Our current school system leaves Black boys set up in a way that is meant to deceive and ultimately fail them in the long run. If you look close enough you will see that schooling slowly breaks down the self-concept and self-esteem of many Black boys. Whether it is low teacher expectations, labelling, or the absence of supporting structures, everyday Black boys walk away from school questioning their identity and how they ought to represent themselves in our society. The sad part is – little is being done to change the status quo. Black boys continue to drop out despite educational initiatives. In classrooms across the country, Black males settle with D’s and C’s, struggle to attain B’s, and battle both internal and external frictions when they actually do succeed with A’s. All the while our Black sons and brothers are internalizing what the institution of education foreshadows about society in general. So when authorities accost Michael Brown and Eric Garner, it’s not anything new to them. Unfortunately, the authorities “surveilling” our schools are not much different than those policing the real world.

Black males are meant to fit into specific molds and are held to specifically lower standards. When Black males meet these standards, everyone accepts it. In my experience as an elementary teacher and as a Black male educated by the public school system, it is unusual to see Black boys encouraged or affirmed in the domain of academics. This is a volatile subject amongst teachers but it is the ugly truth. Despite the “forced” acceptance of multiculturalism, our notions about the “universal student” have not changed. Unfortunately we are not all welcomed to the table when deciding what this “universal student” looks, talks, walks, and acts like. What happens then is that school teaches us the “right” ways to define ourselves but never allow us to question whether what’s right for Adam is also right for Treyvon. What’s worse is that most Black boys don’t even come close to fitting this ideal and are marginalized because of it. So where does that place them? What exactly are they suppose to do? Black boys are stuck trying to be validated and affirmed by school, but scripted social identities leave them in no-man’s land. So some Black males seek affirmation in other ways; some arrive at validation by expressing passive or aggressive resistance to the social structures that have a history of scarring them. Unfortunately, these approaches have come with far too many deadly consequences lately.

Many things need to change in how we “school” children. Pop culture teaches us that Black men can only be athletes, entertainers, or the criminals. And schools foster this acknowledging consent. So who was Michael Brown? How about Eric Garner? More importantly, what did the police assume about these men? Our schools offer very little for the Black boy in terms of the flexibility of his identity. They have a heavy hand in internalizing the conflict of representation that plagues our Black boys. Thus they have the responsibility (and the power) to open up the narratives of the Black male. Our schools must work to challenge how Black boys are read in society. If schools do not counter the current narratives regarding Black males and create alternative ways of knowing our Black men, then Eric Garner, Michael Brown, and Trayvon Martin will be simply names in a long list of causalities that our schools system teaches us to accept.

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The post How Schools Kill Black Boys appeared first on Matthew R. Morris.

I am weary of wading into the political waters of positioning sports in a savior role in relation to our Black males. While I understand the analytical argument against sports being pushed on Black males, I disagree with part of it. The overriding intellectual sentiment follows somewhat along these lines: Black boys typically ascend towards three pre-determined life roles – the athlete, the entertainer, and the criminal. All three roles are due to limited representations of the possibilities of Black masculinity as prescribed through the medium of popular culture. The sports and entertainment industry are saturated with Black males.

Out of the three roles, the athlete is the path that the young Black male can pursue most avidly through school. He can join sports teams and excel. In fact, in most cases, the cyclical stereotype of Black males being superior athletically leads many people in positions of authority implicitly or explicitly pushing the Black male towards sports. This is one of the only areas in which the Black male is accepted and appreciated.

As the Black male becomes encouraged to pursue athletics due to his “obvious” inclination towards it, his success almost becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. He is told he will be good, so he takes this positive reinforcement and practices more often. Because teachers and adults around him have helped foster his self-esteem in this area, he devotes the time and effort into it, and he eventually does become good at sports.

Now here is where most find the problem of sports: demonstrating how Black boys are arrested into confining identities. Many argue that blacks could equally be inclined to succeed in areas of academics, but due to the meta-narrative of how structural racism works in schools (and the world, writ large), they are not. Instead these hyper-masculine bodies are pushed into sports. The problem with this is that a career as a professional athlete is extremely unlikely and the skills these Black males spend hours, days, and years honing become useless once they give up the dream.

