Amplify black voices: The unconquerable journey of a Black educator

Amiri Baraka once said, “Hope is delicate suffering.” As educators, we can relate to this all too well. This system seems to be a never-ending road of suffering, constantly finding and losing hope as the pendulum of uncertainty plagues our broken systems. As a Black teacher, this suffering is amplified by the strength and hope of our ancestors, coupled with the historical and current “sufferings” that come with being Black in America today. 

The Unconquerable Journey of Black Educator

Being a Black educator in this post-pandemic era of book banning, the continual scrutinizing and watering down of curriculum, and outright gatekeeping of all things Black and Brown, is daunting, to say the least. We face biases, microaggressions, discrimination, and often blatant racism. We struggle to navigate red tape, roadblocks, and gatekeeping when it comes to being able to teach the essential critical thinking skills students need. 

“The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically. Intelligence plus character–that is the goal of true education.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., The Purpose of Education Speech

But how are we going to teach students to pursue this true function and goal of education if they are not exposed to culturally diverse, relevant, inclusive, and affirming pedagogy that is continually under attack? Black educators remember our own experiences as students, desperately wanting to see ourselves in our learning. This makes us fight to make sure our students see themselves in our classrooms.

We know how important it is to make conscious efforts to create spaces where our children feel acknowledged, seen, and heard. No matter the policies, laws, and mandates being written to fight against us, Black educators continue to bring our personal histories, our shared journeys, and our unique experiences of being Black in America into our classrooms. We do this knowing how important it is for our students to see images of those they can relate to in front of them. 

But how do we continue to combat this seemingly unconquerable journey to righteously educate our children without becoming weary, losing hope, or losing our own identities as Black educators in the process? We need to use our voices to define our unadulterated narratives for ourselves, to unashamedly and unapologetically talk about it all: the good, the bad, and the ugly about being Black as both students and teachers in the American education system.

We need to use our voices to expose injustices so that they can no longer be hidden under the guise of such blatant attacks like banning books, curricula, or programs that aim to amplify Black and Brown voices. We have to talk about it all. 

“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.” I, for one, will never be silent.” 

Zora Neale Hurston

Consider me to be in the California drought of my empathy for your comfort when it comes to sharing my pain. I have documented it well. 

• Hate Raging in the Virtual Realms During Covid-19 (4/1/2021)
• Inhale Adversity, Exhale Hope: Reflections of a Black Educator (4/21/2021)
• Two Men In Uniform: The Lessons Black Educators Have to Teach Students (4/19/2021)
• The Trauma of Being a Black Educator (10/14/2021)
• I’m a Black Woman in Education: I Know Exactly How Ketanji Brown Jackson is Feeling (5/14/2022)
• The Exhaustion of Black Educators on Another Day After (5/18/2022)

Black women in education

These are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how many experiences I have had being a Black Woman in education for over twenty years. I have yet to fully chronicle being called “Auntie” to my face, and “Nigger Bitch” behind my back. I have yet to fully chronicle having the student who hung a noose on a tree in front of our school sitting in the front row of my classroom.

I have yet to fully chronicle going to other schools, hotels, and “high-end” establishments, only to be greeted with a subtly etched “nigger” carved into a bathroom stall door, on a stair railing, or benches. Nor have I even attempted to describe the feeling of getting close to students, more than just White students, establishing a rapport, sometimes over their entire four years in high school, only to have them turn out to be blatant racists. There is nothing more hurtful than feeling like you have made a positive impact on a student’s life, than for them to turn around and say, write, or post something that attacks the very essence of your existence: my Blackness. It never matters if it is first-hand information, second-hand sharing, or a post on social media. The hurt cuts just as deep. 

Consider me to be in the California drought of my empathy for your comfort when it comes to sharing my pain.

What is the solution?

So what is the solution? Is our labor as Black educators in vain? Absolutely, not!

• For every racist word spoken, there is another that is impacted enough to go as far as to change a racist mindset that has been passed down from generation to generation.
• For every racist word written, there is another who has read your story and realized that there is a human being who is being severely affected by how they use the power of the written word.
• And for every racist post, there is another student who has learned all that you taught them about using their voices and has gotten the courage to speak out against racism, no matter how it shows up.

The racists did not care about who their words hurt, so we need to keep that same energy when we call racists out.

Consider me to be in the California drought of my empathy for your comfort when it comes to sharing my pain.

Feel no need to water things down to fit into the constraints of any outside forces that would attempt to trivialize our experiences. And do it on your terms! Journal, blog, write articles, or publish them on your own! While our experiences are shared by many, the world will never know the depths until you pick up that pen. Black educators, be encouraged: tell your stories, write your narratives, and chronicle your pain.