# data[].attributes.body
I cannot recommend this podcast enough. It is a thoroughly researched look at the way race was created in order to oppress poc and support white consolidation of power.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Just what is going on with white people? Police shootings of unarmed African Americans. Acts of domestic terrorism by white supremacists. The renewed embrace of raw, undisguised white-identity politics. Unending racial inequity in schools, housing, criminal justice, and hiring. Some of this feels new, but in truth it's an old story.

Why? Where did the notion of "whiteness" come from? What does it mean? What is whiteness for?

Scene on Radio host and producer John Biewen took a deep dive into these questions, along with an array of leading scholars and regular guest Dr. Chenjerai Kumanyika, in this fourteen-part documentary series, released between February and August 2017. The series editor is Loretta Williams.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Just what is going on with white people? Police shootings of unarmed African Americans. Acts of domestic terrorism by white supremacists. The renewed embrace of raw, undisguised white-identity politics. Unending racial inequity in schools, housing, criminal justice, and hiring. Some of this feels ne

# data[].attributes.body
Today was great I really want to know how I may implement in NPS and proceed with this at my school.

# data[].attributes.body
Change or Die Book

# data[].attributes.body
I talked about the difference between equity and equality to my students. They needed to understand that mindset change is needed to meet the needs of individual students .

# data[].attributes.body
Avatar of jaredwarren1
Icon
Equity for All - PLC (Central)
Individual stars don't make the sky - the system does
Avatar of Donald Leake
Donald Leake
 +  3
●
6d

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
As educators we (sometimes unknowingly) step into roles of advocate, caretaker, guide, and even mother or father to students. Students pay attention to everything we say and do. They particularly pay attention to our silence.

We may be uncomfortable talking about race, but we can no longer afford to be silent. We have chosen a profession, which-like parenting-requires that our comforts come second to those of children.

Many black and brown students are educated in school systems and classrooms where they, despite making up the racial majority, are taught how to understand a world by a staff comprised of a powerful minority. When their teachers choose to remain silent about moments of racial tension or violence-violence that may well touch students' own communities or families-these children are overtly reminded of their inferior place in society.

Even as a black teacher, I have to set a tone for my students that signals that it's safe to talk about race. Even with me, students of color are afraid to say the word white or to name the blatant racism of slavery and Jim Crow. If that's the case, imagine how much more difficult it is for them to engage in dialogue about mass incarceration rates; the militarism of police; the killing of innocent black men and women; cycles of poverty; the destruction of our bodies, minds and souls; the lack of access to healthy food and quality schools; and gentrification. These are all symptoms of a type of racism that remains deadly to this day because, despite bodies lying in the street, we refuse to talk about it.

White teachers must also broach these topics with white children attending white schools. These students need to learn about the destructive power of racism and brutality that have plagued our country for centuries. They should also understand that Alton Sterling, Philando Castile and Trayvon Martin were preceded in death by Emmett Till, Jimmie Lee Jackson and countless others whose stories and deaths we must also teach. Our lack of instruction becomes deadly when we allow fear and discomfort to indirectly allow white students to labor under false, privileged assumptions.

Moreover, the silence on the part of white teachers who teach black and brown children is insulting. Imagine seeing white people, the perceived dominant race, loving and appreciating black culture when it is pretty-enjoying the music, food, culture and beauty of our people-but remaining silent about our oppression and refusing to see how the beauty of our culture was largely born out of necessity. It hurts students when their teachers only acknowledge what black people have done for this country and not what this country has done to them.

But how encouraging is it to know that we stand in a powerful and political position where we can directly influence and break this silence?

Begin by confronting your own biases-about yourself, your students, your fellow educators, the world. This process is essential; if educators don't do this, think about how much damage we could do to the open, vulnerable minds of our students. In particular, examine your feelings about the police. And, regardless of your personal feelings about law enforcement, it is critical to understand that many black and brown students have incredibly negative perceptions about the police. This difficult understanding on the part of teachers can hopefully lead to dialogue and healing in schools.

Once you've done the inner work of evaluating your own comfort levels and examining your biases, start the conversation. You might begin by admitting to students that-like them-you are scared, frustrated, angry, confused, hurt or uncomfortable. Students at any age understand these feelings and will appreciate your humility, compassion and vulnerability, especially black and brown students. This is how you lay the foundation.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
As educators we (sometimes unknowingly) step into roles of advocate, caretaker, guide, and even mother or father to students. Students pay attention to everything we say and do. They particularly pay attention to our silence. We may be uncomfortable talking about race, but we can no longer afford to be silent.

# data[].attributes.body
I really like the book, White Fragility.  I plan to suggest a possible group activity that builds on the book.

