What school segregation looks like
ON THE FIRST DAY of every semester during my five years as a teacher at Garinger High School, I had a candid talk with my students about how the world perceives them. The school, sitting off of Eastway Drive in east Charlotte, is high-poverty, majority-minority, and distinctly urban. I knew, from my own experiences, exactly what “type” of school this was, and I didn’t shy away from telling the kids.
I told them that many people didn’t expect much from their population, because of where they live and what they look like. That they all fit into somebody’s stereotype. I told them that students who go to a school such as Garinger are less likely to graduate than students elsewhere. I told them it was a setup of sorts. Then I waited, reading the responses on their faces. Some pouted, sulking in a sense of internalized low self-worth. Others were visibly angry, as if I had confirmed something they never had the language to articulate.
I should say here that my teaching experience at Garinger was amazing. I enjoyed my students and labored passionately to ensure they received a great education. I even became the North Carolina Teacher of the Year. But I knew what was happening from the first day I arrived on campus.
This school, home of the Wildcats, was a symbol of our local system’s backward trend toward re-segregating along racial and socioeconomic lines—a startling shift for a system that, just a few decades ago, was the district referenced in the landmark Supreme Court case Swann v. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Board of Education, a system that was once regarded as the vanguard of school desegregation.
At the end of that speech on the first day of each semester, I informed the students of the purpose of my presence: That I knew what it was like to be doubted and mistreated. That I was on a mission to make sure they broke out of this destructive system. That I needed their trust before I could teach them. Far more often than not, they gave it to me.
But the truth is, no educator should have to have that conversation with his or her students—ever.
I AM THE PRODUCT of an integrated schooling experience in a school system that was otherwise highly segregated. This was not the result of masterful planning as much as good fortune, combined with some parental advocacy. I am a black man who grew up in a city that was recently ranked as the second-worst city in the country for African Americans. Rockford, Illinois, proved extremely hard for a child of color in the 1980s. It’s a mid-sized, industrial city in the heart of the Midwest. The river that runs through the middle of town doesn’t just separate east from west; it divides access to opportunity. Each side of town is characterized by specific demographics that follow a general pattern. The east side: largely white, middle and upper class, and prosperous. The west side: mostly black and Latino, working and lower class, and destitute. There are exceptions, but the rule is typically proven.
My older sister and I endured a twisted route to school. Located in an affluent corner of east Rockford was Brookview Elementary. It was academically What school segregation looks like - EducationNC:
