#EduColor: The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

Written on 15 May 2017, 01:00pm under Homegrown

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Integrity. Decency. Solidarity. These are the qualities that brought me to what is now commonly known as the EduColor Movement. Before this group had dozens of invited members, thousands of newsletter subscribers, many thousands of loyal followers on Facebook and Twitter, and millions of impressions on its Twitter hashtag, it was a handful of people who came together on email. Many of us – like myself – worked in education spaces where the subject of race and racism was ignored and raising these subjects was professionally risky. EduColor was a safe space: to share, laugh, and lament. It was a space where we could be our whole, passionate, justice-filled selves.

In 2013, I traveled to New York City, and while there carved out time to meet the teacher-blogger from NYC who had conceived EduColor. It was in its infancy—it was literally five of us on email: myself, Liz Dwyer, Xian Franzinger Barrett, Sabrina Stevens, and the founder Jose Vilson. Fierce and fearless and unapologetic in our drive to bring justice and equity to educational spaces. In the subsequent months and years, we attended conferences and met educators seeking what EduColor offered. People like Rafranz Davis. They were welcomed into the tent. We met people online—frequently on Twitter—and we saw they shared our battles. What we were experiencing as people of color in education was pervasive. We created a space for affinity and uplift and unending support. We boosted each other. We rallied behind each other’s triumphs. We dried each other’s tears. We used social media to organize and bring credibility to discussions about racial and cultural literacy in educational spaces.

It was good. And EduColor accomplishments are notable: speaking out on harsh and racially disparate discipline, tackling Jordan Davis or Ferguson and Mike Brown in classrooms, speaking out when NYC teachers wore “Thank You NYPD” t-shirts, and organizing against a Virginia school district that wanted to charge Black teens with felonies for a senior prank. There are many more examples of this coalition – this collective – coming together to spark discussion and take action on educational injustices. I’ve always been deeply proud and humbled to be a part of a grassroots activist space that intentionally set out to be a haven from the dysfunctional, marginalizing, hostile spaces so many of us worked within.

But regrettably, EduColor Movement has replicated the same institutional behaviors. On Saturday, I resigned from EduColor. I sent a letter to the general membership explaining how EduColor has become a collective without a collective soul for me. I spoke my truth, though in the intervening days more questions have surfaced. So for those sincerely interested in knowing what I’ve experienced, please read on.

From the beginning, the founder’s drive and devotion contributed to this movement. I’ve always respected his hustle and ingenuity. I also respected his wisdom in knowing that growing a collective is not a solitary enterprise. From its original days—when the handful of us included three Black women and two men of color—EduColor’s resourcefulness, fuel, and fire has mostly come from women of color. The collective was built and grown with the time, energy, passions, and unpaid labor of women of color. But disappointingly, as EduColor expanded, what the founder has called “growing pains” in all candor was individuals grasping for social capital and ego gratification—with myself and another woman of color as the collateral damage.

EduColor became known for its ability to prod others to have difficult and crucial conversations. But we abdicated our duty to do the same within the EduColor collective. An ill-defined advisory committee—of which I was a member—remained silent as the founder made unilateral decisions, including decisions that silenced and marginalized women of color in leadership. EduColor has now lost two dedicated members within months. The loss of Rusul Alrubail, a loyal EduColor member who sat on the advisory team, symbolizes the harmful impact of steamrolling over peers and disregarding consensus. And I emphasize impact—because regardless of one’s intentions, two women of color walked away from interactions feeling erased and disrespected by the group’s founder. And once that’s brought to your attention, and you fail to reflect and readjust, the only conclusion can be that this is intentional. That it’s not a flaw in leadership style, but a feature.

As things turned bad, I challenged my fellow advisory members to be the leadership team the collective deserved—to hold each other accountable, to lead with integrity, to adopt norms and bylaws and a democratic construct to guide the group’s operations. I owned my part in not speaking up when I should have – and I committed to do better. And all of this was met mostly with silence. Everyone in EduColor is a volunteer – and people have busy lives, myself included. Additionally, there are any number of reasons for why people can be silent in online spaces. But when “leaders” remain mostly silent in the midst of misogynoir and sexism it’s not normal – and when peers remain silent on this matter and willingly engage online at other times, the busyness of life is a convenient excuse—what’s being practiced is selective silence and a lack of conviction. I stepped out to challenge the group’s status quo. In service of a stronger, more just EduColor, I directly and unflinchingly challenged the founder and our processes – and the reward was becoming his target.

