The Resegregation of Schools: Education and Race in the Twenty-First Century 9780415807012, 9780203522226

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The Resegregation of Schools

Access to a quality education remains the primary mechanism for improving one’s life chances in the United States, and for children of color, a “good education” is particularly linked to their individual and collective wellbeing. Despite the popular perception that America is in a “post-racial” epoch, opportunities to access quality learning environments and human development resources remain determined according to race, class, gender, and ability. Taking a more nuanced approach to race and the resegregation of the American school system, this volume examines how and why the education quality for the majority of students of color in America remains fundamentally unequal.

Adrienne D. Dixson, is an Associate Professor in the College of Education at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Her scholarship examines school choice, school reform and educational equity in urban schooling contexts. Jamel K. Donnor is an assistant professor in the School of Education at The College of William and Mary. His research interests include examining race in education and American society.

Routledge Research in Education

For a complete list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com.

67 Multidisciplinary Approaches to Educational Research Case Studies from Europe and the Developing World Edited by Sadaf Rizvi 68 Postcolonial Perspectives on Global Citizenship Education Edited by Vanessa de Oliveira Andreotti and Lynn Mario T. M. De Souza 69 Education in the Black Diaspora Perspectives, Challenges, and Prospects Edited by Kassie Freeman and Ethan Johnson 70 Gender, Race, and the Politics of Role Modelling The Influence of Male Teachers Wayne Martino and Goli Rezai-Rashti 71 Educating for Diversity and Social Justice Amanda Keddie 72 Considering Trilingual Education Kathryn Henn-Reinke 73 Commitment, Character, and Citizenship Religious Education in Liberal Democracy Edited by Hanan A. Alexander and Ayman K. Agbaria

74 Adolescent Literacies in a Multicultural Context Edited by Alister Cumming 75 Participation, Facilitation, and Mediation Children and Young People in Their Social Contexts Edited by Claudio Baraldi and Vittorio Iervese 76 The Politics of Knowledge in Education Elizabeth Rata 77 Neoliberalism, Pedagogy and Human Development Exploring Time, Mediation and Collectivity in Contemporary Schools Michalis Kontopodis 78 Resourcing Early Learners New Networks, New Actors Sue Nichols, Jennifer Rowsell, Helen Nixon and Sophia Rainbird 79 Educating for Peace in a Time of “Permanent War” Are Schools Part of the Solution or the Problem? Edited by Paul R. Carr and Brad J. Porfilio 80 The Politics of Teacher Professional Development Policy, Research and Practice Ian Hardy

81 Working-Class Minority Students’ Routes to Higher Education Roberta Espinoza 82 Education, Indigenous Knowledges, and Development in the Global South Contesting Knowledges for a Sustainable Future Anders Breidlid 83 Teacher Development in Higher Education Existing Programs, Program Impact, and Future Trends Edited by Eszter Simon and Gabriela Pleschová 84 Virtual Literacies Interactive Spaces for Children and Young People Edited by Guy Merchant, Julia Gillen, Jackie Marsh and Julia Davies 85 Geography and Social Justice in the Classroom Edited by Todd W. Kenreich 86 Diversity, Intercultural Encounters, and Education Edited by Susana Gonçalves and Markus A. Carpenter 87 The Role of Participants in Education Research Ethics, Epistemologies, and Methods Edited by Warren Midgley, Patrick Alan Danaher and Margaret Baguley 88 Care in Education Teaching with Understanding and Compassion Sandra Wilde

89 Family, Community, and Higher Education Edited by Toby S. Jenkins 90 Rethinking School Bullying Dominance, Identity and School Culture Ronald B. Jacobson 91 Language, Literacy, and Pedagogy in Postindustrial Societies The Case of Black Academic Underachievement Paul C. Mocombe and Carol Tomlin 92 Education for Civic and Political Participation A Critical Approach Edited by Reinhold Hedtke and Tatjana Zimenkova 93 Language Teaching Through the Ages Garon Wheeler 94 Refugees, Immigrants, and Education in the Global South Lives in Motion Edited by Lesley Bartlett and Ameena Ghaffar-Kucher 95 The Resegregation of Schools Education and Race in the Twenty-First Century Edited by Jamel K. Donnor and Adrienne D. Dixson

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The Resegregation of Schools Education and Race in the Twenty-First Century Edited by Jamel K. Donnor and Adrienne D. Dixson

NEW YORK

LONDON

First published 2013 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2013 Taylor & Francis The right of the editors to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The resegregation of schools : education and race in the twenty-first century / edited by Jamel K. Donnor and Adrienne D. Dixson. pages cm. -- (Routledge research in education ; 95) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Critical pedagogy. 2. Racism in education. 3. Discrimination in education. I. Donnor, Jamel K. II. Dixson, Adrienne D. LC196.R46 2013 370.11'5--dc23 2012048562 ISBN: (hbk) 978-0-415-80701-2 ISBN: (ebk) 978-0-203-52222-6 Typeset in Sabon by IBT Global.

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Contents

List of Figures List of Tables Foreword Introduction 1

The Same but Different: “Post-Racial” Inequality in American Public Education

ix xi xiii xxv

1

CAREY HAWKINS ASH AND CHANEÉ D. ANDERSON

2

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge: Curriculum Revision for African Americans, From Pre-Brown to the Present

27

ANTHONY BROWN, JULIAN VASQUEZ HEILIG, AND KEFFRELYN BROWN

3

The Power of Counterstories: The Complexity of Black Male Experiences in Pursuit of Academic Success

44

CLARENCE L. TERRY, SR. AND TYRONE C. HOWARD

4

Closing the Schoolhouse Doors: State Efforts to Limit K–12 Education for Unauthorized Migrant School Children

63

ANGELA M. BANKS

5

(In)capable and (Un)deserving: A Critical Race Media and Policy Analysis of Educational and Immigration Policies

82

SONYA M. ALEMÁN AND ENRIQUE ALEMÁN, JR.

6

Prison Schooling: Segregation, Post-Racialism, and the Criminalization of Black and Brown Youth SABINA E. VAUGHT

110

viii Contents 7

The Impact of School Resegregation on the Racial Identity Development of African American Students: The Example of Wake County

139

JESSICA T. DECUIR-GUNBY AND JOCELYN D. TALIAFERRO

8

Interstate School Choice? Evaluating Educational Quality in Metropolitan Regions that are Divided by State Lines

164

MARK C. HOGREBE, LYDIA KYEI-BLANKSON, AND WILLIAM F. TATE

9

Toward a Critical Race Case Pedagogy: A Tool for Social Justice Educators

194

VANESSA OCHOA, CORINA BENAVIDES LOPEZ, AND DANIEL G. SOLÓRZANO

Contributors Index

213 217

Figures

5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5 8.6 8.7

8.8

8.9

8.10

9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4

Majoritarian statements. Counterstory statements. Type of statement by educators. Type of statement by lawmakers. Sources contributing to defi nition of proficient students. Model for comparing student performance on common measures. Percentage of students proficient and advanced in science for state of Missouri and St. Louis metro west. Percentage of students who meet and exceed standards in science for state of Illinois and St. Louis metro east. Percentage of students in top two proficiency levels in science in St. Louis metro eest and St. Louis metro east. Top categories of proficiency for the state of Missouri and state of Illinois. Percentage of proficient students on NAEP science tests and state science tests for St. Louis metro west and St. Louis metro east. Percentage of third grade students with MAP science items correct greater than 70% and with Terra Nova percentile greater than 70th, 2001–2005. Percentage of seventh grade students with MAP science items correct greater than 70% and with Terra Nova percentile greater than 70th, 2001–2005. Percentage of tenth grade students with MAP science items correct greater than 70% and with Terra Nova percentile greater than 70th, 2001–2005. “Lost in the Wounds” by Edgar Ramirez. “Color Isn’t What it Seems” by Isa Silva. Critical race case pedagogy model. “I am Yesenia,” by Yesenia Mendoza.

95 96 98 98 168 169 176 179 182 184

186

187

188

189 196 196 202 209

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Tables

5.1

State Flagship Newspapers, Number, and Percentage of Sources by Category 5.2 Source’s Statement by Newspaper 5.3 Majoritarian and Counterstory Statements 8.1 Comparison of State of Missouri with State of Illinois 8.2 Comparison of Missouri State to St. Louis Metro WEST (MO) Region 8.3 Comparison of Illinois State to St. Louis Metro EAST (IL) Region 8.4 Comparison of St. Louis Metro WEST (MO) to Metro EAST (IL)

92 93 96 171 175 178 180

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Foreword

YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT: UNDERSTANDING SCHOOL DESEGREGATION IN THE 21ST CENTURY In May 1954 I was sitting in second grade at Belmont Elementary School in the “down the bottom” section of West Philadelphia. Some 130 miles south of me the U.S. Court was making what would be viewed as one of the more momentous decisions in the Court’s history. In a unanimous decision the justices struck down a 58-year-old decision that declared that “separate but equal” was the law of the land. Now in the mid-20th century the court reversed itself asserting that separate was inherently unequal. The announcement of the Brown (1954) decision brought excitement and accolades from all corners of the nation and around the world but the truth was, not much changed in the lives of most African American people. My African American schoolmates and I would continue in a deeply segregated elementary school throughout our grade school experience. By the following May, the Supreme Court issued its consent decree (Brown v. Board of Education II, 1955) and the strategy became abundantly clear to both those who supported the fi rst decision and those who opposed it. The consent decree said that school districts were required to desegregate their schools “with all deliberate speed.” That wording sent a clear signal that the federal government would not take an active role in promoting desegregation. Over the next five decades school districts, states, municipalities, community members, parents, and students would engage in a tug of war over school desegregation. Some proposed solutions included mandatory busing plans, cross county school desegregation plans, and magnet school plans. Few of these plans achieved the desired results and today African American and Latina/o students fi nd themselves in schools more segregated than ever. How did this happen? How did the promise of school desegregation lead us back to a more balkanized, less integrated school environment at the same time that most people recognize the society is more racially and ethnically diverse, more globally interconnected, and allegedly more racially tolerant? How can we still foster

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separate and unequal education at the same time we elected an African American to lead the nation? To those who subscribe to a Critical Race Theory (CRT) analysis of race and inequality in the United States, the resegregation of U.S. schools is neither surprising nor unexpected. This lack of expectation surrounding the Brown decision is rooted in our initial understanding of how Brown came to be and its primary purpose. In earlier writing (Ladson-Billings, 2004) I argued the Brown decision was not a result of an enlightened citizenry or its leadership but rather a realization that the nation’s place in the world community was being deeply compromised by its continued denial of full citizenship to a significant portion of its society based solely on racial grounds. Although education discourse relies on an interpretation of Brown as an education decision, scholars in law, political science, and history recognize that the decision was more a foreign policy one than an education one. Dudziak (1995) points out that the amicus brief filed in Brown by the U.S. Justice Department argued that desegregation was in the national interest because of the foreign policy implications. Specifically, the Justice Department (1954) wrote: During the past six years, the damage to our foreign relations attributable to [race discrimination] has become progressively greater. The United States is under constant attack in the foreign press, over foreign radio, and in such international bodies as the United Nations because of various practices of discrimination against minority groups in this country. . . . Soviet spokesmen regularly exploit this situation in propaganda against the United States. . . . Some of these attacks against us are based on falsehoods or distortion, but the undeniable existence of racial discrimination gives unfriendly governments the most effective kind of ammunition for their propaganda warfare. (Cited by Layton, 2000, p. 116) According to Derrick Bell (1980), the “father of Critical Race Theory,” Brown represents a prime example of an “interest convergence” because it leverages international embarrassment with the hopes and desires of African Americans for a better chance at equal education. The timing of the Brown decision—closely following World War II—raised the hopes of African Americans that they might fully participate in the economic prosperity and social and civic equality. Bell further argues that the Brown decision found champions in those Whites who understood that the American South could never make the economic transition from a “rural plantation society to the sunbelt with all its potential and profit” (1980, p. 96) unless it did away with state-sponsored segregation. The interests of Whites to quell racial unrest and improve the national image converge with the interests

Foreword xv of Blacks to improve educational access and opportunity and provide more social mobility. This interest convergence made Brown possible.

BACK TO THE FUTURE If we read Brown as an interest convergence developed primarily as a foreign policy strategy we can understand why most of the attempts at school desegregation fell short. The initial response to attempts to implement Brown in the South were met with fierce resistance. In some instances there were demonstrations and riots against school desegregation. The infamous Little Rock [Arkansas] 9 who integrated Central High School attended school with armed guards each day. The one senior among them, Ernest Green, graduated but by the next year the school district refused to open school. One of the Virginia districts also refused to open schools rather than desegregate. The story of Ruby Bridges is one of a single African American fi rst grader whose very presence kept all of the White parents from sending their children to school. Along with closing public schools, White communities began opening what would become known as “segregation academies” (Champagne, 1973). By 1971 about a half million White children attended segregated private schools in the South. The rise of the segregation academies allowed southern states to delay school desegregation into the 1960s. In addition to creating private schools, several legal challenges were being mounted to roll back Brown. Milliken v. Bradley (1974), San Antonio School District v. Rodriguez (1973), Board of Education of Oklahoma v. Dowell (1991), and Freeman v. Pitts (1992) each set out to chip away at the Brown decision. Milliken denied racially isolated communities of color the opportunity to extend desegregation efforts across city limits into the suburbs. Rodrigues denied that children had any constitutional rights to equal school expenditures. Dowell and Pitts permitted formerly desegregated school districts to return to neighborhood schools because of their “unitary” status, i.e. there was no separate school district so they were not “unequal.” More recently, the Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No.1 and Meredith v. Jefferson County Board of Education (hereafter known as PICS) seemed to turn Brown on its head by invoking it as a protection for White students. It seems that PICS was the fi nal legal nail in the school desegregation coffi n. In the PICS decision Justice Roberts, writing for the majority, asserted that the state had no “compelling interest” in creating racial balance in a school. The fact that some White students were not selected for an academic specialty school allowed the Court to rule that the White students were experiencing discrimination and being denied access to the school solely because of their race.

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So here we sit in 2012 with African American and Latina/o students almost as segregated as before the landmark decision. Orfield and Eaton (1996) document that after the Brown decision southern school segregation continued almost undisturbed well into the 1960s. Northern schools remained segregated until the mid-1970s. Segregation actually grew in the 1990s. Of the nation’s 12 largest city school districts only San Diego has a more than 25 percent White population. Interestingly, a number of highly regarded public school districts maintain huge academic disparities between White and African American and White and Latina/o students. School districts like Ann Arbor, Michigan; Evanston Township, Illinois; Arlington, Virginia; Madison, Wisconsin; and Shaker Heights, Ohio post some of the largest achievement disparities (Minority Student Achievement Network).

WHAT CRT CAN TELL US ABOUT SCHOOL DESEGREGATION One of the tenets of CRT is counterstory-telling (Delgado & Stefancic, 1999). The point of this technique is to create a narrative that runs counter to the prevailing or mainstream narrative to challenge what some may regard as a unitary or official perspective. So with a bit of a historical backdrop and a brief look at the contemporary situation I offer a counterstory to explain our likely future with a CRT outlook:

“They’re taking over our schools” Ever since court-ordered desegregation Big City School District struggled to hold on to its White children. Every year the number of White children in the district dipped. This seemed curious since White people were returning to the revitalized city center. Everywhere you looked there were new businesses and downtown condos going up. The city leaders were proud of the comeback they were making. During a late evening meeting of some of the men from the city’s oldest families Chester A. Dilworth III refl ected on what had transpired over the past half decade. “I remember the day they started talking that integration crap. My daddy, Chester A. Dilworth II—old Chet said, there was no way his children would go to school with Negroes. Of course you know he didn’t exactly say ‘Negroes.’” That last remark was met with a round of laughter. Buckley Beaufort chimed in, “My daddy said the same thing. As soon as they claimed we were going to have to integrate he made plans to send us to private school. I recall when the White Citizens Council used to meet at our house,” Buckley continued. “They drew up plans for opening Robert E. Lee Academy right away. Mr. Wentworth donated one of his vacant buildings over there on the east end and all the merchants donated supplies and resources to make it presentable. They even got some supplies from

Foreword xvii the school district and nobody said a thing. I’m talking about desks, chairs, books, pencils, the whole gamut. By the time that school was scheduled to open Robert E. Lee was opening its doors to welcome the White kids. A lot of our teachers were the same teachers we had in public school. They didn’t want to teach those Negroes.” “What was amazing,” interjected Bobby Beasley, manager of the local bank, “was that Robert E. Lee was open to even the poor White kids. Our families had to pay to attend but they made arrangements for the poor White kids to pay less. I think that was one of the first times the ‘respectable’ White folks welcomed the poor White folks. Everybody was serious about not letting White people no matter what their status have to go to school with those Negroes.” Over time, segregation academies became a fi xture in the town. However, the school district still had to battle the federal courts about school desegregation. Millions of dollars poured into the district to implement desegregation plans and programs. One program was the magnet school plan. It set up outstanding programs in specialty areas like arts, sciences, world languages, technology, and business. The idea was to create curricular offerings so outstanding that they would serve as a “magnet” and draw students regardless of race or ethnicities. By the late 1970s and early ’80s some of the magnet programs were working—especially those with high prestige and lots of perks. For instance, one magnet program focused on experiential learning where the participants got to go on expensive trips to places like Vail, Colorado, Honolulu, Hawaii, and Mexico City, Mexico. Of course, the only people who took advantage of the program were the White students. In fact, in most of the magnet programs, the White students were a part of the specialty program and the Black students were a part of the school’s “regular” program. The students went in the same school doors but once inside it appeared that they were in two totally different schools. Some of these magnet programs were the best “private school education public money could buy!” For many years it was apparent that White students were going to attend private or suburban schools while Black children would remain in failing city schools. That was the silent covenant we agreed to. However, about 5 years ago a devastating flood that wiped out most of the urban core hit our city. Homes were obliterated, families were displaced, and everything seemed to disappear. We received the sympathy of the entire nation—indeed the entire world. At the same time money was pouring in from the feds and international charities, the city forefathers seized an opportunity. In a hotel one town north of here a group of the city’s movers and shakers sat down and hatched a plan to remake the city. They planned to draw new businesses to the city by offering low-income loans and tax exemptions. They planned to draw wealthy residents by building high-end condos and lofts. They planned high-speed rail and free bus routes for the

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downtown area. And, they decided to sign on to a school plan that called for charter schools and a voucher plan. With access to financial markets and political connections their plan began to take shape soon after the rebuilding started. The city’s poor were still reeling after realizing that all of their resources were gone. Those who returned to the city could only find rental housing on the fringe of the new development. They had even more difficulty finding schools since schools in their neighborhoods were among the last to return. Located in the midst of the old Black community was the historic Benjamin Banneker High School. But the community development agency planned upscale housing for the Banneker neighborhood. Within 3 years Banneker had become an almost 90 percent White school with state of the art technology, an International Baccalaureate curriculum, and expansive and modern facilities. All of Banneker’s teachers were fully certifi ed. The Black community could not help but notice that when their children attended the high school it was run down with multiple safety hazards. Only about half of the teachers at the old Banneker were certifi ed. The curriculum did not offer any Advanced Placement courses and every outside assessment regarded Banneker as a “failure factory.” The one thing Banneker had was a history. It was the first and only school Black children could attend when it first opened. Some of the most outstanding Black residents had their starts at Banneker. The school was a landmark in the community and many in the Black middle class had hopes that in the post-storm era Banneker could be revived. However, their hopes were thwarted by neoliberal and market-based strategies that were designed to capitalize on Banneker’s superior geography. Each day as a group of former Banneker students rode a bus across the city to their tiny charter school housed in a former strip mall they lamented, “they’re taking over our schools!” This counterstory or chronicle pulls on several threads that run through the ways current day school resegregation operates. The story opens with a discussion of how segregationists worked in deliberate ways to resist the Court’s mandate. When it became apparent that school desegregation orders would be enforced many communities created alternative schools, sometimes with the help of the previously all White school district (Champagne, 1973). The basis for these schools was truly discriminatory based on race. Tuition costs ran the gamut from minimal to very expensive. The message was that there was some place available for every White child. The second thread of the chronicle is that even when civil rights legislation is implemented its implementation advantages Whites. In the case of school desegregation we see a myriad of federally-funded programs and ancillary benefits that attach to court orders. In this chronicle millions of dollars poured into the district for professional development programs, additional staff, buses, and the development of magnet school programs. The design of many of the magnet schools specifically appealed to the

Foreword xix desires of the White communities—fi ne and performing arts, science and technology, and advanced placement type programs. According to Lomotey and Staley (1990) such programs were said to be successful when White parents were attracted to and satisfied by them. However, the academic results for African American and Latina/o students showed no improvement. In at least one Northern California school district that was undergoing court-mandated school desegregation, White students were offered camping and ski trips to attend a previously all-Black high school. The key feature of many magnet schools is that they become sites for resegregation. When the San Francisco Unified School District began to desegregate the formerly all-Black Bayview-Hunters Point schools we saw the advantage flowed to the White community. A school that had been run down received a major facelift. All the repairs the community had clamored for began to happen. New state-of-the-art technology was installed in the library and classrooms. Each day as the African American children boarded the bus to ride across town they could see the gleaming edifice in their neighborhood that they no longer had access to. The third thread that is apparent in the chronicle is that opportunities to start over are rarely taken up as opportunities to minimize inequalities. In this tale a flood wipes out the city and the city’s power brokers use the catastrophe as a way to further displace their poor African American citizens. Instead of designing a plan that could help meet the needs of all of its citizens the city fathers had a design for an idyllic, mostly White space. This approach is identical to the one that took hold in post-Katrina New Orleans. According to news reports, the city fathers were attempting to rebuild a smaller, Whiter city that would attract more businesses and more White tourists. Similarly Chicago, in its massive revitalization effort, came up with a way to displace its largely poor Black citizens. The fourth thread apparent in the chronicle is that neoliberal, marketbased education strategies do not reduce inequality. Indeed these so-called solutions are aimed at maximizing profits and pushing more people toward for-profit educational options. Such entities are not concerned with desegregation or educational equity. Certainly what we have seen in post-Katrina New Orleans, where 70 percent of all students attend charter schools, is an example of the disassembling of free public education in favor of for-profits and outsourcing of public services. By doing this, organized labor can no longer be the sole representation for teachers, and school districts can hire inexperienced, minimally qualified teachers at low wages. The fact that these teachers rarely remain in a school district for more than a few years is of no concern to profit-seeking interests. The fifth thread speaks to the way public spaces are being appropriated for private interests to the detriment of poor people of color. In the chronicle the students witness the appropriation of their former high school. This is exactly what happened in New Orleans when a private university received a charter and opened its school in a formerly all-Black high school. Similarly,

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public housing demolition in Chicago was designed to make way for highend condominiums and apartments along the lakeshore. In Philadelphia, the school district sold its one of a kind, art deco administration building on its historic Parkway to a group that intends to turn it into condominiums.

IS SCHOOL DESEGREGATION THE ONLY CHOICE? In recent years community members in Black, Latina/o, and White communities seem to have given up on school desegregation as a means to educational equity. Because so many of the subsequent court rulings have eroded the power of Brown communities of color are trying new strategies to gain quality education for their children. One such strategy is to invoke state charters that assert that all children of the state are entitled to “adequate basic education.” Most of the court cases—known as “funding equity” cases—start with lengthy discussions of what constitutes an adequate basic education. In South Carolina eight poor districts sued the state for failure to offer all residents an adequate basic education (Abbeville et al. v. South Carolina). As was true in previous cases, the plaintiff districts won their case. However, it has become close to impossible to collect on these judgments because states claimed to be insolvent and/or unable to raise tax revenues without taxpayer approval. The decision to go the funding equity lawsuit route reflects the argument I made in a North Carolina Law Review article I titled, “Can we at least have Plessy? (Ladson-Billings, 2007). In “Can we at least have Plessy?” I asserted that African Americans seemed to be less sanguine about sending their children to school with White children as the solution to receiving quality education. African Americans understand that in our current arrangement resources seem to follow White students (Kozol, 2005). Suburban schools spend between $8,000 and $10,000 more per pupil annually on their students than their urban counterparts. These funding disparities are an example of the way school segregation structures inequality. Additionally, lack of access to fully certified teachers, teacher mobility, and an impoverished curriculum contribute to what students of color regular experience in segregated schools. The “at least Plessy” argument suggests that if schools were required to actually equalize the schooling experiences of Black and White and Brown and White students, the students of color would have a fighting chance at receiving an equal education. Thus, communities of color have attempted to use current neoliberal strategies to their advantage. For example, African American communities in cities like Milwaukee and New Orleans have attempted to use their communities’ more lax charter guidelines to open and operate schools that will better serve their children. In California, Latino families have leveraged the charter school laws to get around

Foreword xxi prohibitions against bilingual education (CA Initiative 227—The Unz Initiative). In Chicago, communities have organized around the small school reform efforts. Each of these efforts represents attempts on the part of communities of color to achieve quality education regardless of who is attending the school. What the White community never seemed to understand was that going to school with White children was never the goal of communities of color. Rather, their goal was to receive quality education and if that education could be had without sitting next to White students they were all right with that. The goal of school desegregation was different for African Americans than for those Whites liberals who supported it. For African Americans the decision to support desegregation was about quality education and social mobility. For liberal Whites school desegregation was about changing the social order and creating social equality. The White liberal argument was that equal access was important whereas the African American argument was that equal educational outcome was important. Clearly, the White liberal argument won because school desegregation has always been about equal access and in the almost 60 years since the Brown decision there has been almost no progress toward equal outcomes and now there is little progress toward equal access. The real answer to our school desegregation problem is in reconceptualizing our students as citizens entitled to the same civic rights. For too long we have linked students’ identities solely to their neighborhoods. When the Boston Public Schools went through court-ordered desegregation we heard about the “Roxbury” students who were going to desegregate the schools of “South Boston.” In a recent meeting with parents of a school serving many families of upper middle class incomes I heard how the problem the school was experiencing was that there were students from “Richville,”1 whose parents were professionals (i.e., physicians, university professors, business executives, etc.), students from “Collegetown” (a university graduate housing community with many international families), and students from “External Village” (a low- to moderate-income neighborhood just outside of Richville). What was clear to me in the midst of their discussion was that the adults’ insistence on making “neighborhood” distinctions was contributing to the divisions inside the school. When we pointed out how their discourse shaped the perceptions they made a conscious decision to change the discourse. “When our children are sitting in Kindergarten and make a friend, they don’t say, ‘Oh, you’re from Collegetown, we can’t play with you.’ What probably happens is that the children make the friendships, come home to tell us about the friendship, and want to visit or have a play date with the new friend. We then say, ‘I don’t think you can go because your friend lives in Collegetown and that’s just too far.’ We’re creating the distinctions. We have to talk about kids as a part of the Richville School community.”

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This anecdote is an example of the way students are regularly constituted in limited ways—solely by status, language group, immigrant status, or community of residence. In most modern nations education is a privilege of citizenship. Students are entitled to equal education because the nation-state provides equal education. In the United States the pattern has been for property taxes to determine school quality and then allow the federal government to supplement in those communities (or for those students) who are economically disadvantaged. This strategy permanently constitutes some students as fi rst-class citizens whereas others are secondclass. As long as personal property taxes are the basis for school funding citizens will believe they are “purchasing” school services. The relationship between race and property is a key component of Critical Race Theory (Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995) and schools and the property taxes that support them are at the nexus of racial inequalities that help produce academic disparities. Thus without a concerted effort to fully desegregate our schools and equalize school funding we cannot expect for students to experience equal educational outcomes. Since 1954 political and economic forces have worked to betray all the efforts to foster desegregation and integration. The chapters in this volume look at the problems of school desegregation/integration from a variety of angles. They challenge our conventional perspectives on what it means to create equal educational opportunities and outcomes. And in the end they demonstrate that you can’t always get what you want. Gloria Ladson-Billings University of Wisconsin–Madison

NOTES 1. These neighborhood names are pseudonyms.

REFERENCES Bell, D. (1980). Brown and the interest–convergence dilemma. In. D. Bell (Ed.), Shades of Brown: New perspectives on school desegregation (pp. 90 –106). New York: Teachers College Press. Champagne, A. (1973). The segregation academy and the law. Journal of Negro Education, 42, 58–66. Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (Eds.). (1999). Introduction. In R. Delgado (Ed.), Critical Race Theory: The cutting edge (pp. xv–xix). Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Dudziak, M. (1995). Desegregation as a Cold War imperative. In R. Delgado (Ed.), Critical Race Theory: The cutting edge (110–121). Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Foreword xxiii Kozol, J. (2005). The shame of the nation: The restoration of apartheid schooling in America. New York: Crown Books. Ladson-Billings, G. (2004). Landing on the wrong note: The price we played for Brown. Educational Researcher, 33(7), 3–13. Ladson-Billings, G. (2007). Can we at least have Plessy? The struggle for quality education. North Carolina Law Review, 85(5), 1279–1292. Ladson-Billings, G., & Tate, W. F. (1995). Toward a Critical Race Theory of education. Teachers College Record, 97(1), 47–68. Layton, A. S. (2000). International politics and civil rights policy in the United States, 1941–1960. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Lomotey, K., & Staley, J. (1990, April). The education of African Americans in the Buffalo Public School: An exploratory study. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association. Boston, MA. Minority Student Achievement Network. (n.d.). http://msan.wceruw.org/ Orfield, G., & Eaton, S. (1996). Dismantling desegregation. New York: The Free Press.

COURT CASES CITED: Abbeville v. South Carolina. (1999), 335 S.C. 58 Board of Education of Oklahoma v. Dowell (1991), 498, U.S. 237. Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 347, U.S. 483. Brown v. Board of Education II (1955), 349, U.S. 294. Freeman v. Pitts (1992), 503, U.S. 467. Meredith v. Jefferson County Board of Education. (2006). 549 U.S. 938 Milliken v. Bradley (1974), 418, U.S. 717. Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle Public Schools. (2007). 551 U.S. 701 San Antonio Independent School District v. Rodriguez (1973), 541, U.S. 1.

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Introduction Jamel K. Donnor and Adrienne D. Dixson

The historic Brown v. Board of Education decision of 1954 not only ushered in a great deal of change regarding inequality in America’s public schools, but its supporters also hoped that Brown would lead to the abolishment of Jim Crow. Indeed, Brown formally ended de jure racial segregation in public spaces, however, the massive opposition by southern Whites and their political allies ensured that the complete dismantling of Jim Crow would not occur. For those individuals who described themselves as “post-Brown babies”—the fi rst generation of students to attend “fully” desegregated schools—the vestiges of Jim Crow remain, albeit subtly. As the editors of this volume and self-indentified “post-Brown babies,” we, along with the contributing authors, have witnessed fi rst-hand experiences on how America’s public schools have failed to live up to the hope and promise of the Brown decision. As such, the impetus of this book is not only inspired by our scholarly and research interests on educational equity, race, and education policy, but also our commitment to making public schools adhere to the promise of Brown and ensure education is the “great equalizer.” Taking a more nuanced approach, this book seeks to expand the discourse on racial inequality in education beyond where and with whom students should attend school. Because access to a quality education remains the primary mechanism for improving one’s life chances in the United States, a “good education,” particularly for children of color, is essential to individual and collective well-being. Far from being neutral sites, public schools are reflections of American society. The product of a constellation of factors, including institutionalized practices, disparate experiences, and biased policy decisions; opportunities; resources; and outcomes in education, unfortunately, are inextricably linked to race, ability, gender, and class, or what we describe as “the new resegregation.” In short, the resegregation of America’s public schools is best understood as a cumulative process and multilayered phenomenon. Hence, we believe that the discourse on education, equity, and race must explain what access to a quality education means in the 21st century.

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For many, the election of Barack Obama as the first African American President of the United States signifies that the United States has entered a “post-racial” epoch, where race is no longer a determinant in shaping one’s access to productive opportunities and quality resources. As a way to speak back to this popular narrative, we wanted to examine the ways that inequality in education reflects a confluence of factors, i.e., race, class and gender (among others) that creates disparate experiences and outcomes for students of color. Indeed, it is only by situating public schools and the students who attend them within a larger sociopolitical context that a more nuanced perspective can be offered that not only addresses the cumulative interplay among ideological, spatial, and organizational barriers impacting education, but more importantly, provides innovative and meaningful solutions. From our perspective, critical theories of race and social inequality, such as Critical Race Theory (CRT), offer a meaningful way to explore the aforementioned complexities without minimizing the central role race continues to play in American society at large, and education in particular. It is our hope that this book, like the Brown decision, contributes to the field of education and the understanding of the public at large, of the contemporary challenges facing schools and students of color. Along with explaining the complex ways education programs, policies, and opportunities for students of color are resisted, thwarted, or appropriated by some to maintain the status quo, the chapters in this edited volume consider the ways material and immaterial variables such as ideology, power, gender, and place of residence influence decisions in public education that disproportionately affect the learning opportunities, experiences, and outcomes for students of color. Lastly, by explaining the sophisticated ways in which education is impacted by race, geography, class, gender, and social policy, the contributors to this edited volume not only interrogate why the education quality for the majority of students of color in America remains fundamentally unequal, these chapters also remind us that America has failed to fully realize the potential of the Brown decision.

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The Same but Different “Post-Racial” Inequality in American Public Education Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson

The United States has long struggled with the concept of equality in public education, with race having often been the determining factor in the provision of educational services and opportunities. Though nearly 60 years have passed since the landmark Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education (1954), educational inequities still exist in America. Thus, this chapter chronicles the use of race as the legal determiner of educational opportunity in the nation’s education system, to show how the property line now takes the place of race. We argue that although Brown’s desegregation movement was a valiant effort to champion education equity, where one resides has become the “new” proxy for race in distributing quality educational opportunities in this “colorblind” American society. Despite this unfortunate circumstance, the United States must create an equitable, 21st century education system for all of America’s students. The welfare of our nation depends on it.

LAYING THE FOUNDATION: EARLY INEQUITY IN AMERICAN EDUCATION As early as 1849, courts in the United States wrestled with the issue of race in public education. In Roberts v. The City of Boston (1849), Benjamin Roberts brought suit on behalf of his daughter, Sarah, challenging the regulations of the Boston City School Committee. Specifically, Mr. Roberts claimed that the committee’s regulation created an unreasonable burden on Sarah receiving an education by requiring her to “walk past five white elementary schools to attend the all-black, run-down Smith School,” purely because she was “Black” (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). In argument before the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts, the venerable Charles Sumner advanced several notable propositions in support of the Roberts’ claims. First, Sumner reasoned that the school committee

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could not assume “that an entire race possesses certain moral or intellectual qualities [that makes] it proper to place them all in a class by themselves” (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). To support his position, Sumner cited the fact that “a colored person [in Massachusetts in 1849 could] occupy any office connected with the public schools, from that of governor, or secretary of the board of education, to that of member of the school committee, or teacher in any public school,” and could moreover “vote for members of the school committee” (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Second, Sumner argued that separating children on the “account of color or race” creates a class system which violates principles of equality (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Even where Black and White children enjoyed “equal advantages of instruction” in separate schools, Sumner maintained that such could never be equal in fact (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). He argued that Black children could not be forced to accept equal instruction in separate schools because forced attendance at separate schools “is in the nature of caste” (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Finally, neither could the parents of Black children be forced to accept segregated schooling, as they would be inconvenienced in a way not experienced by White parents, thus denying to them equal protection of the laws (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Because “the spirit of American institutions,” requires that all “without distinction of color or race” be treated equally before the law, Charles Sumner vehemently defended the premise that Black children “have an equal right with white children to the general public schools” (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Despite the superior moral strength of his claims in fi nding a right to equal educational opportunities for all students, Sumner’s arguments were not enough to convince the court that the committee’s regulation was unreasonable, especially in light of the committee’s previous actions (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). According to the Supreme Judicial Court, “in the absence of special legislation,” Massachusetts’ law gave school committees the power to regulate the classification of students and the distribution of educational services (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Moreover, unless a school committee abuses its power, or covers its decision in pretense, the committee’s decision is fi nal and conclusive (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). Thus, in arriving at its determination that the committee’s regulation was legally reasonable, the court relied on the committee’s deliberations and resolution of 3 years earlier. In 1846, George Putnam and other “colored” citizens of Boston petitioned the school committee to abolish the system of separate schools for Black and White children (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849). In considering the request, the committee formed a sub-committee which reported back with a resolution, stating: “[It is] the opinion of this board, the continuance of the separate schools for colored children, and the regular attendance of such children upon the schools, is not only legal and just, but is

The Same but Different 3 best adapted to promote the education of that class of our population” (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849; emphasis added). Because Putnam’s petition was heard by the Boston School Committee and considered in subcommittee, the Supreme Judicial Court determined: The [C]ommittee, apparently upon great deliberation, have come to the conclusion that the good of both classes of schools will be best promoted, by maintaining the separate primary schools for colored and for white children, and we can perceive no ground to doubt, that this is the honest result of their experience and judgment. (Roberts v. The City of Boston, 1849; emphasis added) Honesty is one thing; equity is another. Nonetheless, the Supreme Judicial Court upheld the school committee’s determination that separate schools for Black and White children were permissible on the basis of local control. As a result, the court gave up on providing genuine equality of opportunity and instead enshrined in state law the rancid ideology of “separate but equal.” This ruling set the stage for the universal application of the same inequitable principle in all public accommodations and services in Plessy v. Ferguson 47 years later.

RAISING THE WALL: “SEPARATE BUT EQUAL” BECOMES THE LAW OF THE LAND In 1896, the Supreme Court legalized racial apartheid in the United States in Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), by declaring “separate but equal” the law of the land. On June 7, 1892, Homer A. Plessy, a Louisiana citizen of one-eighth Black and seven-eighths White blood, violated the state’s law requiring racial segregation in railway cars by sitting in the company of White passengers on a train bound for Covington, Louisiana from New Orleans (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). The state statute provided “that all railway companies carrying passengers in their coaches [were to] provide equal but separate accommodations for white, and colored races” (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). Under the law, no person was “permitted to occupy seats in coaches, other than the ones assigned to them, on account of the race they belong[ed] to” (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). However, Plessy’s “mixture of colored blood was not discernable in him,” but under the “one drop rule,” he was nonetheless “Black” (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). Thus, upon refusing to sit in the “Blacks only” car, Plessy was forcibly ejected from the train by the local authorities and jailed for violating state law (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). In his defense, Plessy asserted the 13th and 14th Amendments to the U.S. Constitution. By attacking the Louisiana statute under the 13th Amendment, Plessy claimed that segregated rail cars implied a badge of involuntary

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Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson

servitude upon Blacks, thereby perpetuating a stigma of inferiority in comparison to Whites (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). The Court quickly dismissed Plessy’s argument by saying: A statute which implies merely a legal distinction between the white and colored races—a distinction which is founded in the color of the two races, and which must always exist so long as white men are distinguished from the other race by color, has no tendency to destroy the legal equality of the two races, or re-establish a state of involuntary servitude. . . . [As to] the assumption that the enforced separation of the two races stamps the colored race with a badge of inferiority[,] if this be so, it is not by reason of anything found in the [statute], but solely because the colored race chooses to put that construction upon it. (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896) Sadly, this reasoning gave the Court purview to say that even if segregation could be said to impose a stigma of inferiority upon Blacks, the states nonetheless could mandate racial segregation. Relying on the Roberts decision as its primary example, the Supreme Court declared that if the establishment of separate schools for White and colored children was deemed a valid exercise of state power in Massachusetts, a state “where the political rights of the colored race [had] been longest and most earnestly enforced,” then certainly, separation of the races in all other public accommodations was permissible (Plessy v. Ferguson, 1896). Thus, through the Supreme Court’s ruling in Plessy, Roberts’ “separate but equal” doctrine became the law of the land. It would be more than half a century before American apartheid would end in Brown v. Board of Education.

THE GREAT WALL FALLS: BROWN V. BOARD OF EDUCATION Brown v. Board of Education (1954) 1 was a landmark Supreme Court decision that overturned both the Plessy (1896) and Roberts (1849) decisions (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954). Perhaps surprisingly, Brown’s (1954) story is strikingly similar to Roberts’ (1849). In Brown (1954), an African American father, Mr. Oliver Brown, sought to enroll his daughter, Linda Brown, in an all-White school closer to her home so she would avoid walking through a railroad switchyard to attend her all-Black school (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954). Seeking judicial remedy, Brown’s attorneys argued that the designation of separate Black and White schools for elementary-aged school children negatively impacted Black students’ learning, growth, and development, and harmed them socially, psychologically, and emotionally (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954). Chief Justice Earl Warren acknowledged the validity of the Browns’ claims when he stated:

The Same but Different 5 Segregation of white and colored children in public schools has a detrimental effect upon the colored children. The impact is greater when it has the sanction of the law; for the policy of separating the races is usually interpreted as denoting the inferiority of the negro group. A sense of inferiority aff ects the motivation of a child to learn. Segregation with the sanction of law, therefore, has tendency to [retard] the educational and mental development of negro children and to deprive them of some of the benefi ts they would receive in a racial[ly] integrated school system. (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954). Thus, the Court went on to correct its position in Plessy, and declared that “[t]o separate [Black children] from others of similar age and qualifications solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in ways unlikely ever to be undone” (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954). At this point, the Supreme Court rose to its full height and proclaimed: Today, education is perhaps the most important function of state and local governments. Compulsory school attendance laws and the great expenditures for education both demonstrate our recognition of the importance of education to our democratic society. It is required in the performance of our most basic public responsibilities, even service in the armed forces. It is the very foundation of good citizenship. Today it is a principal instrument in awakening the child to cultural values, in preparing him for later professional training, and in helping him to adjust normally to his environment. In these days, it is doubtful that any child may reasonably be expected to succeed in life if he is denied the opportunity of an education. Such an opportunity, where the state has undertaken to provide it, is a right, which must be made available to all on equal terms. (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954; emphasis added) With this pronouncement, Brown (1954) became the beacon of equality in a formerly segregated world as it overturned the long standing “separate but equal” doctrine put forth in Roberts (1846) and fi rmly established in Plessy (1896). The Brown (1954) ruling knocked down the wall of separation between the races in public accommodations and declared access to public schools without racial discrimination to be a fundamental right in the United States; however, this is not the full essence of what Brown’s parents sought. 2 Nonetheless, what joy the decision did bring would be short lived, 53 years after the Brown decision, Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1 (2007) has significantly dimmed Brown’s once bright light.

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REMOVING THE RUBBLE: THE VOLUNTARY “MISTAKES” OF SEATTLE AND LOUISVILLE In Parents Involved, the Supreme Court jointly considered the voluntary desegregation plans of Seattle School District No. 1 and the Jefferson County, Kentucky, Public School System. Both cases presented the question of whether Seattle Public Schools and Jefferson County Public Schools could “choose to classify students by race” as part of voluntary integration programs (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). The Seattle Public School District employed a racial tiebreaker “to address the effects of racially identifiable housing patterns on school assignments” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). In Seattle Public Schools, approximately 41 percent of the students enrolled in the district’s public schools are White and the remaining 59 percent are considered “nonwhite” 3 regardless of race or ethnicity (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Incoming high school ninth graders were permitted to rank the city’s high schools in their preferred attendance order to determine where they would enroll. If too many students listed a particular school as their fi rst choice, a series of “tiebreakers” determined the schools’ attendees, based fi rst on whether a student’s sibling was already enrolled in the particular school, and second, based on the school’s racial composition and the potential student’s race (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). If a popular school was not within 10 percentage points of the district’s white/nonwhite racial balance, it was “integration positive” and a tiebreaker to bring the school into balance was employed (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). If the racial tiebreaker did not decide the students’ enrollment, the geographic proximity to a student’s residence would be the determining factor (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Notice here that race was not the sole factor in determining student assignment, but one factor in a series of three tie-breakers. Based on the district’s tiebreaker ordering, it could be argued that keeping families together in school is more important to the district than the students’ race, and that by ranking race second, the district sought to fulfill its duty to alleviate the pain suffered by students in racially homogenous schools as commanded in Brown (1954). This is corroborated by the fact that the district’s preference of last resort was to maintain students’ isolation in their racially homogenous communities. Despite this, Andy Meeks, an admitted student to Ballard High School’s biotechnology program, felt his denial of admission to Ballard High School proper on the basis of race, per the district’s guidelines, was a violation of the 14th Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Unlike the Seattle School District, the Jefferson County School District

The Same but Different 7 maintained a segregated school system for decades. In fact, it was not until the dawn of the new millennium that a federal district court determined that the school district had successfully dismantled all vestiges of segregated schooling (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). In 2001, the year after the district’s consent decree was lifted, the school district adopted the integration plan at issue in the case, which required all non-magnet schools to maintain a population of between 15 and 50 percent African American students (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). The district’s integration plan operated in one of two ways depending on the circumstances: first, parents of Kindergarteners and first graders and new students in the district listed their first and second preferences among the schools within their assigned geographic area, based on the student’s address (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Decisions regarding school assignment were to be based on available space and in conformity with the district’s guidelines (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Where a school reached the “extremes of the racial guidelines, a student whose race would contribute to the school’s racial imbalance [would] not be assigned there” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007; internal quotes omitted). Second, post assignment transfers between non-magnet schools were allowed for “any number of reasons” for students at all grade levels; however, these requests would be denied due to lack of space or based on the guidelines (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Such was the case of Joshua McDonald, a Kindergartener whose parent, Crystal Meredith, sought to transfer him from a school 10 miles away from his home to a school one mile away from his home. Though space was available at Bloom Elementary, the school to which the transfer was sought, Joshua’s transfer was denied because “the transfer would have had an adverse effect” on the district’s compliance with desegregation policy (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). As a result, Ms. Meredith brought suit on her son’s behalf alleging that the school district’s policy violated the 14th Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause. Because the Supreme Court framed the question in the Seattle and Jefferson cases as pertaining to the districts’ distribution of educational services on the basis of race instead of whether the districts were complying with Brown’s (1954) mandate of eradicating racial isolation in public schools, the districts had to show that the use of race in their student assignment plans was “narrowly tailored to achieve a compelling government interest” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007; internal quotes omitted). Historically, the Supreme Court has found only two interests compelling: (1) remedying the effects of past intentional discrimination; and (2) the diversity interest in higher education (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007).

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In first considering whether the Seattle plan adequately addressed the remnants of past intentional discrimination, the Supreme Court noted that Seattle Public Schools were never segregated by law and were subsequently never subject to court-ordered desegregation decrees. Thus, according to the Supreme Court’s majority, Seattle had no interest in remedying past discrimination (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). As to Jefferson County, which had discriminated in the past, the Supreme Court determined that the district court’s decree that the school district had removed the vestiges of segregation from its schools eliminated the district’s interest in resolving the effects of past intentional discrimination (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Thus, according to the Supreme Court, neither Seattle nor Jefferson County had a “compelling interest” in using race to determine students’ school assignments to remedy the effects of past discrimination (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Second, the Supreme Court found that the diversity interest in the K–12 context was unlike the diversity interest in the higher education context. According to the Court in Grutter v. Bollinger, 539 U.S. 306 (2003), a case dealing with the affi rmative action admissions program of the University of Michigan’s Law School, in order for a diversity interest to pass constitutional muster, “it must not be focused on race alone, but [must instead be] encompassed of all factors that may contribute to student body diversity” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). The diversity interest cannot be “in simple ethnic diversity” where a “specified percentage of the student body is in effect guaranteed to be members of selected ethnic groups” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Instead, race or ethnicity must be an element among a “broad array” of qualifications and characteristics (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). In other words, the use of racial classifications must be narrowly tailored such that the classifications are constituent parts of a “broader assessment of diversity . . . not simply an effort to achieve racial balance” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Thus, in considering whether the districts’ diversity interests were like those in Grutter, the Supreme Court found that the districts’ use of race was “decisive by itself” and not a factor considered among others in making a determination (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Instead, the plans relied on race in a “non-individualized, mechanical way” to achieve racial equilibrium (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). This made the districts’ plans “patently unconstitutional” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). In their defense, Seattle and Jefferson County both asserted what they saw as a sufficiently compelling government interest, and likewise, a substantial diversity interest. As to the compelling government interest, the districts

The Same but Different 9 argued that their use of race in public school admissions “helps to reduce racial concentration in schools” and “ensure[s] that racially concentrated housing patterns do not prevent nonwhite students from having access to the most desirable schools” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Additionally, as to the districts’ substantial diversity interest, Jefferson County argued that the “educational and broader socialization benefits that flow from a racially diverse learning environment” made the racial diversity they sought more important than the broader diversity recognized by Grutter (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Thus, to the districts, “it [made] sense to promote that interest directly by relying on race alone” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). However, the Supreme Court held a different opinion. In measuring the districts’ argument that the plans were necessary to stem the consequences of racially concentrated housing patterns,4 the Court determined that “remedying past societal discrimination does not justify race-conscious government action” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Thus, efforts to alleviate the pain of societal discrimination are not “compelling interests” in the eyes of the Supreme Court (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Moreover, as to facilitating the educational benefits that flow from racially integrated learning environments, the Court made the point, “integration certainly does not require the sort of racial proportionality reflected in [Jefferson County’s] plan. Even in the context of mandatory desegregation . . . racial proportionality is not required” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Thus, racial proportionality in public schools need not be considered when attempting to balance the racial composition of public schools. With this “logic,” Chief Justice John Roberts expressed the view of the Supreme Court’s majority, by announcing the Court’s new jurisprudential position: “For schools that never segregated on the basis of race, such as Seattle, or that have removed the vestiges of past segregation, such as Jefferson County, the way to achieve a system of determining admission to the public schools on a nonracial basis is to stop assigning students on a racial basis. The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Though the Chief Justice and the accompanying majority would like to simply ignore the issue of race, ignoring race inherently acknowledges it. It is here, in Parents Involved, that Brown’s directive to alleviate the pain suffered by students in racially homogenous schools is fully betrayed. This is because the Court’s majority has seemingly forgotten what the Brown (1954) decision was all about. However, Beverly Tatum has not. She states, When African Americans pressed for an end to legalized school segregation in the years leading up to the 1954 Brown v. Board of Topeka decision, it was not the companionship of white children they were

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Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson seeking for their children: It was access to educational resources. The schools white children attended had better facilities, better equipment and supplies, more curricular options, and often (although not always) more highly trained teachers than those serving black children. Black parents believed that equal access to those publicly funded resources was their children’s birthright. Attending the same schools white children did seemed the most likely means to achieve it. (Kozal, Tatum, Eaton, & Gándara, 2010, p. 29)

By holding that school districts must ignore race in order to voluntarily reduce racial unanimity in their schools, the Supreme Court has oxymoronically challenged the means by which school districts may now fulfi ll Brown’s promise of eradicating racial isolationism in America’s public schools. Though Justice Anthony Kennedy sided with the Court’s majority in Parents Involved, disagreeing with the districts that their means were proper to achieve the desired end, he nonetheless expressed the greatest sentiments of American values, which we ardently reaffi rm. First, he makes it abundantly clear that “diversity, depending on its meaning and defi nition, is a compelling educational goal a school district may pursue” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Moreover, he acknowledges that although American society “is remarkable in its openness and opportunity,” America’s tradition “is to go beyond present achievements, however significant . . . to recognize and confront the flaws and injustices that remain,” because “[t]his Nation has a moral and ethical obligation to fulfi ll its historic commitment to creating an integrated society that ensures equal opportunity for all of its children” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Justice Kennedy unequivocally believes as the Brown court did that “[a] compelling interest exists in avoiding racial isolation, an interest that a school district, in its discretion, may choose to pursue” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). In response to the majority’s claims that Seattle and Jefferson County Public Schools had no authority to voluntarily desegregate because their plans addressed ills resulting from “innocent private decisions” instead working to rectify past segregation, Justice Kennedy made plain the harm done to students regardless of the circumstance: racial prejudice hurts the same as when supported in the law or when the “demeaning treatment” fi nds root in “bias masked deep within the social order” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Thus, Justice Kennedy was grounded when he rebuffed the majority’s opinion that school districts were powerless to combat the resegregation of their schools and reaffi rmed Brown’s timeless principle by stating: “To the extent that the plurality opinion suggests the Constitution mandates that state and local school authorities must accept the status quo of racial isolation in schools, it is, in my view, profoundly

The Same but Different 11 mistaken” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). Through the Seattle (2007) ruling, Chief Justice John Roberts reinforced the notion that America is a colorblind society now operating in a “postracial” period. Though this post-racial premise is widely debated among scholars and the average citizen alike, it is undisputed that even if all Americans were clear, educational inequity would still persist. This is because residence is the “new” dividing line in determining educational opportunities for America’s students in the 21st century.