Think about it like this: if a white kid wants to become CEO of the next big online company because he idolizes Mark Zuckerburg, he still comes out with the tools necessary to succeed in the real world whether or not he accomplishes this goal. But a Black kid wanting to become the next Lebron James will have a mid-range jumper and court vision that will do nothing for him once his dream ends (other than on Friday nights at his local community center). White boys are being pushed into areas where: 1) they have a strong likelihood of succeeding, and 2) even if they do not succeed, they will have built strong traits and habits that will undoubtedly help them succeed as professional adults. With the focus on the narrow scope of athletics, Black males come out of high school with a killer crossover and a consistent mid-range J but nothing else. That is the prevailing idea of how sports serve to stunt the progression of Black males.

I agree with most of this assertion. Black boys are being pushed into athletics. Because they are being pushed and encouraged, it does become a self-fulfilling prophecy of quasi-success. This encouragement of the Black boy could very well be used in areas of academics instead, but it is not. This is all due to the undercurrents of structural racism that permeate our culture. However, what I do not agree on is the idea that sports leaves the Black boy tool-less once his dream is over and he stops competing officially.

This logic is understandable but it is not complete.

I was one of those Black boys who was pushed into sports. I can safely say that I was obsessed with sports way before anyone ever took a liking to my athletic potential and chose to rear me in that direction. As a young Black male, sports became the focal point of my identity. And in high school, I was fine with that. Because of all the other experiences with academics that I had internalized, I knew I wasn’t going to be recognized for anything else, especially if I continued to embrace my urban culture. So I took sports and ran with it. I played every sport with passion and took pride in succeeding. I took every type of gym class high school offered. I listened in gym, obeyed the rules, arrived to that class on time, even early, and tried to spend extra time there once it was over. I was engaged during that period. I felt appreciated, I felt important and I felt capable.

As I began to specialize in football and really take that seriously, I did whatever it took to try and earn a football scholarship. While other students were hanging out with friends after school, experimenting with gateway drugs and playing video games, I was with a few friends (or by myself) in the gym training my body. Instead of watching regular TV, I was getting in as much football as I could. By this time, I set goals for myself and everyday I thought of those goals, trying to attain them. I became part of a football community, learning the who’s who and networking with peers and coaches all around. I travelled to combines and camps, trying to hone my craft in the hope of reaching the next level. During my season, I not only wanted to be successful personally but I wanted the team to succeed. In the medley of different kids who were engaged to varying degrees, getting everyone to focus was a task unto itself. I did this for years. So, you mean to tell me that when I had reached the pinnacle of my sporting evolution and sports for me stopped, all I was left with was some sleek footwork and an impressive vertical jump?

I think not. I have sports to thank firstly for getting me through the bores of high school. If it were not for the anticipation of a practice or an upcoming season, I do not know how successful my academic career would have been. If all I had to focus on was school and the reality of what was awaiting me in the real world sunk in, I would have become depressed! But I did have sports, and that was like an imaginary friend, yielding hope and encouragement as I progressed through the school year.

Who knows where I would have been if I didn’t have sports as my foundation. Would I have even gone to university? If I wasn’t athletically gifted with certain genetics, that with a little hard work could be molded and help me earn a sports scholarship, who knows if I would have even survived through high school.

If you had told me in high school that I would turn out to be an elementary school teacher whose primary hobby was reading literary, non-fiction works concerning race, social justice and modern culture, I would have laughed at you and told you to put down the dutch. Point being, we all evolve. There is nothing wrong with a 16 year old boy being passionate about sports and aspiring to reach the top. It does leave him with so much more than a jump shot. Alluding to my experience in sports and as a member of a team has come up in every single job interview I have ever had. Sports teaches the young man so many other foundational qualities that every person needs. Most sports are team sports and the ability to cooperate is one of the fundamental factors that drive this world forward. Team play fosters enhanced empathy and instills a sense of responsibility for others. These are things you subconsciously pick up as you grind through a season with your brothers.

Most importantly, a sport has the ability to instill personal confidence. It allows a kid to believe in himself and build his self-esteem through a performance, a practice, or even one good play. Sports lay the groundwork for how setting a goal and accomplishing that goal is to be bridged. It gives you a blueprint early in your life on how sacrifice and determination ought to be practiced. The list of things that sports do for a kid, especially those kids who receive little appreciation in other realms of school, goes on. So please, do not tell me that when a Black boy is finished playing sports he is left with nothing. He is left with a whole lot, he just has to begin to learn how to use it.

