Students were divided into groups, told to read the article collectively, and instructed to pause to summarize, clarify, question, or predict while reading in the text. The consultant did a Think Aloud with the students before releasing them to complete the article. As students were reading and discussing, the consultant and I moved about the room, answering questions and facilitating additional discussion.

 

When I came around to Mark’s group, they were working on the response to reading questions the consultant had placed on the board.

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“What do you mean by this question?” Mark asked, pointing to the one that read "How did the football team affect the outcome of the protests? Why does it matter that black male athletes brought about this change?"

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“Well,” I said, “what were the protestors trying to do?”

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“Get Wolfe to resign,” Sarah, another group member said.

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“Before the football players joined the protest, were the protestors having much luck?” I asked. The group collectively shook their heads no. “So what changed when the football players joined the protest?”

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“The president resigned,” Sarah said.

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“Why?” I asked.

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“The school would have lost a lot of money,” Mark said.

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“Okay, well there’s your answer to the first part of the question,” I said. “Now why does it matter that black male athletes made this change come about?”

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Sarah had gone back to answering the question independently, while Mark stared blankly at me.

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“Black men were able to bring about change on their college campus. This shows us that black male athletes are…” I let the question dangle, hoping Mark could fill in the blank: are powerful, are able to create change in their college communities, are leaders as well as athletes.

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Instead, he said, “Black men are violent.”

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“No,” I said, caught off guard. “No.”

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“They are,” he insisted, completely serious.

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“That’s not true,” I said. “That’s –” I faltered. “You’re wrong. That’s a stereotype. In the article, we see black men exercising their power through peaceful protest and succeeding. The protest matters because it helps black athletes, and black students in general, see they can make a difference after all.”

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I think that was my saddest moment in teaching, to see an African-American student reciting racist rhetoric as truth and believing that violence was a part of his culture. He didn’t even appear to be bothered by the disturbing stereotypes he was perpetuating against himself.

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Later in February, a student called out, “Ms. Lindsay, we have a Black History month. Why don’t we have white history month?”

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“Because everyday is white history month,” I said. Although this was not meant to be some 'enlightened' statement from a white teacher in a predominantly black school, it still elicited some applause, audible verbal agreement, and nods of approval from my fifth period students. I sincerely believed that history overlooked the contributions of women and minorities.

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“But there’s a Black history month,” this student insisted.

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“Most of our history books are told from the white male perspective. That’s the side we hear everyday in history class. We don’t need to celebrate that.”

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History is biased to the winner, after all.

 

My job as a teacher was to provide diverse materials for my students regardless of race, gender, sexuality, or academic abilities. That can start by acknowledging history books aren’t always historically accurate or inclusive and discussing with my students why white history month is not something we need. Or by addressing harmful stereotypes and preventing them from being perpetuated further in my classroom.