LESS THAN A WALL BUT MORE THAN A FENCE: RESIDENCE IS THE “NEW” PROXY FOR RACE In most every state, a student’s address plays an important role in determining the corresponding school district’s fi nancial resources, and thereby the quantity and substance of the educational services the learner will receive in public school. However, as the case of Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co. (1926) shows, the inequity inherent in residence, and thereby the use of property taxes as the primary variable in funding the opportunities provided in America’s public schools, makes the property tax system of fi nancing public education unfit for use in the distribution of educational services and opportunities. “Race, ethnicity, and poverty were never far below the surface of American culture between the end of the Civil War and the resolution of Euclid in 1926” (Chused, 2000, p. 604). Thus, Euclid (1926) is a landmark Supreme Court decision in the area of land use and zoning, imbued with the time’s principles of inequitable treatment. In the 1920s, land use and urban planning were major topics of the day as America’s urban cities dealt with “unprecedented levels of immigration from Europe, migration from the southern United States, burgeoning sales of automobiles, and development of new building construction techniques” (Chused, 2000, p. 599). Given these circumstances, states across the country adopted zoning enabling statutes to assist local governments dealing with the rapid change (Chused, 2000). The Village of Euclid, Ohio, took advantage of its state’s enabling statute and adopted its fi rst zoning ordinance in 1922 (Chused, 2000). James Metzenbaum, village counsel and a resident of the town’s main street, Euclid Avenue, also known as “Millionaire’s Row,” drafted Euclid’s ordinance (Chused, 2000, p. 603). Metzenbaum, in encouraging the village to adopt a zoning plan, sought to prevent change on the avenue, which, by 1920, “had given way to gas stations or other uses” including apartment buildings, as the result of “hard times” (Chused, 2000, p. 603). On Metzenbaum’s advice, the village thought it wise to adopt a zoning scheme substantially similar to New York’s zoning ordinance (Chused, 2000). According to Richard Chused, a professor at New York Law School:

12

Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson Euclid simply took the various building type, height, and density classifications of the New York plan and pasted them over Euclid to solidify extant land use patterns. . . . Like the Fifth Avenue Merchants Association in Manhattan, those on Euclid Avenue saw zoning as a way to protect land use patterns and property values. (Chused, 2000, p. 603; emphasis added)

In 1923, the Ambler Realty Corporation challenged the constitutionality of Euclid’s zoning ordinance (Power, 1997; Euclid v. Ambler Realty, Co., 1924). In 1912, Ambler purchased 68 acres of vacant land on Euclid Avenue (Power, 1997). However, Euclid’s zoning ordinance prevented the company from using the land for “industrial, commercial, or apartment purposes” as single- and two-family homes were the only structures permitted on Millionaire’s Row (Power, 1997, p. 82; Chused, 2000). As a result, Ambler challenged the ordinance under the 14th Amendment, claiming that the ordinance affected a taking of private property, denied due process, and deprived the company of equal protection of the laws (Power, 1997; Euclid v. Ambler Realty, Co., 1924). Ambler also noted the invidious discrimination inherent in the village’s ordinance (Power, 1997). In its brief, Ambler argued that the ordinance discriminated on the basis of wealth, similar to the discrimination in Buchanan v. Warley (1917), a Supreme Court case which nullified under the 14th Amendment a Louisville, Kentucky zoning ordinance that divided the city into White and Black blocks (Power, 1997). In Buchannan, Warley, “the black head of the recently established Louisville chapter of the NAACP, agreed to buy a house from a white man, (Buchanan),” contrary to the city’s ordinance (Chused, 2000, p. 606). Both parties sought to test the ordinance’s validity and thus contracted in such a way as to allow Warley not to fulfill his part of the contract if the ordinance did not allow him to take possession of the home (Chused, 2000). As a result, Warley did not perform his side of the bargain and Buchannan sued to force him to do so. Buchannan, argued that Warley must meet his obligation because Louisville’s ordinance was unconstitutional; Warley, countered, arguing that the “apartheid zoning statute was valid” (Chused, 2000, p. 606). As Chused notes: This odd reversal of roles was a clever strategic move, for it placed the white seller at the forefront of the case and presented the courts with a “simple” claim by a white man that he was entitled to seek specific performance of a standard contract for the sale of real estate. The Supreme Court took the bait, fi nding the racial zoning scheme invalid on the ground that it infringed upon the substantive due process right of a white man to be free from unlawful constraints on the enforcement of a contract for the sale of real estate voluntarily agreed to by the parties (Chused, 2000, p. 606; emphasis added).

The Same but Different 13 Thus, Ambler argued that just as in Buchannan, the effect of Euclid’s “one family home district” zoning ordinance “was to discriminate against blacks and immigrants who for the most part lived in tenement buildings and apartment flats” (Power, 1997, p. 83). Ambler asserted: All the people who live in the village and are not able to maintain single family residence of the size and lot area [prescribed by the ordinance], are pressed down into the low-lying land adjacent to the industrial area, congested there in two-family residences and apartments, and denied the privilege of escaping for relief to the ridge of lake. (Power, 1997, p. 83) In other words, the ordinance “excluded lower class people from upper class neighborhoods” (Power, 1997, p. 83). Judge David C. Westenhaver of the U.S. District Court of Ohio reluctantly saw this inequitable point in his Euclid ruling on January 14, 1924. In drafting his decision, Judge Westenhaver relied on Supreme Court precedent, which as a whole, “cast great doubt on the ability of states to regulate land use or the economy, while affi rming the vitality of a distinct form of Jim Crow racism” (Chused, 2000, p. 605). He noted that the cases upholding state land use regulation were statutes “designed to bar placement of activities commonly viewed as nuisances, such as livery stables and brick manufacturing plants, near residences” (Chused, 2000, p. 605; Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co., 1924). As a result, Judge Westenhaver was at ease in fi nding Euclid’s ordinance different from the types previously before the Supreme Court as the precedent supported his position that the “unlawful restraint of freedom of contract, rather than legitimate use of the police power, was the primary, and unacceptable objective of Euclid’s zoning plan” (Chused, 2000, p. 605). For this reason, Judge Westenhaver compared Euclid’s ordinance to Buchannan’s (1917). In comparing the Buchannan and Euclid ordinances, Judge Westenhaver concluded that if Buchannan’s ordinance establishing segregated residential zones was invalid, then certainly Euclid’s zoning plan could not stand. This is because “it was so obvious to [him] that ‘colored’ people and certain groups of immigrants were [such great] nuisances that the Supreme Court’s refusal to approve racial zoning made it impossible to validate zoning for other purposes” (Chused, 2000, p. 605). Judge Westenhaver wrote: It seems to me that no candid mind can deny that more and stronger reasons exist, having a real and substantial relation to the public peace, supporting such an ordinance than can be urged under any aspect of the police power to support the present ordinance as applied to plaintiff ’s property. And no gift of second sight is required to foresee that if this Kentucky statute had been sustained, its provisions would have

14

Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson spread from city to city throughout the length and breadth of the land. And it is equally apparent that the next step in the exercise of this police power would be to apply similar restrictions for the purpose of segregating in like manner various groups of newly arrived immigrants. The blighting of property values and the congesting of population, whenever the colored or certain foreign races invade a residential section, are so well known as to be within the judicial cognizance. (Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co., 1924).

Judge Westenhaver’s statement is an “expression of shock” at Buchannan’s outcome (Chused, 2000, p. 607). His opinion reveals the difficulty he had in understanding that segregation backed by zoning “was anything other than a vitally important method of limiting [racial mixing] and the spread of pernicious ideas like social equality” (Chused, 2000, p. 607). Thus, because the Supreme Court concluded that racial zoning was an illegitimate means to impede social equality, “Westenhaver felt compelled” to reject Euclid’s general zoning ordinance (Chused, 2000, p. 607). However, even in his shock, Judge Westenhaver “sensed the exclusionary nature of suburban land-use patterns” and the zoning regulations supporting them (Wolf, 1997, p. 90). In a statement ever-so-true, Westenhaver declared: The plain truth is that the true object of the ordinance in question is to place all the property in an undeveloped area of 16 square miles in a strait-jacket. The purpose to be accomplished is really to regulate the mode of living of persons who may hereafter inhabit it. In the last analysis, the result to be accomplished is to classify the population and segregate them according to their income or situation in life. The true reason why some persons live in a mansion and others in a shack, why some live in a single-family dwelling and others in a double-family dwelling, why some live in a two-family dwelling and others in an apartment, or why some live in a well-kept apartment and others in a tenement, is primarily economic. It is a matter of income and wealth, plus the labor and difficulty of procuring adequate domestic service. Aside from contributing to these results, [this ordinance] further[s] such class tendencies. (Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co., 1924) It is obvious that “the sincerity of Judge Westenhaver’s concern for the lumpenproletariat” is lacking; he “wrote as a disgruntled inferior court judge reluctantly bound by the Supreme Court precedent of Buchanan v. Warley” (Power, 1997, p. 83). Despite this, “there is no discounting the acuity of his conclusion—zoning was well designed to segregate the population according to their situation in life” (Power, 1997, p. 83). Thus, “the Euclid ordinance had failed the fi rst test of its constitutionality” (Power, 1997, p. 83). However, the U.S. Supreme Court, in the face of all that which is obvious, would fi nd a way to bless inequality on appeal.

The Same but Different 15 IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED, JUST ASK THE CHIEF JUSTICE FOR HELP: EUCLID’S RESURRECTION As history shows, Euclid was more than the run-of-the-mill contracts and property case; it strikes at the fundamental basis of America’s good faith in providing equality, liberty, and justice for all. Though Judge Westenhaver thankfully made the zoning debate’s racial and classist overtones explicit in his opinion, those lacking the tact to do the same argued Westenhaver’s “nuisance rationale” in a more “polite” form than the judge expressed (Chused, 2000, p. 609). In representing the Village of Euclid before the Supreme Court, Metzenbaum continued to paint a positive picture of zoning regulations, just as he did before Judge Westenhaver (Chused, 2000). In a brief of more than 140 pages, Metzenbaum listed the “problems of urban America,” all of the zoning acts promulgated in the period, and argued that legislative bodies, including those of local governments, are due wide deference from courts to ensure the public interest by exercise of their police power (Chused, 2000, p. 609). Metzenbaum argued that the “complexities of modern life” needed deliberate planning, well-conceived land use controls, “scientific” strictures regarding building style and construction methods, and highly complex resource management (Chused, 2000, p. 609). By contrast, Ambler’s attorney simply argued “the police power could not be used to destroy property rights and inhibit the ability of owners to develop their land to its highest and best use” (Chused, 2000, p. 610). However, neither of these bipolar premises would be sufficient to satisfy the Supreme Court. Here, Mr. Alfred Bettman entered the scene. Once Euclid was destined for the Supreme Court, the National Conference on City Planning “debated long and hard” on whether the Conference should be involved (Power, 1997, p. 84). Alfred Bettman, however, “convinced the Conference that there was too much at stake to remain silent” (Power, 1997, p. 84). As a result, Bettman prepared an amicus brief and “hoped to argue before the Supreme Court in support of zoning, but to his embarrassment, he failed to file his brief on time,” leaving Mr. Metzenbaum to argue alone (Power, 1997, p. 84). To Bettman’s good fortune, Justice Sutherland was absent the day Metzenbaum argued, and thus, the court did not then decide the case (Power, 1997). Thus, Chief Justice Taft scheduled a reargument on October 12, 1926 (Power, 1997). This was Bettman’s opportunity to redeem himself. As a result, on February 13, 1926, Bettman wrote Chief Justice Taft, a fellow Cincinnati lawyer and old friend, seeking permission to fi le an amicus brief on the conference’s behalf (Power, 1997; Chused, 2000). Bettman’s request was granted two weeks later (Power, 1997). At this point, something must be said of the nature of the Taft Supreme Court. Without doubt, the Taft Court was “an establishment of the ruling elite” (Power, 1997, p. 85). “Most of the Associate Justices (Pierce Butler, Holmes,

16 Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson James C. McReynolds, Edward Sanford, Harlan, Fiske Stone, and Willis Van Devanter) were the well-educated sons of upper-class Protestants of old American stock” (Power, 1997, p. 85). There were two exceptions, however. Justice Brandeis was “a product of the German-Jewish aristocracy,” and Justice Sutherland “escaped his background as a poor Mormon immigrant to become a parvenu plutocrat” (Power, 1997, p. 85). Thus, Bettman knew the court would accede to his perspective so long as he cast zoning regulations as a means by which zoning would “reinforce the existing social order” (Power, 1997, p. 85 ). Needless to say, Bettman did so in grand fashion. In drafting his brief, Bettman’s challenge was to speak not only in terms the court would understand, but also in terms the court would adopt. Whereas Metzenbaum supported the broad use of state power “argu[ing] that the police power should be expanded to include the philosophy of zoning because it promoted the general welfare” (Power, 1997, p. 85), Bettman felt the court would be reluctant to adopt such a sweeping use of power (Chused, 2000). In Bettman’s view, expansion of the police power was not necessary because “zoning was just a new way of suppressing nuisances or semi-nuisances that had always been the subject of police power constraints” (Power, 1997, p. 84). By arguing in favor of zoning regulations in this way, Bettman could present a more palatable argument to the “patrician” Supreme Court (Power, 1997, p. 85). Zoning regulations are well known for the restrictions they place on land uses, and Bettman used this notoriety to his advantage. In his brief section entitled “Analogies with Other Types of Regulation of Property,” Bettman argued that “zoning is simply a modern mode or application to modern urban conditions of recognized and sanctioned methods of regulating property” (Chused, 2000, p. 611). However, zoning regulations also have a social impact as they are well designed to put “everything and everybody in their appropriate place” (Power, 1997, p. 85). Thus, by analogizing zoning regulations as a means of suppressing nuisances, Bettman could paint vivid images “suited to convince the conservative instincts of [the] Supreme Court Justices that zoning was a positive good” (Chused, 2000, p. 613). He said, What, for example, is the relationship of zoning to the law of nuisances? The term “nuisance” is usually applied to those developments which are offensive in the most crude and obvious way, in which cause and effect are not only quite obvious to the naked ear or nose, but are also not far apart in either space or time. A slaughter house or foundry next door to a residence, throwing its odors or clanging noises into that residence over an intervening space of a few feet is a nuisance. The law of nuisance, however, has precepts and a philosophy, as well as illustrations. The philosophy underlying the above illustration is nothing more or less than the old adage that a man shall not so use his property as to injure another;

The Same but Different 17 and the precept, that a man may not send noise or odor or other disturbing substances or vibration into or onto his neighbor’s property. The law of nuisance operates by way of prevention as well as by suppression. The zoning ordinance, by segregating the industrial districts from the residential districts, aims to produce, by a process of prevention applied over the whole territory of the city throughout an extensive period of time, the segregation of the noises and odors and turmoils necessarily incident to the operation of industry and from those sections of the city in which the homes of the people are or may be appropriately located. The mode of regulation may be new; but the purpose and the fundamental justification are the same. If, as is the case, one of the aims of zoning be to segregate industrial and commercial street traffic from the lighter and quieter forms of street traffic, by means of segregation of the districts in which these different types of traffic normally develop, then zoning becomes obviously a mode of prevention of noise and dangers. Experience demonstrates that unregulated city growth tends to subject the home district to offensive environment; and not much imagination is needed to realize that zoning can counteract this tendency. (Chused, 2000, p. 611–12; emphasis added) By asserting that “home districts” would be subjected to “offensive environments” without zoning regulations, Bettman built a base from which he could support his reasoning for keeping apartment and house zones separate. In a paper Bettman penned while Euclid was pending, he noted that keeping apartment buildings out of home zones was the most contentious part of advocating for zoning regulations, due to the strong arguments that such restrictions were merely for aesthetic purposes, and thus, could not be regulated by the state (Chused, 2000). To overcome this proposition, Bettman painted the picture of “middle and upper class men protecting their children from moral risk to justify single family residential zones” (Chused, 2000, p. 612). He stated, The man who seeks to place the home for his children in an orderly neighborhood, with some open space and light and fresh air and quiet, is not motivated so much by considerations of taste or beauty as by the assumption that his children are likely to grow mentally, physically and morally more healthful in such a neighborhood than in a disorderly, noisy, slovenly, blighted and slum-like district. This assumption is indubitably correct. The researches of physicians and public health students have demonstrated the importance of our physical environment as a factor in our physical health, mental sanity and moral strength; and the records of hospitals and criminal courts amply support these conclusions. The comparative health statistics of the planned and unplanned communities, so far as same have been gathered, tend to show more favorable results in the former than in

18

Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson the latter. Disorderliness in the environment has as detrimental an effect upon health and character as disorderliness within the house itself. (Chused, 2000, p. 612–13)

With these passages, Bettman provided the Supreme Court with the means necessary to align zoning with its previous precedents (Power, 1997). Without zoning, “the moral strength of upper-class children was at risk, [and] keeping the kids away from a ‘disorderly, noisy, slovenly, blighted and slum-like district’ was the only protection” (Chused, 2000, p. 613). However, to emphasize that zoning was purposed to defend against nuisances, was to underscore the fact that “zoning discriminated on the basis of class” (Power, 1997). “One family home districts were zones in which only the well-to-do could afford to live. Cheap, multi-family housing, nuisances by no stretch of the traditional legal imagination, were excluded” (Power, 1997). Thus, zoning protects the American class system “by segregating people according to their station in life (Power, 1997, p. 85). Thereby, “blacks and immigrants [can] be kept out of fi rst-class neighborhoods” (Power, 1997, p. 85). In the Supreme Court’s fi nal decision in the Euclid case, Justice Sutherland would pick up Bettman’s reasoning, and run with it. In the Court’s fi nal opinion, Justice Sutherland, without blatant use of racial overtones, drew a picture of the most “negative, stereotypical imagery of New York tenement house districts” (Chused, 2000, p. 613). The justice’s opinion revealed the Court’s belief in the power of zoning to protect the upper class just like Bettman: [T]he development of detached house sections is greatly retarded by the coming of apartment houses, which has sometimes resulted in destroying the entire section for private house purposes; that in such sections very often the apartment house is a mere parasite, constructed in order to take advantage of the open spaces and attractive surroundings created by the residential character of the district. Moreover, the coming of one apartment house is followed by others, interfering by their height and bulk with the free circulation of air and monopolizing the rays of the sun which otherwise would fall upon the smaller homes, and bringing, as their necessary accompaniments, the disturbing noises incident to increased traffic and business, and the occupation, by means of moving and parked automobiles, of larger portions of the streets, thus detracting from their safety and depriving children of the privilege of quiet and open spaces for play, enjoyed by those in more favored localities—until, fi nally, the residential character of the neighborhood and its desirability as a place of detached residences are utterly destroyed. Under these circumstances, apartment houses, which in a different environment would be not only entirely unobjectionable but highly desirable, come very near to being nuisances. (Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co., 1926, emphasis added)

The Same but Different 19 Thus, the Court, without a single mention of race, avoided the issue with words that conveyed the same meaning, but nonetheless revealed the underlying purpose of zoning regulations: “to exclude ‘colored’ people (and other second class citizens) from white middle class neighborhoods” (Power, 1997, p. 85). As a result, “in one fell swoop, Fifth Avenue merchants, Euclid Avenue mansions, single-family zones, and the children of the rich were freed from the threat of ‘other’ people and poverty” by the Court’s decision in Euclid (Chused, 2000, p. 614). More recently, however, the case of San Antonio v. Rodriguez highlights how Euclidian zoning causes overwhelming disparity in the nation’s public schools, without ever once overtly raising the specter of race.

THE GRASS IS GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE: EUCLID’S MANIFESTATION IN SAN ANTONIO V. RODRIGUEZ (1973) San Antonio v. Rodriguez (1973) is a prime example of how basing the public school fi nance scheme on the residential zoning system replicates the American class system and works to reaffi rm educational inequity by relegating students living in relative poorer areas to comparatively diminished educational opportunities. In Texas, the financing of public elementary and secondary schools resulted from contributions at both the state and local levels (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Nearly 50 percent of the funds collected were retained by the state to ensure a minimally basic education for all students enrolled in public schools (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). By contrast, at the local level, each school district contributed to financing its schools through an ad-valorem property tax (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Those on behalf of Rodriguez argued that Texas’ system of public school finance favored the more affluent through its emphasis on property taxation, and thus violated the equal protection rights of school children claiming to be members of impoverished families residing in school districts with a comparatively low property tax base (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). This claim was based on the substantial interdistrict disparities in per-pupil expenditures resulting from the differences in property values between the Edgewood Independent School District (least affluent) and the Alamo Heights Independent School District (most affluent; San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 411 U.S. 1, 1973). In Edgewood, approximately 22,000 students were enrolled in its 25 elementary and secondary schools (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Located in an inner-city area having little commercial or industrial property, Edgedwood’s residents were predominately Mexican American with “approximately 90% of the student population” being Mexican American and “over 6% [being] Negro” (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). At the time of the ruling, the average assessed property value for students in the district was $5,960 per pupil with a median family income of $4,686 (San Antonio v.

20

Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson

Rodriguez, 1973). Both of these figures were the lowest in the metropolitan area (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Taxed at an “equalized rate of $1.05 per $100.00 of assessed property—the highest in the metropolitan area—the [Edgewood] District contributed $26.00 to the education of each child” (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). By contrast, “Alamo Heights [was] the most affluent school district in San Antonio” (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 411 U.S. 1, 1973). The district educated approximately 5,000 students “in a residential community quite unlike the Edgewood District” (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). The school population in Alamo Heights was overwhelmingly Anglo with a Mexican American population of 18 percent and a “Negro” population of less than 1 percent (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). However, the assessed property value per student in the Alamo district “exceed[ed] $49,000.00” (more than 8 times that of Edgewood) with a median family income of $8,001 (more than 1.5 times that of Edgewood; San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Accordingly, at a local tax rate of $0.85 per $100 (in comparison to $1.05 per $100 in Edgewood), $333 was rendered for pupil instruction (in comparison to Edgewood’s $26, a $307 differential; San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). As these gross disparities are “largely attributable to differences in the amounts of money collected through local property taxation,” the district court found that “Texas’ dual system of public school fi nance violated the Equal Protection Clause,” and the fundamental right to equal educational opportunities, as the system “discriminate[d] on the basis of wealth in the manner in which education is provided for its people” (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Naturally, the San Antonio Independent School District disagreed with the district court, and thus appealed its claims to the U.S. Supreme Court. Though the district court found the theory of “wealth discrimination” valid, the Supreme Court rejected this perspective and instead ruled for the San Antonio School District. In doing so, the Court fi rst determined that the disadvantaged poor is not a group cognizable to be represented in court as the relative wealth of families in a given school district cannot be used to identify or defi ne a group in traditional equal protection terms (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Second, the U.S. Supreme Court declared that the American people and those within her borders have no federal right to an education in the United States. Because education “is not among the rights afforded explicit protection” under the Constitution, the Court could not “fi nd any basis” for saying education is explicitly or implicitly guaranteed therein (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Instead, the Court excused the overwhelmingly apparent inequalities by stating that Texas’ dual system of funding public education “bears a rational relationship to a legitimate state purpose,” namely the providing of a basic education for every child in the state and the preservation of significant control of school districts at the local level, similar to the argument in Roberts (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973).

The Same but Different 21 It is here, in San Antonio (1973), that the Supreme Court maintains that the state’s preservation of local control of schools is of primary concern when addressing issues of inequity in education fi nance, not the equal provision of educational opportunities to students (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). Thus, according to the Supreme Court, there is no federal constitutional right to an education in the United States, and therefore, no guarantee of equal educational opportunity in the “land of opportunity” (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). As a result, San Antonio is a prime example of the inequities that will continue to persist in the absence of equal rights to educational opportunity in the United States, so long as residence continues to be the determining factor in the provision of quality educational services as such unchecked inequality will prove to be the great hindrance of this nation. However, even where education is determined to be a state-granted right, instead of a federally-protected right, America can nonetheless afford to give up vindicating education rights simply because the road to equality is unpaved. As Alfred Bettman maintained, too much is at stake. Ohio’s DeRolph cases are bellwethers of what we must not do.

A NATION AT RISK: THE PROPERTY LINE PROBLEM The Ohio State Constitution was written in 1802 with a “deep-seated belief that liberty and individual opportunity” within the state “could be preserved only by educating Ohio’s citizens” (DeRolph v. State of Ohio, 1997). Nearly two centuries later, the state’s Supreme Court weighed the state’s commitment to this proposition in DeRolph v. The State of Ohio (1997). In DeRolph (1997), five school districts, certain superintendents and members of the districts’ boards of education, as well as certain teachers, students, teachers’ unions, and school administrators, asked the Ohio State Supreme Court to consider whether the state was fulfilling each student’s right to a “thorough and efficient system” of public education through the “School Foundation Program,” the state’s “statutory scheme for fi nancing public education” (DeRolph v. State, 1997). Under the program, a formula allocated funds based on factors that caused “vast wealth-based disparities among Ohio’s schools, [and] deprived many of Ohio’s public school students of high quality educational opportunities” (DeRolph v. State, 1997). According to state statute, “the revenue available to a school comes from two primary sources:” state revenue through the Foundation Program, and local revenue, consisting “primarily of locally voted school district property tax[es]” (DeRolph v. State, 1997). Because federal funds played a “minor role in the fi nancing scheme,” local, not state revenue was more heavily relied on to operate the state’s schools (DeRolph v. State, 1997). The School Foundation Program placed so great a burden on school districts raising the necessary funds to educate the state’s children that it

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Carey Hawkins Ash and Chaneé D. Anderson

“invited disparities among the districts” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). In short, the disparities resulted from the “strong correlation” between per-pupil assessed property valuation and the total amount spent per pupil, which resulted in “rich and poor school districts” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). However, the disparities in school district revenues and expenditures were not a result of a lax tax effort on the districts’ or voters’ parts (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Instead, “the level of effort between the rich and poor [was] virtually uniform” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). This is because where there is little industrial property and relatively low average incomes, the financial benefit to a school district will be “minimal” as the district’s voters would be forced to tax themselves “at significantly higher rates in order [for their schools] to meet minimum requirements for accreditation” (DeRolph v. State, 1997). However, such voters “can ill afford to pay the increased tax,” thus, the education they provide their students is “typically inferior” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). As a result, “property-poor districts are trapped in a cycle of poverty from which there is no opportunity to free themselves” (DeRolph v. State, 1997). Because business and industry locate where there is a low property tax rate and high-quality schools, “the property-poor districts with their high tax rates and inferior schools are unable to attract new industry or development and so have little opportunity to improve their tax base” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; emphasis added). So, property-poor districts are left with one “viable” alternative to educating their children: take on debt (DeRolph v. State, 1997). Property-poor districts were compelled to take on debt to meet their fi nancial obligations under the School Foundation Program (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). As a result, the amount districts borrowed under the state’s loan programs was inordinate “and most districts ha[d] very little chance of escaping from th[e] vicious cycle of mortgaging the future[s] of [their] public school students” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Under the “Spending Reserve” and “Emergency School Assistance” Loan Programs, “school districts [were] permitted to borrow against a subsequent year’s revenue with approval of the Superintendent of Public Instruction” from the state and commercial lenders, respectively (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). However, “where a school district borrow[ed] against a future year’s tax receipts” the district subtracted from the next year’s dollars (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Thus, school districts entered into “proverbial spiral[s]” of “robbing future generations of children” by “taking away from the future” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). As with any loan, there are terms and conditions. For school districts in Ohio, those terms were high. If school districts were to receive emergency school assistance loans, districts were first forced to “borrow [from the state] under the Spending Reserve Loan Program” with the requirement to

The Same but Different 23 “drastically cut expenditures” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). As a result, many indebted districts first issued cuts in “school administrators, classroom teachers, and support personnel” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Next on the guillotine were “materials, supplies, and textbooks,” then “retirement incentives, delay[s] in the purchase of school buses, and cuts in maintenance costs” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). “However, cuts in textbook purchases and maintenance usually occur[ed] long before a district applie[d] for an emergency assistance loan” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Adding salt to the wound, property-poor districts are “required to hire less experienced school teachers because they can be paid less” in times of financial hardship (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). All these things, “(1) the operation of the School Foundation Program, (2) the emphasis of Ohio’s school funding system on local property tax, (3) the requirement of school district borrowing through the spending reserve and emergency school assistance loan programs, and (4) the lack of sufficient funding” by the Ohio General Assembly, led the Ohio Supreme Court to conclude, “the funding laws reviewed today are inherently incapable of achieving their constitutional purpose” of providing a “thorough and efficient” system of education to the state’s public school students (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Thus, the court ordered the state back to the drawing board. By the time the Ohio Supreme Court heard DeRolph (1997) the Akron, Ohio School District “had been approved for an emergency school assistance loan” (DeRolph v. State, 1997; Douglas, J., concurrence). Thus, the preceding descriptions of property-poor districts give insight into the state of Akron Public Schools at the time DeRolph (1997) was handed down. Since the court’s ruling in DeRolph (1997), the Ohio Supreme Court ruled in DeRolph II (2000) and DeRolph III (2001) that the state was still not in compliance with the state’s constitution. Thus, in DeRolph IV (2002), the Ohio Supreme Court vacated its previous order in DeRolph III and reiterated its finding that a complete overhaul of the school funding system, “not further nibbling at the edges,” was needed to meet the state’s constitutional mandate (DeRolph v. State, 2002). However, the court completely retreated from its venerable position as the guardian of the state’s constitution in State of Ohio v. Lewis (2003). There, the Ohio Supreme Court ended any further litigation in the DeRolph line and disavowed the court’s jurisdiction over the case (State of Ohio v. Lewis, 2003). The court said “[t]he duty now lies with the General Assembly,” the same body that failed in its previous attempts, “to remedy an educational system that has been found by the majority in DeRolph IV to still be unconstitutional” (State of Ohio v. Lewis, 2003). Thus, the court effectively gave up on actively ensuring equal educational opportunity through provision of a thorough and efficiently funded school system. If we take nothing from DeRolph we must take this: we can never, ever, ever give up on equally educating the Nation’s children.

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WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?: THE FUTURE OF AMERICA AND ITS PUBLIC EDUCATION SYSTEM Presently, America’s public school system fi nds itself strongly challenged at a time when both domestic and world affairs call upon us to rethink the way we develop and prepare our country’s citizens. However, countless students in school districts across the Nation daily receive unequal quality of education, fi rst, because our current system discriminates on the basis of residence, which results in disparate academic results, and second, because the Supreme Court denies the existence of a federal right otherwise (San Antonio v. Rodriguez, 1973). However, the Court cannot deny the fact that “the security of the Nation requires the fullest development of the mental resources and technical skills of [all] its young men and women.” (National Defense Education Act, 1958). Thus, we must adopt a new, innovative system of public education for our country, one that adheres to America’s fundamental principles of federalism and gaurentees a well-educated populous, for our ability to successfully compete in this new, globalized, technological world depends on it. The foregoing chapter shows how residence has become the new proxy for race in determining the distribution of educational opportunities in the United States. However, this chapter also reveals that America must muster the will to examine itself in earnest “to recognize and confront the fl aws and injustices that remain” (Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1, 2007). To be honest with ourselves and candidly admit that all is not equal in America does not impugn our National integrity; it enhances it. By recognizing our fl aws (and yes, “We” do have them), “We,” together, can overcome them (Preamble, U.S. Const.). The time has long since passed when America could afford to make distinctions of any type, be it race, class, or residence. As we have now fully taken our place in the digital, globalized age, the remaining countries of the world are passing us by, outranking us in education while we factionalize our education system on the basis of where we live. The fundamental truth is this: America’s students, the next generation of world leaders, each deserve the best education our country can provide no matter where they live, not because of where they live. Justice Kennedy was right in Seattle: this Nation’s “moral and ethical obligation to fulfill its historic commitment to creating an integrated society that ensures equal opportunity for all of its children” must be fulfi lled if America is to once again rank fi rst in the world in education. However, what we cannot afford is to acquiesce to self-defeat. We cannot accept the premise that the system we currently have must be the system we will always have. We must tune-up the status quo, for the key to survival is adaptability. Simply stated, either the United States fundamentally reconsiders its public school funding scheme, or we shall further fall. It must never be said that the task of equally educating

The Same but Different 25 our children is to great for our Nation. Need we be reminded that we are the country that undertook to, and successfully placed the fi rst man on the moon, amongst other feats of former impossibilities? Thus, it is folly to say that educating all our children with the best of our might is a condition too complex to be achieved. For if we should ever adopt this deficit thinking, not only do we then give up on our children and their futures; in that same moment we likewise lose all faith in ourselves.

NOTES 1. Brown (1954) is a consolidation of several court cases from four different states: Kansas, South Carolina, Virginia, and Delaware. See Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Shawnee County, KS (1951), 98 F.Supp. 797; Briggs et al. v. Elliot et al. (1952), 103 F.Supp. 920; Davis et al. v. County School Board of Price Edward County, VA et al. (1952), 103 F.Supp. 337; Belton et al. v. Frances B. Gebhart (1952), 87 A.2d 862. 2. Further detailed in the following section, “Removing the Rubble.” 3. The same for the Jefferson County School District discussed later. Notwithstanding, the districts’ use of subordinating nomenclature as quoted by the Supreme Court is noted: “Even as to race, the plans here employ only a limited notion of diversity, viewing race exclusively in white/nonwhite terms in Seattle and black/”other” terms in Jefferson County.” Equality does not speak in unequal terms. 4. Michael Dumas explains in great detail Seattle’s past discriminatory practices as they pertain to housing in his article “A Cultural Political Economy of School Desegregation in Seattle” (Teacher’s College Record, 113(4), 703–734).

REFERENCES Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 347 U.S. 483. Buchanan v. Warley (1917), 245 U.S. 60. Chused, R. (2000). Euclid’s historical imagery. Case Western Reserve Law Review, 51. 597–616. Retrieved on August 20, 2012 from http://heinonline.org.proxy2. library.illinois.edu/HOL/Print?collection=journals&handle=hein.journals/ cwrlrv51&id=607 DeRolph v. the State of Ohio (1997), 677 N.E.2d 733. DeRolph (II) v. State of Ohio (2000), 728 N.E.2d 993. DeRolph (III) v. State of Ohio (2001), 754 N.E.2d 1184. DeRolph (IV) v. State of Ohio (2002), 780 N.E.2d 529. Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co. (1924), 297 F. 307. Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co. (1926), 272 U.S. 365. Grutter v. Bollinger (2003), 539 U.S. 306. Kozal, J., Tatum, B. D., Eaton, S., & Gándara, P. (2010). What’s the answer? Educational Leadership, 68(3), 28–31. National Defense Education Act (1958). Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1 (2007), 551, U.S. 701. Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), 163 U.S. 537.

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Power, G. (1997). Advocates at cross-purposes: The briefs on behalf of zoning in the Supreme Court. Journal of Supreme Court History, 2, 79–86. Retrieved from http://works.bepress.com/garrett_power/11 Preamble. United States Constitution. Roberts v. City of Boston (1849), 59, Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court. San Antonio v. Rodriguez (1973), 411 U.S. 1. State of Ohio v. Lewis (2003), 789 N.E.2d 195. Wolf, M. A. (1997). Compelled by conscientious duty: Village of Euclid v. Ambler Realty Co. as Romance. Journal of Supreme Court History, 22, 88–100.

2

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge Curriculum Revision for African Americans, From Pre-Brown to the Present Anthony Brown, Julian Vasquez Heilig, and Keffrelyn Brown

The landmark case Brown v. Board of Education set a new legal precedent in the United States that dismantled the “strange career” (Woodward, 2001 [1966]) of Jim Crow. The purpose of this law, from the standpoint of the social engineers of this Civil Rights Movement, was to change the social, economic, and educational opportunities for African Americans and other racially marginalized groups in this nation (Guinier, 2004). In the context of schools, this new legal precedent sought to open new opportunities for schooling that would have a direct impact on the life chances of historically underserved communities. The philosophical idea of desegregation sought to break down the barriers of legalized segregation in schools and integrate non-White students into White schools that had better facilities, a greater amount of school resources, and a wealth of structural opportunities to increase historically underserved communities’ chances to learn and thrive in a democratic society. In other words, Brown pursued a radical egalitarian (Dawson, 2001) approach that sought to have America live up to the highest ideals of democratic theory, which suggested that each individual live to their highest potential. Legal scholars (Bell, 1980; Dudziak, 1988; Guinier, 2004) and educational scholars (Grant, 1995; Ladson-Billings, 2004; Hess, 2005), however, have outlined the gaps between the intentions and the realities of Brown. Some have even considered whether Brown was a good idea for African Americans—particularly when looking at the case retrospectively (Brown, 2004; Guiner, 2004; Grant, 1995). A growing and significant body of literature about the resegregation of schools (Clotfeller, 2006; Eckes, 2003; Orfield & Eaton, 1997) has come out of these considerations of Brown. This body of work has convincingly shown that what was achieved through Brown in the dismantling of the de jure racial

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Anthony Brown, Julian Vasquez Heilig, and Keff relyn Brown

segregation in U.S. schools has all been lost to de facto racist policies and practices that have thwarted the overall impact of the case. The striking data to come from this work plainly illustrates the failures of Brown in helping to desegregate schools. Although much of this work has shown the problematic ways in which school policies helped to create a racially segregated schooling context across the United States (Clotfeller, 2006; Eckes, 2003; Orfield & Eaton, 1997), some of this work has also looked at the context of schools before Brown and asked questions about the quality of schooling for Black children in segregated schooling context (Kelly, 2010; Siddle Walker, 1996). The retelling of the pre- and post-Brown narrative raises a question that W. E. B. DuBois posed in 1935 (b): “Does the Negro need separate schools?” Although the intent of this essay is not to explore the historical and contemporary implications of this question, we draw from this question as a historical guidepost for our analysis. We maintain that implicit in this question are additional questions about who should teach the African American child and what the African American child should be taught. In keeping with DuBois’ question, this essay will explore the contours of African American curricular critiques and revisions from the 1930s to the present. It is not our intent in this paper to provide an exhaustive review or in-depth history of this topic, but to highlight some of the common tensions around curriculum in a pre- and post-Brown era and show how curriculum for African Americans followed a similar path of inclusion and exclusion as the historical trajectory of schools in a pre- and postBrown era (Brown & Brown, 2010b). In this paper we highlight a similar narrative to the one told about school resegregation, with specifi c attention to what we call the resegregation of knowledge. By knowledge we are specifi cally talking about the school curriculum. In examining the pre-Brown and post-Brown discourse of school curriculum one can fi nd a similar historical trajectory as outlined by the previous scholarship found in pre-Brown and post-Brown educational context for African Americans. In this paper we fi rst outline the early 20th century critiques and challenges to school curriculum from the perspective of African American scholars living within a segregated schooling context—what we call the era of “segregated knowledge.” Then we draw the readers’ attention to the post-Brown era that sought to make sense of curriculum within the efforts of integration—what we call the era of “multicultural and integrated knowledge.” We follow with a discussion about curriculum revisions and the neoliberal and neoconservative assault on Black curriculum inclusions in the 1990s and in the present. We conclude with an extensive discussion about the intersection of a narrowed curriculum with high-stakes testing and NCLB-inspired policies around teacher quality.

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 29 CURRICULUM, SEGREGATED KNOWLEDGE, AND THE NEW NEGRO The image-making process through caricatures or racial silence (LadsonBillings, 2003) in the early 1900s helped to produce a “regime of truth” (Foucault, 1970) about African Americans that prompted a movement of scholars and activists to create new knowledge and educational materials that would directly challenge racist depictions. Moreover, during this period, the reconstruction of African American imagery was clearly a concern among most African Americans of this time. Here Arnold Rampersad (1925/1977) poignantly illustrates this point: The significance of The New Negro cannot be grasped without some knowledge of the long history of the vilification of black American and African culture and racial ability in books built on this assumption of the irremediable inferiority of blacks. (p. xv) Following a similar line of reasoning, a cadre of educators, journalists, artists, historians, and social scientists worked to fi rst identify the problematic constructions that pervaded African American imagery and then created art, poetry, music, and sociological studies designed to directly challenge the dominant tropes of this period. Gates (1988) refers to this as the emergence of the trope of the “New Negro.” This body of work highlighted the challenges as well as possibilities of curriculum for African American curricular needs within a segregated educational context. Although scholars often cite the 1960s as the beginning of the multicultural curricular movement, one could certainly make the claim the New Negro or Renaissance movement provided the conceptual and historical foundation to subsequent curricular shifts in the late 20th century. Gates (1988) states: The “New Negro,” of course, was only a metaphor. The paradox of this claim is inherent in the trope itself, combining as it does a concern with time, antecedents, and heritage, on one hand, with the concern for a cleared space, the public face of race, on the other. The figure moreover, combines implicitly both an eighteenth-century vision of utopia with a nineteenth century idea of progress to form an end of the century dream of an unbroken, unhabituated, neological self—signified by the upper case in “Negro” and the belated adjective “New” (p.132) Artists, novelists, playwrights, journalists, and sociologists all worked to provide a more complete and diverse portrait of African American life (Gates, 1988). Drawing from different genres, African American scholars illustrated how the cultural myths of plantation ideology (Fredrickson,

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Anthony Brown, Julian Vasquez Heilig, and Keff relyn Brown

1971), scientific racism (Zuberi, 2001), antebellum literature (Blassinggame, 1979), and sociohistorical myths (DuBois, 1899/2007) could no longer stereotype the African American image. This effort was also present in the work of educators and scholars to reveal the problems with African American history, while also providing educational resources for communities and school-age children (Schomburg, 1925/1992; Woodson, 1933/2000). After Reconstruction and throughout the early 20th century, scholars outlined numerous historical and conceptual issues with African American curriculum knowledge that included inaccurate, silenced, and stereotypical characterizations. (DuBois, 1935a; Woodson, 1928; Schomburg, 1925/1992). Some of the more explicit problems addressed the stereotypical casting of African Americans in perpetual bondage and servitude in the United States, as well as the glaring omission of the institutional histories, most notably slavery and Jim Crow, which were instrumental in shaping African Americans’ lives. W. E. B. DuBois (1935a) remarked: “One is astonished in the study of history at the recurrence of the idea that evil must be forgotten, distorted, skimmed over” (p. 722). For these African American scholars, educators, and activists, the history textbook was the central text for constructing myths about African Americans. It was presumed that traditional history textbooks omitted significant histories, removed White Americans’ complicity in African American oppression, as well as blamed African Americans for their social and educational circumstances (Dubois, 1935a; Reddick, 1934). Woodson and Wesley’s (1935) words illustrate this sentiment: Practically all history teaching is propaganda; but there are significant differences between the methods as well as the contents of certain textbooks. Excessive emphasis on one type of facts and a corresponding suppression of others—the most frequent practice—conditions the child to preconceptions and false valuations which it takes much time to unlearn. The more slyly insinuated expression of contempt for some national racial groups is apt to create antipathies which cannot always later in life be traced to their sources and so, with others, are carried along as seemingly innate. (p. 439) In the early 1930s, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) convened a textbook committee that met at local branches to examine depictions of African Americans in history, literature, and civics textbooks (Zimmerman, 2002). The fi ndings from these committee meetings resulted in the publication of a pamphlet entitled AntiNegro Propaganda in School Textbooks. These concerns would persist through the 1940s when a delegation of African American leaders met with New York City school officials to express their deep concerns with history textbooks (Zimmerman, 2004). These men, including the publisher of the Amsterdam News and the bishop of the African Orthodox Church,

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 31 severely critiqued history textbooks for portraying African Americans as “happy slaves” and in another instance applauding the Ku Klux Klan for keeping “foolish Negroes” out of government (Zimmerman, 2004). It was clear that through most of the early 20th century, African American scholars, educators, and activists understood that the official knowledge (Apple, 1993) of textbooks served as a powerful conceptual tool. For example, these critics of history textbooks recognized that school texts were influential apparatuses for reproducing the image of African American docility and unintelligence, particularly for the youth population. Therefore, scholars outright challenged these myths by: (a) illustrating the diverse cultural contexts of African Americans during slavery and after Reconstruction; (b) outlining the accomplishments and achievements of African Americans; and by (c) presenting the institutional and historical conditions that shaped African Americans’ lives (Brown, 2010). During this period, several scholars of African American history worked to establish rigorous scholarship that challenged the dominant narratives about African Americans. Scholars fi rst identified the problems with educational texts about African Americans and then offered new knowledge via the creation of textbooks, teacher journals, encyclopedias, teacher materials, and library archives (Brown, 2010). Specifically, W. E. B. DuBois (1935a), Arthur A. Schomburg (1925/1992) and Carter G. Woodson (1933/2000), respectively, expressed a deep concern about the presentation of African Americans within common historical and educational text. Certainly, other educators and activists expressed similar sentiments, but it was these particular scholars who critiqued the construction of African Americans, and created texts to challenge the trope of the “Old Negro” as a history-less, lazy, and unintelligent people. From this emerged a new body of school knowledge about African American history. According to Mills’ notion of revisionist ontologies, the counternarrative textbooks and encyclopedias provided by African American scholars helped to repudiate and reinvent the “selves imposed by white supremacy” (Mills, 1998, p. 113). It was within this genre of textbook and encyclopedia writing that African American scholars such as Carter G. Woodson and W. E. B. DuBois helped to develop an approach to curriculum writing that has remained foundational to ongoing critiques to the school curriculum. Implicit within this early discourse was the question Herbert Spencer (Apple, 1993) asked in the late 1800s, and what Michael Apple (1993) has asked in a contemporary context: Whose knowledge is of most worth? The writing of textbooks, encyclopedias, and children books for African Americans during this era provided an interesting irony of curricular inclusion for African American students. The cultural logic used to support the legal segregation of African Americans from Whites was ironically picked up by White superintendents to allow Black history textbooks to exist in all Black schools (Zimmerman, 2002). The context of legal segregation also

32 Anthony Brown, Julian Vasquez Heilig, and Keff relyn Brown mobilized African Americans to pursue their own stories and narratives in public educational spaces via Woodson’s then popular Black History Week events and his traveling educational programs that provided rich and transformative curricular knowledge about African Americans (King, Crowley, & Brown, 2010). What is ironic about this era of segregated school knowledge was that it made possible the mobilization of critiques and revisions to the official curriculum that informed the foundation of African American curriculum in the present (Brown, 2010). The point here is that just as historians have examined what was wrong with segregated schooling, scholars have attempted to make sense of what was “good” (Kelly, 2010; Siddle Walker, 1996) during this period. With respect to curriculum it was the human capital that critiqued, challenged, revised, and created new knowledge that ultimately provided the theoretical foundation to the creation of multicultural curriculum throughout the 20th century. In this sense, the context of segregated knowledge was exclusionary in that African Americans were portrayed within dominant text as subpersons (Mills, 1998), while at the same time inclusionary in that African Americans began to defi ne their own histories and identify new ideologies for challenging the existing canon (Watkins, 1993).

MULTICULTURAL AND INTEGRATED KNOWLEDGE Grappling with the same issues of inclusion and representation of African Americans that early African American curriculum scholarship addressed, multicultural education scholars addressed similar issues, albeit within a different context. By the 1970s, educational discourse focused on inclusion and desegregation—even if only in theory. The context for understanding African American curriculum was to help African Americans students navigate a school setting that had both dismissed and/or disparaged their cultural and historical contributions to schools and society. The question of whose knowledge was worth knowing remained a relevant inquiry. After Brown a number of studies in the 1960s examined the impact that racism and poverty had on the social and psychological development of African American students (Pettigrew, 1964; Riessman, 1962). Although liberal researchers examined the structural and psychological factors to African American achievement, much of this discourse relied on cultural deficit theories to explain the social and education experiences of African American students (Moynihan, 1965/1967; Riessman, 1962). Scholars argued that by understanding the cycle of norms, behaviors, and internal relations of the Black family structure, one could better understand the causes of academic achievement. This was the central thesis of several seminal education and sociological studies (Moynihan, 1965/1967; Pettigrew, 1964; Riessman, 1962). In 1965 Patrick Moynihan’s policy report, The

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 33 Negro Family, also known as the “Moynihan Report,” elaborated on this idea. He asserted that the Black family had developed pathological family patterns, which had a direct impact on the education achievement of the Black child. By the early 1970s however, several scholars had challenged deficit theories arguing that teacher expectations and cultural misconceptions profoundly impacted the education experiences of African American students (Abrahams & Gay, 1972; Clark, 1972). New theories for understanding the education context of African American students emerged (Banks & Grambs, 1972; Gouldner, 1978; Rist, 1973). This work challenged deficit theories, arguing that teachers’ perceptions and expectations of African American students had a powerful impact on academic outcomes (Abrams & Gay, 1972). Besides pointing to the limitations to previous studies, researchers drew attention to how schools and teachers held cultural misconceptions of African American children’s communication patterns. For example, Abrahams and Gay (1972) argued that pathological conceptions of Black English often led to cultural confl icts in the classroom. Additionally during this time, several multicultural education scholars offered critical arguments about the relationship between teachers’ belief systems and their perceptions and expectations of African American students (Banks & Grambs, 1972; Grant, 1979). In this context, curriculum was viewed as not only a body of knowledge, but also an epistemological and cultural bridge to help African American students learn. Similar to previous scholarship, this body of work maintained that the curricular and pedagogical context of schools was informed by White norms. Zimmerman (2004) points out that textbook revision went hand in hand with the sociopsychology attached to Brown. He states: Emphasizing legal separation of the races, Brown did not address issues of curriculum. But integrationists were quick to apply Brown’s premises to textbooks, warning that “segregated” schoolbooks, like segregated schools, would harm minority children. (Zimmerman, 2004, p. 60) Indeed the context of being Black in an integrated school context catalyzed the ideas around multicultural curriculum through the 1980s and 1990s. Throughout this period significant emphasis was given to the sociopsychological well-being of the African American child and how the inclusion of African American characters in books and school materials could better facilitate the challenges for being culturally misunderstood within an integrated school setting (Zimmerman, 2004). By the 1990s, however, new ways to make sense of the multicultural curriculum emerged that showed that although there was some presence of African American histories and experiences in school texts, these narratives were either additive or only marginally rendered in schools and textbooks. The belief among many scholars was that curriculum focused too heavily

34

Anthony Brown, Julian Vasquez Heilig, and Keff relyn Brown

on the ideological beliefs of liberalism and the sociopsychological beliefs of self-concept, while only partially addressing the structural realities of African Americans (Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995; McCarthy, 1990a). The primary critique of this scholarship was that what multicultural education did not go far enough to address issues of Whiteness and racism in the official curriculum, (King, 2004; Swartz, 1992). By the late 1990s there were at least three different ways to critique multicultural curriculum about African Americans within an integrated and diverse context: African-centered, anti-essentialist, and the Critical Race Theory approach. The African-centered approach (Asante, 1991) suggested that school curriculum focus squarely on the histories and cultural experiences of African Americans from ancient Africa to the present. This approach to curriculum critiqued the fact that integrated schools would never acknowledge the value of African American epistemic knowledge, nor infuse it in the official canon of integrated schools. The anti-essentialist approach (McCarthy, 1988, 1990a, 1990b) posed questions about how curriculum for African Americans was even possible if the experiences and African Americans as a group were diverse and non-synchronous. The Critical Race Theory approach argued that curriculum inclusion like the symbology of Brown only provided surface and ahistorical inclusions of African Americans’ experiences and histories (Brown & Brown, 2010a). What the multicultural and integrated knowledge era offered in terms of a critique to African American curriculum was framed by two competing contexts—each related to the spatial and temporal milieu of African Americans in a post-Civil Rights era. The fi rst was one in which large numbers of African Americans were taught a Eurocentric curriculum by White teachers in racially integrated schools. This context lent itself to a specific critique of curriculum that conceptualized the needs of school knowledge within an integrated schooling context. The same opportunities that grew out of the Civil Rights era that enabled White institutions to offer Black studies departments and educate more African Americans also made possible for the infusion of new theories to surface about the relevance of a Black curriculum. This resulted in a plurality of discourses to emerge to trouble the context of African American curriculum within an integrated school context. What the fi rst 50 years after Brown offered was a promise that was not fulfilled, where questions about curriculum were addressed in the context of school settings that were hostile or deficient in orientation toward African Americans’ capacities (Guiner, 2004). Similar to the contradiction of Brown providing new but only surface opportunities for African Americans, the concessions made to make African American histories and culture integrated in the mainstream resulted in Black histories to exist as a “footnote” within the larger master narrative (Swartz, 1992) of school curriculum. In the meantime, however, although different conceptions to making sense of African American curriculum surfaced, neoliberal and neoconservative

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 35 policies steadily moved toward the making and remaking of a Eurocentric curriculum—what we call the narrowed knowledge era.