Don

# data[].attributes.body
I just bought this book from Amazon. I've heard great reviews on it.

# data[].attributes.body
Framework for teachers and administrators to guide CRT work

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
transcript

[music] "The Negro Motorist Green Book," first published in 1936, was a critical guide for African-Americans traveling during the '40s, '50s and early '60s. [music] It was created by a Harlem postal worker, Victor Green, and his colleagues, who gathered a listing of restaurants, bars, hotels and private homes that welcomed black travelers across the country. [music] In a time where Americans started hitting the road, African-Americans faced restrictions as they traveled. Although you could purchase a car, you couldn't get gas, stay in hotels or eat in restaurants. Travel was difficult and dangerous. [music] Ben's Chili Bowl, at 1213 U Street, Washington, D.C., was originally a silent movie theater called the Minnehaha. It was later featured in the "Green Book" as a pool hall. Since 1958, Ben's Chili Bowl has continued the legacy of the "Green Book," providing a refuge for the whole community. [music] I was born in Washington, D.C., in 1939 in a segregated hospital. I lived in a segregated neighborhood and I went to a segregated school. First, I didn't realize any difference because all the people around me looked like me. And I was comfortable with that, until I realized that I was being discriminated against. [music] We couldn't shop downtown at the major stores. You couldn't try on clothes. You couldn't try on hats. Because if you tried them on, they didn't want you to get grease on the hats. You know, we oil our hair. And our makeup is dark, and so they didn't want us to try on clothes because you might get makeup on the clothes. I remember being about 7, maybe 10 years old in Hecht's department store when a little girl called me a nigger and spat on me. And I couldn't retaliate. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't do anything. I was so angry inside, but I couldn't do anything about it because I knew that it would be blamed on me. [interposing voices] "The 'Green Book' was a guide for African-Americans to travel safely, to find shelter, food and gas in a time where these basic rights were not guaranteed." [interposing voices] "Washington, D.C., had more listings in the 'Green Book' than any other city in this country. The 1213 U Street was listed in the 'Green Book,' and that's why we're sitting here in Ben's Chili Bowl at 1213 U Street today. From the very day that we opened up to the current time, it's still a safe haven for people." [music] "And we invited the community in, and we started with the neighborhood young men that thought this was home for them. They always sat over there in that corner. There was always eight, six, eight, 10 of them every evening, from different walks of life in the community. When someone spilled something on the floor and the staff was busy, one of them took care of it - go in the back, get the mop. If we were running out of ice, they'd say, 'Hey, Joe, go get some ice for me' - kind of place. That was really the beginning of the building of the relationship with this community, these young guys that found this to be home. As soon as they started to broadcast professional basketball, they put the TV up for them to keep them here so they wouldn't have to go see that game someplace else. We didn't have TVs in Ben's Chili Bowl, but that was for them. And that brought in that segment of our community. And then, of course, this being the strong close-knit community that it was, when you came here for a chili dog, you ran into a friend." [music] Particularly in the early '50s, when we would leave Washington, D.C., on the train, we could sit anywhere on the train, until you got to the Virginia line. And when you get to the Virginia line, you had to go to the last train on the back. And I remember being so frustrated because we could not eat on the highway if the train stopped. We couldn't eat. We couldn't relieve ourselves on the train. You either had to hold it or relieve yourself sitting there, and then you're wet. When the train stopped, you would get off the train and you would relieve yourself outside, almost like you would if you were a dog. [music] And that's the way basically I thought that white people felt about me as a black African-American - or Negro woman, or nigger woman, or whatever - that they felt like I was not human, not a human being, that I was less than a human being. I see people treat their dogs better now. Right now, they treat the dogs better than they treated us as black Americans. [interposing voices] "Well, one of the things that I remember was traveling from southwest Georgia down to Mississippi. And this was right after Miss Hamer had been beaten. I mean, they dragged her off the bus and beat her and crippled her. And one of the things that I remembered on that bus, I felt two things. First, I had to sit in the front of the bus, just like you. But second, I also was, in my head, saying, what am I going to do if these people come on the bus and try to treat me like Miss Hamer? And one of the things I was very clear about is that I was not getting off the bus and going to any of these places to try to use the bathroom. I was not going to get off the bus to try to get anything to eat. I knew enough to pack a lunch before I got on that bus. Now, it was a 10-hour ride from Albany, Ga., down to Jackson, Miss. But, I mean, it was really tough trying to not only deal with the question of where you're going to go to the bathroom, where you're going to go eat, but whether if you exercised your right under the law, whether somebody was going to come up there and try to assault you. That was a reality that we wanted to change. I mean, I remember I was maybe 14 years old when I started seeing the challenge, the real challenge, in Montgomery with the bus boycott, with Rosa Parks. Just in terms of local transportation and interstate transportation, we had to face people telling us, you're not good as we are. And now because of people who got on the bus and challenged the institutions that were developed, you can dream big. You can dream bigger than we could dream. It was important. I mean, the biggest thing that we were able to do - and Frank can tell you this - the biggest thing we were able to do is we were able to say, you cannot block our dreams. Now we couldn't say what our dreams were, but we could say, you can't block our dreams. You can't tell us what we can't do. We're going to kick down all these barriers." [music] "Those barriers could be life threatening. Every trip through America for a black person during those times was potentially fatal. It seemed like many people were out to hurt us, or even kill us, just because we were black." [thud] [grunt] [thud] [thud] [thud] [siren blaring] "The assumption is, at some time it stopped. And that's not the case. It never stopped." [shouting] "That's a continuous thing that hasn't changed since the beginning of the relationship that exists here between blacks and whites in the United States. It's like a river that keeps flowing, and we don't really see all of it. But at the end of the day, it's something that started back in slavery and continues today. Young black people don't have the 'Green Book' in front of them, but they have it in their head. We are no longer looking at 'No Negroes Allowed' and stuff like that, but you're looking at the same thing, which says, these are barriers here. And then people feel that if you cross these barriers, they have a right to kill you." [shouting] [music] "Tamir was such a energetic kid. At 12 years old, he would actually get up in my arms, as big as he was, and let me hold him and kiss him and squeeze all on him." [music] "So that day when you got the knock on the door, what happened?" "So, I was actually coming from the store and putting groceries up, and a knock came at the door. Two little boys told me that my son was shot by the police. And I was like in denial. I'm like, 'No, you're not talking about my kids. My kids is at the rec playing.' And my oldest son was laying on the couch. He wasn't feeling well. But he ran out right past me. I guess he heard it in the little boy's voice. And he ran out before me, and I'm still trying to get my coat and my shoes on, talking about, 'No, my kids is playing.' And surely enough, as I walk across the street around a little track where I could see the kids, my son is laying on the ground with 10 police officers surrounding him. And my daughter is screaming in the back of the police car. And they have my other son surrounded, and they put him in the back of the police car. So it was terrible. That's how that day turned out. The police asked me - well they didn't ask me, they told me to calm down or they were going to put me in the back of the police car. Because I was trying to get to my son. They never let me get to him. They also let me ride in the front seat as a passenger." "Of the police car." "Of the ambulance." "Of the ambulance." "So I never even got a chance to get back close to my son, to hold his hand, to kiss him and let him know that it was going to be all right. I don't know what they were doing." "So he was in the back of the ambulance, and you were in the front." "Yeah, I was in the front, like a passenger." "What kind of service were they giving Tamir at the scene?" "I don't know because they were surrounding him." "They were surrounding him." "I couldn't really see." "What were the officers doing? They were just standing there?" "Well they were just blocking me, not letting me go towards him, and telling me to calm down. And I'm telling them, you need to let my kids out the car. They're minors and stuff like that. And like I told you, they gave me an ultimatum to stay at the scene of the crime with the other two children or to go with Tamir. I chose to go with Tamir, and I had to leave two children at the scene of a crime." [music] "Everybody see what happened to my son. They didn't even want to release that tape. My attorney had to threaten them to release the tape. And after that tape was released, it just went worldwide." "What did you see on that tape? What was your reaction to it?" "My son was scared when they rolled up. He was scared. And he shrugged his shoulders, like this. They tried to say he was reaching for his waistband. He wasn't reaching for nothing. When you roll up fast like that, you scared him." "Absolutely." "And that's what I see." "He was just stuck. He was just like - " "Yeah. Like, what did I do?" "Right." "Yeah. So, yeah, I will never get that vision out my head. That's devastating. I play it over and over again. Also, with the picture of him laying on a gurney, and they would not allow me to touch him because they said he was evidence. So I didn't even get a chance to touch him or none of that. No kiss goodbye. No nothing. No feeling him or nothing. So they said he was evidence, so I couldn't touch him. And I don't really know how that works." "What ultimately happened to Tamir's body?" "So - I had to get Tamir - well I didn't have to, I choose to get him cremated. I don't really think I told anyone that. But I don't want to leave my son in Cleveland when I leave Ohio, so I will be taking him and my mother with me and have them in urns in my house." "So to take him everywhere that you go, every stage of the rest of your life." "Yeah, he has to go with me. Yeah. Because he just has to go. I wasn't finished raising him, you know? I wasn't finished nourishing him. And America robbed me. Yep, they robbed me." "So when people talk about the American dream, what do you call it?" "A nightmare, especially if you're black. Yeah." [music] Traveling while black means to me that discrimination, segregation is still alive and well. And that even though I don't have to have the "Green Book" to guide me to a black person's house and I can stay in any hotel I want, but just think about the people who have been killed while traveling black. A young man, who was involved in the schools in the area where he lived, killed in front of his fiancée and their child, traveling while black. Traveling while black, I'm driving down the highway and the police decide to stop me. Even though I'm an elderly black woman, I could be killed just because I'm black and don't give them the answer that they want. Traveling while black in America is still happening. And I am really frightened for black men traveling while black. I wonder, when does it end? [music]

