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For 21 days, read, watch, and learn from each day's tasks further your understanding of power, privilege, oppression, and equity.

Use the tracking chart provided to stay on course.

Attend all scheduled zoom calls for more activities and debrief opportunities.

Plan includes suggestions for readings, podcasts, videos, observations, and ways to form and deepen community connections.

Adaptable to all forms of social justice.

Understanding white privilege is a powerful lens into the complexities of doing social justice work, so we’ve focused our resources on that specific issue.

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Can you keep track of how many times the team in white passes the ball?

AFTER THE ACTIVITY:

Reflect on your perception of reality based on your racial identity. Some questions to consider:

1) What are we taught through media, the education system, and other sources?

2) What do we believe to be “facts” as a result of not being as self-aware or aware of our surroundings?

3) Now... go out in the world and change up what you notice. Here’s some of what you might look for:

Who is and is not represented in ads?

Who are your ten closest friends? What is the racial mix in this group?

As you move through the day, what’s the racial composition of the people around you? On your commute? At the coffee shop you go to? At the gym? At your workplace? At the show you go on the weekend?

What percentage of the day are you able to be with people of your own racial identity?

Notice how much of your day you are speaking about racism. Who are you engaging with on these issues? Who are you not? Why do you think this is?

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The Single Story and Stereotypes

Reflect on Chimamanda Adichie's Danger of a Single Story and Claude Steele's video on Stereotype Threat.

Complete the social identity matrix and bring it to the next zoom call.

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Bias and PB&J

What does peanut butter and jelly have to do with our brains and bias? Who Me? Biased?  is a selection of short films about how our brain works and how that impacts us in ways that we may not realize. We recommend that you watch the first 2 videos in the series--"Peanut Butter, Jelly, and Racism" and "Check Our Bias to Wreck Our Bias." They will automatically play in order. Look for more from them later in the challenge!

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What is implicit bias? NYT/POV’s Saleem Reshamwala unscrews the lid on the unfair effects of our subconscious.

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The Invisible Knapsack

Reflection:

1. What are the ways in which you’ve had an unearned disadvantage in your life?

2. What are ways in which you’ve had an unearned advantage in your life?

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'White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack' and 'Some Notes for Facilitators' - National SEED Project

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White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack Downloadable PDF © 1989 Peggy McIntosh 'White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack' first appeared in P...

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The Roots of Systemic Racism

Race and the Power of Illusion and
A Basic Primer on Redlining

Questions for after the videos: Reflect on the neighborhood you grew up in. What were the demographics like? What is it like now?

Reflect on Wolfeboro. What are the demographics like? Are there things we can do to make our neighborhood more inclusive? What are some places that need work in our town?

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The Clark Experiment

Reflection: Describe your earliest childhood memory that involves race. Who was there, and what do you remember?

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A Look at Race Relations through a Child's Eyes

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What Does it Mean to Be White?

How often have people counted "white" as the front marker of their racial identity? What does this racial identity really mean to people?

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A Conversation With White People on Race

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This short documentary features interviews with white people on the challenges of talking about race.

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Can we talk about whiteness?

NPR's podcast, Code Switch, asks the tough question: why is it so hard to talk about whiteness?

Reflection prompt: Where are you in your understanding, feelings and attitudes about your ____(insert your racial identity) at this moment?

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🔊 Listen Now: Can We Talk About Whiteness?

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Gene and Shereen dig into why it's so hard to talk about white identity in America - and why it's really important that we figure out how.

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Whiteness in Independent Schools (NAIS)

There is no neutral on racism and hate: Back to School for White Educators

While much of the focus can be on children of color in independent schools, what should our white students know and understand?

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Culturally Responsive Teaching and Where White Fragility Interferes

What is White Fragility? Watch this short video here - or better yet, read the book.

Intent vs. impact - how does our teaching impact students from different backgrounds and cultures?

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Culturally Responsive Teaching: 4 Misconceptions | Cult of Pedagogy

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In some cases, teachers think they’re practicing culturally responsive teaching, when in fact, they’re kind of not. Zaretta Hammond helps clear things up.

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Words That Don't Belong To You (Ta-Nehisi Coates)

Straight Talk about the N-Word

Do you respond when people use the N word? How?

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Ta-Nehisi Coates on words that don't belong to everyone | We Were Eight Years In Power Book Tour

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The Importance of Being Seen

2 Ted Talks today about the student experience at Independent Schools:

Ria J, a young student at Spence School, talks about the rather adult matter of being a student of color at a predominantly white school, and what we can do for each other in these spaces to help each other feel seen.

Dena Simmons talks about imposter syndrome, and how success for students of color at independent schools comes at the cost of living authentically.

Reflection: What can we do to make sure our students feel seen and are able to live authentically in our community?

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How students of color confront impostor syndrome | Dena Simmons

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What is intersectionality, and why does it matter?

Now more than ever, it's important to look boldly at the reality of race and gender bias -- and understand how the two can combine to create even more harm. Kimberlé Crenshaw uses the term "intersectionality" to describe this phenomenon; as she says, if you're standing in the path of multiple forms of exclusion, you're likely to get hit by both. In this moving talk, she calls on us to bear witness to this reality and speak up for victims of prejudice.

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Kimberlé Crenshaw: The urgency of intersectionality

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Now more than ever, it's important to look boldly at the reality of race and gender bias -- and understand how the two can combine to create even more harm. Kimberlé Crenshaw uses the term "intersectionality" to describe this phenomenon; as she says, if you're standing in the path of multiple forms of exclusion, you're likely to get hit by both.

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Implicit Bias: when we understand that we all have it, how can we confront it?

Our biases can be dangerous, even deadly — as we've seen in the cases of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, and Eric Garner, in Staten Island, New York. Diversity advocate Vernā Myers looks closely at some of the subconscious attitudes we hold toward out-groups. She makes a plea to all people: Acknowledge your biases. Then move toward, not away from, the groups that make you uncomfortable. In a funny, impassioned, important talk, she shows us how.

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How to overcome our biases? Walk boldly toward them

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Our biases can be dangerous, even deadly — as we’ve seen in the cases of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, and Eric Garner, in Staten Island, New York. Diversity advocate Vernā Myers looks closely at some of the subconscious attitudes we hold toward out-groups. She makes a plea to all people: Acknowledge your biases. Then move toward, not away from, the groups that make you uncomfortable. In a funny, impassioned, important talk, she shows us how.