NARROWED KNOWLEDGE ERA In recent years a new era in curriculum has emerged that seeks to completely remove the voices and contributions of African Americans. Nowhere was this more visible than the social studies curriculum revisions recently proposed and passed in the state of Texas. In 2009, the largely conservative Texas School Board convened over the merits of what they called a “liberal bent” in the social studies curriculum (Shaw, 2009). The results of this public discussion resulted in a change and revision of the history standards. One of the most publicized proposals was to remove the words “slave” and “slavery” from the standards and change the language to the “triangular trade.” There was also some public discussion about the removal of Thurgood Marshall because he was “not an appropriate example as a historical figure of influence” (Shaw, 2009). Although most of the inane proposals were not submitted in the fi nal social studies standards in Texas, much of the history of African Americans and other minority groups were made optional after the scheduled decadal revisions of the standards (Vasquez Heilig, Brown, & Brown, 2012). Persisting national debates over what should and should not be included in standards is not just an issue in Texas; the Southern Poverty Law Center recently conducted an extensive study about how civil rights is taught in schools across the nation. The study compared what historians and educators viewed as the core information to the civil right movement to state standards. Here’s what the study found: • A shocking number of states—35—received grades of “F.” • Sixteen states, where local officials set specific policies and requirements for their school districts, have no requirements at all for teaching about the movement. • Only three states received a grade of “A”—Alabama, New York, and Florida—and even these states have considerable room for improvement. • Generally speaking, the farther from the South—and the smaller the African American population—the less attention paid to the movement. Although this era in curriculum harkens back to a pre-Brown curriculum era, where there was an almost complete marginalization of multicultural voices, there are additional intervening circumstances in the current educational policy era that further exacerbate the context of a narrowed curriculum, including escalating inequality in the distribution of high-quality

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teachers and high-stakes testing. Thus, unlike prior periods of curriculum revision that were directly related to problems with the curriculum, contemporary efforts to maintain a diverse curriculum are readily undermined by the all-pervasive codified logic of standards and accountability. Research has indicated, “the quality of teachers and the quality of teaching are undoubtedly among the most important factors shaping the learning and growth of students” (Ingersoll, 2011, p. 1). The effectiveness of the teacher is the major determining factor of long-term student academic progress (Sanders & Horn, 1998). Teacher quality has a cumulative effect on student achievement (Darling-Hammond, 1999). As a result, when students are assigned several under-qualified teachers in a row, they are less likely to demonstrate grade-level proficiency than students who had three highly effective teachers in a row (Sanders & Rivers, 1996). However, schools with large numbers of African Americans and low-socioeconomic populations have difficulty recruiting and retaining high-quality teachers (Borman & Dowling, 2008). Because low-performing schools are often located in high-poverty neighborhoods, the working conditions and characteristics of those neighborhoods (population density, income level, violent crime rate) have impacted their potential teachers’ career decisions (Loeb, Darling-Hammond, & Luczak, 2005). As it might be expected, research shows that teachers often avoid taking jobs in schools serving low-performing minority and poor students (Hanushek, Kain, & Rivkin, 2004). In turn, low-income African Americans students have limited opportunities to learn from high-quality teachers (Boyd et al., 2010). The reauthorization of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) of 2002— also known as No Child Left Behind (“NCLB”)—specified that all teachers be “highly qualified.”1 The high-quality teacher provision in the act should have protected African American students against the persistent assignment of low-quality teachers as it aims to remove numerous state-by-state loopholes that allowed emergency-certified teachers to pervade low-performing schools. Despite the language in NCLB seeking to increase the quality of teachers, the law concurrently requires states to have a program to recruit and retain highly qualified mid-career professionals (including highly qualified paraprofessionals), and recent graduates of an institution of higher education, as teachers in high-need schools, including recruiting teachers through alternative routes to certification. 2 As a result, NCLB mandates that states support and expand Alternative Certification Programs (ACP) to provide alternative routes to the classroom. Vasquez Heilig, Cole, and Springel (2011) analyzed National Center for Alternative Certification (NCAC) data and showed that NCLB increased alternative routes to the classroom, with about 133,000 teachers certified via alternative routes in the 17 years before NCLB, compared to 359,000 in the 7 years since its introduction. Vasquez Heilig, Cole, and Springel (2011) discussed that the inequitable distribution of teachers and defi nition of quality supported by NCLB has not gone without legal challenge. In Renee v. Duncan (2009), the plaintiffs

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 37 alleged the regulation violated NCLB’s stated standard of “highly qualified” teachers. They argued that the regulation essentially relabeled more than 10,000 novice teachers still in training in California and tens of thousands of such teachers nationwide as “highly qualified.” As noted, NCLB defi nes a highly qualified teacher has one that has obtained full state certification either through traditional or alternative routes or passed the state teacher licensing examination.3 The teacher cannot have the certification or licensure requirements waived on an emergency, temporary, or provisional basis. The regulation essentially watered down the NCLB requirements, thus lowering the threshold to mere enrollment in a program to qualify. Actual certification was no longer the determining factor—simple progress was enough to qualify. Congress acted in late 2010 and legislated a loose defi nition of high-quality teachers that allowed teachers who were making progress toward certification to remain designated as “highly-qualified”— creating a codified façade (Vasquez Heilig, Cole, & Springel, 2011). An example how this “highly qualified” teacher and accountability discourse narrows curriculum in urban schools, often populated by African American students, is found in the case of Texas. As Texas-style accountability commenced, an ongoing debate in the literature considered how high-stakes TAAS testing was impacting classroom pedagogy and curriculum (Valencia & Bernal, 2000). How high schools’ narrowed curriculum and pedagogy in response to Texas’ high-stakes testing in the TAAS era was fi rst extensively explored by McNeil and Valenzuela (2001). They identified Houston schools as “teaching to the TAAS” more than a decade ago. In the current NCLB-inspired testing era, these concerns still remain, but there is a dearth of literature on how it is impacting the curriculum for African Americans (Davis & Martin, 2008). Vasquez Heilig (2011) studied majority-minority urban and rural schools in Texas and found that teachers (11 of 33) and principals (6 of 7) in his study detailed aspects of “teaching to the test” and the impact of exit testing on the narrowing of the curriculum. A high school administrator in the study acknowledged that schools are paying attention to constraints created by the current educational policy system: There’s no way around it, I mean you’d be a fool if you did not play that game, I guess you can call it. . . . You can easily end up being labeled unacceptable if you did not prepare the students to take the test. . . . Two weeks before the TAKS date we pull out the kids. . . . We let the teachers know you’re not going to see these kids for 4 days. For 4 days we do what we call the TAKS blitz. Tensions associated with high-stakes testing were also on the minds of the students in the urban high school. When asked whether the TAKS appeared in the daily curriculum, students related that they had noticed that many of their courses had a heavy TAKS preparation focus. The students who faced the heaviest test-prep focused courses were those who had

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not passed TAKS during prior testing opportunities. Students relayed that they were tracked into courses where the amount of testing curriculum was increased. A high school student who had failed previous administrations of the TAKS related, Every class I have, it’s based on the TAKS, you know? Like we do exercises that are in the TAKS. . . . Right now I’m taking the TAKS classes for the tests I need and basically he lectures the whole period [on TAKS]. . . . We don’t have homework. Vasquez Heilig (2011) also uncovered a troubling example of science pedagogy utilized by a novice teacher. Student informants in high school related that their chemistry class was saturated with teaching to the exit tests. They reported that their chemistry class entailed 100 percent TAKS test preparation—no textbooks, labs, experiments, or other traditional means of science curriculum. The entire chemistry course was solely designed to drill students for science exit testing by utilizing multiplechoice worksheets. Teachers were asked about the teaching of science via test-prep worksheets because the idea seemed somewhat implausible—until the Tierra chemistry teacher was randomly chosen to participate in a focus group. As a new teacher on probation, she expressed that she was being measure based on test performance. For her it was rational to “teach to the test” because it was the standard by which she would be judged. She characterized the worksheets in the course as being entirely geared for the TAKS: “Mine is not going through a 15-minute bell-ringer, then going on to teaching chemistry. No, no me it’s everything, so mine are actual [TAKS] lessons. . . . I don’t just teach my course, now I teach towards the TAKS.” In summary, research has identified lower performing schools, usually populated by low-income and students of color, as spending an inordinate amount of time devoted to test taking strategies due to high-stakes assessment mandates (McNeil & Valenzuela, 2001). McNeil, Coppola, Radigan, & Vasquez Heilig (2008) emphasized that in this new era of NCLB-inspired accountability, teachers in low-performing schools serving large numbers of African Americans are driven to drill students daily in reading, writing, and mathematics, essentially teaching only to the tests. The result is what Berliner (2009) calls an “educational apartheid”—African Americans and certain classes of students are often systematically denied exposure to material and subjects not covered by the tests.

DISCUSSION A logical question that arises, is how widespread are activities such as these that “teach to the test” and narrow the curriculum? Are these activities isolated to the Texas context where high-stakes exams were entrenched in the

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 39 1980s and accountability formulas followed in the 1990s? Is the chemistry teacher in Texas who utilizes 100 percent of the daily class activity around TAKS preparation only an outlier relative to the national scope? Recently, a national study of 1,001 3rd- to 12th-grade public school teachers gathered data about teacher behavior and classroom practice in the current era of high-stakes testing and accountability. The study found that among teachers who say “crowding out” is taking place in their schools, virtually all (93 percent) teachers surveyed believed that the curriculum was narrowing in their schools and was largely driven by state tests (Common Core, 2011). The current high-stakes testing and accountability era has created a new context that marginalizes knowledge and resegregates schools by codifying low-levels of teacher quality and creating a high-stakes testing environment that creates a press to narrow the curriculum. In the preBrown era the cultural logic of that time was that African Americans were inferior, with this ideology reflected in how mainstream curriculum portrayed African Americans. Then in the post-Brown era curriculum was discussed in the context of multicultural integration and inclusion. However, this often resulted in curriculum that scholars alternately critiqued as essentializing and additive, rather than complex and transformative to the dominant official knowledge valued in schools. The standards, high-stakes testing, and accountability era is not unique relative to these past contexts due to the ongoing, yet historically nuanced and contextual ways in which knowledge has been persistently marginalized. However, in the most recent era, what we call the narrowed knowledge era, despite readily apparent marginalization of historically served groups, these new forms of systemic school reform are instead swathed in themes of equity (Vasquez Heilig, Young, & Williams, 2012). What is unique about this era is that the standards, high-stakes testing, and accountability ratings have cloaked massive inequity in the quality of teachers and the related pressure to narrow the curriculum—focusing the public’s attention instead on outputs such as test scores and Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP), while shrouding persistent inequities in inputs.

CONCLUSION So what does this history and present milieu of curriculum mean in relation to the context of resegregated schools for African Americans? What the history of curriculum and African Americans illustrates is a dominant trope of marginalized knowledge (King, 2004). However, as this chapter illustrated, this marginalization was situated within the racialized time and space of which curriculum questions were addressed. Looking at the master narrative of African Americans and curriculum as a whole within a pre- and post-Brown era reveals the continuities and discontinuities with respect to the historical context of the ongoing knowledge debate about

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African American imagery. The continuities seem obvious, in that the conditions of African Americans have remained marginalized whether they were informed by a racial ideology of inferiority, or drew from social-psychological theories of self-concept or neoliberal policies designed to remove and diminish the placement of African American multicultural histories and experiences. In the end the results were the same—African Americans were problematically rendered. Indeed, future studies need to better understand the context of racial representations as more than just the politics of identity, and as a social artifact for how the memory of race has traversed and morphed historically in schools and society. NOTES 1. See 20 U.S.C. § 6319 (2006). 2. See 20 U.S.C. § 6681(1) (2006). 3. 20 U.S.C. § 7801(23) (2006).

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From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 41 Clark, K. (1972). Cultural deprivation theories: Their social and psychological implications. In K. Clark, M. Deutsch, A. Gartner, F. Keppel, H. Lewis, T. Pettigrew, L. Plotkin, & F. Riessman (Eds.), The educationally deprived: The potential for change (pp. 3–10). New York: Metropolitan Applied Research Center. Clotfeller, C. (2006). After Brown: The rise and retreat of school desegregation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Common Core. (2011). Learning less: Public school teachers describe a narrowing curriculum. Washington, DC. Darling-Hammond, L. (1999). Teacher quality and student achievement: A review of state policy evidence. Seattle, WA: Center for the Study of Teaching and Policy, University of Washington. Davis, J., & Martin, D. (2008). Racism, assessment, and instructional practices: Implications for mathematics teachers of African American students. Journal of Urban Mathematics Education, 1(1), 10–34. Dawson, M. (2001). Black visions: The roots of contemporary African-American political ideologies. Chicago: University of Chicago. DuBois, W.E.B. (2007 [1899]). The Philadelphia Negro. New York: Cosimo Classics DuBois, W. E. B. (1935a). Black reconstruction in American, 1860–1880. New York: Atheneum. DuBois, W. E. B. (1935b). Does the Negro need separate schools? The Journal of Negro Education, 4(3), 328–335. Dudziak, M. (1988). Desegregation as a Cold War imperative. Stanford Law Review, 41(1), 61–120. Eckes, S. (2004). The fi ftieth anniversary of Brown: Is there any reason to celebrate? Equity & Excellence in Education, 37(3), 219–226. Foucault, M. (1970). The order of things: An archaeology of the human sciences. New York: Pantheon. Fredrickson, G. (1971). The Black image in the White mind: The debate on AfroAmerican character and destiny, 1817–1914. New York: Harper & Row. Gates, H. L. (1988). The trope of the new Negro and the reconstruction of the image of the Black. Representations, 24, 129–155. Gouldner, H. (1978). Teacher’s pet, troublemakers, and nobodies: Black children in elementary school. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Grant, C. (1979). Classroom socialization: The other side of a two-way street. Education Leadership, 36 (7), 470–474. Grant, C. (1995). Reflections on the promise of Brown and Multicultural education. Teachers College Record, 96(4), 707–721. Guinier, L. (2004). From racial liberalism to racial literacy: Brown v. Board of Education and the interest-divergence dilemma. The Journal of American History, 91, 92–118. Hanushek, E., Kain, J., & Rivkin, S. (2004). Why public schools lose teachers. Journal of Human Resources, 39(2), 326–354. Hess, D. (2005). Moving beyond celebration: challenging curricular orthodoxy in the teaching of Brown and its legacies. Teachers College Record, 107, 2046–2067. Ingersoll, R. (2011). Power, Accountability, and the Teacher Quality Problem. In S. Kelly (Ed.), Assessing Teacher Quality: Understanding Teacher Effects on Instruction and Achievement (pp. 97–109). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Kelley, H. (2010). “The way we found them to be”: Remembering E. Franklin Frazier and the politics of respectable black teachers. Urban Education, 45(2), 142–165.

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King, J. E. (1992). Diaspora literacy and consciousness in the struggle against miseducation in the Black community. The Journal of Negro Education, 61(3), 341–355. King, J. E. (2004). In culture-centered knowledge: Black studies, curriculum transformation and social action. In J. A. Banks & C. A. McGee (Eds.), Handbook of research in multicultural education (2nd ed.; pp. 349–380). San Francisco: Jossey-Bass King, L. J., Crowley, R., & Brown, A. L. (2010). The forgotten legacy of Carter G. Woodson: Contributions to multicultural social studies and African American history. The Social Studies, 101(5), 211–215. Ladson-Billings, G. (2003). Lies my teacher still tells: Developing a critical perspective toward social studies. In G. Ladson-Billings (Ed.), Critical Race Theory perspectives on social studies (pp. 1–11). Greenwich, CT: Information Age. Ladson-Billings, G. (2004). Lading on the wrong note: The price we paid with Brown. Educational Researcher, 33(7), 3–13. Ladson-Billings, G., & Tate, W. (1995). Toward a Critical Race Theory of education. Teachers College Record, 97(1), 47–68. Loeb, S., Darling-Hammond, L., & Luczak, J. (2005). How teaching conditions predict teacher turnover in California schools. Peabody Journal of Education, 80(3), 44–70. McCarthy, C. (1988). Rethinking liberal and radical perspectives on racial inequality schooling: Making the case for nonsynchrony. Harvard Education Review. 58, 265–279. McCarthy, C. (1990a). Multicultural education, minority identities, textbooks, and the challenge of curriculum reform. Journal of Education,172, 118–129. McCarthy, C. (1990b). Race and education in the United States: The multicultural solution. Interchange, 21, 45–55. McNeil, L., & Valenzuela, A. (2001). The harmful impact of the TAAS system of testing in Texas: Beneath the accountability rhetoric. In M. Kornhaber & G. Orfield, (Eds.), Raising standards or raising barriers? Inequality and high century foundation (pp. 127–150). New York: Century Foundation Press. McNeil, L. M., Coppola, E., Radigan, J., & Vasquez Heilig, J. (2008). Avoidable losses: High-stakes accountability and the dropout crisis. Education Policy Analysis Archives, 16(3). Retrieved 2/11/2013 from http://epaa.asu.edu/epaa/ v16n3/ Mills, C. (1998). Revisionist ontologies: Theorizing white supremacy. In C. Mills (Ed.), Blackness visible: Essays on philosophy and race (pp. 97–118). Ithaca, NY: Cornell. Moynihan, P. (1967). The Negro family: The case for national action. In R. Rainwater & W. Yancey (Eds.), The Moynihan report and politics of controversy (pp. 47–132). Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. No Child Left Behind Act. (2001). Pub. L. No. 107–110, 115 Stat. 1425 (2002). Codified at 20 U.S.C. § 6301−7941 (2006). Orfield, G., & Eaton, S. (1997). Dismantling desegregation: The quiet reversal of Brown v. Board of Education. New York: The New Press. Pettigrew, T. (1964). Profile of the Negro American. Princeton, NJ: D. Van Nostrand. Rampersad, A. (1997). Introduction. In A. Locke (Ed.), The new Negro: Voices of the Harlem Renaissance. New York: Simon & Schuster. (Original work published 1925) Reddick, L. (1934). Racial attitudes in American history textbooks of the south. The Journal of Negro History, 19, 225–265. Renee v. Duncan (2009), 573, F.3d 903 (9th Circuit). Riessman, F. (1962). The culturally deprived child. New York: Harper & Row.

From Segregated, to Integrated, to Narrowed Knowledge 43 Rist, R. (1973). Urban school: A factory of failure. Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Sanders, W. L., & Horn, S. P. (1998). Research fi ndings from the Tennessee ValueAdded Assessment System (TVAAS) database: Implications for educational evaluation and research. Journal of Personnel Evaluation in Education, 12(3), 247–256. Sanders, W. L., & Rivers, J. C. (1996). Cumulative and residual effects of teachers on future student academic achievement. Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Value-Added Research and Assessment Center. Schomberg, A. (1925). The Negro digs up his past. In A. Locke (Ed.), The new Negro: An interpretation (pp. 231–237). New York: Arnon. Shaw, R. (2009). Texas could remove Cesar Chavez, Thurgood Marshall from public school studies. BeyonChron. Retrieved December 12, 2011, from http:// www.beyondchron.org/news/index.php?itemid=7133 Siddle Walker, V. (1996). Their highest potential: An African American school community in the segregated South. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Swartz, E. (1992). Emancipatory narratives: Rewriting the master script in the school curriculum. The Journal of Negro Education, 61(3), 341–355. Valencia, R. R., & Bernal, E. M. (2000). An overview of confl icting opinions in the TAAS case. Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences, 22(4), 423–443. Vasquez Heilig, J. (2011). Understanding the interaction between high-stakes graduation tests and English language learners. Teachers College Record, 113(12), 2633–2669. Vasquez Heilig, J., Brown, K. & Brown, A. (2012). The illusion of inclusion: Race and standards. Harvard Educational Review, 83(3), 403–424. Vasquez Heilig, J., Cole, H., & Springel, M. (2011). Alternative certification and Teach For America: The search for high quality teachers. Kansas Journal of Law and Public Policy, 20(3), 388–412. Vasquez Heilig, J., Young, M. & Williams, A. (2012). At-risk student averse: Risk management and accountability. Journal of Educational Administration, 50(5), 562–585. Watkins, W. 1993. Black curriculum orientations: A preliminary inquiry. Harvard Education Review, 63 (3), 321–338. Woodson, C. G. (2000). The miseducation of the Negro. Chicago: African American Images. (Original work published 1933) Woodson, C. G., & Wesley, C. (1935). The story of the Negro retold. Washington, DC: Associated Publishers. Woodward, C.V. (2001). The Strange Career of Jim Crow. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zimmerman, J. (2002). Whose America?: Culture wars in the public schools. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Zimmerman, J. (2004). Brown-ing the American textbook: History, psychology, and the origins of modern multiculturalism. History of Education Quarterly, 44, 46–69. Zuberi, T. (2001). Thicker than blood: How racial statistics lie. Minneapolis, MN: Minnesota.

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The Power of Counterstories The Complexity of Black Male Experiences in Pursuit of Academic Success Clarence L. Terry, Sr. and Tyrone C. Howard

The explosiveness that race has held for African Americans and their experiences in this country have been well documented. Critical Race Theory (CRT) has proven to be an instrumental framework, a methodological and analytical tool to shed even more attention on the way that race and racism shapes the experiences of racially marginalized populations. What is less understood, researched, and theorized is the manner in which race is understood among adolescents in general, and Black male adolescents in particular. Despite a growing number of studies that have tried to capture the voice of Black male youth, their continued academic and social marginalization raises a number of critical questions about how race shapes their experiences in pursuit of academic success. The nexus of the multiple layers of Black male identity merits the development of a framework that we term Critical Race Phenomenology, which centralizes consciousness, reality, perceived reality, and the phenomenon that are constructed by race and place.

INTRODUCTION At a time when countless school reform efforts attempt to address academic discrepancies across various groups, perhaps no other group faces more academic, social, and structural scrutiny in schools than Black males (Noguera, 2008). To be Black and male in U.S. schools places one at risk for a variety of negative academic and social consequences: academic underperformance, disproportionate special education placements, excessive suspensions and expulsions, and ultimately school dropout rates that are higher than for any other subgroup (Ferguson, 2000; Polite & Davis, 1999). In many schools across the country, Black males are seen as both victims and participants in their own educational demise (Davis, 2003). Yet what is not disputable is that, as schools become increasingly segregated along racial lines, a disproportionate number of Black males continue to be on the academic margins of schools, and a growing number of data speak to the chronic state of affairs for them (Toldson, 2008). This chapter

The Power of Counterstories 45 addresses the positioning of Black males in the growing resegregation of schooling, and the salience of centering their voices in understanding how they navigate such spaces. A number of scholarly works over the past three decades have begun to critically interrogate the experiences of Black males and their schooling circumstances (Brown & Davis, 2000; Davis, 2003; Franklin, 1991; Gibbs, 1988; Hopkins, 1997; Howard, 2008; Madhubuti, 1990; Noguera, 1996; Polite & Davis, 1999; Polite, 1994; Price, 2000). Much of this work has been concerned with the examination of transformative inquiry, and identification of useful strategies and practices that seek to address two concerns—(1) reasons that explain the persistent underachievement of Black males in U.S. schools and society, and (2) viable interventions that can help to improve the educational aspirations and life chances of Black males. What is often absent from the analysis of Black males and their schooling experiences and outcomes is the social, political, and historical context which shapes their realties, and from an educational standpoint, their thoughts on how schools view their academic potential. Many of the negative school experiences encountered by Black males are a result of a multitude of complex variables such as historical and structural factors, of cultural adaptations to systemic pressures, and maladaptive defi nitions of masculinity (Boykin & Bailey, 2000; Hare & Hare, 1985; Majors & Mancini Billson, 1992). Contrary to the generally accepted purposes of schooling, the current thinking of many researchers and educators is that schools are not meeting the academic, social, and developmental needs of Black males (Brown & Davis, 2000). Therefore, both researchers and practitioners continue to examine how schools may better respond to the needs of Black males. The purpose of this chapter is to center the voices of Black males as they talk about how they interpret their experiences in schools, and what role they believe that race and racism play in those experiences. We contend that current interventions have fallen woefully short in bringing about larger reform in the schooling experiences of Black males. Although pockets of success do exist for Black males they have become far too infrequent to be identified and to be used as examples for replication. Consequently, we assert there is a need for new scholarship—scholarship informed by how Black males see, describe, and experience school, which may lend credible voices to the discussion and practice in the schooling experiences of Black males. We believe that this can be a compelling as well as an integral component of developing any strategy which purports to end the resegregation of schools and classrooms throughout the nation. In this chapter, the authors share data from several studies in an attempt to demonstrate both Black males’ perceptions about the role of race, racialization, and racism in their schooling experiences, as well as the impact student voice can have in shaping future research and practice. Despite a growing number of studies that have tried to capture the voice of Black male youth (Duncan, 2002; Howard, 2008; Nasir et al., 2009; Noguera, 2001), their continued academic and social marginalization raises a number of critical

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questions about how race shapes their experiences in pursuit of academic success. Black males have complex and complicated understandings of their experiences which should be presented and analyzed at the intersection of race, gender, and class (Ferguson, 2001). Few works, historically, have provided a venue for Black males to talk explicitly about their experiences in schools, and the role that they believe race and racism play in them. The authors believe such work is vital because, by listening to their insights, analyses, experiences, and perspectives, we can develop emic (‘insider’) accounts of how to disrupt the problematic practices they encounter.

STATE OF AFFAIRS FOR BLACK MALES A disturbing volume of data outlines the severity and persistence of academic underachievement and social challenges of African American males in Pre-K–12 schools. In many states, the numbers are mind-numbing: A majority of African American males in the 4th, 8th, and 12th grades do not reach grade level proficiency in reading, mathematics, history, and science (NCES, 2007, 2009); fewer than 10 percent of African American males are at or above grade level in these same subject matter areas. Equally as disappointing is the fact that fewer than 3 percent performed at advanced levels in these areas (NCES, 2007, 2009). A number of researchers have documented the manner in which Black males are more likely to be suspended or expelled from schools, at a rate higher than any other subgroup (Skiba & Peterson, 2000; Skiba, Michael, Nardo, & Peterson, 2007). African American males currently make up approximately 8.1 percent of the nation’s student population, yet they constitute a disproportionate number of students receiving special education and remedial services. African American males are approximately 26 percent of students nationwide identified as educable mentally retarded, 34 percent of students diagnosed with serious emotional disorders, and 33 percent of students identified as trainable mentally retarded, or developmentally-delayed (Harry & Klingner, 2006). The disproportionate representation of various ethnic groups in special education has been documented by a number of scholars (e.g., Harry & Klingner, 2006; Ladner & Hammons, 2001; Markowitz et al., 1997). However, it is clear that no other group has been more adversely affected by disproportional special education placements than African American males (Ford & Harris, 1997; Noguera, 1996; Price, 2000; Skiba et al., 2007).

CRITICAL RACE THEORY AND BLACK MALES The theoretical framework which helps us organize our analysis and understanding of student voice is Critical Race Theory (CRT). CRT within the field of education gives much needed attention to the role that race and equity play in educational research, scholarship, and practice (DeCuir & Dixson,

The Power of Counterstories 47 2004; Ladson-Billings, 2000; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995; Solórzano & Yosso, 2001). The inclusion of a critical race framework is especially warranted when one considers the underrepresentation of African American, Latino/Latina, Native American, and certain Asian American students in institutions of higher education. A central feature of CRT is that it recognizes the permanence and pervasiveness of race, racism, and the lack of equity in the United States. Ladson-Billings (1998) argues that racism is “so enmeshed in the fabric or our social order, it appears both normal and natural to people in this culture” (p. 11). Thus, given the salience of race and racism in the larger society, critical race theorists in education posit that it would be impossible for education as a field of study (and schools as institutions) in the United States to be unaffected by the remnants and manifestations of racism. CRT within the field of education has become an evolving methodological, conceptual, and theoretical construct that seeks to disrupt race and racism in educational theory and practice (Solórzano, 1998; Solórzano & Yosso, 2002; Terry, 2010). It enables scholars to ask the important question of what racism has to do with the observed inequities in education in unique ways. The use of CRT when examining access to higher education entails scrutinizing the insights, concerns, and questions students of color have about their prospects for pursuing higher education. These insights contribute to our understanding of the dearth of certain students of color at selective institutions. Critical Race Theory also serves as a framework to challenge and dismantle prevailing notions of fairness, meritocracy, colorblindness, and neutrality (Parker, Deyhle, & Villenas, 1999). A CRT framework is best suited for this work because it allows us to examine students’ senses of the structures and practices that facilitate academic success, as well as prevent/provide access to higher education for African American and Latino students. An integral method of CRT is “counterstory-telling” (Matsuda, 1995). Delgado and Stefancic (2001) describe counterstory-telling as a method of telling a story that “aims to cast doubt on the validity of accepted premises or myths, especially ones held by the majority” (p. 144). Counterstory-telling is also an approach to exposing and critiquing normalized discourses and frameworks that perpetuate racial stereotypes. Counterstories challenge the dominant narrative of the majority, therefore providing a means for giving voice to marginalized groups. In other words, counterstorytelling “help(s) us understand what life is like for others, and invite(s) the reader into a new and unfamiliar world” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 41). In education, Solórzano and Yosso (2002) suggest that counterstories can be found in multiple forms including fi rst-person stories and narratives, other people’s stories and narratives (told in the third person), and composite stories and narratives that use various forms of historical data. Terry (2011), in an attempt to advance the methodological utility of the construct as outlined in Solórzano and Yosso (2002), argues for a particular operationalization of counterstory-telling that allows researchers to

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more systematically identify when stories engage the critical pedagogical modes that counterstories engage. That said, the counterstory construct is pliable enough to include a number of approaches; here we employ the broadest possible defi nition. Although education research organized within the CRT paradigm can (and does) make use of a variety of methodological approaches, the authors believe that counterstory-telling has a unique scholarly heritage that speaks to the intellectual spirit governing the work of original critical race theorists (Bell, 1987, 1992; Crenshaw, Gotanda, Peller, & Thomas, 1995). An essential feature of educational research focused on telling a story that provides much needed attention and scrutiny on racism in order to counter accepted notions or myths held by members of the majority. Critical Race Theory is an important conceptual and methodological framework in examining the experiences of Black males in schools. The development of counterstories from the standpoint of Black males is essential in allowing them to articulate the realities of how school personnel respond to their presence, how teachers see their academic potential, and how they engage with their peers. In many ways this work incorporates elements of narrative theory and phenomenology. Phenomenology, much like counterstories, allows the description of basic lived experiences to be centralized and germane to the narrative of individuals. Van Manen (1990) states that the “essence of phenomenon is universal and can be described through a study of the structure that governs the instances of particular manifestations of the essence that is phenomenon” (p. 10). Phenomenology seeks to develop an organic understanding of particular realities in the most intimate of matters. It seeks to identify the meanings and structures of lived experiences from the perspectives of those who experience it. Therefore, it disrupts the outsider accounts of others’ experiences and realities. This is critical in analyzing the experiences of Black males because often times their stories, when told by others, have been inaccurate, deficit-laden, and troublesome in the public perception of them (Howard & Flennaugh, 2011). Van Manen (1990) informs us that phenomenological research seeks to examine and highlight lived experiences, and is built on the following characteristics: • Describes experiences as live(d) through, avoiding as much as possible casual explanations, generalizations, or abstract interpretations; • describes experiences from the inside, as it were—almost like a state of mind—including the feelings, the mood, the emotions; • focuses on a particular example or incident as the object of the experience: describe specific events, an adventure, a happening, a particular experience; • focuses on an example of the experience which stands out for its vividness, or as it was the fi rst time;

The Power of Counterstories 49 • attends to how the body feels, how things smell(ed), how they sound(ed); • avoids trying to beautify the account with fancy phrases or flowery terminology. (pp. 66–67) Although CRT centralizes race as the focal point of analysis, we assert that there is a need to further unpack the raw and true emotions associated with the critical race incidents we describe—situations wherein race is invoked and serves as a reminder to the individual that his/her racial classification does not resonate favorably to the person or persons involved in a particular space. Counterstory-telling, in concert with phenomenological approaches to research, encourages individuals to describe and document the specifics of how racism plays out in moments of exclusion, discrimination, perceived racial prejudice or marginalization, or racially hostile learning environments. It asks the individual to provide vivid accounts of these occurrences without editing the pain, feelings, and affective factors that are connected to them. For this work, we wanted these counternarratives to offer a broader context for Black males to identify, discuss, and describe some of the raw, graphic, unedited, and unsettling experiences that affect them in schools today. We believe that counterstories are important because personal experience is an important starting point for understanding, quite simply, how one experiences race in the pursuit of academic success. We contend that by utilizing frameworks that center student voice and experiences within a racial context, this work will provide information from students’ perspective that will inform educators in school reform efforts, while at the same time empowering Black males, some of whom have disengaged from schooling and achievement, lost any semblance of hope, and have often made deliberate efforts to disassociate from education.

BLACK MALE VOICE AND EXPERIENCE IN SCHOOLS: SOME KEY STUDIES A growing number of studies have begun to critically analyze the schooling experiences of Black males in a way that offers useful insights for researchers and practitioners. Moreover, we believe that some of these works have begun to incorporate counterstories and offer more critical accounts and authentic understandings of Black males’ experiences in school and nonschool settings. These works are notable because they not only are useful in providing voice from Black males, but they are fundamental in building a paradigm shift in the knowledge base on Black males that moves away from deficit-based constructions to one where Black males are authors of their experiences, experts on their realities, and informed about what can improve their schooling experiences and outcomes.

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In his critical ethnographic study of high school-aged African American males, Terry (2010) explored the role of community-based knowledge, interests, and student inquiry in the re-orientation of underperforming students to mathematics. In his participatory action research project, the use of mathematical concepts, knowledge, and skill was largely directed by what the students themselves wanted to research and know more about. Rather than textbook-determined busywork, the students contended that mathematics became an exciting critical cultural activity when it was propelled by their inherent interests and inquiries. His fi ndings suggest that the instrumental role African American male students played in describing and determining the cultural contexts in which mathematics were studied directly impacted the students’ sense of the usefulness of mathematics as a tool that they too can own. For example, in the classroom around which the study was built, the researcher (also the math teacher) invited students to engage with various data sets—one set in particular detailed the number of fi rearm-related homicides (by U.S. state) between 1999 and 2005. In the excerpt from class discussions below, the students, after looking at the initial data, made observations about trends—noticing which states had homicide rates that were particularly high or low. The students, all residents of South Los Angeles, noticed that California was the only state with more than 1,000 homicides in any given year. Further, the students also observed that the fi rearmrelated homicides in California regularly increased during this period—a reality that stood in stark contrast to what was happening in Wyoming: Redd: Paris: Redd:

CLT: Paris: Redd: CLT: Redd:

Wyoming don’t got nobody killing nobody! That’s what I said. I know where I’m moving! Alright, in 1999, Wyoming had 5. It stayed the same in 2000. 2001 it shot up to 8. Stayed the same in 2002. Went down 1 in 2003. Went down 2 in 2004. And went up 6 in 2005. So would it be safe to say that Wyoming is safest state in the Union? Yep. It appears so. At least in terms of fi rearm deaths, right? This is only fi rearmrelated homicides. It’s dangerous to live in California man, dang! How we—Man, I know it ain’t that many police out there killing everybody. (Day 8: Firearm-related homicides in the United States, data exploration, audio recording July 29, 2008)

By highlighting the students’ voices as they explored these data and the social realities linked therewith, Terry (2009) pointed out how students systematically came to understand several points: Students realized (1) that their own state was the most ‘dangerous’ state in the nation—they

The Power of Counterstories 51 understood a person was more likely to die by fi rearm in California than in any other state; (2) that the five most dangerous states at this time (CA, TX, IL, NY, FL) all had large urban or inner-city spaces where African Americans constituted a significant demographic; and, consequently, that (3) the five safest states in the United States (WY, NH, VT, ND, SD) did not. Students were able here to understand these data and engage in a mutuallyconstituted process with other Black males whereby they began to make sense of the personal realities bore out in these data. As a result, the “voice” (i.e., the interests and will) of the students provided important curricular grounding for exploring mathematics—an extremely rare approach in the schooling of African American students. By sharing students’ voices and perspectives, the researcher took some important fi rst steps toward scaffolding the reader’s understanding of how students both experience and come to understand the phenomenon under observation—here, the proliferation of ‘Black-on-Black’ crime vis-à-vis these statistics on fi rearm-related homicides, and hence the intersection of race, gender, crime, and space. It is important to note that counterstories play an important role in this study in two ways. First, Terry (2010) argued that the high school-aged Black males involved with the study were able to deftly navigate mathematical information in order to construct “mathematical counterstories”—CRT counterstories told through the medium of mathematics (see Terry [2011] for further treatment of this). Second, the students’ individual and collective performances in this alternative classroom space actually served as a counternarrative that begins to dismantle the dominant narratives about African American males’ mathematical knowledge (i.e., inability) that are implicit in national reports of standardized testing and achievement. In a mixed-methods study on high- and non-high-performing African American males, Flennaugh (2011) used student perspectives to examine the complexities of academic identity and race. The results from this work revealed the intricate nature of how Black males defi ne and describe the multifaceted factors that shape their schooling experiences and academic outcomes. Moreover, the counterstories that these participants offered helped to craft a more holistic and dynamic notion of identity, gender, and race, while offering unique insights for practitioners and researchers. The fi ndings from this carefully constructed, mixed-method study documented how Black males attending urban high schools structured and made sense of their academic identities and academic self-concepts. The participants, using identity maps, creatively identified how and where they saw peers, race, family, and school being constantly changing variables in their lives at different times. The fi ndings contend that school factors are profoundly shaped by out-of-school factors that Black males believe most school officials are ignorant of, oblivious to, or simply unconcerned about. In addition, the participants in his study documented how influential factors changed over time, reflecting the malleable nature of identity where intersections of

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race, class, and gender are concerned. For example, some of the young men discussed how their relationships with caregivers (parents, grandparents, older siblings) were significant in their school performance; in addition, their current state of affairs with girlfriends and peers were salient, yet accounts of racism were minimal, but they did identify church, sports, and social media as integral to how they defi ned their identities. Flennaugh’s work sought to provide Black males a different way of expressing the factors that shape their academic identity. His study fits the counterstory-telling paradigm because it anchors Black males voices about their experiences in a way that challenges the narrative of the monolithic Black male account. The manner in which the students offered a diverse set of humanized experiences is essential in developing a more comprehensive construct of Black males and their respective identities. In a compelling account of how Black males make meaning of the experiences and dilemmas of attending middle-class, White suburban schools, Gordon (2012) documents powerful narratives from African American males about race, education, and social class. In a qualitative study, Gordon speaks to the fact that suburban education is not the panacea that many African American parents may believe, and that they often send their children into racially hostile school environments. In this work, Black males speak to the subtle and not-so subtle ways that race and racism shaped their experiences in profound ways. In one excerpt, Gordon (2012) documents a young man who offers the following statement: Some kid kept calling me the “N-word” over and over. It was like for a month . . . so [my parents and I] had a meeting with the teacher. . . . She kind of just said, like, “This is the way the world is. . . . People aren’t going to change their views about you, and you can’t change [that].” (p. 5) Gordon goes on to provide a plethora of in-depth comments and assessments from Black males who attended suburban schools, and examines the manner in which they navigate the racial terrain in predominately White schools. They speak to the rampant stereotypes held by White peers, the lowered expectations and racially-insensitive comments they encounter from teachers, and the manner in which some Black teachers also held negative views about Black male students. Her work also captures some of the raw emotions that Black males felt being in these settings, which questioned their intellect, and undermined their ability. Gordon’s (2012) scholarship, by having students name the racial incidents they encounter, speak to how they responded to such comments, examine their feelings about them, and then offer insight on how this shaped their academic pursuits, is another prime example of the utility of student voice in contemporary research designed to unpack and intervene in students’ schooling experiences. Stinson’s (2008) study of Black males and how they negotiate sociocultural discourses around race and mathematics provides a cogent example

The Power of Counterstories 53 of how researchers can situate race as a central component of young people’s educational experiences. Incorporating a critical post-modern theoretical analysis, Stinson discovered that the highly successful students in his study found their realities to be extremely racialized, despite the fact that each of them was a high-performing student. Several of the participants talked about the ongoing efforts they had to put forth to combat the stereotypical images of Black males, which characterizes them as genetically inferior and academically incapable. They spoke about their anger, frustration, and despair they often felt. In addition, their stories illustrate the sophisticated steps that they had to take to disarm the fear, and alter the low expectations, that many of their teachers had toward them. Studies such as Stinson’s underscore how the utility of interrogating race with young Black males has the potential to provide important understanding of how they experience school; how they navigate such structures, ideologies, and practices; and how schooling environments can be racially affi rming and culturally supportive. The counterstory aspect in this work is evident in the type of resilience and perseverance that the young men showed in light of hostile school circumstances. An analysis of the literature on Black males is often absent of any characteristics that show ongoing effort to academic excellence and high achievement. Stinson’s participants help to disrupt this narrative.

HOW BLACK MALES SEE SCHOOLS: PRIVILEGING THEIR STORIES One of the reasons that we believe we need to adopt more critical approaches in documenting the Black male experience is because, in much of our work with school-aged Black males, we have consistently heard them discuss and elaborate on the manner in which they believe racism influences their experiences in schools. In many instances, it appears as though many young men are yearning for the opportunity to discuss these situations and to talk about how it makes them feel, and to elaborate on how it influences educational experiences and outcomes. In an attempt to document some of the ways that Black males experience school situations, we captured the voices of African American male teenagers gathered together for a recent academic and cultural rite of passage event hosted at a major research university in Los Angeles, California. The young men (n = 153) were responding to a written survey question, asking “Have you ever experienced racism with teachers?” Although some of the respondents spoke very highly of their teachers—indeed, most replied in the negative and some indicated that they had never experienced racist treatment from teachers—the admissions of far too many students bear out the permanence of racism in instructional settings. Consider the following statements made by Black male students about their teachers and schooling experiences in South Los Angeles.

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Category 1 Stories: Her name was Ms. ‘E’. I was at school one day and I threw a wet paper towel on the bathroom wall. Someone told, as always, then she came. She said, “Come here you black negro.” I took my hand back and ran to call my mother. We took her to court and won. Travell, 6th grade My teacher didn’t do anything when my classmate called me a nigger. Kenyattah, 10th grade My teacher called me a black a— nigger. Willie, 8th grade A teacher made a so-called joke about sending the Black females/males to the back (of the class). Deshawn, 9th grade Category 2 Stories: (My teacher) always picked on the black kids. Germaine, 8th grade She (teacher) don’t listen to me; she go to the other people. Anonymous Students were using her (teacher) computer to print work. When I went to do the same, she told me to move because I ‘might steal something’. Antoise, 11th grade They sent me out because I ask too many questions and I didn’t know how to do the problem. DeAndre, 8th grade [He] only helps out the white people in the class. When I ask for help, he tells me to try my best. Izaiah, 8th grade I was criticized for my overachievement in reading and writing and often accused of plagiarism because a “black male” isn’t capable of brilliant original ideas. Reginald, College sophomore Despite what we know about the persistence of racism in the academic settings in which Black males must live and thrive, it is too easy to become

The Power of Counterstories 55 desensitized to and forgetful of these experiences and how they impact these young men. Approximately 23 percent of the school-aged Black males surveyed indicated that they had experienced what they interpreted as “racism” with a teacher. When asked to describe what happened, 15 percent shared details. We divided their stories into two categories. In the fi rst category, we see very clearly that some school-aged African American males continue to be the victims of outright racist language. In their stories, students report being racialized by classmates and teachers in overt and negative ways. The terms “negro,” “blacky,” and “nigger” are used as common weapons to other African American males socially in the academic space. In the second category of stories, students report subtle forms of racial discrimination that restrict learning opportunities directly. Although it is difficult to assess the power and impact of such experiences on students’ academic identities, from a sociocultural perspective on learning and participation (Nasir & Hand, 2006), such marginalizing experiences negatively affect students’ abilities to participate socially and intellectually in academic settings. On this view, because participation itself is a primary vehicle through which our identities as members of a community of learners are established, the stories in both categories mentioned previously represent critical moments in the trajectories of these Black males when the potential for academic success is threatened. As these accounts were consistently offered by the students we surveyed, it leads one to wonder about the manner in which these situations are internalized by young men, and conveys a sense that their intellect and promise are often overlooked, ignored, and frequently undermined. Solórzano (1998) has discussed the need to uncover and examine racial microaggressions which frequently affect students of color. Solórzano cites Chester Pierce’s (1974) work on racial microaggressions wherein he describes them as “[t]he chief vehicle for proracist behavior. . . . These are subtle, stunning, often automatic, and non-verbal exchanges that are putdowns of blacks by offenders” (p. 66). Davis (1989) defi ned microaggressions as “stunning acts of disregard that stem from unconscious attitudes of white superiority and constitute a verification of black inferiority” (p. 1576). For African American males, racial microaggressions from classroom teachers can manifest themselves in numerous ways. What is important to note about these responses is the graphic yet persistent nature of the disparaging comments that some Black males experience in schools. The statements described previously are potentially explosive comments that can have long-lasting effects on student–teacher relationships, as well as student engagement and interests in classrooms where such comments take place. More importantly, how do students move beyond such comments, how do these comments influence future interactions with teachers, and how does they impact student learning? These stories are important because they counter the narrative that Black males, and other students of color, live in a race-neutral and racism-free (or post-racial) society. These accounts reflect, perhaps, one of the more difficult obstacles

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that stands in the way for Black male academic success—racially insensitive environments, equipped with teachers and other school leaders who are unapologetically hostile in their interactions with them. Moreover, the counterstories disrupt accounts which contend that Black males are the primary reason for their own school failure. Although the reasons behind their underperformance are multiple and complex, often absent from these accounts are the roles that deeply-embedded racial ideologies, and racially discriminating individuals (White and non-White), who are given the charge of nurturing, supporting, and building their academic potential, play.

DESIGN PRINCIPLES FOR COUNTERSTORIES For researchers whose works are concerned with racially marginalized youth, we reiterate the importance of not moving away from race, or taking race-neutral approaches in the analyses of their experiences. We contend that given the reality of resegregated schools, racial dynamics play out in more unique, subtle, and complex ways than perhaps ever before. Racial segregation left indelible marks on our society and its institutions; the effects of racial resegregation are just as real and can only be communicated by those who experience it fi rst-hand. Our recommendations encourage researchers to take an analysis of school experiences that solicits individuals to engage in structural, cognitive, and affective implications associated with race. In other words, this approach does not concern itself merely with the account of racialized experiences, but encourages participants to make meaning of these situations, offer interpretations of these experiences, speak to the affective components of these moments, and then speak to the manner of how one could and should respond to such occurrences. Race-based counternarratives as a potential frame to examine race and racism in 21st century segregated schools can add more authentic accounts of how we understand and examine the school experiences of Black males. As scholars and practitioners continue to pursue meaningful ways to examine, understand, and improve the schooling experiences of Black males, we offer these design principles that may prove useful to this end: • Acknowledge the realities of race —Some of the work that we have engaged in with Black males has been insightful due to the reluctance of some Black males to discuss race. Although race does not defi ne all the experiences of Black males, each of us has engaged in enough research on this population to know that many still feel as though it is one of the primary signifiers that shape reality. We contend that race should continue to be a central variable as young people talk about their realities. Moreover, the call for race must also be situated within the context of other identity markers such as class and gender. The

The Power of Counterstories 57 importance of intersectionality helps to delve into the number of intricacies of how the self is continuously shaped by social markers. • Explore emotions—One of the challenges of growing up Black and male are some of the distorted manners in which masculinity has been constructed (McCready, 2004). These narrow definitions of masculinity have often socialized Black males to identify understandings of Black maleness as a construct that is devoid of emotion and feeling, hurt, and pain. As previously stated, phenomenology seeks to probe into the feelings, emotions, and affective filters of the lived experience. We encourage researchers who probe into the experiences of Black males to not only have them name these experiences, but to probe respondents about how such incidents made them feel, and what emotions are stirred in the process. Moreover, these types of inquiry can be meaningful for Black males (and other males of color) who are discouraged from examining thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Exploring the affective aspects of being Black and male may prove to be therapeutic, given the way that men in general and Black males in particular are often told and taught that it is inappropriate to emote. • Delve into the details—One of the realities of race and racism is the manner in which people make meaning of them. We encourage that in a critical race and counternarrative approach individuals offer vivid details of accounts. Much of the work on race becomes simplified to comments that claim an individual was racist or said something racially insensitive. The value of specific incidents can allow the victim to apply a more critical analysis of the setting, sequence, and circumstances that were present when dealing with circumstances. In addition, the details can be similar to what Lawrence-Lightfoot and Davis (1997) talk about with the idea of portraiture. They contend that “through documentation, interpretation, and analysis, and narrative we raise the mirror hoping with accuracy and discipline to capture the mystery and artistry” (p. IX). That is, how victims of racism paint the setting, describe the moments, offer insight into the preceding comments, and describe the scene and the pertinent participants at the time. • Power of writing —Telling one’s story does not have to be limited to oral communication. Equally as effective are formats which describe the utility of writing as a tool to provide insight into the lived realities of individuals. Writing as a means of conveying reality can be powerful when examining race-based realities and the feelings and emotions associated with them. Writing can be a public or private endeavor that can be shared with others, or to be kept only for individual purposes. Van Manen (1990) states that “writing objectifies thought into print and yet it subjectifies our understanding of something that truly engages us” (p. 129). Writing has been used as a mode of communication that has become popular in contemporary context.

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Clarence L. Terry, Sr. and Tyrone C. Howard The increased development of multimodal literacy through email, texting, Facebook, Twitter, and other social media outlets are largely dependent on the written word. Tapping into these media can be an invaluable tool to help young people uncover their day-to-day realities, their pains, fears, hopes, and aspirations.