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
transcript [music] "The Negro Motorist Green Book," first published in 1936, was a critical guide for African-Americans traveling during the '40s, '50s and early '60s. [music] It was created by a Harlem postal worker, Victor Green, and his colleagues, who gathered a listing of restaurants, bars, hotels and private homes that welcomed black travelers across the country.

# data[].attributes.body
Underrepresentation of High Achieving Students of Color in Gifted Classes

# data[].attributes.body
The Whiteness Project

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Whiteness Project is an interactive investigation into how Americans who identify as white, or partially white, understand and experience their race.

Whiteness Project is conducting interviews with people from all walks of life and localities in which they are asked about their relationship to, and their understanding of, their own whiteness. Each video interview is paired with a statistic that provides a greater societal context and offers an opportunity for self-reflection by the audience on their own thoughts about race.

Whiteness Project's first installment, Inside the White/Caucasian Box, is a collection of 21 interviews filmed in Buffalo, NY in July 2014 and released in October 2014. The latest installment, Intersection of I, is a collection of 23 interviews filmed in Dallas, Texas in July 2015 and released in April 2016. This second installment features a cross-section of Millennials, ages 15-27, who share their views about race and identity. The project is ongoing and we are in production on additional installments.

By engendering debate about the role of whiteness in American society and encouraging white Americans to become fully vested participants in the ongoing debate about the role of race in American society, Whiteness Project aims to inspire reflection and foster discussions that ultimately lead to improved communication around issues of race and identity.

Join the conversation with #WhitenessProject and follow us on social media.

Snapchat: @WhitenessProject

CONTACT US
info@whitenessproject.org

Although white people and white culture have been the dominant societal and political forces in our country since its inception, there has been relatively little self-conscious examination of whiteness as a unique racial identity, how white Americans experience their whiteness, and how white culture shapes our society. Most people take for granted that there is a white race in America, but what does it mean to be white? Can it be genetically defined? Is it a cultural construct? A state of mind? An ethnicity or a race? How does one come to be deemed white in America and what privileges does being perceived as white bestow?

