Chapter Thirty-Eight: You've Got To Be Taught

Chapter 38: You’ve got to be Taught

Before I moved to Central Florida, friends shared pithy sayings:
“…The further North you go in Florida, the deeper South you get.”
“…Northern Florida is LA…. Lower Alabama.”

A friend of mine who was born and raised in South Carolina regularly defends the racism of the south saying it’s no worse than New York -- people in the south are just more open about it. She presumably sees this openness as a positive thing.

Shortly after I arrived in Florida, I was confronted with this “openness.” A cover story in the daily newspaper described a high school freshman petitioning the school board to lift a ban on wearing to school any clothing depicting a Confederate battle flag. The student planned to speak formally on this topic at a February School Board session. She chose February because it is black history month and she and her mother both feel that during this month “there is little attention placed on the history of whites in the south.”

It is difficult to write about race. I do not subscribe to the fashionable liberal notion that all people are racists at some level. But while I view myself as an outsider observing the strange world of racial politics in the Deep South, I am after all, a white American and I don’t expect or pretend to always see or understand racism. And while I may miss racial overtones or subtle racist language or behavior, there is no mistaking much of the racism I witness in Herald County. All that openness. . . .

The racial dynamics in my new town are not helped by the demographics. In Herald Country, 84% of the people are white, 12% are black and the rest are Hispanic, Indian or Asian. In Herald County public schools, where 11% of the students are black, there is a diversity goal to have 11% of the teachers at every Herald County school be, as they say down here: “non-white.” In some schools this is difficult to achieve; in the northeast section of the county (where Brock and Timmy live and the football team is all white) black teachers are rare.

Herald County has not achieved “unitary status” meaning it is still operating under federal court ordered desegregation. In 2004 The US Department of Justice chastised Herald Country for its hiring practices and cited one elementary school here that, despite serving 551 students, 39% of whom are black, only employs two “minority” teachers and hired only white teachers for all six recent vacancies. Actually the school did hire one black male teacher, but according to the daily newspaper, he quit because he was tired of being harassed by parents for his dreadlocks.

At Prospect roughly 50% of my students are black, (45% are white and 5% are Hispanic). Despite my efforts to hire a staff that reflects my student population, by November of 2002 my teaching faculty is only 13% black (although by January 2003 it will increase to 23%) and my non-teaching staff is 37% black (by January 2003 it will be 50% primarily due to hiring black bus drivers).

Nevertheless, saying I am no worse than the public schools in regard to my diversity goals, is not the same as saying I am doing well and it doesn’t change the reality for my black students and their families. I am frustrated by how difficult it is to achieve a multi-racial staff but I don’t stop working on this objective.

No one from Ebencorp or Herald County public schools ever makes a suggestion, states an expectation, defines a quota or puts any pressure on me to hire a diverse staff. Nonetheless, I am strongly committed to, and know the value of, a diverse faculty. I was supposed to start the year with a black, male teacher, LaRon from Palm Beach, but he never arrived. I desperately want to hire some black, male teachers to reflect the racial and gender make-up of my student population, but I am having so much trouble just finding competent people, if I hold off on filling a position until I find a candidate of the right race and gender, I’ll be desperately short staff. I try to lure some of my talented black, male teacher and counselor friends from New York and Michigan to come teach at Prospect, but the pay and location are, to say the least, not particularly enticing. One morning a black man accidentally came to my office for an interview he had scheduled next door at Haven High – I tried to recruit him. I almost succeed, but Haven High offered him more money than I can afford.

I have no money in the budget for advertising and thus limit myself to free on-line job sites (mostly teachinflorida.com) but I do put ads on a couple historically black college career sites such as Florida A&M, and I also try to recruit from the military through an on-line site. A black man in the army in New Jersey calls me, but he won’t be leaving the service for three years. A black airman calls from Italy. He is interested until he hears about my “challenging” students. Rex, my mentor, gives me the name of a black car salesman with teaching credentials, but when I call he has just accepted a teaching position in the public schools.

I think about the black parents of my students and how it must feel to walk onto the Prospect campus and see that nearly every adult has different colored skin from you. At the very least it would feel uncomfortable, but with the racist history of the south and the continuing prevalence of racism in daily life here, it must make my school feel like hostile territory. No black parent has ever commented on this to me, but many white parents make remarks about the racial make-up of my students. It usually starts with a seemingly innocuous statement like: “My child doesn’t belong here.” I quickly learn to recognize this euphemism and counter by asking why. Depending on the sophistication of the parent, a few ambiguous comments may be sputtered before the real objection is reveled: “But all your students are black.” Fifty percent black is hardly 100%, but for parents accustomed to 11% or less, my student population does look very black. These white parents usually continue with “I’m not ‘prejudiced’ but…” and the “but” is followed with: “you know how these people are.” Or “My son/daughter is afraid to come to school.” Or even “I don’t like the language they use on the basketball court.”