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Black boys, like myself, try for years to interrupt the arresting box of urban Black identity in clever and chameleon ways. My competitive nature and sincere belief in the importance of good grades would not let me slide too deep or become too committed to the whole “Blackness/Coolness” game. I would feverishly study for tests at home, in the confines of my own room. Memorizing, highlighting, and going over content for tests and quizzes. I would come to school as prepared as any other hard working student. As I firmed my grasp on the dichotomous struggle between popularity and identity, I gradually began to gain footing in that other aspects of school life, the actual “schooling” part. Through this, I started to understand this Black boy interrupted. Good grades slowly started to trickle in on tests and assignments. Teachers, I am certain, initially began to question whether or not I was somehow cheating my way through these assignments. How did this class clown, who strolls in late on the daily know all that information for the test? How did this guy who seems to carry such a blithe attitude towards his academics turn in a project that seemingly took much time and detail to complete? The bewilderment went from lower-than-standard grades concerning my work to inexplicit and indirect addresses of authenticity and plagiarism. Eventually, most teachers summed my demeanour and contrary production up to an anomaly of sorts. I simply became that Black guy who had enough logic to do decent in a class.

I am still conflicted with a double reality of sorts; as I walk into a room (especially if it’s an academic setting). I first must assert my “Blackness” and then I can get around to trying to assert my intelligence. This is something I unfortunately internalized a long time ago. I internalized this due to those same situations that happened to me in high school. Being the guy who was considered an anomaly for doing well and being “Black” may have helped my self-confidence in the short term. But it definitely did damage to my psyche in terms of how I viewed my social location. I did not get a pass into the confines of the normal academic setting. I could not be who I was (or wanted to be) and still be taken with utmost seriousness in class. An anomaly, a cheater, or an asshole who was wasting potential, whatever the excuse or example I was becoming, I was still sitting on the margins of the academic world and was never fully accepted for my full complexity by most teachers. So, those teachers tried to make me one dimensional. A teenage Black guy who cares just as much about his social clout than he does his academics does not fit the mold of excellence. It is not in the vocabulary or ideal range of things that mesh with the term “ideal student”.

Don’t kid yourself, Black males feel the gaze of subjectivity just as much as those teachers who are delivering it. Our homework may be completed but if so, upon presenting it, said student acts like doing his homework is the greatest surprise and/or accomplishment that ever happened to him academically (this may sometimes be the kids’ actual true sentiment, but most of the time, I can guarantee you, it’s just another “performance”). The typical responses sound something like, “Shit, I don’t even remember doing this?!?!?” Or “BOOOM! Smashed it last night, stepping my game up!” Upon showing academic priority slash Black masculine vulnerability, the Black male will retort with the type of phrase that will surely undermine his intentions to be considered a student who is concerned with his academic reputation.

Most of what young Black boys pride themselves on falls short of what the school system cares about. Thus, a discord in the relationship is created from the start. Most teachers never encountered a kid who seemed to half-care about school on the surface but really care about school deep down. Most teachers are used to cookie-cutter representations of the student. If you cared about school you were diligent, you came to class on time, you corresponded with teachers concerning academic matters and you psychologically grappled with other students to earn favour and be seen in a positive light. You were attentive, for the most part, in class and you visibly showed joy or disappointment according to the grade you received. This seems great in a perfect world and for a “perfect student” that does not have to deal with racism on a daily basis. Unfortunately, the Black boy is not afforded the luxury of acting this way while still maintaining a strong identity of being authentically Black and clinging to an urban culture. These corresponding notions clash with the expectations of schooling. The Black boy simply does not fit that mold of excellence. And due to this reality, the consequences trickle down slowly and insidiously.

