Recently my husband and I saw the movie “Harriet.” Powerful, brutal, beautifully acted and filmed, it should be required viewing for all. The theme should also be ancient history. Sadly, it is not. As a country, yes, we have made progress in some ways, but it’s not nearly enough. “Harriet” reminds us of the work we all need to do.
Watching the movie prompted me to think of several moments in my teaching career when the subjects of slavery/race/prejudice/bias and the whitewashing of history were central to our discussions. One occurred during my initial year teaching 6thgrade. We were studying US history. Our text, from an established publishing house, contained the briefest of mentions of slavery. While I cannot recall the exact words, one small paragraph described slaves as living in small cottages or cabins. There was no mention of anything remotely related even to hardships, much less brutality. Incensed, I assigned the class to do some research and rewrite the chapter. My students were receptive and interested. What they wrote was, of course, still far from reality. My hope was that they started to read history with minds more open to different perspectives and with an awareness of intentional misrepresentation.
A few years later and in another school, the 8thgrade teachers and I had created an Outcast Simulation to accompany the study of the Holocaust. Over the course of a month, one day each week we declared that some shared aspect (birth months, hair color, etc.) for a small group of students made them outcasts for the day. As such, they were not included in games, were the last to enter classrooms, had to pick up trash, and were completely ignored by their classmates, etc. Every student was an outcast at some point during the month. The experience was generally powerful. When I debriefed with the “outcasts” before they left for home, their observations were gratifyingly thoughtful. The most memorable moment came from one young African American boy who said, “Mrs. Glass, this is the only time in my life I think my classmates might have a tiny idea of what it is like to be Black.” This from a boy who was well-liked by and easy with his peers.
My final year in Virginia, one of our African American students missed the first day back from Thanksgiving break because an older boy in his neighborhood, someone he knew slightly, had been shot and killed. The second such instance in Keith’s life. During my morning classroom rounds, his teacher asked for my help. She needed to accompany the rest of the class elsewhere, and this young man clearly was struggling. To be honest, I had no idea what to say or do, so I simply sat down with him as he quietly wept. Finally, I asked him if he were afraid this would happen to him.” No.” (Pause.) “Maybe.” Therein lay the chasm that separated us. There was no way I could reassure him that it wouldn’t. His white classmates would never even consider the possibility. Fortunate through happenstance of birth; the kind of privilege most would never even recognize as such.
Teachers want to make a difference. We rarely know what sticks with our students, what interactions and discussions, what projects and questions will remain a part of their souls as they grow older. Were there times that made a difference in how they regarded and treated others as they matured? More often than not, the things they remember are likely things of which we were either unaware or have forgotten. I want to know: Does anyone remember those moments that have stayed with me for over forty years? Did they make a difference?
Glass Full 