There are roughly 300 students in my school. We have approximately 80 laptops – or Chromebooks to be more specific. And according to SES measurables (standards that measure income and…let me stop there), we are one of the top, or bottom, schools. Because of that, we are a priority within our board, a quote-unquote “Model School”. The school board I work in created measurables that rank schools based on their needs. Or to be more contextually accurate, rankings that indicate which students in what communities are most underserved. I do side with the recent change in terminology – these students are not needy but rather underserved. The students – scrap that, the children in these communities have been underserved. Done so by a litany of victimizers. 

But, where I come from, we have words for people who say they are “‘bout” one thing but then move otherwise – fakes, frauds, scams, snakes, or simply, people who aren’t “‘bout that life.” 

I took that day off because I was fed up, because I realized the game I am playing is run by a bunch of those…

If I teach in a school where the majority of the student body doesn’t have little more but a dime to their family name and a nice pair of sneakers on their feet, then why am I the teacher working in that school who is struggling to “book” laptops? I look to the district to the east of me and notice that every 7th grader on up has their own personal laptop. Is it wrong for me to ask “soooo, why not us, too?” 

Every now and then, I go outside in the morning and chat with a friend who also teaches with me. We talk about the shame we have for not being able to provide for these underserved students. And then we go to meetings amongst educated adults and they glibly slap around the same buzz words to us: “not underachievers, they are underserved – we need to change our language around how we speak about our youth in impoverished communities.” And then another one gets a battery in her back and mentions, “We are teaching students born in the 21st century. We need to meet them on their plane.” Round of applause. We all go home inspired. 

And I try to book a class set of laptops so my kids can continue typing their short stories but they’ve already been booked for the week. We have a lot of teachers and a lot more kids, and a limited number of technology. So, I’d rather take the day off then disappoint them. 

Because, they right – equity and technology are keys to our future. And sure, my kids will be able to pick up where we left off maybe next week. That’s if I’m fast enough on my school-shared Google calendar to book them. Equity Tequity. These school boards ain’t “‘bout it ‘bout it”. 

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1. Understand that their life experience will never ever be the same as yours

This can be said for all of the students you teach. Age, culture, and gender are all impossible intersections for teachers to traverse simultaneously. But for black boys, this understanding becomes explicitly pronounced. Our black boys look markedly different from society’s predescribed male. The stories they have already heard about themselves capture obscure destinies such as the athlete, the entertainer, and the criminal. And oh yeah, that one-off president that, for youth born after around 2005, is now an afterthought. Don’t pretend to be able to put your feet in the shoes of a teenager growing up in 2019 who has had to watch Trayvon, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Alton Sterling, Eric Garner…on and on, all get shot and killed by police, and then have to wake up and go to school the next day. Internalization of what the world means to them is a real thing that happens. And for black boys, they may not know how to precisely articulate the subtle notion that their lives seem to be worthless, but they damn sure see and feel it. So err on the side of understanding, at the least, of that.

  2. Accept their cultural nuances

When you ask De’Marious a question and he responds by saying, what? or huh? don’t get upset and harshly correct him. He “ain’t” responding to you that way to signal a sign of disrespect (unless he is – and in that case he’s super intelligent and you need to foster that). He’s asking you “what?” because that is how he talks, because that is perhaps how he has learned to communicate. Pump your brakes Mr. ExuseMeHowDareYouDoYouNotHaveAnyManners? Maybe “Pardon me?” simply isn’t part of his lexicon. And really, who cares? You are there to teach math and things like that. He’ll learn socially acceptable conventions and how to use a knife and fork properly outside of school, hopefully. Customs and social mores are not things for you to assess and chastise. I learned that I should put my knife and fork together to signal to a waiter that I’m finished my plate at like 25 years old. Some of y’all reading this just learned that right now. So chill on the expressive scolding of particular behaviors that may differentiate from yours. 

3. Validate the importance of Hip-Hop

You do realize that black males created hip-hop, right? And whether or not you like it – your kids do. Hip-hop may be the most tangible act of self-determination in our “post modern” era. And black boys created that shit. They did it all after school, and maybe sometimes during school but nevertheless, the act of creating a universal artistic artery within our modern culture deserves some kudos. So put some respeck on that name. Validate that fact in your classroom. Instead of analyzing two novels in the year; analyze one and then pick an album (actually, let your kids pick), and run the same learning back with that as your “text”. Don’t worry about the extra work and new photocopies, you can ask the same questions and expect the same analyzation of Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly as you can from Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. 