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I feel that all the hip-hop albums I have ever listened to, from Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle to Kendrick’s To Pimp a Butterfly have taught me more valuable life lessons and offered more insight into my world than any public school educational resource I was ever handed. School taught me how to read, write and do math. The questions and challenges I was required to complete taught me how to problem solve to a certain extent. History and Geography textbooks allowed me to understand my situational context. Through these resources, I learned that the world was bigger than my block, bigger than the east end of the six, and bigger than North America. Art and French class flaunted me with the realization that I could not excel in all things. Or rather, they made me appreciate the talent that came to others naturally. But music, man o’ man, music taught me life. Even at school, the hallways and everything while transitioning from one “class” to another was in itself a classroom. It was classroom hip-hop. There were mistakes that I didn’t dare make thanks to listening to Ready to Die or watching videos like TLC’s Waterfalls. English class taught me how to write properly but I would argue that hip-hop music taught me how to articulate meaning. So why do we not learn from this valuable resource in school? Why are our poetry units crowded with dead white men? Learning is more than a regurgitation of information. And schools should start to adopt a form of knowledge production that brings information to life.

For the life of me, I could not care to remember mundane facts, no matter how many times I read over the reasons or causes for some historical event. But in high school, ask me the latest Nas track or R.Kelly ballad and I could recite it word for word! The fault in our education lies somewhere along the traditional pedagogical practices we still try to shove down our children’s throats. Most of our conventional methods of teaching are slowly dying. Many are dead. They especially find themselves numb to a group of bodies that have the ability to, and would much rather, learn in creative and spirited ways.

Do I want to go as far as saying an urban hip-hop way of knowing runs contradictory to traditional schooling methods? No, I don’t think I do. The negative insinuations of such a statement could easily be used by any intellectual positivist to further espouse some incorrect nihilistic association regarding the Black urban culture. But I will say that if we add a little vibration and energy to our teaching practices, the sky is the limit for all learners. No one can argue that hip-hop is the fastest growing music form of our generation. Everyone knows Jay-Z, Kanye West, and now Drake. Thanks to the likes of Blondie, Rick Rubin and Mick Jagger, Black music has slowly and steadily inched its way into mainstream pop culture and has subsequently blown the hinges right off that door. And yes, I say thanks to the likes of those people (know your music history). For a long time, it took the co-sign of prominent white musicians in order for Black music to earn its place in the mainstream that it properly deserved. Now that we’re here, on the very fringe of appropriation, what do we do with this tool? What do we do with a tool not made by the master now that we are in the master’s house?

That question is rhetorical. At least for me it is. I am not shaky in my stance. I am prepared to put my head on the line for a just cause. A right cause. A role model (and hopefully a future mentor), Chris Emdin, professor at Columbia University has sparked a movement in Hip Hop Education, tagging the line, “on with the revolution.” If we move correctly and can straddle the Ivory Tower and the bricks appropriately with enough soldiers, we will indelibly be on with this revolution in education.

The only thing stopping us is ourselves. We must demonstrate conviction in believing that Hip Hop is one of the greatest forms of self-reflection, soul searching, communication, and learning. I am here to testify that hip-hop has taught me more than any book I read in high school. Rappers, and not any standard lesson, have shown me how to convince, charm, and articulate. I pulled my pants up and took my hat off when they told me to. This was out of respect. But did their words change me?No. I changed on my own, through mentors and models that opened a door, or rather a bridge that I could walk across, understanding that both the conventional world and the urban world could be one in the same. If more of us teachers start to realize this, pedagogy can be put into practice. That information we are supposed to remember for History or Science class will be as easy as remembering the lines to Juicy. So, on with it.

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If the Black boy was striving for acceptance amongst his peers as validation for his Blackness, what he struggled with was notions of how academia fit into it all. Sports, street smarts, charm and charisma, and aggression were all equally laid out to us. In order to hone our craft in any of those areas, all we had to do was turn on the TV or listen to our music. Examples of Black males “performing” in those categories and gaining validation were in abundance. As far as any of those character traits went, there were several embodiments along our path to emulation and validation that we could select from. All we had to do was pick one. Heck, we could pick a few.

What was not present in our repertoire of identity construction was the realm of academia. With all our other markers of what makes a cool and official Black male, “earnestly intent on succeeding academically” was not in there. It was nowhere close. What got lost in the shuffle of fostering our own validity through “‘kinshipping’ with our boyz” was the actual attention to the lessons and lectures our teachers were delivering. Through middle school and as I eventually moved into high school, those lessons, experiments, and projects were not really a priority for me at the time. In order to solidify my reputation and identity, I was more focused on honing my craft in athletics and my perception materialistically. Baggy jeans and t-shirts, fitted caps, and doo-rags were offset by huge chunks of cubic zirconia in my ears and a gaudy silver chain around my neck. It was the early 2000s and my swag was on point. I looked like every other Black boy at the time. In school I also, to a certain extent, acted like every other Black boy at the time. I felt I had to if I wanted to remain in this ever-important popularity contest of high school. It was no holds barred and the only areas that you could afford to give up ground were the areas on the fringe, the areas that weren’t lucidly outlined already. Unfortunately, we saw those main fringy areas as the classroom and academics.