As the ugly surfaced, he intentionally ignored my inquiries in group discussions. My work in the group – on our monthly chats and in other ways – was intentionally overlooked and disregarded. And when I sparked a discussion about the erasure of women of color as it relates to press coverage of the movement—and a scholar subsequently published a blog post recognizing EduColor women of color – myself (and others) were accused on a general membership communication list of “overshadowing” the male founder. With the founder’s tacit endorsement. Through his public and less visible actions, I was reduced to a detractor, when I’ve always been a builder and edifier – and I was cast as divisive, when I’ve always been explicit and transparent with both my rejoicing of and critiques of this movement. The sincerity of communication I shared with others was not shown to me.

With all of this, it should come as no surprise that I resigned. Who would want to stay in such a space? I’ve lost faith in the founder. I’ve lost faith in the advisory committee. I’ve lost faith that me beating a solo drum for a democratically operated and controlled group is the path forward for EduColor, especially when silence has been the most dominant element within the space for much too long. But some faith remains—that EduColor members who truly believe in just social movements will bring your fierceness, fearlessness, and unapologetic drive and energy to righting what is wrong within the EduColor movement. Not only through norms, bylaws, and structures that I championed – but through empathy and compassion, and being present for and to each other.

With love. Salute.


Reminiscent of Groundhog Day, some education discussions just seem to resurface, again and again. The state of teacher education is one of those.

In April, I had the privilege of speaking at the annual American Educational Research Association conference, where I participated in a presidential session that aimed to challenge the public and policy discourses surrounding teacher education—by featuring the work of four equity-minded teacher educators and scholars from across the country: Elizabeth M. Dutro, University of Colorado Boulder; Antero Garcia, Colorado State University; Bettina L. Love, University of Georgia; and Bree Picower, Montclair State University.

I offered some thoughts on the future of teacher education. Here’s what I said.

Good morning.

As a writer, I enjoy metaphors. They allow for creativity, and nuance, and imagery. Metaphors can make complicated concepts more accessible, and add depth to your writing. And successful metaphors conjure up mental pictures that are vivid – and sometimes unforgettable.

So I’d like to invite you to think of teacher education not as a beleaguered system that deals with the study of teaching … and the learning process … and its application – but rather as a much-maligned reptile.

Teacher education – like crocodiles – generally suffers from bad press. Although revered in some quarters, the mere mention of teacher education – like crocodiles – can evoke negative sentiments. And over time, the prevailing narrative surrounding teacher education becomes so ingrained in our minds – like crocodiles – that some begin to call for drastic measures, even elimination.

But metaphors can be tricky. Basically, not all metaphors are created equal. The best ones not only enhance our understanding of the topic at hand, they help us grasp associations and characteristics we might have overlooked.

The photojournals from Antero, Bettina, Bree, and Elizabeth offer a strong and powerful image for teacher education’s future. So perhaps it’s helpful for us all to think of teacher education not as a crocodile, but rather as a system on the brink of a revolution.

What I see in the pictorial displays – and what I hear in the video and audio – is a promising and underutilized path – a strategy that can effectively disrupt the hegemonic whiteness that supports the current system of teacher education, and that informs how pre-service teachers are currently prepared and inducted into the profession.

And it’s the perfect time – considering the magnitude of demographic changes now underway. A few years ago, AACTE conducted a comprehensive analysis of data collected from nearly all of its more than 800 teacher preparation program members. The findings are startling, but not surprising: classrooms are growing more racially and ethnically diverse, while those leading classrooms remain predominately white.

According to the data, 82 percent of bachelor’s degrees in education are awarded to white students. Black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American teaching candidates were each in the single digits. This is contrasted against the rapidly changing racial and ethnic makeup of public school students – more than half of public school students today are non-white, and according to the Census Bureau, by around 2020, non-white children will make up more than half of Americans under the age of 18.

Against this shifting landscape, we have teacher educators like our presenters who are upending the model for teacher education. With laser-like precision, they are demonstrating how equity and social justice and excellence can work in harmony – and be elevated to an imperative. Through their work and scholarship, the aim is not to reform teacher education, but to revolutionize it – not to tweak, but to transform.