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Nature vs. Nurture: Can babies discriminate?

Reflection: Given what you've read about discrimination, think about how your family talks about race. How can we be better at home? At school? For further reading, check out this article from Medium: Your 5-year-old is already racially biased

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At the Children's Research Lab at the University of Texas, a database is kept on thousands of families in the Austin area who have volunteered to be available for scholarly research. In 2006 Birgitte Vittrup recruited from the database about a hundred families, all of whom were Caucasian with a child 5 to 7 years old.

The goal of Vittrup's study was to learn if typical children's videos with multicultural storylines have any beneficial effect on children's racial attitudes. Her first step was to give the children a Racial Attitude Measure, which asked such questions as:

How many White people are nice?
(Almost all) (A lot) (Some) (Not many) (None)

How many Black people are nice?
(Almost all) (A lot) (Some) (Not many) (None)

During the test, the descriptive adjective "nice" was replaced with more than 20 other adjectives, like "dishonest," "pretty," "curious," and "snobby."

Vittrup sent a third of the families home with multiculturally themed videos for a week, such as an episode of Sesame Street in which characters visit an African-American family's home, and an episode of Little Bill, where the entire neighborhood comes together to clean the local park.

In truth, Vittrup didn't expect that children's racial attitudes would change very much just from watching these videos. Prior research had shown that multicultural curricula in schools have far less impact than we intend them to-largely because the implicit message "We're all friends" is too vague for young children to understand that it refers to skin color.

Yet Vittrup figured explicit conversations with parents could change that. So a second group of families got the videos, and Vittrup told these parents to use them as the jumping-off point for a discussion about interracial friendship. She provided a checklist of points to make, echoing the shows' themes. "I really believed it was going to work," Vittrup recalls.

The last third were also given the checklist of topics, but no videos. These parents were to discuss racial equality on their own, every night for five nights.

At this point, something interesting happened. Five families in the last group abruptly quit the study. Two directly told Vittrup, "We don't want to have these conversations with our child. We don't want to point out skin color."

Vittrup was taken aback-these families volunteered knowing full well it was a study of children's racial attitudes. Yet once they were aware that the study required talking openly about race, they started dropping out.

It was no surprise that in a liberal city like Austin, every parent was a welcoming multiculturalist, embracing diversity. But according to Vittrup's entry surveys, hardly any of these white parents had ever talked to their children directly about race. They might have asserted vague principles-like "Everybody's equal" or "God made all of us" or "Under the skin, we're all the same"-but they'd almost never called attention to racial differences.

They wanted their children to grow up colorblind. But Vittrup's first test of the kids revealed they weren't colorblind at all. Asked how many white people are mean, these children commonly answered, "Almost none." Asked how many blacks are mean, many answered, "Some," or "A lot." Even kids who attended diverse schools answered the questions this way.

More disturbing, Vittrup also asked all the kids a very blunt question: "Do your parents like black people?" Fourteen percent said outright, "No, my parents don't like black people"; 38 percent of the kids answered, "I don't know." In this supposed race-free vacuum being created by parents, kids were left to improvise their own conclusions-many of which would be abhorrent to their parents.

Vittrup hoped the families she'd instructed to talk about race would follow through. After watching the videos, the families returned to the Children's Research Lab for retesting. To Vittrup's complete surprise, the three groups of children were statistically the same-none, as a group, had budged very much in their racial attitudes. At first glance, the study was a failure.

Combing through the parents' study diaries, Vittrup realized why. Diary after diary revealed that the parents barely mentioned the checklist items. Many just couldn't talk about race, and they quickly reverted to the vague "Everybody's equal" phrasing.

Of all those Vittrup told to talk openly about interracial friendship, only six families managed to actually do so. And, for all six, their children dramatically improved their racial attitudes in a single week. Talking about race was clearly key. Reflecting later about the study, Vittrup said, "A lot of parents came to me afterwards and admitted they just didn't know what to say to their kids, and they didn't want the wrong thing coming out of the mouth of their kids."

We all want our children to be unintimidated by differences and have the social skills necessary for a diverse world. The question is, do we make it worse, or do we make it better, by calling attention to race?

The election of President Barack Obama marked the beginning of a new era in race relations in the United States-but it didn't resolve the question as to what we should tell children about race. Many parents have explicitly pointed out Obama's brown skin to their young children, to reinforce the message that anyone can rise to become a leader, and anyone-regardless of skin color-can be a friend, be loved, and be admired.

Others think it's better to say nothing at all about the president's race or ethnicity-because saying something about it unavoidably teaches a child a racial construct. They worry that even a positive statement ("It's wonderful that a black person can be president") still encourages a child to see divisions within society. For the early formative years, at least, they believe we should let children know a time when skin color does not matter.

What parents say depends heavily on their own race: a 2007 study in the Journal of Marriage and Family found that out of 17,000 families with kindergartners, nonwhite parents are about three times more likely to discuss race than white parents; 75 percent of the latter never, or almost never, talk about race.

In our new book, NurtureShock, we argue that many modern strategies for nurturing children are backfiring-because key twists in the science have been overlooked. Small corrections in our thinking today could alter the character of society long term, one future citizen at a time. The way white families introduce the concept of race to their children is a prime example.

For decades, it was assumed that children see race only when society points it out to them. However, child-development researchers have increasingly begun to question that presumption. They argue that children see racial differences as much as they see the difference between pink and blue-but we tell kids that "pink" means for girls and "blue" is for boys. "White" and "black" are mysteries we leave them to figure out on their own.

It takes remarkably little for children to develop in-group preferences. Vittrup's mentor at the University of Texas, Rebecca Bigler, ran an experiment in three preschool classrooms, where 4- and 5-year-olds were lined up and given T shirts. Half the kids were randomly given blue T shirts, half red. The children wore the shirts for three weeks. During that time, the teachers never mentioned their colors and never grouped the kids by shirt color.

The kids didn't segregate in their behavior. They played with each other freely at recess. But when asked which color team was better to belong to, or which team might win a race, they chose their own color. They believed they were smarter than the other color. "The Reds never showed hatred for Blues," Bigler observed. "It was more like, 'Blues are fine, but not as good as us.' " When Reds were asked how many Reds were nice, they'd answer, "All of us." Asked how many Blues were nice, they'd answer, "Some." Some of the Blues were mean, and some were dumb-but not the Reds.