It was very hard being Black and wanting to do well in class. I faced a perceptual struggle almost every day. I was battling on more than one front as well. The guard I had put up left me vulnerable to teacher subjectification and discretion. I had never explicitly expressed intentions of succeeding in class. My attitude towards academics was passive. I took it as it came; the good, the bad, and the ugly. Because of that, I without a shadow of a doubt guarantee that I was viewed in a certain light by my teachers. Because I was satisfied with my 80% or 70% and lightly upset with my 60% (aggression is a trump card in the construction of a Black male identity anyway), I continued to be pigeon holed by teachers, receiving mediocre grades.

The “teachable moments” and attention to detail that came on the football field or in preparation for a school talent show were never existent by any of my teachers during a regular class. As I moved through my final years of high school and started to excel in sports (and consequently started to excel in academics), teachers and myself would have many conversations about how I could do this or that on the field in order to improve my “game”. There was invited access to frank conversations with teachers when it somewhat concerned my plight in sports. But as I changed out of my gym clothes and donned my baggy Levis 501s and strolled back to class, stopping to chat up a few females along the way, consciously coming a few minutes late in order to “make an entrance,” those frank discussions regarding my life’s plight dissipated. My relationship with the academic side of school and my classroom teachers was as stale as yesterday’s toast. And this was both my fault and my teachers’. I did not know how to appear vulnerable and concerned in regards to my schooling. My teachers did not know how to read beyond my appearance and demeanor. Thus, we were stuck in this perpetuated cycle of comfort zones and stereotypes. So we went on with our daily lives, swallowing whatever rough patches we had to experience, all the while subconsciously accepting the simplistic notion that “this is just the way it is.”

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I was on a mini-vacation visiting some old friends who had recently moved to Montreal. After a meal one night, Barack Obama came across the television to give his state of the union address. This started a conversation on Barack’s blackness. One half-English half-Trinidadian girl, a man of mixed tones with accents of Polish and Jamaican ancestry, one African, and another hyphenized female all became engaged in a conversation about race, Blackness, and education. It was my African friend that intrigued me the most. He was from the Republic of Congo and his intersection of race and education way different than me.

He takes the whole idea of education and race and flips it on its head. He feels that the catalyst of the “black male conflict” as he calls it, is due to the need for many black males to rebel against the dominant culture. “Whose idea is it that we need to go to university? Not mine if my family doesn’t have the money for it,” he articulates, trying to make reference to the fact that issues of class and race intersect to create a perpetual system of inequality that is overtly evidenced through the practice of education. He is firm on his stance. Black males don’t care to do well because not doing well demonstrates their agency.

Our discussion got me thinking about race and education and how the two are forever interlocked. Why must we do well in school and get good grades? Why must we study the subjects that we do, or even learn about the things that we are learning about? Although demographics in almost every major metropolitan city have shifted over the last 50 years, how come we still read about the same authors and “monumental” figures that are all predominately white? My friend from the Congo says that the dominant culture has determined the things that we think are important in society, but just because they have decided on these things doesn’t mean that we all should simply tag along. They have decided what type of dress is suitable and what type of dress is not; must we all play dress up from Monday to Friday, and even Saturday if we are to be taken seriously out in public? Many teachers wear running shoes to work. I do as well. But how come my selection of running shoes elicits comments every time I walk down the hall? “Oh, I like your shoes! Are they new?” a polite, yet intrinsically naïve teacher will ask me as we cross paths in the photocopy room. From the gazes and the comments I feel compelled to conform, even in the area of picking running shoes!

