a walking library. She is facile with relaying information that in ways pertinent and personable. His commitment to surrounding his two daughters with a plethora of information, and their facility in relaying and applying it, leaves an indelible impression to this day.
I want my children to be like his.
My husband is also an avid reader. A lover of political history, screenplay writing, film and film scores, and “old school” music aficionado, he has amassed volumes of books. Books to guide his revisiting and revision of drafts (now his fifth screenplay), topical texts to help him bring depth to a character (one such book titled Movies and Mental Illness), the history of favorite movies (The Making of the Empire Strikes Backand Bond on Bond: Reflections on 50 Years of James Bond Movies), and books about the history of music (The New Blue Music). To name a few. He also keeps abreast of the entertainment industry via periodicals too.
Sharing these bibliographic biographies of how text surround and inform the lives of people I care about is to illustrate the impact of the word on their lives and mine. It is why we as parents are investing in creating for library for our two sons. A place where we can expose them to myriad topics, agitate their curiosity and instigate investigation.
Our evolving library is divided into different sections. One whole bookcase is devoted to the boys’ books, texts specific to their evolving interests and responsive to their emerging questions. Keith, my oldest, is a fan of the rhythm and musicality underlying words (such as in books Jazz AZB and Chica Chica Boom Boom), abstract ideas represented visually (Perfect Square and One), humor (any book by Sandra Boynton, his favorites being But Not the Hippopotamus and Hippos Go Berserk), picture dictionaries, phonics (Preschool Prep Series), and books that show him how to explore creating a question and finding its answer (What is a Scientist? and Telling Time). The youngest, Maceo, burrows in a corner between the bookcase and closet, pulling down several different books, burrowing in, then studying their pages. Books he gravitates toward the most are flip books, books with rhyme (a book of Sesame Street songs as well as Martin and Carle’s Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What do You Hear? ), and with other favorites about shapes, letters, and numbers (particularly the Metropolitan Museum of Art Series). As the boys show interest in different topics and genres, we add them.
Our library is also being built by the loving investment of others. Diane, upon Keith’s birth, sent a huge box of children’s’ books that have been some of our kids’ favorites (so much so, like Catalina Magdalena Hoopensteiner Wallendinger Hogan Logan Bogan Was Her Name, disintegrated). Linda bought a picture book without words, which makes a great experience for us to co-create a narrative with the kids. Melissa, with children older than ours, has generously given several of her kids’ books they have outgrown. They are full of great ideas (exploring the world through the senses), morals and lessons (saying sorry is a hug given through words), and books about the precious relationship between a mother and her children. Victoria and Virginia sent several books for the boys, books that delightfully travel the spectrum from interactive to comical to familial to educational. Our library has become a project with familial investors extending the confines of our walls and personal experiences.
A curious thing has begun to happen. Periodically Keith gravitates to one shelf of the library, where I have housed my two favorite authors, Zora Neale Hurston and Toni Morrison. He takes down the whole group of books by each author, spraying them across the floor. Saying nothing, he leaves them there. I am impressed how he unknowingly knows two authors who have informed my writing and life.
I remember the lessons learned as both member and president of the local youth chapter of the National Council of Negro Women where I grew up. The strengthening of sisterhood through bringing divergent points of view into focus on a common goal. Learning the importance of outreach, of volunteering, to make a difference in the lives of others. Attending meetings that bridged the emerging ambition of young folk with the tempered sagacity of elders. It was an organization where the variance in our hues and hair was neither asset nor liability. We were sisters. It was an opportunity where our capacity and consciousness could grow and be harvested, not pitted in covetousness or competition. It was the space where we spread our wings, tested our steps, and built our dreams into edifices for future generations.
Meeting in that small community center room, it was a place for each of us to become.
In the documentary “A Place to Belong,” oral historian and filmmaker Allison Bonner Shillingford chronicles the lives of eight women members of the Montclair YWCA for African American women and girls from 1920-1965. Weaving them together, they become for the audience an historical, social and cultural tapestry. What unfolds is a beauteous but hard-stitched textile. Juxtaposed against the realities of racism via redlining, blockbusting and de facto segregation, we learn the many dreams of these members of the Great Migration, and what they and their families hoped to mine and actualize from moving to Montclair. It is the textile through which we learn how involvement in numerous clubs, community events and summer camps claimed their hearts, cultivating sisterhood between them. It is the textile through which we learn how gaining and applying leadership and collaboration skills becomes fodder and tools for later practice in these women’s’ personal and professional lives. It is the textile through which we learn how women of color across decades, including multiple generations within the same families, deliberately came to the YWCA to garner and harness a sense of self- ownership, affirmation, empowerment and pride in themselves and one another. In defiance of the enforced separation or hidden prejudice harbored within some of the people of the landscape, the landscape for them became promising and replete with possibility. The Montclair YWCA became their beacon, a blessing, the bonfire of sisterhood around which they assembled and grew together. Because of their individual and collective experiences at the YWCA, they learned how to live their lives as counter-narratives to gender, racial and economic inequities.
Through hard-told truths, wit, fond recollections and even giggles, these women pioneers—Norma Jean Darden, Daisy Booker Douglas, Lauretta Brandice Freeman, Rosemary Allen Jones, Sandra Lang, Dorothy Hatchett Morton, Elberta Hayes Stones, and Lucie Coleman Walton—make us privy to private experiences, rendering them as public texts. In so doing, we learn lessons of the resilience that harbors deep in heart and soul.
In attendance during the Q & A session were Allison Bonner Shillingford, executive producer and Director of the Montclair Historical Society Jane Mitchell Eliasof, and President of the Montclair Historical Society and project director Claudia Ocello. Also in attendance were several relatives of the women from the movie, spanning several generations. The session began with one audience member inquiring about the genesis of the film. Jane commented that “there is a huge story that is not being told,” and thought it important that the story of the YWCA be captured, particularly since the renovation of the building where the YWCA was housed has little represented within it of this important history. Allison elaborated that finding former YWCA members was a challenge, but was finally successful, including the fortune of finding one member who was 100 years old at the time of her first interview. Then, several family members intimated their thankfulness for the film being created. Next, an audience member asked about the film’s availability, which Jane shared is for sale at the Montclair Historical Society. Jane also shared that there were be several more group showings of the film throughout the year. An audience member then asked how long did it take to make the film, in which Allison shared that it took 2 ½ years, initiated by Claudia contacting Columbia University to find someone who was an oral historian who would be interested in this project. Allison answered the higher calling.
(This movie review is also posted at the Montclair Film Festival Website, http://montclairfilmfest.org/2014/05/a-place-to-belong-finding-a-place-to-become/)
In her self-published book, I’m Your Teacher, Not Your Mother, Suzette Clarke ignites a controversial conversation about the “true source” of student failure. While finger-pointing has typically designated teachers, schools, standardized tests, and standards as the source of fault, Clarke turns the finger to a “culprit” more centrally located to students’ lives. The parents. A former middle school teacher and library media specialist of fifteen years, Clarke postulates lack of parental involvement and investment as most impactful on academic success, and that this factor must be considered before blame be placed solely and sorely on the shoulders of educational institutions and those who work within them.
I’m Your Teacher, Not Your Mother is a collection of expositions, vignettes, statistics, observations, and personal reflections based on the frontline of working in schools. Clarke asserts parents’ attitudes about learning, orientations toward what support looks like, and understandings of obligations and responsibilities all play a role in how learning is supported, and not supported at home. Recounting hers and colleagues’ experiences, parental involvement has been staggeringly low. Reflecting both on her own and colleagues’ experiences working in New York City schools, Clarke identifies several factors for why she thinks parental lack of both commitment and participation occurs on so large a scale.
Clarke asserts that some parents situate school as the primary officiator of their children’s success instead of themselves. “It seems they believe overseeing their children’s educational development is someone else’s responsibility.” However, she also contends that with pressing economic times many parents are pulled away from home, working long hours and multiple jobs, resulting in less possibility for them to be actively involved in monitoring children’s academic success closely. “We have become a society of overwhelmed parents” who work “so much from the home that many depend on the system to develop and guide children.”
In other cases, Clarke contends that children “who fail have been given the power to fail by their parents,” and particularly those “who perform poorly or cause trouble in school do so because they have parents who are enablers. These parents do not do what is necessary to stem such behaviors.” Still in other cases parental failure of students is attributable to a lack of parents understanding their role to make sure students actively and responsibly participate in their own learning (completing tasks, fulfilling assignments, preparing for assessments). Being good intentioned, Clarke contends that such parents correlate being older as inherently being more responsible. She asserts that these expectations of autonomy, self-monitoring, and self-reliance are too much to handle, even for teenagers.
In all, Clarke suggests that at epidemic levels, “children are not getting the daily educational supervision they need at home in order to succeed at school.” Central to students performing successfully in school is parental establishment and enforcement of what she describes as an “educational tone in their home.” She emphasizes that parents must inaugurate high educational standards as soon as children commence school, and institute them every day until high school graduation. She contends that if parents demonstrate concern for their children’s education and couple that with daily monitoring, then they will excel. “Children who fail are not stupid. They are just unsupervised, undisciplined, unfocused, and out of practice.”
Clarke proclaims that there is “a distinct correlation between the concerned parent and the proactive student.” Students who do well are those who are “well trained, organized, disciplined, and motivated…They have parents who provide them with constant order, support, and guidance.” In the second half of her book, she then puts forth myriad suggestions for different ways parental involvement and commitment can be fully actualized.
For one, Clarke promotes reading at home as beneficially impactful on academic progress, while simultaneously honing an essential life skill. If parents “require reading time every day at home, reading scores would soar, and more students would become natural readers. Their overall knowledge, comprehension, vocabulary, grammar, writing and spelling skills would improve.” As well, she purports avid readers as “more informed and are better communicators.”
Clarke suggests minimizing excessive showering children with gifts, especially those who are not successful in school, as it communicates values around material wealth over mental. Indulgence in expensive gifts and trappings, in place of a consistent emotional involvement with child and school, endorses inappropriate school behavior and performance.
Parents reinforcing organization, such as the maintenance of an organized notebook, hold their children accountable in maintaining successful habits of mind and work. Frequent notebook checks are a way Clarke suggests parents can be kept abreast of a child’s progress. They can serve as a lens into any challenges or weaknesses his/her child is experiencing, and intervene. “If parents made sure their children maintained a constant level of organization and discipline, how can they fail?”
Clarke suggests that a mutually respectful partnership be established between parent and teacher. Parents of struggling students need to indulge less the blaming of teachers exclusively for their child’s poor performance. Instead, they should take the teachers’ input and advice and implement them into an action plan. She also admonishes parents to not be dissuaded by their child’s attitude toward a teacher, and not endorse their lack of successful performance just because they do not like a teacher. Parents must promote and uphold the expectation of the child to complete assigned work and excel on assessments, and not let a child’s excuse of “I don’t like the teacher” or “The teacher is out to get me” as justifiable eclipses of their potential.
Finally, Clarke suggests that supervision and activity are centripetal to academic success. From 3-6pm, students need activities that keep them engaged outside of school, and thus out of trouble. Examples include after school programs, play rehearsals, sports, language classes, tutoring, and when old enough, employment and volunteerism.
At the end of each chapter, Clarke asks parents pointed and poignant questions to reflect upon their involvement and investment in their child’s successes. They serve as prompts for parents to assess and reevaluate how they are supporting their child’s development. For example, a salient question she asks parents to consider is, “If a teacher has told you that your child is missing homework assignments, what new procedures have you implemented at home to ensure that all work is completed?” Such questions could serve as discussion starters during parent meetings, or as an opportunity for quiet reflection for individual parents.
In critique, there are some argumentative and structural elements of the book that need consideration. Argumentatively, the promotion of the idea of parental involvement proving pivotal to children’s successful formation academic habits and subsequent achievement is already established. Repeating throughout the book that a lack of such investment has negative impact at times stifles its’ illuminative potential rather than augment it. All too brief and cursory descriptions of how and why parents are insufficiently participatory or absent from their children’s academic lives detract from us knowing and understanding what we as stakeholders cannot afford to repeat. We need the nitty-gritty narratives alluded to by Clarke. Accounts of specific families, detailing the different practices (or lack thereof) that negatively impact children creating and sustaining successful academic habits would amplify the argument and concretize what to avoid. Most importantly, providing in-depth case studies of parents who have implemented Clarke’s remedies effectively, yielding in children’s successful adoption and/or adaption of fruitful academic habits and achievement, would make the book complete. Structurally, statistics and data from several diverse sources would provide readers a better understanding of the social, cultural, anthropological and historical milieu within which long-term academic efficacy and failure occur.
However, Clarke, as mother, educator, and advocate, puts her blood, sweat, and tears into initiating a much-needed conversation. Her words and purpose push us into the arena, and provide an initial arsenal with which to begin the fight. I’m Your Teacher, Not Your Mother offers food for thought regarding parents being the most essential agents of change in students’ academic development, progress, and success.
Class is dismissed.
For more information, you can access Suzette’s website at http://imyourteachernotyourmother.com/.
Food is sacrament. Forkful by forkful, something old unfolds and something new begins to take its first breath.
Food is sacrament. Through its creations and sharing, I am educated in how to give and bless back the family and friends that purpose my living. Family albums bloom with snapshots where we celebrate anniversaries, show thanks for another year via birthday dinners, mark rites of passage such as retirement and commiserate over one’s passing.
Growing up, creating Mother’s Day dinner was how I showed—in small part given the grandness of her love—the honor and appreciation I held for her. I tired my father in an exhaustive day of shopping for everything we did not already have in pantry or freezer. I used every pot and pan, to my father’s frustration as he was the designated dishwasher. I enveloped the kitchen in a fury of preparing exotic dishes (one year attempting Hunter Style Chicken for dinner, another year a complicated strawberry crepe-style cookie with homemade whipped cream for dessert) in an effort to convey a love supreme. Dinner would be met with my mother’s humble smile, receptive palate, and a willing stomach. When an adult, and in the hospital recuperating from my tonsillectomy, she traveled a great distance via mass transportation just to bring me Carvel pistachio ice cream. Although melted after her long trip, both my eyes and throat swelled with gratitude. She came to see me, and brought with her a cherished artifact of childhood to help me heal.
The cooking for others has become for me a humble tool to thank others for the difference they have made in my life. I would throw dinner parties as a teenager, and even as a young adult. It was my parents’ way of “compensating” for being old school in not letting me go to house parties or hang out in the city.
Although somewhat sheltered, I did not feel shrunken. Rather, their strictness churned my innovation to think of ways to spend time with friends. Food became a means to hang out, to preserve, affirm, and harness friendships. And, it was one of the few times my parents would allow me to be in mixed company.
Regardless of attending universities and colleges in different parts of the country, these “tribal gatherings” as they would come to be called was where over the breaking of bread we, old friends and new budding buddies, would rekindle memories of crazy times growing up, and new life experiences. And we would laugh, laugh, laugh. I remember N’Gai breaking out in singing Rick James’ part of “Fire and Desire,” and how his dramatization both impressed us (he could SING), and humor us as was characteristic of him. My home, and the food prepared there, became means to bridge the old parts of me that happened there and in the old neighborhood with the new parts of me that where happening everywhere else.
And the ethos shaping these gatherings was one I brought back to campus. One time I made collard greens with turkey, as Kim, Daryle and I took a break from late night studying to exchange stories and watch “Showtime at the Apollo.” One time, through the graciousness of my dorm RA and family, I hosted a dinner in our rec room with classmates to celebrate Black History Month. It became a means to bridge my family with classmates of diverse backgrounds, a time I will cherish these almost twenty years later.
