October 2, 2010

(Trenton, NJ) As an aspiring Negro male teacher in the Trenton Public School System, I admit to taking certain liberties whenever I find myself before a classroom of boys and girls who all look like me. As a matter of fact, most Negro teachers do, sharing Iife experiences, quotes from famous Negroes from the past and present, rap lyrics, etc., all in an attempt to make a connection with students. It should make learning fun and, hopefully, easier. Personally, I find the students in these situations do open up a little more and, in some cases, actually try to learn, once they realize that I’m “one of them”. Moreover, many of them are visibly shocked and amazed when I do that, AND share with them that I LIVE in This City.

Among the things I tell such classes is one the reasons I wanted to become a teacher: To prevent them, the students who will one day be adults, from becoming lazy Negroes. I usually state that pledge while the students, from 6^th grade on up, are standing in line, headed to their special or to lunch. I often say it as I’m imploring them not lean against the wall, for if it was meant for us to lean, we would have been born with kickstands for those occasions when there is no wall on which to lean. I then tell them the story passed on to me about the Negroes who were leaning on a counter in a social services office, waiting for their “benefits”, and the counter broke. As I speak, I stand tall, evenly, on both legs, and show them how easy it is. Throughout the day, I ask the class if they have seen me leaning against the wall or dry erase board, or sitting atop a desk. Only a few will admit they’ve seen neither. Why do I say it that way, at such times? Because when I’m riding through Our City with my friends, people who live in and around Our Town, who are educated, have families, who own their homes, and we pass through certain areas where groups of Negroes are standing along the side of the streets or on corners, amid the garbage they’ve thrown on the ground, someone will say something like, “Look at these lazy, sorry Negroes.”, or “How can these Negroes sit out here all day and not even try to clean up?” , or “I bet none of these Negroes even tried to look for a job today.”, and my favorite, “I passed these Negroes on my way to work this morning. Now, eight hours later, I’m on the way home and they’re still standing out here!”

Thursday, I shared my pledge with a class of 6^th grade students I taught that day as I picked them up from special. When we reached the class, I distributed their work, a reading and comprehension exercise of fill in the blanks, writing, and a crossword puzzle whose answers would come from what they read. That’s when one of the students, a girl who hadn’t done any work up to that point, stood up and said loudly, “You wrong for calling us Negroes! My daddy said don’t ever let nobody call me a Negro!” Then others joined in. Of course, those who joined in protest were those who were told repeatedly to be quiet, stay seated, and do their work for the two days I taught the class. Because of the girl’s statement, I had to ask the class if, during my pledge, they thought I said “nigger”, and not Negro. The girl confirmed it was Negro that I said, then another girl reminded me that I called the class “Black Negroes”, causing me to laugh to myself, for those who know me are aware of my command of the English language and know that I would never be that redundant. Remember, Negro means black. It was then that I noticed the students who, since I began teaching the class, were always quiet, respectful and did their work, were completing the assignment while occasionally looking up to laugh at the “protesters”. I realized that I had simply given the protestors an out, a reason not to do their work. So I went there with them. I let the girl who accused me of calling the class “Black Negroes” to go to the office and notify the principal that I said something they interpreted as racially insensitive.  Before I let her go, though, I had two students, the girl who began the protest, and a boy who had not participated, to write what they heard me say. The girl’s words: “Do not let him call you a black negaw.” (This, after asking me how to spell “Negro”) The boy’s words: “It’s my goal not to let anyone become a lazy, sorry Negro” (BTW I had the boy put a comma after “lazy” and add “sorry”, since that’s how I normally say it). I gave the young lady both papers and a pass to the office. Meanwhile, I continued assisting those who were still focused on assignment, even as the angry students continued, by now letting me know they would be telling their moms and dads, who would then come to the school to “curse me out and make me feel stupid”.  Soon after, school security guards came to the room and passed out complaint forms for the students to complete. The girl returned with both papers and said she showed both papers to the principal. I learned later that she lied. I was not surprised. It all showed me there are children and, in this case, possibly a parent, who may not know the word “Negro” is a proper distinction for a group of people per scientific classification. The principal seemed to understand, telling me she had to tell a group of students the same thing earlier in the day, and that it is good to be able to work such advice into your professional duties as an educator. I set out to fix that by turning this incident into what’s now known as a “teachable moment”. That would be easy. After all, it was science class. Plus, parents would be there since, again, they were all coming the next day to curse me out. They would be able to sit with their children at the computer and see what all the commotion was about then, hopefully, re-enforce what I said. But then again, this is Trenton, New Jersey, where I once heard a teacher who doesn’t live in My City say, “The people in this town are special.” And she didn’t mean “special”, as in “there’s a special place in my heart for you people.” either.