Bigler's experiment seems to show how children will use whatever you give them to create divisions-seeming to confirm that race becomes an issue only if we make it an issue. So why does Bigler think it's important to talk to children about race as early as the age of 3?

Her reasoning is that kids are developmentally prone to in-group favoritism; they're going to form these preferences on their own. Children naturally try to categorize everything, and the attribute they rely on is that which is the most clearly visible.

We might imagine we're creating color-blind environments for children, but differences in skin color or hair or weight are like differences in gender-they're plainly visible. Even if no teacher or parent mentions race, kids will use skin color on their own, the same way they use T-shirt colors. Bigler contends that children extend their shared appearances much further-believing that those who look similar to them enjoy the same things they do. Anything a child doesn't like thus belongs to those who look the least similar to him. The spontaneous tendency to assume your group shares characteristics-such as niceness, or smarts-is called essentialism.

Within the past decade or so, developmental psychologists have begun a handful of longitudinal studies to determine exactly when children develop bias. Phyllis Katz, then a professor at the University of Colorado, led one such study-following 100 black children and 100 white children for their first six years. She tested these children and their parents nine times during those six years, with the first test at 6 months old.

How do researchers test a 6-month-old? They show babies photographs of faces. Katz found that babies will stare significantly longer at photographs of faces that are a different race from their parents, indicating they find the face out of the ordinary. Race itself has no ethnic meaning per se-but children's brains are noticing skin-color differences and trying to understand their meaning.

When the kids turned 3, Katz showed them photographs of other children and asked them to choose whom they'd like to have as friends. Of the white children, 86 percent picked children of their own race. When the kids were 5 and 6, Katz gave these children a small deck of cards, with drawings of people on them. Katz told the children to sort the cards into two piles any way they wanted. Only 16 percent of the kids used gender to split the piles. But 68 percent of the kids used race to split the cards, without any prompting. In reporting her findings, Katz concluded: "I think it is fair to say that at no point in the study did the children exhibit the Rousseau type of color-blindness that many adults expect."

The point Katz emphasizes is that this period of our children's lives, when we imagine it's most important to not talk about race, is the very developmental period when children's minds are forming their first conclusions about race.

Several studies point to the possibility of developmental windows-stages when children's attitudes might be most amenable to change. In one experiment, children were put in cross-race study groups, and then were observed on the playground to see if the interracial classroom time led to interracial play at recess. The researchers found mixed study groups worked wonders with the first-grade children, but it made no difference with third graders. It's possible that by third grade, when parents usually recognize it's safe to start talking a little about race, the developmental window has already closed.

The other deeply held assumption modern parents have is what Ashley and I have come to call the Diverse Environment Theory. If you raise a child with a fair amount of exposure to people of other races and cultures, the environment becomes the message. Because both of us attended integrated schools in the 1970s-Ashley in San Diego and, in my case, Seattle-we had always accepted this theory's tenets: diversity breeds tolerance, and talking about race was, in and of itself, a diffuse kind of racism.

But my wife and I saw this differently in the years after our son, Luke, was born. When he was 4 months old, Luke began attending a preschool located in San Francisco's Fillmore/Western Addition neighborhood. One of the many benefits of the school was its great racial diversity. For years our son never once mentioned the color of anyone's skin. We never once mentioned skin color, either. We thought it was working perfectly.

Then came Martin Luther King Jr. Day at school, two months before his fifth birthday. Luke walked out of preschool that Friday before the weekend and started pointing at everyone, proudly announcing, "That guy comes from Africa. And she comes from Africa, too!" It was embarrassing how loudly he did this. "People with brown skin are from Africa," he'd repeat. He had not been taught the names for races-he had not heard the term "black" and he called us "people with pinkish-whitish skin." He named every kid in his schoolroom with brown skin, which was about half his class.

My son's eagerness was revealing. It was obvious this was something he'd been wondering about for a while. He was relieved to have been finally given the key. Skin color was a sign of ancestral roots.

Over the next year, we started to overhear one of his white friends talking about the color of their skin. They still didn't know what to call their skin, so they used the phrase "skin like ours." And this notion of ours versus theirs started to take on a meaning of its own. As these kids searched for their identities, skin color had become salient.

Soon, I overheard this particular white boy telling my son, "Parents don't like us to talk about our skin, so don't let them hear you."

As a parent, I dealt with these moments explicitly, telling my son it was wrong to choose anyone as his friend, or his "favorite," on the basis of skin color. We pointed out how certain friends wouldn't be in our lives if we picked friends for their color. Over time he not only accepted but embraced this lesson. Now he talks openly about equality and the wrongfulness of discrimination.

Not knowing then what I do now, I had a hard time understanding my son's initial impulses. Katz's work helped me to realize that Luke was never actually colorblind. He didn't talk about race in his first five years because our silence had unwittingly communicated that race was something he could not ask about.

The Diverse Environment Theory is the core principle behind school desegregation today. Like most people, I assumed that after 30 years of desegregation, it would have a long track record of scientific research proving that the Diverse Environment Theory works. Then Ashley and I began talking to the scholars who've compiled that very research.

In the summer of 2007, led by the Civil Rights Project, a dozen scholars wrote an amicus brief to the U.S. Supreme Court supporting school desegregation in Louisville, Ky., and Seattle. By the time the brief reached the court, 553 scientists had signed on in support. However, as much as the scientists all supported active desegregation, the brief is surprisingly circumspect in its advocacy: the benefits of desegregation are qualified with words like "may lead" and "can improve." "Mere school integration is not a panacea," the brief warns.

UT's Bigler was one of the scholars heavily involved in the process of its creation. Bigler is an adamant proponent of desegregation in schools on moral grounds. "It's an enormous step backward to increase social segregation," she says. However, she also admitted that "in the end, I was disappointed with the amount of evidence social psychology could muster [to support it]. Going to integrated schools gives you just as many chances to learn stereotypes as to unlearn them."

The unfortunate twist of diverse schools is that they don't necessarily lead to more cross-race relationships. Often it's the opposite. Duke University's James Moody-an expert on how adolescents form and maintain social networks-analyzed data on more than 90,000 teenagers at 112 different schools from every region of the country. The students had been asked to name their five best male friends and their five best female friends. Moody matched the ethnicity of the student with the race of each named friend, then compared the number of each student's cross-racial friendships with the school's overall diversity.