Author, historian, and journalist Lerone Bennett, Jr. – a shrewd observer of American society and its racial injustices – had a piercing take on the teaching profession that immediately comes to mind as I reflect on the presenters’ journals. The photojournals capture the lives and the work of teacher educators as liberators. Any discussion on teacher education and scholarship that fails to include the intersection of race, culture, and opportunity cannot build a road map to the future.

Allowing for the trends I noted, for the foreseeable future, the teachers in our public schools will be primarily white and middle-class. And because of widespread housing and school segregation, they themselves will have likely lived in primarily white neighborhoods and attended primarily white schools.

Today, these prospective teachers enter preparation programs and complete their schooling without ever having their ingrained and widely-accepted beliefs about the students they’ll be teaching challenged or even questioned. And let’s be frank – it’s not just white teachers. The same applies to aspiring teachers of color as well. Because as people of color we also can internalize ideas, beliefs, and behaviors that mire us in our own oppression.

The quarterly magazine Rethinking Schools incisively describes the work that must be embraced in teacher education. Changing the dominant narrative requires changing the way that teacher educators teach – which the photojournals illustrate – as well as changing the way that teacher education research and scholarship is used to inform policymakers and the public.

To influence and sway opinion means writing not to impress and dazzle your colleagues – who already have an established interest in the topic – but writing clear and readable materials for a general audience. It means producing works – in written or other formats – that challenge established thinking and practices – and therefore have the capacity to generate new visions and directions. And that doesn’t mean “dumbing down” your work – as evidenced by the work of our presenters, which is rigorous and insightful.

What I see in their pursuits is what all education research should be: fresh and inviting, with a real-world connection that underscores its relevance and validity.

Teacher education needs to show that you have some skin in the game. Countless time, energy, and resources are spent trying to improve the field of teaching to meet the needs of a growing, diverse student populace – and no one wants to speak the words “race” or “culture” or “racism.” That’s a shell-game and not a solution.

In my research for this session, I came across a piece in the journal “Teaching Education” written by Cheryl Matias, an assistant professor in urban teacher education at University of Colorado Denver. True to form, it seemed to have caused quite a firestorm, because the article expressed some seldom-heard, and for too many, difficult-to-accept truths.

In the journal, she describes whiteness as a disease —emphasizing that a colorblind society is impossible in the United States. She stresses that we can’t even begin to address the education debt – commonly referred to as the racial achievement gap – without addressing the underlying maladies of racism and whiteness. And she calls on schools of education to own and prioritize this work before teaching novices land in classrooms.

I found her words very illuminating – and for me it encapsulates the real test ahead for schools of education.

Teacher education programs must actively engage preservice teachers in the work of unpacking and reassembling how race, ethnicity, culture, language, and social class manifest in schools, in their students’ lives, and in the communities in which they are privileged to teach. And I reiterate – privileged. Because as a parent, I turn my most-prized and treasured asset over to teachers every day.

Teacher education can recreate what teaching practice looks like, re-envisioning the role of teachers and schools in historically marginalized communities. You have the tools and the means to create schools where social, political and economic equality is fostered and nurtured and grown.

Can you enthusiastically and openly move in this direction? The presenters here today show me it’s possible. Let’s make it permanent.

Thank you.


“The deportation rate for undocumented black immigrants is because we are both black and undocumented simultaneously.”

The undocumented Black community is disproportionately detained and deported. And still, discussions of immigration reform and undocumented youth generally revolve around Latino immigrants from Mexico and Central America. To bring more visibility to the diversity of the undocumented student experience, I interviewed a recent college graduate from Connecticut—a young woman who is undocumented and Black. Her perspective helps shatter a common perception of U.S. immigration and disrupt the familiar narrative.

Melinda D. Anderson: In many accounts of the young undocumented immigrant, the protagonist is often a Latino youth from Mexico or Central America, whose family came to the U.S. to escape extreme poverty and violence in their home countries. Talk about how this dominant narrative can render the black and non-Latino immigrant experience invisible—absent from discussion and attention.

Ainslya Charlton: One concrete example is that the Black Alliance for Just Immigration(BAJI) found that black immigrants are being detained and deported at five times the rate of our proportion in the undocumented community. Many people do not realize that the immigration system is just as subject to anti-blackness as other government [systems] that are associated with enforcing structural racism. Resources that are donated with the intent to help undocumented immigrants are often targeted towards organizations that focus their efforts on Latino communities. This creates conditions where some of the only resources that are available for undocumented immigrants also have ethnicity restrictions that leave many that do not fit that mold behind.

