-Charles Donalson, African American male, student at

Oak Park and River Forest High School

Good schools aren’t good for everybody. That is one of the things I learned quickly as I began to study schools that were widely celebrated for achievement and diversity, but there was much more beneath the surface. America to Me, a new documentary series directed by Steve James of Hoop Dreams fame, has begun airing on Starz after receiving critical acclaim at Sundance earlier this year. The 10 part series is just four episodes in, but from its opening it’s clear that the series goes beyond celebrating the school’s diversity and is attempting to grapple with race and racism. On this alone, I recommend the series but that doesn’t mean it’s without issues.

The series, so far, highlights the lives of several students at Oak Park and River Forest (OPRF) High School in suburban Illinois. In addition to the students and parents who are followed throughout a year, we hear from faculty, administrators, and school board members. The students are involved in an litany of activities: wrestling, spoken word, cheer, drill, as well as students who do no extracurriculars. There are students who are freshman, seniors, heterosexual, non-binary, biracial, and the list goes one. Despite all this diversity, the main students and families followed by the crew are all Black (or at least have one Black parent). For viewers, this is great for showing what its like to be Black, in its many iterations, in a school like OPRF. Oak Park, as its commonly called, is the kind of school that has great amenities, receives academic accolades, and whose optics look like they’re pulled from a college campus website. Still, the experience of Black students there is markedly different. For example, in 2015, 23% of the student body was Black, but 53% of students who got suspended were Black. For decades now, even in schools that are well-appointed, Black students have bore the brunt on unequal treatment. For Black folks, this is not an entirely new story, but that is also why Charles’ words that open this post are so important. Charles doesn’t start with the achievement gap or Black underperformance–we have no shortage of writing or documentaries on that, instead he highlights the pervasive culture of white advantage.

If there is one thing that is glaringly absent from America to Me it is the voices and experiences of White students and families who accrue the spoils of suburbia whether traversing town or selecting advanced placement courses.

If there is one thing that is glaringly absent from America to Me it is the voices and experiences of White students and families who accrue the spoils of suburbia whether traversing town or selecting advanced placement courses. In my own book, Inequality in the Promised Land, I found it essential to make sure the voices of White families were present for a few reasons. First, by speaking with white families, I heard their perspectives and experiences rather than simply inferring them from the accounts of others. Other scholars who studied suburbs, such as John Ogbu, only studied Black families, and attributed academic failure to Black children’s “academic disengagement” while assuming White families’ achievement was a result of hard-work and high functioning. In the social sciences, long traditions of deficit thinking limit us from seeing what’s actually happening. Second, once I put the voices of White and Black families in conversation the relational dynamic between the two became clearer. Black families were not simply disadvantaged, White families were hyper-advantaged and they routinely hoarded resources.

When it comes to suburban spaces, including the villages of Oak Park and River Forest, the history of racial exclusion is not simply in the past, it shapes where people live today and how people are received in public spaces like schools. The critics’ responses to America to Me have been favorable, but as I read comments on YouTube, IMDB and other sites, they are far more critical. Many of the comments argue that if there is an issue with Black academic success in the school it is rooted in Black children’s effort and their home environment. This old trope has long been challenged by research, but in remains a common explanation among popular audiences, even educators who are meant to help produce equitable learning environments.

The entrenched belief in Black dysfunction and normative White responses is captured in one telling moment in an interview in episode one.  Sami Koester, a student on the cheerleading team, confesses that Deanna Paloian (bka Coach D) the lead cheerleading coach who is white, is now different. “The Coach D that I used to know from when I was 12, she was a lot nicer. She did tell me that she has to put herself in authority more because all the girls are Black and she has to like put up her own fight to make sure that she gets what she wants.” Coach D argues she coaches the girls, who are predominantly black (the drill team in predominantly White), like a football coach and she is not afraid to hurt feelings or be bluntly honest. She peppers her speech with “girlfriends” as she wears a Beyonce themed shirt. Her approach is met with mixed reception from the Black girls under her guidance. Some suggest, “She yells at us like a mom” while others highlight Coach D’s approach may be rooted in her racial mismatch which heightens attitudes and sassiness. The filmmakers don’t make a effort to suggest which came first, adults’ attitudes or children’s responses, but it becomes clear that often the most “well intentioned” can create dangerous environments for Black children.

