In a time when political activists are raising controversy about schools’ pandemic responses and critical race theory, how can district leaders decide whom to listen to?
A recent New York Times column by Nicholas Kristof tells the story of a man named Daryl Davis, a 63-year-old Black musician who spends a lot of his time speaking with white racists. According to Kristof, Davis has been able to disabuse Ku Klux Klan members of their virulent beliefs about Black people through individual conversations and relationship building. Kristof goes on to describe the science behind this approach and suggests that if we could just all really listen to each other and get to know the common humanity underneath our different skin tones, we could ease the growing racial unrest in our country.
Davis is indeed an admirable figure, but it strikes me that this is yet another story about how a person of color is celebrated for bridging a divide that they didn’t create. We’re rightfully impressed by Davis’ courage and fortitude in the face of physical danger and the psychological toll it must take to sit down and have a conversation with someone who hates you. As former U.S. Secretary of Education John B. King (2016) has described, in schools, this psychological toll is part of the “invisible tax” that teachers of color pay. They’re expected not only to be disciplinarians and caretakers of students of color, but also to be ambassadors of diversity to their white colleagues, as well as performing their regular classroom duties. Just as Kristof celebrates Daryl Davis, we celebrate the heroic Black or Latinx teacher who goes above and beyond. However, all this praise too often leaves white people with the unrealistic idea that healing our world doesn’t take work on our part.
The uproar this summer, as Republican state legislators, school board members, and parent activists started crying foul over critical race theory (CRT), shows that some white people don’t want to take responsibility for this work. Their battle cry, stoked by right-wing media, against something few districts use as the basis of their instruction or equity initiatives, is a sign of their fear. Within the next generation, white Americans will be the minority in our country, and many of them are afraid of losing power as that happens.
Inclusion and exclusion
As someone who led equity agendas in public schools as far back as before the No Child Left Behind era, and who’s keenly observing how superintendents are taking on this work (or not), I think we have to start asking some difficult questions about how to sort through the many voices who speak up about this work. More and more school districts throughout the country are touting their commitment to inclusion by hiring diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) leaders and offering training on DEI issues. I appreciate these efforts. I want schools to find ways to embrace the diversity of their students. But I also wonder if the idea of inclusion has become the fox in the henhouse. Does inclusion mean including everyone? What about those who have no desire to dismantle systems of oppression and bring equity and social justice to their school system? What if we can’t just all get along?
Of course, public schools are public entities and, as such, must serve their citizens no matter their political or personal views. Tax dollars fund superintendents’ salaries, and superintendents are hired and fired by publicly elected board members who are beholden to their constituents. As such, they can’t just go willy-nilly excluding groups of people from public debates about significant systemic issues. Redistricting schools to promote integration, opening access to advanced courses, altering admissions procedures to gifted and talented programs, or changing the discipline code to reduce disproportionate punishments are all weighty equity issues superintendents face — and that the public is likely to have strong opinions about. Public engagement and debate are essential to coming up with solutions that incorporate different perspectives, and to explaining the reasoning behind such decisions to those who may disagree.
But at what point do community perspectives become destructive? What responsibility does a superintendent have to listen to multiple public voices when trying to do what’s right for young people who have been harmed by the system for far too long? How should a leader weigh the urgency of acting on behalf of the most vulnerable students against their obligation to the larger public, especially when those who oppose equity are more politically connected and powerful than the students who benefit from these efforts? It’s obvious that a superintendent has a responsibility to include multiple stakeholders in discussions about an equity initiative. But do they have a corollary obligation to exclude some people — or at least minimize their influence?
A DEE agenda — diversity, equity, and exclusion — doesn’t stand much chance of being highlighted at a conference, printed on a poster to be hung in schools, or written into a new district mission statement and strategic plan. The idea of principled exclusion might, however, help leaders begin a process that will lead to better outcomes and experiences for the most vulnerable students in the system.
Knowing who not to listen to might also lessen the incredible burden on superintendents by removing the expectation that they do the impossible: satisfy everyone. Being a superintendent can be difficult and brutal under the best of circumstances. During the pandemic, leaders were targeted with increased vitriol and even death threats. That ire doesn’t seem to be letting up in the post-pandemic world of virulent resistance to CRT and other forms of anti-racist education. Driving a transformative equity agenda through a system has always taken courage, smarts, preparation, and skill, but it’s only become more daunting in recent months. If a superintendent is expected to include everyone, even those who publicly and vehemently oppose them, they’re being set up
to fail.
Moving the conversation forward
As I wrote in my September 2018 Kappan column, most people are silent but reasonable. They want to know that the schools are safe, that graduates will have options when they leave, and that problems will be dealt with if they occur. They’re mostly willing to go along with the leader’s decisions if they’re made with integrity and seem logical. Driving an equity agenda requires community engagement, and these silent but reasonable people may be awoken by those on the fringes who come out to demand either a full and complete overhaul of the school system or a retrenchment of the status quo. As leaders spend more time on equity issues, the local media increases coverage, social media posts proliferate, conspiracy theories spread, and conversations start buzzing on the sidelines of soccer games. As they juggle their many priorities, most superintendents don’t have time to sit down, as Daryl Davis does, and build ongoing relationships with the conspiracy theorists and haters, as admirable as such an effort might be.
At the same time, there may be value in acknowledging that equity agendas come with loss, or at least a perception of loss. White people may fear losing access to the best teachers, schools with more resources, and exclusive entry to advanced courses. Yet, when schools serve everybody well, our young people of color, their families, and entire communities have much more to gain than what white people may lose. This equation is the crux of the issue, and there are white citizens who will support equity initiatives once they recognize where they stand in the equation. Their voices are essential so that people of color do not have to bear the burden alone.
The vocal opponents of equity, who are shrinking in size every year due simply to demographic shifts, will do everything they can not to lose. Superintendents must consider that the growing number of young people of color is the public that they are more beholden to than the politically powerful and vocal opposition. Thus, excluding the most staunch opponents to equity (who are not willing even to acknowledge the problem) from the debate may, in fact, be the most effective way for leaders to meet their obligation to serve the public good.
I wish I had a clear and simple answer to the question of whether some people should be excluded from the equity conversation and who those people should be. Even the constructs of inclusion and exclusion are problematic, as they put the focus on the people at the top of current power structures. These decision makers get to decide who to include or exclude, and they are in that position because of power dynamics that have harmed kids and families for generations. Ultimately, however, superintendents who are committed to equity need to stay on the job and be part of the effort to dismantle those structures that have held back so many people of color. This will mean seeking out allies of all backgrounds to hold them accountable to maintaining a track record of integrity, transparency, and engagement. But I think we have to allow for the fact that some people just don’t deserve a seat at that table. And I hope we’ll support the leaders who have the courage to say so.
References
King, J. (2016, May 15). The invisible tax on teachers of color. Washington Post.
Kristof, N. (2021, June 26). How can you hate me when you don’t even know me. The New York Times.
Starr, J.S. (2018). The silent, reasonable majority must be heard. Phi Delta Kappan, 100 (1), 38-39.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joshua P. Starr
Joshua P. Starr is the managing partner at the International Center for Leadership in Education, a division of HMH, based in Boston, MA. He is the author of Equity-based Leadership: Leveraging Complexity to Transform School Systems.