So food has become at times a tool and other times a bridge. It is a means for taking care of others, affirming love for others as well as preserving and forging new relationships. One Valentine’s Day, I was upset about not having a boyfriend, so Mom made a picnic in our living room. When I was in grad school, my dad came to visit me for the weekend, and we went to an Italian restaurant and ate a simple dish of spaghetti and marinara sauce. In that moment, I was both his little girl and his biggest dream. When mom and I hosted bus rides to Atlantic City, we wanted everyone to feel like family, and we used food to do so. It was important to my mom that our guests have something hot to eat for our long trip, a tradition I still practice in making breakfast for my family. During those trips, we gave a bagged breakfast of sausage, rolls, and juice during the departure, and slices of homemade cakes we made on the return trip. Those experiences even launched for us a small catering venture, where we would make fried turkeys and cakes for sale. After my father’s passing, and before her own, Mom and I created a new ritual of making food for the winter. We would spend several weekends visiting farms and supermarkets to stock up on produce. Then, undergo the laborious yet loving task of prepping and preserving food for the winter. I loved coming home from school to then return with pickles, spiced plums, beets, and stewed tomatoes. Just a few years ago, my childhood friend Carla came to visit me at a tapas bar where she shared her manuscript for her first book of poetry. Later, when we went to dinner in the city to celebrate its release, she was so touched by the server’s attentiveness and loving words that she gave her one of her newly pressed books for free. Generosity reciprocating generosity. At the annual Thanksgiving dinner where we all congregate at my in-laws’ home, my father-in-law has passed the torch of carving the turkey to me (I do a damn good job, I must say). But his humility and benevolence leave me feeling cherished and loved. I am a witness that the breaking of bread together heals, redeems and forges.
Growing a relationship plate by plate holds particular fondness for me with my husband. Morsel by morsel, we have unfolded fears, divulged personal trials, asked for and given advice, pondered the future, incessantly chortled, and healed from challenges. We have enjoyed cuisine throughout the east coast, from the fried seafood of City Island to nostalgic hotdogs with mustard at Nathan’s in Coney Island. From being blown away by the deeply developed flavors of fire and emotion conjured by the creole cooking at Marsha Brown’s in New Hope, PA (which we would later return after he proposed) to the down home savor captured by the cornbread at Warmdaddy’s in Philly. From the pitstops made while traveling to see family down south to the lovingly prepared succotash, ribs and rice at my Aunt Shirley’s dining room table in South Carolina. We’ve counted the restaurants and eateries we visited, and we have been to about two dozen (many repeatedly, some NEVER again) in our years together.
Yet a particular collection of restaurants mark significant events with my husband and I, those of his childhood friend Craig.
Craig is a man of great humility and few words. But the cuisine of his restaurants shouts and testifies. My initiation into the power of his food was at Smoke Joint. Having South Carolinian roots, I was primed for home cooking, and the food did not disappoint. BBQ ribs that fall off the bone, greens that summon you to hum from their deliciousness, and beans that tantalize with traces of sweet and smoky flirtations on your tongue. But the beautiful flavor of the food was a means to something greater. It was a conduit through which we grew to know one another. Hurling jokes, asking questions, humming, we hankered down into the succulence of food that would then begin the teaching of how we would come to feed one another in soul.
It would be at Peaches, another of Craig’s restaurants, that I would then meet the urban frontiersman of fine food, and his life partner, Laura. I knew this meeting, and the breaking of bread with them at their place, was pivotal. I was meeting people Kerwin holds sacred, as he and Craig grew up together, in neighborhood and in church, and Laura is a woman whom they both highly regard and respect. If allowed, I would be initiated into a sacred group. The restaurant felt welcoming, the exchange of greetings and smiles very promising, and the offerings of libation by Laura let me know that this initiation and assessment would be affectionately administered. Then, and now, I am fascinated and inspired by Craig and Laura being a couple who withstood the trials and challenges of growing a marriage, a family, a dream and a business simultaneously.
Returning back to the food, it did not disappoint. The chicken and Andouille gumbo always opens and breaks my heart. I taste home every time I have it. It harkens me back to when Mom and I made it together. I had the task of stirring the dangerous but delicious roux, harmonizing the flour and hot oil in the cast iron skillet, building the base that my mom would then complete, and we lovingly enjoy. In homage to that conjured memory, and the powerful gift of Craig’s restaurant to channel it, I continue to make it on my own at home.
Like the role of food when growing up, Peaches has also come for us to be a meeting place for old friends and new family. Periodically, another childhood friend, Chris, visits Brooklyn. When in town we converge at Peaches to banter and make new bliss. Like me, Chris orders the same thing, the Shrimp Po Boy, as it has come for him to be the signature dish that holds his memories, heart and stomach captive. Sometimes Kerwin and I have gone as a family, bringing at the time our oldest son, as we make a new memory savoring deep-rooted food. In similar fashion, Chris’ wife Deshae also created a special moment when meeting for the first time by having us all go out together at the local Outback Steakhouse after visiting their church. Meeting her, and spending time with them and their family, has made an indelible impression on my heart ever since.
And then there is Hothouse. The trinity of brothers met there when it newly opened, celebrating Craig’s new accomplishment and their time-tested bond. Kerwin was so taken by the fried chicken that he raved and raved and raved when he returned home. I was intrigued. Pregnant and enlarged with our first child, we went. A tight wooden space, it resonates with the décor of a speakeasy. But plates of that fried chicken swelled nostalgic within me, so much so that I think it is in part why our firstborn LOVES chicken. Hothouse now comes to be a place in our hearts that marks our celebration of an old friend’s accomplishments, and our celebration of growing a family.
And just this past Thanksgiving weekend, we were able to celebrate again a milestone in our dear friend’s career. The opening of Marietta. As an annual ritual, Craig and his wife Laura host several friends and family at one of their restaurants for Thanksgiving. Regrettably we missed it because of heavy traffic, and needed to get to my in-laws on time. But that following Saturday Craig, Chris and our family met there to break bread and make new memories.
Over the years I have come to regard Craig and Chris as my “big brothers,” feeling comfortable with asking questions, cracking jokes, and now, making sure that Keith and Maceo get to know their “uncles.” A cornucopia of fried foods—chicken, whiting, and green tomatoes—overflowed our beige wood table. Craig ordered on Kerwin’s behalf a variety of plates given Kerwin’s indecisiveness in what delectables to finally select. The butternut squash and mushroom risotto Craig ordered was decadent and quickly devoured. My second born, Maceo, a very finicky eater, grabbed for every plate that graced the table.
Even under watchful eyes, he somehow caught hold of a chicken bone which he gnawed and gnawed until by his growling in enjoyment we realized what he was doing. After its removal, he settled for sneaking some watercress. But he loved the sautéed greens I fed him by hand. Eventually I had to battle him in getting some for myself. Good food will make you selfish.
What was enjoyable about sitting with my family and brothers was the mutuality. We peppered one another with questions. For Craig, I inquired what it was like to maintain several restaurants, his inspiration for the cuisine selected, reasons for the décor selected, and next ventures. Chris reciprocated in asking thoughtful questions for me to consider around Keith’s social readiness for school. For me personally, what was wonderful to behold was this band of brothers, these fathers, these spiritual kinsmen, spending time once again with one another.
Marietta and the men made me feel at home. I could be mom, and also kick up my feet. Keith and I took advantage of the empty space (due to the holiday), giving my at times restless son carte blanche to explore. Up and down the corridor we walked and giggled, touching plants and holiday décor, investigating textures and shapes. Ever the teacher, I built in mini-lessons about opposites, such as cold (when touching the window) and warm, outside (looking out the window), and inside. I also indulged the enjoyment of some delicious cocktails. Craig “reminded” me to indulge my quiet time. Sage and gin make a splendid mix. In my taking care of others, I was taken care of too.
There is something about good food and good times that summons me to find the tools and means to recreate them and share them again. Craig’s food so inspired me that again, in homage, I made renditions of them at home. Kerwin delighted in the risotto at the restaurant, so I made a butternut squash risotto with parmesan cheese this past week. I was so seduced by the bite and heat of the sautéed mixed greens that I made some too. Keith was an ever-faithful tester, who volunteered sampling several forkfuls in various stages of preparation (though they did not turn out as good as at the restaurant . . .will keep trying). Knowing Kerwin is a fan of mushrooms, I was inspired to make something we never had. Grilled cheese sandwiches made with challah, Portobello mushrooms, fresh sage, and fontina cheese. Kerwin inhaled the sandwich in just a few bites. I felt affirmed.
I see in my firstborn a growing fascination with food too. When in the kitchen, he breaks from his own play asking for seasoning. Sprinkling small amounts in his little hands, he stares in study at the different grains and colored powders, devours, assesses, and then asks for more. He can make distinctions between nutmeg, cloves, kosher salt, adobo, ground onions, garlic powder, and coarse black pepper (his favorite). At just two years old he asks for them by name. This exchange can delay meals at times, but as my Mom did with me, and Craig for his customers, I am learning how to create foods as a portal into new relationships, and bridges into new ways to create love for others.
Forkful by forkful, something old unfolds and something new begins to take its first breath.
On any given day, John R. Jenkins, Ed.D., can be found laboring in the fray, soldiering on the frontline of education. He is an irrepressible spirit who has embodied several educative incarnations. As English/Language Arts teacher, teacher trainer, instructional coach, consultant, researcher, faculty member, administrator, and currently Vice President of Programs for the School Leaders Network, his efforts are centralized in actualizing the potential and possibilities of urban youth. In a candid and intimate interview, Dr. Jenkins shares familial teachings that shape his professional pursuits, revealing how they inform the practitioner and person he is today. What unfolds is a compelling narrative of a man and educator with finger on the pulse, and reform on the cusp. He is a trailblazer who forges to create a difference in the lives of so many others. From student to administrator, he empowers people with tools and resources. The impact is exponential, as his investment empowers people to tool and empower one another.
Family Influence and Impact
John was born in 1968 to teen parents. Although he grew up poor in the South Bronx, New York, and Detroit, MI, two of the nation’s highest areas of poverty, his caste did not become his coffin. He thanks his family with inoculating him, as his economic status did not hinder his self-image and destiny. “We were a working class family with resources,” John rebuffs, with resources being familial and multi-generational.
Resounding in John’s self-perceptions and movements are the evidence of a hard-working, deep-loving, and spiritually-convicted family. His paternal grandparents’ entrepreneurial and industrious spirits triumphed in demonstrative alternatives. The Jenkins Luncheonette on Intervale Avenue was a prominent neighborhood fixture, a place for food, community meetings, and entertainment. Johnny and Dorothy Jenkins’ perseverance served as counterinfluence against the prevalence of unemployed neighbors disproportionately resorting to ulterior motives making ends meet. From them, “I got a whole lot about class consciousness early on about those people and these people and how I didn’t want to be among those people.” John did not interpret such admonishment as elitism, but as clear cautioning to do his best. Yet witnessing such circumstances laid the foundation for John directing his attention and talent servicing others within struggling communities. He would channel his professional investment into urban schools.
From very young, the roles of caregiver, protector and mediator aligned with an inner calling within John. “I’ve always taken the kind of caretaker leadership role.” Harboring a heart to look out for and help others, he enjoyed being put in charge of younger siblings and cousins. Babysitting and helping with homework were formidable experiences that informed his ethos to protect and support others. It is no coincidence that John’s favorite game was playing school, especially the teacher, as he relishes leading, teaching and serving others. Frequently he assisted elders in their errands, and cherishes in particular helping his paternal great-grandmother, Minnie Lee Felder. John attributes his experiences with her to imbuing him with a heart of reverence and service. Consequently, being there in times of others’ needs has become “part of my construct of myself.” Being peacekeeper and mediator were also important roles he filled, apprenticing him for future professional scenarios. To John, “Peace and equilibrium are really important. Avoiding conflict is very important.” Looking out for younger relatives, and being a helpmate to adults, foretold of labor done lovingly becoming a vocation.
John describes himself as a composite of several family members. His mother, Marcina Jenkins, exemplified for him a person of inner strength and resolve. She endured challenging circumstances while negotiating several roles and their obligations simultaneously. She was a teen wife coming of age while raising three children, a daughter balancing relationships with opinionated parents and at-times difficult in-laws, and unfortunately, becoming a single parent raising children on her own. She made an indelible impression upon him. He credits his mother with “model[ing] for me the importance of hard work and sacrifice.” In a larger context, seeing firsthand “what society does to [a] woman when you have to take care of children and you don’t have the chance to be yourself,” also laid the groundwork for him exploring the impingement of race, class, and gender in work and education.
John’s father, John Jenkins Sr., also influenced who he became as both a man and an educator. Briefly living with him in Yonkers, NY as a teenager, John culled poignant lessons about “presence and presentation.” His father emphasized “the importance of looking your best, being pressed and polished in front of folks” so “you can be trusted and get access to what you want.” Although by John’s accounts his father’s investment and commitment to this message were at times riddled with hidden agendas, dubious goals, and compromised ethics, he still heeds to this day his father’s advice of possessing a strong vocabulary, exercising gentility and channeling a charismatic image.
Educational History and Emerging Career Path
Dr. Jenkins’ high school and college experiences were pivotal to him identifying his strengths and designing a professional path for their expression. Although enrolled in Yonkers High School’s Gifted and Talented Program, attending college did not initially interest him. Having only one uncle attend and complete an Associate’s degree, “It was not a big thing on my radar that I had to attend college.” However, a small group of peers applied to the University of Albany in New York. John, influenced by them, followed suit. While he did not initially fulfill traditional admissions requirements, he was accepted into the university’s Minority Recruitment Program.
Dr. Jenkins’ college experience proved transformative. He began “coming into my own as a person.” He recalls key experiences that began shaping his identity as an African-American man, and compelling him to give back to the community. While a junior, he saw the dance troupe Black Gold Dancers, and was so impressed that he joined. “It was the first time that I had seen men as part of a dance ensemble and I just thought I could do that!” He credits the troupe with affording him the opportunity to artistically express himself, particularly within the allegiance of other men. He encountered brotherly love, and opportunities to serve a greater good, as a member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. He acknowledges the organization instilling within him the conviction that while “I had a legacy of excellence to uphold as a Black man,” he was “responsible not only for me but particularly for other young Black men.” As member and president of the university’s chapter, and later as member of the graduate Kappa Xi LambdaChapter in New York City (affectionately known as the “Wall Street Alphas”), John fulfills the calling to shepherd young men of color. Efforts include partnering with local high schools and community centers to help young men graduate high school and matriculate into college. “We support and mentor [young boys] through the graduation process, help them with college and scholarship applications so that they can transition successfully into college. This is the program that I am most connected to.” He also mentors young boys coming of age in issues regarding responsibility and relationships, and in building life skills. Familial and childhood lessons he learned in how to take others begin to take shape and root within his actions as an adult.
John’s introduction into political and social issues began at the university. Taking several courses in Africana and women’s studies opened his eyes to how the world is different for people that in his words “did not fit the norm.” “I became aware of the different challenges people experienced based on the social, gender, and cultural groups they belonged to. And I realized that life was not the same for everyone.” Consequently, he applied his emerging epiphanies in issues of race, class and gender to his work within student government. As the Affirmative Action Officer for the Student Association, his responsibilities were to handle student complaints of discrimination within Student Association affiliated programs. Another was to provide mandatory trainings to student leaders around issues of diversity, “to educate every organization about their obligation to support all students and make every organization accessible and inviting to all Albany students.”
Heeding lessons of putting family first, John returned to the South Bronx after graduation in 1991. He moved in with his aging great-grandmother to take care of her until she passed. John attributes this experience as “a nice completion of a circle of giving.” Yet while being home, it was a chance conversation with a principal that led to his entre into education. Harkening childhood lessons of advocating for others and making a good impression, he stepped into the role of a liaison for his cousin who was trying to transfer to Lehman High School. After making the case with the principal for his cousin’s enrollment, the principal was so impressed with John’s argument and presentation he immediately offered John a job to substitute teach. A week later an English/Language Arts teaching position was vacated that the principal needed immediately to fill. He offered it to John. John accepted.