In episode four, viewers get a deeper look at Aaron Podolner, a White Physics teacher who was born and raised in Oak Park, and his approaches to race inside and outside of the classroom. He “invites” (I’m not sure how much choice they had to actually opt out) two Black students–Jada Bufford and Charles Donalson to read his memoir on race and comment on how he’s handled race in the classroom. In the classroom, Jada challenges Podolner to respect the boundaries of students and mentions how when she asked him not to comment or make jokes about her hair, he persisted. She points out that in his attempt to “relate” he is missing the very students he claims to care about. Podolner misses her point entirely and tone deathly centers himself and his difficulties as he responds,

“I think it’s hardest because we get a lot of pressure here, as teachers, to, like, make a difference, to fix black people, to improve scores. We’re not given any ways to do it. So that’s like, someone like you [motions to Jada and Charles] could be a great resource to us teachers.”

I was literally forced to rewind the show to make sure I heard correctly that Podolner matter of factly invoked the idea that Black children are broken. This is not an uncommon belief among educators, though not often stated. Despite equity commissions and task forces, Black deficit thinking still pervades and governs large parts OPRF. Du Bois famously asked, “How does it feel to be a problem?” and more than 100 years later Black students in OPRF and settings like it could give long monologues on its pains.

In another scene, Podolner sits down with a Jessica Stovall, a Black-White biracial English teacher, as they work to form a teachers equity group to address racial inequality at OPRF. Stovall astutely challenges Poldner, “I understand you’re so passionate about helping your Black students. I know that about you. But I do notice when I start to push you on talking about the miseducation of our White students then you’re less likely to want to engage in those types of conversations.” Podolner describes how he wants to demonstrate to Black and White kids that he “knows more than the average white guy” about Black culture, which he thinks will disturb the classroom dynamics of whiteness and white supremacy. Like many well-intentioned White educators I’ve spoken with and worked with, this attempt at cultural connection does little to disturb white social norms, though I am sure it makes Podolner feel good, all while it silences girls and women like Jada Bufford and Jessica Stovall who desire an entirely different classroom and culture, not one that “gives points” for Black cultural knowledge.

Within each episode, you’re likely to smile at fond moments and grimace at missteps, which is the mark of a compelling series. At core though, I hope the series ultimately listens to the Jada and Charles’ who know OPRF will not be different until it becomes a non-White space. The “browning” of OPRF won’t make it a non-White space; critical engagement and challenging everyday practices of white supremacy like: opportunity hoarding, sliding standards, and deficit thinking will. Making our schools, and this country, non-White spaces will take more than seeing Black suffering, it will mean that White advantages must be relinquished and White accountability must emerge. The omission of White students (as main characters) and families worries me that the project could unintentionally reify ideas that when racism impacts life, the onus on repair and restitution lies with the people most affected by racism. I’ll be watching to see where this goes, I hope you will too!

Like many young brothers growing up in the 1990s, I had a serious love affair with Jordans. I can recall getting my first pair (the IV’s for my sneaker heads) and wearing them sparingly, jumping over every puddle, and feeling like MJ himself when I stepped on the court with them (too bad my skills were more like Sam Bowie’s). My adolescent fascination with sneakers was at first looked upon strangely by my family and then frowned upon as news reports of young people being robbed or worse for the big-ticket shoes began to circulate. Since the 1980s there has been concern about violence, the high price of Jordans, and Black youth (and now adult) obsession with the shoes. While the sneaker madness may seem like an area for special concern, in reality, it’s hardly a unique expression of the all-too-familiar American consumerism. Read More

The world is engulfed in World Cup mania, but not many from my family or old neighborhood are. Recently I wrote a piece for the Atlanta Post on the peculiar feelings I have as an African-American watching the World Cup.