Whiteness Project is a multi-platform media project that examines both the concept of whiteness itself and how those who identify as white, or partially white, process their racial identity. The project's goal is to engender debate about the role of whiteness in American society and encourage white Americans to become fully vested participants in the ongoing debate about the role of race in American society.

After almost two decades of making films with my black producing partner, Marco Williams, I have come to believe that most whites, especially liberal whites, see themselves as outside the American racial paradigm - that their race is a passive attribute, as opposed to something that impacts almost every aspect of their lives. I believe this makes it difficult for many white people to empathize with people of other races and see their experiences as parallel to their own.

I do not claim to have clear answers about how best to challenge the structural racism that is woven through our country's public and private institutions, nor do I have a specific agenda beyond my desire to create media that will challenge white people to become more self-reflective. I simply have found that honestly examining the role my racial identity plays in my day-to-day life, and, in fact, how it has shaped my life's entire arc, has been incredibly illuminating and enhanced the quality of all my relationships, regardless of the ethnic make-up of those involved.

I believe that the country is not only ready for a discussion on whiteness, but is hungry for it. Although, it is hard to imagine any other white-majority country embracing and celebrating the wide range of ethnicities, races, and cultures that make up the nation, let alone electing a biracial president to govern them all, deep racial fissures exist in American society, and we are confronted with examples of inequality, prejudice, and structural racism on a regular basis. My experiences working on this project have repeatedly shown me that when white people honestly engage on this topic, it makes all discussions about race more productive and opens conduits to understanding that ultimately help to advance a culture of true equality.

Produced in association with American Documentary | POV
WHITENESS PROJECT
Whitney Dow Project Creator
Michelle Byrd Executive Producer
Naomi Ranz-Schleifer Associate Producer
Michael Brown Coordinator
Asya Gorbacheva Assistant Editor
Patrick Seaman Studio Intern

KUDOS Design Collaboratory™
Strategy, design, and development
John Kudos Creative Director
Sumit Paul Interaction Designer
Chris Manlapid Developer
Nasim Mirzai Design Coordinator

FOR POV
Adnaan Wasey Executive Producer for POV Digital
Justine Nagan Executive Director for POV
Chris White Executive Producer for POV
Emma Dessau Senior Producer for POV Digital

CRITICAL COLLABORATORS
Peter Bearman INCITE
Michael Rock 2x4
Ada Tolla & Giuseppe Lignano LO-TEK
Marco Williams Hip Truth Productions
DALLAS
DALLAS PRODUCTION TEAM
Mark Birnbaum Segment Producer
Raoul Torresi Director of Photography
Pete Verrando LLC Sound Mixer
Harrison Snow Assistant Producer
Sergei Krishkov Researcher
Alexia Poscente Talent Coordinator
Christian Salinas Production Assistant
Chandler Moke Production Assistant

FOR KERA DALLAS
Mary Anne Alhadeff President and CEO
Sylvia Komatsu EVP, Chief Content Officer
Joe Bellotti Manager Production Services

FOR POV
Adnaan Wasey Executive Producer for POV Digital
Chris White Executive Producer for POV
Justine Nagan Executive Director for POV
Emma Dessau Senior Producer for POV Digital
Yvonne Kouadjo Web Producer for POV Digital
Julia Pyke Intern
Katharine Milbradt Intern
Benjamin Barba Lopez Intern
Ruohan Xu Intern
Kendall George Intern
BUFFALO
BUFFALO PRODUCTION TEAM
J. Garrett Vorreuter Field Producer/Sound
Shannon Madden Cinematographer
Scott Rubin Coordinator
Corina DeFabbio Grip
Garrett Weinholtz Post Production Color
Asya Gorbacheva Editorial Assistant
Clementine Dow Production Assistant
Harrison Snow Production Assistant

FOR WNED BUFFALO
Donald Boswell President
Phil Teibel Production and Facilities Manager
Lauren Mosier Studio Production Assistant
Aaron Ferguson Studio Production Assistant

FOR POV
Adnaan Wasey Executive Producer for POV Digital
Simon Kilmurry Executive Producer for POV
Emma Dessau Web Producer
Sayeh Gorjifard Intern
Shako Liu Intern
Chaska Rojas-Bottger Intern
INTERSECTION OF I INSTALLATION
Whitney Dow Project Creator
Michelle Byrd Executive Producer
Naomi Ranz-Schleifer Producer
Michael Brown Coordinator
Asya Gorbacheva Assistant Editor
Patrick Seaman Studio Intern

Architectural Design and Construction
Ada Tolla & Giuseppe Lignano Architects, LOT-EK Architecture
Sara Valente Project Architect, LOT-EK Architecture
Terence Caulkins Arup Audio Visual Design

Digital Design and Programming
John Kudos Creative Director
Chris Manlapid Programming
Nasim Mirzai Design Coordinator

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Whiteness Project is an interactive investigation into how Americans who identify as white, or partially white, understand and experience their race. Whiteness Project is conducting interviews with people from all walks of life and localities in which they are asked about their relationship to, and their understanding of, their own whiteness.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Interviewing for my first teaching job out of school, I arrived excited in a suit and tie as I was walked to a sunny corner office to meet the principal. A charming middle-aged white woman with a bright smile, a bubbly personality, and contagious excitement, she seemed eager to get to know me and asked to hear my story and find out how this man of Color decided to go into teaching.

