Dear White Educators...

A love letter

I recently read From White Folks Who Teach in the Hood¹ edited by Dr. Christopher Emdin and sam seidel. From White Folks is a collection of essays written by white teachers about their experiences teaching neo-indigenous students in urban schools. I took my time, slowly reading and digesting each essay, and then listening to the corresponding episodes on the accompanying podcast. At the end of each episode, Emdin or seidel asks their participants to freestyle a love letter to white educators with their thoughts, wishes, or what they want them to know. The only rule is that they speak from their heart, off the cuff, and begin their letter, Dear White Educators…

https://www.fromwhitefolks.org/

I enjoyed both the essays and the episodes. After the most recent episode, The State Trooper is Me, I started thinking, what would my love letter sound like? So, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to address all of you white educators our there with my thoughts and feelings. I’ll keep this unscripted and unrehearsed, with only some mild editing.

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Dear White Educators,

We have a great responsibility. We teach other people’s babies. As such, we must understand our immense responsibility as educators of young people. We carry the power to either destroy lives or build powerful new futures with our students (131).²

I write these words with no presupposition that you are not doing the work of continually interrogating your power and privilege in order to disrupt the inequitable and harmful system of public education. Many of us hold our responsibility as anti-racist educators in great earnest. I write this letter as a reminder to myself because I am a part of the system that harms students of color. As Ali Michael states in her essay, we are each a small part of that system. And the system is also a part of us³ (135). The system is also a part of me, and so I’m writing this letter as much for myself as for you.

It is easy to stop resisting because our privilege allows us to do so easily. It’s easy to avoid having those uncomfortable conversations in the staff lounge when a colleague makes a racist comment. It is easier to just close your door and teach to the standards, and not address the elephant in the room: your students come to class every day having experienced continual trauma from their schooling experiences. It takes great courage to create a space of healing for your students, both white and BIPOC. As sam seidel asks us:

What does anti-racist work look like with white kids? What power and comfort are you willing to let go of? How can you support BIPOC students in challenging racist policies without putting them in harm’s way? What daily practices are you developing to raise your self-awareness of where whiteness is showing up in your work? (165)

Anti-racist work is the work of re-humanizing your students’ classroom experiences. You must be willing to listen first; not just with your ears, but also with your eyes, your heart, and your brain (158).⁴ You must be willing to continue to work toward a more just and equitable system every day. As white educators, we have all been socialized in white supremacy and structural racism. There will never be a singular time when you become woke. As Lisa Graustein writes, this work is not about being woke; it’s about committing to waking up each day and doing the work to uproot the ways we have internalized white supremacy and structural racism. And then showing up and pouring love and joy and possibility into students (146).⁵

How are you pouring love and possibility into your students?

For me, I continue to struggle with teaching and learning within a public school system designed around structural racism. Within my classroom’s four walls, I feel like I can create a healing space for my students to be their full selves. However, whenever we leave the classroom and enter the school building, I am constantly reminded that we are walking through white supremacy spaces. Like Adam Seidel’s experiences with his ten-year-old students, compliance as a demonstration of values is the air my students and I breathe. It is the ecosystem we live in and try to learn in.

I try to be a warm demander. I’ve always struggled with classroom management because I am constantly interrogating the concept of classroom management. My classroom is not a hyper-structured space reliant on discipline and “tough love.” I center love first. I love my students toughly. But even then, I often go home feeling like I haven’t done enough or that I have unintentionally harmed my students. Being an anti-racist, white educator requires us to engage in the emotional labor of teaching. Intent is not impact. The impact I have on my students is more important than my intention. It is always my responsibility to learn why, and how to adjust my behavior so the impact of my words and actions come closer to my intentions. Every single day.

Anti-racist teaching is radical work. I agree with Tessa Brown that if it does not radicalize you, you have not grappled with the realities of the contexts in which [you] teach and [your] students learn (96).⁶ I guess this letter is me grappling with my realities.

