It’s 2020. I’m white.
Even though I’m no expert on capital-R Race in Education, I want to model a willingness to be publicly accountable. As Dr. Ibram X. Kendi said in this podcast:
If the heartbeat of racism is denial, then the heartbeat of anti-racism is confession. To be anti-racist is to admit when we are being racist.
There are probably a lot of ways that I’ve been racist in my life and not noticed it, which I was pondering when I saw Marian’s tweet:
Seeing lots of apologies, which is great. But it makes me wonder how many more apologies are owed and have not been given…🤔
— Marian Dingle (@DingleTeach) June 10, 2020
I’m unafraid of admitting things that make me look bad, apologizing, and doing better. I’m on a journey to be anti-racist, and that means admitting when I’ve been racist. If sharing my journey makes it easier for other educators to start talking about racism in schools, then my vulnerability is worth it.
So here are all the memories I can think of when I was aware of my race as a white person, including some that deserve apology. Strap in:
5 years old: I make friends with a kid who lives nearby my Grammy’s house. I tell her, “I was invited for dinner with the Brown family.” Later, she finds out that the family name is Thompson, but they were the only “brown” family I knew.
3rd grade: I hear my first racist joke and retell it at home. One parent chuckles, the other one says it wasn’t funny. I didn’t understand why it was supposed to be funny in the first place.
4th grade: Our rural elementary school has one black kid and 300-some white kids. Justin had mocha skin and curly hair and was also the fastest runner in my class. My friend Brian lost the race to Justin, and when he sat next to me on the bus that day, he said, “Justin is such a n*****.”
5th grade: Still in that small, rural school, my music teacher stops class to turn on the TV to see the OJ verdict. Later that week, I’m certain I heard the term “all-black jury” several times.
9th grade: I transfer to the big high school in the next city over. We sit alphabetically in class, and the Tullous twins always sit near me. They wear the du-rags and baggy pants that were common in the late 90s. One day, they show me the latest issue of Vibe magazine, featuring musicians and actors I’d never seen. I realize there is a whole culture I know nothing about, but I make no effort to learn more.
11th grade: On 9/11, my friend from drumline walked the halls yelling, “Osama must die! (points at a student) Do you know Osama?” I never saw a teacher correct him.
Freshman in college: multiple times at parties or gatherings, I tell my friends, “I’m not afraid to describe somebody’s race! White skin, dark skin, brown eyes, blue eyes; skin color is just a physical description to me. It’s not a bad thing! I don’t see race, I just see people.”
Sophomore in college: I grow my hair out in an attempt to get my straight hair to form dreadlocks. “I have such hair envy for black people,” I say. “I wish I could have dreadlocks or an Afro.”
Junior in college: I secure a scholarship to play drums in the Gospel Choir, and for the first time, I am in a room with more non-white people than white people. If I made any inappropriate comments, none of the other musicians ever pushed back. They were probably pretty good at ignoring white nonsense at my private, Christian university.
First-year teaching: I have a student in class whose behavior I struggle to redirect. During the year, she gets louder and more foul (likely due to my weak attempts to manage the class). After a parent meeting, one of my colleagues says, “What’s the point? She’s just going to be a gang member anyway. All these little monsters are.”
Fourth-year teaching: One of my seniors is constantly disruptive in my class. One day, I change his seat to move him away from his friend, and he responds, “Yeah, of course you move me to the back of the bus.”
I’m shocked, then pissed, and I kick him out of class.
Sixth-year teaching: The day before my 8th-graders have a test on the Quadratic Formula, I mix up my review game with pictures of Asian people and ask them to name if the person is Chinese, Korean, or Japanese. Eliah, who is very proud of her Filipino heritage, says, “Mr. Vaudrey, that’s racist!”
I reply, “How is that racist? I’m not saying anything bad about them!”
She doesn’t respond.
Seventh-year teaching: My fourth period is a handful. One day, Deon and Keisha arrive late from lunch, and I send them straight to the office. I probably made some comment like “You’ve used up my grace by being so disruptive every day.” The following year, I read Dr. Chris Emdin’s book and am horrified to learn that what I viewed as “respectful” behavior was based on my whiteness and what made me feel respected. Deon and Keisha were “loud” but rarely rude, and “disruptive” was thinly-veiled racism.
Second-year Instructional Coach: During a district-office activity, we are telling the HR department what we want in the new Superintendent. I write “less white people” on a Post-It note and stick it on the board. My boss pulls me aside afterward and we discuss advocating in a way that creates change (and doesn’t make the only black guy in the room uncomfortable, since everyone thinks he wrote the Post-It).
Third-year Instructional Coach: My spouse wants to move into a “good” neighborhood, near one of the schools that’s an 8 or a 9 on the real-estate websites. I ask her to define what “good” school means, citing that the website with the same name is super-problematic. We end up moving to a great house in a middle-class neighborhood, and our kids attend school with a variety of different ethnicities. My daughter’s 7th birthday was the most ethnically-diverse gathering in our family’s history.
Fifth-year consultant: Immediately after wrapping a keynote speech where I reference the problematic suspension and expulsion rates of non-white students, one of the attendees points out that every stock photo on my slides includes only white students. I thank her for pointing it out and immediately fix that slideshow and update my process for finding stock photos.
Fourth-year Instructional Coach: I’m still getting gigs speaking to teachers, so I begin to work in discussion about race, privilege, equity, and other squirmy topics into my keynote addresses. The people who need to hear this message are unlikely to enter the room intentionally, but they won’t walk out if I start talking about race in a workshop about bravery or warm-ups or whatever. (More here)
First-year Admin: I email out a copy of our revised Dress Code to all staff at the middle-school, where I’m one of the Assistant Principals. Months later, the only black staffer notes that it was inappropriate to name specific hairstyles when I encouraged teachers to be aware of their classroom policies. Following the script in White Fragility, I thank her for telling me, apologize for the impact of my language, and ask what else she noticed about my behavior that is problematic.
Later that year, the police question a boy without his parents present, and once they arrive, do not ask for consent before recording. My unease turned to panic as I realized what was happening, and I made sure to sit near the boy during questioning and insist the parents were present before we proceed. The parents still thank me every time we see each other, but the cop and my boss were both unhappy with me that day.
“Vaudrey… what’s the point of this?”
I’m no expert in Anti-Racism, but I hope that owning my entire journey will encourage other white folks to do the same. Join me; let’s get uncomfortable together.
If it means that we’re better prepared to support students, it’s completely worth it.
~Matt “Admitting Where I’ve Been Racist” Vaudrey
NOTE: It’s possible I’m being racist in some of these retellings. Let me know in the comments; by posting this publicly, I’m welcoming correction.