The other black teachers and I hit it off immediately. Our "black teacher bond" became strengthened by an incident that happened in the cafeteria the very first day we arrived. We all went to the cafeteria to eat and Oliver, one of the black male teachers, was one of the first to sit down with his food. The other black teachers and I were still getting our food when we noticed that all of the other white teachers, instead of sitting at Oliver's table, sat at the table right next to his. The other white teachers did similarly, preferring to sit with one another than at the table where Oliver was clearly seated by himself. By the time I got my food, there was a very conspicuous "white table," and then there was Oliver.
So the other black teachers and I sat with Oliver. After that incident, we stuck together during lunches and orientation workshops. Shortly thereafter we had a staff meeting during which C. G., a black woman in her late forties and the program director, commented that "I can already see the black teachers cliquing together and segregating themselves. I have to discourage that." I immediately felt my blood pressure rising and my head became hot. "How the hell is this assimilated b---h going to say that we are the ones segregating ourselves?" I thought to myself as every expletive came to my mind. I was pissed. C. G. saw what she wanted to see. As the minorities in the program she wanted us to extend the olive branch to white teachers who clearly didn't want to accept it.
It was then that I realized that for the next 6 weeks I'd be working for, in the words of Carter Woodson, an assimilated and miseducated Negro. I wish I could say things got better after that and that in the end everything worked out okay; but that sort of stuff is only true in stories and movies. This was neither.
C. G. fawned over her white staff, laughing at everything they said and treating them with kit gloves. D. A., a returning black teacher, gave me a heads up to let me know that during practice teaching sessions the white teachers would find some way to criticize my lesson. He was right. For my practice lesson I taught a segment on pre-colonial Africa. The critiques that I received from the white teachers at my lesson's conclusion comprised the following: "Don't use big words like 'subjugation,' 'tropes,' or 'benighted' because the kids won't understand what those mean"; "You obviously know a lot about your topic but you go way too fast and are trying to cover too much material"; blah, blah, blah. To these comments I responded with, "Well one of the things that I will not do is assume that the kids are dumb and won't understand the words that I use. There is a very particular vocabulary within this discourse so it's important that the kids at least hear these words. If they don't know what they mean, then they will by the end of their time with me." I walked out of that meeting (and a lot of meetings that summer) pissed and fed up with white paternalism. It was obvious to me that these teachers saw their time in the program as charity work. They didn't have high standards for the students in the program; instead, they presupposed their stupidity.
I realized early on that the program needed more blacks in teaching positions. I think that Carter Woodson would agree. That summer I reread The Miseducation of the Negro, and my mind was opened like never before. Woodson attributed the failure of black uplift to the miseducation of the black race; blacks have been miseducated by not only whites who sought to perpetuate their subjugation, but by miseducated blacks themselves. Black uplift has largely rested upon the shoulders of those who have benefited from blacks' oppression and who subscribe to notions of black inferiority. Such is the case, on a somewhat lesser plane, with the white teachers at Learning Bridge.
C. G. has assimilated in order to cater to the wealthy whites for and with whom she works. She's Episcopalian and talks real proper whenever she's in a room full of white folks. Her voice get high and giddy in a manner that seems unnatural and incredibly fake. It's a spectacle of smiling, shuffling, and shuck-and-jiving before whites that's difficult to stomach let alone watch.
C. G. habitually talked down to the kids in the program and to the black teachers in a manner that she would never have dared to speak to one of her son's white lacrosse teammates. She brought in an all-white learning group that conducted a series of workshops with the kids that turned out to be highly problematic to say the least.
"You know how when you're in elementary school you can't wait to be a 6th grader," one of the women began. "And when you're in 8th grade you can't wait to be a freshman! Well guess what? When you go to high school it's not over! Because when you're a freshman you can't wait to be a senior! And after high school when you're working, you'll always have someone over you..." she continued.
"Okay, so where is college in this analogy?" I thought to myself. I confronted the woman afterwards about her her analogy. "Next time I think it would be good if you incorporated higher education into your story. The kids need to know that higher education is definitely an option for them." She stared at me wide-eyed. I continued, "It's especially important seeing as these kids come from environments in which college is not presented to them as a feasible goal." She became very apologetic and it became clear to me that her blunder was subliminal.
C. G. herself seemed very culturally insensitive and out of touch as well. Two of the black male teachers were forced to purchase khakis and polos because that was the required dress code. All these teachers owned were jeans, yet C. G. wanted them to dress like the other white teachers in the program.
Throughout the summer C. G. made one of the black teachers submit lesson plans due to the fact that "someone said that he was doing an inadequate job." I found this interesting in light of the fact that this individual is one of the best teachers in the program. Yet, none of the other teachers were required to do similarly. This is despite the fact that many of the other teachers would boast about how "I don't know what I'm teaching until 5 minutes before class!"