Teaching at Lehman High School became “the opportunity that showed up to meet the preparedness that I had been honing all of my life.” John taught 9th Grade Honors, 11th Grade Regents Prep, and a Regents-level African-American literature elective which he authored and developed. During his five years there, John created curriculum that was academically rigorous and socially relevant. He culled myriad educational, social and personal experiences, both personal and historical, to create content and assessments. His most memorable unit was “Fathers and Sons: Success and Manhood.” He taught two novels, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller, and the play “A Raisin in the Son” by Lorraine Hansberry. These texts were lens for students to investigate and examine the development and consequence of the relationships shared between fathers and sons, examining “how the cultural, social and racial issues played out in each relationship.” Also, John encouraged students to further their education after high school. As the only faculty member of color within his department, John had personal stake in availing to students post-secondary possibilities. Frequently he shared his college experiences with them, “bringing it right to their doorsteps.” Consequently, several chose to follow in his footsteps and attend UAlbany.
John furthered his own education as he taught. He completed his M.S. in Secondary Education and English in 1994, and two years later received his NYS permanent teaching certification for grades 7-12.
From Teacher to Scholar to Leader
Ever pursuant of opportunities to improve schools and communities, John returned to teach in Yonkers, NY as a way to give back. He began in 1996 teaching English/Language Arts at Roosevelt High School. In the late 1990s, Yonkers was found in violation of providing disparate and unequal educational opportunities to students based on race. Again, John was placed in a situation to teach and mentor students, noting this time though their particularized needs for affirmation and self-advocacy. “The Yonkers students seemed to be more deprived socially and had greater struggles academically. They need[ed] much more social interventions to get them ready for learning and to keep them engaged in school. Thus I had to be much more nurturing and teach them how to advocate for their needs more.” This intersection of supporting students while transforming a school district would provide John not only new avenues to create change but unfold a new career path to do so.
As part of a court-ordered desegregation initiative, the Yonkers school district underwent a major training initiative in diversity. John was part of the human relations team designated to train adults in diversity and to implement changes. Through this training (facilitated by diversity expert and facilitator Dr. Cathy Royal), John became a Diversity Facilitator. In his new capacity as a Human Relations Officer (1998-1999), he was charged with addressing the district’s desegregation mandates. These spanned (1) creating and facilitating mandated diversity training, (2) providing principals with support in creating school-wide plans, (3) training teachers and school aides in human relations skills, and (4) designing workshops in listening skills, student management, assertive discipline and effective communication.
Both then and now, Dr. Cathy Royal’s work has been especially influential, particularly her Quadrant Behavior Theory. John explains it as follows:
Across all the major identifying social groups that exist—race, gender, class, ethnicity, nation of origin, language, sexual orientation, and class—there are two groups, the dominant group and the subordinate group, [that] exists within each of those categories. And the world organizes itself to provide access, privilege and opportunity to the dominant group member, and oppression to the subordinate group member.
Consequential of such grouping, John remarks that “[either] you have a certain access to opportunity or certain oppression around your access to opportunity.” Her theoretical framework and methodology for how she then works as an agent of change in supporting stakeholders in examining and understanding social, ethnic, racial, and cultural issues have made indelible impressions on John. For him, she provides an exemplary template of consultant work with an emphasis on self-reflection, examination of social and cultural dynamics, and working collaboratively with others in pursuing institutional change. Accordingly, her work informs his work in transforming schools and his model of consultation. John employs her theories within his work with urban schools to help stakeholders recognize how cultural and social variables come into play within their own school setting and impact it.
Recognizing he could catalyze change on larger scales, Dr. Jenkins pursued positions with more executive duties and managerial responsibilities. First, in 1999 he completed his NYS Certificate in Supervision and Administration. Then, he served two years as an Assistant Principal in two Yonkers public schools. In this new capacity, he created opportunities for students to receive public recognition for their academic achievement and citizenship, such as through school-wide assemblies. He provided in-school support for students by developing and participating within a mentorship program for at-risk students.
While Assistant Principal, Dr. Jenkins’ time was most invested in addressing and fulfilling students’ social needs. His biggest commitment was furthering the district-wide initiative by addressing in particular problematic dynamics between teachers and students, “[h]elping students learn how to best advocate for themselves in conflicts with teachers.” He noticed there remained racial tensions between the teachers and students, and thus committed to improving such dynamics by facilitating teachers in changing their paradigms and constructs about exactly who are their students. “Many of the students were angry and upset, and the teachers were angry and upset with them. They (the teachers) did not understand that the high school students are young adults, and they have their own perceptions of what they need, and they can’t just be told what to do. They’re not children.” On the other side of the equation, he empowered students with language and communication tools to advocate for themselves. “I found myself having to help students learn how to articulate their needs, wants and challenges to teachers so teachers could be more responsive.” Yet this facilitation made for contention at times, particularly with some faculty. While some teachers appreciated his coaching of students, others saw his efforts as subversive, misinterpreting his empowerment of students as teaching them “to dismantle the power structure in the school.” But in all, he attributes being an assistant principal with refining his skills in working directly with adults and to lead schools.
A Trifecta of Aspirations
While Dr. Jenkins was at a pinnacle of success as a leader, he also was at an intersection facing critical decisions about where next to go. His aspirations of transitioning from teacher to leader, pursuing a doctoral degree, and creating his own consulting company would necessitate deep clarification. Going forward, he would need to be real clear on what he wanted to achieve, why he wanted to achieve it, and the best steps to actualize these achievements, without being at the expense of his physical energy or mental health. Yet there is a saying that if you honor your calling, the universe will meet you where you are. So it met John to mentor him through this potentially tumultuous junction.
The pursuit of a doctorate was activated by his grandmothers. His maternal grandmother gave him a graduation card saying “Excel. Excel. Excel.” John interpreted this message as her beckoning him to acquire his bachelors, masters and doctoral degrees. Then years later, out of the blue, his paternal grandmother passed him a note in church, asking him to get his doctorate. Ever respectful of his elders, he complied. While in Yonkers he received additional validation from the living examples of two men of color. They were Dr. Andre Hornsby, the first African-American Superintendent of Yonkers, and Dr. Fred Hernandez, the principal of Roosevelt High School at the time John worked there. Witnessing these two men possessing doctorates made John think he could too. So in 1999, while an Assistant Principal, he enrolled into the New York University’s Department of Educational Administration to complete his Doctorate of Education.
“My experience at NYU was life changing.” The only male student of color in his entire cohort, it brought him face-to-face with his own vulnerabilities of being a student.
I definitely felt like I was in over my head. I sat in those small intimate classrooms of 7-10 students and felt as if I was not smart enough or capable enough to do the work. I realized for the first time that there were quite a number of things that I was just not exposed to or prepared for. Reading critical theories and research and writing my own arguments, etc. were all so new to me.
Yet this multi-layered uneasiness gave rise to John recognizing his potential, and with this epiphany came renewed effort and commitment. It was being “resilient and focused and choosing a research topic on African-American middle school boys [that] helped me move through and I ended up being the first person in my cohort to finish.” His efforts were recognized by the school as well. “The department chose me to speak to other ED students about how to be focused and successfully navigate through the doctoral experience.” John also credits his dissertation advisor, Dr. Terry Astuto, as modeling and providing an example of how an educator supports a learner. “My dissertation advisor was an amazing supportive advocate and colleague and really taught me how an educator should advocate for his or her students and work with them to achieve high standards.” Her work “became a model of how I taught my students and taught teachers to advocate and support their students as well.”
Harkening to his own experiences of attending urban schools and teaching within them, John chose the topic of African-American boys and their middle school expectations. “I chose to study African-American boys in their middle school context to learn more about how they interpret their school quality and experiences.” John believed that he “had an obligation to reinform myself and informs other educators about what they needed to improve their school experiences.” He was tired of “all of the stats that show that African American boys were at risk and endangered and failing but there were no solutions.” His case study helped him articulate “that African American boys in middle school wanted rigorous instruction, high quality teachers who cared, and curriculum that was relevant to their needs.”
Concurrent with his doctoral program, John became the principal of several New York City and Yonkers public schools. Each experience would hone his skills as a leader, as well as reveal the places within his leadership he would need to grow. The years that followed situated him learning how to support schools under pressure, dealing with district-based political wrangling, innovating approaches to school leadership, and venturing into working within the world of charter schools. The catastrophe of September 11th, 2001, occurred with John as a new principal of Martin Luther King, Jr. Elementary School in Yonkers, thrusting him not only into the new role of running a school for the first time but also helping and supporting the mending of an entire community too. Following this event, wrangling between the superintendent and district occurred, whereby newly hired principals were caught in the crossfire, with them having to accept a substantial pay cut if they wanted to remain principal. John left and sought new leadership opportunities. He was recommended by his former superintendent for a principal position in the Bronx, and for two years served as principal there in two middle schools. In his second middle school, the NYC Department of Education piloted an innovative model, testing out the benefits of co-principalship and collaborative leadership. While the opportunity was appealing, John began to feel the compounding weight of the school’s needs, the demanding investment embedded within a dual-leadership position, completing graduate work and launching his consultant business, and left at the end of the school year.
Yet it was the needs of a failing middle school, and an opportunity to participate in the charter school community, that inspired John in 2003 to pursue and accept the position of principal at the Community Partnership Charter School in Brooklyn. Founded by parents in Fort Greene, in partnership with the Beginning with Children Foundation, the vision for the school was to provide an unprecedented opportunity for parents and educative stakeholders to collaborate in a holistic approach to educating, serving and supporting students. However, shortly after opening the school stood to lose its charter. “It was really high stakes and when I joined I was the 3rd leader of the school in 3 years.” Turning the school around was a “tall order for a new principal.” Though under extreme pressure, he deemed his priorities as working “to stabilize things, establish routines for safety and [create] a strong school community.” Through his two years of leadership and transformative efforts, integrating involvement from “dedicated staff and amazing parent body,” the school’s charter was renewed for five years, a rare occurrence. John appreciated “the autonomy of being able to make my own choices and decisions about instruction and programs.” “I was able to really do what we felt was right for our students.”
John’s other contribution to the charter school movement is serving as a founding board member and chair of the International Leadership Charter School in the Bronx. For three years he “support[ed] the leader in establishing a high-quality high-performing high school for students of color.” In 2012, after only being open for six years, ILCS was ranked #7 of the top ten high schools in New York City. In 2013, the school was recognized by U.S. News and World Report, making its list of “Best High Schools.”
An insightful observation that John made during his interview was the belief that each of his career experiences has been in service not only to that specific position, but as preparation for the one to come.
[T]he cycle has taught me is that at each level of my professional career, I am never doing the work that is only about that piece of my career. I am doing the work that is preparing me for what I need for the next career ahead, particularly when I am experiencing things that are new, that are challenging, that push me, I know I am experiencing them as a capacity builder to do the work at the next level, and that I need to ride it out, learn how to ride those rough places out in a way that I had not been able to do before in my career.
While discussing his several principalships, he shared that he carried around feelings of remorse, feeling at times as if he abandoned and deserted kids that needed him the most. Although believing he made the best decisions he could for himself, and not regretting doing so, he looks over the shoulder of his career with contrition. He shared that he carried this indictment of his performance around for almost a decade, until assuming the position of Regional Director at School Leaders Network, which gave him a different opportunity to harness his regretful reflections. During a training in which he facilitated principals in reflecting on their leadership over time, John created a leadership journey timeline of his own career as a model. In the process, he came to an epiphany that his own frontline experiences could be used in service to supporting principals currently on that same frontline, and the sharing of his experiences could benefit them. This reflective opportunity proved redeeming and restorative for John, as he would amalgamate his experiences to be in service to other school leaders in the years to come.
The ethos of family first resounds strongly in John’s beliefs and actions, even if at sacrifice of self. After completing his dissertation in 2003, two life changing events occurred. John was married, and later that year expected his first child. He sought ways to further his career aspirations while also expanding sources of revenue to support his growing family. So John pursued opportunities to do consulting work and teaching at the post-secondary level. These pursuits would later inform his future professional endeavors. Consulting work granted him access to discussing with school leaders their visions for their schools, and working collaboratively with them and stakeholders to employ tools and resources that actualized that vision. Teaching on a college/university level gave John access to being an agent of change within education. It provided him access and opportunity to educating and enlightening the horizons of new teachers and administrators entering the profession.
From 2000 to 2006, John was an adjunct professor in Bergen County Community College’s Department of Literature and Composition, Mercy College’s New Teacher Residency Program and Department of Speech and Communication, and New York University’s Department of Administration, Leadership and Technology. He taught courses in administration/supervision, educational philosophy, English composition and oral communication. John explains the ethos and rationale underlying his work with college students:
My chief goals were to help my students see the challenges, gifts and diversity of the student populations they were working with and not shy away from either of these things. I openly shared my journey as a student born and raised in the South Bronx and helped them to understand that they were the conduit and advocate to limitless life possibilities for their students. I did this by exposing them to theories of Quadrant Behavior and dominant and subordinated group memberships. We discussed privilege and oppression and I helped them to discover that they had to actively help their students break through barriers that had been constructed for them by society. I got them excited by sharing that education (their roles) was a key tool in shattering those barriers. I helped them learn tools and strategies to be able to communicate with families and students as advocates from an asset-based perspective and teach students to be strong academes and advocate for themselves as well.
As part of their “real world” experiences, he conducted site visits of his administration interns and teaching candidates in their field placements, providing them critical feedback about their performances. He supported new teachers through both instruction and field work. In this capacity he could be of service to the field of education by working to shape the educators emerging from it, and how they in turn would educate others. This juncture continued to cultivate and advance his skill sets in preparing and assisting stakeholders working in urban school systems.
John worked for several education-based consultative companies, learning different models to address school needs and implement change. He reflects what this line of work taught him about the importance of relationship building and how best to do so:
The chief asset of [these] experiences was that they built my capacity to work more closely with adults and develop stronger one-to-one coaching skills. These skills helped me to become a better listener and to assess problems in schools authentically through the lived experiences of the people in them. I also increased my tool kit of knowledge with the programs offered by Ramapo and Kaplan. They also helped me to learn how to balance my emotion[al] involvement as an external consultant so that I was not overly judgmental or engaged in an organization such that it hindered my ability to effectively coach.
As a learning and development consultant for Kaplan K-12 Services, he facilitated NYC training teachers in test readiness strategies for city and state assessments, provided coaching and modeling, and developed training materials. As a Coach for Ramapo for Children, Inc., he supported NYC school leaders and teachers in implementing effective classroom management strategies. He also became a diversity instructor with the National Training Laboratories Institute for Applied and Behavioral Sciences (the organization who supported Yonkers’ diversity initiatives). His work spanned contributing in designing curriculum and co-facilitating training sessions. Working as a consultant helped John grow and develop his skill set supporting school leadership and providing professional development. Yet working as a consultant also spawned within him the creating of his own consulting company.
Unlike the model of consulting where a pre-packaged program is simply delivered and administered, the Jenkins Learning and Development Group was created to provide customized on-site support specific to the needs of a school and its staff, involving stakeholders in the process of change. John’s experience as a diversity instructor with The Diversity Facilitation Certificate Program under NTL and lead by Cathy Royal of Royal Consulting (the organization who supported the Yonkers initiative), inspired him to open his own consulting company, and shaped his consulting model. He details below the theoretical and experiential underpinnings of his work, and shares examples:
[I] saw a tremendous need for professional learning in schools that was rooted in both pedagogy and social justice. I began by just working with and for principals I knew and they remain my chief clients today. My work helps to build a sense of confidence, commitment and capacity in teachers and leaders to educate all students and develop all staff to be most effective in their roles….Building all of these skills allows me to go into schools and literally work in a seamless way from all angles in the system to achieve maximum impact. Through coaching I am able to help leaders and their teachers cut through the challenges and get to the opportunities they have to improve their practice and impact their students learning and take healthy, productive actionable next steps.