Every four years, I suffer from a condition. I feel confused, disconnected from friends and co-workers, yet strangely compelled to engage foreign matters. These feelings are brought on by the arrival of the World Cup.  Through conversations with a number of my black American friends I’ve learned that I am not alone in this sentiment.

Read More

If you can’t see the video, click here.

Moral of the story kids, practice your plays or you may be the one tricked.
p.s. and before you say it, she’s okay, look the girls were laughing at the end. sheez! i would never post something with someone got hurt … or would I? ;)

About 2 months ago I was babbling on the phone about baseball to my boy and he said, “You know what, you have got to be the last black man left who cares about baseball.” He made this comment in jest, really just to shut me up from inconsquential spewing about the Mets, but his point was pretty profound. As the MLB celebrates Jackie Robinson’s breaking in, we’re watching the role of African-Americans, pardon the pun, fade to Black. I’ve seen a couple of stories about this run on ESPN, I remember one particular segment on HBCUs and baseball that caught me off guard, since the team was predominantly Latino, rather than African-American. At the core of this transition are really the boundaries of race and ethnicity. For most folks in the United States, in common terms, there is Black and there is Latino. While we can acknowledge there are Black or Afro Latinos, seldom do we fully grapple with that dualness and what it means for race and race relations. This debate recently got resparked by the Tigers Gary Sheffield.
In the June GQ he said… well, I’ll just excerpt from the article,

The percentage of African-American players in Major League Baseball has declined percipitously over the past three decades, from 27 percent in 1975 to 8.4 percent last year. Over the same period, the proportion of Latin Americans in the game has increased from 11 percent to 24 percent. “I called it years ago,” says Sheffield. “What I called is that you’re going to see more black faces, but there ain’t no English going to be coming out.”
Sheffield then unspools a curious theory about the trend in the game. It’s about “being able to tell [Latin players] what to do,” he says. “Being able to control them. Where I’m from, you can’t control us. You mugh tget a guy to do it that way for a while because he wants to benefit, but in the end he is going to go back to being who he is. And that’s a person that your’e going to talk to with respect, you’re going to talk to him like a man. These are things my race demands. So if you’re equally good as this Latin Player, guess who’s going to get sent home? I know a lot of players that are home now can outplay a lot of these guys.

So when I read this in the magazine, I found it an interesting quote and kept reading. Didn’t shake me to the core, didn’t cause me to run to www.blackatmichigan.com to post (let’s be honest few things cause me to run and post these days, but you know what I mean). I actually said to myself, “interesting.” This is far from the reaction that others have had. ESPN decided to get some opinions from Latinos, I wonder how they picked who they interviewed. Lester Spence gives a really good analysis that talks about Black folks and sporting preferences (though Lord knows I loathe the word preferences, probably from all this affirmative action talk over the years)and the number of Black baseball players. But for me, the thing that is serious here is the color-line and particularly as it is interpretted in a post-colonial global sense. Translation: Who is Black, and where are they from?
Recently, I had a conversation with a dear friend who has been spending some time in Miami. She said to me, about a Cuban man she met, “If you were walking down the street, you would have thought he was Black. You know, not Cuban.” I paused and responded, “You mean, you would have thought he was African-American, you mean, right?” As I finished my comment/question she said, “Yeah, I guess.” It was at that moment that I was reminded again, even the most well-read and educated and arguably open folks, have trouble rectifying who is Black and what the boundaries between race and ethncity are.
Whether it’s Debra Dickerson making assanine comments about Obama not being Black or my friends telling me Black folks from Latin America are “not really Black.” We see Black all too often acts as a synonym for African-American. To some this is a symantic distinction, but I think it is really important. Now my point in bringing this up is not to create a “race-war” (mind you there can’t be a race war over this, we’re not talking about race) but to just make you think about who consitutes authentically Black folks?
Now for a long time I’ve subscribed to the “cousins theory” of the African/Black diaspora. This is my colloquial name for the theory that basically goes, “Well, we’re all cousins, the boat (slave ship) just dropped us off in different places.” Usually this gets some chuckles, but it makes sense. The global struggle of people of African descent in the Carribean and other locales is, in many ways, akin to that of people of African decent in the United States. Now we can catalog the differences in slavery and colonial subjecthood, but that’s a much larger project with little meaning to my argument… oh that’s right, I should be making an argument.
Sheffield basically brought the point front and center that in America, folks who look like you, may not be you. For him, and many others, the social spaces that are occupied by AfroLatinos today may have been occupied by African-Americans before. For me, I realize that I may not be like a lot of my friends who cringe at such a transition. Come to think of it, it may have been in part because of my socialization into Black Latino folks via growing up in New Haven or watching so much baseball. I’ll never forget seeing a “George Bell” card from Topps that said “Jorge Bell” I immediately grabbed it thinking it was an “error card“, it was an error, but the error was my own. I’ll be honest, it’s only recently that I started to realize how many Black athletes that I’d pronounced in the most Anglosized ways were AfroLatinos, not African-Americans. Sheffield’s comments really crystallized this phenomenon and others have commented very well on the colonial relationship between MLB and Latin America, so I won’t take that on. But Sheff’s comments should serve to facilitate another level of discussion around culture, identity, and representation in the global Black community. For many, these tensions become talked about in a zero-sum manner. Translation: If you (Afrolatinos) get something, we (African-Americans) lose something. But that is way too simplistic. For some, this is a question of coalition building. Translation: Can’t we all just get along. That too is too simplistic. The real question is: Am I the last African-American male who still watches baseball? ;)