It is hard to talk about race. One day, shortly before Thanksgiving, I decide to address race with my staff in our Tuesday after school meeting. I broach the subject by pointing out that in our cafeteria we have a situation all too common in schools across the United States: the white students sit with each other, the black students with each other. My goal in raising this issue is to get the team talking about race in order to increase racial consciousness, generally and help us all become aware of specific race-related problems on our campus so we can work to solve them. These are the lofty goals of a naive principal who hasn’t anticipated potential reactions nor planned a rebuttal. I really thought my statement would be a catalyst for discussion. But Stone, the theology major who wishes he could be a Baptist Minister, makes it clear he doesn’t wish to discuss this topic. “Been there, done that – last year a black kid told me he hated white people. I told him good, white people hate you too and I hate all of you!”

I look around the table at my staff who, except for Jana, are all white. Billie the PE teacher and Sam, the new math teacher on the Daphne/ Jordan team, are clearly amused by and in agreement with Stone’s comment. New hire Hannah looks to Billie to decide how to respond and seeing her laugh, joins with a smile. The rest of the staff looks uncomfortable, or in the case of Buffy and Neeley, confused. Stone’s comment has effectively shut down any chance of a candid conversation and I can’t think fast enough to defeat it and create an atmosphere conducive to open, honest discussion. I move onto the next agenda item deciding in the future when I raise the issue of race I’d better be prepared for Stone and Stone-like responses. Confession: I shy away from racial issues; it is just too easy to put them on the back burner when we have so many fires to control on the front burners.

One morning, not long afterwards, I am again rendered speechless by a racist comment, but this time, not from Stone. After our 8:00 a.m. staff meeting ends, Lynne, my business manager, and Ruth, my cafeteria manager, (both of whom are white) are the only people in the portable with me. Ruth has her clipboard and is preparing to head to the cafeteria to start warming up breakfast. Ruth has one hand on the doorknob when Lynne asks “Could you tell Vince we need more toilet paper in our bathroom?”

Ruth, suddenly annoyed, responds, “You tell him yourself, I’m not your nigger.” And with that she huffs out the door.

I am stunned. I have never heard this expression and I can’t believe one of my employees just used it. Lynne shrugs it off: Ruth is over 60. Ruth grew up in rural Florida. That is just how Ruth talks. Ruth doesn’t mean anything by it. Lynne, non-plussed, sits at her computer and begins to enter attendance data.

I am aghast and still shuddering over Ruth’s words. I stand frozen in the middle of the portable. I am supposed to be the principal here, the boss. What do I do now? Do I sprint after Ruth and escort her back for a formal warning? Her comment is so abhorrent to me that to do nothing seems immoral. A phone rings. I look at the clock, it’s almost time to meet the busses. But what do I do about Ruth?

In the end, I do nothing. I do nothing but feel ashamed.

It isn’t just my employees who are “open” in their racism. I see it everyday in my students and especially in their parents. One afternoon TobyBeth’s father comes to see me. He is wearing shoes this time, but I am still looking at a mouth with more teeth missing than present, and his speech and words are difficult to understand. It seems the boys on the bus have been calling TobyBeth a “fat ‘ho.” I ask Shasta, my transportation coordinator, to join the meeting since she knows about the incident. She enlightens us: yesterday on the bus, TobyBeth was calling the black boys “niggers” and they responded by calling her a “ho.” Shasta said the driver stopped the bus and told the students all name calling had to stop. TobyBeth’s father isn’t satisfied with this explanation. As he sees it these names aren’t equivalent: TobyBeth isn’t a whore, but the boys are, after all, niggers.

Caleb asks his teacher, Yvonne, if she will keep his Michael Jordan poster safe over the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays saying he wants her to take it home to make sure it doesn’t get wrecked. In way of an explanation he adds: “My father hates black people.” A few weeks later, Caleb’s mother withdraws him from Prospect and returns him to public school. She explains her decision telling me she observed a basketball game last week and she didn’t like that the boys were playing “street rules” and that when she went in the counseling office there was a big, frightening boy in there (Rusty was chatting with Marcus and his hair was neatly braided that day) and she fears for Caleb’s safety on the basketball court, in class and on the campus. Caleb’s mother, unlike TobyBeth’s father, doesn’t say “nigger” but she is clearly fluent with innuendos and euphemisms, and the underlying racism is the same.

And from the parents, the children learn. Early one November morning I am observing in Daphne’s room when I see Timmy, who plays football for the all-white Broncos football team, becoming frustrated with a classroom project. He is trying to cut out an article on current events. He starts to cut but struggles with the scissors. He has to keep stopping, readjusting his fingers and starting again. “C’mon scissors!” Timmy implores. Then as his frustration mounts he raises his voice to address the scissors: “Stupid nigger.” Selma, Tyryona and Karla are on their feet bearing down on Timmy before I can process his words. Selma gets in his face. “Who you calling a nigger, white boy?” Daphne swiftly calls for a class meeting. Seth and Edgar moan - they were enjoying the comic pages. But everyone drags a chair to the main area and sits in a semi-circle with Daphne in the center. She starts a discussion on name-calling and racist language. Timmy is sullen and defensive. He thinks it is unfair to point fingers at him, after all he wasn’t calling anyone a name, he was talking to the scissors. Tyryona and Selma try to interrupt him but Daphne makes them stay quiet until Timmy is done, then she lets Tyryona explain how the word “nigger” upsets her no matter what Timmy’s intention was. Daphne continues to moderate the discussion making sure voices don’t pile on voices and asking probing questions such as: does “nigger” evoke the same feeling as “white trash?” Daphne is doing with her students what I failed to do with my staff. I want to stay and listen (and learn!) but as usual, a crisis elsewhere on campus forces me to depart.

Bigotry, of course, is not limited to the middle school students, but it seems even more disturbing to hear elementary children spewing racist language. Late one morning,
I am observing in Midge’s elementary classroom. Jaysen and Bram, who are both white, are working on math problems at the table in the back of the room. Kareem, who is black, wants to join them. Voices are raised in anger. Midge rushes to the scene. “Jaysen, Bram, is there a problem with Kareem working with you?”

“Yes!” Jaysen responds. “Kareem is too racial!”
Midge asks what that means but Jaysen, Bram and Kareem can’t explain, although all three of them seem to understand what it means.

Shortly thereafter, the elementary students are lining up for lunch outside the cafeteria. Before they enter, I announce to the class that a new student will be joining Midge’s class this afternoon. Kareem has a question: “What color is he?”
“What difference does it make?” I challenge Kareem.
“I hate all white people” Kareem replies. Then he quickly adds “’Cept you Ms. Smee.”
Trey, who thus far has seemed oblivious to this discussion looks up now and adds his opinion.
“Well, I hate all white people.” Trey says pointedly, looking directly at me. Jaysen, Manny, Bram, Trevor, Chip and Frankie, all of whom are white, do not say anything.

These are the same boys who take offense and act out both verbally and physically if they are called “shorty” or “baby”, but they show no reaction to Kareem and Trey’s declaration of their hatred of white people. Are they so used to hearing this it doesn’t even register? Are they thinking they hate black people but past experience has taught them they’ll get in trouble for stating as much? Is there a double standard - somehow more acceptable for black students to make anti-white statements than for white students to make anti-black declarations? There is no further discussion as it is time for the students to enter the cafeteria for lunch.

Some of these same boys who stood mutely while Kareem and Trey announced their hatred for white people, are not so silent after lunch. After eating, the elementary students head to the ball field for a kickball game. They divide into two teams. Manny and Jaysen are heading toward the outfield just as Daphne walks her middle school students across the field for lunch. Tyryona is at the end of the line. As she walks by she smiles and waves hello to the elementary students. Manny, tiny but always vulgar, shouts something obscene about Tyryona’s butt. Tyryona rolls her eyes responding “Someone better wash your mouth out you dirty boy.” Manny, always needing to have the last word, calls to Tyryona, “You shut up nigger.” Jaysen jumps on the bandwagon adding, “Yeah nigger, shut the fuck up.” Tyryona leaves the line of middle schoolers and starts to approach the two outfielders at the same time Trey and Kareem advance on them from the infield. Teachers Daphne and Midge scramble to avoid a riot. Kickball is over for today.