Moody found that the more diverse the school, the more the kids self-segregate by race and ethnicity within the school, and thus the likelihood that any two kids of different races have a friendship goes down.

Moody included statistical controls for activities, sports, academic tracking, and other school-structural conditions that tend to desegregate (or segregate) students within the school. The rule still holds true: more diversity translates into more division among students. Those increased opportunities to interact are also, effectively, increased opportunities to reject each other. And that is what's happening.

As a result, junior-high and high-school children in diverse schools experience two completely contrasting social cues on a daily basis. The first cue is inspiring-that many students have a friend of another race. The second cue is tragic-that far more kids just like to hang with their own. It's this second dynamic that becomes more and more visible as overall school diversity goes up. As a child circulates through school, she sees more groups that her race disqualifies her from, more lunchroom tables she can't sit at, and more implicit lines that are taboo to cross. This is unmissable even if she, personally, has friends of other races. "Even in multiracial schools, once young people leave the classroom, very little interracial discussion takes place because a desire to associate with one's own ethnic group often discourages interaction between groups," wrote Brendesha Tynes of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.

All told, the odds of a white high-schooler in America having a best friend of another race is only 8 percent. Those odds barely improve for the second-best friend, or the third-best, or the fifth. For blacks, the odds aren't much better: 85 percent of black kids' best friends are also black. Cross-race friends also tend to share a single activity, rather than multiple activities; as a result, these friendships are more likely to be lost over time, as children transition from middle school to high school.

I can't help but wonder-would the track record of desegregation be so mixed if parents reinforced it, rather than remaining silent? It is tempting to believe that because their generation is so diverse, today's children grow up knowing how to get along with people of every race. But numerous studies suggest that this is more of a fantasy than a fact.

Is it really so difficult to talk with children about race when they're very young? What jumped out at Phyllis Katz, in her study of 200 black and white children, was that parents are very comfortable talking to their children about gender, and they work very hard to counterprogram against boy-girl stereotypes. That ought to be our model for talking about race. The same way we remind our daughters, "Mommies can be doctors just like daddies," we ought to be telling all children that doctors can be any skin color. It's not complicated what to say. It's only a matter of how often we reinforce it.

Shushing children when they make an improper remark is an instinctive reflex, but often the wrong move. Prone to categorization, children's brains can't help but attempt to generalize rules from the examples they see. It's embarrassing when a child blurts out, "Only brown people can have breakfast at school," or "You can't play basketball; you're white, so you have to play baseball." But shushing them only sends the message that this topic is unspeakable, which makes race more loaded, and more intimidating.

To be effective, researchers have found, conversations about race have to be explicit, in unmistakable terms that children understand. A friend of mine repeatedly told her 5-year-old son, "Remember, everybody's equal." She thought she was getting the message across. Finally, after seven months of this, her boy asked, "Mommy, what's 'equal' mean?"

Bigler ran a study in which children read brief biographies of famous African-Americans. For instance, in a biography of Jackie Robinson, they read that he was the first African-American in the major leagues. But only half read about how he'd previously been relegated to the Negro Leagues, and how he suffered taunts from white fans. Those facts-in five brief sentences were omitted in the version given to the other children.

After the two-week history class, the children were surveyed on their racial attitudes. White children who got the full story about historical discrimination had significantly better attitudes toward blacks than those who got the neutered version. Explicitness works. "It also made them feel some guilt," Bigler adds. "It knocked down their glorified view of white people." They couldn't justify in-group superiority.

Minority parents are more likely to help their children develop a racial identity from a young age. April Harris-Britt, a clinical psychologist and professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, found that all minority parents at some point tell their children that discrimination is out there, but they shouldn't let it stop them. Is this good for them? Harris-Britt found that some preparation for bias was beneficial, and it was necessary-94 percent of African-American eighth graders reported to Harris-Britt that they'd felt discriminated against in the prior three months.

But if children heard these preparation-for-bias warnings often (rather than just occasionally), they were significantly less likely to connect their successes to effort, and much more likely to blame their failures on their teachers-whom they saw as biased against them.

Harris-Britt warns that frequent predictions of future discrimination ironically become as destructive as experiences of actual discrimination: "If you overfocus on those types of events, you give the children the message that the world is going to be hostile-you're just not valued and that's just the way the world is."

Preparation for bias is not, however, the only way minorities talk to their children about race. The other broad category of conversation, in Harris-Britt's analysis, is ethnic pride. From a very young age, minority children are coached to be proud of their ethnic history. She found that this was exceedingly good for children's self-confidence; in one study, black children who'd heard messages of ethnic pride were more engaged in school and more likely to attribute their success to their effort and ability.

That leads to the question that everyone wonders but rarely dares to ask. If "black pride" is good for African-American children, where does that leave white children? It's horrifying to imagine kids being "proud to be white." Yet many scholars argue that's exactly what children's brains are already computing. Just as minority children are aware that they belong to an ethnic group with less status and wealth, most white children naturally decipher that they belong to the race that has more power, wealth, and control in society; this provides security, if not confidence. So a pride message would not just be abhorrent-it'd be redundant.

Over the course of our research, we heard many stories of how people-from parents to teachers-were struggling to talk about race with their children. For some, the conversations came up after a child had made an embarrassing comment in public. A number had the issue thrust on them, because of an interracial marriage or an international adoption. Still others were just introducing children into a diverse environment, wondering when and if the timing was right.

But the story that most affected us came from a small town in rural Ohio. Two first-grade teachers, Joy Bowman and Angela Johnson, had agreed to let a professor from Ohio State University, Jeane Copenhaver-Johnson, observe their classrooms for the year. Of the 33 children, about two thirds were white, while the others were black or of mixed-race descent.

It being December, the teachers had decided to read to their classes 'Twas the Night B'fore Christmas, Melodye Rosales's retelling of the Clement C. Moore classic. As the teachers began reading, the kids were excited by the book's depiction of a family waiting for Santa to come. A few children, however, quietly fidgeted. They seemed puzzled that this storybook was different: in this one, it was a black family all snug in their beds.

Then there was the famed clatter on the roof. The children leaned in to get their first view of Santa and the sleigh as Johnson turned the page-

And they saw that Santa was black.