Are the Jordans I wear and the Nike’s that “Steve” adorns not both classified as sneakers? But one seems to be a bit less professional for some obscure reason. Why is it so easy for the dominant culture to be comfortable, and so hard for others who have to work each and every day at not only doing their job but also proving that they are “worthy enough” to be included. Most cultures walk, talk, and in all honesty, do almost everything else different, but one culture holds the rights to the politically correct and professionally superior conduct of what we deem as “universal”. Not fair says my friend. So forget it all, he says. “Do you and see what happens,” he claims, “because either way it is going to be hard, so you midaswell be a little more comfortable for the inevitably bumpy journey”.

As a dark-skin black male, my friend from the Congo has experienced many things that I probably have not. And that is where the core of our differing understanding on race and education lay. Context and opinion are fostered through experience. We come to form our opinions mainly through the lens of our own experience. For him, his views are based on his childhood, growing up in one of the most corrupt regions of Africa where whites are still feared and considered “superior” to blacks and then having that reality juxtaposed by moving to Toronto, as an immigrant, and seeing these same white people, who he had grown to think of them in almost godly terms, on the street corners begging for money. He considers race, education and the interconnectedness of the two in a completely different light than me, a mixed-raced Canadian who grew up in a low to middle class household who experienced some hardships that were relative to the reality that I knew at the time. Two different lives, two different experiences, two varying opinions. But one thing is in common. Black lives matter but society seems to tell us otherwise. Barack’s blackness shouldn’t be up for debate.

And as young teachers we must keep in mind that we instruct through the premise of understanding that our opinions are based on our experiences in life. Someone else may tell you how to do something or handle a situation, and you may think it will help you because they are more “experienced.” But the word “experience” is very fluid. Yes, those veteran teachers are indeed experienced, but guess what, so are you – you are experienced in life, in situations, in understanding context from your perspective and your experience. Your epistemology is undeniable. So for you, do things exactly how you dreamed of doing them, because at the end of the day, that is when the most genuine learning happens – for your students, and arguably as important, for you as well.

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Black History Month, African Heritage Month, or whatever politically correct term is in vogue at the present time, is here and gone. And once again, like every other year, the collective head at every school turns towards the “token representatives” or “native informants” to spread wisdom and enlighten the masses. Every February, the invisible (read Big and Black) elephant casually enters the room as staffrooms and equity committees in schools tussle with the question of, “So, what are we going to do this year to celebrate Black History Month?” The burden of responsibility yet again falls on the shoulders of those individuals who are actually invested in seeing a rupture of the status quo and those people who actually want to foster a sense of awareness and critical consciousness about a hegemonic system that has and continues to create systemic imbalances. But I am tired of doing this. I am tired of running this play. Why do I have to always figure out how to spread consciousness about a subject that not only affects me, but also affects everyone?

Then I thought of turning Black History Month on its head. Instead of Blacks leading the way and talking about how we were and continued to be wronged by a system of racism and prejudice, why don’t we have dominant bodies talking about their role. Sure, they weren’t there, but neither were we. The thought of having whites run Black History Month is dangerous in many ways. Even Blacks will argue against it, saying this is our month and it is our duty to take ownership of it. And of course a shift like this is sure to have dominant bodies taking up a defensive stance. Arguments will fly about how they didn’t do anything wrong and we now live in a post-racial world. But when a Black man gets strangled to death for selling some loose cigarettes on a New York sidewalk and all we seem to be concerned about is the rise of militarization in policing we appear to be yet again missing the point. The invisible elephant continues to stroll around. When a young Black man gets gunned down for walking through his father’s neighborhood after stopping for some Skittles we shift the focus to issues regarding anxious community watchmen and once again avoid the major topic. When bullets fly through a Black man’s skull even though he has his hands up, instead of situating a conversation on race, we look to find other ways to narrate a tragic situation. And when Blacks do organize Black History Month in their local schools and communities, dominant bodies snicker and whisper, “When are they going to get over this ‘slave’ and ‘racist thing’? Don’t they see that by bringing it up they are just keeping it alive?”

But it is not kept alive by Black people’s constant rehashing of the subject. It is kept alive by the silence of the dominant group to assertively address the topic and issues that still plague our society. There is great luxury in being oblivious to privilege. So the dominant group stands aside and gives Blacks their month to mourn, reflect, and re-envision. And when it’s over we all go back to the status quo. But I’ve had enough. I’m not playing this game anymore.

Maybe how we “do” Black History Month ought to change. Maybe Black History Month should be about the dominant bodies talking about how they enslaved Blacks. Maybe it should be about them telling us how they did us wrong. Clearly, what we’ve been doing hasn’t been working. Maybe we need to change things up a bit. Imagine that.

