CONTEXTO REGIONAL

Ms. Jarvis: Sometimes, um, a lot of the time it does, but it’s not foolproof. At the end of the day, I’m still a white girl (laughter). There isn’t enough rap music in the world to change that fact.

Ms. Jarvis was well aware of how her age and, in particular, her personal music

preferences worked to her benefit with black students. Being younger than most teachers, black or white, as well as a fan of hip-hop music, helped Ms. Jarvis access what she thought of as black culture, something that was not readily available to other white teachers. Ms. Jarvis especially used her affinity for rap music to her advantage, debating her black students about which artist is the best lyricist or has the best album. These debates were vehicles to engage her black students

in a way that gained their trust and increased their comfort level within her classroom. Like many of my other conversational partners, Ms. Jarvis believed that the key to being an effective teacher was strong relationships, and she used black culture as an “in” to build them with her black students. Even still, Ms. Jarvis was white, and as she stated above, being so carried certain limitations. Her access to – and overall effectiveness using – black culture was limited by her whiteness, meaning any advantages that accrued to her were limited, as well.

Throughout my fieldwork, my conversational partners described black privilege in the form of physical and cultural similarities in more nuanced and complex terms. Yes, the existence of such privilege was an example of racial discrimination, as it unfairly advantaged black

teachers, but if utilized properly, it could actually be used to the benefit of black students. As educators committed to quality teaching, most of my conversational partners were willing to accept – albeit begrudgingly – physical and cultural forms of black privilege, considering it to be an “occupational hazard” or “necessary evil,” especially given the racial composition of their respective schools. All nuance, complexity, and acceptance completely disappeared when it came to the most visceral discussion of black privilege, that which was perceived to be rooted in an antipathy towards whites. Thus, the third form of black privilege – anti-whiteness – was the one most explicitly associated with racism and racial victimization.

It was one thing for black teachers to benefit from reminding black students of a loved one or sharing cultural dispositions, but it was something else altogether for black teachers to benefit from simply not being white. Although they were frustrated by all forms of black privilege, most of the teachers I interviewed were willing to accept that, relative to their black colleagues, they occupied an outsider status with black students, just so long as said status was not motivated by racial antagonism. Conversely, black privilege as anti-whiteness, was described

by my conversational partners as frustrating, hurtful, and professionally demoralizing. Anti- whiteness was different from other forms of black privilege because it was not about black teachers at all. Whereas black privilege in the form of physical and cultural similarities was about the positive traits of black teachers, black privilege in the form as anti-whiteness was about the negative traits of white teachers. While there is no neat or clear functional dividing line between anti-whiteness and other forms of black privilege, there was, however, a discernable difference in how white teachers described, and reacted to, what they perceived as anti-white hostility versus pro-black advantage. Although my conversational partners did, at times, implicate their black colleagues in anti-whiteness, for the most part, it was a process that pertained to black students and their families.

When predicated upon anti-whiteness, it was incredibly difficult for my interview respondents not to personalize and internalize the advantage enjoyed by their black colleagues. The fact that black teachers – even those of minimal quality – could take for granted that they would be accepted, trusted, and respected by black students and black families, signaled to my conversational partners that blackness was superior, and by contrast, whiteness was inferior. Because teaching children is both social and incredibly intimate, this particular form of racial victimization became personal, causing my conversational partners to be highly critical of themselves as people. For example, after teaching in an urban, predominantly black school for a number of years, Mrs. Clark now considers black privilege in the form of anti-whiteness to be a reflection of her personal character flaws.

Mrs. Clark: When I look at Carol and how the kids respond to her, I can’t help but think I’m the problem. I know she’s black and that, um, she has certain advantages that I don’t, but maybe it’s simpler than that, maybe it’s me. Q: Many of the other teachers I interviewed felt that black students can

similar process? Do you feel that racial distrust affects the relationship that you have with your black students?

Mrs. Clark: Yeah, of course it does, but um, there are a lot of white teachers who manage to do just fine, you know. I mean, they deal with the same hostility I do. Some of their students hate white people, too, but they still have really good relationships with their kids. At that point, the only other reasonable explanation is me. What is it about me that, how can I put this? Um, what is it about me that makes being white worse? Does that make sense?

Mrs. Clark struggled to understand why she has had such a difficult time connecting with her black students. In her attempts to reconcile the complexity of race with her experiences as a teacher, Mrs. Clark took notice of her black and white colleagues. She acknowledged that Carol, a black teacher, was advantaged because she was not white, but at the same time, however, she also noticed that many of her white colleagues were successful teachers of black students. For Mrs. Clark, the presence of successful white teachers complicated the idea that whiteness, alone, accounted for her struggles as a teacher. Seeing no other explanations, Mrs. Clark looked inward, eventually coming to the conclusion that whiteness, along with her personal flaws, combined to limit her effectiveness as a teacher of black students. Other teachers went through a similar process, personalizing anti-whiteness to such a degree that it was not merely a facilitator of black privilege, but also, it was an indictment of them as people.

Black privilege as anti-whiteness also affected the way my conversational partners talked about teaching as a profession. Mrs. Edwards, 51, has been teaching in urban schools for over 20 years. A lifelong reader, Mrs. Edwards teaches language arts at Emerson Middle School, a school with a student population that is over 80% black. During our interview, Mrs. Edwards repeatedly lamented black privilege as anti-whiteness, describing it as “the racial sorting of teachers.” Mrs. Edwards, a veteran teacher with tenure, was not opposed to sorting, or ranking, teachers, but she believed the existence of such a hierarchy should be based on talent and overall

ability, as opposed to race. The latter, according to Mrs. Edwards, undermined public education and made a mockery of professionalism.

Mrs. Edwards: I’m a good teacher, a damn good teacher, and I’ve worked extremely hard to become one. I was completely lost my first year, but I never gave up and I’ve never even considered quitting. I just worked that much harder to become what my students needed me to be, and I’ve been at the same school for close to twelve years, while so many other teachers don’t even make it through the year. I know it sounds, I don’t know, conceited or whatever, but I’m good at what I do, and as a white teacher, that’s not always easy. There are so many students that are determined to make your life harder. They just don’t like white people. Then I meet their parents and I see why. They just think all white people are bad, all white people are racist, you know. You can tell right away, like on the first day. Oh, this kid has a problem with white people.