The greatest act
I was at a community association meeting, last night, in one of the wealthier neighborhoods in our area. The president of the association is a real nice, young guy, with a couple of little kids. They are just a few years away from having to decide to which school they will send their kids. I was standing around talking with him and one of the older residents. She was asking him whether or not he would send his kids tot public schools. He mentioned several nicer schools in other parts of the city, but when she brought up the elementary school just a few blocks away he flat out said “Absolutely not.”
The school is, admittedly, in rough straits. They have made inadequate progress on test scores for 5 years straight, so they are going through a state-mandated procedure in which all of the teachers have to reapply for their jobs.
That being said, funds have been secured to build a new school. The design is quite cool, and they are aiming for LEED Silver status. The CEO of Public Schools (equivalent of a superintendent) has promised that the school will have an honors program, as well. It has left everyone with a sense that better days lie ahead for the school.
The new school will not open, however, until 2012, and will not be fully complete until 2013. For now, the school—and the community—are faced with the present reality.
The other piece is the demographics. The school is overwhelmingly African American and, if I’m not mistaken, it is 90%+ free and reduced lunch. This guy’s kids (he is white) would be a stark minority. Admittedly, one of the first things he said when his neighbor asked if he would send his kids there was “What, so they can be the only white kids in the entire building?” A harsh interpretation of such a comment would paint it as blatant racism. A more nuanced read suggests that he wouldn’t want his kids to have to bear the burden of being “different.” (Although there are black families all over the country that would have little sympathy).
I don’t mean to suggest that this all two-dimensional. There is nothing malicious in wanting the best for your kids. If a school is failing, it would be difficult to bring yourself to trust it with your child’s education. It could very well be that there is no underlying malice involved. It could be.
Ultimately, the point is this. Their family is looking for schools in other areas, and, because they want to be within walking distance from the school, will probably move. One more family will have moved away. Even if they stay, they won’t fight as hard advocating for the school as they would have if it was their kids’ school. All of the time, energy, and resources that would have been poured into that school will be directed elsewhere.
This drama repeats itself over and over. Young, hip, white liberals move into the city, feeling edgy. They are defiantly proud of their urban sensibilities in the face of a larger pro-suburban and rural/anti-urban white culture. They meet another young, hip, white liberal and fall in love. Eventually, they get married, have kids, and arrive at the point they always talked about. The crucial fork in the road at which point they always promised themselves they would stay. Then, they look at their young children and think of the images (some accurate, some warped) of the local school they have in their head. In the end, they leave. I am stereotyping people unfairly as there are countless exceptions to these rules, but I stereotype only to shine light on a larger phenomenon.
Ultimately, the greatest act that can be done to further the cause of social justice is to stay, to spend your money at local shops and restaurants, and to raise your kids so that racial diversity is the only social reality they know. The impact of staying and putting down roots is far greater than that of any work that can be done in one year of national service. You can say that, even though you are moving, you will continue to volunteer your time, but you never fight for that which is foreign as fiercely as you do for that which is your own. We can conceive of grandiose social experiments, but at the end of the day what the city needs is for us to come home.*
Perhaps we need it, too. Perhaps, in our never-ending quest for comfort, we began to suffocate ourselves in our own plastic palaces. Perhaps our epicurean life results, simply, in anesthetized death.
*Gentrification complicates the implementation of this sentiment, but I think its underlying validity remains. We need to come home, but this time be better to our neighbors.
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La ciudad respira. “The city breathes.” Words that are whispered in the background of one of Blackstar’s best songs, “Respiration.” The struggle those young parents is but one of millions going on in every home in the city, crammed together, living separate lives, but occupying the same space. Even in my own home, my roommate has put liquid soap in the dishwasher and foam is now spewing from the base of the machine. The rhythm of the collective human drama rises and falls like a chest cavity. No matter how isolated we feel, we are never truly alone.
La ciudad respira.