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I have been conducting heavily “teacher-instructed” lessons these last few days. I have spent a large majority of many of those periods talking, teaching, instructing, facilitating, answering questions, and barking orders. I filmed one of my lessons and I was taken aback by my speech style in the classroom setting. Some say that it takes some time to find your “teacher voice”. I am somewhat on the fence about this whole doing teacher talk thing. Being a black male, the idea of how a “normal teacher” ought to sounds rubs me the wrong way. Your teaching voice should be a direct representation of who you are. Every teacher is articulate, educated, and comes from a specific geographic location. I was born and raised in the east region of Toronto called Scarborough. I do have a slight Scarborough accent, I may string my words and sentences together with a little bit of an urban emphasis; the kind of thing that simply becomes automatic and natural to any person growing up for a long period of time in one specific environment.

When I started teaching, I tried to talk differently. I tried to talk like how a teacher ought to talk, informed by my prior experiences about the school system. But, I have found that the way I tried to speak only served as a veil on my true identity. Incidentally, the more “proper” I spoke to my students, the more respect and authority I automatically inherited. But I have realized that this sort of attitude may be sending wrong messages to many of my students.

I realized that I may be a part of the source of some internalizing conflicts that are fostering in young Black males and many minorities that look just like me and look up to me. So it has been my goal to begin to let my guard down. This is the type of thing that happens once one becomes comfortable in an environment. I strive to not sound like a teacher; by this I mean I want to be authentic. I want to sound like how I sound because if I try to sound like anything else I think that will take away from my delivery, my intent, my convictions, and ultimately layer me with just one more coat that solely serves to distance me from my students. I am not saying that I am not stern when the time dictates or “professional” in my dialogue with students, but I am saying that the way I talk to my 12 year old cousin at family get-togethers is the way I hope and should talk to my 12 and 13 year old students in school. Because, for some bodies this transition is completely fluid. But what about the bodies who feel like school and home are two separate realms?

At times, I have tried to “correct” my communication and speak more in “teacher-speak” language. But at the end of the day, what does that subliminally teach the impressionable minds that are placed in my care? Am I instilling the idea that you have to fit a certain mold in order to fulfill a professional role in society? That there is a “right way” to talk and if you do not sound like that you are somehow lacking something that will impede your success in the world? My students learn just as much from me as they learn from Ms. Sally May down the hall. Guaranteed. Regardless of how the words flow from my mouth.

Communicating, at all times is about projecting some sort of relationship dynamics, whether you are speaking to your partner, your colleague, your son, your grandmother, or the person on the other side of the counter at the corner store. How you communicate is your self-constructed projection of how you want to be perceived.

Teacher-talk is just that. Teacher talk. Ultimately, the key in how you portray yourself, especially as a new individual in education, is that you remain authentic to yourself while at the same time remaining professional to whatever sense of the word “professionalism” means to you. You will grow into your voice, it does not happen the first day. It is necessary for you to figure out your voice for yourself, talk in a way that you feel comfortable and communicate in a fashion that allows you to manage your class accordingly. Talk how you talk because sincerity, worst comes to worst, shows the students that you are authentic  to yourself and you refuse to re-mold regardless of what pressures you may face. Which, in the end, is another one of the fundamental lessons hidden within curriculum that students are gleaning from their educational experience anyways.

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During the long weekend my girlfriend and I went to visit a long time friend who recently moved to Montréal with her husband and nine month old baby. This was my first time in Montreal, I appreciated the historic nostalgia that you feel once you enter the old quarters and walk the streets of interlocking brickwork. This long weekend also gave me the chance to “unplug” and get my mind off of school and the continuous grind of the school year. These days are ever so important to a young teacher. Older teachers are always offering warnings of the dangers of exerting far too much effort and focus into the school year; over-extending oneself for clubs, committees, and grandiose lesson plans come with the warning of potential burn-out, especially around this time of year. But by the end of the trip a conversation had emerged on Black masculinity in school.

I have never experienced nor do I even want to experience this so-called “burn out”. I think I am hard-wired to grind; I have been doing it all my life. However, I also take opportunities, over long weekends and breaks, to unplug and totally forget about my day job.