FINAL THOUGHTS Our failure to listen to students’ voices, in their most authentic form, while dictating what we believe is best for them, encourages their dependence, rather than promoting their autonomy (Daniels & Arapostathis, 2005). Our hope is that Black males’ perspectives will inform educators who acknowledge the persistence of racial achievement gaps but have been unable to determine which solutions will be most effective in eliminating those gaps. Moreover, it is our hope that insights gleaned from student voice can prove to be transformative in research, theory, and practice with Black males. From a research standpoint, we make a deliberate call to move away from stances that do research “on” individuals, to a place where this work is done in collaboration “with” individuals. From a theory standpoint, the expectation is that counterstories, within a Critical Race Phenomenology framework, can be used to explore different questions, using different tools for analysis that generate new theories to inform the knowledge base. Thus, when Black males believe that they have been treated differently because of their race, this phenomenological approach encourages them to name the specific incident(s), describe the details and context, and talk about how such comments or behavior made one feel in the moment—creating robust and descriptive counterstories. This framework also places credibility on the tellers of the story. It does not seek to diminish the role that race and racism may have played in the lived experiences of students. It also offers space for instances where race may not have played a role as well. This approach does not view research in traditional terms, which describes data collection as surveys or interviews, but seeks to develop a more informal, personal, and nuanced way of engaging with participants through the use of conversations (Plummer, 1983; Stanley & Wise, 1993). The resegregation of U.S. schools will continue to have political, economic, social, and racial ramifications for racially diverse students. Our hope is that amidst efforts to describe the current climate as post-racial, that issues of race and racism not be lost in our understandings of how Black males experience schools. Given the persistent underachievement of Black males, there has been a surge in initiatives, projects, and research on this population. We respond to this sudden interest in Black males with optimism but also with skepticism. Although there are works that are genuinely committed to better understanding the schooling experiences and

The Power of Counterstories 59 outcomes of Black males, we believe that many of them continue to reify deficit notions of Black males, which view them as the problem, yet fail to place any degree of accountability on the historical, structural, and political factors that shape their realities. The resegregation of schools in the United States poses a multitude of problems for Black males. Given that Black males are disproportionately represented in schools that are majority-minority, and research has shown that these schools are more likely to be underfunded, and lack essential resources for success such as highly trained teachers, relevant curriculum, and suitable numbers of school counselors (Darling-Hammond, 2006), understanding how they respond to these realities is essential. As disproportionate numbers continue to disengage in schools, and turn away from traditional learning arrangements, it is critical to make meaning of how and why Black males see these as better and more viable alternatives. What is important to note is that educational institutions, whether it be deliberate or not, are not adequately meeting the needs of Black males. Mincy (2006) contends that there is something very different happening with Black males and schools and that this reality can no longer be ignored. As mounds of data continue to demonstrate the disenfranchisement of Black males, far too much of the scrutiny has been placed on Black males, their families, homes, and communities. Glaringly absent from our analysis of their realities is the historical nature in which Black maleness has been defi ned and understood by society writ-large. Ladson-Billings (2011) asserts that “perhaps more than any other group in our society, America has a love–hate relationship with Black males” (p. 8). She contends that although much of America embraces, idolizes, and emulates the trends and cultural norms of Black males which shape sports, entertainment, and popular culture, we then blame them for crime, pathology, and all that is wrong in inner cities across the country. Needless to say, this love–hate relationship manifests in schools in a plethora of ways, and young men are rarely given the platform to speak to these realities, reflect on their causes, and vent their frustrations, anger, despair, and sadness that comes along with these acts of exclusion toward them. It is our hope that the research community can play a pivotal role in creating the necessary platform to provide this much-needed voice.

REFERENCES Bell, D. (1987). And we are not saved: The elusive quest for racial justice. New York: Basic Books. Bell, D. (1992). Faces at the bottom of the well: The permanence of racism. New York: Basic Books. Boykin, A. W., & Bailey, C. T. (2000). The role of cultural factors in school relevant cognitive functioning: Synthesis of fi nding on cultural context, cultural orientation, and individual differences (Report no. 42). Washington, DC: Johns

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Hopkins and Howard University, Center for Research on the Education of Students Placed at Risk. Brown, M. C., & Davis, J. E. (2000). Black sons to mothers: Compliments, critiques, and challenges for cultural workers in education. New York: Peter Lang. Crenshaw, K., Gotanda, N., Peller, G., & Thomas, K. (Eds.). (1995). Critical Race Theory: The key writings that formed the movement. New York: The New Press. Daniels, E., & Arapostathis, M. (2005). What do they really want? Urban Education, 40(1), 34–59. Darling-Hammond, L. (2006). The flat earth and education: How America’s commitment to equity will determine our future. Educational Researcher, 36(6), 318–334. Davis, J. E. (2003). Early schooling and academic achievement of African American males. Urban Education, 38(5), 515–537. Davis, P. (1989). Law as microaggression. Yale Law Journal, 1998, 1559–1577. DeCuir, J., & Dixson, A. (2004). So when it comes out, they aren’t that surprised that it is there: Using critical race theory as a tool of analysis of race and racism in education. Educational Researcher, 33(5), 26–31. Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2001). Critical Race Theory. An introduction. New York: New York University Press. Duncan, G. A. (2002). Beyond love: A Critical Race Theory ethnography of the schooling of adolescent Black males. Equity & Excellence, 35(2), 131–143. Ferguson, A. (2001). Bad boys: Public schools in the making of Black masculinity. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Flennaugh, T. (2011). Mapping me: A mixed-method approach to understanding academic self-concept among Black males in today’s urban schools. Unpublished dissertation. University of California: Los Angeles, CA. Ford, D. Y., & Harris, J. (1997). A study of the racial identity and achievement of black males and females. Roeper Review, 20, 105–110. Franklin, C. W. (1991). The men’s movement and the survival of African American men in the 90’s. Changing Men, 21, 20–21. Gibbs, J. T. (1988). Young, black, and male in America. New York: Auburn House. Gordon, B. (2012). “Give a brotha a break!”: The experiences and dilemmas of middle-class African American male students in white suburban schools. Teachers College Record, 114(5), 1–26. Hare, N., & Hare, J. (1985). Bridging the Black boy to manhood: The passage. San Francisco, CA: Black Think Tank. Harry, B., & Klingner, J. K. (2006). Why are so many minority students in special education? Understanding race and disability in schools. New York: Teachers College Press. Hopkins, R. (1997). Educating black males: Critical lesson in schooling, community, and power. New York: State University of New York Press. Howard, T. (2008). Who really cares? The disenfranchisement of African American males in preK–12 schools: A critical race theory perspective. Teachers College Record, 110, 954– 985. Howard, T. C., & Flennaugh, T. (2011). Research concerns, cautions & considerations on Black males in a “post racial society.” Race, Ethnicity, & Education, 14(1), 105–120. Ladner, M., & Hammons, C. (2001). Special but unequal: Race and special education. In C. Finn, A. J. Rotherham, & C. R. Hokanson (Eds.), Rethinking special education for a new century. (pp. 85–110)Washington, DC: Thomas B. Fordham Foundation: Progressive Policy Institute.

The Power of Counterstories 61 Ladson-Billings, G. (1998). Just what is Critical Race Theory and what’s it doing in a nice field like education? International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(1), 7–24. Ladson-Billings, G. (2000). Racialized discourses and ethnic epistemologies. In N. Denzin &Y. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (2nd Ed.) (pp. 257–277). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ladson-Billings, G. (2011). Boyz to men? Teaching to restore Black boys’ childhood. Race, Ethnicity, and Education, 1, 7–15. Ladson-Billings, G., & Tate, W. F. (1995). Toward a Critical Race Theory. Teachers College Record, 97(1), 47–68. Lawrence-Lightfoot, S., & Davis, J. H. (1997). The art and science of portraiture. New York: Wiley & Sons. Madhubuti, H. (1990). Black men: Obsolete, single, dangerous? Chicago: Third World Press. Majors, R. G., & Mancini Billson, J. (1992). Cool pose: The dilemmas of Black manhood in America. New York: Lexington. Markowitz, J., Garcia, S.B., & Eichelberger, J. (1997). Addressing the disproportionate representation of students from racial and ethnic minority groups in special education: A resource document. Alexandria, VA: Project FORUM at the National Association of State Directors of Special Education. Matsuda, M. (1995). Looking to the bottom: Critical legal studies and reparations. In K. Crenshaw, N. Gotanda, G. Peller, & K. Thomas (Eds.), Critical race theory: The key writings that formed the movement (pp. 63–79). New York: The New Press. McCready, L. (2004, Spring). Understanding the marginalization of gay and gender non-conforming Black male students. Theory Into Practice, 43(2), 136–143. Mincy, R. (2006). Black males left behind. Washington, DC: The Urban Institute. Nasir, N., & Hand, V. (2006). Exploring sociocultural perspectives on race, culture and learning. Review of Educational Research, 76(4), 449–475. Nasir, N., McLaughlin, M., & Jones, A. (2009). What Does It Mean to Be African American? Constructions of Race and Academic Identity in an Urban Public High School. American Educational Research Journal 46(1), 73–114. National Center for Education Statistics. (2009). Digest of Education Statistics 2009, table 41. Retrieved from http://nces.ed.gov/programs/digest/d09/tables/ dt09_041.asp Noguera, P. (1996). Responding to the crisis of Black youth: Providing support without further marginalization. Journal of Negro Education, 65(1), 37–60. Noguera, P. (2001). The role and influence of environmental and cultural factors on the academic performance of African American males. Motion Magazine. Retrieved July, 13, 2005 from http://www.inmotionmagazine.com. Noguera, P. (2008). The trouble with Black boys . . . and other refl ections on race, equity, and the future of public education. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Parker, L., Deyhle, D., & Villenas, S. (Eds.). (1999). Race is . . . race isn’t: Critical race theory and qualitative studies in education. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Plummer, K. (1983). Documents of life: An introduction to the problems and literature of a humanistic method. London: Unwin Hyman. Polite, V. C. (1994). The method in the madness: African American males, avoidance, schooling, and chaos theory. Journal of Negro Education, 60(30), 345–359. Polite, V. C., & Davis, J. E. (1999). African American males in school and society. Practices and policies for effective education. New York: Teachers College Press.

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Price, J. N. (2000). Against the odds: The meaning of school and relationships in the lives of six African American men. Connecticut: Ablex Publishing Co. Skiba, R. J., & Peterson, R. L. (2000). School discipline: From zero tolerance to early response. Exceptional Children, 66, 335–347. Skiba, R. J., Michael, R. S., Nardo, A. C., & Peterson, R. L. (2007). The color of discipline: Sources of racial and gender disproportionality in school punishment. The Urban Review, 34(4), 317–342. Solórzano, D. (1998). Critical race theory, race and gender microaggressions, and the experience of Chicana and Chicano scholars. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(1), 121–136. Solórzano, D., & Yosso, T. (2001). Critical race and LatCrit theory and method: Counterstory-telling, Chicana and Chicano graduate school experiences. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 14(4), 471–495. Solórzano, D., & Yosso, T. (2002). Critical race methodology: Counterstory-telling as an analytical framework for educational research. Qualitative Inquiry, 8(1), 23–44. Stanley, L., & Wise, S. (1993). Breaking out again: Feminist ontology and epistemology. London: Routledge. Stinson, D. W. (2008). Negotiating sociocultural discourses: The counterstorytelling of academically (and mathematically) successful African American male students. American Educational Research Journal, 45(4), 975–1010. Terry, C. L. (2009). An exploration of the impact of critical math literacies and alternative learning spaces on the identity development of high school aged Black males in South Los Angeles. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. University of California, Los Angeles. Terry, C. L. (2010). Prisons, pipelines, and the president: Developing critical math literacy through participatory action research. Journal of African American Males in Education, 1(2), 1–33. Terry, C. L. (2011). Mathematical counterstory and African American male students: Urban mathematics education from a Critical Race Theory perspective. Journal of Urban Mathematics Education, 4(1), 23–49. Toldson, I. A. (2008). Breaking barriers: Plotting the path to academic success for school-age African American males. Washington, DC: Congressional Black Caucus Foundation, Inc. Van Manen, M. (1990). Researching lived experience: Human science for an action sensitive pedagogy. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

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Closing the Schoolhouse Doors State Efforts to Limit K–12 Education for Unauthorized Migrant School Children Angela M. Banks

INTRODUCTION One of the most controversial issues in public education is the schooling of unauthorized migrants. In 2010, approximately 1.1 million unauthorized migrants were children and another 1.29 million were young adults between the ages of 18 and 24 (Hoefer, Rytina, & Baker, 2011, p. 5). States and localities responsible for education frequently note concerns about the costs of educating unauthorized migrants. To defray these costs, states and localities have attempted to prohibit unauthorized migrants from attending K–12 public schools or require unauthorized migrants to pay to attend them. In 1982, the U.S. Supreme Court decided that states could not deny unauthorized migrant students the free K–12 public education they provide to citizens and authorized migrants (Plyler v. Doe). Despite this ruling, a growing number of states are considering or enacting legislation that will likely reduce unauthorized migrant student enrollment in K–12 public schools. Such legislation will have a disproportionate impact on Latinos. Although the majority of Latinos in the United States are citizens or authorized migrants, most unauthorized migrants are Latino (Hoefer et al., 2011, p. 4; U.S. Census Bureau, 2010). Efforts to exclude unauthorized migrants from K–12 public schools will deny a free public school education to a significant number of Latino students. Historically K–12 schools have played an important role in incorporating immigrants by providing students with the knowledge and skills essential for political integration and democratic participation such as knowledge of American democratic principles, U.S. history, and English-language skills (Abu El-Haj, 2007; Task Force on New Americans, 2008). Reductions in the enrollment or attendance of unauthorized migrant school children decreases the likelihood that they will be successfully incorporated into U.S. society, which will leave a disproportionate number of Latino students excluded. It is estimated that 10.8 million unauthorized migrants live in the United States (Hoefner et al., 2011; Passel & Cohen, 2009). Unauthorized migrants are foreign-born individuals who have entered the United States without authorization or entered with authorization but have remained in the

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United States beyond the time they were authorized to stay. Although the term “illegal alien” is frequently used within the public discourse, it focuses on potential criminal activity rather than immigration status. This chapter uses the term unauthorized migrant because it more accurately describes the immigration status of the individuals being discussed. Laws regulating the conduct of unauthorized migrants are based on their immigration status, not potential criminal violations. Thus the term unauthorized migrant better describes the population discussed in this chapter. Unauthorized migrant students are, and will continue to be, long-term residents in the United States. Over 60 percent of unauthorized migrants have lived in the United States for at least 10 years (Hoefer et al., 2011, p. 3). These individuals have made the United States their home and the overwhelming majority of the U.S. public does not support mass deportation (Fitz, Martinez, & Wijewardena, 2010; Pew Research Center, 2011; The Opportunity Agenda, 2011, p. 35; New York Times/CBS Poll, 2010). Most Americans view mass deportation as an extreme response to individuals who have established significant roots in the United States. Because of the reality of long-term residence for unauthorized migrants in the United States it is important that they are incorporated as members and have an opportunity to acquire the skills, knowledge, and values associated with U.S. society rather than excluded as outsiders (Carens, 2010; Shachar, 2009). Members are residents who have an American identity and a commitment to the growth and improvement of the United States that is rooted in democratic principles (Banks, 2004, pp. 49–73). The transformation of immigrants into members is a two-way process; it requires efforts by both the host society and the individual immigrant (Massey & Sánchez, 2010; Portes & Rumbaut, 2001). When individual immigrants feel marginalized within the host society it is difficult for them to identify with and to develop the necessary commitment to the society. Yet if the host society believes that immigrants do not identify with or have a commitment to the state, then the host society is less likely to view immigrants as members. Schools can play an important role in facilitating immigrant inclusion by fostering immigrant students’ identity with and commitment to the United States, and enabling their classmates to see them as members of U.S. society. One way schools perform this role is through a civic education curriculum, also referred to as citizenship education and democratic education. The goal of civic education is to develop a commitment to democratic principles, values, and practices within students. Achieving this goal can be a challenge when students live in contexts that contradict democratic principles like equity and fair treatment. One way this challenge can be addressed is through lessons and exercises that acknowledge the students’ experiences with prejudice, discrimination, and limited opportunities and examine how these experiences contradict democratic principles and values (Banks, 2004; Abu El-Haj, 2007). These types of lessons and exercises can create opportunities to develop a commitment to democratic principles

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and values and a desire to realize them in the United States. For example, during the 1930s and 1940s prejudice reduction programs were used at Benjamin Franklin High School in New York City to assist in transforming Southern and Eastern European immigrants into members of American society (Banks, 2005). Denying unauthorized migrant students access to K–12 public schools deprives them of opportunities to develop a thoughtful and examined attachment to the United States despite their experiences with marginalization. Latino students will disproportionately be denied this opportunity. This chapter contends that recent efforts to have K–12 public schools determine the immigration status of students will reduce unauthorized migrant school enrollment, which will undermine the incorporation of unauthorized migrants into U.S. society. The majority of the students impacted by these efforts will be students of color, the overwhelming majority of whom will be Latino. Eighty-six percent of unauthorized migrants in the United States were born in Mexico, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, the Philippines, India, Ecuador, Brazil, Korea, and China. (Hoefer et al., 2011, p. 4). Sixty-one percent of this population was born in Mexico. (Hoefer et al., 2011, p. 4). If efforts to determine immigration status upon student enrollment are successful there will be a reduction in the number of students of color, particularly Latino students, educated in U.S. public schools. The chapter begins with a description of the legal and historical factors that have resulted in a population of unauthorized migrants in the United States. The next section explains the legal rights of unauthorized migrant school children to a public K–12 education and the ways in which school districts are undermining these rights and contributing to the resegregation of American schools. The fi nal section contends that providing unauthorized migrant school children a public K–12 education is necessary to provide educational opportunities for students of color and to facilitate their inclusion in U.S. society.

UNAUTHORIZED MIGRATION: HISTORICALLY AND TODAY From the United States’ founding in 1776 until the late 1880s, federal immigration law placed few restrictions on which foreign-born individuals could come to the United States (Neuman, 1993). This changed dramatically in 1924 with the enactment of national origin quotas in the Johnson-Reed Act (Sec. 4[c]). The national origin quotas were based on the percentage of the U.S. population from a specific country. For example, if 16 percent of the U.S. population was from Southern and Eastern European countries, then only 16 percent of immigrants admitted could come from Southern and Eastern European countries (Ngai, 2004, pp. 22–23). Countries in the Western Hemisphere were excluded

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from these limitations. Congress decided to exclude the Western Hemisphere countries because Southwestern farmers and ranchers expressed a need for Mexican labor (Johnson, 1998, p. 1111; Ngai, 2004). Mexican laborers have played a significant role in the growth and development of the United States (Calavita, 1992; Ngai, 2004). Mexican workers have built railroads, worked in mines, and done labor-intensive agricultural work (Calavita, 1992; Ngai, 2004). To ensure continued access to this labor force immigrants from Canada, Mexico, Cuba, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, the Canal Zone, and independent countries in Central and South America were not subject to the new numerical limits (JohnsonReed Act, 1924, Sec. 4[c]). They were free to enter the United States as long as they did not run afoul of the substantive exclusion grounds. Substantive exclusion grounds are substantive reasons the U.S. government can deny an individual admission to the United States. For example, an individual can be denied admission if she has been convicted of a felony or his fi nancial resources suggest that he is likely to need public assistance. Despite Congressional concern for Southwestern farmers’ and ranchers’ need for labor, public sentiment toward Mexican immigrants has been quite hostile, both in the past and today. For instance, in the late 1920s concerns about Mexican immigrants being culturally different, criminals, and taking American jobs led to the use of substantive exclusion grounds to deny Mexican immigrants visas to the United States (Ngai, 2004, pp. 53–55). In 1930 immigration officials expected the use of substantive exclusion grounds to cause a 76 percent drop in lawful migration from Mexico to the United States (Ngai, 2004, p. 55). Although the number of visas issued dropped significantly, the number of Mexican immigrants did not decline because Southwestern farmers and ranchers continued to depend on Mexican workers. Beginning in the 1920s and continuing today Mexican migration to the United States has remained relatively stable despite the creation of new legal restrictions. Legal restrictions have been successful in changing the legal status of Mexican nationals in the United States, but they have not been successful in limiting Mexican migration (Massey & Sánchez, 2010, p. 73). Therefore over time an increasing percentage of Mexican nationals in the United States have become unauthorized. The need or desire for Mexican agricultural and railroad laborers in the United States eventually led to the creation of the Bracero Program in 1942. This program provided a government-regulated supply of contract laborers (Ngai, 2004, pp. 138–139). Over the 20-year period that the program was in place 5 million Mexican workers were contracted to farmers and ranchers in 24 states. An average of 250,000 Mexican workers were admitted per year (Calavita, 1992). The Bracero Program came to an end in 1964 after political support for farmers and ranchers diminished (Calavita, 1992). The next year Congress adopted the Immigration Act of 1965. This act eliminated national origin quotas and adopted uniform quotas, which was an effort to establish formal equality in the immigration system. As noted

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earlier, the national origin quota systems used past migration flows to determine future migration flows. With the enactment of the Immigration Act of 1965 past migration flows would no longer dictate future migration. This opened the door for significant migration from Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Since 1965, Mexico and the other countries in the Western Hemisphere have been subject to numerical restrictions. For instance, in 1965, Congress determined the appropriate level of annual immigration and allowed 120,000 individuals per year from the Western Hemisphere to enter the United States (Massey & Riosmena, 2010, p. 295). This limitation provided for less than half of the annual workers admitted from Mexico under the Bracero Program. This created a new opportunity for unauthorized Mexican migration because the need for immigrant laborers did not diminish. Unauthorized migration grew out of the increased use of substantive exclusion grounds and then numerical restrictions, and a simultaneous desire of and willingness by farmers, ranchers, and other employers to hire Mexican workers regardless of their immigration status. Subsequent numerical restrictions exacerbated the issue of unauthorized migration. In 1976 Congress limited annual migration to 20,000 individuals per country (Massey & Riosmena, 2010, p. 295). In 1978, a worldwide quota was adopted that allowed 290,000 individuals per year to immigrate. That total was reduced in 1980 to 270,000, and in 1990 new limits on family migration were imposed (Massey & Riosmena, 2010, p. 295). Even in the face of these restrictions the agricultural industry and other labor-intensive industries continued to hire Mexican workers. The employers were indifferent to the manner in which the Mexican workers entered the United States because they did not face any legal consequences for hiring unauthorized migrants until 1986. Since 1986 it has been relatively easy for employers to avoid liability (Aleinikoff, Martin, Motomura, & Fullerton, 2012). Individuals interested in living and working in the United States can seek entry as an immigrant or a nonimmigrant. Immigrants are granted permission to enter and reside in the United States indefinitely whereas nonimmigrants are granted permission to reside in the United States for a specific purpose and a limited period of time. Immigrants are commonly known as green card holders or lawful permanent residents (“LPR”). There are two primary avenues for obtaining a green card: family and employment. United States citizens and green-card holders can sponsor relatives. For example, a U.S. citizen can sponsor his or her spouse, minor and adult children, and siblings (Immigration and Nationality Act, § 203[a][1], [a][3], [a][4]). An LPR can sponsor his or her spouse, minor children, and unmarried adult children (Immigration and Nationality Act, § 203[a][2]). On the employment side green cards are available for highly accomplished and skilled workers (Immigration and Nationality Act, § 203[b]). For example, a company like Microsoft can sponsor an individual to work as a software engineer in the United States. Microsoft must however certify that qualified workers are not

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available in the United States (Immigration and Nationality Act, § 20). This type of employment-based green card is not available for low-skilled labor jobs. To enter the United States to take a low-skilled job an individual can only obtain a nonimmigrant visa. Nonimmigrants are allowed to enter and reside in the United States for a specific purpose and a limited period of time. An example would be a visa for seasonal agricultural workers—an H-2A visa. An individual would be granted permission to enter the United States to perform agricultural labor for a specified period of time. If the individual engaged in nonagricultural work or stayed longer than the number of days specified he or she would violate the terms of admission and be out of status—unauthorized—and be subject to deportation. In 2007 the United States issued 50,791 H-2A visas (Department of State). That year James Holt, an agricultural labor economist, testified before Congress that there were 2.5 million farmworkers working in the United States. Seventy-eight percent of U.S. farmworkers are foreign-born and the Department of Labor estimates that 53 percent were unauthorized migrants (Hearing to Review the Labor Needs of American Agriculture, 2007). This gap between available jobs and available visas fuels the continuation of the unauthorized migrant population (Massey & Riosmena, 2010). There are two ways in which individuals can become unauthorized migrants in the United States. First, one can enter without inspection, in which individuals cross the border at places other than official ports of entry. For example, they can enter the United States through isolated desserts in Arizona and New Mexico. The United States has no record of these individuals’ entry and no opportunity to screen them. Such modes of entry are not only a violation of civil immigration law, but also federal criminal law. Second, an individual can overstay one’s nonimmigrant visa. As noted earlier nonimmigrants are granted permission to reside in the United States for a specified period of time. If the nonimmigrant remains in the United States after that time has expired he or she becomes an unauthorized migrant. Overstaying one’s visa is a violation of the civil immigration laws, but not federal criminal law. U.S. law is comprised of criminal law and civil law. Both criminal law and civil law regulate the conduct of individuals residing within the United States, but only violations of criminal law can result in imprisonment. Violations of civil law generally result in fi nes or monetary judgments. For example, a waiter’s failure to report tip income is a violation of the civil tax code and could result in an order to pay past due taxes and a fi ne, but not a prison sentence. Immigration law similarly has criminal and civil components. The majority of immigration law violations are civil violations and cannot result in imprisonment. Those who are unauthorized migrants have very few opportunities to regularize their status. Students who are unauthorized migrants today are likely to remain in this status unless they leave and obtain lawful admission to the United States or obtain discretionary relief from deportation. The 1996 amendments to the Immigration and Naturalization Act created significant barriers to both of these options for individuals who are

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unlawfully present. However, in 1986 Congress enacted the Immigration Reform and Control Act, which provided a pathway to legal status and citizenship for unauthorized migrants who had been unlawfully present since 1982. Without similar legislation today’s unauthorized migrant students will continue to be deportable, yet mass deportation does not enjoy widespread public support and it is practically infeasible (Fitz et al., 2010; Pew Research Center, 2011; The Opportunity Agenda, 2011, p. 35; New York Times/CBS Poll, 2010). Mass deportation is estimated to cost $285 billion and to give rise to collateral consequences such as civil liberty concerns and economic harms (Fitz et al., 2010). Absent mass deportation, unauthorized migrant students will continue to be part of U.S. society and the issue of unauthorized migrants’ education has become a lightning rod issue in a number of states. Within the past few years states like Alabama, Arizona, Georgia, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Texas, and Virginia have considered or enacted legislation that would discourage unauthorized migrants from attending K–12 public schools by requiring them to disclose their immigration status upon enrollment.

UNAUTHORIZED MIGRANTS’ LEGAL RIGHT TO K–12 EDUCATION Within the United States education is seen as the great equalizer because it provides students with the tools and skills they need for upward mobility. Consequently the fight for equal education has been fought time and time again, and those pursuing greater educational opportunities have often been successful in U.S. courts (Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, 1954; Hernandez v. Texas, 1954; Lau v. Nichols, 1974). In 1982 the U.S. Supreme Court addressed the educational opportunities of unauthorized migrants in Plyler v. Doe. In this case, school districts within Texas were prohibiting unauthorized migrant students from enrolling in K–12 public schools unless they paid tuition. The Court held that this policy violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. Recently there has been a resurgence of direct and indirect attacks on this ruling by states and localities seeking to limit or track the number of unauthorized migrants in the public schools. For example, Alabama enacted legislation requiring K–12 schools to ascertain the citizenship and immigration status of all enrolled students. These attacks are gaining success in turning families away from the schoolhouse doors and denying children the education that they and the United States so desperately need. The number of K–12 students who are either unauthorized or have parents who are unauthorized has grown considerably due to the limited avenues for lawful migration from Mexico—and Latin America more broadly—and increased border control (Massey & Riosmena, 2010; Ngai, 2004). For example, in 2010 there were 1.2 million unauthorized migrant children in the United States (Hoefer et al., 2011, p. 5), whereas in 2008

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approximately 6.8 percent of K–12 students had at least one parent who was an unauthorized migrant (Passel & Cohn, 2009). Many of these children are U.S. citizens because they were born in the United States; however having parents who are unauthorized migrants has made them the target of legislation in states such as Alabama and California. States and localities have expressed concerns about the costs associated with unauthorized migration. Of particular concern is the cost of educating unauthorized migrants and their children and providing other social services such as health care. For instance, Representative Micky Hammon, the sponsor of Alabama’s 2011 immigration legislation, estimated that it was costing the state of Alabama $200 million to “educate the children of illegal immigrants” (White, 2011). In an effort to reduce these costs a number of states have enacted legislation limiting or prohibiting unauthorized migrants’ access to social services. For example, California voters adopted Proposition 187 in 1994, which denied unauthorized migrants access to K–12 public schools, health care, and other social services. Pursuant to Proposition 187 social service providers were required to report individuals they suspected of being unauthorized migrants to law enforcement officials (Bosniak, 1996, p. 555). Proposition 187 was the subject of legal challenges and the federal courts prohibited its enforcement. More recently Alabama enacted legislation requiring students to provide citizenship and immigration status information to enroll in K–12 public schools. The Alabama legislation also requires schools to ascertain whether the students’ parents are unauthorized migrants. These types of laws are enacted to discourage unauthorized migrants from residing in a particular state. Many supporters see the laws as a tool to encourage self-deportation. After Proposition 187 was enacted in California there was a reported drop in Latino students’ school attendance (Broder & Navarro, 1996, p. 298). The adoption of these laws has led Latino migrants, authorized and unauthorized, to leave states like Alabama, but it is unclear how many leave the country and how many simply move to another state (Rawls, 2011). The Supreme Court’s decision in Plyler v. Doe is the starting point for the educational rights of unauthorized migrants, because it is the fi rst and only Supreme Court case to address this issue. In 1977 the Board of Trustees of Tyler Independent School District in Texas refused to enroll unauthorized migrant children who did not pay a tuition fee of $1,000 per year. A group of Mexican children residing in Smith County, Texas could not establish that they were lawfully admitted to the United States. The parents of these students sued arguing that the Tyler Independent School District policy was unconstitutional. The parents argued that the policy violated the Fourteenth Amendment Equal Protection Clause. This constitutional provision dictates that “[n]o state shall . . . deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws” (U.S. Constitution, Amendment Fourteen). The Court agreed with the parents and held that Texas had not shown that its tuition policy for unauthorized migrant students furthered a “substantial goal of the State” (Plyler v.

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Doe, 1982, p. 224). The Court considered three potential state interests: “protection against an influx of unauthorized migrants in the state, unauthorized migrant schoolchildren create special burdens to providing a high-quality education; and unauthorized migrant schoolchildren are less likely than U.S. citizen or legally present noncitizen children to remain within Texas and put their education to use within Texas” (Banks, 2012). The Court rejected each of these justifications concluding that “whatever savings might be achieved by denying these children an education, they are wholly insubstantial in light of the costs to these children, the State, and the Nation” (Plyler v. Doe, 1982, p. 230). Despite the U.S. Supreme Court’s clear statement that unauthorized migrant children cannot be denied a free K–12 public education, school districts across the country are closing the schoolhouse doors to these students. Not since 1994 and California’s Proposition 187 has a state attempted to explicitly prohibit unauthorized migrant children from attending public schools. Today states are taking an indirect approach; they are requiring that schools obtain information regarding citizenship and immigration status from students when they enroll. The Department of Education and the National Education Association have both counseled against such requirements concluding that they could discourage parents and guardians from enrolling children in K–12 schools. Despite these warnings, Alabama, Arizona, Georgia, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Texas, and Virginia have recently considered legislation that would require schools to ascertain the citizenship and immigration status of students upon enrollment. As of August 2011 the legislative proposals failed in Arizona, North Carolina, and Virginia; were still pending in Georgia, Oklahoma, South Carolina, and Texas; and were enacted in Alabama. In August 2012 the United States Court of Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit enjoined enforcement of the Alabama provisions. Consequently these provisions is not currently being enforced. The laws enacted in Alabama and considered in Georgia, Oklahoma, and Texas share three main components: (1) identifying unauthorized migrant students, (2) tracking expenditures related to such students, and (3) determining the impact such students are having on the standard or quality of education provided to U.S. citizen students. The stated motivation for these requirements is to gather information about the number of unauthorized migrant students in the school systems, determine the cost of educating these students, and ascertain the effect their presence is having on the education of U.S. citizen children. The legislation does not explicitly state an intention to deny unauthorized migrant students a free K–12 public education, however the legislation is often part of a larger strategy to limit the number of unauthorized migrants within the state (Chandler, 2011). Representative Micky Hammon explained that the Alabama legislation was “designed to make it difficult for [unauthorized migrants] to live here so they will deport themselves” (Chandler, 2011). The Alabama law requires every public elementary and secondary school to determine, at

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the time of enrollment, whether the enrolling student “was born outside of the jurisdiction of the United States or is the child of an alien not lawfully present in the United States and qualifies for assignment to an English as Second Language class or other remedial program” (Beason-Hammon Alabama Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act, 2011, Sec. 28[a][1]). Schools are to make this determination based on the student’s birth certificate. If the school determines the student was born outside of the United States or is the child of an unauthorized migrant, “the parent, guardian, or legal custodian of the student shall notify the school within 30 days of the date of the student’s enrollment of the actual citizenship or immigration status of the student under federal law” (Beason-Hammon Alabama Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act, 2011, Sec. 28[a][3]). Although school officials are required to gather information on the citizenship and immigration status of enrolling students, they are not required to verify that information with the federal government. Federal immigration officials are the only entities that can conclusively determine immigration status (Aleinikoff et al., 2012). Determining an individual’s immigration status can be complicated due to pending proceedings, waivers, and temporary statuses (Aleinikoff et al., 2012). Therefore the conclusions made by school officials may not accurately reflect an individual’s immigration status. In addition, schools are also required to compile data and annually report the number of students enrolled who are U.S. citizens, lawfully present aliens, and aliens believed to be unlawfully present. Further, the report must also identify the cost of educating unauthorized migrant students and the effect enrolling unauthorized migrant students has had on the standard or quality of education provided to U.S. citizen students. This information will be used to obtain more accurate information regarding the cost, in terms of finances and educational opportunities, of educating unauthorized migrants. The legislation considered in Georgia, Oklahoma, and Texas had similar provisions. The federal government, the National Education Association, and the National School Boards Association have advised school officials not to ask for information that could reveal immigration status for fear that such requests could discourage student enrollment. This concern is particularly strong in Alabama because individuals who possess information regarding students’ citizenship and immigration status are allowed to provide this information to federal immigration authorities. Past experience suggests that the chilling effect feared by the federal government, the National Education Association, and the National School Boards Association is real. For example, after Oklahoma enacted the Oklahoma Taxpayer and Citizenship Protection Act in Spring 2007 Kendall-Whittier Elementary School in Tulsa, Oklahoma experienced a significant drop in enrollment (Walker, 2008). The 2007 legislation created new requirements for gathering immigration status in a number of contexts, but did not cover public schools. Parents had, however, heard rumors that immigration agents would be present at schools to deport parents and children who were unauthorized migrants. Kendall-Whittier’s

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student population was 55 percent Latino and on the first day of school in August 2007, 200 of the school’s 1,000 students did not show up (Walker, 2008). School officials concluded that parents were afraid that the school was involved in immigration enforcement and kept their children home from school. Only after teachers and school officials called each student’s household and reassured families that the school was not involved in immigration enforcement did attendance increase (Walker, 2008). Recent research has found that the enrollment of Latino 4-year-olds in preschool dropped from 53 percent in 2005 to 48 percent in 2009 (Fuller & Kim, 2010). One factor contributing to this decline is a worry that some immigrant families have about contact with formal institutions (Melendez, 2011). Fear of contact with formal institutions is often based on the concern that these institutions are involved in immigration enforcement. This fear has been shown to cause families to avoid contact with educational institutions and healthcare providers, which deprives children (often U.S. citizens) of the educational and healthcare benefits they are entitled to (Melendez, 2011). The drops in enrollment at Kendall-Whittier and preschool more generally occurred in contexts where schools were not required to ascertain immigration status. It is very likely that similar drops in enrollment and attendance would occur in Alabama because the schools are required to determine immigration status and are not prohibited from providing that information to federal immigration officials. Early anecdotes from government officials and community members suggest that school enrollment of Latino students has dropped since the enactment of the Beason-Hammon Alabama Taxpayer and Citizenship Protection Act of 2011 (Treadwell, 2011). The federal government has strongly suggested that enrollment practices that require citizenship or immigration status information violate federal law. In May 2011, the U.S. Department of Education and the U.S. Department of Justice sent a joint letter to school districts throughout the United States reminding them that they are legally required “to provide equal educational opportunities to all children residing within [their] district . . .” (2011). The school districts were reminded that it is a violation of federal law to utilize “enrollment practices that may chill or discourage the participation, or lead to the exclusion, of students based on their or their parents’ or guardians’ actual or perceived citizenship or immigration status” (U.S. Department of Justice & U.S. Department of Education, 2011). A similar letter was sent to superintendents in the Alabama public school system on November 1, 2011 (U.S. Department of Justice, 2011). Regulations enacted pursuant to Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 “prohibit districts from unjustifiably utilizing criteria or methods of administration that have the effect of subjecting individuals to discrimination because of their race, color, or national origin, or have the effect of defeating or substantially impairing accomplishment of the objectives of a program for individuals of a particular race, color, or national origin” (U.S. Department of Justice & U.S. Department of Education, 2011). These legal requirements have led

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some states to prohibit schools from requesting immigration status information. As of 2009, the Iowa Department of Education and the Maryland State Board of Education prohibited schools from requesting information regarding immigration status or questioning students about their immigration status (National School Boards Association & National Education Association, 2009). Whether actions that deter or discourage unauthorized migrant students from enrolling in school is prohibited by Plyler has yet to be decided by a court (National School Boards Association & National Education Association, 2009). This issue was raised but not answered in League of Latin American Citizens v. Wilson. In 1995 the U.S. District Court for the Central District of California invalidated Section 7 of California’s Proposition 187. Section 7 required verifying the immigration status of students and parents, prohibited schools from enrolling unauthorized migrant students, and required reporting unauthorized migrant students to federal immigration authorities. The district court held that Plyler v. Doe prohibited states from excluding unauthorized migrant students from K–12 public schools, but did not specifically state whether obtaining information on immigration status violated Plyler. Absent a clear intention to deny unauthorized migrant students access to the public schools it is not clear that the courts would fi nd that this practice violates Plyler. The U.S. Department of Justice and the U.S. Department of Education contend that seeking information regarding citizenship and immigration status violates the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Title VI of this act prohibits discrimination on the basis of race, color, and national origin in programs and activities that receive fi nancial assistance. An important question for future litigation will be whether the school practices constitute discrimination based on national origin, color, or race. These policies make distinctions based on immigration status, not race, ethnicity, or national origin. Yet the policies will have a disproportionate impact on Latinos and Mexican nationals. In Plyler the Court concluded that immigration status was “not a constitutional irrelevancy” so it reviewed the Texas school enrollment policy to determine if it was rationally related to a legitimate governmental interest. Whether immigration status will still be seen as constitutionally relevant or whether unauthorized immigration status would be seen as a proxy for ethnicity or national origin is an interesting question because well over half of all unauthorized migrants in the United States are Mexican (Hoefer et al., 2011, p. 4). Although the justifications for the state laws have focused on fiscal issues, concerns about culture, particularly language, also play a role in the opposition to unauthorized migrants. Exactly what role culture, race, and ethnicity play in motivating the recent state laws is difficult to determine. As a legal matter this raises complicated issues to resolve. As a policy matter Americans are left to decide what role education should play in the United States and who should be educated.

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SCHOOLS AND THE CREATION OF COMMITTED DEMOCRATS The United States strives to realize e pluribus unum amidst great diversity (Task Force on New Americans, 2008, pp. 1–3). This goal—out of many, one—requires the inclusion of unauthorized migrant children within U.S. society. One aspect of such inclusion is developing a commitment to the growth and improvement of the United States that is rooted in democratic principles and ideals. Fostering such a commitment is easy in the abstract. Most individuals interested in migrating to the United States see this country as a place of opportunity open to all willing to work hard. Maintaining this kind of commitment becomes challenging when immigrants experience prejudice, discrimination, and limited opportunities (Banks, 2004; Massey & Sánchez, 2010). This, however, is not a new task for the United States. Historically the United States has been a place of great diversity along lines such as ethnicity, language, religion, race, national origin, sexual orientation, and gender identity. For each of these types of diversity individuals have had experiences that are at odds with democratic principles and ideals such as equality and liberty. Despite experiences with exclusion and marginalization individuals have maintained a commitment to the growth and improvement of the United States and worked to create a more perfect Union. Through civic education schools can play a valuable role in fostering students’ commitment to the United States despite their anti-democratic experiences (Abu El-Haj, 2007). Civic education, also referred to as citizenship education and democratic education, seeks to educate students who will “endorse the overarching ideals of the nation-state such as justice and equality, are committed to the maintenance and perpetuation of these ideals, and are willing and able to take action to help close the gap between the nation’s democratic ideals and practices that violate those ideals . . .” (Banks, 2004, p. 4). Amy Gutmann refers to this as developing a commitment to “living up to the routine demands of democratic life, at the same time as [students] are committed to questioning those demands whenever they appear to threaten the foundational ideals of democratic sovereignty, such as respect for persons” (Gutmann, 1987, p. 52). Civic education benefits all students, immigrant and citizen alike. It seeks to develop and strengthen all students’ commitment to democratic principles in order to maintain and reinvigorate democracy within the United States. Educators have used civic education to bridge the gap between America’s principles and America’s practices so that students have the opportunity to develop and maintain a commitment to the United States. Civic education was used foster a commitment to the United States among Eastern and Southern European immigrants during the 1930s and 1940s and African American students in the segregated South in the 1950s. In the 1930s and 1940s immigrants from Eastern and Southern Europe were often viewed as having political beliefs, religious practices, cultural

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characteristics, and languages that were un-American (Banks, 2005; Jacobson, 1998, p. 573). They were viewed with suspicion and experienced prejudice and discrimination. During this time period teachers at Benjamin Franklin High School in New York City implemented prejudice reduction programs that were rooted in democratic principles, such as liberty, equality, justice, and fair treatment (Banks, 2005, pp. 49–73). These programs worked to “mend divisions between groups” by highlighting the similarities among all Americans. (Banks, 2005, p. 3). There was a presumption that immigrants would naturalize and become American citizens despite sentiments within the public discourse that these “new” immigrants were uninterested in assimilating and becoming U.S. citizens. The prejudice reduction program enabled the teachers to acknowledge that the prejudice and discrimination their students experienced were real, to explain these experiences were antithetical to democratic principles, and to foster greater cultural sensitivity among the student body. These lessons created an opportunity for students to develop a commitment to democratic principles. A review of the program at Benjamin Franklin High School reveals that there was a reduction in student prejudice after students engaged in the prejudice reduction programs (Banks, 2005). Students were able to see the similarities across groups and commonalities as Americans (Banks, 2005). In the 1950s African American teachers in segregated schools used similar teaching strategies. For example, in Lee County, Arkansas teachers began each day by having the students sing the American national anthem, “The Star Spangled Banner,” the Negro national anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. (Banks, 2004, p. 11). Every day the students would say that the United States is “one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all” even though their daily experiences told them it was not. Like the teachers at Benjamin Franklin High School, the Lee County teachers acknowledged that the rules of the segregated South contradicted America’s principles and values, but they also used daily exercises and substantive lessons to allow students to develop a belief in and commitment to democratic principles and values. These teachers believed that their students “could use American democratic ideals to justify significant social and political change that would challenge and dismantle racial segregation and blatant inequality in the South” (Banks, 2004, p. 11). The teachers at Benjamin Franklin High School and the Lee County public schools taught their students to see themselves as connected to the United States and encouraged them to be committed to its growth and improvement. Rather than rejecting American democratic principles and values these teachers worked to develop a democratic commitment within their students. Unauthorized migrant students need to have the same opportunity to critique American principles, values, and practices in a context that supports the development of a thoughtful and examined attachment to the United States. Unauthorized migrant students and their families will be long-term residents who develop and maintain connections to social, cultural, and economic

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communities within the United States. It is important that these students see themselves as members of the society in which they reside. Limiting unauthorized migrant students’ access to K–12 schools disproportionately limits Latino students’ ability to develop this sense of membership. There is a social fact of membership within a society and a legal fact of membership, and two do not necessarily overlap. Legal membership is having the legal status of citizen within a country. The social fact of membership refers to the relationship between an individual and his or her state of residence. It exists when “an individual’s long-term circumstances of life . . . link her own well-being to a particular polity” (Bauböck, 2009, p. 111). Although unauthorized migrants face an uphill battle to become legal members of American society, their long-term residence in the United States provides an opportunity to become and remain social members of U.S. society. Primary and secondary schools have an important role to play in this process.

THE POWER OF ANTI-DEMOCRATIC EXPERIENCES The anti-democratic experiences that students have within schools and throughout society can be more powerful than the academic lessons they learn in school. Recent research on immigrant identity suggests that immigrants’ willingness to identify as American is deeply connected to structural inclusion in the United States (Massey & Sánchez, 2010). Massey and Sánchez (2010) found that Latin American immigrants’ experiences with “prejudice, discrimination, [and] blocked opportunities” caused immigrants to “see the United States as a place of inequality and racism.” (p. 209). Experiences with structural exclusion led many Latin American immigrants to believe that Americans did not see them as American. For example, one respondent noted “I never would say I am American because nobody would believe me” (Massey & Sánchez, 2010, p. 207). Experiences with exclusion also limited Latin American immigrants’ connection to the United States. A Mexican woman in New Jersey explained that she “would like to feel American, but it’s not possible” (Massey & Sánchez, 2010, p. 208). Similar observations have been made by second-generation high school students of Vietnamese, Palestinian, Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi descent (Abu El-Haj, 2007; Maira, 2004; Nguyen, 2008). Despite being U.S. citizens, these students’ experiences with marginalization within schools and larger society restricted the development of an American identity. These students recognized and acknowledged that they were U.S. citizens, but they saw a distinction between being a U.S. citizen and being an American. Being an American was connected to cultural practices and acceptance (Abu El-Haj, 2007). For first-, 1.5-, and secondgeneration immigrants experiences with exclusion and marginalization have hampered the development of an American identity. Whether those hesitant to adopt an American identity are nonetheless committed to the growth and improvement of the United States is

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unclear. The sociological understanding of identity is “a process of naming, of placing ourselves in socially constructed categories, with language holding a central position in this process” (Marshall, 1998). Peter Berger has described identity as being “socially bestowed, socially sustained and socially transformed” (1966). Commitment to the growth and improvement of the United States is a necessary component of American identity, but it might be possible for individuals to share this commitment without maintaining an American identity. Additionally, whether these students experienced the type of civic education discussed here is unknown. However, research on immigrant identity does suggest that civic education can do more to address the exclusion that immigrants, particularly unauthorized migrants, experience in the United States.

UNAUTHORIZED MIGRANTS AS COMMITTED DEMOCRATS Schools have nonetheless had some success in supporting the development of an American identity and commitment to the United States among unauthorized migrant students. The commitment of DREAM students to the growth and improvement of the United States based on democratic principles is a testament to what can happen when unauthorized migrants have access to public K–12 schools. DREAM students are the individuals who would benefit from the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act (“DREAM Act”). This act creates a pathway to lawful immigration status for individuals who entered the United States under the age of 16, have been physically present for at least 5 years, earned a high school diploma or a GED, have good moral character, and are not inadmissible or deportable based on criminal activity or national security concerns. The DREAM Act would grant these individuals conditional LPR status. The conditional LPR status would be valid for 10 years. If within that 10-year period the individual completed 2 years of college or military service and maintained good moral character, then he or she could apply for regular, not conditional, LPR status. They would become green-card holders who could eventually apply for citizenship. On January 1, 2010, Carlos Roa, Felipe Matos, Gaby Pacheco, and Juan Rodriguez set off on the “Trail of Dreams” march from Miami, Florida to the nation’s capital. Carlos, Felipe, and Gaby are unauthorized migrants. They decided to risk deportation in a public walk from Miami to Washington, DC because the restrictions on their life due to their immigration status had become unbearable (Preston, 2010). The DREAM Act provided an opportunity to regularize their immigration status and their march brought national attention to the pending legislation. They and numerous other unauthorized young adults who have been raised in the United States are coming out of the shadows to reveal their unauthorized immigration status and to seek legislative reform that will grant them equal access to

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education and jobs in the United States. This student movement is rooted in American democratic values of equality, justice, and fair treatment. One young man named Uriel explained his reasons for taking action: “When we fail to speak up, when we fail to criticize, when we fail to stand up for our ideals, and when we fail to improve the lives of those around us; it is a far greater blow to the freedom, the decency, and to the justice which truly represents this nation we call home” (The Dream is Coming). Uriel and his fellow advocates exemplify Gutmann’s democratic commitment. As a society, the United States should encourage the development of more Uriels within the unauthorized migrant student population. The country has more to lose when unauthorized migrant youth do not see themselves as members of U.S. society and when U.S. society does not see these young people as members. Discouraging unauthorized migrant students from enrolling in K–12 public schools denies them access to an important vehicle for developing an American identity and a commitment to the growth and improvement of the United States. The inclusion of unauthorized migrant youth is essential if the United States is going to actualize e pluribus unum rather than continue to be a fractured and divided country.

REFERENCES Abu El-Haj, T. (2007). “I was born here, but my home, it’s not here”: Educating for democratic citizenship in an era of transnational migration and global confl ict. Harvard Educational Review, 77(3), 285–316. Aleinikoff, T. A., Martin, D. A., Motomura, H., & Fullerton, M. (2012). Immigration and citizenship: Process and policy. St. Paul: West Publishing Co. Banks, A. M. (2012). Plyler v. Doe. In J. A. Banks (Ed.), Encyclopedia of diversity in education. London: Sage. Banks, C. A. M. (2005). Improving multicultural education: Lesons from the Intergroup Education Movement. New York: Teachers College Press. Banks, J. A. (2004). Introduction: Democratic citizenship education in multicultural societies. In J. A. Banks (Ed.), Diversity and citizenship education: Global perspectives (pp. 3–15). Indianapolis: Jossey-Bass. Bauböck, R. (2009). Stakeholder citizenship and democratic participation in migration contexts. In J. Poirier & P. Magnette (Eds.), The ties that bind: Accommodating complex diversity in Canada and the European Union (pp.105–128). Brussels: P.I.E. Peter Lang. Beason-Hammon Alabama Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act. (2011). Berger, P. (1966). Invitation to sociology: A humanistic perspective. Norwell: Anchor. Bosniak, L. (1996). Opposing prop. 187: Undocumented immigrants and the national imagination. Connecticut Law Review, 28, 555. Broder, T., & Navarro, C. L. (1996). A street without an exit: Excerpts from the lives of Latinas in post-187 California. Hastings Women’s L.J., 7(2), 275–314. Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka (1954), 347, U.S. 483. Calavita, K. (1992). Inside the state: The Bracero Program, immigration, and the I.N.S. London: Routledge. Carens, J. (2010). Immigrants and the right to stay. Cambridge: MIT Press.