"He's black!" gasped a white little girl.

A white boy exclaimed, "I thought he was white!"

Immediately, the children began to chatter about the stunning development. At the ripe old ages of 6 and 7, the children had no doubt that there was a Real Santa. Of that they were absolutely sure. But suddenly there was this huge question mark. Could Santa be black? And if so, what did that mean?

While some of the black children were delighted with the idea that Santa could be black, others were unsure. A couple of the white children rejected this idea out of hand: a black Santa couldn't be real.

But even the little girl the most adamant that the Real Santa must be white came around to accept the possibility that a black Santa could fill in for White Santa if he was hurt. And she still gleefully yelled along with the Black Santa's final "Merry Christmas to All! Y'all Sleep Tight."

Other children offered the idea that perhaps Santa was "mixed with black and white"-something in the middle, like an Indian. One boy went with a two-Santa hypothesis: White Santa and Black Santa must be friends who take turns visiting children. When a teacher made the apparently huge mistake of saying that she'd never seen Santa, the children all quickly corrected her: everyone had seen Santa at the mall. Not that that clarified the situation any.

The debate raged for a week, in anticipation of a school party. The kids all knew Real Santa was the guest of honor.

Then Santa arrived at the party-and he was black. Just like in the picture book.

Some white children said that this black Santa was too thin: that meant that the Real Santa was the fat white one at Kmart. But one of the white girls retorted that she had met the man and was convinced. Santa was brown.

Most of the black children were exultant, since this proved that Santa was black. But one of them, Brent, still doubted-even though he really wanted a black Santa to be true. So he bravely confronted Santa.

"There ain't no black Santas!" Brent insisted.

"Lookit here." Santa pulled up a pant leg.

A thrilled Brent was sold. "This is a black Santa!" he yelled. "He's got black skin and his black boots are like the white Santa's boots."

A black-Santa storybook wasn't enough to crush every stereotype. When Johnson later asked the kids to draw Santa, even the black kids who were excited about a black Santa still depicted him with skin as snowy white as his beard.

But the shock of the Santa storybook was the catalyst for the first graders to have a yearlong dialogue about race issues. The teachers began regularly incorporating books that dealt directly with issues of racism into their reading.

And when the children were reading a book on Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil-rights movement, both a black and a white child noticed that white people were nowhere to be found in the story. Troubled, they decided to find out just where in history both peoples were.

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Even Babies Discriminate: A NurtureShock Excerpt.

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At the Children's Research Lab at the University of Texas, a database is kept on thousands of families in the Austin area who have volunteered to be available for scholarly research. In 2006 Birgitte Vittrup recruited from the database about a hundred families, all of whom were Caucasian with a child 5 to 7 years old.

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Why White Students Need Multicultural and Social Justice Education

Some educators wonder if multicultural and social justice education are relevant if most of your students are white. The answer is yes. In fact, they may be even more relevant for white students. In this episode, Dr. Sheldon Eakins talks with me about the reasons white students need this kind of education and what, specifically, we can teach them.

Reflection:

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Some educators wonder if multicultural and social justice education are relevant if most of your students are white. The answer is yes. In fact, they may be even more relevant for white students. In this episode, Dr. Sheldon Eakins talks with me about the reasons white students need this kind of education and what, specifically, we can teach them.
Follow Dr. Eakins on Twitter: https://twitter.com/sheldoneakins
Find Dr. Eakins' podcast, the Leading Equity Podcast, here: https://www.leadingequitycenter.com/podcast
More resources available at the Leading Equity Center.

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147: why white students need multicultural and social justice education

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‎The Cult of Pedagogy Podcast: 147: Why White Students Need Multicultural and Social Justice Education on Apple Podcasts

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‎Some educators wonder if multicultural and social justice education are relevant if most of your students are white. The answer is yes. In fact, they may be even more relevant for white students. In this episode, Dr. Sheldon Eakins talks with me about the reasons white students need this kind of edu...

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How to start to address our own implicit biases

Want to understand more about your own implicit biases? Head over to Project Implicit, a study run by Harvard University, and take the Implicit Association Test for Race. Then listen to this Code Switch podcast for how to better understand why addressing implicit biases in ourselves takes more than just 21 days.

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subscribe to Code Switch podcast

subscribe to Code Switch podcast

A week after two black men were arrested at a Starbucks store in Philadelphia, the company announced plans to close 8,000 stores across the country on May 29 for an afternoon of racial bias education.

Many people remain skeptical if such training will actually work and prevent further incidents like this, and it's not entirely known what the afternoon of training will include.

In an interview with Morning Edition host Noel King, Sherrilyn Ifill, president of the NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund, said the company was in the beginning stages of planning what the entire afternoon would entail.

"You know, we see these incidents happen, and they are incredibly disturbing and troubling," Ifill says. "And I think some people want to believe that there's some magic bullet, and there is not."

Ifill continued saying that, "Racism is deeply entrenched in our society, and any real effort to confront it means you have to be in it for the long haul. It means you have to be in it seriously. It means not just training. It means monitoring the effectiveness of that training."

Starbucks hopes to address part of that by including discussion about implicit bias in its training.

Alexis McGill Johnson is the executive director of the Perception Institute and runs racial bias workshops.

She says, "implicit bias is our brains' automatic processing of negative stereotypes that have become embedded in our brains over time about particular groups of people oftentimes without our conscious awareness."

"Essentially associations that we've come to link with particular groups' traits and characteristics that help us navigate and make quick decisions about who those people are."

On whether people can learn about their implicit bias and retrain their brains to see others differently, McGill Johnson says it's possible, but not when it's done over a short period of time.

"It's taken centuries for our brains to create these negative schemas about particular groups of people that have been marginalized in society," she says. "And so it will take a really concerted, intentional effort to develop the counter-stereotypes that are required to move them out of our brains and replace them with others."

At the workshops she runs, McGill Johnson says she starts with the idea that most people believe that they are fundamentally fair and believe in the egalitarian of all races and genders.

It's when behaviors such as those that led to the arrest of the two men in Philadelphia arise that people can't account for the disparity in outcomes between what they say they believe and how they react.

McGill Johnson says that raises the question that maybe the way people practice fairness is flawed.

"We've been taught to be colorblind. We've been taught that we can be objective when it comes to evaluating people, and the science suggests that sometimes our values aren't sufficient for us to actually practice those pieces because our brains see race very quickly," she says.