Still yet, many of the anti-deportation protests are centered on Latinos that do not identify with an African descent. And microaggressions often happen within the immigrant-rights movement. Afro-Latinos and others are often dismissed when we make requests for translations into languages other than Spanish—such as Garifuna, French, and Portuguese. I once saw a flyer posted on Facebook for an action that was called “A Day Without Latinos” that was organized in response to an anti-immigrant bill. When I pointed out that there were people from other ethnicities that were also undocumented in that state [Wisconsin] and would also be impacted by that bill, people commented on my post by saying that if I had an issue with the way that the action was advertised, I should go out and protest instead of sitting at home. Since the face of the immigrant-rights movement does not include people like me, the assumption was that I wasn’t doing any work within the movement as an individual who identifies as an undocumented black woman … We have to advocate for ourselves and the issues that disproportionately impact us [in activist and political circles] where immigration is openly understood as a Latino issue.

Read more.

Latin School site, School St., Boston, MA Freedom Trail

What should feel like a major accomplishment—getting accepted into an elite public high school—can quickly go downhill if, as a student, you’re subjected to racial slurs, racial hostilities, and racist attitudes and behaviors. That is the reality for some Black and Latino students in the country’s most selective public high schools. And as the push to diversify these schools takes precedence, inadequate attention is given to creating school cultures that nurture and support students from all ethnic and racial backgrounds.

I looked at how racial conflict is affecting students at America’s most prestigious and sought-after public high schools—and what school leaders and staff can do to address this issue.

Balancing the underrepresentation of his culture inside school with cultural pride outside school is something that Matthew Mata, a Latino senior at Chicago’s Walter Payton College Preparatory High School, navigates daily. Throughout his high-school years he says he’s witnessed the equivalent of what was reported at Boston Latin. “The fact that only a few Latinos get the opportunity to receive a fully resourced education [which means] extracting me from my culture … and people who I can easily identify with” only accelerates racial tensions, said Mata, who travels from an “artistic Mexican neighborhood” to attend one of the most selective schools in the city.

To better meet the needs of its students of color, Payton hired a director of student engagement and formed a club—Payton People of Color—as a place to talk through racial and social issues affecting students. Mata sees it as an attempt to be more inclusive, but believes a club can only reap limited benefits: “There shouldn’t need to be a club so students feel safe [but instead] classroom environments where they feel safe.” He added that what elite schools like his need are opportunities for school staff to grow in their racial and cultural consciousness, through student testimonials and mandatory teach-ins on racism. “I believe that in order to confront an oppressive system, you must at times confront [administrators and teachers] with uncomfortable conversations to hopefully get your message across.”

Read more.


The Community Eligibility Provision (CEP) allows a school or district to provide free lunch and breakfast to all students when 40 percent or more of its student body is found to be food insecure: they live in homes that receive food stamps, live in foster care, are homeless, or other criteria that identifies them as food vulnerable. The CEP is widely praised by educators and others for lowering administrative costs and feeding more hungry kids.

Yet the House subcommittee that oversees school nutrition programs has introduced a bill that would raise the threshold for schools and districts to qualify for the program. An analysis shows that some 7,000 high-poverty schools would be affected–forcing these schools to shift limited resources to managing paperwork and disrupting access to breakfast and lunch for low-income students.

Yes, hunger impairs school performance. Yes, school breakfast and school lunch can stave off hunger for impoverished children. And we never talk about why affluent children need to eat. It’s a given. Perhaps because eating is a basic human function. This week in The Atlantic I look at the political gamesmanship over something as basic as feeding hungry children.

Some of the most vocal opponents of the proposed bill are educators who live in Indiana, the home state of the bill’s author. The Republican Congressman Todd Rokita, who chairs the subcommittee that introduced the bill, represents an area in Indiana where nearly 34,000 children were rated “food insecure”—living in a household with limited or uncertain access to adequate food—according to the latest data from Feeding America.

The disconnect between politics and policy seems most glaring in the one aspect of school meals that is hardest to measure: the widespread stigma that students and families often attach to free meals at school. Morris C. Leis, the superintendent of Coffee County Schools in south central Georgia, said that community eligibility allows the district to serve free breakfast and lunch to over 6,400 kids—84 percent of the entire student population—but with the proposed change, six schools would be unable to participate, affecting some 3,800 children. A racially and ethnically diverse district, 28 percent of his community lives at or below the federal poverty level. “Coffee County has many [families] living paycheck to paycheck,” he said. “For some students, the meals they eat at school may be the only meals they get during the day or even on the weekend.”