I found this painted on wall outside of South High School, Denver, CO

My reality is that I teach in a suburban school district. As one of the few male teachers in the building, I am often the classroom with those tricky treasures, a passive-aggressive way of stating that I tend to teach the most challenging students in the building. They are overwhelmingly boys of color, all being shoved into my classroom because no one else wants to have them in their classrooms. No one else believes in their potential or are ill-equipped to do the work of forming caring relationships with students who have experienced trauma, both in and out of the classroom.

My reality is that I teach in a way counter to most of my colleagues. I do not let standardized test scores dictate my lessons, and I refuse to accept the belief that my students deserve any less grace and love than any other students in the building. I actively, and not-so-quietly, subvert mandated curricula that I believe cause harm to my students. I refuse to force my students to learn from a textbook that is racist or does not authentically and positively reflect the realities of my students.

My reality is that I often struggle to teach. My students come to me with a variety of hurts, and it takes time (sometimes the entire school year) to help them heal and be in a headspace where they are receptive to my teaching.

My reality is that many times, no matter my loving intention, some of my students, especially my marginalized BIPOC students, can be recalcitrant to my pedagogy.

My reality is that even though I may have a beautiful breakthrough moment with one of my students of color, they leave my classroom and have another traumatizing experience with another teacher in the building, further setting our progress back.

My reality is that oftentimes, I fall prey to the stressors of this job and complain about my students. I’m never disrespectful, but sometimes I secretly long for just a little bit of compliance so that I can feel like I am actually teaching my students the content.

My reality is that I really don’t want compliant students. I remind myself that my job is not to tame students. My job is to empower and challenge my students, equipping them with tools to fight the unjust world they enter when they leave me at the end of the school year. My job is to help them grow to believe in their powerful abilities.

My reality is that oftentimes, I get lonely, and look to books and podcasts to help boster up my pedagogical practice. I seek out my White Anti-Racist Affinity Group (WAAG) to deepen my anti-racist understanding and practices.

My reality is that some of my students will leave my classroom at the end of the school year without having made much academic growth. The truth is that I will have failed to ignite inside of them a reverence of learning as a tool for advancing social justice.

My reality is that I make a lot of mistakes. I apologize when I’ve done wrong. I work to rebuild trust when I have broken it, and repair any relationship I may have inadvertently damaged. I make no claims to be the best teacher. I only hope that I can be the teacher that my students need, and if I can’t, I will always do my best to get them the resources they need to be successful.

This letter is meant to be a love letter to you. I fear that my tone may feel preachy or self-indulgent. I know you became a teacher because you care about young people. I know that many days, doing our very best may not feel like it is enough. I know that working within a system designed against BIPOC students’ success can feel overwhelming and exasperating. But here are a few things that I need you to know.

Strength and humility

We are not white saviors. We are teachers charged with educating all young people. Teaching takes strength, especially when faced with systemic challenges that seem like they are impossible to untangle. More importantly, teaching and learning takes humility. We must be willing to try even when we don’t know what to do. We will make mistakes. We will say the wrong things and unintentionally hurt our students. It is in these moments where we must put our egos aside, apologize, and make amends.

Unlearn and relearn

Founder of Afrocentrism, Dr. Molefi Kete Asante defines peculiar arrogance as not knowing what we don’t know. We have been socialized to not see systemic racism and how it impacts our most marginalized students. We must unlearn what we have been taught and learn about the systemic forces that perpetuate within public education. Read a ton. Speak to people. Listen to podcasts. Solicit feedback. Find a collective to support your ongoing practice as an anti-racist educator. Ali Michael reminds us:

The work that it takes to help white people, for whom the system works, to become teachers who can support students, for whom the system was not built, is transformational, long-term, and personal. It is critical to have communities of practice to support [our] growth (142).

Humanization and empowerment

Don’t lose your own humanity. Lean into the humanity of your students. We must be willing to resist all of the aspects of public education that turn students into numbers and treat them as criminals. Focus on empowering the innate genius of all of your students. Rick Ayers tells us that it is our responsibility to pursue a curriculum of questioning and to support our students in reading the word and the world in a project of humanization and empowerment (77).⁷ This is the essence of teaching and learning.

