During my first two years of teaching, I dealt with many situations that left me feeling downtrodden, broken and totally drained. For example, one day, I was sitting in my classroom in full panic mode as I tried to figure out how to create a graphic organizer for my students’ first essay. When an idea finally crossed my mind, and as I was about to write down my thoughts, a student stormed in and refused to leave. The more I told them they had to leave and head back to their class, the more their voice rose as they declared they, “hate their teacher.”
Another incident that I remember was when students came into my class at a time when I didn’t teach them. When these students arrived, they told me this teacher “sucks” and how mean that teacher was to them. Later, I saw a message from that same teacher whose class they had left saying, “______ are on their way to your class.”
The common denominator in each of these situations is that every student who came to me was a student of color. The demographics at this school were approximately 60 percent Latino, 20 percent Pacific Islander and 20 percent Black. All the teachers they were trying to avoid were white.
Over the course of my first year back from the “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 — seemed more invested in shirking the responsibility of supporting these students onto the teachers these students felt safer around instead of figuring out how to become the safe space these students needed. This harmed me as much as the students.
White teachers have been avoiding the work of loving students of color for so long, and when that work disproportionately falls on teachers of color, they are more likely to leave education, creating a less diverse workplace that increasingly denies students accurate reflections of themselves.
People like myself deserve safe schools so we can last in this profession and be the best versions of ourselves in service of our students, and this is what I want white teachers to do in order for us teachers of color to thrive in this profession.
Seek Consent
When that teacher messaged me about their students, I would have loved it if they’d waited until I responded so I could ask, “Why?” What I would have loved here is consent, an ardent agreement between both of us that this student can come into my space. I would have loved transparency on the part of that teacher.
In my classroom, I treat students as humans first, not obstacles to classroom management. I am clear and honest when I know I am wrong, and I say sorry. What if, instead, I was given an 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 they done or said in their classroom that day that made this student feel unsafe? I would have felt like my autonomy and humanity were being honored because I would get to advocate for not only the student but myself.
This would require a school culture rooted in these kinds of consensual conversations, from consent over a quick hallway conversation to consent to unpack and work through the most egregious harm. Consent would have to be introduced and studied beyond the typical conversations about health and integrated into every aspect of our social interactions with each other as professionals.
Build Empathy
No one is going to get it right all the time in education. Even when we share the same identities as students, every single one of us will let many students down over the course of our time as educators. We will also let each other down, but we are in the work of being openly human all the time, and that’s okay. What matters most is how much empathy we have when we’re faced with the impact of our actions.
I want white teachers to treat me as a human being and to remember that I am just as tired as they are, if not more. I want white teachers to know I am also struggling to figure out how to help our students with the highest needs.
I remember one time I had a student who watched a neighbor get shot and killed over winter break. I was heartbroken for the student, whose return to school after the incident was incredibly rocky; his externalizing behaviors were disruptive and supporting him required the help of multiple adults. I did not know how to help a lot of the time, and yet, white teachers would let him walk out of his classroom 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 pushed their work on me, what hurt the most was I genuinely felt 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 when I was still trying to figure this job out — when I was also deeply hurting for my students experiencing trauma — the same way mine was at their age?
This would require a school culture where regular perspective-taking is happening so we can understand each other. In building this school culture, I reflect on the following questions:
- What factors did I neglect to consider when I committed this harm?
- What might this person be experiencing that I can’t understand because of my identity?
- What is this experience teaching me about myself right now?
This, too, requires a culture of empathy and acceptance of our humanity.
Show Humility
Finally, I want white teachers to say sorry. So many white teachers are so invested in their image of being “nice” in an attempt to field off their power that they forget our humanity. Their focus on overcompensating for their power by being polite results in a disproportionate emphasis on their self-image as opposed to the impact of their actions. I believe this misplaced energy results in a loss of humanity as they consequently cannot be present and empathetic enough to acknowledge the impact of their negligence.
I want white teachers to admit this to themselves. Instead of denying their power, I want them to recognize its enormity. I want them to sit with this power, to admit to themselves that they did not leverage it in an empathetic manner and, as a result, caused extraordinary harm. Then, I want them to apologize for all the harm they’ve caused. Specifically, I would want their sorry to sound like this:
“I was racist. I pushed this student on to you because I didn’t and still don’t know how to support them. I wasn’t thinking about how hard this would be for you. I am ready to do the work to regain their trust and yours. How can I do that?”
I believe this would require a top-down culture where the administration is the first to model this level of humility during staff-wide 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 reckon with this every day because the reality is that if I care about students of color, I have to be willing to encourage the betterment of all the people they interface with, including my white counterparts. Knowing this, I want to offer what I’ve seen work with white teachers who haven’t made me feel small or dehumanized.
I’ve seen regular meetings for white teachers in affinity spaces to work on their racial identities. I’ve seen teachers who have successfully created self-sufficient classrooms and can afford to step outside with one student and have authentic restorative conversations when harm is caused. I’ve seen white teachers who recognize their racial power by positioning themselves between security and students when conflicts escalate.
I’ve also had white teachers who have recognized the imbalance of responsibilities placed on me and the power they hold compared to me. They’ve used that power to advocate for me with admin and colleagues. This has made me feel seen and has allowed me to preserve my energy for my students as opposed to defending myself against coworkers.
In all these situations, my white colleagues did not pretend to have less power than they had. In fact, they recognized it and leveraged this power so the work of loving and supporting our students in all their humanity is as equitably distributed as possible.
Because of all these positive experiences, I know it is possible — with consent, humility and empathy — to create a dynamic between teachers rooted in mutual love and care. Students of color know when their teachers of color aren’t loved. They can see it in our weariness, frustration and impatience in the same way we can see their pain on their hard days.
Imagine a world where a teacher of color feels safe going to work, and, as a result, can give her best to her students. In that world, our retention is possible. In that world, students see a future for themselves where they, too, are loved and honored. When teachers support each other by truly caring for each other, that future is possible.
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