Using a participatory action research model, John discusses with clients their mutual interest and need for collaboration, determines the scope of work, gathers data, engages and inform key participants, decides priorities, mobilizes energy for change, targets ways to build capacity, validates changes, evaluates progress and determines next steps. He has worked for such clients as Youth Build USA, Bronx Lab School, Liberation Diploma Plus High School, and Eagle Academy for Young Men. Work has included facilitating whole staff retreats, designing and implementing project-based learning tasks, facilitating leadership teams, developing professional learning communities, creating protocols for classroom walkthroughs and providing feedback, mentoring new teachers, instructional coaching, and writing concept papers for new school proposals,. Services also span the onsite teaching of courses; examples of courses taught are Effective Communication with Acting Out Students, Planning for Quality Instruction, Classroom Management and Student Learning, and Improving Writing Instruction in the Classroom.
Coming Full Circle, Transforming the Landscape of Leadership
In 2006 John joined Diploma Plus as an Instructional Manager. Servicing urban students who are over-aged and under-credited, this position afforded John the chance to harness and amalgamate his wealth of knowledge and experience as an educator, administrator, instructor and consultant. For the next 3 ½ years he systemically supported networks of schools on both micro and macro levels. John’s success lay in creating intimate relationships with principals where they could talk in detail about their visions and aspirations for their schools, while also divulging their concerns, hesitations, and challenges. As he does within his consulting work, John’s orientation to supporting schools is to foster each principal’s analytic and introspective processes, to deeply reflect upon their strengths and areas needing improvement, and strategize around what is needed to actualize their visions for their schools. He helps them ascertain the ways they are enfranchising stakeholders in having a vested interest and stake in their school. After the development of a work plan, he hits the ground running.
As an instructionally- and systemically-oriented coach, he supported Diploma Plus schools and networks in implementing the Diploma Plus model. This implementation spanned one-on-one coaching of teachers in instructional methods and curriculum planning, supporting community-based organizations in integrating their support services within the school day, helping administration create measures of success and assess performance, etc. Consequential to his efforts, his support of school leaders and their schools, several achieved high grades on their yearly evaluations, as well as accolades from district leaders. Other than team meetings with the local NYC DP staff, John could rarely be found in the office or sitting at a desk. On any given day, or night, John would traverse several boroughs to be constantly accessible to school leaders and staff. He was also the informal coordinator of the new school process, where parties interested in opening DP schools would meet with him throughout the proposal development and preparation process. His support would encompass vetting potential leaders and school teams, supporting selected teams in the writing of their proposals, compiling necessary artifacts, assembling stakeholders to support the potential school, and preparing them for their presentation and defense with the NYC Department of Education. And this is not including the work and support he provided to the Diploma Plus organization on a local and national level. Such support encompassed facilitating summer institutes in training new staff and faculty in the model, meeting with the national team to plan and implement several initiatives, and developing tools and materials for the national network of schools. As well, the position required him to regularly interface with the city’s department of education, one of the largest in the nation. Duties spanned serving as a liaison between the NYC school network and the Office of New Schools.
As an instructional program manager, John transferred his skills of supporting schools internally, to doing so across local and national networks. Although this two-tiered approach of supporting schools was new to John, he was able to broaden his emerging skill set of supporting schools systemically. It was then he sought a specific professional position that afforded him an opportunity “to build his skills as a leader of leaders.” In 2010 he became New York City Regional Director for the School Leaders Network, and in 2013, was promoted to Vice President of Programs.
Dr. Jenkins remains passionate in his work with instructional and administrative staff because they are an under-served, under-supported groups. “There’s still a system where principals either sink or swim…the good rise to the top and the ‘bad,’ well they drown, and ‘they’ believe that’s how leaders work. You’re a good leader or not a good leader.” The extreme focus on school performance, yet lack of investment within principals in particular, troubles him. “Little attention is given to building the capacity of principals to create strong communities of learners within their schools.” “I don’t think there is enough of a focus on developing leaders while they are in their position from school districts. And as a result, it is creating large scale failure, particularly in large urban schools that serve students who have been underserved in their education.” John sees the lack of support provided to school leaders having an exponential effect on students, particularly within schools with students of high need. “The things we know that are happening in highly performing schools are not translating to the schools that are struggling because there is not a real consistent support in place for principals.” Dr. Jenkins elaborates on this correlation between leadership and student success:
So the more challenges that the students are dealing with in their ability to learn, the more equipped the teachers have to be. And usually the more ill-equipped the teachers are because they are [not working within] institutions that do not structure their curriculum around dealing with students who have not been appropriately prepared.” “So you have this combination of teachers who are least prepared, being paired with students who are least prepared, and they are [both] led by principals who are least prepared . . .That coupling happens most often in school districts with students of color.
John’s observation and experience has been that the “fixing” of struggling schools is in the pre-packaged dissemination of supports on the teacher and/or student level. Yet John believes it is the support of the leadership that is pivotal to the success of these stakeholders.
People are trying to fix it on the student level with all these interventions . . . [and there is] a huge market on that…And then you have a lot of teacher preparation programs saying ‘We can prepare teachers better than other people.’ However, there is not enough focus on developing the leader that will be able to take all those great programs, and all those better prepared teachers, and create communities where they are working in tandem to accelerate student achievement. That’s why we keep having consistent failure, because at the top of the chain the leadership is not situated or prepared in a way to use all these new programs, all these new resources, to support the students who are struggling.
This disproportionate dynamic particularly troubles him regarding struggling schools, which is why he invests his life in supporting them.
John has also noticed that when schools within a given neighborhood or district experience similar depravity in the support of school leaders, the impairment and damage to student learning and achievement are exponential. “[O]ften, all those schools are all in the same area. And if you have no leadership above that, to effectively develop those leaders [of those schools] together, so they can actually support each other,” then you can’t have success. “A school cannot rise above its leadership.”
John notices that throughout several schools across several states that support of principals ends after the first 2 years, resulting, regrettably and too often, in “iterative, abominable failure.” The result? Collateral damage of teachers and students feeling “disenfranchised and disappointed.” This is why he feels his work and initiatives with SLN are so significant and meaningful.
In his current work with principals, John helpes them build their capacities to be “leaders of learners within their schools.” “All of the current research is pointing to that successful schools are those that get their teachers and other educators to take on equal ownership to the movement of the school and the students as the principal does.” He is trying to help principals move away from the top-down, do-as-I-say approach to leadership. John helps principals to be reflective practitioners, regularly engaging in cycles of introspection and application, operating as agents of change and capacity builders within their schools and school communities. Through cohort meetings, on-site visitations, one-on-one mentorship and staff development, he situates principals to regularly investigate and interrogate their effectiveness. He puts them through a protocol of inquiry, to contemplate such things as,
this is how I am structuring the needs of my staff, how I should be targeting my goals and objectives, this is how I should be providing effective coaching and feedback with teachers about their practice, this is how I should be empowering teachers to take this work and move it forward, this is what a real adult learning community looks like, this is how I build trust with my staff, this is how I help them believe I have the capacity to do the same work that I am asking them to do, this is how I show value to them, this is how I root for them to support them and energize them when they feel discouraged.
John empowers principals so they act “as a group of adults learning, sharing, and pushing each other,” and with that same impetus, “take back to their schools and create those same communities and schools.” He believes this is critical work for principals.
Dr. John R. Jenkins is a restless educator who vigilantly continues to inform and shape educational possibilities for several stakeholders, from student to administrator. Unperched from title, he ebbs and flows with the needs of the times, culling his skills to effectuate opportunities for urban education. Expansive in reach, and cataclysmic in impact, his exertions as an educator defy his modesty.
In this guest blogpost, Tricia Amiel, a mother, writer, adjunct instructor and former teacher, takes an introspective and candid look into the intersection of race, identity and self-perception. She divulges some hard truths and hurts that emanate from others asking her questions about her roots. Then, in turning affliction into learning opportunity, she discusses how she had students turn questions about origin and identity back on themselves, and what both she and her students learned about the power that emanates from knowledge of self.
When I tell some people that I am Jamaican, the first thing they want to know about is my hair. My hair is long, very dark and “smooth.” It is naturally very wavy, but is easily made straight. As a little girl in elementary school, I was either a fascination or the object of disdain; they said I was conceited, that I thought myself to be better than other girls because my hair was so different from theirs. It was “good hair,” of a quality that at the time I didn’t understand was supposed to be better, more beautiful than theirs. It didn’t help that I was smart and my teachers favored me, but my hair was the sorest point of contention with the other girls in the schoolyard.
It used to annoy me, that request to know about my hair, the misguided guesses about my origins—I was thought at various times to be Cuban, Dominican, “mixed” with Native American, anything but what I am—and my annoyance led me to reply in a sometimes vague, often sarcastic way. I’m human, I would say, or, my hair came from my head. Now, a student of Multicultural Literatures, African American and Caribbean philosophy, I understand that there is a lot that people don’t know about the Caribbean. It seemed to me that many people were purposefully ignorant, that they went out of their way to NOT know, but now I think so much is hidden from us, and that as human beings in a world divided along lines of color, belief, and politics to name a few, we seek to categorize people, place them in spaces that we understand and control rather than assume that there are things we don’t know.
Until recently, I was a ninth grade English and Drama teacher at a South Florida high school in the “green zone,” one of those areas in which teachers were paid a slightly greater salary for their bravery. It is a low-performing, mostly black, Hispanic, and immigrant school with few resources, set far away from other, newer, “better” schools. There too, my hair was a fascination, a curiosity, to students and staff alike. It was the genuine curiosity and lack of knowledge in my students that changed my sarcastic tone to a didactic one; I saw that they wanted to know. I assigned a project to my English classes, called “Where I’m From.” Students were to seek out ancestors–parents, grandparents, any elder family member at all–and interview them about their family’s origins. They were encouraged to write essays, create posters of family photos of each generation they could, pictures or drawings of flags, national colors, foods, and historical information.
One student presented a recording of his Cuban great-grandmother’s voice telling the story of her emigration to the United States, hidden on a cargo boat, nearly dying of starvation. Another had a very old family album, full of bIack and white photos of great and great-great family members, labeled with names and dates as far back as the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Still, I heard things that saddened me deeply, especially from my minority students; for example, a Haitian student wrote that black people had come to Haiti from France, denying vehemently her African origins and history of slavery and the successful revolution carried out by slaves. Some Hispanic students did not understand that Spanish was not just the name of the language they spoke, but also the adjective describing people from Spain—not Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, or Mexico—that they spoke Spanish because Spain had colonized those places, and that some of their ancestors were native Indians. Many African American students were unable to see beyond the neighborhood they lived in, posting things like the area code and gang colors on their poster boards. They took pride in what they did know, but did not know as much as they should in a time when history’s pages are more open and questioning of tradition than ever before.
I did the project along with them, using the colors of the Jamaican flag for my poster, included pictures of my family that were taken at my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday party, pictures of Arawak Indians, stories about the Maroons, the arrival of the Chinese and East Indians in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and Rastafarian religious practices, a group for whom the “dread” style of hair that so many of them had adopted had significant meaning. I also included pictures of my high school in the Bronx, where my maternal grandmother, whose own half-Chinese countenance fascinated my students, had emigrated to from Jamaica after living for many years in England. I told them my paternal grandmother was East Indian, that she had black hair that fell to her waist, and that I’d been told my coloring and bone structure were like hers; I knew little else.
In those facts, my students finally understood the story of my hair and the truth, as best I could tell it, of my origins. The thing that had so annoyed me became the medium through which I was able to teach the value of knowing where you’re from, understanding your own personal history within the larger frame of historical knowledge. Look in the mirror, I told them; see yourself. In the mirror lies the beginning of your story. A story that includes the people, the ancestors of your past, and the history of how you came to be. Look for answers, I told them. Try to find some truth; try to find out who you were, so that you can know who you are.
In this article, Carla Cherry shares her personal and professional evolution, divulging how she helps students actualize their humanity and academic success. It’s an intimate look into the makings of an English/Language Arts teacher, and the difference she is trying to make in students’ lives within the NYC educational system.
Fundamental to her familial fabric was first acquiring knowledge of self. Her mother taught her to read at age 2 ½. Later obtaining his Bachelor’s degree in Black Studies, Carla’s father surrounded the family with resources centering on African and African American culture and history. For Carla, school “didn’t really emphasize African American heritage,” becoming an impetus to read widely, serving as “a catalyst for me to get into education, to share what I learned.”
Several experiences ministered to Carla choosing teaching as a profession. Attending a lecture with her father, Carla met Dr. Adelaide Sanford, Vice Chancellor Emeritus of the New York State Board of Regents. A phone conversation with Dr. Sanford informed Carla’s ethos of giving back to the community. “I always admired her activism in the field of education.” “If she could give the best of herself to our youth, why couldn’t I do the same?” She tutored while a teenage member of Co-op City chapter’s of the National Council of Negro Women. She attended the prestigious and selective Bronx High School of Science, but recalls constantly defending people of color in class discussions; such insularity she did not want her future students enduring. Attending Spelman College further inspired her career choice. She credits two professors, Dr. Donna Akiba Harper and Dr. Judy Gebre-Hiwet, with her literary acculturation and instigating within her the passion to hone her writing, namely to be exact with her words and employ the formal writing process in designing well supported effective arguments.
In 1993, Carla graduated Spelman College, returning to NYC as a single mom working part time. Enrolling at New York University in 1995, she completed her Masters of Arts in Public Education, and began teaching in 1996. Serving 17 years within the NYC Department of Education, she taught in middle and high schools, currently teaching at Innovations Diploma Plus High School, a transfer high school model targeting over-aged and under-credited students with educational opportunities and social support.
Pedagogically, Carla fosters and facilitates students in (1) interpreting texts, (2) using writing as a tool, and (3) participating within various audiences and media. Students are (1) generating group reactions to quotes excerpted from a text, (2) selecting quotes and interpreting them individually in double entry journals, (3) responding on a discussion blog about themes within a class text, (4) creating monologues in the persona of a character, (5) crafting a poetic character sketch modeled on William Carlos William’s “This is Just to Say,” (6) arranging in small groups fragmented excerpts from a novel into dada poems, (7) discussing characters’ actions from different perspectives and (8) constructing and writing formal literary arguments. Her methods prove successful; annually the majority of her students pass the NYS ELA Regents exam. It’s important to note the particular population with whom Carla is experiencing success; the majority of her students have previously dropped out of other high schools, range in age from their late teens to early twenties, and have struggled with reading and writing.
Students read books “they would not otherwise be exposed to.” Included are African American titles A Piece of Cake, Sula, and My Daddy was a Numbers Runner, international works The Kite Runner and Persepolis, and books about tense family dynamics including When I Was Puerto Rican and Bastard out of Carolina. Her classroom is a place to explore and contemplate the world from divergent points of view, some not always palatable or comfortable, sometimes winning students over, sometimes experiencing their opposition. “If I am preparing them for the real world, you can’t always run away from something you might think is boring or uncomfortable. Sometimes you have to face it and open yourself up to other ideas and other people.”
Carla’s classroom brokers connections across social and technological contexts. Recently she participated in a study group offered by the New York City Writing Project using the online forum “Youth Voices.” Her students discussed class texts, recorded their writing processes and progress, and shared obstacles encountered in their research, culminating in posting their essays online “so that they can see the evidence of the work they have done in a public space.”
Also a poet, writing poetry is “a way for me to understand my life, the world and my place in it.” Inspired by her cousin giving her a book of self-published poetry after her father’s death, Carla self-published her first book, Gnat Feathers and Butterfly Wings, and a compilation CD with her cousin, jazz musician Eric McPherson. Proceeds from her book and promotional goods were donated to charity.