Teaching black boys is real simple, people. I wrote 3 things that you can do but I could have written ten. Regardless of the amount, all would have inevitably come back to one main theme. And that is the realization that while you are teaching, there is a black male child sitting in your classroom, trying to listen to your lesson but also being subconsciously compounded by the fact that we all don’t value him as an intelligent, capable and unique individual. So start with that. If you are able to do so, you may not even need to read this list. 

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The school system maintains a storage shed of words and phrases ready to deploy at any time for describing black male students. Our black boys are our most vulnerable, or our “at-risk” ones, or the underachievers, the disadvantaged, or underserved, or our minority students. The list of descriptors goes on and on. When speaking on their plight, we offer our pre-stamped condolences through nouns and verbs like concern, or challenge. It is no wonder we seem lost in white man’s land – spinning our wheels in the vehicle of progress only to end up in the same position over and over again.

Crafting an email to staff in regards to starting a club for black boys, I am stuck at the first sentence. It reads, “The academic and social underachievement of many minority males in our school (system) continues to be a challenge.” And in writing that, I can’t help but think of the different readings a simple sentence like that will arouse. I anticipate some colleagues reading that and thinking to themselves, “You damn right, what’s wrong with them?” I foresee others interpreting the collection of words through a more sympathetic tone, reading the word challenge as a thing to be guided and nurtured. While others may read that same word, challenge, thinking that I am on their side, which I am not, assuming that I am speaking as a war commander and not as a teacher, and offering a pep talk towards engaging in a battle against our black boys that is to be either won or lost. Yet, because of the politically correct nature of my profession, some will probably stick on my use of the word minority students. And that is no fault of theirs; they think I am talking about all minority students when truly I am too much of a coward to use the word “black boys” in an email.

So I’m stuck writing an email proposing to run a group for my most vulnerable, needy, strong-headed, confident, brave, broken, suffering, “at-risk”… black students. Because I can’t write a word past the first sentence. It is hard for me to finish the email and push send – I don’t want the words that I am using to speak on and about our black students to be read the wrong way. And I think that is where, in one way or another, we all are. At a loss for words.

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I was shocked to learn how groundbreaking a thought it was to greet your students at the door of your classroom on a daily basis. I mean, out of all the strategies in effective classroom practice, that one seems pretty basic. Nevertheless, I’m sure the manner in which I “greet” my students is not of the prescribed taste to most folks. Several students and I come up with our personalized greetings that are multifaceted, similar to the ones you see on NBA courts shared before and after games by teammates. When teaching, I use a whole lotta metaphors. After teaching a math concept, I will affirm to my students that this stuff is “baby food”. Often, they will reply saying, “Yup…this is Gerber, Mr. Morris”. If you walked into my classroom during a moment like this and didn’t have a full grasp on the cultural connectedness that my students and I share, you would probably ask what that meant. My students would tell you that it means the math we are learning is “easy”. As a result of the way we approach the subject, I feel that my students are genuinely engaged during what we call “math season”, that daily one-hour block before lunch where we are learning about geometry and algebra and all that other good stuff.

When I code switch, it isn’t anything necessarily big nor explicit that I am doing. I am just talking how I talk to my friends outside of “office hours”. My kids understand the lingo because it is also natural to them – outside of school. These small metaphors, meanings, and greetings are minute examples of how we can start to normalize language. Maybe then, code switching won’t be such an act for us.

How I talk to some of my colleagues is the complete one-eighty. I pronounce my words with a little more efficacy. I tend to use more words that I picked up through reading article after article in university. I channel my inner Ted Koppel. I relish when my students are witness to this. I relish because I want my students to pick up on this ability – the ability to be multilingual while only using one language.

This year, I think I will probably be a little more explicit with teaching how to code switch. Perhaps I’ll use a t-chart in science class to draw the connection between slang, “common” language, and scientific terminology. In my community and in this day and time it is, unfortunately, needed more than ever. Jay-Z taught us how to “move in a room full of vultures”. And we minorities must be adept at this if we want to succeed professionally. I am just doing my part to continue that education.