Towards the end of the program one of the white teachers took our combined science classes on a Nature Walk that the kids termed “the death walk.” She took them behind the tennis courts which was muddy and most disconcerting for everyone. When the issue was brought up in staff meeting I immediately thought to myself “thank God N.B. lead the walk and not one of the black teachers or me.” Afterwards this bothered me for I then asked myself, “why would I think that?” I knew exactly why. It was because the white teachers could do anything and it would be okay with C. G.; actually, it would be better than okay, it would be "creative." As a black teacher, I had to constantly walk on egg shells around C. G.
Parent’s night was such a farce. One second C. G. huffed and puffed about her staff “stuffing their faces” and the next moment she’s grinning from one ear to the next welcoming parents to the program. One of the parents approached me that night and asked, "Does that woman know who she is?" The fact that C. G. is a mile wide and an inch deep was obvious to more than just myself.
Before the visitors left the lunch, C. G. went on and on about the extent to which they invest into the children, yet at that very moment she had them chucked away in a cafeteria without providing them with so much as a tv.
On one particular occasion C. G. met with me to let me know that she had a problem with the way that I and the other black teachers dressed during Visitor's Day. I had worn khaki shorts, a nice v-necked top, and dressy sandals. The other black teachers also dressed according to the dress code so I didn't see the problem. "Do you think that J.C. was dressed appropriately?" I asked C. G.. "Yes, he was dressed fine," she replied. Now J. C. had shown up to work in khaki shorts, a t-shirt, sneakers, and tube socks that reached to his mid-calf. He looked as if he was going to work out, but apparently the way that I dressed was the problem. When I asked her to explain her double standards she replied, "It was a judgment call and it was my call."
I came to a head with C. G. during my "exit interviews.” Many of the meetings ran from between 10-15 minutes whereas mine lasted for an hour and fifteen minutes. During the meeting C. G. brought up the fact that she felt that I was the ring leader of a group of teachers (the black teachers) who promoted “disrespect and negativity.” She went on to bring up the incident during previous confrontations, “I felt that you were disrespectful and had predetermined in your minds the fact that we were guilty and wrong in our decision.” I was thinking to myself “this woman is fishing for something in order to have the last word.” Well I asked her how she procured this impression she said “you were always angry and worked up and based on the things that you said, you were very combative.” I told her that I found this all very puzzling seeing as none of the other administrators got this impression. She then went on to say that my behavior and body language was inappropriate, however she failed to specify what exactly about my demeanor was offensive or out of line. She then brought up the first confrontation in which I called her on the carpet with regards to the discrepancies with which she dealt with the white and black teachers. She said, “During that situation, you were combative and accusatory and I felt very disrespected.” When I inquired as to what exactly about my behavior gave me this impression she said “you were literally pointing your finger at me and the words that you used were combative.” Combative, combative, combative…blah, blah, blah. She kept using that word to describe my mannerisms. I told her that I naturally gesticulate when I speak and don’t discriminate when it comes to the manner of my address. She then said, “Well this is just my single, solitary opinion and you don’t have to me at all but that’s the way that I felt.” “I felt like you were disrespecting my position of authority and were accusing me.” At this point she began to cry. I looked at her and said that I felt that it was very important that she be called on the carpet for her behavior because it was wrong. I said that I didn’t feel that I was being disrespectful in the least and that I had the impression that she would want her staff to bring issues to her attention. I told her that I would in no way disrespect her, for I don't even call her by her first name unlike some of the other teachers who familiarly refer to her as “C----”.
She tried to justify the double standards that she has for black and white teachers by alleging that "black teachers have to be ten times better in the real world, and so they have to be ten times better here as well." She said that black teachers have to be ten times on point and can’t have low standards for the students. To this I replied, “Listen, we (black teachers) are not afraid of high standards. By all means, set the bar as high as you’d like because we’ll reach it, but it needs to be the same bar of excellence all across the board. You’re telling us not to have low standards for our kids, yet someone like L-- and N-- (white teachers) will look at me and tell me not to use words like “benighted” or “tropes” because they frankly don't think that the kids are smart enough to know what those mean. Mind you, this is the same teacher who spelled “cheap,” referring to an economical discount, c-h-e-e-p. So have high standards-but have them all across the board, for the black and white members of the staff.” To this Mrs. G simply stared at me like she wanted to reach across the desk and wring my neck. I looked at her and saw an insecure, pitiful, and defensive woman.
Afterwards, I found out from one of the white teachers that he went off during his meeting about how “fucked up” field trips were and about how the teachers are overworked and underpaid. He said that to all of this C. G. basically nodded, took notes and said “okay.” I found this very interesting and yet, not at all surprising when you dealing with miseducated Negroes. “Unbelievable” I thought to myself. This whole experience has sure enough been jacked up.
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