Diverse But Divided

I never understood busing. That wasn’t a thing where I grew up. In my small town, we all went to one public school. It was divided, but diverse. For the most part, blacks hung out with blacks and whites hung out with whites. Some get agitated with the word systemic. But the fact that our prom was still segregated in 1989 and 1990 and it never occurred to me that was strange or wrong … what else would you call it? Maybe inherent? Things had been done this way for so long that it wasn’t questioned. It never occurred to me that there was a different way, a better way. Or that it was fine for one group of people but hurtful to another group. 

When I moved to Baton Rouge in the early 90’s and learned more about the East Baton Rouge Schools desegregation case, I was dumbfounded. This was the longest running desegregation case in U.S. history. I can remember watching local news stories about black students waking up extremely early to be bused across town to attend a white school. I thought that was stupid. In my experience, school was school. Why would you take a kid out of their neighborhood and place them in a school where they are the minority? What’s the purpose?

While I was attending college, I met one of those students who was bused from his black community to Woodlawn High School. I love people, I’m truly curious about them and their experiences. I’m also a white girl that grew up in a town where black people lived on one side of the tracks and whites lived on the other. So I end up saying some stupid things in genuine search of understanding. I’ve been blessed to encounter many people of color that will share their truth with me instead of writing me off. I always pray that God is in the middle of that conversation.

“I bet you hated waking up early to go to a white school.”

“It was worth it. I would have never had that kind of exposure in my school. The teaching was different than I knew. The resources were different. It definitely helped me get here.”  

This guy wanted to learn something different. I couldn’t say the same about myself. Did I really want to widen my perspective or just keep going with what I knew?

I started my teaching career in a predominately black school district. A percentage of my school loan was forgiven each year that I taught in a school where minorities made up greater than 70% of the population. My school was 98% African American. The funders of this loan program obviously understood how important it was to have different viewpoints shared in the classroom.

I have great memories teaching at that school. I learned so much about the African American culture, beliefs, and challenges and they were hungry to learn more about me as a young, white woman. I recently listened to a podcast featuring my friend Terry. Terry  shared his experience as a black boy going to a white school. He said, “he was dispelling myths on both sides.” I could relate. 

Later during my career, I remember when we started intentionally addressing diversity and inclusion. I felt like I knew my way around diversity. Inclusion was a new thing. Again, trying to understand, I asked a stupid question. So, if inclusion is the real goal, why do the numbers matter so much? Thank goodness for a co-worker of color, the only one on the leadership team at the time, who spoke up. 

“Because if I’m the only one, it’s hard for me to be heard. If you never hear my voice, am I really included?” 

My white son has attended public and parochial schools. He’s attended white schools and he’s been the only white in the classroom. My experiences have changed. My perspective has changed. For the past three years, Jackson has attended a majority black school. He explained to me one day how hard it was to share his point of view on a topic. The force of the opposition was too great and it wasn’t worth making his voice heard. It’s not that his classmates were intentionally shutting him down, he wasn’t met with hate. But as a collective group, what was real for the majority, left no room to learn something different. 

Recurring thought patterns take time to change. It has taken me over 25 years to understand that Representation Matters. It took conversations with someone who had personally experienced busing. It took listening to my friend Terry and his personal experiences in a white school. It took my co-worker speaking up and telling me why diversity had to come first, before inclusion. And it took my son being the only white kid in the classroom. 

Do you want to talk about some of this? 

#thereisroom #ping