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The box office numbers on Marvel’s Black Panther indeed paint the beautiful picture of black community and the strength of connectedness when we are willing to get behind something that we believe in. We are all riding the wave of Wakanda right now. But like Dr. Chris Emdin, professor at Columbia and founder of Hip-Hop Ed, reminds us, we must do more than ride a wave, post a picture with a hashtag and carry on with our lives. And as educators, riding a wave generated by this movie so that it “takes us home” should now be one of our duties over the next few weeks and months. This is a film to be analyzed, used in support of almost any subject taught in a public school, as well as a movie to continue the loud and proud narration of our historically silenced. As educators, Black Panther, is our Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, Of Mice and Men. It is our To Kill a Mockingbird. It is our Shakespeare. It can be these thanks to the richness of its plotlines, characters, themes, and messages.

The entry point for introducing Black Panther into your classroom is easy. It is a movie with an all black cast, a black director, and themes tied to both historical and contemporary black community. Yes, Wakanda is not a real place – but ask our African-American students to name some African cities or even a few African countries and I bet we will all come to terms with the fact that we must start from the basics when we push to connect with our history and culture. Secondly, including a narrative of black leaders filled with heart, values, and genius is something all children need to see, hear about, and experience – not just the black kids. If taking your class to this movie or even talking about this movie in your classroom is all you do, you are positioning yourself on the admirable wave. But you can surf deeper.

It isn’t just the fact that Black Panther gives us a culturally relevant black superhero – that is so dope because it validates so many faces and bodies and thoughts and ideas. But beyond that, the movie was done exceptionally well. There are interconnected themes of identity, community, family, neighborhood, and gender mixed throughout the two hours of dialogue and action that offer rich teaching and learning for any teacher tired of dusting off the old classics year after year. Killmonger represents that “lost” child who is desperately trying to seek validation and love despite all the pain he has endured. T’Challa is the king in charge of carrying on a legacy while grappling the truth about his family. He also has an army made up entirely of strong, black women. Ah, the complexity is so rich. I haven’t even mentioned “Vibranium” – the black resource.

I am going to stop writing in order to start planning. Of course I wanted to see Black Panther to be a part of the wave and not miss out on anything pertaining to “the culture”. But now that I have seen it, I’m inspired. I am going to put my most authentic “teacher’s hat” on and do my best attempt at letting this wave take me home. I am going to bring my students along with me – black, brown, male and female. I have some work to do, so “surf’s up”.

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1. Include materials that are reflective of black culture, for example, books that have a black person as the protagonist or history assignments that highlight the impact that black people have made.
2. Instead of displaying generic posters with positive slogans, create posters that feature significant figures of black culture with quotes from them and display those.
3. Create student to teacher connections by talking to your black students about things outside of the curriculum you are teaching them. Ask them what they ate for breakfast, how their family celebrated Thanksgiving, what music artists they currently like.
4. Do not be afraid to hold a dialogue with your black students concerning topics on which you are not the “expert”. This strategy is both culturally and generationally relevant as it deepens relationships and fosters more relevant teaching practices in the long run.
5. Let your students teach. Create a structure where you moderate students in the creation of a student-led lesson. You will be amazed at the ways your own students can create relevant examples of concepts in math or science that make the learning easier for everyone involved.
6. Turn parts of your classroom into parts of their community. For example, at the intermediate level, instead of naming a corner of your classroom the “reading corner”, label it an intersection within your community. This small gesture creates a context where the neighborhood and community of the school are seen as part of the classroom.
7. Instead of diving into curriculum during the first week of the school year, use this time to engage with students in ways that create authentic relationships.
8. Be humble. Acknowledge the limitations of your knowledge and provide opportunities for your students to help you build your expertise.
9. Foster a classroom environment in which students have a role in how the class operates and in what is taught. Examples include creating “classroom duties” and outlining the curriculum with your students and then allowing them to brainstorm ways that they could possibly demonstrate their knowledge (for projects, assignments, and presentations).
10. Hip-hop Education. Provide students with the opportunity to demonstrate their knowledge of the content through written songs and hip-hop performances.

Ironically, it seems like we have to be more explicit and diligent with our teachings to black students than anytime in recent memory. It’s a sad statement but it’s a fact. Way number 11 would be to “just try”. Take a step, try something from one to ten out. Trust me, it won’t hurt anywhere close to the pain they already feel or will eventually feel once they leave school and get into the so-called “real world” of today.

