Where are the mean, cruel, evil-hearted, racist bigots when you need them? Where are the hoses they used to blow my ancestors and others across the streets like rag dolls? Where are the German shepherds they used to keep defiant marchers from advancing their cry for equal rights? Where are the signs that proudly announced the “white only” establishments, fountains, and bathrooms? I am going to go way out on a limb and say that if these events existed today, there would be more of an impetus to solve the problems that are now faced by our inner-city schools.
The civil rights movement of the ‘60s had been a movement far before it came on the national radar. Those who had been experiencing the curse of inequality and pain of segregation did not all of a sudden realize there was a problem when the media from the north showed up to film marches. People had been asking for equality in the south for years before Martin Luther King marched through the streets of Montgomery, Alabama. Preachers in the south had been preaching eloquent and passionate sermons of freedom and justice long before there were plans to march on Washington. So the question that begs to be asked is, what caused these problems to be transformed from a southern “blemish” to a national epidemic that was felt by Americans across this country?
What was it that made people in suburban Massachusetts and rural Pennsylvania travel to Mississippi and join hands with perfect strangers in a quest for freedom? Furthermore, what caused these northern suburbanites to leave the safety of their homes and risk life and limb for people they did not even know, or perhaps even care to know? Why did Americans across this great nation of ours put pressure on their governmental representatives to do something about the hosings, lynchings, and church bombings that were occurring far, far away from their calm and tranquil neighborhoods?
I am convinced that the reason that people acted and demanded that the government come to the aid of this battle for justice was because the nature of the violent offenses against civil rights advocates had become too difficult to ignore. It’s not that people were not concerned about black America prior to these violent altercations; it’s just that these concerns could be discussed and placated with steering committees and commissions dedicated to developing long-term strategies for improving the plight of those suffering from segregation. Plessy v. Ferguson was an excellent example of one such effort to make sure that things were dealt with without it getting too “messy.” This strategy was working just fine, until civil rights advocates gained one voice and began to sing in one chorus, We Shall Overcome. It was when this chorus was sung with passionate determination that the mean, cruel, evil-hearted racist souls came to the aid of the movement! In an ironic way, their hoses, dogs, and ropes made it impossible for suburban America to ignore the movement.
There was no way that suburban America could live with itself if it sat night after night and watched men, women, and children being blown across the streets with fire hoses like trash being swept away after a street party. How do you explain that to the kids at the dinner table? It touched suburban America at their humanistic core. We may live in different neighborhoods, but we all understand pain, hurt, fear. Unless we are seriously ill, we tend to dislike viewing other humans being seriously harmed. And so, something had to be done.
The more I think about it, the more I can appreciate the heroism of civil rights heroes and heroines. In essence what they agreed to do is sacrifice themselves for the sake of bringing a southern “issue” to the minds, hearts, eyes, and living rooms of Americans across this country. These martyrs had faith in the core of humanity. Faith that what ties us together is greater than what keeps us apart.
And so they marched and tolerated the taunts. And they marched and withstood the rocks. And they marched and tolerated the batons. And they marched despite the spit. And when they recovered from the soggy, involuntary dances caused by powerfully pressured streams of water, they continued to march…or just kept standing back up. All so that one day, people far away in the comfort of their safe neighborhoods and wonderful schools would turn to each other and proclaim: this treatment is inhuman. What can we do to stop it?
The challenge that we have today with improving our urban and rural public schools — what Jonathan Kozol calls the second civil rights movement — is there are no hoses and bombings. Furthermore it’s really not about race; it’s more about class. There are no signs proclaiming “Middle Class Only” in this school or “Poor Children Only” in another school. There are no batons being brought down on the heads of schoolchildren in our city schools, and falling ceiling tiles and chipping lead paint just doesn’t grab readers enough to be headlines and sell papers. Test results and charts that show dramatic gaps between the races just don’t possess the amount of “drama” that a good riot would create. And because these events don’t exist, this problem — like the civil rights movement before the notoriously violent years — has not reached the level of urgency needed for legislators to feel compelled or pressured to do anything besides add more tests and accountability with very few resources to make a meaningful difference.
What makes this challenge doubly dubious is the fact that the urban school equity movement lacks a unified chorus and chorus director. Every great social movement needs a chorus and a director. Right now, there is a cacophonous cadence of chants. I pray someone will rise up and bring harmony to this song, for the sake of the children.
Until these things happen — a unified chorus in our cities, a national leader, and suburban-humanistic connection — we are fighting an uphill battle to improve the plight of inner city children. Where are the hoses when you need them?