Read more.


In the 1990s, the term “digital divide” was coined to define the gap between people who had regular access to technology and those who did not—the proverbial technology “haves and have-nots.” Since then, the digital divide has shifted to mean more than simply being able to surf the web. And as technological needs and capabilities have grown, so have the inequities.

This week I looked at schools that filter and block certain websites on school Wi-Fi networks, as well as on school-issued laptops and tablets that students take home. The concerns and challenges all circle back to how heavy-handed internet filtering undermines student learning, particularly for children who depend exclusively on school-provided internet access and devices.

This common-sense viewpoint, however, has yet to trickle down to many schools, where over-filtering—filtering beyond the requirements of [the Children’s Internet Protection Act]—is common. One of the most ardent and active opponents of over-filtering to date has been the American Library Association, which for many years has championed the need to protect students’ access to “legal, constitutionally protected information that is necessary for their school studies [and] personal well-being,” said Deborah Caldwell-Stone, the deputy director for ALA’s office for intellectual freedom. Stone said in some cases, the problem is as simple as school staff failing to adjust the pre-set maximum settings on filtering software, though much of the difficulty resides with school personnel who misunderstand the federal law and the requirements necessary to be in compliance. As an example, she said both the Federal Communications Commission and representatives from the Department of Education have issued guidance stating that Facebook, YouTube, and other platforms do not need to be filtered, but school districts often block these websites “on the grounds that students might access content barred by CIPA.”

This finding is confirmed by anecdotal and empirical evidence. In Maine, Portland Public Schools in April 2012 installed filters on high-school students’ school-issued laptops that banned access to social networks, games, and video-streaming sites. At the time, Portland was among the first districts in the state to authorize such stringent filtering on take-home school devices. As the Press Herald reported, Portland High School students had very different responses to the new policy, based on their access to another computer at home: “…those from middle-class families expressed various degrees of annoyance when told of the new filtering measures. A group of immigrant students reacted with anger.”

Read more.


Firefighting is a noble and selfless profession. And there’s a shortage of firefighters across the country. It’s also a physically dangerous and psychologically taxing profession. CareerCast, an online portal for job seekers, ranked firefighting the most stressful job of 2015. And firefighters have among the highest rates of injuries and illnesses, according to government data.

So, taken all together, this raises some questions about equity and opportunity when career academies at high schools with higher concentrations of disadvantaged youth of color are preparing their students for firefighting, while career academies serving mainly white students—sometimes in the same school district—are preparing students for engineering and STEM careers.

Can such trends lead to “tracking” and perpetuate age-old inequalities for youth of color? Is this deserving of more scrutiny? My latest piece explores this issue.

[James] Kemple, now the executive director at the Research Alliance for New York City Schools, said his study suggests that career academies can be an “equalizing force,” noting that most of his data was drawn from schools and districts with high concentrations of black and Latino students, and students from low-income families and communities. For the desired effects, he said, three important elements must work in tandem: strong personalized-learning environments, a commitment to helping students complete high school, and opportunities to participate in meaningful work-related learning experiences. The biggest threat is inflating any one component at the expense of another. “An over-emphasis on job-specific skills training could lead to tracking,” Kemple said, referring to the educational practice of dividing students based on perceived abilities. “From this perspective, [firefighting] should provide the same opportunities for integrated learning, career-development skills, and advancement to college as business and finance.”

Louie F. Rodriguez, an associate professor in the college of education at California State University San Bernardino, said he has seen this trend before when you take a traditional school environment and examine the program offerings by race, language, and class. Rodriguez, who co-authored Small Schools and Urban Youthsaid there is “a lot of research to suggest that tracking students by race … perpetuates inequality at the school level.” While considering some of the examples cited, Rodriguez said it is vital to scrutinize the degree to which all career academies offer all students the same opportunity to learn. “If some academies offer more academically rigorous and more selective courses, and there are clear disparities in enrollment patterns by race, language, and class, then there is obviously a need to be concerned,” he said.

Read more.


When teachers in schools serving under-resourced communities can only be cast as heroes, martyrs, or patriots in books and movies, the result has proven to be far-reaching—namely, damaging myths about urban students and urban schooling.