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When I got home from work on Monday, I was able to tap into my social media just in time to see the snowball in full composition. The educators and activists that I followed had begun to chime in on their pages and by the time the 6 o’clock news came around, this monkey business H&M had “earned” found its way into the A block. I had the first three days of my morning English block mapped out already but decided to scrap those plans for some new learning. We were already focusing directly on education equity in preparation for our social justice speeches so I figured Tuesday morning would be the perfect moment to re-energize our process with a little bit of context.

As my students plodded into the classroom on Tuesday morning they were greeted with the now infamous image centered on the projector screen. They sat down, listened to the announcements and affirmed their presence as I took attendance. I then drew their attention to the screen and asked them to simply observe what they were looking at in silence. I drew context by briefly speaking about the store they were all well aware of and its newest advertising campaign. I just showed them this singular image, saying no more and waiting…hoping that I would be able to extend a dialogue amongst my 12-year-olds that would segue into the subsequent image I had queued which would contrast the black boy wearing the hoodie that labeled him a cool monkey in a jungle with a white boy who brandished words across his chest that labeled him a survival expert. We had only just completed a full day back to school, all still feeling a little out of our element, so I didn’t know what to expect. I just wanted to have another conversation with my kids, build on and off of ideas and go from there.

My students gazed at the singular photo. The class was pretty quiet for about 3 minutes as I pushed to extend the discomfort of learning, part of what we must go through in order to advance education equity. I asked the most open-ended questions I could muster up that early on a cold Tuesday morning: So y’all, what is wrong with this ad, what is right with it…or, shoot, what is this?

Some students murmured to themselves or to their friends beside them. The type of murmurs that implicitly whisper I don’t want to be the first one to speak my opinions because it’s early in the morning, and it’s cold outside, and we just got back to school, and I kinda think I know exactly how to answer this but because it seems so obvious I must be wrong, type of murmurs. I probed by lifting my voice to raise the energy of the room while somewhat leading my active witnesses. C’mon y’all…is there anything wrong with this ad or am I just crazy?

The first person to speak happened to be the only white male in my class. We probably could have stopped with his comments to be honest. He went in for a good 3 minutes about how this H&M ad was “kinda racist” because they have a black kid wearing a hoodie that says “monkey” and “jungle” on it and that an image like this is offensive to black people because saying a black person is from the jungle is disrespectful to that person, and calling a black person a monkey is also not cool because monkeys are animals, so when you describe someone as an animal that is like a diss, a diss not only to them but to their people, like to all black people. Don’t quote me in verbatim but those were his words. A 12-year-old, white child, born in 2005, no knowledge about the historical context behind the word “monkey” in its relation to describing blacks or even the contemporary context behind what putting these words on a hoodie and then on a black boy means. On most days, this same student would rather play with his homemade slime than engage in a classroom discussion, let alone start one off.

I gently guided his words into further context by indicating that this was a new advertisement that H&M just put out on their online catalogue for their spring collection and that the model in the monkey hoodie was the only black boy featured. The ice was cracked at this point; my students had warmed to the framed dichotomy of realizing that they were, in fact, fully emerged in Mr. Morris’ English lesson for the day and also that the advertisement was blatantly messed up. The fire was fueled as they realized their thoughts about the “all too good to be true” answers festering in their minds hit my intended radar.

Their analysis of the clear racism that was produced by this advertisement made me smile inside but say to myself: these youngins’ get it, so how did a company that big, who employed expert marketers and advertisement agencies not? My friggin’ heart cracked when one of my black girls, one who rarely adds any input to any discussion, chimed in and spoke from her understanding of what it meant to be dark-skinned and see people calling other dark-skinned blacks “monkeys”. It was raw emotion and understanding combined and I couldn’t do my normal teacher thing and progress the dialogue by adding something on top of what she said.

I paused, as did the class. I pulled up the subsequent image with the white “survival expert” juxtaposed beside the black “cool monkey” and didn’t say anything for what seemed like 5 minutes but was probably only 30 seconds. It was still only Tuesday morning, the second day back, in a middle school located somewhere in cold Toronto.

