How teachers can help kids find their political voices Sydney Chaffee
To me, social justice is a simple concept.
It’s the notion
that all people in a society
deserve fair and equitable rights,
opportunities and access to resources.
But it’s become
controversial and nebulous,
because we’ve stopped talking
about what working
for social justice actually looks like.
Working for social justice
can look like this …
or this.
It can look like this …
or it can look like this …
or my favorite …
it can look like that.
Those are my students,
and whenever I’m asked to articulate
my work or my priorities as a teacher,
I explain that I believe education
can be a tool for social justice.
But a few months ago, I logged
onto Twitter – as I do –
and I saw that a fellow teacher
had taken issue with that belief.
“Teachers,” he said,
“should not be social justice warriors,
because the purpose
of education is to educate.”
And he ended his argument by saying,
“I teach my subject.”
But I reject that simplification,
because teachers
don’t just teach subjects,
we teach people.
When our students
walk into our classrooms,
they bring their identities with them.
Everything they experience in our rooms
is bound up in historical context,
and so if we insist that education
happens in a vacuum,
we do our students a disservice.
We teach them that education
doesn’t really matter,
because it’s not relevant
to what’s happening all around them.
And what’s happening all around them?
Well, racism for one.
According to results
of the Implicit Association Test,
fully 88 percent of white people harbored
subconscious biases against black people,
believing them to be less intelligent,
lazier and more dangerous than whites.
And that’s just one concrete example
of the insidious effects
of historic and systemic racism
on our country.
For more evidence,
we could look at incarceration rates;
we could look at statistics on police
violence against black people;
we could look at the opportunity
gap in education –
so yeah, social justice
belongs in our schools.
Social justice should be a part
of the mission of every school
and every teacher in America,
if we want “liberty and justice for all”
to be more than a slogan …
because schools are crucial places
for children to become active citizens
and to learn the skills and the tools
that they need to change the world.
So what are those skills?
OK, here’s a secret:
many of the skills that people need
to orchestrate the kinds of change
that will lead to justice
are already built
into the work of schools.
Things like problem-solving,
critical thinking,
collaboration, perseverance –
none of that should be
revolutionary on its own.
Combine that with the ability
to understand history
not as one static and objective narrative
on which we all agree,
but as a series of intertwined events
about which there can be
countless interpretations.
If we deliberately choose
to explore history with our students
rather than just teach it,
we help them understand
that history is ongoing
and that it’s connected
to current movements for justice.
And we help them see themselves
as potential players
within a living history.
So those are the skills I’m talking about
when I say that education can be a place
to help kids learn
how to work for justice.
But maybe the reason
that my Twitter critic
wasn’t happy with that idea
is because he doesn’t agree
with my definition of justice.
Fair enough.
Maybe he and I don’t see
eye to eye, politically.
But here’s the thing:
our aim is to encourage students
to articulate their own opinions,
not to coerce them into agreeing with us,
so it actually doesn’t matter
if he and I agree.
What matters is that we’re helping
students have those conversations
with each other.
And that means that as adults,
we need to learn how to become
effective facilitators
of our students' activism.
We’ve got to help them learn
how to have really tricky conversations,
we have to expose them
to different opinions,
and we have to help them see
how what they’re learning in school
connects to the world outside.
So here’s an example of that.
Every year, my students study
the history of apartheid in South Africa
as a case study of injustice.
Now for those of you who don’t know,
apartheid was a brutally racist system,
and the white-ruled government
in South Africa imposed racist laws
to oppress people of color,
and if you resisted those laws,
you risked jail time, violence or death.
And around the world,
other countries' governments,
including ours in the United States,
hesitated to sanction
South Africa, because …
well …
we benefited from its resources.
So in 1976, the South African
government passed a new law
which required that all students
in South Africa
learn in the language Afrikaans,
which was a white language,
and many black South Africans
referred to that language
as the language of the oppressor.
So not surprisingly,
students of color
were outraged at this law.
They already attended segregated schools
with overcrowded classrooms,
a lack of resources
and a frankly racist curriculum,
and now they were being told to learn
in a language neither they
nor their teachers spoke.
