Growing up in Houston, I was more self-aware of my skin color. Everyone stayed in their designed cliques (see my blog from last week when I talked about church cliques). Even the cliques had their own cliques. Darker skinned black kids did not hang out with lighter skinned black kids (the "high yellow" as it was known to me then) and the lighter skinned black kids were safe enough to hang with the white kids. Among Hispanics, it was the wanna-be gangsters guys who were dressed like extras in one of Vin Diesel's house parties in Fast and the Furious. The girls wore dark purple lipstick and their bangs were so sprayed they could have deflected bullets. I didn't know enough Spanish to truly hang with the gangsters, and I wasn't ethnic enough to hang with the outcasts. Most of the Hispanics in school probably felt I was a stuck up preppy kid who dreamed of being white--and they weren't too far from the truth.
There was awkwardness when my grandmother told a group of black men who ventured into our street that there weren't "any of your kind" and to leave before she called the cops. There was awkwardness when the Ealy brothers would school us 8th graders on the difference between nigger and niggah. There was awkwardness when fellow football players would cry foul on how blacks would somehow take over the world and dry the government coffers from their use of food stamps. Awkwardness every time I balked from helping someone translate their requests. Awkwardness when I moved to Ohio and everyone in Zanesville thought I was from the Middle East.
There's more division now than ever before Growing up I began to see the demand of groups of color who wanted to distinguish themselves as above rather than apart. There were the Hispanic Democrats and Hispanic Republicans. My friends seemed pissed about the Negro College Fund commercials and I wondered when I'd actually see someone who looked like my family on screen other than a butler or a landscaper. I used to cry foul when the census bureau only drew the colors of the American landscape with blacks and whites. Even when the seeds of pride burst forth from my crusty veneer, someone was always around to warn me about immigration and illegal aliens.
When I became a teacher there was a renewed interest in being brown. My students had great questions that came from the truth in their lives. Nothing felt awkward and differences were now celebrated. I wanted to learn from my kids as much as they were getting from me. On a typical day I will joke about being ashy, how black people don't like to actually swim at pool parties and how black or brown you were depended on the menu at your family barbecue. Typically we talk about their communities, which inevitably lead into "running the hood" and how to remain safe surrounded by gang members, crazy adults and a system that seems to want to derail them.
I'm not really sure how I will answer my fifth graders this coming fall when they ask me about Trayvon Martin. I don't want to answer with emotions, as they surely will. I know most of my students will come in with a blend of opinions derived from their parents. They believe Trayvon received no justice. Some will harbor thoughts of retribution towards Zimmerman. The racism card will surely be tossed around and the few white students I have will probably not even want to speak.
Government is what we study, from the three branches to the beginnings of the Constitution. Many 4th and 5th graders are just beginning to grasp some of the larger concepts of freedom and responsibility. The freedom to do whatever we want, even though the realization that not everything is to our benefit. My students don't see much past their own selves and anything prohibiting their freedom is classified as unfair, racist or both.
As an educator, I do have a responsibility to breathe truth in their life without bias. I want them to think for themselves. I want them to know that while America was founded on a bed of blood and political power brokers, there were honorable men in the midst. I want them to know that while the Native Americans were sometimes ruthless warriors, some of them were honorable too. Slavery too, had demons on both sides. But to demonize everyone does not do them a service.
Which is what exactly happened during the Trayvon Martin case. Zimmerman was immediately portrayed as a villain who stalked Trayvon as he innocently strolled though the neighborhood munching on Skittles. Hoodies were the culprit, along with the menacing spectacle of saggy pants. An over-zealous neighborhood watchman, wanna-be cop , now a murderer.
The other side played games too. If you dug around enough, you'd find pictures of an angelic Trayvon next to one where's he's giving the middle finger to the world. In one story he's a full-ride college hopeful and the next he's a weed-smoking thug.
Perhaps I will take the time to discuss responsibility and freedom. The freedom to post a picture giving the Facebook world the middle finger and how it looks like to a future employer, or a potential boyfriend or girlfriend's parent, and even a teacher. The freedom to walk to the corner store to buy a candy knowing that what we wear, what we say and how we look at others can either be a hindrance or a deterrent. I once was stopped in my neighborhood with 2 of my friends by a Spring, TX patrol cop. It was winter-ish and I only remember wearing a dark coat. Lights were flashed upon my face and I was told to remove my hands from my pockets. I did as I was told. No sense getting shot over a misunderstanding.
I'm not sure my kids would see it the same way. When my older daughter went out at night, I didn't have to worry that her sports hoodie would make her a target. My son, on the other hand, will probably be told not to wear one. And when he becomes a driver, I will counsel him on how to act. Hands on the steering wheel, no attitude, yes sir and no sir. To do otherwise raises the possibility that something could occur. I had friends in high school that were treated worse when they back-talked and acted above the law. Why would I want to be arrested or shamed when all I had to do was be nice.? Sure, I had different opinions when the cop left, but I was alive.
And justice. They believe, as do many, that Zimmerman is "free." You don't think his life is forever changed? Or that he wont be hounded by a media that doesn't know when to quit? How many people can say they are being investigated by the United States Government that isn't located in Iraq? Sure he's alive and Trayvon is dead. He wont grow to fulfill the dreams he had, but neither will Zimmerman. Two lives were lost that fateful night.
I want to tell my students that wearing hoodies or snapbacks turned sideways and walking slowly wont make them a target, But I also know that our reaction to the type of situation Trayvon and Zimmerman found themselves in could have been avoided. I have that duty as a teacher to tell my kids as such.
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