After a minute or two of looking at the second image and speaking the image into context, this time with some leading frameworks that opened up the idea about the white boy being the expert of survival, the expert of the “jungle” and leaving it at that, my 7^th grade classroom brought back memories of days sitting in graduate courses on the 12^th floor of the social justice department at OISE. I found a seat in my classroom and dissolved into the conversation. Not as the teacher, but as an equal participant. Ironically, we were all on the same page with this one. No rebutted suggestions from students about being called a monkey by their mothers at the age of four and no “no big deal” refutations. It was quarter past ten and we hadn’t transitioned into the scheduled geography period by this point. Teach about another type of natural disaster or talk about an issue that was critical, cultural, and relevant to us all? I weighed my options carefully, for about five seconds.

Unfortunately, the H&M advertisement showed us all that society has not progressed with the plight most of us had hoped it had. With the New Year comes an almost cyclical amnesia of hope that we all internally establish in regards to race relations in our society. On the first day back, I heard kids telling other kids to “leave that in 2017” at least a dozen times. But somehow, racism still permeates. The H&M advertisement with the black boy “adorned” in his “coolest monkey in the jungle” hoodie is just our most recent example of how much work we still have to do.

Yes, it is just a shirt. But we cannot continue to “get over it” because of the simple fact that dates on the calendar change but inherent racism does not. Mistake or deranged marketing plea, this is a teachable moment that must be spoken on and about. We must dwell on the ashes of inequity in order to criticize, analyze, and rise from them. And we must do this in our classrooms, by having these free-flowing, open-ended dialogues with our students, who, by the way, are more socially aware and critically adept than we give them credit for. We talk about education equity. Well, in 2018, we can start with this piece.

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When I was in high school in Toronto’s east end there were rules that impacted school culture but didn’t necessarily influence student success. One of those rules was a no hat policy. Students were not permitted to wear hats inside the school. Naturally, I wore my hat all the time. I consciously kept it on and waited for a teacher to tell me to take it off. I felt even better if I was “caught” wearing my hat in class – more people to witness me challenging authority. At the time, I defied the rule because I had come to the subconscious conclusion that the system was silencing me. I felt that wearing my hat was part of my identity and when I looked around, this rule – like other aspects of school culture – seemed to mainly target black students. As a black teenager, I felt this over two decades ago. As a black teacher, it seems that little has changed in the way black boys experience schooling.

My resistance to school culture in general was in response to a feeling that long suggested that I did not belong. I had been told that the times I answered questions or commented during whole class discussions without putting my hand up, times in school that I was actually engaged and excited about a topic, indicated a lack of self-regulation. On many occasions, when I would earn a stellar grade on a test or assignment, I was told by my teacher that they were pleasantly surprised that I actually did well and knew the content. A few educators would question a good test score, implying that it had not been honestly earned. I undoubtedly picked up on the undercurrents of these comments but was not articulate or bold enough to name or confront them. So I wore my hat. I came late. I reflected hip-hop culture, which I identified with. Unfortunately, like other non-mainstream, non-Eurocentric forms of expressions, my identity was viewed as contrary to the implicit culture of my school.

If we take a look at aspects of school culture like dress code policies, ineffective teaching strategies like assuming a lesson taught is a lesson learned or failing to establish cultural relevance, and procedures that facilitate pathways into special education, it would not take long to notice that our revisions to curriculum and improvements to teaching practices fail to address the specific needs of black students. As educators, while we have made efforts to address issues of sexuality, diversity or ability in our school system, making changes to how and what we teach as well as removing physical barriers, we have not sufficiently dealt with the issue of race. We have not sufficiently addressed extensive research that says that black students and specifically back boys consistently deal with microaggressions, stereotypes, lowered expectations, culturally biased IQ testing, over-representation in non-academic strands, ignorance about black culture, and a lack of black role models as teachers.

In the 1980’s, the Toronto Board of Education’s study, Post Secondary Plans of Grade Eight Students, reported that 50% of black students indicated their intention of going to

university, but 35% of these same students eventually found themselves in special education classes (Toronto Board of Education, 1983). The trend continues well into today, as shown in a 2013 study conducted by the Toronto District School Board shows. Looking at just students who are enrolled in special education programs, 14% of black students are on Individual Education Plans for sub-par academic performance compared to just 0.4% of black students who are in gifted. (Toronto District School Board, 2017)

When we step away from academics and look at regulation, studies indicate that black students are suspended at over twice the rate of their white counterparts. In fact, nearly half (42%) of all black students have been suspended at least once, compared to only 18% of white students, by the time they leave high school. Is it any wonder that the push out rate amongst black students is double that of white students? Juxtapose all the changes we have made to address other segments of our school communities with the lack thereof for black students and ask yourself this question: What is going on?