And what contributes to how brains process race and other identifiers is based on just about every other experience a person has had, watched or read.

"We develop, derive bias from just seeing certain pairings of words together over time. And those bits of information help us navigate our unconscious processes," she says.

This means that in order to address people's implicit bias, a lot of fundamental processes in the brain have to be changed.

While Starbucks is addressing a flaw in the company's previous training, McGill Johnson says it will take more than one afternoon to completely address implicit bias.

"I think at best it will spark curiosity and an awareness that biases do not make us bad people - they actually make us human - but that we do have a capacity to override them," she says. "And it's really important for us to build in systems and practices that help us do that."
Miguel Perez, Andrea Hsu and Courtney Dorning produced the audio for this story. Wynne Davis adapted it for Web.

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A Lesson In How To Overcome Implicit Bias

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subscribe to Code Switch podcast subscribe to Code Switch podcast A week after two black men were arrested at a Starbucks store in Philadelphia, the company announced plans to close 8,000 stores across the country on May 29 for an afternoon of racial bias education.

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Are you a non-racist or an anti-racist?

Video: Are you non, or are you anti?

Detour-Spotting for White Anti-Racist

This article explores 18 common detours people make to deviate from an anti-racist path, and how to keep ourselves and others on the path to equity and anti-racism.

Reflection: Our challenge to you: turn a detour into an active step forward!

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When the racist is someone you know and love

How do you speak up?

Reflection: Have you ever been in a situation where you let a racist or hateful remark slide?

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"Don't worry, pretty lady. I'll make sure to use a good, strong lock to keep the niggers out."

He smiled. I blinked. Fifteen years ago, I was moving into my third-floor condo in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. I'd hired a neighborhood locksmith to re-key the locks. The place was the size of a postage stamp but it was all mine and it had an extraordinary view. Below me was a lush courtyard where weddings took place. If I stood on my tiptoes, carefully leaned over the wooden dish rack with mismatched dishes and looked out my tiny kitchen window, I could see the Mississippi River.

As the locksmith worked in the open doorway, the trilling chords of the calliope from a steamboat clung to the cold river air and crossed the threshold, drifting inside, chilling the room.

The word had been given no special weight among the rest. The man's eyes kind. His skin white, his belly thick, his hands bruised and scarred. He was missing a finger. He reached into his worn leather bag and withdrew a heavy deadbolt. Bigger than the one I had.

I'm white. A woman. Five-foot-two and blonde. He was white. A man. He didn't want to just re-key the locks I had. He wanted me to feel safe.

I let it slide. I let him believe it was safe to speak to me that way.

When I turned 13 years old, I learned the "other" is not always on the outside of the door. It was summer. A pool party. Bathing suits, pimples and braces. I was a brand new teenager and he was a brand new stepfather. Even though it was my birthday, the charismatic stepfather was the center of attention. Women on the block were drawn to him. He was big, strong, virile. Men liked his sense of humor, bold and crass. He held the room in his hands.

He liked to drink. He sang the loudest as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. He drank some more. Then my new stepfather pulled my mother onto his lap. It was easy for him to do. She was small, blonde, like me. He put his large hand over her vagina, twisting her bathing suit bottoms in his hand, wriggling for the right fit, like fingers in a bowling ball.

He told the men in Bermuda shorts and sandals, "See this? This is my cunt - You boys stay away from it."

An uncomfortable silence. Was it from his actions, the word he used - or both? Then he laughed heartily, breaking the spell.

I looked at my mother. She wouldn't look at me. She looked down, at her bare feet, and stayed very still. My mother was 31 years old. This was her third marriage. She had three children. She didn't have a job. So, she let it slide. And picked up a glass of wine.

When I was 15, my stepfather took me on a road trip. I was the oldest child and something had to give. He was a truck driver. Cocooned inside the top of his cab, I watched the world go by as we passed tall green trees and crossed state lines. He knew the names of all the waitresses at truck stops. And they knew mine. Oh, does he brag about you. Shows us pictures of all you kids. He bought me every tacky souvenir I wanted, taught me how to use his CB radio and he never had one drink. It was a good week. People can surprise you.

When I was 16, my stepfather took a rotary dial telephone in his right hand, held my mother down with his left hand and bashed her repeatedly over the head. The blood spurted out of her like water from a drinking fountain - straight up, then cascading down all over the floor. I held a knife to the back of his neck. He stopped hitting her. The police came. He was taken to jail. My mother left in an ambulance. When she returned home she had a shaved head with stitches crisscrossing like railroad tracks. My mother told me he was sorry and he promised he would never do it again. I told her I was leaving.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

He told me I could take whatever I could fit into one suitcase. Everything else, he reasoned, was his. He had paid for it. I skateboarded to my job working nights at Burger King to pay the rent. For the first time in my life, I did not live in my own house. I slept through the night. And I didn't have a deadbolt.

I was known as The Girl Who Lived In The House Where the Ambulance Came or simply Ambulance Girl. Arleen didn't care what they said about me. She was my best friend. She was a round, cozy Latina, happy as a Buddha. I loved her. She came to my track meets. So did other members of my family, concerned about me. They saw me fall into Arleen's arms after a brutal race.

"Don't you have any other friends?" I said yes. But Arleen's my best friend.

"Arleen doesn't belong here."

They smiled. The same smile of kindness on their faces that I saw on the locksmith in New Orleans. What does that mean, I asked? Of course Arleen belongs here. She literally goes to the same school that I do. Why is she different? Don't you have any other friends, they asked again? Our school was half-Mexican, half-white. We had no black kids, no Jewish kids and one Asian girl, Thanh, who had just transferred in. Thanh was my other friend.

My mother would let me know when my stepfather was gone and I would pick up my little sisters and take them to the park. My mother and I behaved like divorced parents who only spoke because of the kids. But when I saw her next, I blurted out what they said about Arleen. Her green eyes hardened.

It was my mother, after all, who rescued feral kittens and damaged people from alleys and gave them a home. Although she couldn't defend herself against her attacker, she defended me. She said I could choose any friend I like and to fuck them. It was then that I realized I'd never heard my mother say a curse word - or a racist, hateful word.

I was eight years old. My grandmother and I were wearing matching overalls inside "The K-Mart." My grandmother was shuffling through coupons when she suddenly reached out and grabbed me by the arm. I stopped short. She pointed out a little black boy my age who was shopping with his mom.