I wasn't sure where to start, so I decided to begin by telling her about how I was a child of immigrant parents who crossed the U.S.-Mexico border in the 80s. My mother worked for five years in a nail packing factory to obtain a green card through a work contract in order to get my brother and me legal documentation to enter the United States. I was raised by my grandparents from 1st to 5th grade until my mother arrived to retrieve us with green cards. We emigrated from Ecuador and arrived in New York, where a rich community of friends and family welcomed us. I learned English as an ESL student in middle school, repeating 5th grade and assimilating into a culture that valued me as an independent learner more than an interdependent community member. My mom and stepdad worked two jobs and I was in charge of looking after my 8-year-old brother when we arrived home alone after school.

I continued and told her about my journey through high school as a boy of Color who didn't see himself represented in his teachers. I did not know that I was capable of attending college until I was peer-pressured by other students of Color into applying. It was with the support of the Educational Opportunity Program at Stony Brook University and a community of students of Color that I completed my college education. Later in my career I decided to attend graduate school where I reconnected with my roots as a student of Color learning to be a responsive teacher of Color. My foundation in teaching had been molded by a powerful group of instructors, families, and community mentors who taught me the importance of teaching as a community teacher. This meant establishing relationships with students, their families, and our communities; and elevating their voices and presence in school; ensuring that they had access to school. This was the community, family, and politics team in my masters in teaching program at a university in Seattle. They were an essential part of my learning, supporting me to stand up as a teacher fighting for social justice and authentically partnering with families.

I went on to share intimate details about my upbringing in the United States and the difficulties of learning English throughout middle school. I told her about how I had struggled to fit in as a young boy learning English and hoping to be seen as part of the crowd. Right away this charming, bubbly principal drew parallels between my upbringing and the students who were at this school. She said she prided herself in "knowing people's stories." After listening to mine, she shared that her professional goal was to establish strong relationships with communities of Color. I believed I was being heard and this would earn me respect, trust, and support. However, as time went on, my story became an object for her to flaunt. The principal told me I would be an ideal teacher for the students at this school because of my experience and because I spoke Spanish; she needed help reaching out to Spanish-speaking families. What I did not realize was the extent I would be positioned as an asset and used as a teacher of Color, without any real support.

Popsicles in the Park
Once I was hired, I was eager to set up my 5th-grade classroom. This was the position I had been seeking since the beginning of graduate school. I wanted to build an environment that reflected my students' cultures and fostered collaboration. This was my chance to provide my students with everything that had been kept from me when I went through 5th grade.

I prepared a plan to build relationships with my students' families and elevate the wisdom they held. Thankfully, I was not alone on this journey. Two other teachers of Color who I studied with during my masters were also hired as 1st- and 2nd-grade teachers. Lam was born in a refugee camp in the Philippines, immigrated to the United States, and grew up in White Center, Washington. Her family's struggle and resilience helped her appreciate the strength and beauty in immigrants' stories. Nicole was born and raised in Seattle and came from a large Philipinx family with a heart and history for community building and civic advocacy. She shared her wholehearted belief in developing the native languages of our communities of Color.

As we struggled as 1st year teachers, we debriefed with each other every day and eventually established a weekly routine of gathering to share our stories and ask each other questions over tea: "What do you do when your kids defy you and refuse to work? How do you call their parents and deliver disappointing news and simultaneously ask for support? When, why, and how do you approach administration for support with behavioral problems?" During our weekly gatherings we commiserated, recalled our experiences, and worked together to build solutions.

About 70 percent of the students at our school receive free or reduced school meals and more than three-fourths of the population of about 650 are kids of Color. I saw the demographics of the school as an opportunity to make connections, but I had not considered how difficult it was going to be to engage with families. I began to connect with families by making phone calls to introduce myself and invite parents to share popsicles in a nearby park before school started. Our phone conversations were awkward at times; this was the first time I was speaking to them as their child's teacher and I wasn't sure of what to say. Other times I was untimely for families' work schedules and I left voice messages hoping for a call back.

Unfortunately, only three families from my class of 26 came for popsicles in the park. We had retrieved our class lists, made printed invitations and coordinated with our school's administrative assistants to notify families. We purchased popsicles and during the last minute realized that we were at the wrong park. We didn't know the system, we didn't have funding, and we didn't know the neighborhood. This community-building work was going to be harder than we thought.

We continued our plan to establish relationships and build our class community by inviting families to schedule a home visit. We each decided to dedicate specific times and days during the week and weekend to meet with our families. We met at the library, the park, at coffee shops, and their homes. Our visits were an opportunity to learn about our families and build stronger partnerships with each other.

I went with Lam on one home visit to serve as a Spanish interpreter. She entered the home first and made sure to ask, "Shoes off?" The family welcomed us kindly. When we sat down, Lam listened intently. When it was her turn to share, I learned about her many siblings, her annual celebrations, some of her struggles growing up, and her dog. She shared all of these from a little paper bag in which she carried a handful of pictures and items that were part of her identity. Her exercise in unpacking pieces of herself was demonstrative and sweet. The parents reciprocated, and the exchange was rich. Eventually I was invited to share a couple of facts about where I came from. It was a joy to interpret and to help make this connection between parents and the classroom teacher and also to be invited to be part of the exchange.

I was able to visit with 10 of my 26 students. Despite reaching out with phone calls, in-person requests, and notes home, I didn't receive an invitation from most of the families. In most cases their long work days and home demands did not leave much time to meet. Nevertheless, I felt like I made an impact with my students as I began to establish authentic relationships.