As a single mom Carla balanced work with remaining active in her son’s school activities while cultivating his evolving writing interests. He was a semi-finalist in the Knicks annual poetry slam, a student in a black male initiative supporting young men writing poetry resulting in a performance at the Nuyorican Café, and a participant in the Urban Word Summer Institute. He is currently a sophomore at SUNY Purchase.
Carla learned from her family to use knowledge to emancipate self and others, which she is passing on onto her son and generations of students. Hers is an unsung narrative.
This article is also featured in the recent online edition of Bronze Magazine (except photos and poetry). Please go to http://bronzemagonline.com/strength-courage-and-wisdom-the-makings-of-an-urban-teacher/
Traditionally, NYC Fashion Week impressed me as an exclusive event. The crème de la crème reveal and show off their dernier cri and totemic textiles. A-listers are awash in worship from photographic flashes. The illuminati offer praises like flowers at feet of fellow elite. Those of us who have no anchor in the sea of high fashion will rely on the reports of the select few broadcasts allowed harbor and entrance. Somehow this particular Thursday night the stars aligned, because I was given access to such a coveted event. What I would encounter was far from the images and assumption I initially endorsed.
At first, I felt as though I was “crashing” a selective soiree. Working in education, and now a stay at home mother expecting my second child, such pathways rarely make for opportune interceptions with the chic. It seemed irregular, unlikely, to sit alongside “those” who regularly lined the esteemed runways. I wasn’t a blip on the elite radar of the houses of Monique Lhuillier, Michael Kors or Ralph Lauren, so being a guest would be out of the question, or even the assistant of esteemed stylists like Rachel Zoe. Benevolently, my ticket came from the heart of a sister editor-in-chief, Shawn Chavis, whose gratitude to her staff and writers at Bronze Magazine gave us entre into this grand world, landing us at the premiere Sarahi showcase at RSVP, which her magazine was sponsoring.
I didn’t go to be seen, temporarily immortalized in this week’s tabloids and newspapers. Attending for me was an honor, as I would meet fellow women writers, affix flesh and blood to online personality, whose fellowship was garnered mostly online due to our remote locations. Working as a contributing writing and copy editor, Shawn has given me unwonted space to transition from working as teacher, professor and consultant to fulfill my aspiration of freelance writing. Emelyn Stuart and I had been corresponding on Facebook in anticipation of our initial meeting; first reading about her in a previous issue of Bronze Magazine, her humor and receptive spirit made me excited to meet her. And others I would meet would become for me tour guides of dreams, unexpected touchstones of inner pain and the strength, courage, and wisdom that emanate from them.
I arrived early to RSVP, erring on the side of caution give my long commute by public transportation. I landed midst the hum of tuxedoed wait staff priming final touches and hoisting the poster of sponsors, greeters coordinating guest lists, and models practicing their many faces and stances. Photographers, writers, and support staff buzzed away in preparatory tasks. The hive was hopping. Yet in the mix I felt welcomed, as people scooting by me made time to pause, smile, and even say hello. They provided a welcoming atmosphere I was not expecting.
By chance one such smile came from VJ Ameliaismore, a local celebrity. Instantly we started talking. She became a guide for me that evening, not just for that event but as an example of someone diligently on a mission and living to fulfill a dream. Like a big sister to little sister, she shared her life history and work, funny stories about being the single mom of a son, and a short retrospective on her life as a teacher, model, and business woman. It was her intimate sharing against the backdrop of the busyness and buzz that powered the pondering of my own dreams, and hollowing a space to wish her dreams their deserved flight and height. Quickly disappearing backstage, she pointed me to where Shawn was. I embarked to meet my colleague and mentor.
I recognized Shawn as soon as I saw her. Her spirit casts an aura of welcome and receptivity, even while standing still in the chaos of patrons indulging the open bar and cocktail hour (alas, how I craved sampling the sushi and steak tartare). She shared her gratitude for the work I’ve done, particularly for last-minute copy editing. Here I was meeting the fountainhead of an inspirational magazine thanking ME. It was wondrous and wonderful to finally meet her, feeling far more like homecoming. Her grace and warmth were contagious, enveloping me, like dwelling in the company of a dear friend.
Standing right next to her was Emelyn Stuart. I recognized her by the cool confidence she exudes, and in the striped dress (inside joke). Media magnate and prolific film producer, her repertoire and resume remained quiet within her. She didn’t greet me with her resume or reputation. She doesn’t bring them into our conversation at all. Instead, she bestows an authentic invitation to learn about one another. In fact, she asks ME questions that have me since thinking about where and how I want to direct my future endeavors in writing. She offered advice on how to gain sponsorship for my blog to build its readership and reputation. Being around her was like being released to explore and dig deeper into one’s dreams, and I found myself rattling off all that I wanted to be and become in this new chapter of my career and life. She offered her phone number and suggested we keep in touch.
Even more than what I learned from the outpour of sisters like Shawn and Emelyn is learning what we can offer others. Before the start of the show, acclaimed model and business woman Njie Sabik informed us of the silent auction going on as well, with proceeds going to two charitable organizations. She bravely shared that one was created in tribute to her mother; the designer, Suzette Kelly, earlier informed us Njie just buried her mother days before the show. Such character to remain committed to participating in the show and disclosing such a personal tragedy marks Njie as evidence of resilience. After the show, she was swept away for a barrage of photos. Between the flashes I snuck in to share with her how I was moved by her celebration of her mother. I told how I too lost my mother to cancer (AML), and offered for inspiration that eventually better days do come. I relayed my admiration of how brave she was to disclose what she did, staying committed to the show, and that I believed her mother would be proud of her for her endeavors. Njie embraced me in a long understanding hug. It felt fulfilling to know that even in sorrow there is the root of kinship, and that even as strangers we can each be healing balm for one another. Not to mention her power on a runway. She rips it with methodical presentation and presence. She owns a room when she enters, and leaves it mesmerized when she exits.
The House of Sarahi definitely lit up the night. Yet this night proved more to be a walk through the power and potential of sisterhood than retinal reverie. Amelia, Shawn, Emelyn and Njie irradiated my soul. I returned home, and in high heels and red swing dress, resumed the maternal work of feeding my son and rocking him to sleep. Out of sheer gratitude I thanked my husband who worked from home that day for this once in a lifetime opportunity.
What do we as a nation think of the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman case? Here are recent posts from CNN’s website covering different aspects of the Trayvon Martin case.
you know: what a good scapegoat for blacks to point at and cry racism.
P41: Caucasians are liars, murderers, thieves, rapists, sodomites, false witnesses, blasphemers, gluttons, idolaters, envious, lazy, swindlers, haters of GOD ALMIGHTY, and of the ORIGINAL BLACK MAN, BLACK WOMAN, AND CHILD.
Turbokorper: …there once was a community of thugs
…who were really good at pimpin’ and selling drugs
…we just move away,
…hopin’ they will stay,
…in the squalor, the crime and the bugs.
Lagergeld: Zimmerman is a brown Mestizo like the average Mexican yet CNN and the other networks keep pimping the lie that he is white to promote such BS agendas as this and to somehow twist words, journalistic accuracy, and reality itself to make some freak show tie-in to Emmett Till. This is Communist News Network. As you were, Comrades.
Kimip: Far more Republicans (56%) than Democrats (25%) say there has been too much coverage of Martin’s death, Big surprise there. They would only care if it was someone from corporate America that was shot and killed.
Michwill: If you’re not a part of the black community you need to keep your opinions to yourself. We don’t comment on the priests that molest the white altar boys or all the pedophiles in your communities or even when the white husband decides to kill himself and the whole family!!
Justice Has Occurred: I just read some of Trayvon’s published tweets. He was an inmate waiting to happen. Putting him down now may have saved some lives…black and white.
Recent responses to the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman dynamic have clearly plucked a raw nerve, suggesting that this case has repercussions and ripples extending beyond that fatal night. In some respects, the case has us all examining our experience of race and ethnicity in this shared country, particularly around civil liberties, law enforcement, due process, interactions with other ethnic groups and the perceptions we believe others hold of us based on our own positionality. This is a case that harnesses within both individuals and groups a pulsing plethora of emotions and positions: vulnerable, victimized, and vindicated. It is hard to not take aspects of the case personally and be impacted by them.
But as suggested by the smattering of the comments above, there is an undercurrent that is surfacing. That facts and aspects of the case are being chiseled into reactions that are then used as leverage to hurt and harm a stranger or unsuspecting group. What particularly resonates with me are some of the personal attacks that people have hurled at one another. It’s made for a charged atmosphere of hurt feelings and caustic retaliation, the flinging of accusations and assumed political agendas.
Yet I wonder about the impact of such flagrant and rampant personalization, how it is churning and festering within us as citizens of a shared nation, leading us into then maliciously attacking specific individuals and groups. To some degree, it is human nature to hurt when harmed (a scorned lover, a bullied child). But to sharpen understandings of the case into weapons to inflict undue damage is making for unfortunate fallout. A failing of compassion. A missed opportunity to understand and be understood.
The inflation of the case whereby people are using it to insult, instigate, implicate, and inculcate fellow humans does nothing to further understanding the incident, the case, each other or us as a nation. But what the hurling of such incendiary comments, abuse of facts from the case, and exploitation of stereotypes does is beg us to look into the mirror. Why are we using this case to purposefully and deliberately disrobe, dismiss and denigrate? Why are we fashioning the hurling of hurt? What benefit manifests from adding insult to injury? What long-lasting good comes from using this case to leverage insults against fellow humans? What do any of us score, or even win?
Why are the branches attacking the body?
This is not to suggest anything against our right to free speech. This does detract from the historical, social and cultural backdrop against which this case occurs. But we can retain emotive clarity. When I read such comments as those listed above, and see their growing proliferation like dandelion spawns in blistery winds, I wonder where else they will land.
And, like the nature of weeds, what potential for life they will begin to choke.
Early this morning I was drafting a guest blog post about what it is like to be a new wife and mother. The wife version I completed, and just when I was to start drafting the part about raising a son, I read several posts and articles about Trayvon Martin’s murder. And I read Sheree’s FB post that ignited my heart and fright.
What a tragedy of life and travesty of justice.
I then heard my son crying and went to check on him. He drifted back to sleep, except for grabbing my thumb which he would not let go of even while sleeping. After reading of this event, it moves me even more that my son trusts me to comfort him, even in his sleep.
But I don’t trust the world to protect him. Or my husband.
I asked hubby while eating breakfast today to be careful, for he is someone’s son. And he is someone’s father.
George Zimmerman’s father advocated on his behalf, yet I wonder if George thought of the impact of his actions on Trayvon’s mother and father who would be affected by what he was about to do to their son. About the dangerous stereotype he was about to reinvigorate and perpetuate because of his skewed vigilantism (how can you claim self defense when you pursue someone despite the police dispatcher’s admonishment to not do so?). About the permission he took that was not his to take in the taking of life.
As he walks free. While many of us hold sons, husbands, fathers, uncles, and brothers tighter in our grasp.
It’s 2012, and black men continue to be a hunted endangered species.
I think I will be writing a different piece about what it is like to be a mother . . .
For the weeks and months to come, many will write about the tragedy of the murder of Trayvon Martin, and the travesty of justice they foresee as imminent. The contemplations, discussions, and emotions will be broadened to encompass indignation toward Geraldo’s flippant “hoodie” defense (what happens when you dress a certain way), the desired resignation of the neophyte Sanford Chief of Police and examination of his department’s shoddy execution of investigation and due diligence, and musings over how long the slaying of a yet another Black youth will dwell in the nation’s conscious after mainstream media no longer broadcasts it. Yet what’s begun to stir within me is an investigation of me, of the inner workings of the new intimate space within me called parent, of what I am responsible for doing in rearing my newborn son to endure (and survive) a current and post-Trayvon Martin era.
The excerpt above was the first of two Facebook posts I wrote emotively on March 19th after hearing about this young son’s death. The holding of my own son, who arrived just a few short months ago, has suddenly become more intense, an honest reaction to a hellish circumstance. But while my arms can for now shield his growing body, the eventuality is that he will outgrow them. Although he will practice his first steps within the preparation, guidance, and sanctuary of my arms, the eventuality is that he will walk away from me into and within the world outside them. If I have done my job well, he will be learned and equipped in how to stand on his own. On his physical legs, yes. Yet I contemplate how best to support his standing with strategies for straddling his inherited duality; although he is spiritually and ancestrally a temple, he is a target socially, culturally, and historically.
The scrimmage fought between being a man-child of great potential and the caricature misinterpreted as being executable is a stark reality. It is alarming that prisons are built at a rate proportionate to students’ performance on elementary literacy tests, the notorious cradle-to-prison pipeline. And many of us are now resorting (rightfully) to practicing with our sons how to interact with law enforcement (how to speak, how to posture, how not to exude being a “threat” or “menace”). The gravity of protecting and harvesting a son (both my own and our collective) weighs on me. I vacillate between which should “weigh” more—helping him to harness his holiness and hopes, or conduct regular drills with him on how to interface with the outer emboldened and armed law enforcement representatives and fanatics. For this brief moment, I feel parenting duties prioritized to preserving his physical life, and once out of my arms’ reach how to effectively (ideally) do so on his own. As my role as a parent daily unfolds, so does my quandary and question over what takes precedence in what to teach and educate.
Without Sanctuary, Lynching Photography in America, chronicles the epidemic lynching of yesteryear and its commercialization through postcards (yes, people could send well wishes to family on one side with the image of an incinerated and castrated body on the other). Lynching, this cultural attitude legitimizing the denigration and objectification of black males and the abhorrent act manifesting from it, seems to be rearing its ugly head, with strange fruit again populating our nation’s fatigued trees (Sean Bell, Ramarley Graham, and those whose lives ended suspiciously as chronicled by filmmaker Keith Beauchamp in “The Injustice Files: At the End of a Rope” to name a few, regrettably). Trayvon’s death eerily echoes and harkens back to this era, as Zimmerman’s 911 calls serve as the prelude to the semi-automated lynching he was about to conduct. Or has the era ever left us?
This is my initial reaction as a parent. To save my offspring from harm. To guard what is of my flesh, my incubation. To prepare him for a hostile world. We know the risks of bringing forth a man-child in this land of promise (though not always of promises kept). He is a native son, born into the milieu of fear, flight, and fate that is disproportionately slated for our young men. He will have to make strategic decisions in his navigations and negotiations as an invisible man in these states. Therefore, I wonder how much I must teach my son how much his body is and is not his. What places he can and cannot be (and at what times). What he can and cannot wear. How he can and cannot speak. I feel the pressure of teaching him that daily he will have to walk and breathe in duality. To know it is his right to live by his own construction, but that such living will intersect and conflict with, as well as disrupt, others’ construction of him (and how people may consequently act on those constructions regardless of his innocence or best intentions).
Though Trayvon’s parents did not will his son to be a sacrificial lamb or martyr (nor would any parent of their lamb), they took the risk to release their son into the world; an innocent who went into the world alone was returned to them in a body bag. However, his life and death harnessed and galvanized an insurrection and reflection bigger than himself.
But I/we as parents must be and remain brave and bold.
My infant son’s favorite position is being perched on my shoulders. There, he steadies himself, hands and forearms braced against my shoulders. His routine is first to peer over my shoulders, then emboldened, begins his ritual of incessantly searching out the world around him. Rapidly rotating from side to side, his eyes and head venture then fixate. Venture, and then fixate. Quickly that shoulder’s geography becomes a bore, and like a rock climber ambitiously leaping to a new rock, so does he. I catch and cradle his search, support his navigation, lest he lose balance and fall from pursuing and practicing his ambition.
