During my first two years as a teacher, I was faced with many situations that made me feel depressed, broken, and totally exhausted. For example, one day, I was sitting in my classroom in a state of total panic as I tried to figure out how to create a graphic organizer for my students' first essay. When I finally came up with an idea and was about to write down my thoughts, a student stormed in, refusing to leave. The more I told them they had to leave and go back to their class, the more they raised their voices and declared that they “hated their teacher.”
Another incident I remember was when some students came to my class at a time when I wasn't teaching them. When they came, they told me that that teacher “sucks” and how mean he had been to them. Later, I saw a message from the same teacher whose class they had left that said, “______ are on their way to your class.”
The common denominator in each of these situations is that all of the students who came to me were students of color. The demographics of this school were approximately 60 percent Latino, 20 percent Pacific Islander, and 20 percent black. All of the teachers they were trying to avoid were white.
Over the course of my first year back from “Zoom year,” the pattern became clear to me: students of color did not feel safe with their white teachers. All of these teachers — and I mean all of them — seemed more interested in shirking the responsibility of supporting these students and leaving it up to the teachers they felt safest with, rather than thinking about how to become the safe space these students needed. This did both a disservice to me and to the students.
White teachers have been avoiding the work of loving students of color for so long, and when that work falls disproportionately on teachers of color, They are more likely to drop out of educationcreating a less diverse workplace that increasingly denies students accurate reflections of themselves.
People like me deserve safe schools so that we can last in this profession and be the best versions of ourselves in service to our students, and this is what I want white teachers to do so that we, teachers of color, can thrive in this profession.
Request consent
When that professor messaged me about his students, I wish he had waited until I responded so he could ask, “Why?” What I would have loved here is consenta fervent agreement between the two that this student can enter my space. I would have loved transparency from that teacher.
In my classroom, I treat students as human beings first, not as obstacles to classroom management. I am clear and honest when I know I am wrong and I apologize. What if, instead, I was given the opportunity to share my approach to student relationships with that teacher so they could work on their practice? What if that teacher, the student in question, and I sat down together and had a consensual conversation with the student to better understand their needs? What had I done or said in their class that day that made this student feel unsafe? I would have felt as if my autonomy and humanity were being honored because I could advocate not only for the student but for myself.
This would require a school culture based on these kinds of consensual conversations, from consent in a quick hallway conversation to consent to discuss and resolve the most egregious harms. Consent would need to be introduced and studied beyond typical health conversations and integrated into all aspects of our social interactions with each other as professionals.
Developing empathy
In education, no one is going to get things right all the time. Even when we share the same identity as learners, each and every one of us will let down many students along our journey as educators. We will also let each other down, but we are working to be openly human all the time, and that is okay. What matters most is how much empathy we have when confronted with the impact of our actions.
I want white teachers to treat me like a human being and remember that I am just as tired as they are, if not more so. I want white teachers to know that I, too, am struggling to find ways to help our students with the greatest needs.
I remember once having a student who saw a neighbor get shot and killed during winter break. My heart broke for the student, whose return to school after the incident was incredibly eventful; externalizing behaviors They were disruptive and it took several adults to support him. I often didn't know how to help him, and yet white teachers would let him leave their classroom and come to me as if I had more answers than they did. All I did was remember that he had been through a lot when I talked to him.
In all the situations where white teachers have had their work forced on me, what hurt me the most was that I truly felt like they had no empathy for me. Had they ever wondered what it would be like for me, a first-year teacher of color, to take on so much work when I was still trying to figure out this job, when I was also grieving deeply for my students who were experiencing trauma, just like mine were at their age?
This would require a school culture where regular education taking perspective This is so that we can understand each other. In building this school culture, I reflect on the following questions:
- What factors did I not take into account when committing this damage?
- What could this person be experiencing that I can't understand because of my identity?
- What is this experience teaching me about myself right now?
This also requires a culture of empathy and acceptance of our humanity.
Show humility
Lastly, I want white teachers to apologize. Many white teachers are so wrapped up in their image of being “nice” in an attempt to assert their power that they forget about our humanity. Their focus on overcompensating for their power When they are educated, a disproportionate emphasis is placed on their own image rather than the impact of their actions. I believe this misdirected energy results in a loss of humanity as they are consequently unable to be present and empathetic enough to recognise the impact of their neglect.
I want white teachers to admit it to themselves. Instead of denying their power, I want them to acknowledge its enormity. I want them to embrace that power, to admit to themselves that they did not use it empathetically, and that as a result, they caused extraordinary harm. Then, I want them to apologize for all the harm they have caused. Specifically, I want their apology to sound like this:
“I was racist. I approached you with this student because I didn’t know and still don’t know how to support him. I didn’t think about how difficult it would be for you. I’m willing to do the work to earn back his trust and yours. How can I do that?”
I think this would require a top-down culture where management is the first to model this level of humility during all-staff meetings and one-on-one interactions. We need to see leadership where humility is modeled and expected from every staff member.
Building a future for teachers of color
How much can I really take on? I face this every day because the reality is that if I care about students of color, I have to be willing to encourage the improvement of everyone they interact with, including my white colleagues. Knowing this, I want to offer what I’ve seen work with white teachers who haven’t made me feel inferior or dehumanized.
I have seen white professors meet regularly in affinity spaces to work on their… racial identitiesI have seen teachers who have successfully created self-contained classrooms and can afford to go out with a student and have an authentic experience. restorative conversations When harm is done. I have seen white teachers recognize their racial power by positioning themselves between safety and students when conflicts escalate.
I have also had white professors who have recognized the imbalance of responsibilities that fall on me and the power they have compared to me. They have used that power to advocate for me to administration and colleagues. This has made me feel like I am being looked at and allowed me to conserve my energy for my students instead of defending myself to my coworkers.
In all of these situations, my white colleagues did not pretend to have less power than they did. In fact, they recognized it and leveraged that power so that the work of loving and supporting our students in all their humanity was distributed as equitably as possible.
Through all of these positive experiences, I know that it is possible, with consent, humility, and empathy, to create a dynamic between teachers based on mutual love and care. Students of color know when their teachers of color are unloved. They can see it in our exhaustion, frustration, and impatience just as we can see their pain on their difficult days.
Let’s imagine a world where a teacher of color feels safe coming to work and, as a result, is able to give their best to their students. In that world, our retention is possible. In that world, students see a future for themselves where they, too, are loved and respected. When teachers support each other and truly care about each other, that future is possible.