For the 10 home visits I did conduct, the work was exhausting. I was showing up to football games, meeting at the library, going to homes after a full day of teaching or during my weekends. I had to be prepared to be vulnerable and share my story with parents as well as listen to their hopes and dreams for their child. These exchanges were time-consuming, tiring, and worth every minute. I gathered valuable insight to connect and motivate my students in specific ways. For example, when my student Pedro was having a hard time getting ideas for narrative writing, I would get on one knee next to him and remind him of the things that were important in his home. I encouraged him to write about how he cared for the chickens at home and share why they were important to him. This was a spark that helped him access writing and celebrate his home culture.

Throughout the year, we each found different ways to continue to cultivate our relationships with families. We made routine phone calls to update parents about how their children were learning and beginning to fulfill the hopes they had shared during our home visits. I opened my classroom door for celebrations of students' writing that told stories of their lives; I made sure to include families and community members. Our administrators welcomed all these efforts and our colleagues expressed admiration. I shared my immigrant experience with many of my families and I taught explicitly about it to my students. I found that my experiences and culture enhanced my connection with families and enriched the community in my class. Establishing a strong community was essential to help support students that were heavily impacted by trauma and struggled to engage in the classroom.

"Do you have a tortilla maker at home? I need it for an art project."
Throughout the year, my two colleagues and I constantly invited the other teachers to join our endeavors: We encouraged them to make positive phone calls, help us host popsicles in the park, and then home visits. Unfortunately, their engagement was limited to compliments like "Home visits? That's such a good idea" and "That's such a great way to build community!" Despite the positive feedback, each invitation was declined. Another classmate from our master's cohort, who had also been hired around the same time, valued our work but considered it something to tackle the following year once her classroom was more established and she felt more confident.

But this work is not optional, it's foundational. Community-based teaching is the only way I see teaching. But based on their responses, my white colleagues seemed to view my engagement with students and families in culturally responsive ways, particularly "outside" the classroom, as add-ons and unnecessary.

I endured weekly staff meetings where colleagues continually dismissed my experience and knowledge. Since I was the youngest teacher in my grade level team, I was considered the most tech savvy and least experienced. They saw me as the tech guy who could type notes, create graphic organizers, and email administrators. However, they ignored my recommendations for read-aloud books, thoughts about support for ELL students, questions about the cultural responsiveness of the curriculum, and examples of student work. Often, colleagues handed me binders of curriculum or copies of worksheets specifically aligned to Common Core State Standards that were devoid of characters, language, and culture that reflected my students. I brought forth examples of writing my students had completed and shared how I worked to make connections to their homes to motivate their writing, but these samples were just used to calibrate our grading and ensure we were aligned to Common Core State Standards. My colleagues dismissed the heart of these stories and instead asked me to share why Pedro's story was worthy of meeting state standards.

Our administrators expressed appreciation for the results of our labor - fewer office referrals for student behavior, complimentary parents - but failed to provide mentoring, professional development, or even celebrate our successes as first-year teachers. As a teacher of Color, I learned my double value. When our leadership or colleagues needed support for our kids and families of Color with interpretation or building connections, administrators valued and proudly presented me. During conferences when there weren't enough interpreters, I stepped up to support my team with interpretation. At the same time, in our team meetings and circles of professional development, my colleagues dismissed, ignored, or silenced me. They delegated tasks to the new teacher but did not invite me to share what I knew.

With fragile white colleagues, I constantly negotiated my newfound realizations of my position. Listening to their condescending conversations about our students of Color and perceiving their dismissiveness of my identity, I did not feel safe to speak up. When they shared their skepticism about what their "ELL kids couldn't do," I wish I would have been able to provide a compelling story about how I learned English as I repeated 5th grade. I wish I could have shared how their compliments about my English sounding "so good" were an affront to my language abilities. I wish they would have been willing to do more listening about my origin and my ancestry and why teaching was important to me. Instead I code-switched to be palatable and to protect my core. To keep my identity intact and maintain pieces of my culture private and free of judgment and dissection. My vulnerability had already been taken for granted and I wasn't willing to risk myself again. I made sure I managed my tone by trying not to be "too loud" or "aggressive," and I tried to deliver my insights regarding community teaching in forms of questions, rather than statements. I sought to use a calm tone to share insight from my upbringing and what it was like to grow up as an immigrant child learning English. There were times my colleagues asked questions like "Is it like this for all Hispanics?" or "Are all Mexican families this way?" or "As a speaker of Spanish, does this make sense?" or "Do you have a tortilla maker at home? I need it for an art project." They seemed to see me as the representative of anything and everything related to Spanish, "immigrant," and "Hispanic." It didn't matter that I had emigrated from South America or that I didn't grow up eating tortillas. It seemed to me that, to many of my colleagues, I was and still am the one thing they need to "serve" our communities of Color. I navigated these professional spaces and learned to cope with my discomfort in order to maintain my colleagues' comfort.

"If we don't celebrate us, who will?"
I found myself identifying more and more with my students and families as I heard colleagues describe them as kids who "couldn't," "didn't have," "were unable," "incapable," "too low," "slow," and "weak."

During a meeting early in the year when we set up partner classrooms for support with behavioral problems I saw a note between two intermediate teachers that read "If they give me any problems, I'll send them to you, because you know how to keep those little fuckers in line."

I had several struggles with students in my classroom that had intense behaviors as a result of trauma. The worst days and most hurtful blows came from Dany. He was living in an abusive home and he, like his mom, did not have much of a choice. I still remember him walking away and saying "Fuck you! I hope you die!" or "Fuck you! I hope you don't teach in this school again!" or "You suck! Why did you come teach here?!"