But this is the point. Instinctively, he trusts (and ideally all children trust in their guardians) I will support his ambitions and protect him in his pursuit of them. Though in these recent weeks I feel intimidated by the possible taking of my son’s life by others armed myopia, faith reminds me that the most selfish thing I can now do is cage my son. It is important to teach him what Jesse Washington dubs “the Black Code” of conduct (1) when having to deal with law enforcement representatives and in situations that challenge his life, but he was not born or purposed solely to fulfill his or anyone else’s fear. I would be less than a parent to teach him to cage himself because of the cowardice and inner conflict harbored and festering in others. He trusts me that while in my arms and upon my shoulders I will bolster his investigations of the world, and support him venturing into it.
The second post I wrote on March 19th is my ideal, my illustration, of how I am trying to raise my son.
After playing on our alphabet playmat, my son in exhaustion drifts to sleep. Resting his head on my thigh, he found his comfortable spot and relaxed. Both of us breathing heavy. Him as he descends into deep sleep. Me as I descend in thinking about Trayvon Martin.
Will he grow from “native son” to “invisible man” (pun intended on Wright’s and Ellison’s seminal works)? Are sons and statistics interchangeable? Synonymous?
I am thinking on the world in which my son is born into, and what we will need to do to steel, strengthen, prepare and guard him. And also what we will need to instill in his imagination as chords for an (ideally) melodic world he will have to create.
And I wonder what fellow parents raising sons are wondering too . . .
In the recent blogpost titled “Black Canadian Like Me,” Alyson Renaldo suggests a contention between kindred of shared borders—Black Canadians and African Americans. She recycles the “Black on Black” crime of people of shared African Diasporic experience disliking and distancing themselves from each other, suggesting that cultural cluelessness, assimilation, and a “lack of reaching back” are the culprits. Yet in irritating this sore spot, is the author as much its promoter as its clarifier, when suggesting for example that artist Jill Scott’s lyrical references to southern cuisine lacks insight and makes her “clueless” to the cultural experiences of others, and the questions of one Los Angeles bus driver to the author about her diction suggest a universal myopia about African Americans’ understandings of other Black people’s experiences? The post below explores the dimensions of Alyson’s argument, and the larger dilemma underlying the building and burning of bridges between Diasporic neighbors.
In the blogpost “Black Canadian Like Me” (http://www.theroot.com/views/black-canadian-me), Alyson Renaldo begins her blog sharing reflections on recently attending a Jill Scott concert in Canada with her friends. She admires Jill’s music, acknowledging it as a portal into an intimate portrait of Jill, a translation of personal experiences churned into lyrical public artifacts. But it is this very translation that the author criticizes and deems offensive, indicting Jill’s song on a platform larger than her lyrics, holds the song responsible for more than self-expression. Going wider and deeper than classifying Jill’s performance as creative expression, she critiques both Jill’s song and herself as an artist. Because Alyson and her friends were unfamiliar with some of the cuisine and cultural references Jill made, the author alludes to Jill’s references to food as intentionally excluding her and her friends from what “should” have been a concert of inclusivity. What follows are some of the comments Alyson and her friends recorded that they made during this collision between concert and culture:
“[Jill’s] just setting up her experience in the song. But, well, not really, because she’s asking us to reminisce with her, which means we’re supposed to know about these strange food combinations, too,” and “I don’t think they know there are others on the planet with them. Maybe she thinks the ‘c’ in ‘Canada’ really stands for ‘Carolinas.’”
Alyson and her friends situate Jill’s center of gravity—how she defines herself—as off-putting, and in the author’s words, “cultural cluelessness.” She asserts that Jill Scott disappointedly does not take into consideration the experiences of others within her music; talking about certain cuisine indicative of her personal story excludes and alienates others’ stories.
The author seems to be going in the direction of a cultural indictment of a personal cuisine-based affinity upheld by Jill Scott, but is using Jill’s lyrics to lead into a generalized assumption of African Americans’ cultural insularity and exclusivity. She interprets Jill’s culinary affinity as an elitist cultural alienation of them, foregrounding it as an implication of African Americans as a whole as being culturally insular and ignorant. Using the concert as a case study, the author devotes the rest of the blog to also discussing a premise that African-Americans participate in a self-erasure, with this erasure being a non-affiliation with Diasporic cultural and historical roots, a cultural and ethnic myopia whereby border kindred of African Descent (in this case, Canadians) are disregarded, and an unhealthy assimilation and absorption of Americana.
The blog has me pondering, and probably will continue so long after writing my own response. Trying best to not write tit for tat, there is something about this supposition of Diasporic and border-based betrayal that does not rest well. I think the blogpost offers a personal account about how one’s identity is formed and informed by historical and contemporary factors, but makes an over-sweeping judgment to about African Americans as a whole that further contributes fuel to an artificial fight between the survivors of the African Diaspora.
Jill Didn’t Mean No Harm
Alyson frames Jill Scott as “culturally clueless” because of the particular culinary references and cultural connections she made with them. However, artists work on dual planes—they express a particularized experience, yet do so in forums which universalize its access and foster new possibilities. This universal access then allows as audience to experience the framing of life as offered by the artist, while also being invited to innovate upon this offering by infusing or revising pieces of ourselves (writing a poem or essay based on a phrase, creating a dance to complement it, reminisce about a time in our lives when we experienced similar, do research, ask questions, etc.). As another option, we can accept it at face value as just an artist’s interpretation and integrate nothing of ourselves. To Jill’s defense (and credit), while not everyone grows up on collard greens and candied sweets as particularized by her, there is a universal human experience induced by food and tradition. As a universal human experience, food and tradition are intertwined, used to commemorate universally human events such as rites of passage, marriage, birth, death, war, victory, etc.
Art is an invitation into a dialogue between artist and audience, a conversation amongst a multiplicity of beings. I am a fan of Jill Scott in how she mixes a range of emotions, experiences and epiphanies with a range of sounds. I admire how John Coltrane translates the divine into music. Composer Clint Mansell generates a soundtrack for the movie “Requiem for a Dream” that gives a sound to addition—razor-backed, uncomfortable, brooding and solemn. Teena Marie blends guitar and a multi-octave range to make compelling narratives. Jamiroquai makes the ethereal into the audible. Astrud Gilberto sings Bossa Nova in a way that is seductive, soothing, and sonorous. Yo-Yo Ma interprets the history of countries and different music genres, rendering them into melded art. I may not come from where each of these musicians comes from, nor agree with or enjoy everything each produces. But, as artists do, by siphoning their specific experience through music, each provides a medium and channel into the human experience. So to argue as Alyson does that someone’s articulation of his/her experience to be deliberately excluding of others is a huge stretch. To suggest that an artist’s singular articulation is endemic of a practice of a people is erroneous and unfair condemnation (I’ll return back to this point in the next section).
We have to be careful of criticizing musicians (and perhaps artists in general) as cultural elitists and exclusionists because of references made in a song, and just because some references are unfamiliar or outside the realm of our specific experience. My husband is a fan of several artists old and new, across a span of artists (from Aretha to Adele, from The Dramatics to The Bee Gees, from David Ruffin to Neil Diamond), eras (60’s, 70’s, 80’s), genres (movie scores to classic soul) and continents (here and abroad). Several of my nieces love and grew up with Soca and Calypso. Being around them has made for me a feeling of discomfort because I am unfamiliar with many of the songs and artists they like. However, it is the intersection of our shared lives as family, amidst this discomfort, that has encouraged me to ask questions and penetrate past a wall of assumed difference, rather than be immobilized by assumption. Lesson learned and the take-away. . .while there is variance in our musical tastes, and in the content and cultural referencing of the artists, these things make for more of an opportunity for curiosity than criticism or Diasporic cutterage.
Cultural identity Held Up in the Mirrors of Others’ Eyes
Another argument made in Alyson’s blog is that there people of the Diaspora living in the United States “process race and community differently than I” (than Canadian-located counterparts), that there was a kind of oppression-and-assimilation orientation that people of color in the United States hold compared to brethren living in Canada. She recounts her rearing as being entrenched with identifying with the country of family origin, not current location (in this case, Canada where she was born as a citizen). She makes several statements that that end. For example, she states, “It was absolutely unheard of for anyone of my ilk to claim Canada,” which “absolutely everything, from your table etiquette to your family pride — was figuratively imported,” and “my generation’s parents knew what they were doing when they insisted on raising us as West Indians first, rather than Canadian.”
There are two implications here. One is that only Alyson has been reared this way, suggesting that no other immigrant groups, whether voluntary or involuntary, practice the preservation and continuation of old traditions in new lands and inculcate their young to do the same. Second, the author implies that if someone was not raised this same isolationistic way, that she or he is deprived and “less than.” The author’s mentioning of how she “processes race and community” seems more as to bring separative distinction and deliberate distancing to the forefront. Isn’t this the very same elitism she accuses Jill Scott of doing during the concert? Jill is accused of cultural elitism because of references made in a song and “promoted” during a concert, yet the same indictment could be imposed here for the author’s elevation of how she was raised to the assumed absence of how others are not.
The author also makes an interesting statement about her rearing and interracial interactions between white Canadians and people of the African Diaspora living in Canada. She asserts that in Canada there is a deliberate distancing between those of West Indian descent and the white majority:
“. . . when it comes to my sense of self, I am Caribbean, first and foremost.
As a child of West Indian immigrants, I clearly remember my dual development: When I stepped outside, my whole world was white, with a smattering of minorities, but when I returned home, the inverse was true. My entire socialization mirrored black and West Indian sensibilities, training that took place exclusively at home. All standards of progress were set by West Indian ideals. None of this was explicitly articulated so much as explicitly modeled.
It could be reasonably surmised that, as a community, we were invested in privacy and distance from the majority. Our parents interacted with the country’s white majority as one would a friendly co-worker. Caucasians were not our parents’ superiors — nor were they subordinate. They were just people with whom our parents were expected to spend significant amounts of time. Granted, if, while using this model, they forged friendships, that was cool, but it wasn’t even remotely necessary or solicited. Also, it goes without saying that it was not considered wise to bring one’s ‘work’ home . . .
Perhaps my generation’s parents knew what they were doing when they insisted on raising us as West Indians first, rather than Canadian. It meant that we could live within a white majority but not be defined by that majority. This is how our parents ensured our solid foundation, which was and remains an immeasurable gift.”
The author states that confining interactions with “the majority” to just work is optimal to preserving one’s own identity. To contrast, it is the lack of preserving this distance, and the adoption of “the American dream” has led to the “downfall” of African Americans. Based on a brief stint of living and going to school in Los Angeles, talking with a bus driver, and attending a party with white Americans, Alyson contends her understandings about African Americans grew. Yet the author condescending argument has holes as well, as evinced by judgmental comments about African Americans such as, “[there is the] American cultural norm of self-absorption, a trait to which black Americans are not immune,” “I had completely forgotten is that black Americans are still Americans, a nation firm in its resolve that no person or thing on this planet — or in the heavens — matters as much as they do.”
Alyson doesn’t specifically state what she believes as the way African American process race and community, and its differences to her own. By implication, it seems from the blogpost she is suggesting “differently” that being born as an African American means to be devoid of rearing that infuses one’s growing up with being brought up with history, knowledge and traditions of Diasporic ancestry. It also implies an over-willingness to accept, acculturate and assimilate the beliefs and practices of the dominant culture—to the consequential cheapening of one’s self. Her premise also implies that to assimilate some beliefs, to participate in some of the traditions of one’s current country of citizenship, is a cheapening of oneself. Suggesting that there was not enough “resistance” placed against integration and “hence the consequence” of marginalization. As if to suggest living a daily strategic negotiation on multiple fronts of culture, employment, and identity are demeaning work.
However, growing up through multiplicity does not lead to mediocrity or “selling out.” As a woman of color born and living in the United States, I am the culmination of various experiences. Some directly rooted in my ancestry and ancestral history, others based on living within a multi-ethnic nation. Some experiences I have had through growing up in a major urban city, others from visiting family in rural settings. Some experiences are inherited from family traditions, others from sharing in the family experiences of others. Some experiences as a woman of color have helped me ascend, other have been afflictions because of people’s assumptions based on my gender and ethnicity. Who we come to be is more mosaic than singular.
I was not sure of the connections the author makes between Jill Scott’s music, her cultural upbringing, and suppositions about the African American experience. What I did read and note was the tracing of experiences distancing, in both the author’s accounts and also in my experience as the audience. A conventional conclusion that summarizes talking points wouldn’t do justice here, because what Alyson’s blogpost brings up is the need for more dialogue and conversation across borders of land and heart.
For now, for us all I offer one suggestion. Stop placing so much responsibility on a song, and so little on introspection.
Article for Bronze Magazine Anniversary Issue, November/December 2011
“a woman sleeps as if
tomorrow a war will begin” –Vera Pavlova
For the 1st anniversary of Bronze Magazine (http://bronzemagonline.com), I wrote this article about the activism of women locally and internationally. It highlights the involvement and investment of women in efforts spanning environmental issues, AIDS awareness, exposing governmental tyranny, educational advocacy, self- defense, and helping adolescents plan and prepare for the future. But the writing of the article extends beyond telling about the impact of others. I wrote it to also make a space for women to tell about the work they too are doing here and abroad. To create an open space to share what each of us is doing to make a difference, move others from margin to center, contemplate a new world, and speak truth to power.
I invite you to share at the end of this article the ways YOU are making a difference.
This morning I began drafting a blog about inspirational women, meditating on the living examples of goodness they harbor and promote. Sister friends like Carla, Lisa, Kim, Karen, and Tonya balancing being employed while raising children, pursuing personal passions, and nurturing relationships. Deceased kindred such as my mother, aunt, and Eastern Star sisters who by bloodline and example exemplify what can become possible. Their dreams pulse now in my blood. Writers like Audre Lorde who used words as tools to instigate and liberate, playwrights like Adrienne Kennedy who pushed the envelope of drama by tooling it to shed light into our darknesses.
Yet, I indulge the guilty pleasure of watching the “Basketball Wives” and “Real Housewives” franchises, with a fascination of what will happen next. Who will be the next woman to get a drink and then a fist thrown at her, a knife of venomous words plunged into her back, a secret put on blast, a reputation that gets her thrown under the bus? But the actions and outcomes are cyclical. After repetitiously seeing the cattiness, two-facedness, duplicitous fidelity, diabolical planning, sinister backstabbing, escalating emotional bullying and downright physical assault, a command for different is radiating from inside. I think I reached the saturation point of witnessing the broadcast of the basest aspect of womanhood, and the affirmation such shows get in the forms of high viewership and popularity. But at the end of the hour, what can be culled as inspiration, a lesson, experience, strategy or new outlook that we can glean from watching women on “reality” shows to then employ and emulate in our life’s work? There’s nothing new to learn. So why are such shows so popular, despite the nullifying examples of trailblazing women like Suzanne Malveaux, Shirley Chisholm, Cathy Hughes, Rolonda Watts, Malkia Amala Cyril, Shirley Ceasar, Ursula Burns, Cicely Tyson, Carol Jenkins, Donna Brazile, and Oprah Winfrey?
I’ve reached critical mass. A new reaction beside distaste and criticism has to occur. Taking my own thoughts off the video editing floor, I am taking some time to reflect on the tenacity, resilience, spirituality, talent, sacrifice, perseverance, benevolence, insight, intelligence, ferocity, savvy, surrender and serenity harbored and offered by the phenomenal women who use breath other than to bait kindred for public entertainment.
What’s absent needs to be made present.