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Chandler, K. (2011, April 5). Alabama House passes Arizona-style immigration law. Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http://blog.al.com/spotnews/2011/04/ alabama_house_passes_arizona-s.html Civil Rights Act of 1964. (2011). Title VI, 42 U.S. C. § 2000d. Department of State. (n.d.). Visa statistics: Multi-year graphs. Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http://travel.state.gov/visa/statistics/graphs/graphs_4399.html Fitz, M., Martinez, G., & Wijewardena, M. (2010, March). The costs of mass deportation: Impractical, expensive, and ineffective. Washington, DC: Center for American Progress. Fuller, B., & Kim, A. (2010). Latino access to preschool stalls declining state capacity and demographic change. California Journal of Politics and Policy, 3(1), 1–9. Gutmann, A. (1987). Democratic education. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hearing to Review the Labor Needs of American Agriculture. (2007, October 4). Hearing before Committee on Agriculture, House of Representatives (statement of James Holt). Hernandez v. Texas (1954), 347, U.S. 475. Hoefner, M., Rytina, N., & Baker, B. C. (2011). Estimates of the unauthorized immigrant population residing in the United States: January 2010. Washington, DC: Department of Homeland Security. Immigration and Naturalization Act. (1952). 66 Stat. 163. Jacobson, M. F. (1998). Whiteness of a different color: European immigrants and the alchemy of race. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Johnson, K. (1998). The immigration laws, and domestic race relations: A “magic mirror” into the heart of darkness. Indiana Law Journal, 73, 1111–1159. Johnson-Reed Act. (1924). 43 Stat. 154. Lau v. Nichols (1974), 414, U.S. 563. League of Latin American Citizens v. Perry (1995), 399, F. Supp.2d 756 (C.D. Cal.). Maira, S. (2004). Imperial feelings: Youth culture, citizenship, and globalization. In M. Suarez-Orozco & D. Qin-Hilliard (Eds.), Globalization, culture, and education in the new millennium (pp. 203–234). Berkeley: University of California Press. Marshall, G. (1998). Oxford dictionary of sociology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Massey, D. S., & Riosmena, F. (2010). Undocumented migration from Latin America in an era of rising U.S. enforcement. Annals of American Academy of Political and Social Science, 630, 294–321. Massey, D. S., & Sánchez R., M. (2010). Brokered boundaries: Creating immigrant identity in anti-immigrant times. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Melendez, L. (2011, April 6). Fewer Latino kids went to preschool during recession. ABC News. Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http://abclocal.go.com/ kgo/story?section=news/education&id=8057764 National School Boards Association & National Education Association. (2009). Legal issues for school districts related to the education of undocumented children. Neuman, G. (1993). The lost century of American immigration law (1776–1875). Columbia Law Review, 93, 1833–1901. New York Times/CBS News Poll. (2010, April 28–May 2). Ngai, M. M. (2004). Impossible subjects: Illegal aliens and the making of modern America. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Univesity Press. Nguyen, D. (2008). In between worlds: How Vietnamese immigrant youth construct social, cultural, and national identifications. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. Seattle: University of Washington. Nondiscrimination in federally assisted programs—Implementation of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. (2010). Code of Federal Register, 28, section 42.104(b)(2). Washington, DC.

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Passel, J. S., & Cohen, D. (2009). A portrait of unauthorized immigrants in the United States. Washington, DC: Department of Homeland Security. Pew Research Center. (2011, February 24). Public favors tougher border controls and path to citizenship. Retrieved October 12, 2011, from http:// pewresearch.org/pubs/1904/poll-illegal-immigration-border-security-path-tocitizenship—birthright-citizenship-arizona-law Plyler v. Doe (1982), 457, U.S. 202. Portes, A., & Rumbaut, R. G. (2001). Legacies: The story of the immigrant second generation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Preston, J. (2010, January 10). To overhall immigration, advocates alter tactics. New York Times, p. A12. Rawls, P. (2011, October 5). Alabama workers leave state as immigration law takes effect. The Huffi ngton Post. Retrieved October 26, 2011, from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/06/alabama-workers-immigration-law_n_997793. html Shachar, A. (2009). The birthright lottery: Citizenship and global inequality. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Task Force on New Americans. (2008). Building an Americanization movement for the twenty-first century: A report to the President of the United States from the Task Force on New Americans. Washington, DC: Department of Homeland Security. The Dream is Coming. (n.d.). DREAM 21(DC). Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http://www.thedreamiscoming.com/media/dc-dreamers/ The Johnson-Reed Act. (1924). Statutes at Large, 43, 154. The Opportunity Agenda. (2011). Public discourse on immigration in 2010: An analysis of print and broadcast media coverage and web 2.0 discourse in 2010. New York. Treadwell, H. (2011, December 9). Immigraiton law affecting children. Times Journal. Retrieved Dec. 12, 2011, from http://times-journal.com/news/ article_3886ee58–22ae-11e1-b00d-001871e3ce6c.html U.S. Census Bureau. (2010). American community survey. American Fact Finder. Retrieved December 11, 2011, from http://factfi nder2.census.gov/faces/nav/jsf/ pages/index.xhtml U.S. Constitution. (1868). Amendment XIV. U.S. Department of Justice. (2011). AAG Perez reminds Alabama school districts children deserve equal access to public education. Retrieved December 12, 2011, from http://blogs.usdoj.gov/blog/archives/1710 U.S. Department of Justice and U.S. Department of Education. (2011, May 6). Letter. Education Law Center. Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http://www. elc-pa.org/pubs/downloads%202011/DOJDOELetter050611.pdf Walker, T. (2008, January). Caught in the crossfi re. NEA Today. Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http://www.nea.org/home/7855.htm# White, D. (2011, March 3). Alabama legislative panel delays voting on illegal immigration bill. The Birmingham News. Retrieved September 1, 2011, from http:// blog.al.com/spotnews/2011/03/alabama_legislative_panel_dela.html

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(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving A Critical Race Media and Policy Analysis of Educational and Immigration Policies Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr. Gringos in the U.S. Southwest consider the inhabitants of the borderlands transgressors, aliens—whether they posses documents or not, whether they’re Chicanos, Indians or Blacks. Do not enter, trespassers will be raped, maimed, strangled, gassed, shot. The only “legitimate” inhabitants are those in power, the whites and those who align themselves with whites. (Anzaldúa, 1987, pp. 25–26)

In her classic book, “Borderlands/La Frontera: A new mestiza,” Anzaldúa speaks to the complexities of not only living on the physical U.S.–Mexican border, but also of the constant negotiation, navigation, and self-identification necessitated when growing up as a Brown person in the United States. She tracks this phenomenon historically, noting milestones like “the border fence that divides the Mexican people was born on February 2, 1848 with the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo. It left 100,000 Mexican citizens on this side, annexed by conquest along with the land” (p. 29). Yet, as she understands it, this conquest did not cease with the seizing of land: It encroached upon the consciousness of Mexican-origin peoples who had lived on this land for generations. It began a process of colonization that in its present form continues to insidiously impact the psyche of Chicana/o students and their related Mexican and Central and South American immigrant cousins. Anzaldúa’s description of the harsh borderlands experience anchors the hardships faced by documented and undocumented Latinas/os in U.S. schools. Valenzuela (1999) captures the educational experiences of Latina/o immigrants to the United States—either with papers or without—and of Latina/o students with multiple generations of living in the United States. She explains how immigrant Mexican and Mexican American youth in a Houston high school must navigate a “subtractive schooling” high school environment, where authentic caring is limited and an accountability system neglects the cultural and familial knowledges that they bring to their schooling experience. This subtractive process, she argues, “divests these youth of important social and cultural resources, leaving them progressively vulnerable to academic failure” (p. 3). Subtractive schooling is illustrative of a chronic series of educational policies and practices that have

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 83 rendered the educational experiences of Brown students in this country an underfunded, under-resourced, and, ultimately, a segregated one. Beginning this chapter with Anzaldúa and Valenzuela legitimizes a Mexican-origin educational history as the starting point for understanding present-day policies and indicates an epistemological approach that compels an assets-based, critical race framework to track the ways educational policies that have marginalized Latina/o students’ are justified. The preceding section grounds the goal of this chapter on these two touchstones.

PURPOSE OF OUR CHAPTER One of the resounding discourses amid the anti-immigrant vitriol reverberating throughout the mainstream media and political landscapes purports that individuals without appropriate citizenship documents are undeserving of a college education. Can you justify in your own minds redistributing $4.4 million from the taxpayers and give it to illegal immigrants to get discounted college tuition when you know that the majority of them [Utah taxpayers] do not support it? (Davidson, 2011, citing Utah State Representative, Carl Wimmer) Elected officials have relied heavily on the press to cultivate support for the recent spate of state legislation curtailing the opportunities for undocumented students to pursue or earn a college degree. The National Conference of State Legislatures (NCSL) notes that state-backed immigration bills and legislation have increased dramatically since 2005. As documented by NCSL,1 40 states had enacted 162 laws and adopted 62 resolutions by June 2011. Some states, like Georgia and Utah, have enacted omnibus immigration enforcement legislation modeled after the Arizona state law currently under review by the U.S. Supreme Court. Citing similar legislative totals, the National Immigration Law Center2 cites nine bills that seek to prevent enrollment in publically-funded, post-secondary institutions. Others they have reviewed make college attendance cost prohibitive for those without legal residency by making them ineligible for in-state tuition rates. A critical race policy and media analysis of coverage of these legislative maneuvers reveals that the rhetoric used to justify restrictive policies aimed at the educational experiences of undocumented students may be understood as a form of educational segregation in the 21st century because it demarcates an underclass of capable yet disreputable students that is rooted in nativistic and racist perceptions about who qualifies as suitable citizenry of this country. This current arc is but a vestige of a decades-long trajectory of unequal, neglectful, and inadequate public education for Latina/o and Chicana/o children similarly rooted in these endemic matrices of oppression (Valencia, 2008). Girded by a critical race and LatCrit theoretical lens,

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this chapter analyzes print media content to glean the prevailing discourse used by legislators, educators, and media practitioners about the educability of undocumented students in the capital cities of three states that debated and/or enacted legislation or policy that limits the Latina/o and Chicana/o college aspirations of undocumented students. To accomplish this, we briefly summarize the historical inequities that have characterized the educational experiences of Latina/o and Chicana/o school children over the past 163 years. We then sketch the theoretical foundations of Critical Race Theory and LatCrit that scaffold this investigation and explain how they inform the analytical lens crafted to scrutinize the data. Then we offer the rationale used to determine the media sample. Next, we provide an overview of the sociopolitical context of the states included in the media sample and their current legislative activity. We proceed to detail the fi ndings from the media analysis, interweaving a discussion about their implications. Lastly, we conclude by contending that this legislative action is but a motif in the recurring pattern of barriers to the promise of Brown v. Board of Education and other civil rights gains that have impacted the educational experience and attainment of students of color in general, and Latina/o and Chicana/o students specifically. The contemporary policies and measures featured in this chapter merely continue the legacy of isolating and limiting the academic potential and contributions of a growing portion of our nation’s population in order to better preserve the educational attainment of the dominant group. Ample disparities in educational attainment—including high school graduation rates, college graduation rates, enrollment in college preparatory courses, standardized test scores— between “less advantaged groups such as African Americans, Hispanics, and Native Americans and more advantaged groups such as whites and Asian Americans” (Kao & Thompson, 2003, p. 417) attest to this inequality of access and opportunity. Moreover, we argue that the contemporary discourse used to substantiate these particular policies represents a refi nement in a White supremacist and nativistic rationale: Latina/o and/ or Chicana/o students who were once incapable of being educated because of their substandard intellect (Donato, 1997; Valencia & Black, 2002) are now undeserving of obtaining an education because they are perceived as not contributing to the tax base of the nation’s economy and are regarded as criminal trespassers in this country (Anderson, 2007; Pérez Huber, 2009; Vélez, Pérez Huber, Benavides Lopez, De La Luz, & Solórzano, 2008).

FOUNDATIONS OF CRITICAL RACE THEORY IN MEDIA, POLICY, AND EDUCATION The theoretical tenets of Critical Race Theory and Latino Critical Race Theory help us to exhume majoritarian ideologies in both historical and contemporary policy and media discourse. Critical Race Theory and

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 85 LatCrit not only reflect our professional experiences as scholars and educators, but inform our familial and personal histories with unequal and oppressive educational systems and policies, as well as our understandings of media and journalism practice, all of which converge in this research. Critical Race Theory posits that racism, White privilege, and an ahistoricity saturate institutions and systems, social norms, and daily practice. Critical race theorists generally operate under the following central tenets (Crenshaw, Gotanda, Peller, & Thomas, 1995; Delgado & Stefancic, 2001; López & Parker, 2003; Parker, 1998; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995): • Racism is endemic and ingrained in U.S. society; • The civil rights movement and subsequent laws require reinterpretation; • Concepts like neutrality, objectivity, color-blindness, and meritocracy are problematic, majoritarian, and must be challenged; • Providing a space for the voices of marginalized people—counterstory-telling—is vital to reform; and, • Whiteness is constructed as the “ultimate property.” Solórzano (1998) added commitment to social justice and an interdisciplinary perspective to these tenets and noted that in education, Critical Race Theory challenges dominant education theory, discourse, policy, and practice by inserting the “voices” of students and communities of color and centering their experiential knowledge. Gloria Ladson-Billings and William Tate (1995) and Solórzano (1998) fi rst considered the usefulness of the critical race theoretical framework in the study of educational issues. Scholars soon began to tell the stories of students and communities of color in higher and public education, integrating Critical Race Theory scholarship into their research agendas while promoting social change (Lynn, 2006; Yosso, 2006). Critical Race Theory methodologies provided a space for the voices of marginalized communities and students and emerged as an important addition to the educational literature (Solórzano & Yosso, 2001). It has served as the pivot for educational policy and politics analysis (López, 2003; Parker, 2003). Parker (2003) proposed a framework from which to analyze policy decisions, scrutinizing them and the conditions they create for students of color. Although educational researchers continue to develop Critical Race Theory scholarship, DeCuir and Dixson (2004) stated that after 10 years, it is “emerging as a powerful theoretical and analytical framework” (p. 27). Scholars who participated in the formation and growth of Critical Race Theory extended this framework to accommodate the distinctive forms of disenfranchisement experienced by Latinas/os, such as language, ethnicity, immigration status, and culture (Haney-López, 1998; Solórzano & Delgado Bernal, 2001; Valdés, 1997). Intended to complement rather than supplant Critical Race Theory, LatCrit theorists expanded the “Black/

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White binary” proliferated in much of Critical Race Theory scholarship in order to attune scholars to these experiences. Educational scholars have begun to tell the stories of Latina/os in higher and public education, integrating LatCrit scholarship and their research agendas while promoting social change. Researching and examining the issues that affect Chicana/o graduate students (Solórzano & Yosso, 2001) and proposing practical applications of Critical Race Theory and LatCrit to student services staff that serve Latina/o undergraduate students (Villalpando, 2004) are just two examples of how educational researchers have begun to apply LatCrit to the field. Others have begun to study the histories, experiences, and cultures of Chicanas/os in colleges and universities (Delgado Bernal, 2002; Yosso, 2006), as well as how Chicana activist teachers combat oppression in the public school setting (Revilla, 2004). It has also been used to emphasize the legacy of nativism and its intersection with racism to theorize the experiences of undocumented students in higher education (Pérez Huber, 2009; Haney Lopez, 1996). The acuity gained by LatCrit—a fi nely honed lens of Critical Race Theory—to articulate the oppressive structures pressurizing Latina/o and undocumented students makes it the appropriate framework to scaffold this analysis. We advance an additional tool—Critical Race Theory policy and media analysis—that allows us to evolve an interdisciplinary approach to understanding the way educational policies that directly affect Latina/o students evolve, catalyzed by the work of Vélez et al. (2008), who employ a content and framing analysis informed by LatCrit to determine whether media portrayals of the broad range of mobilizations—walkouts, sit-ins, forums—are negative (if it reinscribed a majoritarian storyline) or positive (if it provided a counterstory). The researchers employed LatCrit as a tool to help locate and challenge the racialized discourse that specifically targets Latina/o youth leaders in the mainstream print media and reveal how this rhetoric operates as an oppressive barrier affecting and informing Latina/o youth activism. We extend this approach by coupling it with an educational policy analysis to properly situate those measures along the historical trajectory and better map out their repercussions. One aspect of a critical race policy and media analysis is a contextualizing of the historical patterns and legacies of segregation and oppression constructed by White supremacist policy forces.

AN HISTORICAL OVERVIEW: SEGREGATION COUPLED WITH POLICIES FOR THE (IN)CAPABLE The majoritarian conception of schooling in our country, coupled with the unwelcomed experiences of Mexican-origin students and their families throughout our educational history, make the discourse on issues of diversity and equity contextual constructs that continue to be misunderstood and misused by the powers that be, including gatekeepers such

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 87 as policy makers, state and district educational leaders, and classroom teachers, especially important. A common thread amongst this rhetoric has been the contention that Mexican American or Chicana/o students lack academic ability. San Miguel and Valencia (1998) describe Chicana/o educational history beginning with the educational opportunities provided for Mexican, Mexican American, or Chicana/o children immediately following the 1848 annexation of the Southwest. Early schools were run primarily by Catholic and Protestant churches. Catholic schools developed pedagogies and curriculum that emphasized what San Miguel and Valencia term an “additive Americanization approach,” where instruction was conducted in Spanish and Mexican culture, traditions, and history were valued. Protestant schools centered a “subtractive Americanization” educational process, where conversion of Mexican-origin populations to an “American” (i.e., White, European) ideal were promoted, and where a Latina/o student’s home culture, traditions, and language were devalued. San Miguel and Valencia state that “Catholic authorities . . . used Spanish as a tool of instruction in the schools, named these institutions after well-known Mexican religious figures, and encouraged Mexican-origin participation in their support and maintenance” (p. 359). Protestant schools held a deficit perspective of Mexican and Chicana/o school children and worked to “transform this group into ‘Americans’ by stamping out their distinct identity and replacing it with an idealized, Protestant-based American identity” (p. 359), whereas Catholic schools relied on a more additive approach, preserving the ethnic culture, history, and language. Although Catholic churches managed the majority of these schools, subtractive Americanization programs gained ground, soon eliminating Spanish from schools (through English-only policies and practices, a violation of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo) and Mexican culture and history (between 1850 and 1880 public schools removed any teaching of Catholic or Mexican history; San Miguel & Valencia, 1998). Bilingualism was seen as “un-American” and considered a deficit and an obstacle to learning. There were no formal bilingual programs for Spanishspeaking students prior to the late 1960s, and it was routine to segregate Mexican students into “Mexican schools” or “Mexican classrooms” (Delgado Bernal, 1999, p. 80). This is an early example of how nativistic ideas influenced educational policies that directly affected Latina/o students and how they were used to justify isolating these students and subjugating them to punitive and inequitable schools. Throughout the late 1800s and early- to mid-1900s, access to educational opportunities for Mexican-origin students grew. Yet educational quality lagged behind. Valencia states that “after the 1870s, the number of schools for Mexican-origin children increased dramatically due to the popular demand, legal mandates, increasing fi nancial ability, and a greater acceptance of the ideal of common schooling by local and state political leaders” (Valencia, 2008, p. 9). Public schools replaced

88 Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr. any remaining Mexican heritage courses with “instructional materials that reflected the Anglo-American experience” and the “emergence of an Anglo-centric curriculum” soon followed (San Miguel & Valencia, 1998, p. 360). The omission of culturally competent curriculum and the failure to embrace bilingualism as a sign of academic prowess relegated Latina/o students as unwelcome in schools and denied them opportunities to fully participate in society. Those students who continued to have limited access to schools were migrant students, those of high school age, and students wanting to attend post-secondary schools.

Segregationist Policies Coupled With Deficit Practice Although English-only laws were challenged and momentarily defeated in the U.S. Supreme Court in the 1920s, an evolving nativist perspective continued to persist in the public discourse. Hereditarianism and the testing movement in this era worked in tandem to severely disadvantage Chicana/o students. Promoting the idea that genetics accounted for intellect and difference, hereditarian proponents relied on the linking of “intelligence” (i.e., IQ) scores to heredity (San Miguel & Valencia, 1998). Perceptions of an inferior Mexican class of people were promulgated and policies were based in large part on the false notions of inadequate intelligence due to substandard genes. The discourse on the ineducability of Chicana/o students flourished using this rationale (Valencia & Black, 2002; Valencia & Solórzano, 1997). Occurring concurrent to the rise of hereditarian notions of Chicana/o underachievement were legislatively approved and institutionally codified segregationist policies. Arguments for separating White and Mexican-origin children were justified as “entirely for educational purposes” that supposedly benefitted both groups (San Miguel & Valencia, 1998, p. 370). The segregated schools that arose meant that Chicana/o students were placed in facilities that were much older than White schools; that per-pupil funding was allocated inequitably both within and between schools and school districts; and that teachers of Chicana/o students had less experience and were less qualified (for example, see Cardenas, 1997). In fact, teaching at a “Mexican school” was seen as a “form of punishment” for teachers (San Miguel & Valencia, 1998, p. 365). A 1934 League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) report cited in San Miguel and Valencia (1998) confi rmed that both class sizes and per-pupil funding in Mexican schools were not equal to White schools. The message was clear: Mexican American students did not deserve the schooling experiences their White peers received because they were not capable of learning due to their inferior intellect (see Haney-López, 1996). Latina/o parents were not content to allow their children to be condemned to educational experiences that reinforced nativist ideas about their right to live as full-fledged members of society and racist ideas about their

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 89 academic capabilities (see Valencia, 2008, and Valencia & Black, 2002, for a description of court cases pursued by Chicano parents and specific acts of resistance and political organization, respectively). Delgado Bernal (1999) analyzes and demonstrates how “resistance and activism of Chicana/o communities, including their use of the judicial system in demanding educational equity” was prevalent in the 20th century (p. 77). This was no easy fight. Decades of court battles3 against segregationist policies based on language, on the separate but equal clause, and on inequitable funding systems were waged against a public school system that allowed White students to prosper, but depicted Mexican-origin students as unworthy, unwanted, and incapable.

METHODOLOGY AND METHODS

Templates of Whiteness and Nativism: Utah, Texas, and Georgia We did not have a shortage of states to choose when wanting to study the media and policy discourse surrounding the immigration debate. As noted by both the National Immigration Law Center and the National Council of State Legislatures, the quantity of immigration bills fi led and level of antiimmigrant discourse surrounding legislative “debate” was consistent and sustained in many state houses. However, we specifically chose to research these discourses and arguments in three states—Utah, Texas, and Georgia. These three represented the range of outcomes from a record-breaking legislative year in turns of state immigration initiatives, as well as exemplify the “Browning” of America. Texas is now a majority-person of color state and Latina/os encompass the majority of this umbrella category.4 The state of Georgia, long known for its history of progressive African American leadership and activism, is representative of a changing South. For example, the state of Georgia’s sociopolitical climate is representative of the vitriolic rhetoric and resulting anti-immigrant and anti-education policies. The members of the Board of Regents for Georgia’s public university system took action into their own hands and resolved to ban undocumented students from attending five of their most prestigious institutions of higher education. In a state where the demographics shifts are more pronounced, Latina/os are being targeted and impacted by these bills. And finally, the state of Utah—long known to be one of the Whitest and most politically conservative states in the Union (See Alemán & Rorrer, 2006)—represents a new reality for Western states. The state’s legislative leadership, despite its overwhelming Republican and conservative caucus majority, has sought to replicate the immigration initiatives developed in the neighboring state of Arizona. The political climate, as exemplified by the defeat of conservative Republican, Senator Bob Bennett, has generated fervor against anyone deemed “soft” on immigration and anyone not taking a hard enforcement

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line on immigrant residents of the state. In addition, all three states have major capital city daily newspapers. Finally, these states have experienced an influx in their Latina/o and immigrant populations as a result of the changing migration patterns of this population over the past decade. Georgia’s Latina/o population doubled since 2000, growing to 856,000. Latinas/ os now make up 9 percent of the state’s population. Atlanta has the largest concentration of the state’s Latina/o population and the state now has the 10th largest Hispanic population in the nation. Latinas/os presently make up 13 percent of Utah’s state population, growing 78 percent since 2000 to total 358,000 of the state’s residents. Latinas/os have made up a much larger proportion of Texas’ population for years, but in the decade between 2000 and 2010, the Latina/o population grew 42 percent and now comprises 38 percent of the state’s residents. This Latina/o population of 9.1 million is the second largest in the nation, behind California’s 14 million Latina/o residents. The exponential growth of these communities also resulted in additional congressional seats for all three of these states—one each for Georgia and Utah, four for Texas. The schools, city streets, churches, and shopping centers of these states have assumed a different complexion as a result of these shifts, a shift that residents have responded to in ways typical of a society with deep nativist and White supremacist ideologies.

Sampling and Analysis A pilot sample of 27 articles were isolated from the flagship newspapers of three states—Utah’s Salt Lake Tribune (15 articles), Texas’ Austin American-Statesman (4 articles), and Georgia’s Atlanta-Journal Constitution (8 articles). Using the LexisNexis Academic database, articles that discussed the sponsorship, debate, legitimacy, value, challenges, or enactment of legislation or policies that impact the educational access and opportunities of college-going undocumented students were culled from all material published over a period of 8 months (between January 1, 2011 and August 30, 2011), which spans each state’s legislative session, as well as captures the start of the academic year for the higher education institutions in these states. Articles that addressed pending or approved bills or practices, or profiled lawmakers or educators about their position regarding educational access for undocumented individuals, were selected for the sample. A combination of hard news stories, features, and opinion pieces make up the resulting sample. Once each article was identified, the sources used, the quotes reported, and the language used to frame, justify, or describe the particular legislation or policy and the undocumented population was isolated and analyzed for themes and patterns. For example, in order to determine balance in the coverage, sources were counted and identified to verify the proportion of proponents and opponents, as well as to document the ratio of official experts (lawmakers, think tank leaders, lobbyists), educators (teachers, professors, or administrators), and community-based voices

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 91 (undocumented students, Latinas/os, or other concerned or impacted citizens). Statements indirectly or directly attributed to the various sources were coded for whether they reinforced a deficit or negative perception of undocumented students (majoritarian) or if they challenged these stereotypical portrayals (counterstory). Moreover, the justification or framing of restrictive legislation or policies was studied for the ways in which ideologies of White supremacy and/or Whiteness ideologies were either promulgated or negated. For example, the word choices reporters relied on to describe, explain, or juxtapose various legislative regulations were deconstructed to extricate threads of nativism or White liberalism in their tone. Finally, the resultant discourse was read against the nation’s legacy of providing substandard education to students of color/Latina/o and Chicana/o students (Gándara & Contreras, 2009; San Miguel & Valencia, 1998; Valencia, 2008; Yosso & Solórzano, 2006). Two majoritarian ideologies proved vital to this analysis. It is important to defi ne them here. The fi rst is White supremacy, which can be understood as a “system of racial domination and exploitation where power and resources are unequally distributed to privilege whiteness and oppress People of Color” (Pérez Huber, Benavides Lopez, Malagon, Vélez, & Solórzano, 2008, p. 41). The second is nativism. Traditionally, nativism refers to a dogmatic nationalistic identity that fosters a profound hostility toward “foreigners” and immigrants who are considered a threat to the nationalistic identity. White superiority served as the cast for this national identity, solidifying the perception that “the United States belongs in some special sense to the Anglo-Saxon race” (Higham cited in Pérez Huber et al., 2008, p. 42). It is this understanding that guides the ideological critique used in this analysis. Pérez Huber and her colleagues (2008) operationalize nativism as the practice of the dominant White Anglo-Saxon and Eurocentric culture to assign values to real or imagined differences between themselves—who they consider to have rightful claims of belonging to and ownership of the North American continent—and non-natives who typically do not have an Anglo-Saxon heritage—in order to justify their superiority as overseers, gatekeepers, and defenders of the nation. They also use this rationale to purport their dominance at the expense of the non-native. This understanding guides our research here.

FINDINGS & IMPLICATIONS: FRAMING VOICES IN THE POLITICAL AND MEDIA DISCOURSE The critical race informed media and policy analysis detected instances of majoritarian storytelling and counterstory-telling in two ways. One was by identifying the types of voices given access and space in the public discourse. The second was by categorizing the statements made by these sources as either reinscribing or contesting dominant or deficit understandings of

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undocumented students. Furthermore, the rhetoric used to describe or substantiate the policies limiting educational access for undocumented students was examined for indications of White supremacist or nativist philosophies. The fi ndings indicate that: (1) elected legislative officials overwhelmingly served as resources in the content and played a key role in shaping the discourse; (2) the power differential between undocumented students—who were utilized to speak against the prohibitive policy decisions regarding their education—and the legislators impacts the resulting discourse; (3) educators played a minimal role in advocating for the educational rights, capacities, and potential of undocumented students; (4) reporters frequently framed policies according educational access and opportunities with White liberal undertones and policies restricting educational access with nativist undercurrents; (5) the coverage failed to center race or provide historical context for the issues. The following paragraphs expound each of the fi ndings.

Legislators Dominate A total of 131 sources were sorted into one of six categories: (1) legislators, (2) policy experts, (3) community members, (4) students, (5) educators, and (6) miscellaneous. Given both the tailored focus of the data set and the fact that the content was derived from mainstream newspapers, it is not surprising that legislators made up 38 percent of the sources, the largest proportion of the six types. Current or former high school teachers, as well as college faculty and administrators comprised the next biggest group of sources, at 18 percent. High school students or college students—twothirds of them undocumented—made up the next largest concentration of sources used, totaling nearly 15 percent of all sources. Leaders of think

Table 5.1

State Flagship Newspapers, Number, and Percentage of Sources by Category

Type of source:

Salt Lake Tribune

Atlanta JournalAustin Number American Constitution of Sources

Percentage of Sources

Legislature

30

14

6

50

38%

Educators

7

2

15

24

18%

Students

13

1

5

19

15%

Expert

10

3

3

16

12%

Miscellaneous

5

1

6

12

9%

Community

6

1

3

10

8%

71

22

38

131

100%

Total

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 93 tank organizations, policy analysts, non-elected government officials, nonprofit directors, and business owners were filed as policy experts and were used as sources 12 percent of the time. The remaining two types of sources each composed less than 10 percent of the sources. Community sources included individuals affiliated with various anti- or pro-immigrant groups, religious leaders, and protestors at either public rallies or government hearings. Statistical information pulled from government reports, audits, census data, news articles, as well as generic references to “opponents” or “supporters” of various policies, legislation, or viewpoints all fell into the miscellaneous category. The indirect and direct statements, arguments, or perspectives regarding education and undocumented students made by the previously mentioned sources were assessed to determine whether they conveyed a majoritarian or counter discourse. Majoritarian discourses were defi ned as those that reflected the prevailing anti-immigrant rhetoric that dehumanizes, criminalizes, and delegitimizes these individuals and dismisses their academic capacity. Other types of statements that reinforce White liberalism or White supremacy were also labeled majoritarian. For example, Cherilyn Eager, co-founder of the anti-immigrant group the Utah Coalition on Illegal Immigration, was quoted in an article about the federal government’s decision to place a stay on deportations as saying this tactic “ignores those that have committed crimes but haven’t been caught—namely those that use fraudulent Social Security numbers and victimize U.S. citizens,” (Montero, 2011c). Her statement is rooted in the prevalent negative stereotype of undocumented individuals as purveyors of illicit behavior. Counter discourses, in contrast, presented claims that depicted the worthy, indispensable, and beneficial contributions undocumented individuals offer U.S. society, while stressing their educability. They also often challenged White liberalism and supremacy. Texas Senator Robert Duncan (R–Lubbock) exemplifies this viewpoint in an article about the myriad of Texas’ proposed immigration legislation where he opposed a measure to repeal in-state tuition at Texas’ public colleges and universities because “the current law turns ‘turns these kids into good U.S. citizens. To me, I think [the

Table 5.2

Source’s Statement by Newspaper

Type of Statement

Salt Lake Tribune

Majoritarian

40%

Counterstory

Austin American

Atlanta JournalConstitution

65%

50%

52%

20%

50%

Both

8%

15%

0%

Total

100%

100%

100%

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Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr.

repeal] is the wrong message to send to these young people who are currently in high school, working hard,’” (Eaton, 2011a, p. A1). The 115 attributions that specifically referenced education and undocumented and documented immigrants were split evenly between these two disparate discourses, with 51 statements expressing majoritarian ideologies and 51 statements conveying a challenge to those ideas. Another 13 intertwined elements of each type of discourse were identified as simultaneously illustrating both perspectives. For instance, officials from The University System of Georgia testified to the Board of Regents that their “classrooms are not stressed by thousands of illegal immigrants” to argue against the need for a policy prohibiting undocumented students from enrolling at their top five premier higher education institutions. Yet, they also assured “taxpayers that students applying to the state’s most prestigious colleges are not displaced by illegal immigrants,” (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1). This fi rst half of their attribution challenges the dominant supposition that undocumented individuals burden government and public social services, like healthcare and education, on the one hand, whereas the second portion concurrently placates U.S.-born citizens that their apparent educational birthright to a college degree has not been compromised by these usurpers in any way. The uncanny symmetry in the ideological tone of the arguments could be interpreted as a testament to the professionalism and diligence of the journalists who authored the pieces collected in this sample to provide fair, accurate, and balanced coverage. However, the average newspaper reader would not be exposed to this particular constructed sample of content written by reporters from three different statewide dailies gathered over an 8-month period. They would more than likely read only one particular newspaper over that period of time. As such, it is fitting to note that only one paper published content where sources mirrored the same constancy. In the Salt Lake Tribune, for instance, sources promoting majoritarian ideologies (40 percent of all sources) were outweighed by their counterparts (52 percent of all sources). By contrast, sources used in the Austin American-Statesman overwhelmingly represented majoritarian discourses (65 percent) in its use of sources, with only 20 percent of them providing a counter viewpoint. The statements from the sources cited in the coverage from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution alone were divided evenly, at 13 attributions for each perspective. Moreover, when looking at each individual story, there is no corresponding regularity within each article in regards to the ideological perspectives offered. Consequently, it would be disingenuous to read the source material in this sample as indicative of whole and balanced coverage of this issue, but, instead, as evidence of divergent, often incompatible, yet sometimes contradictory perceptions of this topic. In addition, because the status of the source has a bearing on the authenticity and credibility of their comments, it also must be considered. The next section takes this into account.

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 95

Power Differential Another layer to the ideological split noted in the coverage, is the credibility of the sources asserting each viewpoint. For example, lawmakers overwhelmingly voiced majoritarian rhetoric in their attributions, expressing 60 percent of all statements categorized as such. Utah State Representative Carl Wimmer (R–Herriman) exemplified this when he argued that “it was unfair for ‘a citizen from another state—say Idaho—an actual citizen of this country [to] pay more to go to our universities than an illegal immigrant? Is that fair? I don’t believe it is,’” as he justified his measure to repeal Utah’s in-state tuition law (Montero, 2011b, p. A1). Georgia Representative Tom Rice (R–Norcross) issued a strikingly similar contention when he said, “There’s no way of knowing . . . who’s spot an illegal person may be taking. That’s the issue. Should somebody really be here to take the spot of somebody who is here legally?” as a rationale for his bill prohibiting undocumented students from enrolling in any of Georgia’s colleges and universities (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1). The remaining majoritarian statements were attributed to policy experts (12 percent), community members (7 percent), and miscellaneous sources (6 percent). A co-founder of the Utah Coalition on Illegal Immigration, for instance, asserted “bringing immigrants here illegally carries a steep cost to education,” (Schencker, 2011). Another example is when an article said proponents of a law to bar undocumented individuals from all public colleges in Georgia insisted the law would “deter illegal immigrants from coming to Georgia and burdening the state’s taxpayer-funded public schools, hospitals, and jails,” (Diamond, 2011b, p. A1). Only one student

Majoritarian Statements M

is c e l l a n e o u s

6%

C o m m u n it y

8%

E ducators

10 % St u d e n t s

2% P o lic y E x p e r t s

12%

Figure 5.1

Majoritarian statements.

La w m a k er s'

62%

96

Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr.

Counterstory Statements C o m m u n it y

10% La w m a k er s

M is c e l l a n e o u s

25 %

6%

E ducators

16 % P o l ic y Experts

14 %

S tudents

29 %

Figure 5.2

Counterstory statements.

voice was identified as delineating a majoritarian perspective. This college student said that although the vitriol around this issue had escalated to a distasteful level, she “worries taxpayers are unfairly subsidizing the tuition of undocumented students. ‘If they are not paying taxes, then everyone else is paying for them to go to school’” (Winters, 2011). Attributions that promulgated a non-majoritarian perspective primarily came from undocumented students, who articulated 29 percent of these types of claims. These typically are appeals for greater compassion and understanding regarding their circumstances. For example, an

Table 5.3

Majoritarian and Counterstory Statements

Type of source: Lawmakers

Majoritarian Statements

Counterstory Statements

Number

Number

32

13

Policy Experts

6

7

Students

1

15

Educators

5

8

Miscellaneous

3

3

Community

4

5

51

51

Total

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 97 undocumented student attending Georgia State testified at a House Higher Education Committee to reconsider supporting a law that would ban undocumented students from enrolling in Georgia public institutions of higher education. He said: “I just ask for the opportunity to believe in America, to be better for myself and for the country, and to give back some of the opportunities that to some extent I was able to have. Don’t kill my dream,” (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1). Or a similar one by Enrique, an undocumented student at the University of Utah, who believes “if people could just see how hard he works, maybe they would feel differently” about whether he should have access to college. He intends to “keep plugging away” towards his degree, as a way to honor “the sacrifice my mom made for us to be here,” (Montero, 2011a, p. A1). Lastly, part of undocumented student Daniel Reina’s testimony to a Congressional panel considering repealing in-state tuition included this quote: “I was brought from Argentina when I was too young to remember. . . . I grew up in this state. I have been here for the past 10 years, and, as far as I am concerned, I’m from this country. I love this country and state” (Davidson, 2011). The power differential between decision-making elected officials and one of the most vulnerable and disenfranchised populations impacts the authority, credibility, and soundness of their respective statements. Even if each viewpoint was expressed an equal number of times throughout this sample, statements bearing the stamp of authority of an elected official carry far more weight and influence than those uttered by students who withhold their surnames out of fear. The effect educators had in fashioning the discourse is discussed next.

Educators Types of Statements by Lawmakers and Educators One particular area of focus for this preliminary study was to assess how teachers and administrators made sense of debates around the educational access, opportunity, capacity, and potential of undocumented students. How did they make sense of the role they should play and accountability they should have along the academic trajectory of undocumented students? As professionals, they convey more authority than students, and, given their expertise in their field, it seemed fitting that educators would mold the debates over undocumented students and higher education and would be quoted at the same proportion as legislators. Instead, they were outnumbered as sources by legislators 2 to 1. Significantly, educators showed much more tolerance and compassion on the issue of access to higher education than their state elected officials, with 62 percent of their attributions promoting a counter perspective, compared to legislators who reinscribed majoritarian ideologies 70 percent of the time. For example, one high school teacher said, “I’ve always believed very, very strongly that the stereotypes

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Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr.

Educators M a jo r it a RIAN

38 % Co u n t e r s

L Figure 5.3

to ry

62 %

Type of statement by educators.

Lawmakers C o unter STORY

29 % M a jo r i t a r ia n

71 %

Figure 5.4

Types of statement by lawmakers.

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 99 that exist about Latinos are not correct. They kind of get a bad rap and they don’t have a lot of people advocating for them because of the negativity surrounding them,” (Dicou, 2011, p. A1). An assistant principal echoed that sentiment when he stated, “When people say they’re [undocumented children] holding down our system, it seems to me like they just don’t get it. People just don’t understand really how productive these kids are and can be,” (Schencker, 2011). University of Houston law professor Michael Olivas, for instance, was quoted as saying “each of these [undocumented] students represents a story of substantial accomplishment. For them to get here [college] is nothing shy of remarkable. The truth is the United States needs this talent pool,” (Winters, 2011). Only 10 percent of all claims categorized as majoritarian came from educators—statements that were outnumbered by legislators five to one. These were more subtle reflections of a majoritarian ideology. For example, a director for the Texas Association of School Boards explained that she submitted an amendment to a bill that would exempt school administrators from inquiring about immigration status, but would instead permit the school district to employ commissioned peace officers to ask the same immigration questions as other police officers, in order to help the bill constitutional. The most typical example of majoritarian statements were attributions to the Board of Regents from the Georgia University system, who often issued statements defending their policy “as a way to assure taxpayers that students applying to the state’s most prestigious colleges are not displaced by illegal immigrants.” Although state and federal representatives and senators did articulate a preponderance of the majoritarian statements threaded throughout the coverage, not all voiced this viewpoint. A quarter of all counterstory statements came from lawmakers. Democratic Illinois Senator Dick Durbin expressed his support of the new policy calling for greater prosecutorial discretion in deportation cases as the right choice for dealing with “DREAM Act students. These students are the future doctors, lawyers, teachers, and maybe, Senators, who will make America stronger. We need to be doing all we can to keep these talented, dedicated, American students here, not wasting increasingly precious resources sending them away to countries they barely remember,” (Montero, 2011c). In an article reporting a proposed in-state tuition repeal, Representative Brian King, D–Salt Lake City, said, “The ‘us-vs-them’ mentality we are talking about with this bill is incredibly destructive and divisive to our society,” (Davidson, 2011). Again, educators were still more likely to challenge majoritarian discourses more often than reinforcing them, uttering 16 percent of these types of counter rhetoric. Policy leaders (14 percent)—such as Erik Contreras, co-chairman of the Utah Latino Legislative Task Force who offered support to an undocumented student he felt was unjustly arrested and detained on his way to divinity school—and community members (10 percent)—like Javier Parra, a member of Reform Immigration for Texas Alliance who attended a rally against a slew of immigration-related bills, and Rev. Bryan Wright, an

100 Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr. Atlanta pastor and the president of the Southern Baptist Convention— helped to balance out coverage by supplying another 24 percent of the counter perspectives. These included a quote from Mary Giovagnoli, director of the Immigration Policy Center, who said, “The creation of an interagency working group and the expansion of prosecutorial discretion guidance is a critical step toward slowing down the deportation of immigrants who have so much to give this country,” (Montero, 2011c), and a statement by the Southern Baptist Convention, who called for a “just and compassionate path to legal status” for the nation’s estimated 11 million undocumented workers and further “denounced bigotry and harassment toward those who are here illegally,” (Tucker, 2011, p. A14). In addition to the indirect and direct quotes that were examined in this section, the frames reporters relied upon to explain the various measures, policies, laws, or pending bills, as well as the rhetoric used to support or oppose their implementation, were also subjected to analysis and coded based on whether they reinscribed or challenged dominant ideologies. That discussion follows.

Frames Three different policies limiting the educational access of undocumented students were reported on in the content under study here: in-state tuition, the DREAM Act, and enrollment in higher education. The various phrases and word choices used by reporters to characterize these policies were isolated to determine the patterns in language use and choice. Additionally, they were sieved through a critical race theoretical lens to code them for the residual ideologies they purported. Based on this examination, the following theme emerged: Undocumented students are undeserving of a college education. The logics of White liberalism and nativism undergird the descriptions and arguments for the discourse for these three educational policies. The primary example of this occurs from descriptions of state legislation that has established residency, a state-issued high school diploma, and acceptance into an institution of higher education, as necessary conditions to qualify for in-state tuition rates at state-funded colleges and universities. Thirteen statements specifically explicated what has been termed in-state tuition, and six of them framed the policy as the state “allowing” undocumented students to pay this rate. Another two utilized “grant” or “give” to explain the state’s position on in-state tuition. Another three typified in-state tuition as an unfair taxpayer “subsidy” for undocumented students, with another two calling it a “benefit” or a “perk.” For example, one reporter wrote that “because the state allowed undocumented students to pay in-state tuition,” an undocumented student has been able to attend (Montero, 2011a, p. A1). Another article noted that in Utah, 650 students “enjoy the perk” of in-state tuition (Davidson, 2011). Still another wrote that in-state tuition is “subsidizing the tuition of undocumented students,” (Winters, 2011). Even headlines employed this frame: “Court ruling

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 101 allows states to grant in-state tuition to undocumented students” (Savage, 2011) and “Panel votes to end tuition break for undocumented students,” (Davidson, 2011). The connotation suggested with these particular word choices is that the state—in its benevolence—has graciously extended the opportunity to students who otherwise don’t deserve to attend. Within this rhetorical construction, the state bestows college-going ability, eliding the agency of the student who earned the opportunity to go to college. This phrasing strips away the students’ subjectivity, negating the achievement of securing successful admittance into college. This is particularly significant because this inference both draws on and reifies the stereotype of Latina/ os, Chicanas/os, and undocumented individuals as lazy—rather than hard working—scrounging—rather than persevering—and ineducable—rather than academically capable. In other words, undeserving undocumented students have defrauded their way into college, exploiting the amity of the state, because they have not warranted this accomplishment in a traditional, respectable manner. Moreover, because the state sanctioned the opportunity for this group of students to attend college, it evokes a graciousness and charity tellingly reminiscent of White liberalism. White liberalism prides itself on being the judicious arbiter of racial progress, social justice, and civil rights gains, doling out incremental advances in measured amounts. By safeguarding the gates to higher education, White dominance, access, and entitlement to educational opportunity remains steadfast without seeming exclusionary, discriminatory, and, least of all, revolutionary. References and descriptions of the DREAM Act reiterated a similar pattern in the media content collected here. Out of the seven times it was mentioned, six of those instances relied on the terms “giving (2),” “granted (2),” “provide (1),” and “allowing (1),” to describe the criteria undocumented students must satisfy in order to qualify for citizenship. One of these conditions is obtaining a college degree. Again, the passages suggest an omnipotent and merciful government that confers an unearned privilege to undeserving individuals. The dedication, determination, and diligence required for the type of academic performance that garners a college degree are disregarded. Instead, the impression conveyed is that of undocumented students who have scammed their way into the citizenry of the country, rather than depicting students who have proven they are exactly the type of educated, hard-working, and civically-engaged individuals society wants. Consequently, the message communicated is that these types of college graduates would be fraudulent U.S. citizens. White liberalism likewise performs the same functions in this rhetorical construction as it did in the phrasing used to describe in-state tuition: maintain the status quo, while seemingly welcoming difference. Here, however, nativism also buttresses these particular expressions. This ideology sorts those who belong and those who do not based on White supremacist philosophies and imagined proprietary ties to the continent of North America, often in insidious ways. Eligibility for U.S. citizenship has primarily

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pivoted around a Euro-American identity. Groups with European ancestry and white skin have more easily been enfolded into the citizenry of this country than have groups who are unable to yield advantages from Whiteness—such as brown-skinned communities with indigenous ties or claims to the land that predate the country’s colonial history. Despite exemplary qualifications, brown-skinned undocumented students who have procured a college degree remain especially suspect because not only have they disingenuously inveigled access to higher education, but they are also are members of communities that have not been readily assimilated into society. The turn of phrase reporters depended on to describe the DREAM Act pegged undocumented students as undeserving of the title of citizen because it was bestowed upon them, rather than having rightfully earned it—despite the fact that reaching college acceptance indicates an admirable and worthy work ethic and intellect. This language further reinforced the boundaries of who is acceptably American, apparently without compromising the very ideals of equal opportunity and colorblindness of this nation (Anderson, 2007). Lastly, the terms used to particularize the policy that bans undocumented students from attending public institutions for higher education underscores their existence as a threat to White entitlement, rendering them ineducable and undeserving of this elite status. It correspondingly rests on notions of White liberalism and nativism, exposing the ways “Whiteness functions as property” (Harris, 1995; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995) in the schooling of White Americans. Out of the eight articles that focused on this policy, six employed variations of the verb “allow” to elucidate the munificence of the state in originally permitting them to attend these institutions—a misguided concession now “banned (2)” or “barred (5).” Once more, White liberalism, a champion of generous, tolerant, and colorblind civil rights progress, helps to explain this particular construction. The rationale for the reversal is precisely because that altruism is now perceived to impinge on the right to higher education singularly afforded to legal—i.e., White—Americans. Reporters explained that this policy will prevent undocumented students from taking “away spots from those legally in the country,” (Diamond, 2011b, p. A1) or that “no legal resident will be denied admission because an illegal immigrant has already filled his slot,” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1). The threat was also explained as “If a single illegal immigrant snags a spot in a popular course that fills up, legal residents can miss out,” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1). Ironically, the academic qualifications of the undocumented college students identified as displacing White students surpass those of legal residents—which is why they earned college admission in the fi rst place. However, legality is favored over academic preparedness as a qualifier for college admission, dismissing the logics of meritocracy in order to ensure that only one type of student is deemed meritorious of academic access and opportunity.

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 103 In addition, the perceived cost of educating undocumented students outweighs the price of uneducated laborers. These types of policies often result because legal state residents “fi nd themselves wondering whether paying to educate” undocumented students “is taxing the public school system to the point where the children of legal residents suffer” (Schencker, 2011). Another article characterized the former policy as “burdening the state’s resources, including schools,” (McQueen, 2011, p. B4). Reporters paraphrased the regent policy “as a way to assure taxpayers that students applying to the state’s most prestigious colleges are not displaced by illegal immigrants” (Diamond, 2011b, p. A1), and a former chancellor as stating that the state has “already taken the necessary actions to ensure that Georgia taxpayers are protected and, further, that the children of taxpaying Georgians are not displaced by undocumented students,” (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1). The most vociferous assertion for this reasoning comes from Georgia Senator Don Balfour who claims “they [undocumented students] are taking up classroom space that could go to students who are legal residents,” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1). The issue of “legality,” as it pertains to personhood, attempts to obscure any link to raciality, but situated within the historical processes of nativism and White supremacy that have shaped informal/formal and legal/illegal assimilation, segregation, slavery, and discrimination in this country, this term is a mere euphemism for “White.” The construct “Whiteness as property” also helps to make sense of this rhetoric, which sources also engaged. Senator Don Balfour stridently posited that “If there is one student that’s at Georgia Gwinnett college that’s not here legally, that student [the legal resident] is losing his position to someone who’s not here legally,” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1). Although Balfour was unable to provide evidence that any undocumented students unseated a legal resident, he was adamant that “they are taking up classroom space that could go to students who are legal residents” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1). Half of the articles about this policy investigated claims about legal residents being supplanted by undocumented students supplying the percentage of undocumented students attending Georgia’s public colleges and universities. Readers were informed that only 501 students out of 310,361 students were classified as undocumented during the academic year that the policy was instituted, less than 1 percent of the student population. Moreover, only 29 students on the five campus where this ruling initially took effect were undocumented (Diamond, 2011a). “Whiteness as property” accentuates how “the law has accorded ‘holders’ of whiteness the same privileges and benefits accorded holders of other types of property” (Harris, 1995, p. 281), including the rights of disposition (or alienable rights), rights to use and enjoyment, reputation and status property, and the absolute right to exclude (Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995). This rhetoric exemplifies how Whiteness brandishes its egotistical possessive nature to claim every educational opportunity for White folks (the right to use and enjoyment) and to

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prohibit all others from accessing higher education (right to exclude)—even if it is only a minuscule proportion of the student body. A threat of one is threat enough. One journalist articulated this narcissism by arguing that although it’s a “small number of ‘undocumented’ students, it’s safe to say that most of the time, legal residents are taking the slots away from one another,” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1). Another strand of discourse around the issue of higher educational attainment and undocumented immigrant students also exposes nativist ideology. Some journalists cast these legislative initiatives as double-sided measures that not only “block them from admission to Georgia’s public colleges” but also “aim to chase” illegal immigrants from the state (Willoughby, 2011), an efficient strategy for surveilling the nation’s population. Also, this policy “will deter illegal immigrants from coming to Georgia and burdening the state’s taxpayer-funded public schools, hospitals, and jails,” (Diamond, 2011b, p. A1). University officials were additionally incriminated as immigration enforcement officers. Journalists, for instance, wrote that educators would be required to substantiate the “legal presence in this country” of all students accepted to their institution, or penned that they would have to “verify the lawful presence of admitted students,” (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1). The supremacy of Whiteness is also evident in phrases that appear to refrain from racially charged language. For instance, one article posits that this policy applies to “any public school in the state that turns away qualified applicants,” (Willoughby, 2011, p. B1) whereas another writes that institutions who have had to reject “academically qualified applicants for the past two academic years because of space or other reasons,” (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1) are subject to this measure. Here, the descriptor “qualified” euphemistically conceals the White racial identity of the students it inscribes, as it does in anti-affi rmative action rhetoric. Although the term qualified is meant to refer to academic (or professional) preparedness, it reinforces the presumption that individuals of color are only hired to fill a quota and as such, are always unqualified. Conversely, White individuals, who are unduly rejected due to this preferential treatment, are assumed to always and already possess the requisite criteria—and are thus, the desirable and appropriate type of student and citizen. Together, the wording selected by the media practitioners who produced the content analyzed in this study to describe three different policies addressing higher education and undocumented students were fortified by the majoritarian ideologies of White supremacy and nativism. It is important to recognize that this set of data draws upon the rhetorical choices selected by media practitioners to inform their readers. It purports to be a neutral, unbiased accounting of factual information. However, this close reading indicates an ideological bias. The following paragraph sheds light on two other aspects of the coverage that a critical race policy and media analysis brings to light.