So on the morning of June 16, 1976,
thousands of kids
from the township of Soweto
walked out of schools.
And they marched peacefully
through the streets to protest the law.
At an intersection,
they met up with the police,
and when the kids refused to turn back,
the police officers set dogs on them …
and then they opened fire …
and the Soweto uprising ended in tragedy.
Apartheid itself didn’t end
until almost 20 years later,
but the activism of those kids
in Soweto profoundly changed
the way the world viewed
what was happening in South Africa.
News outlets all around the world
published this photo
of 13-year-old Hector Pieterson,
who was one of the first people
killed by police in Soweto,
and it became nearly impossible
to ignore the brutality
of the apartheid regime.
In the months and the years
that followed the Soweto uprising,
more and more countries
exerted political and economic pressure
on the South African government
to end apartheid,
and it was largely due to the activism
of those kids in Soweto.
So every year my kids learn about this.
And invariably, they start
to draw connections
between those kids
in Soweto and themselves.
And they start to ask themselves
what kind of political power
and agency they have.
They ask themselves whether
there would ever be a reason
they would risk their lives
so that a future generation
could live in a more just world.
And most profoundly for me,
every single year,
they ask themselves whether adults
will ever listen to their voices.
A few years ago,
my principal got an anonymous email
from one of our students.
It informed him that the following day,
the students planned
to walk out of school.
This was in the wake
of Michael Brown’s death
in Ferguson, Missouri,
and the students were planning
to join a walkout and march
in support of the Black Lives
Matter movement.
So at this point,
the staff at the school
had a decision to make.
Would we use our authority and our power
to try to control the students
and prevent them from leaving,
or would we support them
as they put into practice
the principles of social justice
that we had taught them about
since the ninth-grade year?
So the next morning,
the kids left school en masse
and they gathered on the lawn.
And one of the seniors
jumped up on a picnic table
and went over safety expectations.
(Laughter)
And the younger kids
took it very seriously.
And as teachers and as staff we told them,
“OK, be safe,”
and we watched as they marched off.
The kids who chose to stay
spent that afternoon in class.
They debated the merits of protest,
they talked about the history
of the Black Lives Matter movement,
and they went on
with classes as scheduled.
And those who chose to leave
participated in a citywide student walkout
and raised their collective
voice for justice.
But no matter where they chose
to spend the afternoon,
our kids learned
valuable lessons that day.
They learned that the adults
in their lives would support them
even as we worried for their safety.
And they learned that they didn’t need us
to tell them how or when
or even why to protest.
They learned that they were members
of a community of young people
with a shared vision
of a more equitable society,
and they learned that they had power
within that society.
They learned that events
like the Soweto uprising
are not ancient history,
and they don’t have to end in tragedy.
And that’s what education as a tool
for social justice can look like.
And here’s the thing:
our kids are ready for this kind of work.
So in 2015,
incoming college freshmen were surveyed,
and 8.5 percent of them said
that there was a “very good chance”
they would participate in a protest
sometime during their college career.
That might not seem very impressive,
but consider the fact
that it’s the largest number
of students to say that since 1967.
And 75 percent of those kids
said that helping other people
who are having difficulty
was a “very important”
or “essential” goal for them.
Again, the highest number of people
to say that since the late 1960s.
And research shows us that working
for justice doesn’t just follow
from building all those skills
I talked about earlier –
it actually goes the other way, too.
So working for justice,
engaging in activism,
helps students build skills
like leadership and critical thinking,
and it correlates positively
with their political participation
and their civic engagement
and their commitment
to their communities later in life.
So in other words,
students are telling us
that social justice matters to them
and researchers are telling us
that it helps students learn.
So now it’s up to us to listen,
and that might not be easy.
In 1976, one of those kids
who participated in the Soweto uprising,
he said that that event
represented divorce
between black children and their families,
because their families
had grown up under apartheid,
and they knew how dangerous
it was to speak out.
They wanted their kids
to lay low and stay safe.
And when our kids threatened to walk out,
a lot of the adults in our community
were really conflicted, too.