Marypat Hector, in her recent blog “Enough with the Basketball Wives, Let’s Talk About Girl Power!” identifies several young women under the age of 30 whose lives, while not regularly broadcast on a weekly show, demonstrate contributions that confirm what our hands can produce when devoted to creating change instead of slapping a woman in the face and decimating her worth. Through her efforts as Executive Director of the National Action Network and contributing writer to NewsOne, Tamika D. Mallory uses her life and access to media outlets to bring to light issues of violence within the African-American community.  Dominique Sharpton, Director of Membership for the National Action Network and thespian, employs her talents resulting in the near tripling of the organization’s membership from since 2008, producing her father’s syndicated radio show, organizing marches and rallies, and creating several venues and outlets for youth to express their artistic talents. CNN Hero, activist, author, college student and black belt martial artist Dallas Jessup, after seeing in the news the abduction of a young girl, uses her life to train girls and women in self defense through self-produced training videos, and facilitating activism within communities worldwide through her non-profit organization Just Yell Fire. Environmental activist and author Jordan Howard, after being a Green Ambassador at Environmental Charter High School in Los Angeles, employs her learning of the environment to galvanize others, using films to educate the masses about sustainable living, leading and organizing the Rise Above Plastics “Student Speaker Series” that trains fellow young adults in how to promote environmental awareness within their communities, and participating in various political and social forums to raise awareness. AIDS activist and living testimony Hydeia Broadbent devotes her life experience of being born with HIV to inform the consciousness of the world, doing so through several national television and radio shows, educational institutions, panel discussions as well as international forums.
And I’d also like to add three friends who are phenomenal agents of change. Angela Romans, currently Senior Advisor on Education to the Mayor of Providence, Rhode Island, has worked in several community-based organizations, public schools, institutions of higher education, and political capacities to avail post-secondary opportunities to under-represented youth.  Tiffany Gardner is founder and Executive Director of One World Foundation, whose mission is to “develop and place young leaders (18 to 25) from poor and under-represented backgrounds in human rights and development service projects and prepare them for leadership in both the public and private sectors.” Finally, school social worker and aspiring graduate student Tonetta Collins works tirelessly in her job and within the organization CEOKids of Atlanta, describing her work within the organization as helping “middle schoolers connect what they are learning in school to real world professions . . . to realize their gifts and strengths at a time when their need for social acceptance becomes important and connect them to the possibilities.”
One-sentence descriptions of the activists mentioned here is an injustice to their selfless intentions and the impact of their work. But, the point of naming each of these women and their contributions is to reclaim space polluted with exaggerated and bifurcating depictions of women: we have media suggesting the “best” of women that is “worthy” of extensive broadcast is the banality of the actions of a select few. Such is the purpose, nature, and success of the beast of media. These depictions are a concerted effort toward what Martha Lauzen in the documentary “Miss Representation” associates with symbolic annihilation. Such depictions kill off a consciousness of what we are and can be other than what is harmfully exaggerated, intentionally manufactured and massively promulgated. “You can’t be what you can’t see,” admonishes Marian Wright Edelman, which is the point of why some media images of women prevail over others. Ask any of us to rattle off the names of “Basketball Wives” or “Real Housewives” cast women and it can be done in a heartbeat. Ask us to name several contemporary female activists and HOW they pave roads for change, and we become mute, having first to do some research.
The women activists in this text counter such toxic messaging. They are mirrors for us to see an affirmative reflection of ourselves, a counter portrayal illustrating purposeful uses of our breath in harnessing and improving others’ lives. Mirrors that empower by deflecting the media’s transmission and instead position us to learn blueprints for making a difference locally and abroad. The “reality show” wives are not extraordinary, nor are the scope and mission of these activists outside your own reach.
The message? Contemplate how you ARE doing something to make the lives of others better. Why is such reflection essential to our personal and collective existence? Because the stakes are really high. Consider the following statistics from the documentary “Miss Representation” that illustrates the disparity in the portrayal of women, and their actual presence in important media and political junctures:
Only 16% of protagonists in films are female
Women comprise only 16% of all film writers, directors, producers, cinematographers and editors
Women own only 5.8% of all television stations and 6% of radio stations
Only 7% of directors and 10% of film writers are women
Women make up 51% of the U.S. population but only 17% of Congress
34 women have ever served as governors in the United States, compared to 2,319 men
67 countries worldwide have had female presidents or prime ministers, of which the United States is not one of them
In examining yourself, what are the ways YOU make a difference in households, schools, communities, and board rooms, regardless if the cameras are on our off? And are you broadcasting how you make a difference in the lives of others? Who knows the work you are doing, and using YOU as an exemplar to learn how to replicate and reproduce it?
Broadening the scope of women’s work worldwide, we recently received news of three remarkable women who do not spend their time pointing out flaws and blasting the past of cast members. Instead, they present palms and hearts to other women as allies to prove themselves embraceable. Use their voices for the protection of others. Offer themselves as sister kindred to create chains of solidarity. Harness and promote others’ potential. Their lives are proffered as a sacrificial proof of commitment. While their stories have taken time to traverse the oceans (regrettably), Leymah Gbowee mobilizes Liberian women to save their country from 14 years of civil strife, Yemenite Tawakkul Karman protests for the rights of journalists and an end to governmental corruption, and Liberian President Ellie Johnson Sirleaf works in private and public sectors to rebuild her beloved country. They have, now with the Nobel Peace Prize announcement, arrived on the shores of our minds, and I hope garnering a growing consciousness for what WE can do as women across borders physical and mental.
Leymah Gbowee is no stranger to the afflictions of war. She was no stranger to children conscripted as toy soldiers and catalysts for a war they did not create but would be responsible for exploitatively executing (literally). Young girls and women’s bodies were commoditized and brutally raped as the spoils of war. Hunger became the crown and shroud of too many Liberians, with starved children dropping as new food for flies. Liberia’s history of strife between warmongering avaricious warlords and a corrupt political regime, and its consequences, were regrettably familiar. Having had enough, she prayed for peace. While pregnant with her third child, she incubated perseverance and persistence, birthing them into a mobilization of women to “pray the devil back to hell.”
Leymah’s first work was transcending assumptions of religious difference, moving beyond fears of diluting or soiling each another’s religious dispositions. Armed with conviction, and with fellow women compatriots, she mobilized Liberian Christian and Muslim women to unite in the commerce of peace, forging a collective effort to pressure religious leaders to advocate for them. These “Market Women,” the fodder for what would later become WIPNET (Women in Peacebuilding Network), initially began protesting in white garments along roadsides of the presidential convoy so their need for peace would glare against the tinted windows. Despite refusals of an audience, they continued to peacefully protest until gaining an audience with President Charles Taylor on April 23, 2003. Stepping on fear and into faith, Leymah vocalized their position statement, presenting their entreaty for peace within their nation.
Following this presentation, peace talks between then President Taylor and warring factions convened in Accra, Ghana. Assembling with Liberian women refugees already in Accra, together with the women of WIPNET they stood guard, daily vigilant to the need for peace in their country and attentively watching the warlords and President make progress to this end. After almost two months of posturing and jockeying for position, and seeing these men enjoy comforts of hospitality they did not enjoy while in the bushes, the women were fed up, and on July 21, 2003, they locked arms around the building where the talks were being held, asserting they will not allow the men to leave until the peace talks were taken seriously, and a treaty was reached. Subsequently the talks changed in tone, content, and direction, and with eyes and pressure offered from the international world (the threat of funding to be cut off), change came. Taylor was exiled to Nigeria, and a transitional government was installed. WIPNET under Leymah’s efforts, knowing that the struggle for peace just began, returned working in their communities to promote the reconciliation of Liberia (such as forgiving the rebel soldiers), as well as educating their people about the candidates, laying the fodder for sister Nobel Peace Prize recipient Ellen Johnson Sirleaf in 2006 to become the first woman elected President of Liberia.
I write about Leymah’s work in detail because I had never heard of her, this radical mission or the incredible accomplishments of these Liberia women, until the announcement of the Nobel Peace Prize and then watching the documentary “Pray the Devil Back to Hell” in October. Given this event occurred in 2003, not knowing this women’s work until eight years later sheds a glaring spotlight on my own myopia. Saturated with too many colonizing lies. You may have experienced the same. The rallying of women who were stripped of all things but belief, makes the rallying of women over futile gossip and fabricated drama pale in comparison. On the “Racialicious” Blog, a blog about the intersections of race and pop culture, guest contributor RVCBard writes about such colonization in his post “Fandom and its Hatred of Black Women Characters.” Both the author and several dozen respondents commiserated that the syndicated depictions of women of color lack multi-dimensionality, yet fans’ responses have been vitriol. To this observation, RVCBard comments that “what gets overlooked is that the way these characters are hated [referencing such characters as Martha Jones, Tara Thornton, Guinevere, and Mercedes Jones] happens in a particularly racialized and gendered way that echoes a lot of stereotypes about Black women.” I would add to this mix “reality” shows as well. Why aren’t there reality shows about women activists? It has to go beyond simply the suppositions of low ratings and lack of interest.
Again, this is why it is so important that the work you do to make change be made known, not for kudos, but as catalysts and models for others illustrating what can be done, and how. It took an announcement for such work to get a blip on my radar. I am sure I am not alone. Imagine if we pipelined the work we were each doing to improve the community and world, this information would not be exceptional. Maybe I/we need to develop better pipelines to disseminate such information and role models to one another, instead of allowing the media to spoon-feed us stereotypes and caricatures.
Speaking of pipelines, Leymah’s work was the precedent and ground-laying foundation for another of the Nobel Peace Prize sisters. Kindred recipient and countrywoman Ellie Johnson Sirleaf, veteran in finance and political sectors, has grounded her life’s work in nation building. Out of ashes of political strife and economic exploitation, she has been instrumental in helping the phoenix of Liberia resurrect itself. She has served in several professional and political capacities and women’s groups. Over the span of four decades, she served as one of the founding members of the International Institute for Women in Political Leadership Liberia’s Minister of Finance, President of the Liberian Bank for Development and Investment (LBDI), Vice President of CITICORP’s Africa Regional Office in Nairobi, Senior Loan Officer at the World Bank, Vice President for Equator Bank, and under the auspice of United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) served as Assistant Administrator and Director of its Regional Bureau of Africa with the rank of Assistant Secretary-General of the United Nations. Even in exile she continued to work on initiatives to prosper Liberia, such as the Kormah Development and Investment Corporation, a venture capital vehicle for African entrepreneurs, and Measuagoon, a Liberian non-profit community development organization that helps war-devastated rural communities rebuild themselves (doing such things as in 2002 bringing improved sanitation to the Budumbura Camp, a Liberian refugee camp in Ghana), and later subsidizing young girls’ education. In 2003, when Charles Taylor was exiled and the National Transitional Government of Liberia was formed, she served as Chairperson of the Governance Reform Commission, later culminating in her unprecedented inauguration on January 16, 2006 as the first female President of Liberia. In this role, she continued her work to build her country by fostering relationships with regional partners and the international community, and attracting resources to rebuild Liberia’s infrastructure. She has served on several peace-oriented, women-empowerment, transcontinental and international initiatives, and several advisory boards.
The Nobel Peace Prize trinity of transformation and advocacy is completed by Yemenite Tawakkul Karman. Journalist and human rights advocate, she has taken the tools of her voice and beliefs to collect and rally her people. The catalyst for her activism was the refusal of the government to intervene in the intentional displacement of 30 families expelled from their village so the land could be given to a tribal leader close to the president.  To quote Karman, “They never responded to one of our demands. It made it clear to me that this regime must fall.” Engaged in weekly protests since 2007, she established with compatriots a tent camp called “Change Square” in the heart of the capital city of Sanaa. Tawakkul’s work has been advocating for the rights of free press, heading such groups as “Women Journalists Without Chains.” Additional advocacy entails demanding the release of political prisoners, unabashed protest against granting immunity to corrupt government officials of the current political regime, and being a parliament member of Al-Islah (Yemeni Congregation for Reform). She is both the first Yemenite and Arab woman to receive the award.
An intersection shared by all three NPP peacemakers is that they are all mothers. They harness motherhood as motivation for their activism, an impetus for improving the lives of all, especially children, so they may inherit a better world. Interestingly enough, motherhood is also a commonality shared with their “reality wives” counterparts. The difference? The former spend no time labeling potential comrades in struggle as “worthless,” “jumpoffs,” or “crazy.” They do not use voice or venom to garner and manufacture divisiveness, alienate or create pariahs from potential allies. These activists employ their energies and talents to fling fists not at one another over fabricated squabbles, but to the brick and mortar of oppression. They use their talents to channel and forge new pathways and possibilities. They neither agitate already festering wounds, nor manufacture confrontations that last across episodes and legacies. Leymah demonstrates cunning ability to transcend potential religious barriers to unite Christian and Muslim women in a united front. Tawakkul transcends religious, political, and gender barriers to unite the voices of Yemeni people into one. President Sirleaf integrates various initiatives to unite a people torn by war into a country of prosperity.
We don’t have to act like Pavlovian dogs conditioned to respond as “trained” by the media. We can bolster and build instead of berate or resign ourselves to pre-determined corners. Our national sheroes and three Nobel Peace Prize Women Warriors offer alternative routes and models for how to use our energies and resources to magnify ours’ and other’s talents to promote and harness them all for the greater good of both gender and world. “Miss Representation” closes with offering suggestions for how we can do such work . . .
Stop scrutinizing each other
Support media that champions accomplished women
Boycott media that objectifies and degrades women
Write your own stores and create your own media about powerful women in non-traditional roles
Be a mentor to others
May we all make empowering other women and girls a priority
I am hoping at the end of this blog you will take a moment to write and post the ways you ARE an agent of change. This could be the pipeline that activates change in others. Please share your blueprints, and pass them down to us. After reading a draft of this article, my friend/brother/mentor John Jenkins shared with me its impact on him:
“I am inspired to use my mouth and mind to spread good positive stories of impact so that others gain the authority to do the same. And in this way we will begin to create the counter-narrative of who we are, who women are in this world.”
In tribute to the women mentioned, and to you, I share an original poem about the fortitude of women activists and the lessons they pass down.
What’s absent needs to be made present.
The North Star (for All Women Warriors)
Women/compose the North Star/
visions from their minds endow its shine,
spin its beams wide from dreams, and give it
pulsation from ripening affirmations/
transmitting from the transcended to the transcending.
Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman
clasped my hand,
hastening through muck and
dark with steeled steering
commanding, “Follow the North Star!”
They relay my hand to Ida B. Wells
who deposits pen into palm
to record and remind the world of
the law of lynching and lynching of the law
decreeing, “Write the North Star!”
She brought me to meet
Mary McCloud Bethune
who conferred my other hand with a degree/
with mind elevated, emancipated by education
declaring, “Teach others of the North Star!”
Then Zora Neale Hurston
visited on campus/
witnessing pen and degree advised
“Now chile, youz got th’ degree fo’ da mind,
Now ya need th’ degree of da spirit!”
Took me down to the muck,
shaking me all through
the Everglades, New Orleans, and the islands,
sprinkling dialects and roots on me,
and unleashing, “Conjure with the North Star!”
Then Septima Clark came forging through/
recruiting/opening Citizenship schools that
farm the word and grow the vote/
took me into crowded back rooms with adult kin
compelling, “Build a bridge for others to the North Star!”
She carried me West to Angela Davis
who on sidewalk and in classroom
vivified the intersections of politics, activism and
the responsibility of change/
escorting me from California to Cuba,
showing me light in prison of industry and prism of mind/
shot my arm straight into the sky
demanding, “Protest in the name of the North Star!”
Then we traipsed to the dance festival where
Judith Jamison and the troupe
were summoning the spirits.
The Black Swan, as principal, in principle
pulled me to her stage,
and sauntered, careened, strutted, sundered
my body into chanting limbs
proclaiming, “Dance in the name of the North Star!”
It’s my sincere hope that this article/blogpost serve as a launching pad for others to become inspired by learning and familiarizing themselves about the work YOU do, to use YOU as a role model, and to contact YOU to contribute. If this blogpost does this, then the mission of writing this article has been fulfilled. To post your response, click the red “Response” button at the end of this blogpost. A box will appear where you can type in your response.