Recently, Grant Linton and John Rietl of CBC News Toronto did a series of interviews with four Grade 12 students at Fletcher’s Meadow Secondary School in Peel board, highlighting many of the challenges black kids faced simply because they are black. “To be honest,” says student Rayshawn Ross, “to be black in a Peel school, just feels like, there may be a little bit of a difference. There’s kind of that stereotype that is pushed more towards you, that’s different than everybody else.”

Over the last two years, the Toronto Star has published several accounts on the experiences of black male students. Perhaps most prominent is coverage of York University professor Carl James’ study, Towards Race Equity in Education (2017), which speaks to the fact that school boards around the Greater Toronto Area are not doing enough to collect race based data. His common-sense theme is emphasized when he suggests that, “If you want to be able to work with particular groups of students, you should know who they are, otherwise you might be putting (resources) where they’re not addressing the issues directly, and that doesn’t help.” Seems obvious. A census every five years is not enough. Actually, a census is not enough. Dr. George Dei’s study, titled “Anti-Racism Education: Theory and Practice,” has also indicated that black students experience an “othering” that results in a fractured view of schooling and the way it operates, leading to their disproportionally high push out rate (Dei, 1996).

What is “othering?” student Jace Smith from the CBC documentary explains it in this way: “I don’t really think of it as being different from anybody else, but I guess people look at you kind of differently. People see me and they kind of think automatically that I might be, maybe trouble or in a gang or something like that. But that’s the opposite of me.” Because Jace, as he describes himself, is “bigger” and “darker skinned,” he experiences his world from two separate views. He understands how he feels about himself while simultaneously feeling or perceiving how others view him, simply based

on the skin he is in. Statistics and experiential evidence show that this experience happens long before high school. Take the example of a black 6-year-old who was recently handcuffed for having a “violent” temper tantrum at her school in Mississauga. An advocate for the child’s mother reminded us all that, “handcuffs are used for violent criminals [and offenders]…I don’t know what a child could have done that would require them to use that level of restraint” (Hudes, 2017). She was six. How would she have had to been viewed by those intervening that someone decided that handcuffs were a appropriate solution?

Extensive research indicates that many black students share similar challenges. Data clearly points to some of the root issues out there; issues such as the overrepresentation of black students in non-academic schools, lower expectations, culturally based standardized testing, lack of culturally relevant sources within the curriculum, and lack of black teachers all contribute to enduring stereotyped perceptions of black students. Undoubtedly, many boards are attempting to figure out ways to reflect our ever-evolving contemporary culture by finally asking the question, what is happening in our schools that negatively impacts black students and their educational outcomes and what can we do about it?

Many board and school dress code policies are outdated, sexist, and racist. Dress code policies like no headgear and no sagging pants implicitly suggest to particular students that their bodies are to be scrutinized and their culture is not valued. For many black students, whose point of aesthetic reference often stems from the culture that most directly represents them, hip-hop culture, this denial of their culture in the school relays a message to them that they are not important. Devaluing our students and damaging their self-perceptions is not an aim of education. So why impose rules that do just that?

When we revise our paradigms for education to reflect more inclusive practices through strategies like differential assessments of learning, dissolving narrow school policies like dress codes, and re-creating teaching strategies and methods that put student’s realities, cultures and experiences at the centre, we will see an altered and more practically-improved landscape for public education. I have no doubt that we will see improvements to both the quantitative data on student academic success and the qualitative data on student school experience, as it relates to our black students.

My approach to student learning, as a teacher has changed from my first year to my seventh. As a young black male some seven years ago, I naively thought that my mere presence would serve as enough to connect with and inspire my black students to learn. For some it did. But for others, I quickly learned that I had more work to do. Simply being a black male teacher doesn’t mean you are going to get black male students to “learn.” But black male students not demonstrating learning doesn’t mean that those same kids are not incredibly smart. We must fully take responsibility for the disparaging

achievement gaps that exist for some racialized groups and come back to the drawing board with proposed changes, based on student voices and statistics. We must devote ourselves to finally plugging the gap that leaves many black students feeling like school “is not for them.” We have been on the same train for decades now, hoping that it will take all of us, even our most marginalized, to the destination of academic and social well-roundedness. But that train has never really left the platform for many students.

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