Some of us worried that they might
encounter violence.
Other people worried
that they would walk out
but they wouldn’t really know
why they were protesting.
And some, including
some students' families,
were really angry
that the school hadn’t done more
to prevent them from leaving.
And all of those fears that adults have
about getting this stuff wrong –
all of those fears make total sense.
But despite those fears,
we have got to prove to our students
that we will listen to their voices
and that they do have the power
to effect change.
It’s our responsibility
to equip our students
with the tools and the skills
that they need
to insist on a more equitable world –
and then sometimes,
to get out of their way,
and let them apply those skills
to things that they care about.
Living up to that vision
is going to require
that we are flexible,
and it’s going to require
that we’re creative.
It’s going to require
that we’re brave enough
to stand up in the face of people
who try to silence
or delegitimize dissenting voices.
And hardest of all,
it’s going to require accepting the fact
that sometimes we will be the ones
our students will rebel against.
(Laughter)
Sometimes they’re going to point out ways
in which systems that we have created,
or in which we are complicit,
contribute to inequity.
It’s going to be uncomfortable,
and it’s going to be painful
as they push us to question
our own assumptions and beliefs.
But what if we change the way we think
about rebellion in our kids?
When our kids rebel –
when they thoughtfully push back
against our ideas
or the way that we do things,
what if we chose to see that as a sign
that we’re doing something right
and that they’re becoming liberated?
I know it would be easier
if their critical thinking skills
manifested in more convenient ways –
on their essays
or their standardized tests –
I get it –
but convenience and justice
do not often go hand in hand.
And when our kids learn to think
critically about the world around them,
they become the kinds of engaged citizens
who will recognize and question
injustice when they see it
and work to do something about it.
Welcoming rebellion into our schools
is going to require some rethinking
about what teaching
and learning look like,
because there’s this misconception
that if we give students any wiggle room,
they’re going to walk all over us
and classrooms and dinner tables
will devolve into total chaos.
And if we expect kids to sit silently
and passively receive knowledge from us,
then their voices will always
feel overwhelming.
But if we accept instead
that learning is sometimes messy,
that it requires opportunities
to brainstorm and mess up
and try again,
that our kids dislike chaos
and want to learn
when they come to school,
then we can set up schools
to facilitate that kind of learning.
So do me a favor and close
your eyes for a second
and imagine schools
where teachers are thought partners,
letting students grapple
with complex, hard issues
and not necessarily giving them
the right answers.
And imagine schools
where we let students make choices –
we trust them enough to do that
and we let them experience
the consequences of those choices.
Imagine schools where
we let students be humans,
with all of the messiness
and the uncertainty
that is bound to come with that.
Whatever you just imagined,
it’s not mythical,
it’s not unrealistically idealistic,
because teachers all over the country
are already pushing the boundaries
of what teaching
and learning can look like
with amazing results for kids.
They’re doing that
in all kinds of schools,
and there are countless models
for teachers who want to get better
at helping students learn
in a way that’s more authentic
and engaging and empowering.
I was a reading a book recently,
it’s called “The Students Are Watching,”
and it was by Ted and Nancy Sizer,
and in that book, they said
that the work of education
is often described as a series of nouns,
like “respect,” “honesty,” “integrity.”
And they say those nouns
sound really impressive,
but often, they fail
to actually mean anything in practice.
But verbs, they say, are “active,
no less demanding
but requiring constant engagement.
Verbs are not structures
but, rather, engines.”
And so as I read that, I wondered:
How do we make justice into an engine
driving our work as teachers?
What’s the verb form of justice?
I think there might be an answer
to be found in the words of Cornel West,
who famously said that “justice
is what love looks like in public.”
And all of my nerdy English
teachers in the crowd
know that love can be a noun and a verb.
School has to be bigger.
It has to mean more
than “I teach my subject.”
School has to be about teaching people
to change the world for the better.
If we believe that,
then teaching will always be
a political act.
We can’t be afraid of our students' power.
Their power will help them
make tomorrow better.
But before they can do that,
we have to give them chances
to practice today.
And that practice
should start in our schools.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)