Well, not totally.

In the midst of the weekend filled with tourist activities and dinners that had way too many calories, a curious discussion regarding the “blackness” of Barack Obama quickly turned into a debate on race, “shadeism”, and ideas on education. I was surprisingly intrigued about what our friend, a native born and raised in the Republic of Congo had to say about the education system and its relationship with race and in particular the black race. He put forth some ideas that I never really thought about before. My ever-evolving stance on education and black masculinity in school is this: Urban Black males in particular experience additional challenges navigating the educational spheres because over arching notions of “blackness” and what it means to be accepted as “cool” in the urban black community do not run parallel to success in the educational setting. Instead they are almost in direct contrast. (I will get into my thoughts on why in a later blog). For this reason, black boys are conflicted with a reality of succeeding due to notions that tell us that in order to succeed we must adopt perceived “white” characteristics of schooling. In school, we basically must adopt a “Carlton Banks” approach in order to be accepted academically by our white teachers. If not, we face a harder time of being accepted academically while simultaneously representing ourselves in a “Fresh Prince” sort of being.

Most urban black males I know chose the latter and faced subtle as well as self-perpetuated discriminations in school. The burden of schooling makes it hard for Black males to succeed because society only reads us through limited ideologies of what a Black male can be. Black boys should embrace their culture: their style of dress, the way the talk, the swagger they embody, the music they listen to, the things they choose to enjoy, and still be able to work hard at school and try to succeed without having to experience a conflict of identity. It should be an “and/with” paradigm that black identity operates under rather than this current “either/or” dilemma that currently elopes that “thuggish” black guy as a person who doesn’t care about his school. Teachers see a black male with his pants sagging and assume that he doesn’t care about school. This is the conflict black males face in school that is unlike any other body.

How do we change our current perceptions of the Black male in a way that allows us to open up a dialogue of Black masculine possibilities? We can do this by opening up a narrative that exposes our culture to role models that have navigated schools and life with an “and/with” lens. By seeing black teachers that may have tattoos and choose to wear jeans instead of khakis, or Jordans instead of Sperrys, we will open up an acceptance that screams how perfectly fine is it to succeed while still being authentic to yourself and your black masculinity. This is how we include academic into the repertoire of the other verbs that are used to describe the black male already. When we open up the dialogue surrounding Black masculinity, our boys will no longer feel that they have to be Carlton Banks in school and the Fresh Prince outside of school.

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Since it’s Super Sunday, I thought I’d share a few of my thoughts on football, race, and life. And especially my thoughts on this idea of the American Dream myth. Last year at this time, the Richard Sherman story was one of the most heralded narratives in the mass media. Here we have this kid from Compton who ended up at Stanford and is now living out his childhood dream. Sounds great right? We naively look at this and tell our youth, “see all you have to do is work hard and you will get what you want.” Not so fast. This story is not about how hard work is the key to success for all. This story, if you boil it down, is about the ways in which Black men are allowed to succeed in a system of perpetual hegemonic rule. If you do work hard in sports you will be afforded the opportunities to succeed as a Black male. This hard work pays off ethic is not true for all endeavors. What about those Black males who are not athletically inclined nor particularly interested in sports? Does this same hard-working “American Dream” hold true? Unfortunately, I would say no.

The Richard Sherman story is a great one indeed but we also have to keep in mind how some of these narratives extend our ideas of popular knowledge. The Black male as “the brute” is one that has detrimental psychological consequences on many of our Black youth. Pushing Black males into sports because they are “naturals” does nothing for the majority of Black boys. On the contrary, it simply maintains the status quo by implying that if you are Black and a male you should pursue sports, because if you work hard there you will be rewarded. That same meritocratic paradigm does not lend itself to other avenues of life. I rarely see Black boys being pushed into academics like science, math, politics and so on. This Sherman story lends itself to the theme that “to succeed in the United States, an individual only has to work hard” and also that “one can realize their dreams in the United States if they are willing to work hard and pull themselves up by the bootstrap”. While this might be true for some people, it is not true for all. For Black people, especially Black males, there are only marginalized contexts in which this is true – sports being one of them. So while you continuously hear these broadcasters and journalist talk about how Richard Sherman is such a great example for kids, keep in mind how closed the context really is and what these people are really saying (or not saying) about Black masculinity and culture.

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