I had it all set up. Friday morning, before homeroom, I brought the students to the library, where the librarian had set up the computers so the students could go directly to some sites I selected. Among them, the Wikipedia definitions for the word “Negro” (literally meaning “black”) and “Negroid”, so they would see how humans are classified (Negroid, Caucasoid, Mongoloid) by historically geographic groupings and see the pictures that go along with each so I could ask, “Which one do you look like?”, and Negro Baseball League, so they could see the word used in an actual title. Also near the bank of computers at which the students sat was The Negro Almanac: a Reference Work on the African American, by James Williams. I brought a 2010 US Census questionnaire, on which the word “Negro” appears with “African American” and “Black” in the race section. I also invited Bruce Boyd, who facilitates an enrichment program for children in some of the public schools in Our Town, just to have another set of ears and eyes on this thing, for when I tell people some of the things I see and hear in some of these classrooms, they don’t believe me. I have yet to get a verbal assessment of his visit to that morning’s learning component, but by the expression on his face I could tell he may have had similar experiences in his efforts to put our children in a position to succeed. By the way, none of the parents showed up.

As I guided the students through the various sites and pages, I reminded them that if they are not aware of who and what they are, misleading them is a cakewalk for those who chose to do so. Sadly, though, even as both Mr. Boyd and I spoke to them about the importance of understanding the meaning of the word “Negro”, and that it is a proper designation for people of color, those who were angry remained angry, standing up and speaking so loudly in the library that I felt it best to end the lesson. Some of them even laughed and made jokes of the pictures of people of African descent under the Wikipedia definition of “Negroid”.  All was not lost, though. One of the students who did not protest, a boy from a nation in Africa, was able to print some information on the Negro Baseball League and ask me about some of the legends highlighted on the homepage. I also noticed the smile on his face as he stared at the pictures of the people on the page defining “Negroid”. Someone learned something and gained pride about who they are. Mission Accomplished. Some may catch on later.

 When we arrived in homeroom to begin class, the same students continued their tirade as I passed out their work. It escalated when the girl who walked out of class the day before let me know somebody said I called her “stupid”. Sadly, none of them remembered what I said the day before about that word when that same girl used it in reference to a classmate. I had to ask the security guards to escort her and two other students from the room so those who were doing the assignment could work in peace.  I gained some comfort from it all, though, when one student, a follower who tried to fit in with those protesting, came to me and said quietly, “I know what that word means. They were just mad. I know you was tryin’ to teach us somethin’.”, then returned to her seat.

At the end of the day, I made sure the principal knew I was interested in continuing with that class, the course outline and textbook in my backpack so I would be prepared to discuss the solar system come Monday. That’s when she notified me that about 10 parents contacted the Board of Education to complain about the teacher who called their children Black Negroes. I said I couldn’t help that, and that those who disrupted the class even after my attempt to enlighten were removed, so there was no longer a problem as far as teaching the assigned lesson. She said that she was only the principal and there was nothing she could do as far as me being able to return. That, plus a bunch of parents who chose to call the School Board to complain instead of coming to a school to see what made their children so angry may help us understand why things are the way they are here.  

Skip Harrison is an educator, freelance journalist, and parent, residing in Trenton, New Jersey.