School Exercise

The first awkward conversation I had about race occurred where all weighty matters do: on the pre-school playground. I asked an African-American boy his name, and he replied, “Derrick Brown.” (Not his real first name).  

I remember asking him, “Is your name ‘Brown’ because your skin is brown?” 

“No,” he said, “I’m not brown; I’m black.”  

I corrected him, saying, “You’re not black. You’re brown.”  

He, again, showing remarkable patience for a four-year old, said, “No, my name is Brown, but I’m black.”

I didn’t get it, but I was content to leave the matter alone, because after all, it was recess. Mastering intercultural competency would have to wait until after finger-painting and naps.

            What I’ve learned over the years of study is how many of these interactions do begin at school, even outside of the more structured space of the classroom where kids are allowed to speak more freely. School is also the site where we often learn harshly that some are welcome and some are considered to be “a problem,” a lesson W.E.B. DuBois learned in his school as the only child of color:

“It is in the early days of rollicking boyhood that the revelation first bursts upon one, all in a day, as it were. I remember well when the shadow swept across me. I was a little thing…. In a wee wooden schoolhouse, something put it into the boys’ and girls’ heads to buy gorgeous visiting cards—ten cents a package—and exchange. The exchange was merry, till one girl, a tall newcomer, refused my card,--refused it peremptorily, with a glance. Then it dawned upon me with a certain suddenness that I was different from the others; or like, mayhap, in heart and life and longing, but shut out from their world by a vast veil.”

 This event prompted DuBois’ description of his iconic thoughts (e.g. the veil, double consciousness, for those who have read him) in the first pages of The Souls of Black Folk. To put it simply and inadequately, imprints of race are happening from an early age, and the sooner we talk about them with children we can address some of the more damaging lessons they’re learning. 

            Any conversation about race can be intimidating, particularly if you’re limited in your vocabulary and knowledge. That said, every person can speak to their individual experience, and I’ve tapped into personal experiences to set up deeper conversations about race with my students through a simple exercise (written or oral): I’ve called it, not-so-creatively, the “racial autobiography,” wherein you narrate your life through the lens of race as best as you can. When did you first notice “race,” which is to say the time you noticed someone who was different from you? Did any conversations happen in the moment that created awkwardness (like mine!) or aroused questions for your family or friends? Then, what attitudes were present in your family, or surrounding culture? 

When you’re teaching high school and college students this has led to all sorts of fascinating conversations about the places we’ve lived, attitudes we’ve inherited, assumptions that have gone unchallenged, etc. For college students, I’ve assigned written papers, typically put into conversation with common texts that we’re all reading together: biographies from Howard Thurman or Wendell Berry, to easy works of fiction like The Help. (Even if you do not think much about a popular book like The Help you must understand that most of our culture’s discourse operates about this level of difficulty…so, you know, baby food first).

The pedagogical point is for people to consider a couple of questions: The first question “Who am I?”—self-identification, imposed identities, theological identity, etc.—initiates me into a multi-centuries old conversation about racial identities, my own and others. The second question “Who/what/where has made me who I am becoming?”is to do the difficult work of self-reflection about race. Ideas about race come from somewhere; they’re not innate. So, do your best to answer the Who-What-Where? The responses to this prompt I’ve read from college and graduate students have been remarkable: 

·     Being told by a white student that “God doesn’t hear black prayers” at their private Christian school

·     Sorting through new family dynamics after an international adoption

·     Learning the race of a previously unknown parent, which then revealed her racial identity 

·     Being white and a minority throughout one’s school years

·     Spending significant time in homes that routinely used racial slurs

·     Dealing with white onlookers who can’t quite figure out “where you’re from”

It’s an honor when someone tells you their story, especially the messy parts. Framing that story through these two primary questions is good preparation for deeper conversations about race in our particular places. We all have “students” in our lives, and we are constantly teaching them whether we acknowledge it or not. Now is a good time to start these conversations…while we have so much quality time together. 

(© 2020, Justin Phillips)