Of course, my experiences with racist behavior don’t end when my work day ends. Sometimes on my way home from work, I stop to buy gas at Erikson’s Speedy Mart. Erikson’s is just over a mile from two upscale neighborhoods, but it has a decidedly rural clientele: barefoot children buying ice cream line up behind shirtless, tattooed, roofers hoisting 12 packs of Cokes and Miller asking the clerk for soft packs of off-brand cigarettes.

Mr. and Mrs. Erikson, the owners, often work the register. They are always friendly and unlike every other gas station here in Lakeboro, they don’t make you pay first. The signs on the pumps say otherwise, but I always pull up, give a wave and they let me pump. Once my husband pumped $20 worth of gas at Erikson’s and went in to pay with what he thought was a twenty-dollar bill. My husband was nearly out the door when Mr. Erikson shouted him back. He had accidentally paid with a $100 dollar bill. My husband thanked him profusely. Mr. Erikson joked, “That’s why I’m a poor man!”

Tonight I finish pumping and go inside to pay. Mr. Erikson is working the register. Benny Goodman is playing on the radio and I nod toward the speakers as I proffer my cash saying “great music.” The friendly proprietor nods as he takes my money replying “better’n’ that nigger music they usually got on the radio.”

As I drive home I feel upset and disappointed by my inaction and silence. I feel like a traitor to every black person I know. It even occurs to me that maybe if I were black, I would have to pay before pumping and I wonder, would Mr. Erikson and my cafeteria manager, Ruth have spoken as they did if a black person had been present? And if they had, surely I would have protested, surely….

I keep thinking about Mr. Erikson and Ruth. Both are nice, friendly and racist. They don’t match my mental image of a racist, an image no doubt formed years ago watching television broadcasts of white, ugly, angry, pinched faces screaming at black children in Little Rock and later in Boston. I can’t reconcile their kindness with their racism. How naïve! I’m like a child who has to be warned that even friendly, attractive people can be pedophiles. It feels like an advertising conspiracy, like when automobile manufacturers use pretty women to sell cars. Why, when “good” people spout racist sentiments, does it seem so hard to answer back?

I think about Brock, the Prospect student who left our school but not before he managed to cause a scene when he called his white classmate a nigger, and about Timmy who used this epitaph for his scissors. I think about the Broncos, Brock and Timmy’s extremely segregated neighborhood which has resulted in a football team that unlike the other 25 or so Herald County teams, has only white players. I think about how Brock and Timmy have gown up hearing the “N” word as part of the background chatter of their lives – the openness of southern racism. How many of my students, and staff live in homes where words like “nigger” and sentiments such as “I hate all white people” are freely and frequently expressed? How often does this racist language come from people they love, people they respect, people who are kind, nice and friendly?

During the Cold War I read that the Soviets encouraged children to “snitch” on parents who were not good Communists. Russian schools were seen as tools to be used in part to make children not just question, but become intolerant of the beliefs of their parents. I remember when I read that as a child that it seemed “creepy.” But here I am pondering the same strategy for my students, using my school and my philosophy to make them question the things their parents say. I need these children to learn that the racism of their parents, relatives, neighbors, friends and maybe even their pastor, is wrong. I need to create an environment in my school that not only does not tolerate racism, but helps children unlearn the racism that has been so effectively infused in their souls. I am not sure why it’s so different, but teaching children to think and behave in ways counter to the thoughts and beliefs of their parents is not, in this case, like Communist indoctrination: Hate is not a family value.

But beyond the racial slurs and “openness” of southern racism, there is the underlying racism you can’t see. If only 12% of students in Herald County Public Schools are black, why are half the students at Prospect black? Are principals less tolerant of misbehaving black children? Are punishments for black children more severe than those for their white peers? When black parents are called-in to talk to white principals about their child, is there miscommunication before a mouth opens? Is it a class issue? Most of the children transferred to Prospect are poor and a disproportionate number of black families are poor, thus black children are over represented at Prospect? It seems likely that all these factors play a role. Although I have not seen evidence to support it, and I personally do not subscribe to the belief, I can see why others (especially black people) might feel that the large number of black children at Prospect is the result of an organized conspiracy on the part of the public schools. But regardless of motivation, the results are the same: an inferior education for many black children. The ghosts of segregation live on, assuming new shapes and forms.

I am determined to overcome my failure to confront racism and racist comments when I see and hear them. I must be braver about troubling the waters and giving people pause to reflect. Here in Central Florida I see racism every day and every day I wonder if I can possibly meet the challenge to change so many hearts and minds, or even just a few or maybe, one?