In my latest piece, I examine how these literary and film accounts reinforce harmful stereotypes of urban teaching, and bring to the surface underlying racial aspects – i.e., the “white savior teacher” – that add to the discord.

The trope of the gung-ho greenhorn in the wilds of urban public education can trace its roots back to popular classics like To Sir, With Love(1967) and contemporary films like Dangerous Minds (1995). In each, a novice teacher is able to overcome and succeed where others have failed. The stories entertain movie audiences, but it is the way in which these tales have shaped the discourse about teaching and urban schooling that is of rising concern among some critics in the education world.


Elden admits that these stories have the elements of a good Hollywood plot, but fall short as a guide for real teachers who “fall into the trap of comparing their unedited footage to other people’s highlight reels.” The maverick teacher “has become the only acceptable story to tell about our experiences as educators,” said Elden, adding that it creates a dynamic where beginning teachers are afraid to admit they’re struggling and soon are exhausted from trying to keep up with a false ideal.


This breed of books and films “hold up … white people as exceptionally brave or exceptionally self-sacrificing or just exceptional and heroic for doing the same work educators have done for years without fanfare,” said Royal, whose work with preservice teachers brings this sharply into focus. “I debunk this idea with my students before we begin field experience in Baltimore City schools each semester,” she said, stressing that “white saviors aren’t bringing light and hope. The hope is already in our students and in our schools and communities. Our job is to cultivate it, to bring out what already exists.”

Read more.

(Photo: Clark County School District)


Last month 106-year-old Virginia McLaurin danced with joy upon meeting the Obamas. Born in 1909, the centenarian has lived through 18 different presidents. But meeting Barack and Michelle Obama was a major achievement for the South Carolina native. Her excitement stemmed from coming face-to-face with a U.S. president and first lady of the same race: “I thought I would never live [to see] … a black president.”

While McLaurin waited many years for this accomplishment, there’s a generation of kids—pre-teens who came of age over the last eight years—who’ve never known anything else. I recently gathered a group of racially and ethnically diverse middle-schoolers to get their take on the significance and impact of America’s first black president.

Melinda D. Anderson: In 2008, when he was elected, there was a lot written about President Obama being the first black president. What does it mean to you that America elected a black man to be its president?

Josh Frost, 13: It shows we can change, because it shows that not only white people can be in the government. More people of different races would like to be president now, because Barack Obama became president. Before there were only white presidents, so they probably thought they had to be like them to do the job.

Avi Kedia, 12: It shows something [about] America, that somebody from a different race, other than white, can win the presidential election. We shouldn’t base the presidents just on race, we should base it on their actual skill. But it shows that somebody from a different race can rise up and go against what everybody else says and win. I could be president if I really wanted to. I just have to push myself. And it doesn’t matter if I’m Indian. It opens the door for everything really. If someone black can be president after it forever being white presidents, maybe a woman can be president. Or we can have a gay president. None of that even matters anymore.

Read More.

(Photo: The White House)


Black girls are routinely mischaracterized, mislabeled, and mistreated—and the issue begs for a deeper engagement and understanding from parents, community members, and especially educators. A new book, Pushout, examines the criminalization of Black girls in schools and offers interventions that can lead to more productive possibilities for these young women. My latest author Q&A explores this topic in more detail.

Melinda D. Anderson: Clearly some of the most blistering accounts emanate from black girls’ public-school experiences, where racialized and gendered expectations seem to leave them feeling simultaneously targeted and invisible. The use of zero tolerance and harsh school discipline is a culprit, along with the attitudes and behaviors of school staff. How do these elements work in tandem to derail black girls’ education?

Monique W. Morris:  When we combine latent misperceptions about black femininity with punitive discipline policies, we are paving the way for black girls to be disproportionately pushed out of schools. Black girls are the only group of girls overrepresented in all discipline categories for which data are collected by the U.S. Department of Education Office of Civil Rights. That is alarming. Zero tolerance and other punitive policies in schools leave many school leaders and educators with only one response to young people who act out.

[Further,] black girls express that a caring teacher is most important in their learning environment. When they connect with a teacher and feel a genuine love and appreciation for their promise as scholars, their relationship with school is more positive. However, research studies have found that African American children receive “more criticism and less support” from teachers—conditions that could alienate and push black children away from learning. Recent examples in New York City and Georgia demonstrate the hard work that is still needed to produce learning environments that acknowledge and invest in the positive potential of black girls.

Read more.