These all cut deep and they were mostly reactions to my demands for him to do work. I had come up with accommodations and provided him with choices but he still refused. My administration support team attempted to intervene but this mostly resulted in taking power away from me and undermining the decisions I made to support him and the rest of the boys in my class. I remember our behavior specialist reminding me, "You shouldn't take the comments personally." I would respond with a kind smile and think, "How could I not? You try." How could I get over the anger, pain, and frustration I saw in his eyes, that deep look combined with expletives as he walked away after throwing a chair or pencil or a book without caring about anyone? More instances of support followed with my administrators saying things like "this is the reason we hired you." Or justifying my situation by saying "Look at all of the great experience you are getting your first year in teaching," and "You are going to be so well prepared for the years to follow."

From the beginning of the year I had noticed that some of my students would need more consistent support. I decided to make positive phone calls on a weekly basis and celebrate the learning students were doing in class. I would also look for as many opportunities as possible to compliment students for positive behavior and talk things out when behaviors escalated. I wanted to do everything I could to keep my students in class engaged. Every week I chose our Student of the Week and every student would write a compliment for them and they would receive a certificate to take home. Throughout the school day I had learned to provide students who were struggling with choices in their learning and give them a chance to have control in their lives. However, this was not enough to help a few of the boys in my class.

There weren't enough resources to help me heal my students. Our school counselor, a white man named Tim, showed up to my class to teach lessons on social-emotional learning. They were engaged and responded to his easy-going attitude and quick jokes. I sat to the side in awe of how he would command their attention and participation. At the end of each lesson he would hand my class back over to me and quickly exit, without thinking twice about elevating my position in front of my students or what would happen the minute he left the room. This left me feeling inadequate and dug into my confidence - while I was working hard to build relationships with my students, I was also still struggling as a new teacher to contain social and emotional upheaval. It felt like Tim granted support and relationships to my students but not to me. My role and capacity were continually undermined by interactions like this in which well-intentioned individuals provided temporary interventions but did not support me in learning to change the dynamics in my classroom myself.

In one instance our assistant principal was visiting my class to provide support with behavior interventions during an interactive class project. He approached the group of three rowdy boys of Color: one Samoan, one African American, and one Somali. My Somali student, Isaac, snapped back at the assistant principal. I remember hearing the assistant principal's stern voice say, "Get up and come with me." Isaac refused to comply. At this point, this 90-pound boy was yanked up from under his armpits by a 6'2" 232-pound former college football player with a mission to set an example. The chair flipped backwards, and he was dragged out of the classroom as he protested. I remember the door closing slowly as I saw his feet drag on the floor. My class stood silent and I was frozen in disbelief. I remember thinking, "Isaac has sickle cell! He can't get injured! What just happened? Did he deserve that? Is that how it should be done?" Our assistant principal was our school leader; surely, he would know what's best for our boys of Color? I understood the importance of teachable moments, but I also knew that brutality was not a necessary component of this or of my principles in teaching. What I knew for sure was that it was traumatizing for Isaac, myself, and all the students in the class. In my search for models of good discipline, how was this supposed to support my teaching? Later my assistant principal told me: "I wasn't about to let him punk me and talk back to me like that, I had to set an example for the rest of the boys."

Maintaining a strong classroom community through this turmoil was exhausting. I arrived at home after a 10-hour day to plan for at least another three hours, and felt I was sacrificing my family life. In the midst of all of this, the weekly tea times I shared with my community teaching partners were a space to validate our experiences, make sense of the chaos, and sharpen our teaching skills. Here we didn't have to code-switch or think twice about what we said. We were raw and the only ones we had to comfort was each other. We would say, "If we don't celebrate us, who will?"

Throughout the year we found a few established colleagues who listened to us and encouraged our continued success. I was fortunate to establish a trusting relationship with a teaching coach from the district. She was a white woman and at first I was skeptical of her as she arrived the first few days with a clipboard in hand. One of the first times she came in I was having one of many arguments with one of my boys of Color about his refusal to read. Simultaneously, two more of my boys were smirking at the situation and another one of my boys was shooting spitballs. This was right before their lunch and recess. I was scared of what she would say about seeing me fail at classroom management. However, after she observed these interactions she complimented the way I maintained my cool and didn't give up.

This was one of many moments of turmoil she witnessed and every time her feedback was positive and free of scores or standards. She found highlights and left notes that encouraged me to maintain my high expectations and continue to foster relationships with students. Her supportive and nonjudgmental approach helped me grow as a teacher.

Debunking the Myth
I wish there had been many more instances of support like the spaces my colleagues and I created to heal each other - like the support from my teaching mentor and the appreciation we received from our families. But, overall, our school and district saw the value we brought with our experiences, yet was not willing to give anything back.

This narrative of empty support persists in the retention and development of teachers of Color. I read about the barriers that existed for teachers of Color before I joined the profession - that community building is an add-on and data collection the priority; that teachers don't use materials that reflect the ethnicities and communities of their students. Before the end of the year I saw how real these barriers were. We worked to bring up the importance of building relationships, building strong and safe classroom communities, providing support for family and students' trauma, and educating white colleagues about racism. Our administrators ignored all of this.

Now that I'm in my fifth year of teaching, I have had the opportunity to attend a variety of social justice conferences, statewide union meetings, bargaining tables, and one-on-one meetings with leaders of our union and school district. They all agree that we need more teachers of Color. However, none of them has a plan to sustain us and help us grow to address the problems I faced in my first years of teaching. Teachers of Color, like me, have a specific experience and ideas to help improve the status quo, but it doesn't look like anyone is actually listening.