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 105

Race and Context Two tenets shaping Critical Race Theory scholarship is the need to center race and historicize and contextualize dimensions of race and racism as a way to thwart the tendency to minimize the effects of this abjection. For this analysis, evidence of either both of these was observed, in order to determine whether the articles undermined or featured the effects of institutionalized racialization. Four articles alluded to race as a factor in the implementation of these policies. A former elected official commenting about Georgia’s new policy outlawing undocumented students from their college campuses said, the law has created “a real fear and perception that Georgia is probably not a state to be seen in if you’re of a different color” (Tucker, 2011, p. A14). A self-identified Black columnist veered closest to making the connection to race and these policies when he wrote that the state has “lost our way” by “grandstanding . . . on tough laws on illegal immigrants, notably brown-skinned ones.” He goes one step further, arguing that if illegal immigrants “were buxom Swedish blonds, we’d open the floodgates.” He concludes his article by saying this type of legislation indicates “we’re afraid of something. Hunches abound as to what that might truly be. But who wants to go there?” (Badie, 2011, p. A15). Lastly, a high school teacher honored by a Latina/o student group identified Latina/o students as the community besieged by these policies and that “they don’t have a lot of people advocating for them because of the negativity surrounding them,” (Dicou, 2011, p. A1). Although this mention is rather diluted, it was one of the few that linked racial identity with these types of restrictive policies. This matrix was conspicuously absent from the remaining copy. Attempts to provide context for federal policy on lawful or unlawful immigrant status and education was documented five times in the sample. Three references paid homage to the Plyer v Doe ruling, which guarantees K–12 educational opportunity to all children regardless of immigration status. One reporter explained that the proposal to require Georgia school officials to verify immigration status of students was “pre-empted by federal law” (McQueen, 2011). A Texas senator was quoted as pointing to “the 1982 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Plyer v. Doe, which said that schools must educate everyone, including undocumented children,” (Eaton, 2011b, p. A1,). A Georgia columnist censured this measure as “foolish time-wasting, since the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that public schools must educate minors, whether they are legally here or not,” (Tucker, 2011, p. A14). The remaining two mentions indirectly and directly cite a 2008 memo from the federal government that does not explicitly “bar illegal immigrants from attending public colleges.” Instead, the letter (the most recent federal guidelines on the issue) written by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement asserts that “individual states must decide for themselves whether or not to admit illegal aliens into their public post-secondary institutions” (Diamond, 2011a, p. A1).

106 Sonya M. Alemán and Enrique Alemán, Jr. In summary, this analysis revealed that legislators were the dominating influence throughout the discourse, which reflected both deficit views about the educability and worthiness of undocumented students, as well upheld unquestioningly the right to higher education for White students. The undocumented student voice that served as the counterpoint to this perspective confronted a power differential that prevented them from holding as much sway as the elected and titled officials. In addition, educators were underutilized as advocates for the educational attainment of undocumented students. Moreover, the analysis disrupts the infallible notion of impartial reporting by exposing the White liberal and nativist ideological influence in the discourse. It also documents a failure to provide historical context and a failure to acknowledge the racial factor of these policies. Although the fi rst two areas of analysis reflect typical patterns of mainstream news coverage in regard to immigration or communities of color in terms of who gets privileged as sources, the portion of the analysis ascertaining which majoritarian ideologies informed the frames, rhetoric, or rationales articulated in the news content were especially significant for two reasons. One, it exposes how entrenched this ideology is into the public sphere and how it is able to reproduce itself, even in alleged objective, fair, and neutral language of trained media professionals. Secondly, it hails a larger circulating discourse about the educability of students of color that has encumbered their educational attainment for decades. Because the media analysis adjoined a policy analysis undergirded by a Critical Race Theory framework, this unremitting discourse needs to be situated amidst the historical experiences of Latina/o or Chicana/o and other students of color.

CONCLUSION A myriad of legislative initiatives curtailing opportunities for students categorized as undocumented continue to be an inveterate feature of the educational experiences of Latina/o and Chicana/o school children in this country. States such as Utah, Texas, and Georgia are not atypical in the way that media and policy intersect in privileging certain voices, framing the debate, and naming those that are deserving of educational opportunity. Legalized segregation orients the trend in these states and across the country to evolve policies that not only exclude this population of students from reaching their full academic potential, but also maintain the educational attainment of the dominant group. Chicana/o and Mexican immigrant students have historically been categorized as incapable and deficient in matters of educational achievement and denied equal access to higher educational opportunities. Many of these policy and media discourses continue to stymie access by promoting the idea of undocumented students as unfit for higher education. This research troublingly demonstrates that

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 107 White supremacist, nativist, and deficit ideologies continue to feed the discursive machinations for denying educational opportunity to undocumented students on the argument that they are undeserving of equal access and opportunity. As such, the vitality of the work of critical race theorists in preparing educational leaders, engaging in the policy debate, and engaging media producers and consumers in ways that critically reflect on normalized discourses in society, becomes ever more necessary. NOTES 1. For more information on legislative information compiled by the National Conference of State Legislature see their update of state-led immigration reform at www.ncsl.org/default.aspx?TabId=23362 2. See the National Immigration Law Center and the following website for an overview of DREAM Act and education-related legislative updates: www. nilc.org/immlawpolicy/DREAM/index.htm 3. For a comprehensive list and history of court cases fi led and argued by and on behalf of Chicana/o students and communities see Valencia (2008). 4. See U.S. Census reports on the states, and Texas in particular, at http:// quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/48000.html

REFERENCES Alemán, E., Jr., & Rorrer, A. K. (2006). Closing educational achievement gaps for Latino students in Utah: Initiating a policy discourse and framework. Salt Lake City, UT: Utah Education Policy Center. Anderson, J. D. (2007). Race-conscious educational policies versus a “colorblind constitution”: A historical perspective. Educational Researcher, 36(5), 249–257. Anzaldúa, G. (1987). Boderlands/La Frontera: The new mestiza. San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books. Badie, R. (2011, February 19). Students unfair target of tough talk. Atlanta Journal-Constitution, p. A15. Cardenas, J. A. (1997). Texas school fi nance reform: An IDRA perspective. San Antonio, TX: Intercultural Development Research Association. Crenshaw, K. W., Gotanda, N., Peller, G., & Thomas, K. (Eds.). (1995). Critical Race Theory: The key writings that formed the movement. New York: The New Press. Davidson, L. (2011, February 18). Panel votes to end tuition break for undocumented students. Salt Lake Tribune. DeCuir, J. T., & Dixson, A. D. (2004). “So when it comes out, they aren’t that surprised that it is there”: Using Critical Race Theory as a tool of analysis or race and racism in education. Educational Researcher, 33(5), 26–31. Delgado Bernal, D. (1999). Chicana/o education from the Civil Rights era to the present. In J. F. Moreno (Ed.), The elusive quest for equality (pp. 77–108). Cambridge, MA: Harvard Educational Review. Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2001). Critical Race Theory: An introduction. New York: New York University Press.

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Diamond, L. (2011a, February 16). College bill advances; House panel OKs plan to bar illegal immigrants from University System. Atlanta Journal-Constitution, p. A1. Diamond, L. (2011b, August 18). Illegal immigration: Colleges ask proof of legal residency. Atlanta Journal-Constitution, p. A1. Dicou, N. (2011, March 30). Hillcrest teacher honored for inspiring bilingual students. Salt Lake Tribune, p. A1. Donato, R. (1997). The other struggle for equal schools: Mexican Americans during the Civil Rights era. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Eaton, T. (2011a, May 11). Except for ‘sanctuary cities,’ most immigration bills stall. Austin American-Statesman, p. A1. Eaton, T. (2011b, March 14). Sanctuary bill facing test. Austin American-Statesman, p. A1. Gándara, P., & Contreras, F. (2009). The Latino crisis: The consequences of failed social policies. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Haney López, I. F. (1996). White by law: The legal construction of race. New York: New York University Press. Haney-López, I. F. (1998). Race, ethnicity, nationhood: Race, ethnicity, erasure: The salience of race to LatCrit Theory. La Raza Law Journal, 10, 1143–1211. Harris, C. (1995). Whiteness as property. In K. Crenshaw, N. Gotanda, G. Peller, & K. Thomas (Eds.), Critical Race Theory: The key writings that formed the movement (pp. 276–291). New York: The New Press. Ladson-Billings, G., & Tate, W. (1995). Toward a Critical Race Theory of education. Teachers College Record, 97(1), 45–68. López, G. R. (2003). The (racially neutral) politics of education: A Critical Race Theory perspective. Educational Administration Quarterly, 39(1), 69–94. López, G. R., & Parker, L. (Eds.). (2003). Interrogating racism in qualitative research methodology. New York: Peter Lang. Lynn, M. (2006). Dancing between two worlds: A portrait of the life of a black male teacher in South Central LA. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 19(2), 221–242. McQueen, T. (2011, May 18). Pebblebrook students protest immigration law. Atlanta Journal-Constitution, p. B4. Montero, D. (2011a, February 4). For mother’s sacrifice, U. student from Peru keeps plugging along. Salt Lake Tribune, p. A1. Montero, D. (2011b, February 24). In-state tuition repeal stalls in House. Salt Lake Tribune, p. A1. Montero, D. (2011c, August 20). New guidelines may help children of illegal immigrants. Salt Lake Tribune. Parker, L. (1998). “Race is . . . race isn’t”: An exploration of the utility of Critical Race Theory in qualitative research in education. Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(1), 43–55. Parker, L. (2003). Critical Race Theory and its implications for methodology and policy analysis in higher education desegregation. In G. R. López & L. Parker (Eds.), Interrogating racism in qualitative research methodology (pp. 145–180). New York: Peter Lang. Pérez Huber, L. (2009). Challenging racist nativist framing: Acknowledging the community cultural wealth of undocumented Chicana college students to reframe the immigration debate. Harvard Educational Review, 79(4), 704–729. Pérez Huber, L., Benavides Lopez, C., Malagon, M. C., Vélez, V., & Solórzano, D. G. (2008). Getting beyond the ‘symptom,’ acknowledging the ‘disease’: Theorizing racist nativism. Contemporary Justice Review, 11(1, March), 39–51.

(In)Capable and (Un)Deserving 109 San Miguel, G., & Valencia, R. R. (1998). From the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo to Hopwood: The educational plight and struggle of Mexican Americans in the Southwest. Harvard Educational Review, 68(3), 353–412. Savage, D. G. (2011, May 23). Court ruling allows states to grant in-state tuition to undocumented students. Salt Lake Tribune. Schencker, L. (2011, January 2). Immigration: At what cost to schools? Salt Lake Tribune. Solórzano, D. G. (1998). Critical Race Theory, racial and gender microagressions, and the experiences of Chicana and Chicano scholars. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 11, 121–136. Solórzano, D. G., & Yosso, T. J. (2001). Critical race and LatCrit theory and method: Counter-storytelling. Qualitative Studies in Education, 14(4), 471–495. Tucker, C. (2011, June 22). Immigration’s collision course. Atlanta Journal-Constitution, p. A14. Valdés, F. (1997). Under construction—LatCrit consciousness, community, and theory. California Law Review, 85, 1087–1142. Valencia, R. R. (2008). Chicano students and the courts: The Mexican American legal struggle for educational equity. New York: New York University Press. Valencia, R. R., & Black, M. S. (2002). “Mexican Americans don’t value education!”—On the basis of the myth, mythmaking, and debunking. Journal of Latinos and education, 1(2), 81–102. Valencia, R. R., & Solórzano, D. G. (1997). Contemporary deficit thinking. In R. R. Valencia (Ed.), The evolution of deficit thinking: Educational thought and practice (pp. 72–95). London: The Falmer Press. Valenzuela, A. (1999). Subtractive schooling: U.S.-Mexican youth and the politics of caring. Albany: State University of New York Press. Vélez, V., Pérez Huber, L., Benavides Lopez, C., De La Luz, A., & Solórzano, D. G. (2008). Battling for human rights and social justice: A Latina/o critical race media analysis of Latina/o student youth activism in the wake of 2006 antiimmigrant sentiment. Social Justice, 35(1), 7–27. Willoughby, M. (2011, February 28). Illegal immigrants play tiny role in overcrowding classes. Atlanta Journal-Constitution, p. B1. Winters, R. (2011, January 20). Undocumented students need support, U. speaker says. Salt Lake Tribune. Yosso, T. J. (2006). Critical race counterstories along the Chicana/Chicano educational pipeline. New York: Routledge. Yosso, T. J., & Solórzano, D. G. (2006). Leaks in the Chicana and Chicano educational pipeline. Latino Policy & Issues Brief, March(13).

6

Prison Schooling Segregation, Post-Racialism, and the Criminalization of Black and Brown Youth Sabina E. Vaught

INTRODUCTION It has come to be widely known as the landmark case of the Civil Rights Movement. Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka marked for many an extraordinary victory in the struggle to dismantle Jim Crow Era White supremacy. But it has not enjoyed undisputed favor over the nearly 60 years since it was argued and won. In fact, the case (along with Brown II) and its outcome have been lighting rods for much contested ideology, policy, and practice in U.S. schooling and law (Bell, 1995; Chapman, 2006; Guinier, 2004; Ladson-Billings, 2004; Minow, 2010; Nieto, 2004; Saddler, 2005; Yosso, Parker, Solórzano, & Lynn, 2004). Contested, critiqued, or lauded, Brown has nonetheless set the terms for our national discussion around race and schooling. Segregation and desegregation (and by mistaken proxy, sometimes, integration) have become the foundational conceptual architecture for that discussion, producing a discursive space in which segregation is an axial feature. Scholarship fervently links racialized disparities in achievement and outcome to the segregation, or the current resegregation, of schools, which is by defi nition characterized by the acutely uneven distribution of resources (Orfield, 2001, 2009; Orfield & Lee, 2005). Those links are indisputably and destructively real. Yet, in an era of post-racialism, analytic and discursive attention to segregation is readily undercut as an antiquated and inherently racist project. Cho (2009) posits that post-racialism is a twenty-fi rst-century ideology that reflects a belief that due to the significant racial progress that has been made, the state need not engage in race-based decision-making or adopt race-based remedies, and that civil society should eschew race as a central organizing principle of social action. According to post-racial logic, the move is to effectuate a “retreat from race” (Cho, 2009, p. 1594). This retreat is specifically from race as a category and dynamic of power, not from race as an imagined objective phenotypical marker or as a power-

Prison Schooling 111 neutral cultural organizer. So, in the contemporary moment, post-racial ideology is mediated through and mediates discursive spaces in which racialist remedies designed to promote expansive equality (Crenshaw, 1995), such as affirmative action, are not only defined as regressive, antiquated, and racist, but moreover, are made illogical and unnecessary by the illusion of racial progress. The racial playing field is declared to have been leveled. And, this ostensible equality is intoned as a celebration of “a symbolic ‘big event’ signifying transcendent racial progress” (Cho, 2009, p. 1595). Specifically, the progress is purported to mark the White transcendence of systemic racism and close the chapter on the legacy of Jim Crow. This big event, authored by Brown and enacted in the election of President Obama, allegedly relinquishes Whites from the imagined taxing sacrifices they undertook through so-called preferential and lopsided Civil Rights Era measures and law. Although resegregation is a very real material and political process, the emerging post-racial context has reframed Brown and the discussion and understanding of school segregation itself. In a moment when dominant society is moving to entrench the logic that power is no longer attached to race, then discussions of segregation—a clear attachment of power to race—must fi nd new footing. I suggest here that this will be fostered, in part, by analyzing the function of post-racialism in segregated or resegregated school contexts, thereby establishing a map of the current terrain of race and power. The central concern of this chapter will be to consider how the educationally-linked criminalization and incarceration of Black and Brown youth is both a hegemonic, resegregating tool of post-racialism and an analytic possibility for approaching the questions of segregation and racial inequity in U.S. schooling. Specifically, this chapter will ethnographically explore the post-racial culturally genocidal practices of juvenile prison schooling and map the ways in which the White post-racial state produces and draws sustenance from Black and Brown youth criminalization while masking its segregating intentions and mechanisms. First, the chapter will elaborate on the concept of post-racialism. Second, it will examine data that illustrate the way in which the White state constructs itself as the post-racial parent of juvenile inmates. Third, it will analyze the way in which the post-racial state ideologically constructs racialized criminality. Fourth, it will interrogate the policy of post-racial genocide.

“THE RACE CARD”: CRITICAL RACE THEORY Cho’s (2009) conceptualization of post-racialism emerges from the larger scholarly movement of Critical Race Theory (CRT). Generated in legal studies (Creshaw, Gotanda, Peller, & Thomas, 1995), CRT was introduced to the field of Education by Ladson-Billings and Tate (1995) where the germinal ideas took root fi rst methodologically and then burgeoned theoretically

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(Dixson & Rousseau, 2006; Parker, Deyhle, & Villenas, 1999; Taylor, Gillborn, Ladson-Billings, 2009, among many).1 Several general guiding tenets characterize CRT, and among those are that CRT scholarship: recognizes racism as an endemic, persistent, and ubiquitous fact of U.S. law and society; disputes and interrogates claims to positivistic, ahistorical, neutral knowledge; deploys counterstory-telling methodologies to highlight the voices, stories, and epistemic knowledge of people of color; and, rejects liberal projects of incremental change. Post-racialism, as a framework and a societal paradigm, draws its lineage theoretically and discursively to colorblindness (Gotanda, 1991; Haney López, 2007), a legal and cultural White paradigm driven by a moral imperative that to recognize race is racist. Therefore, culture, language, and a host of other factors come to stand in for race in the dominant narrative, practice, policy, and law. When the law recognizes race, it is often in its formal form—as largely unconnected to societal power structures (Gotanda, 1991). Colorblindness is a fundamentally assimilative mechanism. Post-racialism and colorblindness are not opposing, but rather complementary and overlapping explanatory frameworks and ideological movements. Writes Cho (2009), “The narrative of transcendent racial progress is the descriptive fact that distinguishes post-racialism from colorblindness” (p. 1645). Additionally, I contend that post-racialism departs from colorblindness, in part, by not detaching race from material and historical conditions (read: Jim Crow, school segregation). This is a less exhausting project for Whites than colorblindness, which requires a much more awkward lie (read: “I do not see race”). Instead, post-racial ideology represents an aphoristic certainty that race (and therefore systemic racism) has been overcome as a power structure, but not a fact of identity. It is no longer necessary or expedient within this framework to promote assimilation as a remedy for racial inequity. Indeed, in this new paradigm, racial inequity is proclaimed a thing of the decided past. In spite of Cho’s assertion that the mention of race has become “taboo,” the examples—Barack Obama’s now famous campaign “race speech,” for example—indicate that race is recognized and even, one might argue, embraced, but only in the service of the construction of its evolution into dissolution as an organizing power structure. According to Cho (2009), Post-racialism as an ideology has four central features: (1) Racial Progress; (2) Race-Neutral Universalism; (3) Moral Equivalence; and (4) Distancing Move. . . . While all four features are not required to defi ne an instance of post-racialism, they are central and common components of post-racialist ideology and discourse. (p. 1600) The fi rst feature, racial progress, is measured by the “big event” that signals to the world the move past racism. The big event marks on the timeline

Prison Schooling 113 of Whiteness a fi rm point past which Whiteness is redeemed, returned to its mythical original form of untainted virtue, and the national racial playing field is leveled. Therefore, post-racialism is historically grounded in that, unlike colorblindness (Bonilla-Silva, 2006; Gotanda, 1991; Haney López, 2007), it recognizes the relationship between race and history, thereby hegemonically addressing weaknesses in colorblind ideology. However, this historicism is dangerous because although colorblindness could be critiqued for its utter lack of legitimate historical engagement, post-racialism overtly reimagines and asserts a history of race and power from a supremacist perspective. In other words, in acknowledging a history of racism in the United States, post-racial ideology assumes ownership of that history and so makes sense of it in ways that will match its aim. Indeed it relies on a particular history of racism to propel itself. Specifically, post-racialism frames as morally deplorable the assertion of race as a power category precisely because its fundamental principle is that racial power structures did exist but have been dismantled and overcome, and that structural racism has been remedied and atoned for. Although Cho (2009) emphasizes the election of President Barack Obama as a big event, I suggest that Brown has been post-racially animated as the discursive author of that event. In the current narrative, Brown v. Board has been reinvented as the designer of that big event in which valiant, liberal Whites vanquished segregationists and won back their sacrosanct roles as keepers of civil society— a central active feature of post-racialism. The reinvention of the Warren Court as prophetic stewards of an ideal post-racial justice, in its Whiterecognized form as constitutional law, privileges the morality of retreating from race. As Cho (2009) points out, “post-racialism idealizes a society in which race is no longer a basis for differential treatment, grievance, or remedy” (p. 1603), and any such move to do so is not only antiquated, but in egregious violation of the post-racial world order. The fictive White abolition of Jim Crow segregation propels a further post-racial fiction: that Whites in fact made possible the life and presidency of Obama. Indeed, it is often noted in mainstream discourse that Obama’s White mother and Black African father married at a time when many states enforced anti-miscegenation laws. Moreover, Obama’s mother has been heralded as a racial pioneer for having married a Black man in such contentious times. Here the White state is falsely reimagined as halting aberrant White practices of preventing interracial marriage (it was the decade of Loving v. Virginia) and the White woman is reconstituted as the noble moral crusader and mother of a future nation (Carby, 1987). In particular, this moral framing of a retreat from racialism operationalizes a White David and Goliath racial fantasy in which true, just Whiteness (the Warren Court, among others) slayed aberrant White immorality (the giant Jim Crow) and so defeated threats internal to Whiteness. So, although in reality Brown heralded in the Civil Rights Era, it has been resurrected in this very recent post-racial era as a revised declaration of White salvation. Through Brown,

114 Sabina E. Vaught Whites fathered Obama and the post-racial world he embodies and leads. The opportunity of his interracial existence is fundamental to this narrative. Indeed, he and the level playing field upon which he is proclaimed to play are the evidentiary gifts of Brown. As with all ideological and material hegemonic projects, post-racialism cannot rely singularly on a big, catalyzing, and defining event. It must constantly create and recreate itself through mechanisms of thought, action, and law (Gramsci, 1971). In this particular historical moment post-racialism discursively mediates Brown both historically and in the current law, policy, and practice of education. The mediating function highlights the moral equivalence and race-neutral universalism features of post-racialism. In education, these features of the ideology portend a new moral meritocracy. In particular, post-racial moral meritocracy pivots on the new dimension of schools as not only legally formally equal institutions (Crenshaw, 1995; Harris, 1993)—a Civil Rights imperative—but also as morally equal institutions, as post-racial Whites are defi ned as no longer possessing the collective will, desire, or ability to systematically subordinate people of color. “The post-racial era effectuates the restoration of the full value of white normativity,” argues Cho (2009), “by disaggregating unjust enrichment and complicity from whiteness through the redemptive and symbolic ‘big event’ of racial transcendence” (pp. 1595–1596). Therefore, Whiteness is immune to critique, so any discernible racial difference in educational outcome cannot be fastened to Whites and White institutions and can only be situated squarely with the race, or “culture” as it stands in for or is attached to race, that is failing to avail itself of the new era of opportunity and equality. This failure is fashioned as a racialized moral failure. Merit is no longer overtly singularly contingent upon and defi ned by academic effort. Rather, it is now an undisguised measure and marker of moral effort. Moral “failure” to succeed, particularly if coupled with critique of White institutions, provides post-racial people and organizations with carte blanche to articulate and act upon deeply harbored White bitterness stemming from the fictive injury of ongoing Civil Rights Era affi rmative, racialist policy and law. Therefore, any claims of resegregation and the attendant maldistribution of resources are understood as morally bankrupt claims of egregious over-entitlement. Given this framework, the advanced White state, scoffi ng at racial projects as mimetic of those undertaken by segregationists of the Brown era, can then undertake supremacist projects with the universalized, moral certitude that undergirds absolute racial power. Indeed, the White state cannot be understood to participate in segregating practices when the law and the society have avowedly archived those practices and when racial remedy is morally repugnant and legally forbidden. In this way, racially disproportionate Black and Brown youth incarceration is understood as merely the innocent result of a universal moral remedy for errant youth generally. The criminalization of Black and Brown youth

Prison Schooling 115 that precedes incarceration and pervades all state systems, chief among those schooling, is cast as a production of Black and Brown cultures. The only logical post-racial answer for such disparities emerging from the context of a level playing field is choice. In other words, post-racialists would have Black and Brown youth choosing their own criminalization, as evidence of the collective racial Black and Brown failure to advance culturally even after an era of illusory massive entitlements and White sacrifice (Dillard, 2001). Furthermore, I argue that this current era of White racial morality casts long shadows of doubt upon Civil Rights efforts, achievements, and concessions, such that the history of the Civil Rights Movement is being revised to advantage depictions of White suffering and Black failure. Post-racialism is fast becoming the ‘race card’ of whites, deployed with obligatory reference to Barack Obama’s presidency in an effort to trump the moral high ground held by survivors of racial discrimination in a country with centuries of racial injustice and inequality. (Cho, 2009, p. 1593) Of great significance to the concerns of this chapter, post-racialism has facilitated the radical masking of a supremacist cultural genocide that is not new, and informs questions and strategies of segregation or desegregation. Education has long been one of the most powerful weapons in the White state’s arsenal. The legal segregation of education was but one strategic use of that weapon toward the larger goal of Black cultural genocide through a broad supremacist practice of segregation. Specifically, White society and the White state have sought to leverage education to destroy or diminish Black culture(s) through segregation as a larger mechanism of hoarding and denying material and other resources. This has taken on various forms over time, from the denial of literacy or formal schooling, to the formation of segregated, under-resourced schooling, to assimilative curricular programs, to tracked special and behavioral education, to busing, to disciplinary policy, to disparate funding (Prendergast, 2003; Spring, 2010; Watkins, 2001; Woodson, 2011). Segregation has not been limited to the racial separation of racialized bodies, but has been expressed through the overarching supremacist project of separating access to and authority over resources. And, ushering in the post-racial era was what has come to be called the school-to-prison pipeline, an immense system mechanized to under-educate and over-discipline youth of color, thereby inextricably linking education with incarceration for Black youth (Browne, 2003; Casella, 2003; Duncan, 2000; Kim, Losen, & Hewitt, 2010; Meiners, 2007; Simmons, 2009; Skiba & Knesting, 2002; Skiba, Michael, Nardo, & Peterson, 2002; OJJDP, 2009; Vaught, 2011a; Wald & Losen, 2003). Although it is a particularly powerful exercise in segregation, the post-racial ideological and legal contexts require a new mapping of that framework.

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CONTEXT AND DATA The contexts for this chapter are multiple: a physical place; a set of institutional, ideological, and systemic relationships; and national, post-racial White supremacy. Lincoln Treatment Center was one northeastern U.S. state’s prison 2 for juvenile male convicts, ages 13–21, with sentences of 6 months or longer. Lincoln was run by the state Division of Juvenile Affairs and housed a school that ran a repeating 9th-grade curriculum across core academic content areas and was compulsory for all prisoners. This physical school site was the primary location of an ethnographic study I conducted over one and a half years, from 2008 to 20093. At the beginning of that time 80 young men were incarcerated and attending school there, and in a city over 50 percent White, 78 of those were young men of color. The young men were primarily African American and Black Latino (mostly Dominican), with an average age of 17. The teachers who staffed the school were White, extraordinarily inexperienced, and mostly uncertified in their area of instruction. Teacher turnover was remarkably high. For example, during my time at Lincoln, the senior-ranking teacher in the core content areas had been at Lincoln for approximately two and a half years. And teaching—the pedagogical act associated with learning—fluctuated between scarce and non-existent. Security, positioned in each classroom and throughout the single long corridor that made up the school, was staffed entirely by people of color. The physical prison was a three-story brick building containing cells, common areas, a gym, and the school, which took up the entire fi rst floor. The school was organized as a series of classrooms positioned on one side of a long corridor. This physical organization provided prison officials with unrestricted video and security staff surveillance at all times. It also allowed for highly controlled movement of the prisoners from classroom to classroom. Although this juvenile prison school, like many, was indeed segregated, perhaps resembling the pinnacle of the segregationists’ dream, post-racialism fi rmly undercuts claims of segregation. Furthermore, in the post-racial context, the formal and ideological assignation of criminal and the official charge of crime supersedes and circumvents any question of de jure or de facto segregation and the accompanying maldistribution of all resources by White districts and power brokers. Because intersecting post-racial constructions of race and criminality produced a dominant belief that the young men were incarcerated as a result of their own wrong doing—a wrong doing morally heightened by the fictive White generosity that produced an imaginary racially level societal playing field—their state-imposed racial segregation was only understandable as self-created criminal isolation. Segregation was transformed into a discursively (legally, politically) moot point. In this context, how would one charge that prison schools need to be desegregated? The question has been made irrelevant in dominant ideology.

Prison Schooling 117 As such, schooling inside prison is not in reality beholden to any of Brown’s mandates or any racialist state or moral legacy. This raises the question: To what equality mandates is the state beholden? The answer is elusive. The state, as superordinate, post-racial White parent, positions itself as dealing with criminal youth whose families and communities ostensibly cannot, and as generously educating such criminal youth as part of their rehabilitation. However, prison schooling at Lincoln was not rehabilitating in any sense of the word, but instead worked to continue the national project of supremacist cultural genocide. Lincoln was one of an assembly of institutions that produced the process of racialized criminalization and juvenile incarceration. Many of the institutions were the usual suspects—law enforcement, school, the courts, probation, and so on. Scholars and activists have outlined what is known as the school-to-prison pipeline, a nationwide system in which a series of interrelated academic and disciplinary mechanisms coordinate to funnel young people of color from school to prison. The school-to-prison pipeline is understood in part through statistical links between racially disparate and extreme disciplinary policies and practices—such as zero tolerance, preventive discipline, and disproportionate suspension—and racialized academic tracking—such as disproportionate placement of Black boys into special education tracks, among others (ACLU, 2008; Ayers, Dohrn, & Ayers, 2001; Blanchett, 2006; Casella, 2003; Dunbar, 2001; Fenning & Rose, 2007; Gordon, Della Piana, & Keleher, 2001; Gregory, Skiba, & Noguera, 2010; Lewis & Vasquez Solórzano, 2006; Meiners, 2007; Morris, 2005; Noguera, 2008; Raffaele Mendez, Knoff, & Ferron, 2002; Raffaele Mendez & Knoff, 2003; Nicholson-Crotty, Birchmeier, & Valentine, 2009; Saddler, 2005; Simmons, 2009; Skiba, 2001; Skiba & Knesting, 2002; Skiba et al., 2002; Townsend, 2000; Tuzzulo & Hewitt, 2006; Vavrus & Cole, 2002; Wald & Losen, 2003; Winn & Behizadeh, 2011). The statistical links between school and incarceration are remarkable. For example, suspension is among the most powerful indicators of student interaction with the juvenile legal system. In 2007, nationwide, 50 percent of Black male students enrolled in Grades 6 through 12 had been suspended at least once (NCES, 2007). Black girls suffered the second highest rate of school suspension, at 35 percent 4. All other race and gender groups of students experienced lower rates, with White girls at the lowest (nearly 10 percent)5. Similarly, every year the United States fails to graduate approximately 50 percent of Black, Native American, and Latino youth. Disaggregated, the data show that youth of color matriculated in underresourced schools, who are pipelined into special education or who are English language learners, suffer even lower graduation rates (Orfield et al., 2004). In the state where I conducted the research, Black and Latino male youth were pushed out or dropped out of high school at a rate four times their White counterparts. Moreover, Black students suffered an expulsion rate higher than any other racial group in the state

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and six times that of their White counterparts. These trends are virulently mirrored in the data on juvenile incarceration. Working in institutional concert, U.S. law enforcement annually arrests over 1.5 million youth. Although Black teens maintain substantively lower rates of illegal drug use than their White, Native, Latina/o, and Chicana/o counterparts, they are arrested on drug violations at rates almost twice their White counterparts and three times their Native counterparts. Moreover, Black youth are incarcerated by the state at a rate four times their White counterparts overall, more than twice their Native and Latina/o and Chicana/o counterparts, and five times their White counterparts when the offense is drug-related (Children’s Defense Fund, 2010; OJJDP, 2009). Although Black youth make up 15 percent of the overall U.S. juvenile population, they are 44 percent of all detained youth, and over one-third of all committed, or incarcerated, youth (OJJDP, 2009). Black male youth are arrested, detained, and incarcerated at rates that wildly outstrip their race and gender counterparts. In urban centers in the United States, where schools and school districts have been extremely resegregated, approximately 50 percent of Black male youth are under the control of the juvenile legal system (Alexander, 2010). However, I argue that the movement of youth of color into prison is not unidirectional and that school functions as one in a constellation of detaining, disciplining, and criminalizing institutions at the nexus of which youth of color are systemically positioned (Ferguson, 2000; Hale, 2001; Kupchik, 2010). In the project of supremacist cultural genocide, school—reaching as far back as Kindergarten—was not a safe or productive place for any of the young men at Lincoln with whom I spoke, and its relationships with punishing and policing state agencies functioned such that from an early age young men traveled back and forth between multiple institutions, including school. And, given that education is a central component of juvenile prison, and legal punishment is a central component of public schooling, the lines between prison and school were blurred on both the inside and the outside. Yet, what is especially significant is that post-racial juvenile prison schools are racialized sites. The state does not segregate within juvenile prison schools or prisons in the way that dominant frameworks of segregation would match, but rather practices the production of criminals in a racially wildly disproportionate manner. In the state where Lincoln was located, youth of color constituted just over 20 percent of the entire juvenile population, a quarter of all juvenile arrests, and over 60 percent of all juvenile incarcerations6. The fallacious White state production of young Black criminals creates a context in which criminality is narrated as naturally racially disproportionate. Thus, the state is only fulfilling its mandate to care for wards of the state when it provides schooling within the prison site and as part of the supposed rehabilitation project. How can this post-racial

Prison Schooling 119 prison schooling be framed as the segregating, or resegregating, mechanism that it is when it is post-racially framed as the benevolent (and expensive) act of the state on behalf of Black children who seemingly overpopulate the system? This is particularly difficult to navigate, when the crux of segregation is the uneven distribution of resources across race. State and other White institutions argue that juvenile incarceration incurs an expense not extended to non-criminal youth. In this way, the state positions itself as pumping extra monies and resources to youth of color—a hegemonic flip of the discourse of segregationists. This evasive ideological tactic of postracial criminalization and remedy obscures the culturally genocidal function of juvenile incarceration and prison schooling. School on the outside, as part of this system of punishment and criminalization, is a mechanism of post-racial White supremacy. White supremacy is the systematic superordination of White people, culture, and institutions over, and the subordination of, people of color through the organization of the ideological, political, and material features of society (Bonilla-Silva, 2001, 2005; Brayboy, 2005; Fanon, 1967; Gillborn, 2005; Harris, 1993; hooks, 1989; Vaught, 2011b). Racism could be understood as participation in that system, particularly in the maldistribution of political and material resources (Guinier, 2004), at least until now. The context of post-racial White supremacy is significant to juvenile prison schooling because the state, which has avowed a moral and legal retreat from racialism, exercises singular control over this highly racialized project. The post-racial White supremacist state must proclaim its commitment to the transcendent event or events of racial progress, while distancing itself from racialist approaches to its work. And, because the prison schooling of juvenile inmates is not related to the racialized exploitation of labor and bodies in the traditionally material manner that characterizes much of adult incarceration, it is particularly vulnerable to its genocidal function and to complete elision of this function through post-racial discursive practices. Indeed prison schooling in this state was considered a central component of “treatment.” Treatment is not understood as a tool of harm or genocide, but rather in the dominant post-racial ideology as a tool of White moral benevolence in a state and national landscape defi ned by racial fairness. Given that resegregation was masked by the costly effort of “treatment,” we have to consider how segregating practices have themselves changed not only in form, but in structure. So, although the racially separating form of segregation appears in schools nationwide, and although the supremacist maldistribution of resources is evident across resegregated contexts, prison schools offer a window onto an emerging supremacist response to charges of segregation. That is, that in an imagined racially leveled national power context, Whites demonstrate their benevolence by allocating greater resources to those errant youth most in need of support. It is a frightening exercise in the ultimate goal of segregation: cultural genocide.

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METHODOLOGY My methodological approach is framed by the now often maligned Black– White construct. I do not take up this construct as an exclusive framework that ignores the experiences and struggles of multiple groups of people. Rather, I understand this framework as just that: a framework. In other words, the Black–White construct is not driven by topical concerns restricted to two racial groups. Rather, it is meant to function as an explanatory model for the ways in which race, racial power, and White supremacy were created and are reproduced. Although the topical focus on groups of people is essential in scholarship and activism, it need not happen in opposition to a powerful construct. The slippery slope of the dissolution of the Black–White construct is a potential post-racial avalanche into the humanist individualism that is now proclaimed and celebrated by dominant society (Cho, 2009; Matsuda, 2002). In this spirit, I conducted an institutional ethnography (Smith, 2005, 2006), driven by the premise that “institutional arrangements do not work for people of Color and that it is not possible to address the present racial hierarchy without addressing these institutional arrangements” (Guinier & Torres, 2002, p. 20), and grounded in critical race methodologies (Choe, 1999; Delgado & Stefancic, 2001; Duncan, 2005; Hermes, 1999; LadsonBillings, 1999, 2000; Parker et al., 1999; Parker & Lynn, 2002; Solórzano & Yosso, 2002; Vaught, 2008) that understand this construct to explain, in part, the ideological, material, and cultural functions of the dynamics of post-racial White supremacy. Because this was a study of racial power, and because CRT posits that racism is not an individual psychological pathology, but rather an institutional, cultural, systemic process, I understood participants as members and representatives of larger institutions, cultures, and systems. Therefore, I approached subjects racially as they were constructed by the institution and as they constructed one another in institutional contexts. Moreover, I situated my own racial identity this way. Although multiracial, I was raced institutionally White, as is often the case. Specifically, the combination of geography, education, profession, gender, and appearance situated me as institutionally White. When young men or security staff asked about my racial identity (White teachers and administrators never did) and shared the complexities of theirs, our individual relationships changed, but our institutional relationships did not. It was to the institutional relationships that I devoted my full analytic attention. I gained access to Lincoln through 10 months of negotiations with the DJA. Interestingly, my initial request to work at a female facility was indirectly turned down, and I was ultimately directed to Lincoln. I also negotiated entry for an African American male doctoral student who worked very briefly with me on the study, and in a cursory way I will reference some of our shared data here. I was told I was the fi rst long-term researcher to be approved by DJA. As the director of DJA said, “You have moved in. We

Prison Schooling 121 have never had a researcher come and stay.” In a highly guarded, well-controlled institution, my presence created some discomfort and suspicion at the state level. At Lincoln, my presence was met variously. Teachers seemed cautious with me, both eager to tell me their view of matters and watchful of my interactions with security staff members and the young men. They were also wary of my positive research relationship with the school principal. However, that relationship proved helpful in securing trust with the warden and officials outside Lincoln. Security staff responded positively to me quickly once they perceived my interactions with them and the young men to be respectful and sincere. As a former high school teacher, I spent a significant amount of my observation time working with the young men on assignments or discussing issues and ideas that emerged in class. Therefore, the young men developed perceptions of me based largely on in-class interactions. Of course, these perceptions varied with most of the young men asserting that they found me trustworthy and interacting with me candidly, but a number remaining reticent or untrusting the entire time I was there. In the larger study, I privileged the voices and narratives of the young men incarcerated at Lincoln, along with family members, advocates, and others. I also worked to highlight the narratives of institutional representatives—including teachers, school administrators, security staff, DJA administrators, for example—to construct a larger institutional counterstory to the dominant narrative around youth, race, and criminality. I conducted formal and informal interviews with the participants identified above, and engaged in ethnographic observation across sites, with Lincoln as my primary site. Although the voices of the incarcerated young men are of tremendous importance in understanding the system of juvenile criminalization and incarceration, this particular chapter is concerned primarily with the White representatives of the post-racial state and the data that are particularly illustrative of the larger trends and practices of White supremacy that I observed over the course of my time at Lincoln. Therefore, the relative absence from this chapter of the voices and actions of the young men incarcerated at Lincoln is a matter of limitation of scope. The young men were, as are most young people, complex and varied, but they shared of course the official state branding of racialized criminal and the material reality of childhood incarceration. This chapter’s exploration of the function of post-racial White supremacy is undertaken in the service of mapping and disrupting that oppression at this particular historical moment.

THE POST-RACIAL STATE AS PARENT The usurpation of parental role and rights over African American children was built into the early White state and has remained in various forms since. The system of juvenile incarceration is just one mechanism of this

122 Sabina E. Vaught fundamental feature of White supremacy in the United States. In the postracial era, this feature takes on new justifications and meaning for the White institutional representatives whose work it is to maintain that function. Although the pre-Civil Rights era ideologies around Black and Brown youth schooling and incarceration flagrantly defied any effort toward fairness and equity, even if fictive, Civil Rights era discourses shifted, focusing attention on rehabilitation and the making of productive citizens (Ayers, 1997; Loury, 2008), though racism persisted and flourished across the juvenile legal systems. But beginning with the war on drugs and the invention and escalation of zero tolerance and three strikes law and policy, the dominant construction of crime reproduced the unsalvageable juvenile criminal (Foucault, 1995) and that criminal was the young Black man (Ferguson, 2000; Williams, 1995). The Black male explained the failure of desegregation, the tenacity of the achievement gap. He was billed as a menace. But he was also a thorn in the side of White institutions operating in the sunset of the Civil Rights era. He was produced by White society and then in turn that object of their production—not the real young men—produced in them the lingering anxiety attendant to the dominating race in a supremacist society still attached to racialist remedy. However, in a post-racial society, the racialism that made his oppression a nagging possibility to White institutions is gone. In post-racial America, the young Black male, the criminal, cannot be a victim of racial oppression. Those days are over. Relief from the strictures of racialism meant White supremacist institutions could reformulate the logic around juvenile incarceration—the material, structural manifestation of Black male criminalization. This post-racial transformation of meaning was occurring during my time at Lincoln and in the Division of Juvenile Affairs, and it highlighted the reassertion of the White state as benevolent White parent. During the spring of 2008 I had one of several meetings I would have with Janie Ray, a DJA education coordinator located on site at “County,” the area’s juvenile detention center. Janie Ray was a White woman who managed educational programming and served as administrator for the teachers at County. Additionally, she was the chief education coordinator for the entire area, so she was the supervisor for Lincoln’s principal, for example. My field notes detail Janie Ray’s response to my question about why young people end up in County: “The kids feel safe here,” Janie Ray said. My research assistant and I nodded vaguely. I looked past Ms. Ray’s head, out her yellowed window at the tall outside brick wall and the sky-high chain link fence topped with uninterrupted, shiny, thick razor wire. “We are lucky to have this beautiful building,” she said. “Well,” I followed, “when can we meet some of the kids?” Janie Ray shifted slightly in her chair. “Sadly, when they age out we can’t protect them anymore.” I understood that this was a prerequisite narrative to any other conversation

Prison Schooling 123 and that [my grad assistant and I] were a captive audience . . .” Sometimes,” she said, shaking her head, “they have to come in under protective custody because boys on the outside are trying to get them.” . . . She set up detention as a safe and supportive space, protecting boys from the violence of the street. This jiu jitsu was ideologically jarring, but done with absolute ease and conviction . . .”What else are the kids coming in for?” I asked. She paused and listed the following: peer pressure, unstable home life, drug addiction. Some kids, she said, come in “to detox on the unit.” It’s as if the kids choose to come here, which is a bizarre narrative for her to adopt. Remarkably, Ms. Ray wove a tale of good fortune—for a “beautiful” building—and institutional parental sentiment. She framed the detention of young people of color through the coordinates of protection. Specifically, she suggested that County served to protect youth from the dangers of the world they inhabit—one specific to them and distinct from hers—and that the police in fact were escorting endangered young people in to County through protective custody. Law enforcement and County worked together as White state custodians—parental proxies—for youth who were narrated to be in need of the state’s help. Furthermore, she portrayed the youth detained at County as willing residents of the facility. She suggested quite straightforwardly that the youth at County came there to avoid the pitfalls of their world and to seek assistance or a safe space to deal with their supposed drug dependencies or escape dysfunctional families in exchange for the family of the state. Strikingly, this characterization completely eclipsed any recognition of racialized criminalization and instead composed a world in which Whiteness was valiant, nurturing, and benevolent. Moreover, in this world, Black and Brown youth were not subject to discrimination, but rather were lost children in the racialized homes and communities that failed to parent them morally and successfully. These children chose White parents, and they chose the White supremacist incarcerating state as parent. The narration of the culturally orphaned Black or Brown child seeking asylum in the sanctum of White care is a powerfully eclipsing White post-racial narrative. It fundamentally obliterates the analytic possibility of White state production of racist mechanisms and structures. And, it sets the tone for understanding Black and Brown youth as in need of Whitening, or, of the White state as parentally mandated to conduct cultural genocide. Notably, during our meetings Ms. Ray never mentioned charges against particular youth specifically. She certainly alluded to behaviors (such as drug use), mental health issues that went unspecified, dysfunctional families, and so on. In fact, as I repeatedly asked her about the thousands of youth who came in and out of County over the course of a year, she consistently portrayed them as errant youth in need of help. And help came in the form of County, where teachers were “here to make a difference” and clinicians did “what they could given the situation.” Yet all youth at

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County were awaiting charges or awaiting transfer after charges. It became evident that Janie Ray, like many of those administrators managing DJA’s educational programming and policy, was unaware and uninformed of or chose to ignore the criminal and legal details and so was left to concoct her own understandings. So, Janie Ray understood an amorphous “situation.” The situation was often a post-racial attack on families. During one meeting Ms. Ray revealed that an 8-year-old Dominican boy was being detained at County. “Oh, uh, yeah. We have a, an 8-year-old. He has a—well, his family has a history.” As it turned out, the young boy came from a family identified by city police as one of a handful of extended families with high numbers of juvenile offenders—an identification process that I describe later. The following fieldnotes capture the justification for the incarceration of an 8-year-old child: “They just can’t handle him,” Janie Ray said of the family. “It’s a bad situation.” Strikingly, she had not yet mentioned any possible “crime.” “What charge is he awaiting?” I asked, uncertain how the state even charges an 8-year-old. Apparently, the young boy had started a fi re on the sidewalk outside his aunt’s home. “What is the charge?” I asked again. Janie Ray may not have known, because she did not answer. But, it seemed to matter little to her, as she returned her focus to the inability of this little boy’s family to “handle him.” And, she suggested, “There are probably mental health issues.” As before, the crime, or charge, was assumed and not necessary to detail. Rather, the post-racial narrative requires attention to the moral failure and incompetence of Black and Brown families—an attention that positions the White state as superordinate parent and relinquishes it from the burden of antiquated and now resolved racism. This post-racial parental status allows the state to remove a young child from his criminally branded family and so mechanize the segregation of cultural genocide with impunity. Segregation as conceived of by prevailing interpretations of Brown is pre-empted, unnecessary, and post-racially impossible, because the segregating move of removing children is produced as a racially-neutral state parental act. The White criminalization and incarceration of Black and Brown youth is undergirded by these parental justifications and enjoys discursive immunity.

POST-RACIALIZED BLACK FAMILIES: MOYNIHAN RESURRECTED In the late spring of 2008, I conducted one of many interviews with a history teacher at Lincoln in whose classroom I spent significant time observing class and interacting with students. The teaching position at Lincoln was his fi rst after student teaching in a post-baccalaureate teacher preparation

Prison Schooling 125 program, and he had remained for over two and a half years, making him the senior-ranking teacher in the core content areas. Furthermore, he was one of the only core content teachers at the time certified in his content area. He was White and in his mid-20s, just a few years older than the oldest of his “students.” Through the course of our conversation, Roy Patrick narrated the four, overlapping features of post-racialism vis-à-vis the new and evolving White construction of the degenerate Black family. Like his colleagues at Lincoln and many DJA administrators, he constructed a causal map attributing Black youth criminality to Black familial and cultural deficiency. His characterizations revealed the increasing ease with which segregating and genocidal White institutions make overt sense of the need for their existence. Before discussing juvenile schooling and incarceration, Roy wanted to talk about politics. He was particularly aggravated that day. “I don’t know if Obama has what it takes to push the big red button if necessary,” he began. Initially, I was listening half-heartedly, feeling that this was distracting and not relevant to the issues on the table. Roy Patrick continued, “Obama’s afraid to get grimy. If it’s Iran versus Israel, sometimes you gotta sacrifice pawns, you know.” He paused, then told me he used to be a Democrat. Then he jumped immediately to my question about the role of public schools on the outside. I later realized that he talked about Obama as a preface to all our formal and informal discussion about schooling, prison, and his work. He never discussed Obama’s race in these portions of our conversations not because it was taboo, but rather because he was clear that there was no issue—that the issue was politics. In this way he discursively established Obama as a player on a level field. This served to shield his critiques of Obama from assumptions of racialization or racism. According to Roy Patrick, Obama lacked the courage, competence, and moral certitude to be the protector of the people. Plain and simple. And it was against this unnamed racialized, paternalistic backdrop that Roy Patrick always established his own courage, competence, and moral certitude. Roy Patrick spoke as a White authority on the leadership and decisionmaking concerns of his own job and of the institutions he represented. In this quick, but consistent preface, Roy Patrick drew on the post-racial feature of racial progress. He raised the figure of Obama to establish the “big event.” (Although Obama had not yet been elected, his campaign alone was racially “transcendent” and Roy Patrick was certain Obama would be elected.) Simultaneously, he distanced himself from political correctness by suggesting it could be necessary, for the greater good, to annihilate an entire Brown and Muslim (particularly in the popular imagination) nation: Iran. In so doing he deftly set the stage for an unapologetic, highly public genocidal narrative that functioned with impunity. This narrative captured the four overlapping features of post-racialism: transcendence or racial progress, race-neutral universalism, moral equivalence, and the distancing move (Cho, 2009).