"This is what I've been trying to tell you about them." She said in her Southern accent. "Look at his ears. He's got tiny ears." I looked at his ears. They looked like normal kid ears to me. "Tiny ears are the mark of the Devil."

My grandmother was born in the backwoods of Kentucky, the youngest of 13 children born to a fire-and-brimstone Baptist minister. He taught them to love Jesus and he beat them across the back of the legs with a switch to keep them in line. They grew up in a cramped two bedroom house with no electricity. The Devil got a hold of her older brother. She fought him off when he tried to rape her in a shared bed. He wasn't punished. They prayed for him.

She dropped out of school in 8th grade and got married. At 16, she gave birth to my father. Her husband went away to war. He returned home wounded and died. She moved from state to state, working in factories by day, waitressing by night. She was a single mother who paid her taxes, did the right thing, but there was never enough money and she never fell in love again. Over time, she wore her own scars and bruises from life, just as the locksmith.

She used the N word. A lot. The Little Boy's mother heard her use it in K-Mart. So she hurried him away. But not before I saw the hurt in her eyes. Like my mother's eyes when she became a bowling ball. I collected that hurt.

The people who raise you, they don't just teach you to put on your clothes and look both ways when you cross the street. They also teach you words. They teach you how to speak about people who look differently than you do. They teach you how to respond to crisis. Do you remain silent and let it pass or do you speak up and call for help? They teach you what a lover relationship looks like. Does it look like a partner who shares the responsibility of cooking dinner? Or does it look like a partner who smacks you to the ground with his fists because dinner isn't on the table?

My grandmother took care of me when my parents couldn't. She loved me something fierce, so much so that I wrote a movie about her. When I was a teenager, I asked her to stop using the N word. She was defensive. We've always used that word. I said, it's a racist, hurtful word. She was angry, but there was something else - anguish. She knew she shouldn't be using the N word, but she needed it. So she held on tightly, not letting me take it from her.

In college, I fell in love with a boy named Kelvin. He was kind, prone to pratfall and we both felt like outsiders. I was a theatre major in a predominantly pre-med school. He was black. Kelvin wasn't the Devil. He was studying to be a doctor. Unlike my father's mother, my mother's parents came from a wealthy, conservative family. They spent thousands of dollars trying to save my mother. They hired lawyers, sent her to year-long rehabs and paid for therapy. Nothing lasted. They also helped me. They sent me $100 a month to help pay for my college expenses and they bought me a car.

When I introduced Kelvin to my grandparents after a play, their reaction was faster than it was at the track meet with Arleen. They got up out of their seats, turned their backs on us, and walked out of the theater. Days later, I received a letter telling me they were heartbroken. He may be a nice boy, but imagine what the neighbors would think if they saw a black boy walking up to your front door? I had disgraced myself and our family and I would no longer be receiving their monthly $100 check. I was in school from 9am to noon and waitressing at Bob's Big Boy from 4pm to midnight. With their help, I was lucky to have $20 bucks left over each month as it is.

Kelvin said we should move in together. It would save us both money. I would like to say that I was courageous. That I, like my mother talking about Arleen, told my grandparents to fuck off. I would like to say that I told Kelvin I loved him and let him swing me around the University Avenue laundromat as we folded our clothes together. That would be the movie ending.

After all, I recognized what my grandparents were saying was wrong. And it was unfair. And it was racist. But I was not able to do anything beyond recognizing that.

I was 21. Early in the morning, when my mother was sober, a car accident took her life. My mother had abused alcohol, and she had been abused, for over a decade. But if you looked closer, looked gently, you could see she'd long been on the road to an early death. So I broke up with Kelvin coldly and abruptly, never really giving him a reason. I needed my family.

At 25, I dated a woman for the first time. Leura. I told my grandmother. She wasn't thrilled but, she said, when push comes to shove, a white girl is better than a black boy. Leura was invited to my grandmother's house. She was fed fried chicken, collard greens and corn bread. She and my grandmother bonded. I went to bed early and they stayed up late playing Pinochle. Leura wanted to move in with me. So I broke up with her.

When my grandmother was dying of lung cancer, her roommate in the hospital was a black woman her age, also dying of cancer. Death united them and they became deep and fast friends. They finished each other's sentences and watched the same soaps. They shared a love and familiarity that could only come from 50 years of marriage - or from realizing the outside world will never understand what you're going through and you only have each other.

I was visiting them both in the hospital when my grandmother said, simply: I was wrong to use the N word. And I was wrong to tell you all those horrible things about black people. It's what my daddy taught me and it was wrong. She said it in front of her roommate, who listened but never said a word. It was a movie ending - and it was true.

At 34, I was invited to a dinner party at the candlelit Chateau Marmont. In our red velvet booth sat the famous and semi-famous in plunging necklines, tight pants, expensive jewelry and perfectly manicured nails. They were all white, all straight, all in couples except for one man, who I realized was invited for me, the other single person.

Like most kids from dysfunctional homes, I've never felt good enough. Especially in heightened situations like these, that overflow with money and prestige. The clues are all there. I eat too fast, from years of half-hour breaks during waitressing shifts. My nails aren't manicured. I'm quirky, not coiffed. But it's something more. It's who I am, the way I move. I'm just not put together enough and it's only a matter of time before they realize I'm a fraud. So as superficial as it was, to be accepted by fame and fancy was a thrill.

After a few drinks the homophobic comments began. I was surprised because these were successful folks in the film and television community. Surely, we're not like that? We work with gay people every day. But this is how casual racism and casual bigotry works. It works with two faces. The public face, where all the right words are said. And the private face, where your mother is beaten and kids are told to keep their mouths shut or else.

I said with a smile, hey. I don't think those comments about gay people are cool.

"Are you a dyke or something?"

He asked. Not unkindly. I was floored. His question implied that to stand up against a racist or bigoted thought, you must secretly be one of them. Because no straight person would call out another straight person over a gay comment. No white person would call out another white person over a racist comment.

I was angry because I had slept with a black boy and a white girl and that lessened, in their eyes, my defense. I was angry because they could see the answer on my face and I could feel their relief. I was the one to blame. I had hidden myself in plain sight. But Kelvin cannot hide in plain sight. Whenever he walks down the street - he's a black man. Arleen can't hide in plain sight - she's a brown woman. And even if a gay person can put on the straight mask and hide in plain sight walking down the street, they should not have to drop the hand of the person they love to feel safe.