Year by year, the myth prevails: Teachers of Color "burn out" because they can't handle the job. The reality is that we are pushed out by an education system that has twisted priorities. Our commodification as a way to check a box for diversity is repugnant.

Looking back at my interview and induction to my school, there are many questions I should have asked my principal: How would she ensure equity in our teaching and learning? In what ways would she commit to all voices being heard in meetings? What were the culturally responsive books and strategies available? How would she deal with microaggressions upon her teachers of Color? Why was it important to have teachers of Color in her school? How was she going to help us succeed in our first five years?

I should have made a stronger case for my identity as a teacher of Color and demanded support early on. Looking back, I am not sure what this could have been. However, I do know that connecting with other teachers of Color throughout the district and state has been a huge support. Validating each other's experience and being in a safe space to share and grow as educators is tremendously valuable. Now I know better and I am able to navigate with finesse through daily microaggressions, racist curriculum, well-meaning white colleagues, grueling assessment demands, etc. I've developed these skills with the support of my teaching community and the relationships that I fostered with students and families.

What I demand now is authentic action and conscious reflective practices from all of my colleagues. Instead of using what we are, show up for us in substantive ways with action and less empty talk of "being an ally." Elevate our voices on decision making; don't volunteer our bodies to lead the learning of white colleagues. Step up and demand racial bias training. Think critically and authentically about your privilege and the intersectionality of your identities. Undermine your privilege and provide us with a shoulder to step on so we can collaborate equitably. It's time to end the reign of empty rhetoric and hollow support for teachers of Color.

Juan P. Córdova (jcordova09@gmail.com) is a 5th-grade community teacher in Burien, Wash. He is in the middle of his fifth year teaching and staying strong. Illustrator Adolfo Valle's work can be found at adolfovalleillustrations.com.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
From Rethinking Schools: My First Year as a Teacher of Color

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Interviewing for my first teaching job out of school, I arrived excited in a suit and tie as I was walked to a sunny corner office to meet the principal.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The term "Equity-Mindedness" refers to the perspective or mode of thinking exhibited by practitioners who call attention to patterns of inequity in student outcomes. These practitioners are willing to take personal and institutional responsibility for the success of their students, and critically reassess their own practices. It also requires that practitioners are race-conscious and aware of the social and historical context of exclusionary practices in American Higher Education.

In order to understand and become "Equity-Minded", it warrants that various practitioners (faculty, administration, staff, etc.) assess and acknowledge that their practices may not be working. It takes understanding inequities as a dysfunction of the various structures, policies, and practices that they can control. "Equity-Minded" practitioners question their own assumptions, recognize stereotypes that harm student success, and continually reassess their practices to create change. Part of taking on this framework is that institutions and practitioners become accountable for the success of their students and see racial gaps as their personal and institutional responsibility.

Developing a Practice of Equity Minded Indicators

CUE Director Estela Mara Bensimon developed twelve indicators to help institutions develop a practice of Equity-Mindedness.
Developing a Practice of Equity Mindedness
1) Do you routinely examine and report racial/ethnic participation in:

Honors program

Institutional scholarships

Participation in undergraduate research

Study abroad

Transfer from community college to four- year college

Transfer from community college to highly

selective four- year colleges

Internships and other forms of high- value experiences

Student surveys

Fields of study

Graduation with honors

2) Do you have a set of racial equity indicators that you monitor annually?

3) Does your campus have goals that are explicitly stated by race and ethnicity to improve retention, graduation, STEM participation, etc. ? Does your campus recruit community college transfer students and report on transfer access by race and ethnicity?

4) Does your campus recruit community college transfer students and report on transfer access by race and ethnicity?

5) Does your campus publish an annual report on the state of racial equity? If it does not, who would need to make it happen?

6) Does your campus report on admissions applications, acceptance, and yield by race and ethnicity? Does your campus report on incomplete admissions applications by race and ethnicity?

7) Are you familiar with your campus recruitment and admissions practices?Is there a racial/ethnic map of the high schools where recruitment takes place?

8) Are faculty, administrators, and staff evaluated on meeting racial equity goals?

9) Does your campus report on faculty, administrator, and staff hiring outcomes by race/ethnicity for faculty, e.g., number of applicants, number interviewed, and number hired?Has your campus (or you) conducted a study of faculty search procedures to identify implicit bias in standard search procedures?

10) Would your campus leadership be open to routinely examine practices, policies, new initiatives, reports, etc., to determine if they meet criteria of equity-mindedness?

11) Would your vice president of academic affairs, deans, and department chairs be opento engaging faculty in the examination of course level data dis-aggregated by race and ethnicity? To examine their syllabi? To conduct classroom observations to understand interracial relations between instructors and students?

12) How much support would you get from your president to do items 1-11? The academic senate? Trustees?

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The term "Equity-Mindedness" refers to the perspective or mode of thinking exhibited by practitioners who call attention to patterns of inequity in student outcomes. These practitioners are willing to take personal and institutional responsibility for the success of their students, and critically reassess their own practices.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Titus Kaphar: Can art amend history? | TED Talk

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Artist Titus Kaphar makes paintings and sculptures that wrestle with the struggles of the past while speaking to the diversity and advances of the present. In an unforgettable live workshop, Kaphar takes a brush full of white paint to a replica of a 17th-century Frans Hals painting, obscuring parts…