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He began that narrative by answering my question about the responsibility of public schools in keeping youth out of prison by redirecting the focus: The kids who don’t wanna get it . . . I know why they’re sellin’ on the corners. They fell through the cracks. They can get their way through violence and terror. The smarter ones. I don’t understand why unless it’s the glam life of a drug dealer. Roy Patrick completely dismissed the institutional, systemic role of the school and turned the spotlight on the “kids.” This race-neutral move established Roy Patrick’s unwillingness to recognize race as an institutional power structure. In this case, the kids were either violent terrorists or lawless Black hedonists. The assertion of these two options left no possibility for structural understanding and maintained as implicitly obvious the fairness of the system. Additionally, such constructions eliminate not only any other possible explanation, but moreover any possibility of youth redemption. Though there is no evidence that involvement in illegal drugs produces a “glam life” for youth of color, this description was a prelude to the rampant immorality Roy Patrick went on to assign to youth of color. Vaught: But why exactly is it you think that young men end up here? Patrick: [Switch]. He’s been in four fights this week. His biggest problem is he runs his mouth. Vaught: I suspect lots of kids run their mouths, but why do they end up here? Patrick: And some of it’s just that they’re literally mentally ill. You look at them and you just go, there’s somethin’ not connected right up there. Vaught: Why is that, do you think? Patrick: I don’t—well. One kid came out addicted to crack, because his mother was a crackhead while pregnant. The kid never had a chance. Not really. Vaught: So you think these are the sources of what is considered criminal behavior? Patrick: Growing up inner-city, they see the dramatization on movies and TVs. They know [trailed off ]. Vaught: Don’t you think a lot of kids watch TV? Again, Roy Patrick worked diligently to establish the locus of responsibility within the young men—they misbehave consistently, they are hardwired wrong, they are not discerning consumers of media, and so on. This morally righteous evaluation of young Black men as behaviorally and otherwise corrupted captures the moral equivalence feature of post-racialism.

Prison Schooling 127 In continuing to deflect from the institution of school, Roy Patrick also measured the young men’s behaviors, principles, and character in a racial power vacuum. For Roy Patrick and his colleagues, any call of attention to race as a power structure was “racist.” “According to the logic of moral equivalence,” Cho (2009) writes, “racial profi ling in traffic stops is analytically interchangeable with affirmative action” (p. 1603). In other words, any attention to race as power, rather than race as identity, is racist, because the post-racial society has transcended uneven racial power dynamics. For anyone to implicate schooling or teachers in the ultimate incarceration of young Black and Brown men would be a horrific racist attack on those White teachers and institutions. Therefore, other explanations not only gained traction, but through their reproduction they reciprocally buttressed the reality of a level playing field and normalized the degradation (and so necessary separation) of Blackness. As with Roy Patrick’s reference above to the crack-addicted mother, White post-racialists at Lincoln and DJA always kept the specters of the incompetent and immoral Black mother, absentee or criminal father, and dysfunctional Black family waiting in the wings as evidence of the real problem of the post-racial state. These attacks on Black women, men, and families are not new (Collins, 2000; Ferguson, 2000; Morrison, 1997; Spillers, 2003), but rather enjoy a new, segregating, genocidal status in White post-racial America: undisputed and undisputable truth. Roy Patrick spun that truth when considering family constructions, neighborhood, and morality: Patrick: In the suburbs, families give support—if you work hard, you can maintain a certain kind of life. Kids from the inner city want the elevator to the top. Where you and I, if we got a $100, we were told to save it, where these kids just go spend it. Get a pair of jeans. Just this need to maintain style or something. Vaught: Hmm. But why are the kids here Black and Latino? Patrick: A lot of it is the racial make up of the area this school services. I still think a lot of it goes back to the inner-city-slash-poor culture of sell-drugs-make-money. Quickly. And lots of it. Then you also got—well, if you grow up in a neighborhood, you gotta join a street set, at which point you’re gonna have issues with a street set you don’t even know. And, insert violence. Vaught: Well, actually, Black and Latino kids are in the numerical minority in this city and especially in the counties. Patrick: A lot of it could be just family situation. A lack of dual families or a lot of them workin’ their butts off so they’re not at home. Or role models at home. If you see your dad smokin’ copious amounts of weed all the time, where are you gonna get the idea that that’s bad? Or you see someone getting drunk all the time.

128 Sabina E. Vaught Here, suburban families, a post-racial designation for White or morally Whitened families, are characterized as giving “support.” In a leveled society, the logic goes that what one needs to succeed is then hard work, drive, and support alone. However, my understanding of this interview changed over time, because I initially read Roy Patrick as drawing on his assumption of shared racial and class identities and so values. However, in multiple interviews my research assistant and I conducted with White teachers, consistent language and messages emerged. White teachers incorporated my research assistant, an African American man, into the “we” in terms of values, histories, and identities. I ultimately read this not to be colorblindness, but to be an expression—and moreover, an aggressive and assimilative assertion—of post-racial neutrality. Teachers wanted race to be decoupled from power, so they forcibly aligned my research assistant with them rather than with the young men incarcerated at Lincoln, in order to more fully reify the notion of the criminal as having developed of his own immorality. My research assistant was positioned as having appropriately taken advantage of the level playing field, whereas the inmates at Lincoln were seen as having squandered it. He was consequently not made White, but made a good post-racial African American. Furthermore, in this interview, support was elevated and made racially exclusive. By contrast, “inner city” kids—Black and Brown kids—not only lacked familial support, but again suffered from racially-specific materialistic impulses that devolve quickly into violence. That ongoing supremacist litany of Black youth degeneracy is petrified into post-racial fact that validates the existing racial order as a fair reflection of racial groups’ innate ability and potential across multiple measures. The Black family cannot win. If Black parents work, then “they’re not at home” and so failing to provide adequate “support.” If Black parents do not work, then they are “smokin’ copious amounts of weed all the time” or are “drunk all the time.” In post-racial America, where the current racial order is explained as a natural outgrowth of racial moral predilection rather than supremacist power structures, there can be no functional, supportive Black family. It is not post-racially possible. This is a profound implication of the moral equivalence feature, as it guarantees the irrefutable degraded condition of Black families and locks them into the societal position of culprit, thereby segregating them through depictions of their own failure. The segregation of juvenile prisons and prison schools is organized as the fault of Black families, according to the logic displayed by Roy Patrick. The remedy is even more profoundly supremacist, as my continued conversation with Roy Patrick below revealed. Vaught: So, from your point of view, what would remedy the problems you’re discussing?

Prison Schooling 129 Patrick: The government takes all kids and raises them from birth. Or, you have to get a license to have a kid, which is idealistically unAmerican. But, drastic measures. No one would go for it because it’s against “freedom of choice,” basic freedoms. Vaught: So, you don’t think school has a role? Patrick: These are all—root causes have nothing to do with school other than they don’t want to go. But tell me a kid who does. I don’t blame them for not wanting to go to school. Notably, Roy Patrick deployed the distancing move. Rolling his eyes and using exaggerated speech, he mocked “freedom of choice” and American ideals as if they were a relic of the liberal past or an absurdity at best. In this way, he distanced himself from the fraught racialist past. As Cho (2009) suggests, The distancing move is important as a hegemonic device because the newness and attractiveness of post-racialism as an ideology lies with a release from the strictures of old-school racism, new-school or colorblind racism, and new-school political correctness and racial obsession. (p. 1604) Roy Patrick, schooling, and Whiteness were no longer burdened by the liberal White ideals and actions that are framed as having catered to entitled African Americans. And Roy Patrick confi rmed this by saying that no kid wants to go to school. Even disliking school becomes morally equivalent and universal. So, the particular relationship between Black boys and schooling can be explained only through the young men, their families, and their communities. And the only logical remedy is to remove Black children from their families, which is precisely what juvenile incarceration accomplishes. The removal of children from their families is a central segregating tool in the supremacist work of cultural genocide. Although removal is by no means a new supremacist practice—reaching back to codified state practices of removal of Native and Black children in the formation of the early republic (Spring, 2010)—what emerges in the postracial context is a form of removal that is formulated as an historically specific race-neutral benevolence. In this conversation, as in many others I had with teachers and administrators, Black entitlement emerged as a pivotal post-racial resentment, and site of justification for supremacist practices. Roy Patrick illustrated the strategic deployment of this resentment in our continued interview: Patrick: The attitude they come in with is that people owe them something. “You’re White. My great-grandfather was a slave.” [He says in an accusing, mocking manner.] The kids come in talking

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Vaught: Patrick:

Vaught: Patrick: Vaught: Patrick:

about reparations. I tell them, “I’m Scottish. Most of the English killed them. Not going to them for anything. Jews married into the family. Guess who they’re not mad at.” Where does it end? They need to move on. They use race as a crutch. For example? Well, “I’m Black so I get pulled over more.” I say, “Well, it’s because you live in the city and you’ve been arrested.” And they say, “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’.” “Yeah, but how many times did you get away with something?” And how do they respond when you say that? “You just say that cause you’re White.” It’s just racist. You mean they say you’re racist? No—yeah, but I mean, no. It’s racist. Saying it’s cause I’m White.

Roy Patrick distanced himself from bad Whiteness by linking it exclusively to direct family ancestry to slave owners, and by mobilizing historical White ethnic struggles. This post-racial maneuver highlights the logic that racism is restricted to particular historical moments, people, and events, and is not part of contemporary institutions and cultural practice. This is coerced amnesia, at best. Significantly, Roy Patrick undertook this distancing to undermine the young men’s legitimate critiques of the White supremacist society that they must navigate. Cho (2009) argues that “distancing moves by post-racialists often involve caricature-type attacks against the preceding racialisms, especially against advocates of race-conscious theories, race-based remedies, and race-based collective political action to achieve such remedies” (p. 1604). What remains is the White right to establish remedies such as the culturally genocidal removal of children and young men from families and communities, all the while calling those same children “racists.” Coupled with that, Roy Patrick stated that the young men at Lincoln were criminal for having gotten away with something at some point—an accusation that hides behind post-racial fact—and so were uniformly culpable and have collectively proffered police immunity from the law. According to Roy Patrick and many others, the police are White state victims of rampant and deceptive Black and Brown criminality and so are forced to target and profile young men. Finally, this use of distancing to strategically frame removal as common sense is narrated through nearly preposterous stories that appear to be fabricated. Such spurious rhetorical supremacist tactics serve to mask White oppressive agency and confi rm dominant notions about Black degeneracy and therefore the necessary carceral state response (Bonilla-Silva, 2006). Importantly, Roy Patrick’s post-racial narrative was illustrative and even mimetic of many others and outlines the larger set of beliefs and practices that informed Lincoln. These post-racial beliefs and practices were present across the Division of Juvenile Affairs and were reflected both in policy and

Prison Schooling 131 practice, and in the White understanding of those. They formed a larger map of society in which segregation is the nature of things.

POST-RACIAL EUGENICS: THE CRIMINAL GENOME PROJECT The DJA director of education, Beverly Lewis, a White woman in her 40s, spoke excitedly across her desk, shaking her head frequently to emphasize the “powerful” nature of what she had seen. Oh, have you seen that map? It’s, uhm, it’s—the police came in and did a presentation and they showed us this map they made. Of the city. It’s one of those—what do you call them? Anyway, it had these like layers, you know, map layers that you could see through, you know to the next layer, and they started with one and then added a layer at a time. What it showed was juvenile crime in the city. And the amazing thing was, after all the layers, they were able to trace all the juvenile crime, or you know, 85 percent of it really, to just a few—really just a small number—of families. A handful. It’s amazing. You know, cousins, uncles, kids all involved. And moms who are on drugs or just checked out, right. These kids don’t stand a chance. Their whole family, extended family—it’s like they just can’t escape what they’re born into, you know. Like they’re born destined for a criminal life. You know it’s sad but it’s true, they’re all Black. Well, and Dominican. You just wish they would not do this and reinforce these stereotypes. You know, just—. And with this map, we can—the police, and us—we can intervene, you know take the kids out of those family environments or at least be watching. The police can watch. They say it’s a really helpful tool for them, really changing their effectiveness. And, we can provide treatment. Really powerful. That map was really powerful. I wish you could see it. As I learned from police, DJA, and community advocate participants, this map indeed identified city families who were perceived, as one participant said, as “passing on criminal genes.” Another called it the “criminal surname map.” This contemporary form of eugenics cartography and policing targeted exclusively Black and Brown families, positioning them as innately criminal. It literally predicted criminal activity through city DNA mapping. Not only were these specific families considered criminal by nature, but by omission White families were constructed as part of this criminal genome project. Indeed, the larger message was that only Black and Brown families could possess inherent criminal qualities. Such targeting, profiling, and eugenics were completely protected by the prevailing post-racial premise that societal racial equality had been achieved and that racial disparities in activity or

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consequence were ultimately the result of choice (or, perhaps, unavoidable genetics—but genetic defects for which one could seek help from the equitable and benevolent state). In this context, police were constructed as having done their public service duty by creating a map that would protect the city from persistent violence. Moreover, this post-racial eugenics worked reciprocally with the institutions, as it allowed them to operate overtly undercutting the traction of any challenge to their purpose and practice. So, rather than being sites of extreme racialized segregation and cultural genocide, juvenile prisons were here constructed as sites of treatment and reform for racially, culturally errant youth. Furthermore, these youth were being post-racially rescued by a state that could expect no thanks for its good White deeds. The sacrifice inherent in the burden of untainted Whiteness was being restored through such practices as racial mapping. This echoes the White proclaimed burden of slavery to protect an inferior race from its own predilections. And the cost was exacted from youth of color who were being targeted, arrested, and incarcerated. The state was working to destroy their individual life chances, to utterly disempower their families who were profiled and aggressively dismantled, and to ravage their community, which was implicated, policed, and denied authority and care of its own young generation—an ultimate segregating strategy of cultural genocide. Inside Lincoln, this narrative and practice continued, bolstering the post-racial White project of juvenile incarceration. Echoing the statements of many teachers and prison administrators, the principal of Lincoln said the young men always blame someone else for their situation. “They say the police did wrong, the teachers are unfair, wha wha wha.” Yet I never saw or heard one inmate incorrectly cast blame. Indeed, as I have discussed elsewhere more thoroughly (Vaught, 2011a, 2012) most of the young men were bombarded by messages that they were singularly to blame for their incarceration among other things, and their successful release from Lincoln was linked explicitly to their willingness to take on and repeat this culpability. However, that responsibility was framed through the White defi nition of anger, so that crimes or charges were not the objects of responsibility. Rather, the admission and repeated confession of an anger problem were the expected demonstrations of responsibility. In fact the young men’s expression of responsibility or blame was a figment of post-racial White institutional imagination. When criminality is assigned at birth and through surname, responsibility is no more than a post-racial maneuver to entrench the idea that the playing field is level and that bad plays can only be the province of the player. Any racialist systemic critique, valid or not, is a post-racial deflection of personal accountability. Such imagined deflection only corroborates existing charges of criminal choice and makes the White state as parent ever more necessary. And, ultimately, it masks the cultural genocide inherent in ignoring critique and suggesting it is evidence of criminality and the need to be removed from families and communities that do not enforce singular accountability for state-imposed oppression. Writes Cho (2009),

Prison Schooling 133 Mr. Obama’s great political ingenuity was very simple: to trade moral leverage for gratitude. Give up moral leverage over whites, refuse to shame them with America’s racist past, and the gratitude they show you will constitute a new form of black power. They will love you for the faith you show in them (p. 1621). Far outside the political fray, criminalized at birth, the young men at Lincoln could never be identified by White institutions as responsible or accountable, because in the post-racial era those are substituted by gratitude and appreciation. A criminal is by definition ungrateful. He (in this case) has failed to appreciate the opportunities and boundaries of civil society. And should any of these young men ever decide they felt gratitude or appreciation to White incarcerating institutions, they would not only be refused recognition or redemption, but they would be victims of complete genocide.

CONCLUSION Post-racialism has violently co-opted the election of a Black American man to the presidency in order to promote a supremacist vision of the world in which racism is an error of the past, the opportunity playing field is leveled, and Whiteness is liberated and redeemed. Post-racial Whiteness eschewed Jim Crow, suffered through decades of affirmative, racialist policy and law, and now operates through valorized formal equality. With hegemonic acuity, the post-racial state is reformulating segregation to be part of a boundaried past, and so is masking its contemporary function by construing it as part of the natural order. Yet, Brown is still framing a discussion and an understanding of racism, through conceptualizations of de facto and de jure segregation and desegregation. In the post-racial era those traditional conceptualizations become obsolete, and the larger segregationist project of Black cultural genocide goes largely unchallenged and unremarked in mainstream society. A robust White supremacy is vigorously nurtured and protected. Juvenile incarceration and prison schooling highlight the complex and emerging postracial mechanisms of resegregation, but are not unusual or isolated sites. In fact, they serve as windows onto the larger system of supremacist schooling and offer a blueprint for considering how resegregation is undertaken and how it can be analyzed, mapped, and challenged.

NOTES 1. Please see the Introduction to this volume for a thorough discussion of the history and tenets of the CRT movement. 2. It is important to note that the state did not consider Lincoln or any other locked facility with cells to be prisons and that my choice to name Lincoln a prison and the young men inmates is not to reflect the language or ideology of the state but rather the material realities of juvenile incarceration at

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5. 6.

Sabina E. Vaught Lincoln, in the state, and across the United States. Young men at Lincoln are not “residents” ideologically, politically, or materially. They are instead prisoners in every sense of the word. I thank Tufts University for the grant funding and sabbatical leave that made this research possible. Black girls are struggling against increasingly high rates of detention and incarceration, and much attention should be given to the complexities of their situations. However, because this chapter is driven largely by data collected from a juvenile male prison, it is not within the purview of my discussion to address this important question. It should be noted that “Asian” students had the overall lowest rate of suspension, as did “Asian” boys in the male category. There were no data on “Asian” girls, as the standards for reporting were identified as “not met.” There are places throughout this chapter where I do not cite the source of statistics, as those sources would reveal the location of the research.

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Prison Schooling 135 Rousseau (Eds.), Critical Race Theory in education: All god’s children got a song (pp. 67–88). New York: Routledge. Children’s Defense Fund. (2010). The state of America’s children. Washington, DC: Children’s Defense Fund. Cho, S. (2009). Post-racialism. Iowa Law Review, 94, 1589–1649. Choe, L. (1999). Negotiating borders of consciousness in the pursuit of education: Identity politics and gender of second-generation Korean American women. In L. Parker, D. Deyhle, & S. Villenas, (Eds.), Race is . . . race isn’t: Critical Race Theory and qualitative studies in education (pp. 205–230). Boulder, CO: Westview Press. CNN. (2011). Retrieved August 8, 2010, from http://www.cnn.com/2011/ CRIME/08/06/mississippi.hate.crime/index.html? Collins, P. H. (2000). Black feminist thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment. New York: Routledge. Crenshaw, K. (1995). Race, reform, and retrenchment: Transformation and legitimation in antidiscrimination law. In K. Crenshaw, N. Gotanda, G. Peller, & K. Thomas (Eds.), Critical Race Theory: The key writings that formed the movement (pp. 103–122). New York: The New Press. Crenshaw, K., Gotanda, N., Peller, G., & Thomas, K. (Eds.). (1995). Critical Race Theory: The key writings that formed the movement. New York: The New Press. Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2001). Critical Race Theory: An introduction. New York: New York University Press. Dillard, A. D. (2001). Guess who’s coming to dinner now? Multicultural conservatism in America. New York: NYU Press. Dixson, A., & Rousseau, C. (2006). Critical Race Theory in education: All God’s children got a song. New York: Routledge. Dunbar, C. (2001). From alternative school to incarceration. Qualitative Inquiry, 7(2), 158–170. Duncan, G. (2005). Critical race ethnography in education: Narrative, inequality and the problem of epistemology. Race Ethnicity and Education, 8(1), 93–114. Duncan, G. A. (2000). Urban pedagogies and the celling of adolescents of color. Social Justice: A Journal of Crime Conflict and World Order, 27(3), 29–42. Fanon, F. (1967). Black skin, White masks. New York: Grove Press. Fenning, P., & Rose, J. (2007). Overrepresentation of African American students in exclusionary discipline: The role of school policy. Urban Education, 42(6), 536–559. Ferguson, A. A. (2000). Bad boys: Public schools in the making of black masculinity. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Foucault, M. (1995). Discipline & punish: The birth of the prison (2nd ed.). New York: Vintage Books. Gillborn, D. (2005). Education policy as an act of white supremacy: Whiteness, critical race theory and education reform. Journal of Education Policy, 20(4), 485–505. Gordon, R., Della Piana, L., & Keleher, T. (2001). Zero tolerance: A basic racial report card. In W. Ayers, & B. Dohrn (Eds.), Zero tolerance: Resisting the drive for punishment in our schools (pp. 77–88). New York: The New Press. Gotanda, N. (1991). A critique of “Our Constitution is Color-Blind.” 44 Stanford Law Review, 1, 1–68. Gramsci, A. (1971). Selections from the prison notebooks of Antonio Gramsci (Q. Hoare & G. Nowell, Eds. & Trans.). New York: International Publishers. Gregory, A., Skiba, R. J., & Noguera, P. A. (2010). The achievement gap and the discipline gap: Two sides of the same coin? Educational Researcher, 39(1), 59–68.

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Prison Schooling 137 Nieto, S. (2004). Black, white, and us: The meaning of Brown v. Board of Education for Latinos. Multicultural Perspectives, 6(4), 22–25. Noguera, P. (2008). The trouble with Black boys . . . and other refl ections on race, equity, and the future of public education. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention (OJJDP). (2009). OJJDP Statistical briefi ng book. OJJDP, Office of Justice Programs, U.S. Department of Justice. Retrieved February 12, 2010, from http://ojjdp.ncjrs.org/ojstatbb/crime/ JAR_Display.asp?ID=qa05274 Orfield, G. (2001). Schools more separate: Consequences of a decade of resegregation. Cambridge, MA: The Civil Rights Project. Orfield, G. (2009). Reviving the goal of an integrated society: A 21st century challenge. Los Angeles, CA: The Civil Rights Project/Proyecto Derechos Civiles at UCLA. Orfield, G., & Lee, C. (2005). Why segregation matters: Poverty and educational inequality. Cambridge, MA: The Civil Rights Project. Orfield, G., Losen, D., Wald, J., & Swanson, C. B. (2004). Losing our future: How minority youth are being left behind by the graduation rate crisis. Cambridge, MA: The Civil Rights Project at Harvard University. Contributors: Urban Institute, Advocates for Children of New York, and The Civil Society Institute. Parker, L., Deyhle, D., & Villenas, S. (Eds.). (1999). Race is . . . race isn’t: Critical Race Theory and qualitative studies in education. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Parker, L., & Lynn, M. (2002). What’s race got to do with it? Critical Race Theory’s confl icts with and connections to qualitative research methodology and epistemology. Qualitative Inquiry, 8(1), 7–22. Prendergast, C. (2003). Literacy and racial justice: The politics of learning after Brown v. Board of Education. Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press. Raffaele Mendez, L. M., & Knoff, H. M. (2003). Who gets suspended from school and why: A demographic analysis of schools and disciplinary infractions in a large school district. Education and Treatment of Children, 26(1), 30–51. Raffaele Mendez, L. M., Knoff, H. M., & Ferron, J. (2002). School demographic variables and out-of-school suspension rates: A quantitative and qualitative analysis of a large, ethnically diverse school district. Psychology in the Schools, 30(3), 259–277. Saddler, C. (2005). The impact of Brown on African American students: A critical race theoretical perspective. Educational Studies, 37(1), 41–55. Simmons, L. (2009). End of the line: Tracing racial inequality from school to prison. Race/Ethnicity: Multidisciplinary Global Perspectives, 2(2), 215–241. Skiba, R. (2001). When is disproportionality discrimination? The overrepresentation of black students in school suspension. In W. Ayers, B. Dohrn, & R. Ayers (Eds.), Zero tolerance: Resisting the drive for punishment in our schools (pp. 165–175). New York: The New Press. Skiba, R. J., & Knesting, K. (2002). Zero tolerance, zero evidence: An analysis of school disciplinary practice. New directions for youth development, 92, 17–34. Skiba, R. J., Michael, R. S., Nardo, A. C., & Peterson, R. L. (2002). The color of discipline: Sources of racial and gender disproportionality in school punishment. The Urban Review, 34(2), 317–342. Smith, D. E. (2005). Institutional ethnography: A sociology for people. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Smith, D. E. (2006). Institutional ethnography as practice. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers.

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Solórzano, D., & Yosso, T. (2002). Critical race methodology: Counter-storytelling as an analytical framework for education research. Qualitative Inquiry, 8(1), 23–44. Spillers, H. J. (2003). Black, white, and in color: Essays on American literature and culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Spring, J. (2010). Deculturalization and the struggle for equality: A brief history of the education of dominated cultures in the United States. New York: McGrawHill. Taylor, E., Gillborn, D., & Ladson-Billings, G. (2009). Foundations of Critical Race Theory in education. New York: Routledge. Townsend, B. L. (2000). The disproportionate discipline of African American learners: Reducing school suspensions and expulsions. Exceptional Children, 66, 381–391. Tuzzulo, E., & Hewitt, D. T. (2006). Rebuilding inequality: The re-emergence of the school-to-prison pipeline in New Orleans. The High School Journal, 90(2), 59–68. Vaught, S. (2008). Writing against racism: Telling White lies and reclaiming culture. Qualitative Inquiry, 14(4), 566–589. Vaught, S. (2011a). Juvenile prison schooling and re-entry: Disciplining young men of color. In F. Sherman & F. Jacobs (Eds.), Juvenile justice: Advancing research, policy, and practice (pp. 691–745). Hoboken, NJ: Wiley & Sons. Vaught, S. (2011b). Racism, public schooling, and the entrenchment of White Supremacy: A critical race ethnography. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Vaught, S. (2012). Hate speech in a juvenile male prison school and in U.S. schooling. The Urban Review, 44(2), 239–264. Vavrus, F., & Cole, K. (2002). “I didn’t do nothin’”: The discursive construction of school suspension. The Urban Review, 34(2), 87–111. Wald, J., & Losen, D. (2003). Defi ning and redirecting a school-to-prison pipeline. New Directions for Youth Development, 99(Fall), 9–15. Watkins, W. (2001). The White architects of Black education: Ideology and power in America, 1865–1954. New York: Teachers College Press. Williams, P. (1995). Meditations on masculinity. In M. Berger, B. Wallis, & S. Watson (Eds.), Constructing masculinity (pp. 238–249). New York: Routledge. Winn, M. T., & Behizadeh, N. (2011). The right to be literate: Literacy, education, and the school-to-prison pipeline. Review of Research in Education, 35, 147–173. Woodson, C. G. (2011). The mis-education of the Negro. New York: Tribeca Books. Yosso, T., Parker, L., Solórzano, D., & Lynn, M. (2004). From Jim Crow to affi rmative action and back again: A critical race discussion of racialized rationales and access to higher education. Review of Research in Education, 28, 1–25.

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The Impact of School Resegregation on the Racial Identity Development of African American Students The Example of Wake County Jessica T. DeCuir-Gunby and Jocelyn D. Taliaferro

Racial identity has been an essential construct in education for decades. This construct was manifested in the use of Kenneth and Mamie Clark’s classic line drawing (1939, 1940) and ethnic doll (1947) racial identity studies as evidence on the detrimental effects caused by Jim Crow in the landmark case of Brown v. Board of Education in 1954. In this case, lawyers for the NAACP argued that the racial caste system of the United States had a deleterious consequence on the Black psyche, causing extreme self-hatred and low self-esteem (Benjamin & Crouse, 2002; Keppel, 2002; Martin, 1998). Indeed, the argument proved to be successful, helping persuade Chief Justice Earl Warren to view the practice of “separate but equal” as unconstitutional; in fact, Warren referenced the Clarks in the text of the decision (see Brown v. Education, 1954; Martin, 1998). The very referencing of such research in the Brown decision supported the seriousness of the issue of racial identity in education. Nearly 60 years after Brown, racial identity still remains an important construct in the field of education, particularly for African American students (Philogene, 2004). The recent resegregation of schools only reemphasizes the important role that racial identity plays. Because of the resegregation of school systems throughout the country, it is necessary to further examine the many negative effects it will have on education (Frey & Wilson, 2009). Thus the purpose of this chapter is to explore the impact that resegregation can potentially have on the racial identity development of African American students. We will begin by discussing Whiteness as property (Harris, 1993) and racial identity (Sellers, Rowley, Chavous, Shelton, & Smith, 1997). Next we will provide a discussion of the role of the school context on the racial socialization of African American students, focusing on the contexts of segregated schools (pre-Brown) and desegregated schools (post-Brown) in the American South. Using Wake County

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(North Carolina) as an example, we will then discuss how the resegregated school context, in particular, can negatively impact the racial identity of African American students. We will end with suggestions for helping to foster positive racial identity in African American students amidst the resegregation climate.

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF WHITENESS: WHITENESS AS PROPERTY Whiteness has been legally defi ned by both determining who was not White and by denigrating those who were not White (see Gotanda, 1991; Lopez, 2000). Specifically, according to Supreme Court rulings, Whites are “those not constructed as non-White. That is, Whites exist as a category of people subject to a double negative: They are those who are not non-White” (Lopez, 2000, p. 631). In addition, the legal system has declared “Whites exist not just as the antonym of non-Whites but as the superior antonym” (Lopez, 2000, pp. 631–632). Because of this, Whiteness is considered “normal” and superior whereas non-Whites are deemed non-normal and inferior, simultaneously creating a system where Whiteness is associated with entitlement, power, and privilege (Leonardo, 2002). Critical Race Theory’s (CRT) tenet of Whiteness as property even suggests that Whiteness has the same rights as that of property. These rights include transferability, use and enjoyment, reputation, and exclusion (Harris, 1993). Transferability suggests that Whiteness, like a house, can be transferred from one generation to another; the right to use and enjoyment involves the maintenance of White privilege and White identity; reputation rights implies that White identity is paramount and must be protected; the right to exclude means that White identity involves a sense of entitlement, including the right to include and exclude (Bell, 1988). Whiteness as property allows for the valuing of Whiteness while simultaneously establishing the inferiority of Blackness. As such, understanding Whiteness as property is essential to exploring the racial identity development and education of African Americans (DeCuir-Gunby, 2006).

BLACK RACIAL IDENTITY AND THE EDUCATION OF AFRICAN AMERICAN STUDENTS Black racial identity (BRI) addresses one’s attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors regarding African Americans. Some of the earliest work on BRI can be traced back to Kenneth and Mamie Clark. The Clarks examined racial identification through line drawings (Clark & Clark, 1939, 1940) and baby doll studies (Clark & Clark, 1947). Their studies were a series of experiments in

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which African American children, ages 6 to 9, were asked questions about their preferences for either a White or a Black doll. Specifically, the children were asked to categorize the dolls according to issues such as beauty, behavior, and personal identification. The Clarks found that the majority of the children in their samples consistently associated the White doll with positive attributes and the Black doll with negative attributes. Because of these fi ndings, the Clarks concluded that Black children have an implicit White bias that contributed to a negative Black identity. It is important to add that this study has been replicated in recent years and has yielded similar results (Davis, 2007). African American children are still more likely to identify with White dolls. In addition, when forced to choose between Black dolls of different hues, Black children consistently choose the lighter-skinned dolls. This suggests that even post-Brown, African American children continue to have a White bias. Ultimately, the Clarks’ studies revealed that African American children viewed the African American racial group negatively and consequently did not positively identify with African Americans. Instead, many showed preferences toward European Americans. Because many African American children did not positively identify with African Americans, the Clarks suggested this led to low self-esteem and self-hatred. These fi ndings gained the attention of lawyers of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), including Robert Carter and Thurgood Marshall, and eventually became an important component of their argument in Brown (Benjamin & Crouse, 2002). However, the work of the Clarks, particularly Kenneth Clark, began to be scrutinized largely because of the description of the Black family as a “tangle of pathology,” a phrase that was later borrowed and made infamous by Daniel Patrick Moynihan (see Phillips, 2004). Although many criticized the later work of the Clarks as negatively portraying African Americans, even to the point of pathologization, their work helped to demonstrate the importance of racial identity as a prominent social science construct. After the work of the Clarks, African Americans collectively became more racially conscious and began to explore racial identity more systematically. William Cross, one of the first researchers to conceptualize racial identity, developed the Nigrescence model (Cross, 1971). A five-stage model ranging from positive to negative forms of self-identification, the Nigrescence model attempted to describe the process of becoming Black and reaching self-actualization. Cross’ work served as the catalyst for contemporary BRI examinations, which include viewing BRI as a developmental construct (Parham & Helms, 1985), as a component of ethnic identity (Phinney, 1992), or as a multidimensional construct (Sellers et al., 1997). More recently, BRI researchers have begun to examine how BRI intersects with other identities, particularly within the school context (DeCuir-Gunby, 2009). One such area is the relationship between BRI and academic identity.

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Indeed, there is conflicting research on BRI and academic identity. Some research indicates that there is a negative relationship (Lockett & Harrell, 2003), whereas other research suggests a positive relationship (Thomas, Caldwell, Faison, & Jackson, 2009). One negative view is that of having an oppositional identity and the notion of “acting White.” Students with an oppositional identity identify with characteristics that are considered Black and therefore disidentify with characteristics that are associated with Whites. Those African American students that do identify with “White” characteristics are considered to be “acting White.” According to Fordham and Ogbu (1986), African Americans are considered to be “acting White” when they engage in particular activities and behaviors (e.g., particular speech patterns, mannerisms, style of dress, etc.) that are associated with Whiteness. One controversial aspect that is often associated with acting White is academic achievement. Because of this, it is postulated that when African American students have oppositional identities and perceive that academic achievement is associated with Whiteness, they are more likely to disidentify with academics. However, it must be added that acting White is not always associated with academic achievement. Many studies have demonstrated that African American students identify with academic achievement (O’Connor, Hill, & Robinson, 2009; Spencer, Noll, Stoltzfus, & Harpalani, 2001; Tyson, 2011). In fact, African American students that successfully identify with academics often associate academics with their racial identity (Oyserman & Harrison, 1998). Recent research provides substantial evidence that there is a positive relationship between BRI and academic achievement (Thomas et al., 2009). As previously described, schooling has historically played a crucial role in the lives of African Americans. It was the use of the work of the Clarks in Brown that helped to identify the educational context as a significant influence on BRI. In order to better understand why the work of the Clarks played such a crucial role in Brown, it is necessary to discuss how the political and cultural climate of the South, the backdrop of Brown, impacted the education of African American students. Our discussion will focus on education in the South both pre- and post-Brown.

THE SCHOOLING OF AFRICAN AMERICANS IN THE DEEP SOUTH During the time of the Clarks’ work, the Southern United States was racially divided. The South was governed under Jim Crow laws which emphasized de jure segregation and demanded “separate but equal” facilities, including public schools. The social and political structures promoted White privilege and superiority, creating a power structure that maintained White supremacy, in all facets of life in the South. This power structure simultaneously maintained powerlessness and feelings of inferiority in the African

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American population (Litwack, 1998). It is with this backdrop that the work of the Clarks gained momentum. Through Brown, the psychological health of African Americans in segregated schools was questioned.

SEGREGATED SCHOOLS IN THE SOUTH The research on BRI and segregated schools is one of complexity, highlighting both positive and negative physical and psychological impacts. Despite many positive fi ndings regarding Black schools in the pre-Brown South, these schools are historically described in deficit terms. As critiqued by Siddle Walker (2000), many of these studies focus on the negative impact that segregation had on Black students including the lack of resources, poor teacher training, and overcrowded classrooms, among other issues. It was from this perspective that the Clarks built their case regarding the racial identity of African Americans. Although segregated schools in the South frequently provided negative experiences for African American students, there is a growing body of literature that challenges these conventional perceptions (Anderson, 1988; Foster, 1997; Fultz, 2004). This research highlights the positive attributes of segregated schools and their impact on African American students. Specifically such research discusses how segregated schools helped to promote Black racial identity (Perry, 2003). In addition, many discuss how their effectiveness was influenced by the larger Black community, as well as by Black teachers and administrators (Tillman, 2004). Despite the findings of the Clarks, segregation helped to enhance feelings of collective identity in some African Americans. In this sense, Black schools often served as a source of Black pride and helped to affi rm BRI (see Siddle Walker, 1996). Because everyone in the school was Black, from the students to the principals, Black schools helped to create a sense of belonging and community. These feelings of pride helped to provide the infrastructure needed to help counter the many issues of social injustice caused by segregation. In addition, segregated Black schools in the South often had a very supportive community. There was interdependence among the Black school, family, and community (Morris, 2009). Parents often had personal relationships with the teachers because they all lived in the same all-Black neighborhoods and attended the same all-Black churches (Fairclough, 2004). Likewise, the teachers frequently took personal interest in their students. It was common for schools to become centers for African Americans to congregate and bond. For instance, African Americans were often supportive of the all-Black athletic teams and would readily attend their sports matches (Rhoden, 2006). Segregated Black schools had dedicated African American teachers and administrators. Although White teachers could work at Black schools,

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such as the case of many Catholic and American Missionary Association schools (Fairclough, 2000), the overwhelming majority did not. However, Black teachers and administrators could not work at White institutions in the South. Because of this, Black students were most likely taught and reared by Black faculty. Although often portrayed as deficient, many Black teachers and administrators were highly trained and dedicated to their students (Siddle Walker, 2001; Tillman, 2004). In fact, the majority of African Americans in the South preferred to be taught by African American teachers because of their sensitivity to the needs of African American children and their understanding of African American culture (Fairclough, 2000).

DESEGREGATED SCHOOLS IN THE SOUTH In the 1954 landmark decision, Brown overturned Plessy, requiring schools to desegregate with “all deliberate speed.” Because of very broad interpretations of the ruling as well as no defi nitive time mandate, many schools failed to make desegregation a priority and did not desegregate until nearly forced to do so. In fact, there were some schools that did not desegregate until the 1970s (Patterson, 2001). Despite the slow momentum to desegregate, school systems throughout the South eventually desegregated, creating racially-mixed schools, with the majority of schools desegregating in the 1960s (Morris & Morris, 2002). Similar to segregated schools, research on BRI in desegregated schools is equally complicated. There have been both positive and negative outcomes. Overall, the fi ndings have been positive. Students in desegregated schools often have higher levels of achievement (Bradley & Bradley, 1977; Mickelson & Heath, 1999). Specifically, African Americans in desegregated Southern schools are more likely to enroll in college, particularly predominately White universities (Dawkins & Braddock, 1994). In addition, there has been greater upward mobility, with more African Americans entering professions where Blacks are underrepresented (Cole & Omari, 2003). There has been an increase in mixed-raced friendships and desegregating of neighborhoods (Rosenfield, Sheehan, Marcus, & Stephan, 1981). Despite the numerous positive aspects associated with desegregation, there are several research studies that have discussed the negative impact of desegregated schools on the BRI of African American students including the loss of community involvement and the reduction of African American teachers and administrators (Tillman, 2004; Wells, Holme, Revilla, & Atanda, 2004). As previously stated, African Americans established a sense of community with their schools during the pre-Brown era. With desegregation came the change in the composition of neighborhoods; the more affluent African Americans moved to White communities, simultaneously removing wealth from Black communities (Hudson & Holmes, 1994). In addition, African

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American students were frequently bused to White communities, including schools that were relatively far away (Orfield & Eaton, 1996; Patterson, 1997), which decreased African American parents’ access to the schools and limited their ability to advocate for their children. These changes helped to negatively influence African American community involvement in schools. There was no longer a connection among the students, family, and the schools because of the lack of cultural connection and proximity. A major unintended consequence of desegregation was the decrease in African American teachers and administrators. After desegregation, as schools consolidated, many of the African American teachers and administrators were displaced in order to make room for White teachers and administrators (Foster, 1997). In addition, many Black teachers were bullied and treated unfairly, motivating them to leave the education profession (Fairclough, 2004). As a result, there is only a fraction of the number of African American teachers and administrators that existed pre-Brown. This extreme reduction has forced many African American students to encounter only a minimal number of African American educators such as teachers, coaches, principals, and superintendents (Horsford, 2011; Hudson & Holmes, 1994).

SEGREGATED VS. DESEGREGATED SCHOOLS IN THE SOUTH It is readily acknowledged that there exists a complicated relationship between BRI and segregated and desegregated schools in the South. The research in these respective areas has yielded mixed results (Chavous et al., 2003). Despite the many problems associated with segregated schools, African American students in segregated schools often experienced group pride (Dempsey & Noblit, 1993), were connected to the school community (Morris & Morris, 2002), and encountered African American educators and administrators (Tillman, 2004). Although African American students in desegregated schools have lost much of their connection to the school community and seen a gross reduction of African American educators, they now experience greater academic achievement (Bradley & Bradley, 1977; Crain & Mahard, 1983), more educational opportunity (Mickelson & Heath, 1999), and increased upward mobility (Dawkins & Braddock, 1994). Thus, it can be stated that overall, the good aspects of desegregated schools on BRI have outweighed its many negative effects. As such, the resegregation of our nation’s schools is alarming in that it can have deleterious effects on the racial identity of African American students as well as their academic achievement. Unfortunately, there are remnants of segregation within schools particularly in programs such as special education and gifted education. Special education is grossly overrepresented by African Americans (Blanchett, 2006). Such an overrepresentation facilitates the stereotype that African Americans are not as

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intelligent as other racial groups, particularly Whites, thereby negatively influencing the relationship between BRI and academic achievement. Likewise, African Americans are grossly underrepresented in gifted education (Ford, 1996). Because of this, African American students that participate in gifted programs often face the issue of being “the only one” or one of the few, which impacts their sense of BRI (Grantham & Ford, 1998; Hebert & Beardsley, 2001). Although school systems have been largely complacent about such within school segregation, they are now attempting to make segregation more large- scale by returning to neighborhood schools, thereby virtually resegregating whole school districts. This has the potential to negatively impact the BRI of African American students. One district where this process of resegregation has been problematic is Wake County, North Carolina.

RESEGREGATED SCHOOLS’ IMPACT ON RACIAL IDENTITY: THE STORY OF WAKE COUNTY The Wake County school system in North Carolina has been viewed as one of the most successful implementations in the country (Grant, 2009). Wake County school system is a construct of its historical context. The 1960s and ’70s brought an outmigration of Whites from the city of Raleigh to the more affluent neighboring suburbs. In 1971 busing was instituted as a means of desegregating the schools. Although there were no major incidences in the desegregation story or the city or suburbs, both systems encountered significant challenges and floundered. Several schools in the city were forced to close, while county schools struggled to remain open (Wake Education Partnership, 2006). To address the fragmented systems issue, the city and county school systems merged in 1976 to form the Wake County Public School System (Grant, 2009). Both the White and African American communities challenged the system (Wake Education Partnership, 2006). White residents were concerned about the quality of education a merger would bring and African Americans were concerned about the loss of “local Black identity” (Wake Education Partnership, 2006, p. 5). Today, Wake County Public School System is the largest school system in the state of North Carolina and the 18th largest in the nation; it features 103 elementary schools, 32 middle schools, 24 high schools, and 4 special/optional schools (Wake County Public School System, 2012). As of the 2010–2011 school year, Wake County services over 143,000 students, with a student body that is 49.5 percent White, 24.8 percent Black, 14.6 percent Latino/Hispanic, 6 percent Asian, 4.5 percent multiracial, and 0.4 percent Native American (Hui, 2010). It must be stated that the percentage of White students in the county’s public school system has been declining steadily since the mid-1990s and this is the fi rst time that the White students no longer make up the majority.

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Wake County is accredited by AdvancED, one of the nation’s most respected education accreditation organizations with two divisions, the North Central Association Commission on Accreditation and School Improvement (NCA CASI) and the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools Council on Accreditation and School Improvement (SACS CASI; AdvancED, 2011). The accreditation standards of AdvancED are rigorous and promote high student performance and system-wide accountability (AdvancED, 2011). This accreditation speaks to Wake County’s commitment to excellence in education. The county also has a large number of National Board Certified teachers. Most importantly, Wake County has been nationally acclaimed as a good model for desegregation (Flinspach & Banks, 2005; Grant, 2009), mainly because of the academic success of all its children (Kahlenberg, 2006). However, the system still struggles with a significant achievement gap. Based on performance on standardized tests, African American children perform 23–45 percent lower than their White peers and are two times less likely to be enrolled in advanced placement courses (Gilleland & Holdzkom, 2009). Further, African American students are four times more likely to be retained (Paeplow, 2009), three times more likely to drop out (Wake County Public Schools, 2009), and three times more likely to be suspended (Public Schools of North Carolina State Board of Education Department of Public Instruction, 2008). Whereas many school systems engaged in a race-based policy for desegregation such as “closing down and/or combining formerly racially separate schools, drawing new attendance boundaries across diverse neighborhoods, pairing of schools, busing students, race-conscious magnet school enrollment policies, and the siting of new schools in locations to maximize student diversity” (Mickelson, 2009 p. 217); Wake County instead adopted an economic-based system in 2001. The goal was to create schools with no more than 40 percent of students on free and reduced lunch (U.S. Department of Education, 2004). The plan has been quite successful at balancing school diversity, with the majority of residents being supportive of the plan. Notwithstanding, Tea Party politics recently entered the education discourse. Although the Tea Party is a national movement, its agenda manifests and is felt most acutely in local politics. The Tea Party Movement began in February 2009 out of an expression of frustration and dissatisfaction with the Obama Administration by CNBC’s Rick Santelli. His on-air rant, from the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, and subsequent viral YouTube video of it, is widely considered the birth of the Tea Party Movement. The overall stated agenda of the Tea Party is to reduce “big government, big business, big national debt, and big taxes” (Rowen, 2007 para. 8). However, the real and practical implications of this agenda are a retrenchment of public services including social welfare, safety net services, and education. In North Carolina, due to the historically racialized context of the American South, it had even more significance among the local players in this debate. Comments heard during Tea Party Movement

148 Jessica T. DeCuir-Gunby and Jocelyn D. Taliaferro rallies regarding “taking our country back” and “going back to the way things used to be” harkened to the history of prejudice and discrimination in the Jim Crow South. The satirical comments of Tea Party Express blogger Mark Williams made the connection to the particular oppression of the Southern United States explicit in his response to the NAACP’s request for the Tea Party Movement to repudiate racism and its racist members (Linkins, 2011). His blog featured a fictitious letter from “Colored People” to Abraham Lincoln. This is the backdrop in which the Wake County School Board (WCSB) engaged in discussions around the diversity policy. On November 4, 2009 Wake County held a school board election. After elections were over, four Tea Party-supported candidates on the ballot who campaigned on the issue of returning to neighborhood schools were successful in their candidacy and were elected to the board (McCrummen, 2011). The majority-Republican board consisted of nine members; four White women, four White men, and one African American male who was appointed to complete the term of a member who resigned. Immediately after the new board was installed, they began to make plans for the county’s return to neighborhood schools, de facto resegregation. Foreseeing the turn of events, Del Burns, the Wake County Schools Superintendent resigned in protest of the board’s movement toward neighborhood schools (resegregation). The board later appointed Anthony J. Tata, former chief operating officer of the Washington, DC public school system, as the new Wake County Superintendent. Soon after the election, community organizations including the NAACP and Great Schools in Wake Coalition mobilized in protest of the school board’s actions (Bowens, Owens, Johnson, Gardner, & Bridgers, 2010). These community organizations and other concerned citizens began to attend school board meetings in order to voice their opinions. Many meetings became highly contentious and combative (Membis, 2010). In fact, several community members were repeatedly arrested or detained due to their direct protest activities, in one instance taking the seats of the school board members during a break and refusing to move at the reconvening of the meeting (Membis, 2010). Because of this, WCSB increased its security and implemented closed-session meetings. By May 18, 2011 the school board voted 5 to 4 to end busing and to return to neighborhood schools (de facto resegregation). This vote created an uproar in Wake County and larger North Carolina communities. Interested parties across the nation have closely documented the actions of the WCSB. For example, in Raleigh, the local paper, the News & Observer provided extensive coverage of the school board’s actions. In addition, the WCSB has received attention from national newspapers, including the Washington Post and the New York Times. Also, the actions of the WCSB have received federal attention with Secretary of Education Arne Duncan’s letter to the Washington Post that criticized the plans of the WCSB. Even popular culture political satirist Stephen Colbert of the Colbert Report mocked the

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WCSB’s actions in his segment called “The Word,” in which he referred to WCSB’s plan as one of “Disintegration.” More importantly, the decisions of the WCSB have received the attention of AdvancED, Wake County’s school accreditation board. In fact, AdvancED has been determining how the WCSB’s plan will impact the school system’s eligibility for accreditation. Further, the NAACP filed a complaint to the U.S. Justice Department and the Office of Civil Rights in the U.S. Department of Education that the school board’s actions are in violation of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. At the time of writing, this complaint was part of an ongoing federal investigation of the school board’s elimination of the diversity policy (Hui, 2011). On October 11, 2011 the school board held its biennial election and the balance of power returned to the democratic majority. On December 6, 2011 the five successful candidates, including two Democratic-leaning incumbents, were sworn in and held their fi rst school board meeting with Kevin Hill and Keith Sutton serving as the new chair and vice-chair of the board, respectively. Although there was much wrangling and discussion about the school assignment plan approved under the former administration, on January 10, 2012 the new school board agreed that the assignment plan developed under the previous regime would move forward effective January 17, 2012. Since that time, the school board has grappled with a new assignment plan that would avoid the negative resegregation of the school system. As late as April 25, 2012 the board remains undecided about the outcome of the new student assignment plan. One school board member, Democrat Christine Kushner, is advocating for “a hybrid model, some residence-based assignment with expanded choice” (Hui, 2012).

A CRITICAL RACE ANALYSIS OF THE RESEGREGATION OF WAKE COUNTY: HOUSING, NEIGHBORHOOD SCHOOLS, AND RACIAL IDENTITY The resegregation of Wake County can be examined using CRT, particularly CRT’s tenet of Whiteness as property (Harris, 1993). As previously discussed, Whiteness as property suggests that Whiteness has the same rights as that of property, including the right to transferability, use and enjoyment, reputation, and exclusion. Because the resegregation of Wake County involves the possible returning to neighborhood schools, we must consider the influence of housing policy. As such, our CRT analysis of the resegregation of Wake County includes the discussion of housing and neighborhood schools.