Redefine success

Don’t let the pressures of the system dictate your success as a teacher and the success (or failure) of your students. There will always be pressure to maintain the status quo with compliant behavior and high standardized test scores. There will be dominant groups who cling to their privilege and fight to protect it. We owe it to our students to prepare them to enter a polarized world, but that does not mean taming and training them to accept things as they are. Nor does that mean putting our students in harm’s way while resisting injustice. We must be willing to take the blame and share the credit,⁸ and use our voice, power, and position to fight oppressive systems.

Love your students

Hold care for your students. Remember that you are entrusted with other people’s babies. Teaching is not about fixing students. Teaching is about loving your students enough to fix the broken public education system. Teaching should be joyful and affirming. As anti-racist, white educators, we must be willing to nurture our students’ development as whole humans. Gholdy Muhammad argues that as long as oppression is present in the world, young people need pedagogy that nurtures criticality.⁹ Loving your students requires us to center joy and healing, while challenging and uplifting them.

In solidarity,

Adrian

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I hope y’all have a great week filled with humility and radical truth!

Resources

• In Elementary school, most students are familiar with Dr. Martin Luther King. They color worksheets with his face and words and practice writing I have a dream on lined paper. However, very few students have ever watched the entire speech. I show it to my students every year. No lesson plan or accompanying activity. We just listen to his words, reflect, and discuss.

From White Folks Who Teach in the Hood | Podcast on Audible

• If you haven’t already checked out the From White Folks podcast, I highly recommend you do so. There are some great conversations in these episodes.

Tools to Break Status Quo Rules of Education (and Beyond)

• design school x (DSX) was founded in 2014 on the values of equity + creativity, DSX invites youth and adults to build their agency to affect change, agility to seek out and navigate complex dilemmas, and access to their character and purpose. All within a learning culture of belonging and becoming.

• These tools are excellent for disrupting the status quo in your specific context. Best yet: they are FREE!

White people say they want to be an ally to Black people. But are they ready for sacrifice? | Kelsey Smoot | The Guardian

• Jonathan Osler references this article from The Guardian when discussing allyship by white Americans. Spend some time with this one because it will make you think hard about power and privilege in the U.S.

Being White Today: A Roadmap for a Positive Anti-Racist Life by Shelly Tochluk and Christine Saxman

• This book has been This book has been transformative in helping me develop a positive white racial identity. I think it should be required reading for all white educators.

• Two other great resources are this video webinar by Shelly Tochluk and this presentation on Helms’ Racial Identity positions.

1. This book is a follow up to Emdin’s 2016 book For White Folks Who Teach in the Hood… and the Rest of Y’all Too: Reality Pedagogy and Urban Education.

2. Emdin, C., Seidel, S. S., & Huff, I. (2024). From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity. Beacon Press.

3. Michael, A. (2024). Because School Was Built for Me, There’s So Much I Didn’t Know. In From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity (pp. 133–143). essay, Beacon Press.

4. Penick, M. W., & Steele, K. P. (2024). Whiteness Upon Whiteness. In From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity (pp. 155–161). essay, Beacon Press.

5. Graustein, L. (2024). White Racial Identity Development and Race-Based Affinity Groups. In From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity (pp. 145–154). essay, Beacon Press.

6. Brown, T. (2024). Language and Reflection in Writing Classrooms. In From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity (pp. 89–96). essay, Beacon Press.

7. Ayers, R. (2024). Say it Loud — Decentering Whiteness in Classroom Discourse In From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity (pp. 71–78). essay, Beacon Press.

8. Scholes, C. (2024). Don’t Waste Your White In From white folks who teach in the hood: Reflections on race, culture, and identity (pp. 37–43). essay, Beacon Press.

9. Muhammad, G. (2021). Cultivating genius: An equity framework for culturally and historically responsive literacy. Scholastic.