This week I am at NCTE, my favorite conference every year. It is in Atlanta, and since this is my first time in the southern city, I did a bit of sight seeing before opening session. When I arrived, I met a friend and our first stop was the Center for Human and Civil Rights Museum (https://www.civilandhumanrights.org). Before I walked in the door, I felt great about visiting this museum in the face of all the hatred I've seen spreading across our nation since Trump's election. By going to the museum I was supporting those who have experienced prejudice and struggle, I was proud of myself.
I had no idea just how much that museum would affect me.
Not only is the museum full of incredible information and powerfully created exhibits, it also gave me the chance to experience something I could not experience as a white woman. I sat on a stool and had one minute and forty-five seconds of simulated fear.
The museum has a sit-in counter experience where you are shouted at, the seat is kicked, and with your eyes closed you can feel the fear and hatred and anger that surrounded the brave young men and women who sat at those counters. The experience was an interactive one, but I was never in any actual harm. No one touched me and no food or spittle was thrust upon me. Regardless, I walked away in tears.
I found myself wondering, if I had been alive then and had the opportunity to support those of color or lesser privilege than myself, would I have been able to do it? Would I have been allowed? Would I have had the strength to defy my parents to stand up against injustice? Would I have been willing to be arrested in order to march? Would I have been willing to be beaten in an attempt to stand with them?
I hope I would have, but it scared me. I think of myself as someone who will readily stand up for those I see being treated badly or those who are in danger. I am not afraid to speak out about the way I see students treating each other if they are speaking hate or bullying. I am not afraid to speak my mind when I see others acting out of line. I don't even think I'm afraid to lose my job if it means standing up for someone who has been treated inappropriately, with prejudice, or with hate.
What scared me the most, and it has been running through my mind, is that as intelligent as I am, I truly have no idea what it is like to be targeted, harassed, judged, and hated. No matter what I read, or discuss, or learn about, I will never know what that feels like in real life.
My minute and forty-five seconds at the interactive sit-in counter may be the closest I ever come to understanding that experience.
This morning, I listened to seven authors speak about advocacy. Some authors I have read and love their work, because I see it as important and something every student should read. The others, I had yet to discover. As I listened to their discussion and answers about advocating for change and children, I began to cry again.
Sharon Draper said that there needs to be more people writing diverse books than just the authors on the stage. She implored the teachers in the audience to write. "Write that book" became the mantra of the morning. I found myself wondering what I, as a white, middle-class woman, could possibly add to the world of diversity. I also found myself teasing the idea of writing a book with my students about what it is like to live, diversely, in a mostly conservative area of Texas.
Jason Reynolds, who wrote the amazing and powerful All American Boys (seriously, everyone should read this), said that black children need to stop hearing that the way they speak is wrong. I found myself wondering if I had ever told that to a child in my classroom and hoping that I taught them the difference between formal and informal English as opposed to correct or incorrect.
Ibtisam Barakat, not only told us about her fears for the Muslim people in America, but also about how writing saved her life. She told us that harmed people who don't have the chance to heal will harm others. She is right, without healing and growth none of us can move past old wounds. When she advocated for the pronunciation of her name, I realized that so many of us don't take the time or effort to truly honor the name of a child and I was pleased when everyone in the audience said her name allowed. Our names are the first part of honoring us as people.
As I continue to grow as an educator and (hopefully) leader in my field, I hope that I can become more knowledgable and outspoken about the importance of advocacy, civil rights, and standing up for those whose voices have been weakened. I hope I can make my friends who are in a daily struggle to be seen as equal, human, and worthy proud. I know that I see them as equal, human, and worthy.
My struggle is less about the cause and more about the internal questions I have running through my mind: Am I doing enough? Am I strong enough?
I have come to the conclusion, although it may be temporary, that I am. I may not be involved in marches on Washington, but I am involved in the public discussion through social media, how I treat my students, and my writing. I can be strong enough to work daily to teach students how to agree to disagree, work through differences, and see each other as people. The best way for me to affect change is in my classroom and through each and every heart and mind that I can tough.
I told my students the day after the election that change does not start at the top, it begins with them and their younger sisters and brothers. If they want to see a different world in the future, they have to begin acting on it now. I firmly believe that is true. A change at the top, does not change hearts, although it may enrage minds.
This I can promise every student in my classroom: I will learn how to properly pronounce your name and ask you how you wish to be addressed. I will seek out literature that reflects your life. I will stand up for you if you are being mistreated. I will push you to learn how to use your own voices. I will continue to cry for those who I cannot directly help. I will continue to encourage and have faith in the young men and women in my classroom. I will not stay quiet when I see an injustice. I will protect you as muc
h as I am able. I am on your side, I will stand with you. I will love you. I will question you. I will hear you.
I'm not sure what else I can do. I am not in danger. I do not live in fear. I do not question my insurance, ability to marry or raise children. I do not wonder where my next meal will come from. I do not wonder whether or not police will stop me just for wandering through a store.
The only answer I have truly come to is: Teach me.
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