Housing Housing policy in the United States has consistently and informally been intertwined with race. Although housing discrimination has been pervasive,

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redlining (Munnell, Tootell, Browne, & McEneaney, 1996), urban renewal (Owens, 2008), and more recently, gentrification (Kleit, 2001), are specific challenges. The National Housing Act of 1934, which allowed redlining, sanctioned mortgage discrimination, and the creation of residential security maps that identified and marginalized “high-risk” areas (Munnell et al., 1996) thrust housing and race into the nation’s consciousness as a national social problem. To address it, fair housing laws of the 1960s attempted to ameliorate issues associated with lack of choice and high-poverty concentrations in central cities (Munnell et al., 1996; Owens, 2008). More recently demonstration projects such as Moving to Opportunity for Fair Housing Demonstrations (MTO) and HOPE VI (a program designed to demolish the most troubled public housing projects and replace them with mixed-income communities) emerged during the 1990s as a means to address the issue of highly segregated, high-poverty neighborhoods. However, this housing segregation persists in many urban areas, including Wake County, North Carolina. By and large, housing policy is de facto education policy. In many areas that rely on a neighborhood school model, the residential milieu dictates the distribution of student enrollment. Neighborhood schools are based on a geographically bound strategy of school designation. This is to say that, where you live determines where you go to school and often how successful a school may be. The dominant neighborhood school model in the United States is that the schools available for attendance are largely determined by the jurisdiction in which the child or household is physically situated (Epple & Romano, 2003). This arrangement is due to funding strategies in which local property taxes are a major source of funding for public education. According to Aud et al. (2011), in 2007–2008 local funding sources accounted for 44 percent of total elementary and secondary public school revenue whereas states and federal funding provided 48 percent and 8 percent respectively. This funding configuration poses significant problems for low-income, high-poverty, and low-housing valuation areas. When local areas are economically integrated, the ramifications of high levels of local funding are ameliorated. For instance, Montgomery County, Maryland has been nationally recognized for their outcomes with educating poor and minority students (Schwartz, 2010). This is in large part due to economically integrated housing stock. Montgomery County housing policy states that developers of large subdivisions must allocate a percentage of homes to be rented or sold at below-market prices. Additionally, the public housing authority has latitude to purchase a third of homes in large subdivisions for low-income residents (Schwartz, 2010). Therefore, the county avoids high concentration of poverty areas and low-income children fi nd themselves in classrooms with their high-income counterparts (Rusk, 2008; Schwartz, 2010). Programs that seek to decrease concentration of poverty effects have been shown to provide some prospects for improved life chances and

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circumstances, including education (Rosenbaum, DeLuca, & Tuck, 2005). Research has shown that neighborhood environments affect the development of individuals in a myriad of contexts (Briggs, 2005; Kleit, 2001; Massey & Denton, 1993). The general consensus is that segregation is damaging to the life and educational chances of people in high-poverty areas (Jargowsky, 1997; Massey & Denton, 1993; Tegeler, 2005; Wilson, 1987). For instance, concentrated poverty has been determined to undermine social development whereas mixed-income neighborhoods are deemed healthier and promote greater life chances (Massey & Denton, 1993). Unfortunately and as a result of decades of housing discrimination, for many African Americans, particularly low-income, families’ choices about where to live is limited (Goering, 2005; Massey & Denton, 1993). In the United States, African Americans make up 19 percent of low-income neighborhood dwellers (Tegler, 2005). Although mixed-income neighborhood strategies such as HOPE VI and low-income tax credit programs have helped to deconcentrate poverty (Goetz, 2000), African Americans still disproportionately reside in low- and very low-income neighborhoods (Goering, 2005; Jargowsky, 1997). Many low-income, high-poverty, and segregated neighborhood residents are eager to move to lower-poverty environments. Although the extent to which this is true is a gap in the existing housing literature, some research suggests that the demand for desegregated housing among poor families is higher than the supply (Tegeler, 2005). Because low-income families are not fi nancially able to move from low-income areas, neighborhood schools would have the potential to force children into high-poverty concentrated schools. Therefore, many children from low-income African American families would not have the luxury of bypassing the ameliorating effects of schooling in low-poverty schools—at least not by way of residential location. John Goering (2005) further asserts “It is anything but news to say that few people in America seem to want or welcome the poor into their neighborhoods, particularly if the poor also belong to a racial or ethnic minority. . . . HUD has undertaken little or no proactive racial or class integration programs since the inception of federal housing policies roughly seventy years ago” (p. 127). Attempts to deconcentrate high-poverty neighborhoods via housing have resulted in residents moving to only slightly (but not substantively) higher-income neighborhoods (Goering, 2005; Jacob, 2004). Massey and Denton (1993) document that African Americans in poorer neighborhoods are often not able to take advantage of the mobility afforded to their White counterparts. Further, when they were able to move out of high-poverty neighborhoods, it was to poorer suburbs with high concentrations of African Americans. This racial segregation exacerbates economic segregation in that non-poor African Americans do not have the option to move away from their lower-income counterparts (Massey & Denton, 1993). African Americans who are able to move out of low-income neighborhoods tend to end up in suburban neighborhoods that have relatively low incomes

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and resources and are geographically close to poor neighborhoods (Massey & Denton, 1993; Tegler, 2005). In essence, residents who move from very lowincome neighborhoods tend to move to low-income neighborhoods (Tegler, 2005). According to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (1998) very low-income neighborhoods are defined as neighborhoods with income below 50 percent of the median income and low-income neighborhoods are seen as having neighborhood incomes of 50–80 percent of the median income. Rules to prevent the development of segregated enclaves have not been adequately enforced by many housing programs (Tegeler, 2005). Finally, when African Americans and other minorities are able to leave a poor neighborhood due to higher incomes, these higher income neighborhoods do not always translate into “better” neighborhoods (Sidney, 2005). Discriminatory housing practices still reduce the housing options for African Americans and lead to continued racial segregation. When applied to education policy, this means that options for better schools, more resources, and positive attitudes toward community schools still elude African American families. According to Mara Sidney (2005), “ . . . attitudes and information about neighborhoods, perceptions about schools, and differences in school quality and quality of life” (p.269) are dynamics that contribute to persistent neighborhood racial segregation. Although cities are in fact integrated writ large, there is a lack of diversity at the community and neighborhood level (Talen, 2006). For instance, neighborhoods that are older, relatively dense, and have a mix of owners and renters have been found to be more diverse. In Raleigh, North Carolina neighborhoods like this are hard to fi nd. Although Wake County has several older neighborhoods, especially in Raleigh such as Worthdale and Idlewild, it is dominated by Planned Urban Developments (PUDs) or what is commonly known as “developments” or the “suburbs.” Most Wake County communities, however, are not diverse. Therefore the strides that come from economic and social diversity may not be seen in Wake County with the dissolution of a specific policy to promote diversity.

Transferability in Wake County The resegregation of Wake County schools will help ensure that school membership will be transferred from one generation to the next. The implementation of neighborhood schools will enable generations of students to be bound to particular schools. Because neighborhoods in Wake County are fairly racially and economically segregated, the affluent and largely White schools will continuously have access to the best resources. Access to these schools will be transferred from one White and affluent generation to another. For example, Wakefield Plantation, a 2,200-acre, majority White, country club community in northern Wake County is one of the more affluent areas in the county. It has housing values ranging from $150,000 to $3,000,000 with the median home price of $350,000. It also includes some of the more high-achieving and sought-after schools such as Wakefield

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Elementary, Middle, and High Schools. With the resegregation of schools, it is certain that residents of Wakefield Plantation will continue to have access to some of the best schools in Wake County for generations.

Use and Enjoyment in Wake County As the neighborhood school model is implemented, individual schools will increasingly become known for their racial makeup. White students will continue to have access to the best schools and neighborhood communities. Certain schools will be seen as only available for particular racial groups. Oftentimes, the better schools in terms of both facilities and teachers will be almost exclusively seen as schools that are to be used and enjoyed by only White students. For example, the Preston Country Club area in Cary, North Carolina is a predominately White and affluent area. The city of Cary has a median housing value of $196,700. Cary houses some of Wake County’s top schools. However, the Preston Country Club, located in Cary, has housing values ranging from $250,000–$3,000,000, with a median home value of $460,000. As schools resegregate, the neighborhood schools associated with Preston Country Club will be used and enjoyed almost exclusively by its White, affluent residents.

Reputation in Wake County Neighborhood schools will develop reputations of being good and bad, largely influenced by the race of the schools. Neighborhood depreciation and appreciation can occur as in many counties across the country. For instance, Southeastern Raleigh is historically middle class and a predominately Black and Latino area. It is also relatively working class and poor, with a median housing value of $124,700. This area of Wake County is known as a highcrime area. In 2008, Southeast Raleigh had a murder rate four times more than the city of Raleigh’s overall average, with 70 percent more serious crimes (Geary, 2009). Southeast Raleigh opened a new elementary school, Walnut Creek Elementary, in August 2011; however, this school is projected to have 80 percent of its student body eligible for free/reduced lunch (Owens, 2011). As a contrast, Brier Creek, a predominately White and affluent area in Morrisville, North Carolina is situated near high-tech Research Triangle Park. It has a median home value of $349,000. Reputation in this instance may also be translated as stigmatization. Due to the lack of diversity in the county, areas will become known for their (in)effectiveness, allowing for racial stereotyping and stigmatization on a large scale.

Exclusion in Wake County With the resegregation of schools, neighborhood schools can continuously exclude non-Whites based on economics, thus helping to reify the White identity of particular schools. The Wake County School System

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lost a sizeable number of White students in the late 1990s/early 2000s to local private and charter schools, as well as home schooling. Wake County has numerous private schools that have been nationally recognized as academically excellent, including Cary Academy, Ravenscroft, and the Raleigh School. The resegregation of schools, we argue, will help create a resurgence of White students from such majority White private schools to majority White public schools. In fact, John Tedesco, a member of the Wake County school board, has stated that returning to neighborhood schools will help attract those White students that left the Wake County school system (Hui, 2010). This will help transform the best public schools essentially into “private schools” (Rothwell, 2012). White students will in actual fact be able to receive a private school education, essentially for free, by enrolling in a well-funded and predominately White public school. On the other hand, Black students who want a private school education would still have to attend actual private schools at private school rates1.

SCHOOL RESEGREGATION, WHITENESS AS PROPERTY, AND RACIAL IDENTITY As demonstrated by the work of the Clarks, African American children learn at early ages that possessing white skin is associated with favor, influence, and value. Through the resegregation of schools, the value of Whiteness will continue to be reinforced, if not exacerbated, adhering to CRT’s tenet of Whiteness as property (Harris, 1993). African American students will see that the best schools and programs will continuously be transferred from one White generation to another. The best and wealthiest schools will become even stronger agents of White privilege and in many ways challenge African American students’ right to use and enjoyment of quality schooling as a whole. Predominately White and exclusively White schools will be seen as better than African American schools, insuring that White schools will maintain the reputation of being good whereas African American schools will have the reputation of being bad. Also, African Americans will become systematically excluded from the best educational opportunities in order to maintain White entitlement. All of this will ensure that African American students experience limited access to quality education (and subsequently housing), which will in turn impact their BRI. The power and privilege are conferred to those that are White; the idea that Whiteness as property continues to create value based upon race. For African American students, this is problematic because they can never attain Whiteness and will always be considered less valuable. This will continue to have a significant impact on African Americans’ sense of racial identity. For those with a negative view of BRI, this will further reinforce the negative beliefs that they have toward their racial group. For those with positive BRI, this could cause them to question the purpose of racial pride in a system/structure that will forever deem them as less valuable.

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Whiteness as property is particularly damaging to BRI because of its actual connection to housing and schools. The more valuable, exclusive, and White the neighborhood, the better the associated schools and the more likely African Americans will be inadequately represented. This will help create and reinforce a system where White children not only have the best housing and neighborhoods, but also have generational access to the best schools. Over time, we argue that de facto segregation has the potential to impact African American children’s sense of self in that it will be difficult for African American students to consistently maintain a positive sense of racial identity (and academic identity) while mainly having access to lowerquality housing and schools. As such, BRI and overall feelings of self-worth will be inextricably linked to access to both housing and schooling.

IMPLICATIONS Since the Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District (2007), a Supreme Court ruling that prohibits school systems from considering race in pupil placement assignments in order to achieve racial desegregation, many school districts have already moved or are planning to move back to neighborhood schools, thus ensuring the resegregation of schools. The current resegregation of schools will only serve to thwart the progress students have made regarding academic achievement. Because racial identity is related to the academic achievement of African American students, one can infer that the racial identity of African American students will also suffer. Although there is little that can be done to revert many districts’ decisions regarding resegregation, it is necessary for educators to help African American students navigate the changing school context in order to foster a positive sense of racial identity. One way to positively influence racial identity is the hiring of more African American teachers. Nationally, African American teachers make up 7.4 percent of the teacher population. In Wake County, although 25 percent of students are African American, only 12 percent of teachers are African American whereas a full 85 percent of teachers are White. Having more African American teachers is essential because they have historically shown to be sources of support for African American students (Foster, 1997; Tillman, 2004). We believe that it is imperative for colleges of education to recruit more African American teacher education candidates as well as train more teachers to utilize culturally relevant pedagogical practices. In fact, the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area houses five universities with colleges of education, including three Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs). These institutions of higher education could easily take the lead in training more African American teachers, as well as more culturally relevant teachers, to work in Wake County. A second way to assist African American students is for communitybased African American organizations and African Americans in general,

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to become more involved in schools. For instance, there are several strong African American organizations in the Raleigh-Durham area that can assist participation including the NAACP, Great Schools in Wake Coalition, and Strengthening the Black Family. Also, individuals can get involved in traditionally underserved communities by volunteering in the schools and engaging in activities such as mentoring. Mentoring has been shown to have positive impacts on African American students (Hanlon, Simon, O’Grady, Carswell, & Callaman, 2009). For example, there are numerous volunteer opportunities in Wake County including substitute teaching, mentoring, and tutoring. African American students need to see other African Americans, particularly successful ones, within the school system. Last, the implementation of multicultural education is going to be crucial to helping students embrace multiculturalism. According to Banks (1993), multicultural education involves equity pedagogy, curriculum reform (expanding traditional curricula), social justice (social action), and multicultural competence (exposure to various cultural groups). Multiculturalism in schools is necessary because the positive presence of African Americans as well as the positive presence of other people of color is minimal in the curricula used throughout the country. Also, because schools will be more racially segregated and students will not have as many opportunities to interact with students from various cultures, multicultural education will play an important role in attempting to provide exposure and encourage understanding across racial and ethnic groups. Although it must be added that a true understanding of multiculturalism involves actively engaging with people from diverse backgrounds.

FUTURE RESEARCH The resegregation of the nation’s schools is creating a fruitful arena for educational research. In order to fully understand the impact of resegregation, research will need to be conducted in a variety of areas. Specifically, such research is needed regarding students, parents, and the community. First, as public schools resegregate, it will be necessary to examine how this phenomenon impacts African American students. The return to racially segregated schools will not necessarily have the same positive effects as many of the aforementioned pre-Brown schools, primarily because contemporary (re)segregated schools do not have the same ingredients as these earlier schools (e.g., Black faculty, community, etc.). As such, we are not certain how this will impact African American students. Thus, more work is needed to examine the impact of resegregation on the BRI of African American students. Next, more research is needed on understanding how resegregation will impact African American parents’ ability to advocate and fully participate in schools (Crozier, 2001). As such, it is necessary for African American students and parents to develop better strategies and mechanisms for

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advocacy. In particular, African American students and parents need to develop operational citizenship within the school system. Operational citizenship (OC) is a process and an outcome for marginalized and oppressed citizens (Taliaferro & DeCuir-Gunby, 2008). OC involves creating environments that promote democratic decision-making and social responsibility while seeking to open closed networks and systems. Within schools, African American parents can advocate for forums for the development of common goals, broadly defi ned networks, and solution-focused conversations within schools, thereby promoting shared responsibility and accountability in decision making and outcomes. Research concerning operational citizenship can create models for establishing schools that encourage African Americans’ equal decision making or inclusion in the decision-making process. Increasing African Americans’ ability to advocate in schools will clearly impact their children’s BRI. Lastly, more research is needed examining community context and its influence on schools, particularly in the South (Morris & Monroe, 2009). During the mid-20th century, millions of African Americans migrated to northern states, a period known as the Great Black Migration; however, in recent decades, millions of African Americans have begun to migrate back to the South (Morris & Monroe, 2009). This demographic shift helps to solidify the South as the nexus for understanding the schooling of African American students. As such, this re-migration will have huge implications for African American communities and the education system (Payne, 2004). Research needs to concentrate on how the changing Southern context is impacting schools and African American students’ BRI. In sum, the work of Kenneth and Mamie Clark helped to bring the construct of racial identity to the forefront in education research. Since then, there have been numerous studies on racial identity and the school context (DeCuir-Gunby, 2009; Grantham & Ford, 1998; Thomas et al., 2009). Research on racial identity will continue to be crucial as many school districts across the nation begin to resegregate. It will become imperative that researchers, advocates, and community residents remain vigilant regarding the impacts of resegregation, especially on the racial identity development of African American students.

REFERENCES AdvancED. (2011). The pursuit of excellence: 2010–2011 annual report. Alpharetta, GA: Author. Anderson, J. D. (1988). The education of Blacks in the South, 1860–1935. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Aud, S., Hussar, W., Kena, G., Bianco, K., Frohlich, L., Kemp, J., & Tahan, K. (2011). The condition of education 2011 (NCES 2011–033). U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office.

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Banks, J. A. (1993). Multicultural education: Historical development, dimensions, and practice. Review of Research in Education, 19, 3–49. Bell, D. A. (1988). White superiority in America: Its legal legacy, its economic costs. Villanova Law Review, 33, 767–779. Benjamin, L. T., & Crouse, E. M. (2002). The American Psychological Association’s response to Brown v. Board of Education: The case of Kenneth B. Clark. American Psychologist, 57(1), 38–50. Bennett, C. I. (2001). Genres of research in multicultural education. Review of Educational Research, 72(2), 171–217. Blanchett, W. J. (2006). Disproportionate Representation of African Americans in Special Education: Acknowledging the Role of White Privilege and Racism. Educational Researcher, 35(6), 24–28. Bowens, D., Owens, A., Johnson, A., Gardner, K., & Bridgers, M. (2010, July 20). Tensions rise at Wake school board meeting; 19 arrested. WRAL-TV. Retrieved from http://www.wral.com/news/education/story/7999211/ on January 19, 2011. Bradley, L. A., & Bradley, G. W. (1977). The academic achievement of Black students in desegregated schools: A critical review. Review of Educational Research, 47(3), 399–449. Briggs, X. De Souza (2005). Introduction In X. De Souza Briggs (Ed.), The geography of opportunity: Race and housing choice in metropolitan America (pp. 127–149). Washington, DC: The Brookings Institution. Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 347, U.S. 483. Chavous, T. M., Bernat, D. H., Scheelk-Cone, K., Caldwell, C. H., Kohn-Wood, L., & Zimmerman, M. A. (2003). Racial identity and academic attainment among African American adolescents. Child Development, 74(4), 1076–1090. Clark, K. B., & Clark, M. K. (1939). The development of consciousness of self and the emergence of racial identification in Negro preschool children. Journal of Social Psychology, 10, 591–599. Clark, K. B., & Clark, M. K. (1940). Skin color as a factor in racial identification of Negro preschool children. Journal of Social Psychology, 11, 159–169. Clark, K. B., & Clark, M. K. (1947). Racial identification and preference in Negro children. In T. M. Newcomb & E. L. Hartley (Eds.), Readings in social psychology (pp. 169–178). New York: Henry Holt and Company. Cole, E. R., & Omari, S. R. (2003). Race, class and the dilemmas of upward mobility for African Americans. Journal of Social Issues, 59(4), 785–802. Crain, R. L., & Mahard, R. E. (1983). The effect of research methodology on desegregation-achievement studies: A meta-analysis. American Journal of Sociology, 88(5), 839–854. Cross, W. E. (1971). The Negro-to-Black conversion experience. Black World, 20(9), 13–27. Crozier, G. (2001). Excluded parents: The deracialisation of parental involvement. Race, Ethnicity, and Education, 4(4), 329–341. Davis, K. (Producer). (2007, May 28). A girl like me. [on-line video]. Retrieved from http://www.kiridavis.com/ on November 6, 2011. Dawkins, M. P., & Braddock, II, J. H. (1994). The continuing significance of desegregation: School racial composition and African American inclusion in American society. Journal of Negro Education, 63(3), 394–405. DeCuir-Gunby, J. T. (2006). Proving your skin is white, you can have everything: Race, racial identity and the property rights in Whiteness in the Supreme Court Case of Josephine DeCuir. In C. Rousseau & A. Dixson (Eds.), Critical Race Theory and education: All God’s children got a song (pp. 89–111). New York: Routledge.

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DeCuir-Gunby, J. T. (2009). A review of racial identity development in African American adolescents: The role of education. Review of Educational Research, 79(1), 103–124. Dempsey, V., & Noblit, G. (1993). The demise of caring in an African-American community: One consequence of school desegregation. Urban Review, 25(1), 47–61. Epple, D. N., & Romano, R. (2003). Neighborhood schools, choice, and the distribution of educational benefits. In C. Hoxby (Ed.), The economics of school choice (pp. 227–286). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Fairclough, A. (2000). Being in the field of education and also being a Negro . . . seems . . . tragic: Black teachers in the Jim Crow South. Journal of American History, 87(1), 65–91. Fairclough, A. (2004). The costs of Brown: Black teachers and school integration. Journal of American History, 97(3), 43–55. Flinspach, S. L., & Banks, K. E. (2005). Moving beyond race: Socioeconomic diversity as a race-neutral approach to desegregation in the Wake County schools. In J. C. Boger & G. Orfield (Eds.), School resegregation: Must the South turn back? (pp. 261–280). Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Ford, D. Y. (1996). Reversing underachievement among gifted Black students: Promising practices and programs. New York: Teachers College Press. Fordham, S., & Ogbu, J. U. (1986). Black students’ school success: Coping with the “burden of ‘acting White’“. Urban Review, 18(3), 176–206. Foster, M. (1997). Black teachers on teaching. New York: Norton & Company. Frey, A., & Wilson, M. (2009). The resegregation of public schools. Children & Schools, 31(2), 79–86. Fultz, M. (2004). The displacement of Black educators post-Brown: An overview and analysis, History of Education Quarterly, 44(1), 11–45. Geary, B. (2009, March 25). Southeast Raleigh leaders: We need help. Retrieved from http://www.indyweek.com on December 22, 2011. Gilleland, K., & Holdzkom, D. (2009). Analysis of 2008–09 WCPSS SAT scores. Wake County Public School System Evaluation and Research Department. Retrieved from http://www.wcpss.net/evaluation-research/ reports/2009/0929sat08-09.pdf on November 3, 2011. Goering, J. (2005). Expanding housing choice and integrating neighborhoods: The MTO experiment. In X. De Souza Briggs (Ed.), The geography of opportunity: Race and housing choice in metropolitan America (pp. 127–149). Washington, DC: The Brookings Institution. Goetz, E.G. (2000) The politics of poverty deconcentration and housing demolition. Journal of Urban Affairs, 22 (2): 157–174. Gotanda, N. (1991). A critique of “Our constitution is color-blind.” Stanford Law Review, 44, 1–68. Grant, G. (2009). Hope and despair in the American city: Why there are no bad schools in Raleigh. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Grantham, T., & Ford, D. (1998). A case study of the social needs of Danisha: An underachieving gifted African American female. Roeper Review, 21(2), 96–101. Hanlon, T. E., Simon, B. D., O’Grady, K. E., Carswell, S. B., & Callaman, J. M. (2009). The effectiveness of an after-school program targeting urban African American youth. Education and Urban Society, 42(1), 96–118. Harris, C. (1993). Whiteness as property. Harvard Law Review, 106(8), 1707–1791.

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Hebert, T., & Beardsley, T. M. (2001). Jermaine: A critical case study of a gifted Black child living in rural poverty. Gifted Child Quarterly, 45(2), 85–103. Horsford, S. D. (2011). Vestiges of desegregation: Superintendent perspectives on educational inequality and (dis)integration in the post-civil rights era. Urban Education, 46(1), 34–54. Hudson, M. J., & Holmes, B. J. (1994). Missing teachers, impaired communities: The unanticipated consequences of Brown v. Board of Education on the African American teaching force at the precollegiate level. Journal of Negro Education, 63(3), 388–393. Hui, K. (2010, November 24). Whites no longer the majority. News & Observer. Retrieved from http://www.newsobserver.com on December 22, 2011. Hui, K. (2011, October 12). NAACP’s Barber praises Wake school board election results. News & Observer. Retrieved from http.//www.newsobserver.com on November 3, 2011. Hui, K. (2012, April 25). Wake school board puts off assignment changes, promises harder look. News & Observer. Retrieved from http.//www.newsobserver.com on August 21, 2012. Jacob, Brian A. (2004). Public housing, housing voucher, and student achievement: Evidence from public housing demolitions in Chicago. American Economic Review, 94(1), 233–258. Jargowsky, P. A. (1997). Poverty and place: ghettos, barrios, and the American city. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Kahlenberg, R. D. (2006). Helping children move from bad schools to good ones. Security and Opportunity Agenda Report. New York: Century Foundation. Keppel, B. (2002). Kenneth B. Clark in the patterns of American culture. American Psychologist, 57(1), 29–37. Kleit, R. G. (2001). The role of neighborhood social networks in scattered-site public housing residents’ search for jobs. Housing Policy Debate, 12(3), 541–573. Leonardo, Z. (2002). The souls of white folk: Critical pedagogy, whiteness studies, and globalization discourse. Race Ethnicity and Education, 5(1), 29–50. Linkins, J. (2011, May 25). Tea party boots Mark Williams for racist “satire” in the wake of NAACP criticism. Huffi ngton Post. Retrieved from http://www. huffi ngtonpost.com/2010/07/19/tea-party-boots-mark-will_n_651196.html on January 17, 2012. Litwack, L. F. (1998). Trouble in mind: Black southerners in the age of Jim Crow. New York: Vintage Books. Lockett, C. T., & Harrell, J. P. (2003). Racial identity, self-esteem, and academic achievement: Too much interpretation, too little supporting data. Journal of Black Psychology, 29(3), 325–336. Lopez, I. F. (2000). White by law. In R. Delgado & J. Stefancic (Eds.), Critical Race Theory: The cutting edge (pp. 626–634). Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Martin, Jr., W. E. (1998). Brown v. Board of Education: A brief history with documents. Boston:Bedford/St. Martin’s. Massey, D. S., & Denton, N. (1993). American apartheid: Segregation and the making of the underclass. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University McCrummen, S. (2011, January 12). Republican school board in N.C. backed by tea party abolishes integration policy. The Washington Post Online. Retrieved from http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2011/01/11/ AR2011011107063.html on January 21, 2011 Membis, L (2010, July 21). Arrests highlight education busing issues. Retrieved from http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/07/19/ncschools.resegregation.rally/index. html on January 21, 2011.

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Mickelson, R. A. (2009). Desegregation. In K. Loftey (Ed.), Encyclopedia of African American education (pp. 217–222 ) Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publication. Mickelson, R. A., & Heath, D. (1999). The effects of segregation on African American high school seniors’ academic achievement. Journal of Negro Education, 68(4), 566–586. Morris, J. E. (2009). Troubling the waters: Fulfilling the promise of quality public schooling for Black children. New York: Teachers College Press. Morris, J. E., & Monroe, C. R. (2009). Why study the U.S. South? The nexus of race and place in investigating Black student achievement. Educational Researcher, 38(1), 21–36. Morris, V. G., & Morris, C. L. (2002). Desegregation in an African American community. New York: Teacher’s College Press. Munnell, A. H, Tootell, G. M. B., Browne, L. E., & McEneaney, J. (1996). Mortgage lending in Boston: Interpreting HMDA data. The American Economic Review, 86(1), 25–53. O’Connor, C., Hill, L. D., & Robinson, S. R. (2009). Who’s at risk in school and what’s race got to do with it? Review of Research in Education, 33, 1–34. Orfield, G., & Eaton, S. (1996). Dismantling desegregation: The quiet reversal of Brown v. Board of Education. New York: New Press. Owens, A. (2011, February 11). Southeast Raleigh School serves as test of neighborhood assignments. Retrieved from http://www.wral.com Owens, M. (2008). Renewal in a working-class Black neighborhood. Journal of Urban Affairs, 19(2), 183–205. Oyserman, D., & Harrison, K. (1998). Implications of cultural context: African American identity and possible selves. In J. K. Swim & C. Stangor (Eds.), Prejudice: The target’s perspective (pp. 281–300). San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Paeplow, C. (2009). Wake County public school system promotion and retention in grades K–12, 2007–08. Wake County Public School System Evaluation and Research Department. Retrieved from http://www.wcpss.net/evaluationresearch/reports/2009/0913prom_retain2007-08.pdf on September 15, 2011. Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District (2007), 551, U.S. 701. Parham, T., & Helms, J. (1985). Attitudes of racial identity and self-esteem of Black students: An exploratory investigation. Journal of College Student Personnel, 26(2), 143–147. Patterson, J. T. (2001). Brown v. Board of Education: A civil rights milestone and its troubled legacy. Oxford University Press. Patterson, O. (1997). The ordeal of integration: Progress and resentment in America’s “racial” crisis. Washington, DC: Civitas/Counterpoint. Payne, C. M. (2004). The whole United States is Southern!: Brown v. Board and the mystification of race. The Journal of American History, 91(1), 83–91. Perry, T. (2003). Up from the parched earth: Toward a theory of African-American achievement. In T. Perry, C. Steele, & A. G. Hilliard III (Eds.), Young, gifted, and Black: Promoting high achievement among African American students (pp. 1–10). Boston: Beacon Press. Phillips, L. (2004). Antiracist work in the desegregation era: The scientific activism of Kenneth Bancroft Clark. In A. S. Winston (Ed.), Defi ning difference: Race and racism in the history of psychology (pp. 233–260). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Philogene, G. (2004). Racial identity in context: The legacy of Kenneth B. Clark. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Phinney, J. S. (1992). The multigroup ethnic identity measure: A new scale for use with diverse groups. Journal of Adolescent Research, 7(2), 156–176.

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8

Interstate School Choice? Evaluating Educational Quality in Regions that are Divided by State Lines Mark C. Hogrebe, Lydia Kyei-Blankson, and William F. Tate

We would like to stress that the degree of racial and socioeconomic segregation and isolation in our society today demands metropolitanwide [sic] solutions. It is not a problem created by cities alone, and it will not be solved by cities alone. Borders between city and suburbs are artificial and malleable, constructs of antiquated laws and regulations . . . the practice of dividing society into urban and suburban units no longer makes sense. . . . The problems of the urban ghettos have spilled over the city–suburban borders, and the solutions will call for people on both sides of the dividing line to join together. (Wells & Crain, 1997, p. 342)

In their discussion of interdistrict desegregation plans, Wells and Crain (1997) were focused on metropolitan regions within the same state. However, many metropolitan areas cut across state lines, e.g., St. Louis (MO–IL), Kansas City (MO–KA), Philadelphia (PA–NJ), Memphis (TN– MS–AR), Portland (OR–WA), and Cincinnati (OH–KY) to name but a few. This division reflects different state educational systems that develop and train the youth in their respective regions. Imagine if state lines did not represent school assignment boundaries for students in a metropolitan region. For example, students in metropolitan St. Louis could take advantage of public education opportunities on either side of the state line. What would an education marketplace look like that took seriously Wells and Crain’s charge of creating metro-wide solutions, where opportunity to learn was not bounded by tradition or state borders? This type of vision would require contractual arrangements between states that differ from traditional residential requirements associated with K–12 student assignment. Other sectors of the education marketplace have developed arrangements that allow for interstate participation. For example, the Wisconsin–Minnesota Tuition Reciprocity Program was created to improve the post-secondary educational advantages for residents of both states through

Interstate School Choice? 165 greater access to post-secondary opportunities1. Under the reciprocity agreement, any student who is enrolled in an eligible program and meets residency requirements at a public university in Wisconsin may attend a Minnesota public institution on a space available basis and pay the established reciprocity tuition charges for course work that is located in Minnesota. Likewise, any student meeting residency requirements in Minnesota may attend a Wisconsin public institution on a space available basis and pay the established reciprocity tuition charges for courses that are located in Wisconsin. Efforts to work across state lines in support of greater educational opportunities are not limited to higher education. The Interstate Compact on Educational Opportunity for Military Children provides some insight into important implementation issues associated with state boundary crossing and K–12 education. 2 Military families confront the prospect of frequent relocations in the course of their service. To address this challenge, the Department of Defense negotiated an arrangement through the Council of State Governments to address issues associated with class placement, records transfer, immunization requirements, course placement, graduation requirements, exit testing, and extra-curricular opportunities. According to the Department of Defense Education Activity, 40 states (approximately 93 percent of military school-age children in the United States) have adopted the compact. The point here is that it is feasible to develop interstate K–12 education articulation arrangements that foster greater choice and opportunity in education.3 The two examples offered suggest that the fi nancial, health, and academic issues associated with interstate education are many, yet public sector officials have managed to create the infrastructure to support greater access than is historically available. Yet, important questions remain about the relative quality of education that exists across state boundaries. If families were to pursue interstate education options, they will need to better understand student performance in their state of residence and in the potential options outside their state, yet within their metropolitan region. This study discussed in this chapter investigated differences in student performance levels on state NCLB proficiency tests that exist along state lines within a metropolitan region. Indeed, large differences in student proficiency status between states can have a substantial impact on the perceived educational quality in the region and therefore have a significant influence on decision makers, educational policies, and business investment and development. Thus, our aim in this study is to better understand interstate education quality as part of the discussion of offering greater access to improved education to residents of a metropolitan region. Why is our aim important for interstate regional choice in metropolitan education? There are at least two reasons. First, an essential condition for efficient operation of markets is complete information. The distribution of information about school quality is best characterized as asymmetric,

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and consequently, the market is at risk of continuing to produce inefficient outcomes (Plank & Davis, 2010). One response to this problem has emerged in the NCLB era in the form of more comprehensive assessment of students and the alignment of supporting information technology. Assessment and information technology advances are associated with the second reason the aim of this study is relevant. Specifically, in light of each state’s charge to provide K–12 education for students living in the state, it should not be surprising that school quality information is readily available where the focus is within state comparisons of schools and districts. We seek to address the information asymmetry that exists in the metropolitan marketplace where the region consists of at least two states. To that end, a practical approach for assessing substantial differences in proficiency percentages was used with data from the St. Louis metropolitan area as an example. The approach focuses on examining proficiency categories from a number of different perspectives so that a convergence of fi ndings can show evidence for (or against) the validity of comparing proficiency categories across states. The methodological framework demonstrates why it is extremely difficult and most likely misleading to compare the percentage of proficient students derived from different state assessments. Schools and districts from different states operate under the unique educational standards and assessment systems employed by their state. If the standards and/or the assessments differ significantly between the states then the description of how well students perform academically can be substantially different (Achieve, Inc., 2002; Brown, Rocha, & Sharkey, 2005; Gross, 2005). The issue becomes transparent when student proficiency from one part of the metropolitan region varies significantly from another part that is operating under different state educational standards and assessment practices. Large student proficiency differences divided along state lines raise questions about educational quality within a region. Are students actually receiving similar quality educational experiences, or instead does variation in state reporting definitions account for proficiency differences? Or, do real proficiency differences exist that reflect variation in education standards, curriculum, teaching, and student achievement? Because states are allowed to develop their own definitions of student proficiency under NCLB, Linn (2005) cautions that, “valid inferences cannot be made about the relative proficiency of students in different states based on comparisons of percentage proficient statistics from state assessments . . .” (p. 25). However, when a region is split between two states, policy and decision makers are inevitably going to use percent proficient data from each state to determine the quality of education in the region. How will they reconcile large differences in the percentage of academically proficient students between states within their region? For our study, the St. Louis metropolitan area (the 18th largest in the United States; St. Louis Regional Commerce and Growth Association, 2007) is used to demonstrate variability in academic proficiency between

Interstate School Choice? 167 states within a region. The population is distributed with approximately 75 percent from Missouri and 25 percent from Illinois (St. Louis Regional Commerce and Growth Association, 2007). Both areas contribute educational, cultural, economic, business, and human resources to the growth of the region. Yet, there are significant differences between Missouri and Illinois in the percentage of students classified as academically proficient across grade levels. The present study attempts to determine the reason for these differences with a specific focus on assessment related practices in the two states.

METHOD Due to the St. Louis regional emphasis in developing and attracting technology companies, our study focused on the content area of science. Several strategies for validating the proficiency categories in Missouri were employed such as examining the variance and distribution of state assessment scores within and between the categories, comparing categories to national percentile rankings on a national standardized test (Terra Nova), examining item performance on the Missouri state assessment, and comparing the percentage of students in the proficient category on the Missouri and Illinois state assessments with results from the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP; Grigg, Lauko, & Brockway, 2006). By examining the Missouri categories from a number of different perspectives, a convergence of fi ndings offered evidence as to the validity of the proficiency categories. When investigating the meaning for the percentage of proficient students between states, there will rarely be an easy or direct method for doing so. Differences in the meaning for the percentage of proficient students can develop from many sources. Differences may exist between standards, assessments, test item type and difficulty, defi nitions of proficiency, and the cut-score levels that defi ne the proficiency categories. Variation at any of these points will result in different meanings for the percentage of proficient students between states (Figure 8.1). If each state has developed its own standards and assessments, then one would hope that there existed some other form of assessment or test common to both states that could be used as a proficiency benchmark. The only common assessments whose results are readily available are those for the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP; Grigg et al., 2006). At the high school level the ACT or SAT could be used as benchmarks, but all students in both states may not take them. For example, in Illinois all high school students are required to take the ACT, but in Missouri ACT results are only available for those who decided to take the ACT. However, even these common assessments don’t help answer regional questions because typically they are only readily available at the state level.

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Varying

Different State

S tandards

A lig n m e n t

A ssessm ents

Different Definitions

Differences in Ite m Type

for P ro ficie n cy

& D iffic u lty

C ategories

Different Category C ut-Scores

Different M eaning for P ercentage o f P ro fic ie n t S tu d e n ts

Figure 8.1

Sources contributing to definition of proficient students.

Because there was not an efficient way to compare student performance on measures common to both states within the region, we adopted a research strategy that attempted to identify key variables which demonstrated similarities and differences between: 1. States: Missouri and Illinois; 2. The state and the targeted region within that state; and 3. Regions: St. Louis Missouri Metro vs. St. Louis Illinois Metro (see Figure 8.2).

Research Design 1. Compare state characteristics for Missouri and Illinois; 2. Compare regional characteristics to respective states; and 3. Compare regions on characteristics, standards, and student performance.

Interstate School Choice? 169

State of Missouri

State of Illinois 1

2

2

Illinois St. Louis Metro

Missouri St. Louis Metro WEST

Figure 8.2

3

EAST

Model for comparing student performance on common measures.

Data Sources For this study 30 Missouri and 43 Illinois districts were selected to represent school districts in the St. Louis metropolitan region. The school districts selected were located in St. Louis City, St. Louis, St. Charles, and Jefferson counties (St. Louis, Missouri) and in Madison, St. Clair, and Monroe counties (Metro East, Illinois) and were those with the greatest concentration of schoolaged children (ages 5 to 17 years old) based on the 2000 U.S. census data. Data sources include: • Missouri Assessment Program (MAP) test results in science from years 2000–2005 (Missouri Department of Elementary and Secondary Education, 2006a); • Illinois Standards Achievement Test (ISAT) test results in science from years 2000–2005 for 4th and 7th grades, Prairie State Achievement Examination for 11th grade (2001–2005) (Illinois State Board of Education, 2006); • District level data for a variety of school, teacher, student variables; • Performance data such as the percentage of students in proficiency categories from the MAP and ISAT, and average ACT scores; • Student level data in Missouri for percentage of items answered correctly and Terra Nova national percentile data; and • NAEP state data for Missouri and Illinois. RESULTS OF MISSOURI AND ILLINOIS COMPARISON Following the research design in Figure 8.2, the fi rst comparison was to get an idea of how similar Missouri and Illinois were on selected school,

170 Mark C. Hogrebe, Lydia Kyei-Blankson, and William F. Tate teacher, and student performance variables reported in Table 8.1. The selections of the data that are highlighted in the following sections were based on judgments of “practical” significance. Due to the very large number of students, almost any difference would be statistically significant. Small differences such as less than 5 percentage points were judged to have minimal practical significance for this study in differentiating between the states and regions.

School and Teacher Data The number of students enrolled in Illinois is 2.3 times greater than in Missouri. The number of students who took their respective state science assessments in Illinois was 3.3 times greater than in Missouri. Notable differences at the state level were that the percentage of White students was greater in Missouri (77.4 percent vs. 56.7 percent), but the percentage of Hispanic was greater in Illinois (18.3 percent vs. 2.8 percent). The percentage of African American students was similar in both states (Missouri, 17.9 percent vs. Illinois, 20.3 percent). The instructional expenditure per student was higher in Illinois by $1,831. Also in Illinois the average teacher salary was higher by $15,862. There were more limited English proficiency students in Illinois (6.6 percent vs. 2.1 percent) which probably was a reflection of the higher percentage of Hispanic students. Differences on the other variables were small. The fi rst point of potential difference in educational outcomes between two states was a significant discrepancy in the quality of state standards. A report by Gross (2005) graded science standards for each of the U.S. states using various criteria and methods. Missouri science standards were given a grade of 66 percent and Illinois 70 percent (percentage of 69 possible points). Given this multiple assessment approach, the difference between Missouri and Illinois was quite small. This fi nding suggests an assumption that the standards in the two states do not differ significantly in their quality. In addition, a special report from Education Week’s Quality Counts (2007) rated both Missouri and Illinois science standards as clear, specific, and grounded in content at all levels. The next factor that affects the accuracy and validity of a state’s assessment program is the degree of alignment that exists between the test questions and the state standards (Olson, 2003). However, Education Week’s Quality Counts report for both states said that science assessments were not aligned to standards at all levels. This was an interesting fi nding and may explain some of the differences in proficiency percentages discussed later in this chapter. Based on a host of academic achievement indicators, the Education Week’s Quality Counts report ranked Missouri at 33rd and Illinois 29th out of all 50 states. A rank difference of 4 shows that at the state level, Missouri and Illinois were relatively close on these selected academic indicators.

Comparison of State of Missouri with State of Illinois

Total enrollment (2005) (a, b) Enrollment by ethnicity (2005) (a, b) White Black Hispanic Asian Native Indian Total number of students tested in science (2005) (a, b) Percent free/reduced lunch (2005) (a, b) Percent limited English proficiency (2005) (a, b) High school graduation rate (2005) (a, b) Instructional expenditure per student (2005) (a, b) Average teacher experience (years) (2005) (a, b) Average teacher salary (2005) (a, b) Percent of teachers with master’s degree (2005) (a, b) Average teacher/pupil ratio (2005) (a, b) Science standards are clear, specific, and grounded in content at all levels (2006) (c) Science assessments are aligned to standards at all levels (c) Overall state rank base on achievement indicators (c) Science standards grade (% of 69 possible points) (d)

School and Teacher Data

Table 8.1

2,062,912 56.7% 20.3% 18.3% 3.7% 0.2% 422,361 40.0% 6.6% 87.4% $5,216 13.6 $56,547 49.1% 18.7 Yes No 29 70%

77.4% 17.9% 2.8% 1.5% 0.4% 129,405 41.8% 2.1% 85.9% $3,365 12.8 $40,685 49.6% 19.0 Yes No 33 66%

Illinois

894,855

Missouri

Equal [4] [4%]

IL IL

MO IL IL IL MO IL MO IL IL IL IL IL MO MO

IL

(continued)

[20.7%] [2.4%] [15.5%] [2.2%] [0.2%] [292,956] [1.8%] [4.5%] [1.5%] [$1,851] [0.8] [$15,862] [0.5%] [0.3%] Equal

[1,168,057]

Difference

Interstate School Choice? 171

26% 32% 30% 28% 28% 31% 31.5 17.3% 20.4 20.5

20.9

6.9% 21.5 21.6

21.5

Illinois

36% 31% 32% 33% 26% 31% 23.8

Missouri

Data sources: a = DESE, Missouri Department of Elementary and Secondary Education. (2006). Web site: http://dese.mo.gov/schooldata/ b = ISBE, Illinois State Board of Education. (2007). Web site: http://www.isbe.state.il.us/ c = Education Week’s Quality Counts. (2007). d = Gross (2005). e = NAEP, Grigg et al. (2006). f = ACT. (2007). Web site: http://www.act.org/newsroom/data/2006/states.html

4th Grade Science % proficient/above on NAEP 2005 (e) 4th Grade Math % proficient/above on NAEP 2005 (e) 4th Grade Reading % proficient/above on NAEP 2005 (e) 8th Grade Science % proficient/above on NAEP 2005 (e) 8th Grade Math % proficient/above on NAEP 2005 (e) 8th Grade Reading % proficient/above on NAEP 2005 (e) Poverty Gap—School Lunch eligible vs. not eligible, Scaled-score gap on NAEP 8th-grade math (c) High AP test scores—Percent of scores 3 or higher (2005) (c) ACT Science score in 2006 (In MO about 70% take ACT, in IL 100% take ACT) (f) ACT Composite score in 2006 (In MO about 70% take ACT, in IL 100% take ACT) (a, b) ACT Composite score (MO 2002, 68% of graduates) (IL 2001, 60% of students) (a, b)

Student Performance Data

Table 8.1 (continued)

[.6]

[1.1]

[10.4%] [1.1]

[10%] [1%] [2%] [5%] [2%] Equal [7.7]

Difference

MO

MO

IL MO

IL

MO IL MO MO IL

172 Mark C. Hogrebe, Lydia Kyei-Blankson, and William F. Tate

Interstate School Choice? 173

Student Performance Data The percentages of proficient and advanced students from the NAEP 2005 reading, math, and science assessments were similar at the 4th- and 8thgrade levels for Missouri and Illinois (see Table 8.1). The results of these six assessments revealed that the largest difference was in 4th-grade science, where more Missouri students were classified as proficient/advanced than Illinois students (36 percent vs. 26 percent). The next largest difference was in 8th-grade science where 5 percentage points more of Missouri students were classified as proficient/advanced (33 percent vs. 28 percent). The differences between Missouri and Illinois in the remaining four assessment groups (reading and math at 4th and 8th grades) were all 2 percentage points or less. Education Week’s Quality Counts report estimated a “poverty gap” in which the performance of students who were eligible for free-reduced lunch was compared to those not eligible. The performance measure was the scaled-score gap on the NAEP 8th-grade math assessment. The result reported was a gap of 7.7 scaled-score points with the greater gap for Illinois (Missouri gap 23.8 vs. Illinois gap 31.5). At the high school level, average ACT scores were also very similar on the composite score and the science subtest. Although the Missouri scores were slightly higher, this was probably due to the fact that in Missouri, all students are not required to take the ACT as they are in Illinois. Therefore, Illinois had more low-performing students in their average. This issue points out the difficulty in trying to get comparable data on the same instrument for two states. As a check, 2001 ACT composite score data were obtained for Illinois when all students were not required to take the ACT. In 2001, 68 percent of Illinois students took the ACT for an average of 20.9. In 2002, 68 percent of Missouri graduates took the ACT for an average of 21.5. Although these comparison numbers are not ideal, they do suggest that there are not large differences in the ACT performances (composite and science) of Missouri and Illinois high school students. Finally, students in Illinois had a greater percentage of students scoring 3, 4, or 5 on College Board Advanced Placement tests than Missouri (17.3 percent vs. 6.9 percent).

Summary of Missouri–Illinois State-to-State Comparison Based on the various school, teacher, and student measures reviewed earlier, it would be difficult to conclude that there are likely to be vast and significant differences between the states of Missouri and Illinois, taken as a whole, on these educational and academic indicators. If the states are reasonably similar, then the next question is how do the Missouri and Illinois portions of the St. Louis region reflect their respective state characteristics?

174 Mark C. Hogrebe, Lydia Kyei-Blankson, and William F. Tate COMPARISON OF STATE OF MISSOURI TO ST. LOUIS METRO WEST (MO) REGION SCHOOL AND TEACHER DATA The 30 school districts in the St. Louis Metro WEST region used for this study represent about 28 percent of the student population in the state of Missouri. The percentage of White students in the state of Missouri was higher than in the St. Louis Metro WEST region (77.4 percent vs. 59.6 percent). The percentage of African American students was higher in the St. Louis Metro WEST region (36.3 percent vs. 17.9 percent). Although the differences in these average percentages appear meaningful, the standard deviations of the percentages among the districts were large (32.2 and 33.1) and almost twice as large as the differences between the groups (see Table 8.2). This shows that there was wide variability in the percentages of Black and White students among the 30 districts. Differences between Missouri and the St. Louis Metro WEST in the percentages of other ethnic groups were very small. The absolute differences between Missouri and the Metro WEST for the remaining school and teacher variables were all less than one standard deviation and many of the differences were quite small. Only the average teacher salary was noticeably higher in the St. Louis Metro WEST than in the state of Missouri ($46,087 vs. $40,685). Also, the percentage of teachers with a master’s degree was higher in the St. Louis Metro WEST (58.7 percent vs. 49.6 percent).

Student Performance Data The percentages of proficient/advanced students on the Missouri MAP science test were very close for the state of Missouri and the St. Louis Metro WEST region. This was true for all three grade levels (3rd, 7th, and 10th) as seen in Figure 8.3 (also Table 8.2). The average ACT composite score was similar in 2006 for Missouri state and the Metro WEST region (21.6 vs. 20.8).

Summary of Missouri and St. Louis Metro WEST State-to-Region Comparison As with the state-to-state comparison (Missouri–Illinois) discussed earlier, it would be difficult to conclude that there are vast and significant differences between the state of Missouri and the St. Louis Metro WEST region, based on the various school, teacher, and student measures reviewed earlier. Other than the differences in Black/White percentages between state and region and a difference in average salary, the St. Louis Metro WEST region appears to be similar to the overall state. In comparing region to state, the differences in ethnic percentages may be less important given the fact that the percentages of students eligible for free/reduced lunches were similar. More importantly, the average MAP science test scores were very similar between state and region.

Interstate School Choice? 175 Table 8.2 Comparison of Missouri State to St. Louis Metro WEST (MO) Region State of Missouri School and Teacher Data Total enrollment (2005) (a) Enrollment by ethnicity (2005) (a) White Black Hispanic Asian Native Indian Total number of students tested in science (2005) (a) Percent free/reduced lunch (2005) (a) Percent limited English proficiency (2005) (a) High school graduation rate (2005) (a) Instructional expenditure per student (2005) (a) Average teacher experience (years) (2005) (a) Average teacher salary (2005) (a) Percent of teachers with master’s degree (2005) (a) Average teacher/pupil ratio (2005) (a) Student Performance Data Science NAEP 2005 (e) 4th Grade Science % proficient/above 8th Grade Science % proficient/above MAP test (2000–05) (a) 3rd Grade Science % proficient/above 7th Grade Science % proficient/above 10th Grade Science % proficient/above ACT Composite score in 2006 (In MO about 70% take ACT) (In IL 100% take ACT) (a, b)

St. Louis Metro WEST (MO) 30 Districts

Difference

SD 894,855 246,938 77.4% 59.6% 17.9% 36.3% 2.8% 1.6% 1.5% 2.3% 0.4% 0.15% 129,405 32,583

[647,917] (32.3) (33.1) (1.1) (2.5) (0.1)

[17.8%] [18.4%] [1.2%] [0.8%] [0.25%]

MO STL MO STL MO [96,822]

41.8% 1.8%

38.8% 2.0%

(30.2) (2.3)

[3.0%] [0.1%]

MO MO

85.9% $3,365

84.3% $4,158

(11.1) (824)

[1.6%] [$793]

MO STL

12.8

12.2

(1.6)

[0.6]

MO

$40,685 $46,087 (4,863) [$5,402] 49.6% 58.7% (12.1) [9.1%] 19.0

STL STL

19.0

(1.9)

equal

48.4% 15.4% 6.8%

47.7% 14.3% 6.2%

(11.8) (8.4) (4.3)

[0.7%] [1.1%] [0.6%]

MO MO MO

21.6

20.8

(2.4)

[0.8]

MO

36% 33%

Data sources: a = DESE, Missouri Department of Elementary and Secondary Education. (2006). Web site: http://dese. mo.gov/schooldata/ b = ISBE, Illinois State Board of Education. (2007). Web site: http://www.isbe.state.il.us/ c = Education Week’s Quality Counts. (2007). d = Gross (2005). e = NAEP, Grigg et al. (2006). f = ACT. (2007). Web site: http://www.act.org/newsroom/data/2006/states.html

176

Mark C. Hogrebe, Lydia Kyei-Blankson, and William F. Tate

St. Louis Metro, MO 30 Districts and State of Missouri Percentage of Students Proficient + Advanced in Science on MAP in

100

o

o

CNI

O o o

M Qi O

ra

90 80 70

I—

>