I looked at the man, "You just said a pretty hateful comment about how 'faggots' are taking over Hollywood and that a faggot actor got a job that you think you deserved, rather than thinking just maybe that actor had more talent than you did and deserved the role."

Now they were angry. No one likes to be called a racist or a bigot. Despite what they say or do.

I continued, "But to answer your question. Yes, I've slept with women. But if you think that means calling you out doesn't matter as long as straight white people give you a pass, then we're going to be waiting a long time for this world to change, because what you said is not okay."

When I was done, my voice was shaking. My heart was pounding in my throat. I looked around the table, just as I had looked at all the adult faces at my 13th birthday party. Anyone going to help me out? I looked especially close at the women. Anyone have my back here? They, like my mother, looked away.

I picked up my purse and walked out of the restaurant. I have no idea if what I said made a difference to anyone at that dinner party, then or years later, but it did to me. Because I didn't let it slide. I've learned what letting it slide does to a person.

The racist waving his flag isn't a surprise. I see him. You see him. We all know what that's about. But racism and bigotry don't always march down the street. Sometimes the racist or the bigot sits down at your dinner table and asks you to pass the bread. Those are the ones who surprise you. Racism grows and festers in intimate spaces and behind closed doors. In the words spoken by the people you know and love and who look just like you.

Should I have kicked out the locksmith? Should I have stormed out of the restaurant? Would you have?

Letting a comment slide can feel like a deadbolt sliding over your soul. And speaking up doesn't always feel like a victory, especially in the moment.

What we allow will continue. What continues will escalate.

May you always have the courage to speak out. And when you do, may it unlock the soul and warm the chilliest of rooms.

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When The Racist Is Someone You Know and Love...

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"Don't worry, pretty lady. I'll make sure to use a good, strong lock to keep the niggers out." He smiled. I blinked. Fifteen years ago, I was moving into my third-floor condo in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. I'd hired a neighborhood locksmith to re-key the locks.

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Combating White Supremacy

We know need to de-center whiteness and de-normalize white supremacy. But how do we do this in our spheres of influence? The best thing we can do is be aware of when and how it shows up.

Are these things familiar in our lives? Where do they show up, and how do we call them out (or in)?

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How to apologize, and how to be a better ally

Want to be a great ally? Learn to recognize what good allyship looks like, and learn to apologize if you have a misstep.

When we understand the difference between intent and impact, we understand an integral part of allyship!

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How to Live, Learn, and Pass it On

In Jay Smooth's Ted Talk, How I Stopped Worry and Love Discussing Race, he relates being a good person, with respect to race, is like being a clean person. It’s not something you are or not, it’s a practice. Like dental hygiene.

Congratulations, you are at the end of the Equity Bootcamp! What have you learned? How can you keep practicing? How can you pass on what you know to others?

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26 Mini-Films for Exploring Race, Bias and Identity With Students (Published 2017)

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To help teachers make the most of these films, we also provide a grab-bag of teaching ideas, related readings and student activities.

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Preliminary Information

On the next page you'll be asked to select an Implicit Association Test (IAT) from a list of possible topics . We will also ask you (optionally) to report your attitudes or beliefs about these topics and provide some information about yourself.

We ask these questions because the IAT can be more valuable if you also describe your own self-understanding of the attitude or stereotype that the IAT measures. We would also like to compare differences between people and groups.

On the IAT, you may find it easier to pair certain attributes with one group of people compared to another. Your IAT results may depart from your personal beliefs.

Note: This site is designed for adults, aged 18 or older.

Data Privacy: Data exchanged with this site are protected by SSL encryption. Project Implicit uses the same secure hypertext transfer protocol (HTTPS) that banks use to securely transfer credit card information. This provides strong security for data transfer to and from our website. IP addresses are routinely recorded, but are completely confidential. For research purposes, data without directly identifying information is made publicly available. You can find more information on our Data Privacy page.

Important disclaimer: In reporting to you results of any IAT test that you take, we will mention possible interpretations that have a basis in research done (at the University of Washington, University of Virginia, Harvard University, and Yale University) with these tests. However, these Universities, as well as the individual researchers who have contributed to this site, make no claim for the validity of these suggested interpretations. If you are unprepared to encounter interpretations that you might find objectionable, please do not proceed further. You may prefer to examine general information about the IAT before deciding whether or not to proceed.

If you have questions about the study, please contact Project Implicit at questions@projectimplicit.net. To obtain more information about the study, ask questions about the research procedures, express concerns about your participation, or report illness, injury or other problems, please contact:

Tonya R. Moon, Ph.D.
Chair, Institutional Review Board for the Social and Behavioral Sciences
One Morton Dr Suite 500
University of Virginia, P.O. Box 800392
Charlottesville, VA 22908-0392
Email: irbsbshelp@virginia.edu
Website: https://research.virginia.edu/irb-sbs
Website for Research Participants: https://research.virginia.edu/research-participants

I am aware of the possibility of encountering interpretations of my IAT test performance with which I may not agree. Knowing this, I wish to proceed I am aware of the possibility of encountering interpretations of my IAT test performance with which I may not agree. Knowing this, I wish to proceed using a touchscreen OR using a keyboard.

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On the next page you'll be asked to select an Implicit Association Test (IAT) from a list of possible topics . We will also ask you (optionally) to report your attitudes or beliefs about these topics and provide some information about yourself.

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NAIS - What White Children Need to Know About Race

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Growing up in the suburban Midwest, I (Ali Michael) never talked about race with my family. We were white, all of our neighbors were white, and it never occurred to us that there was anything to say about that. As a result, in later years, I developed a deep sense of shame whenever I talked about race — particularly in college, where I was expected to make mature personal and academic contributions to race dialogues.

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NAIS - What White Children Need to Know About Race

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Growing up in the suburban Midwest, I (Ali Michael) never talked about race with my family. We were white, all of our neighbors were white, and it never occurred to us that there was anything to say about that. As a result, in later years, I developed a deep sense of shame whenever I talked about race — particularly in college, where I was expected to make mature personal and academic contributions to race dialogues.

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Given what you've read about discrimination, think about how your family talks about race. How can we be better at home? At school? 