Where are the mean, cruel, evil-hearted, racist bigots when you need them? Where are the hoses they used to blow my ancestors and others across the streets like rag dolls? Where are the German shepherds they used to keep defiant marchers from advancing their cry for equal rights? Where are the signs that proudly announced the “white only” establishments, fountains, and bathrooms? I am going to go way out on a limb and say that if these events existed today, there would be more of an impetus to solve the problems that are now faced by our inner-city schools.
The civil rights movement of the ‘60s had been a movement far before it came on the national radar. Those who had been experiencing the curse of inequality and pain of segregation did not all of a sudden realize there was a problem when the media from the north showed up to film marches. People had been asking for equality in the south for years before Martin Luther King marched through the streets of Montgomery, Alabama. Preachers in the south had been preaching eloquent and passionate sermons of freedom and justice long before there were plans to march on Washington. So the question that begs to be asked is, what caused these problems to be transformed from a southern “blemish” to a national epidemic that was felt by Americans across this country?
What was it that made people in suburban Massachusetts and rural Pennsylvania travel to Mississippi and join hands with perfect strangers in a quest for freedom? Furthermore, what caused these northern suburbanites to leave the safety of their homes and risk life and limb for people they did not even know, or perhaps even care to know? Why did Americans across this great nation of ours put pressure on their governmental representatives to do something about the hosings, lynchings, and church bombings that were occurring far, far away from their calm and tranquil neighborhoods?
I am convinced that the reason that people acted and demanded that the government come to the aid of this battle for justice was because the nature of the violent offenses against civil rights advocates had become too difficult to ignore. It’s not that people were not concerned about black America prior to these violent altercations; it’s just that these concerns could be discussed and placated with steering committees and commissions dedicated to developing long-term strategies for improving the plight of those suffering from segregation. Plessy v. Ferguson was an excellent example of one such effort to make sure that things were dealt with without it getting too “messy.” This strategy was working just fine, until civil rights advocates gained one voice and began to sing in one chorus, We Shall Overcome. It was when this chorus was sung with passionate determination that the mean, cruel, evil-hearted racist souls came to the aid of the movement! In an ironic way, their hoses, dogs, and ropes made it impossible for suburban America to ignore the movement.
There was no way that suburban America could live with itself if it sat night after night and watched men, women, and children being blown across the streets with fire hoses like trash being swept away after a street party. How do you explain that to the kids at the dinner table? It touched suburban America at their humanistic core. We may live in different neighborhoods, but we all understand pain, hurt, fear. Unless we are seriously ill, we tend to dislike viewing other humans being seriously harmed. And so, something had to be done.
The more I think about it, the more I can appreciate the heroism of civil rights heroes and heroines. In essence what they agreed to do is sacrifice themselves for the sake of bringing a southern “issue” to the minds, hearts, eyes, and living rooms of Americans across this country. These martyrs had faith in the core of humanity. Faith that what ties us together is greater than what keeps us apart.
And so they marched and tolerated the taunts. And they marched and withstood the rocks. And they marched and tolerated the batons. And they marched despite the spit. And when they recovered from the soggy, involuntary dances caused by powerfully pressured streams of water, they continued to march…or just kept standing back up. All so that one day, people far away in the comfort of their safe neighborhoods and wonderful schools would turn to each other and proclaim: this treatment is inhuman. What can we do to stop it?
The challenge that we have today with improving our urban and rural public schools — what Jonathan Kozol calls the second civil rights movement — is there are no hoses and bombings. Furthermore it’s really not about race; it’s more about class. There are no signs proclaiming “Middle Class Only” in this school or “Poor Children Only” in another school. There are no batons being brought down on the heads of schoolchildren in our city schools, and falling ceiling tiles and chipping lead paint just doesn’t grab readers enough to be headlines and sell papers. Test results and charts that show dramatic gaps between the races just don’t possess the amount of “drama” that a good riot would create. And because these events don’t exist, this problem — like the civil rights movement before the notoriously violent years — has not reached the level of urgency needed for legislators to feel compelled or pressured to do anything besides add more tests and accountability with very few resources to make a meaningful difference.
What makes this challenge doubly dubious is the fact that the urban school equity movement lacks a unified chorus and chorus director. Every great social movement needs a chorus and a director. Right now, there is a cacophonous cadence of chants. I pray someone will rise up and bring harmony to this song, for the sake of the children.
Until these things happen — a unified chorus in our cities, a national leader, and suburban-humanistic connection — we are fighting an uphill battle to improve the plight of inner city children. Where are the hoses when you need them?