On the global level, racial or ethnic divisions can be seen, but not necessarily in the fashion that we construct them here. A couple of years ago a I had a student come up to me and tell me that he was trying to explain to an African immigrant to this country that he was Black. He said, “Man, Dumi I tried to tell him, but he just didn’t understand.” Besides feeling shame for having clearly produced a student who missed the nuascences in these social categorizations, I was reminded that my student, like most people read the US constellations of race and ethnicity as global. This shouldn’t be suprising, hell, most Americans see the rest of the world through their own positionality. It is not to say that we all don’t have a unique view point, but Americans seem to seldom interrogate why they view the world as they do. Who is Black? Who is White? Who is male? Who is female? All of these answers can vary dependent upon where you are. So why do American insist on reading race, in particular, in a US centric fashion? Maybe because sometimes it fits or does it?

Recently, the state of Michigan has been ripe with discusion of this ad. You’ll have to enlarge the ad to read the text. Essentially it talks about how when Jesse Owens in 1936 campaigned for a Republican candidate. In the quote Owens explains he campaigned for him because when he won his gold neither Roosevelt nor Hitler would shake his hand, but the Republican candidate did. The ad goes on to explain how African Americans have long been treated poorly by the democrats and now it’s time for a change (I assume he wants me to vote for Dick DeVoss). I think the ad is pretty interesting for its imagery and argument. Also shout out to Daily Kos for publishing it. I had a hard time locating it, probably because of the Hitler image. For the past five years or so, I keep hearing Republicans and members of the right talk about how African-Americans are considered a given to the Democrats and how we’ve been SO mistreated, so we should really not show our allegiance. This type of reasoning always reminds me of the quote “No permanent enemies, no permanent allies, only permanent interests.” So I ask, what the hell interest does the right have for my condition?

I agree that democrats have been “hoeing” us for a long time. I agree that we are one of the most reliable blocks, but honestly the other side of the fence doesn’t seem to have my interests at heart. Let me count the ways: 1) anti-felon voting rights, 2)disproportinate sentencing, 3) reduced social spending, 4) anti-affirmative action, 5) increased military presence internationally… and the list goes on and on like Shyheim. Good try on the ad fellas, but please do realize we’re a little smarter than seeing a set of images and thinking what was in the past, is in the present. The context of Owens’ life (domestically and internationally) was one of exclusion and hatred and in many ways, African-Americans’ lives remain analogous. But I think we’re clear who won’t shake our hands now… ain’t that Right?

And on a related note kinda, how about that World Cup finish?