Write a response in which you share about what organization (or movement) you support, what communities you work within and support, the work you do, the impact you are trying to make, and contact information for more details. Whether in your home or across the world, whether large or small scale, telling what you do MATTERS. Amplifying your contributions to the audience hear helps us learn and grow.
Finally, please also support Bronze Magazine by purchasing a print or digital copy of the anniversary issue. The founder and editor-in-chief, Shawn Chavis, created the magazine to invigorate and affirm fellow women and their work. It is replete with information, insight, and inspiration. The site is http://bit.ly/vtX9U6.
To read others’ responses, or to write your own, please click the red button below.
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As an expectant mother, I am ruminating on how I want to raise our child. Observing how my friends and family members raise their children, and culling from my own experiences, provides me a plethora of options. Now I am just trying to shape ideas and options into a core and foundation. After having a profound discussion with Tiffany, an admired colleague and friend about her framework for motherhood, I begin launching questions for my own exploration. She detailed the facets of her motherhood as an act of social justice, framing it in historical, racial, economic and gender contexts. Her insightful and incisive framework had me thinking for days. I wondered if others conceptualized motherhood as an act of social justice, so I asked them. Three peers, whom I grew up with from the old neighborhood, shared their insights and perspectives. This post explores the ways these four women contemplate motherhood as an act of social justice, as well as my pondering. The goal of this post is not to provide an absolute singular definition, but a space for mothers and mothers-to-be to ponder, contemplate, and collaborate regarding the responsibilities, challenges, and questions each of use contemplate in defining and situating motherhood as an act of social justice.
Entering my fifth month of pregnancy. Rife with questions and blank spaces, saturated with checklists and preparation, in awe of my body transforming and the life within it transforming me. I am wondering about motherhood. Among the well wishes, positive affirmation and advice, one admonition resonates. Write a journal. Record what you are experiencing. But it’s been stop and start. Like putting key in ignition and flicking it to turn over the engine. The potential is there, yet getting the car engine to turn can be difficult.
The spark was ignited the past week chatting with Tiffany. While catching up on old times and new ventures, Tiffany began detailing her newest happiness—that of raising her one year old son. She is an accomplished woman, one who I admire professionally and personally. She is a former corporate lawyer and director of human rights initiative in housing, and current founder and director of an international nonprofit organization. Tiffany approaches life with a spiritual scope and thoughtfulness of her actions as having global implications. She is together. If you know Tiffany, you know she works with a high level of focus and devotion. She is committed to changing the world by advocating the social and economic rights of people. Through her organization, she empowers the young to be agents of social change. When it comes to her work in human rights and activism, she brings margins to focus, margins to center. She is deliberate in what she does so as to touch many, empowering them to touch eternity.
As our chat forged deeper into conversations about motherhood, Tiffany shared her journey on the road converging motherhood and professional duties. She disclosed her battle in toggling her roles and responsibilities as a director while simultaneously being a new mother. Wanting to balance her career choice with maternal responsibilities, she shared her joy and frustrations evolving from this duel of dual commitment.
Tiffany’s experience resonates with me. I am at a crossroad in making a pivotal decision, whether to remain in the workforce and balance it with motherhood, or leave the workforce altogether. My dilemma unfolds from mingling professional responsibilities with now making decisions on how to lovingly and fairly fulfill what I believe to be my maternal responsibilities.
But this known world of work is one I cherish. My work as an educator fulfills me. It completes me, a calling that I invest intellectually and spiritually in fulfilling. Just this past July I trained several teachers in a local school district in classroom management strategies. The joy came through several strands: (1) fostering a safe space for them to share frustrations and dilemmas, (2) build intimacy with colleagues as individuals and as a group, (3) introduce several strategies and support their practice of them, and (4) support them in building collegial relationships across classrooms and school buildings (PreK-12) to continue fostering their network of support after the training. I share this example to say that the core of my world is in helping others help others. And I invest a lot in positioning myself to do such work. Fifteen years of schooling (from bachelors to doctorate) and ten years in the work force as teacher, assistant professor, instructional coach and now consultant. But now, as did Tiffany, I now find myself deliberating how to toggle this old work world with the new commitment of motherhood, deliberating whether the two can meet, harmonize, and thrive.
During our conversation about work and motherhood, Tiffany introduced a premise that became the impetus for her decision to leave the workforce, and for me to write this post. After toggling both responsibilities through working at home and part-time, she began contemplating whether the combining of these two worlds was aligned with her calling or possibly conflicting with it. She resolved that the dual responsibilities positioned her to duel with her center. She resolved to make the conscientious decision in leaving the workforce to raise her son.
Framing her decision through historical, racial, economic, and gender lenses, Tiffany gave sound rationale and justification for choosing to solely devote her time and efforts to motherhood. Recount in the days of slavery when economics and racism minimally permitted Black women to raise children within intact nuclear families (or choose to stay at home to raise children), placed no value on their child rearing and instead bastardized it into a commodity, exploited and divested rightful income to sustain a household, and situated slave mothers to have to work in harsh agricultural conditions with babies in tow. Yet despite the historical ashes a phoenix can still arise. She shared that as a descendent of the African Diaspora she had a responsibility to remember how Black motherhood was displaced and disregarded. She was real clear that because of historical afflictions and lack of choices, she now as a descendent, would pay homage to ancestors by doing what we were not allowed.
Tiffany also raised concerns about the duplicitous benefits of the feminist movement. While rightfully advocating for equality, she also felt it positions women to take on what she identified as a fragmenting of self to prove one’s worth. To her it situates women to do work as inexhaustible dynamos, obligating us to balance working and motherhood “for the cause” of economic and gender equality. And considering the ethnic factor (are all women equated equal within a feminist movement?), she brought up that as a woman of color there is inequitable pressure to oblige this liberating banner yet contradictory harness. She admonished me that as professional women we are in an advantageous position to make different choices in the rearing of our children than our ancestors—we actually have a choice in how we want to proceed. Thus, we have a duty to make informed decisions in how we plan to raise the future for our children and raze obstacles to it.
Tiffany shared that raising a Black son takes on particular significance for her. With the phenomena of the cradle to prison pipeline, and statistics about Black male incarceration, employment and educational experiences, Tiffany is mindful that black males face an uphill challenge to prosper within this country. So she, as an agent of change, wants to ensure that her manchild knows a promise land. And so, she shared that she made a deliberate decision in how best to do that, by being readily available to commit to fighting on the frontline by being a stay-at-home mom.
It is these factors to which Tiffany attributes her motherhood as an act of social justice.
I am digesting Tiffany’s profound framework. She impresses me on the clarity of her purpose and mission as a mother, unfettered by agendas not aligned to the promotion of her son from margin to center. Her motherhood is aligned with her work ethic in emancipating others, with the focus now on making provisions to emancipate paths for her son.
At my own crossroads, there are things I know I want to enact; it is just now thinking through how to do them. My own mother, a woman of accomplishment and deep thought, also left the workforce to raise me. I admire her, and want my method of motherhood to model hers. While not defining it as an act of social justice, she invested in me by making sure I was surrounded by books and resources, pushed me to step into voids and created new things within them, and held me responsible for taking care of others. I think I manifest these expectations in my personal life and professional work, as I witnessed her doing as she raised me. My quandary is whether I can merge these roads as well as she did, and how my friend Tiffany is resolute to fulfilling.
I also wondered if working moms share in similarly align their work as mothers, and what challenges they meet in fulfilling such a framework. I wrote several of them on Facebook and through email, asking them to describe in what ways they define their raising of children as an act of social justice. I wanted to know what factors and experiences inform their decisions, and the questions they ask themselves too. The three shared here are my contemporaries. We grew up in the same neighborhood and attended many of the same schools. From a generational perspective they offer insight in how they define motherhood as an act of social justice and confines within which they try to exercise it.
Marjorie, a school classmate who is an educator, shared how she frames her motherhood as an act of social justice by empowering her two daughters to thrive in cultivating their individuality, standing up for themselves, and availing herself as a guidepost when needed. She disclosed that in raising them she has learned to discern their individuality, and in so doing, recognizes her responsibility to accept their distinctions and assist them to evolve into the individuals they choose to be. She describes her parenting as both direct and intuitive, one that provides parameters on her daughters’ behavior (but does not limit their potential and interests), while simultaneously being responsive to the needs they tell and don’t tell. As a Jewish woman raising bi-ethnic daughters (her husband is Puerto Rican), Marjorie also disclosed that she is conscious of how others may construct and stereotype her daughters, and that her work as a mother is to teach them how to counteract such constructs. The raising of her daughters is to empower them not to allow themselves to be limited by others’ perceptions, instead to rise above myopic expectations others try to impose on them. She also shared that her situating of motherhood as an act of social justice is one of affirming for her daughters the belief they can each stand on their own, and confirming for them that they can lean on her for alliance and reliance when needed.
Kamara, another school classmate, situates her motherhood as an unwavering act of being a teacher, protector, provider, and advocate. She describes her experiences in raising a preteen son as teaching him to become the best decision maker possible, to discern which challenges command his attention and investment, because by her description he takes in everything as a challenge. She describes him as being perceptive of what goes on around him, so her work has become to protect him by helping him decipher what to challenge and what not to challenge, what to follow and what not to follow, and what to participate in and not participate in as a leader. She shared that her son has a keen awareness of worldly circumstances and events (citing such things as global warming, earthquakes, kidnapping, death, and plane crashes), and takes initiative to alleviate worldly woes. Her emphasis lays in providing him help and practice to make the best personal decisions as possible, as well as what and how to address worldly circumstances. Motherhood as an act of social justice also means for Kamara being an advocate for her son in the NYC school system, actively advocating to insure the best educational and social experiences for him.
For my lifelong friend Carla, also a fellow educator, obtaining knowledge was a pivotal part of her growing up. Her dad was Afrocentric, a scholarly and politically conscious role model who read voraciously. In similar fashion, when asked of her defining of motherhood as an act of social justice, one responsibility she shared was the passing on of cultural history. Building a home library and taking him to libraries is one way she fulfilled this expectations for her son, now a college freshman for whom she has built savings to fully finance his college education. She also situates motherhood as an act of social justice by sharing that it is all parents’ duty to raise children who commit to making the world better than inherited. To this end, she shared that she preaches and teaches by example, showing her son that it is his duty to be involved in his community as evinced through her own work with parent associations, school leadership teams, and giving to charity.
In coming full circle, my peers were right about journaling. It provides a landscape for you to see what you are thinking. Writing is like a map that helps you chart direction. I am in a valley contemplating the mountains that will be climbed and trails to be forged. Right now, my motherhood is evolving. The dilemma is the most sure thing. Emanating from Tiffany’s, Marjorie’s, Kamara’s and Carla’s insights are even more questions.
How can I balance duties I have to educators with the calling and new duty of educating a new life?
What framework shapes my motherhood to be an act of social justice?
How will I know what facets of our child’s personality to give parameters (and when), and which ones to give free reign (and when)?
What challenges will I have to help our child watch out for, and how will I teach him or her to discern them autonomously?
What are the experiences I should now have to emulate for our child?
As I sit and type, to my left are the four pictures our sonographer gave us to take home of the morning’s ultrasound. I stare at the pictures as I try to write this conclusion. I see my baby’s growing body, its hands and legs and heart and brain. I feel the constant kicks and stretches of my baby’s internal curiosity. Our baby can hardly wait to meet the world. I stroke my stomach to soothe it. While not yet having answers, the one surety I have is that I am in good company to ask questions.
You ever have a profound conversation that afterwards you are still thinking on what you discussed? I hope this post piqued your curiosity and interest. In what ways do you regard the raising of children as an act of social justice? Would love to hear from you . . .both as an expectant mother and out of genuine wanting to learn more from you. You are welcomed to post a response.
This blog describes the impact of Ntozake Shange’s groundbreaking choreopoem on my identity as a woman of color and a writer, compared to the impact of attending Tyler Perry’s movie adaptation with my husband.
In the late eighties, one book changed my life. Ms. Kupperman-Guinals, our drama teacher and teacher extraordinaire, pulled me to the side after class and gave me a copy of Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf to read. Already a self-proclaimed poet, I was writing poems as mirrors of my days–the hardship of being a teenager, the beauty of nature, using big words to say small things, lamenting the crushes I had, and short stories about falling in love with Prince. When I look back on the reading of that book, it has become a pivotal event in my life. I know now was given a tool and mirror into so much deeper.
For Colored Girls was the first play I read written as both poem and play–a choreopoem. In content and structure, it gave me inspiration as a fledging writer to see what can be done with a narrative about being a woman of color, with a unique frame within which to explore and share that phenomenon. Told from multiple vantage points personified in colors, it bore witness of who we are (and I am) on paper. Stories of trials, tribulations, triumphs, excavations and epiphanies all woven in a metaphoric tapestry of a rainbow. A rainbow of womanhood. Reading the play, I felt like I was seen. Known. Believed. More than a statistic or stereotype.
For Colored Girls has become for me a tool and mentor text for using writing as confession, revelation, empowerment, sharing. I thank Ms. Kupperman-Guinals for giving me this torch to see myself and the world I could create. It later fueled for me the inspiration to write an undergraduate honors thesis on the works of Ntozake Shange (“The Negotiation of Silence in the Female Characters in Ntozake Shange’s Texts”), as well as an original play (titled “Episodes of Womanhood/Mahogany Women’s Movements/A Blackened Woman’s Voice from a Different World”). Years later, in 1992, while writing my thesis, I would have the honor of meeting the original torchbearer herself at Crossroads Theatre who inscribed my copy of The Love Space Demands with saying “Thank you for being who you are.”
Ms. Shange and Ms. Kupperman-Guinals gave gifts that keep on giving.
So when Tyler Perry’s “For Colored Girls” came out, I was excitedly reserved. Would the movie he produced captivate me the same way as did the author? Would I feel the same epiphany and inspiration in being a woman of color again, or would they be muted by the sacrilegious interjection of Madea in womanface? For me, “For Colored Girls” is one of those works that “should” stay as a text. Something different, even disappointing, can happen when the vivifying of a text is done onscreen. Some things get lost in translation, which is what I felt with both “The Watchmen” and especially “Beloved.” Beloved emerging out of the water and speaking in first person impact the reader in a way that the delivery of an image cannot fully capture.
Bad colds and conflicting dates kept me from seeing the movie with sister friends who wanted to make a dinner and a movie event from seeing the movie. We knew we would have much to talk about. Ironically, my husband, a movie buff, volunteered to go. Fingers crossed . . . we attended. Afterward, we spent an afternoon walking around the movie theatre parking lot debriefing.
Kerwin recounted that the movie upset him, leaving him to wonder if Tyler Perry hated men. He felt objectified and shrunk to one dimension. He disclosed that based upon the characterization of men of color in the movie, a man could only be a selfish “down low” HIV-positive husband who intentionally infects his wife, a traumatized alcoholic war veteran who abuses his wife and throws his offspring out the window, a slick-tongued rapist, a two-timing non-committal gigolo, or a john. Or absent. The married good cop was just a flash in a pan. To him, there were no layers, textures, complexity explored. Just stereotypes delivered. Again. And when I told him there were no male characters in the original choreopoem, he was befuddled by why they were included by Perry in the movie.
I wished my husband experienced what I did in reading the play over two decades ago. I genuinely wanted him to know what it felt like for me to see your complexion and complexity captured and given back to you as a gift, as I did with both my teacher and favorite author. Instead, he saw himself shrunken, caricatured. Again. This time, by his own.
Since seeing the movie together, my husband’s sentiments leave in me a feeling of responsibility for using words and images so others can see themselves. How can the poetry I write serve the goal of relaying my thoughts and ideas yet provide breathing room and a space for others to see and experience themselves? Relative to the two of us, how do I serve as a mirror of his truthful reflections? And, relative to us all, how can we live so that we serve as mentor text and mirror to our best and most possible selves?