I’m a Black educator in my fifth year of teaching middle school English, and in my third as the 8th Grade English PLC (Professional Learning Community) Lead. And while I genuinely enjoy the purposeful work I get to do, seeing the growth of my scholars, and continuing to hone my skills in a content area I’ve loved since I was a little girl, I’ve had to confront some unpleasant experiences in this space.
I’d been through much worse when I was an academic advisor at a Christian university. Racism, sexism, harassment, and workplace bullying were sadly norms in that environment. However, some of what I’ve experienced as a Black educator hasn’t been normal…
It doesn’t seem normal to be the only Black educator in my department – in a predominantly Black school. One of my Black colleagues once said, “It should look like a Tyler Perry movie in here.” But it doesn’t.
It didn’t feel normal being reprimanded in a meeting (during my second year of teaching) by an administrator who went in on me for having students who were failing and for differentiating my lesson plans – even though it’s normal practice to differentiate when you have different student populations. She was angry and said, “I’m scared for the SOLs with the failures you have, and you should have been doing what everyone else was doing with their lessons.” I also received a poor observation evaluation for being “too different.” Apparently, I was one of the only educators who wasn’t just passing students along (something many educators do out of fear from administrators and aggressive parents). I held my scholars accountable, had a gradebook reflective of their accurate assessment and classwork data, revised my lessons instead of using lesson plans that were bogus, and although I got heat for it, I was glad to see growth and improvement. At the end of that school year, I brought in the highest SOL scores in the English department, and my pass rate was over 80%. When that happened, I was accused of not sharing my lesson plan ideas and addressed about it. Whenever I would speak up in our English PLC meetings, none of the other educators listened and went their own way. Consequently, their low SOL scores reflected their teaching.
It wasn’t normal being approached by an underperforming educator in my department who felt comfortable enough to interrupt my planning time to tell me she felt my lesson plans weren’t rigorous enough – even though our grade level administrator supported and approved of my plans and my scholars scores were the highest in the department when it came to assessments. The educator who criticized my plans often had the lowest assessment scores. She was also afraid to talk to parents, had issues managing her classroom, and had a reputation for being racist towards Black staff members. I’m not sure what she hoped to accomplish with her statement, but after she said what she said, I held my classroom door open for her to leave and continued working.
It certainly can’t be normal to receive an unexpected email from another educator who told me she’d be using my classroom during my planning time to teach her literacy class since she wasn’t provided with a classroom when the school year started. My classroom was offered up without my knowledge or consent after she met with an administrator about doing so. When I advocated for myself and inquired about where I would be expected to get my work done since this was discussed without any communication with me, this same educator sent me another email stating, “Unfortunately me not having a classroom is an inconvenience for all.” I didn’t respond to the email, because it wouldn’t have been wise to in that moment. When I reached out to the administrator she spoke with, I didn’t receive a response. When I continued to advocate for my space, this same educator decided to stay in the space she’d previously been working in instead of taking mine. She did stop by my classroom to try to speak to me in person after the emails she’d sent but missed me when I stepped out. She received an apology from leadership, and I never received a follow up about why my classroom was offered up to begin with.
And it really shouldn’t be normal combating constant microaggressions from colleagues who overstep and are dismissive with suggested strategies to help our scholars grow. Another educator within my department once sent an email my way asking if it would be okay if she took the lead on our department agenda for our grade level meeting, a task that’s handled by the PLC Lead (the role I currently hold) prior to meeting. When I responded and let her know the agenda had been handled, there was no response. However, one of our literacy coaches (who she cc’d in the email she’d sent me) praised and thanked her for what she did and encouraged the behavior.
There’s a reason why the unwritten “trust them as far as you can throw them” rule exists for many in the Black community. While it’s important to understand how to work with people you may not like, relate to, or naturally connect with, as a minority, we already know the playing field isn’t leveled. Just because you have the opportunity and title, doesn’t mean you’re always going to be respected, accepted, or heard.
I’m a fully credentialed Black educator who excels in my role.
I fully understand my content.
I examine my data and use it to drive instruction.
I mind my own business, focus on my scholars, and focus on the work that needs to be done.
I helped my scholars earn an 88% pass rate on last year’s English SOL. The highest scores in my grade level.
I’ve also repeatedly been mistaken by other educators for being the English Department Chair, which I’m not.
The 8th grade English PLC Lead is just the leader of their grade level. Not all grade levels. When other colleagues have inquired about why I wasn’t chosen to be the English Department Chair (which has consistently been a role held by white educators who’ve resigned or transferred to other schools), I don’t have an answer for them. It’s not a role I’ve desired or felt called to, and I was never upset when it went to someone else. It is what it is.
You can be a successful Black educator, doing a terrific job, and find yourself undermined by different colleagues who are covert and blatant racists, comfortably wielding their privilege and disrespect, and actively making calculated moves to isolate you, provoke you, and cause harm while you’re just trying to do your job. Truthfully, supremacy can creep into predominantly Black schools too. And it’s horrifying.
The worst educators are the offenders who are bold with it, and the oblivious ones aren’t any better. Regardless, I refuse to teach or move in fear. I also refuse to allow the actions of others to rob me of my peace and joy. My faith keeps me grounded on the tough days, and remembering my assignment. It’s also helpful having allies who are safe spaces to land when needed. It makes a difference.