A Nigger in the Back of the Classroom...

My good friend, classmate, and fellow preacher/theologian Brian Foulks posted recently about his time in Lexington, South Carolina, and at Lexington High School.  This post got me thinking about the intersection of race, institution, and education.  I'm particularly sensitive at this time of the year where students are headed back to school: grad students, undergrads, hs, middle, primary, and pre-k.  And, with all of the intelligently funny Old Navy commercials...how could I forget what time of year this is.

So let me begin with a story of a few snapshots of Lexington.  I remember moving back and forth to Lexington after my grandparents passed when I was in middle school (88').  It was the first time I had ever been to a school that was predominantly white, as I had lived in Columbia prior and had attended predominantly black schools there.  I remember when I first transferred that I had to take additional tests after the school realized that my standardized tests meant I should be in their accelerated classes.  White hands pressed papers in front of a scared 7th grader asking me to read words aloud to make sure I could pronounce them in order to advance to their honors/accelerated classes.  It was simply not enough for the scores on the nationally standardized tests to be indicative of my placement.  Nevertheless, after additional testing, I was handed a sheet indicative of my new class schedule and told to go to class. This memory of being asked to pronounce words has always left an indelible impression on me.  Having transferred to more than 7 schools, it was the only time I was asked to "say the words on the paper."

Fast forward to my freshmen year of high school.  Between my middle school career and my high school career, I tested into the South Carolina Junior Scholars program and was placed in Algebra I during 8th grade in a neighboring school district. At the beginning of my freshmen year in another school, I had begun taking Geometry.  When my family suddenly moved back to Lexington, I was placed in the coordinating Geometry class which was out of sync with LHS' curriculum.  Thus, I became the only freshmen to take a class that was an expectation for the college bound sophomore curriculum.  As I walked into my first day of class, in a sea of white students, the teacher of that class instructed me to sit in the back row which had been emptied, and then to the far left of the class where learning would be more difficult.  It was as though I had been placed in isolation.  I can remember sophomores looking at me, wondering how did the black freshmen get in here.  At the time, there were very few Black students taking college prep classes. I always felt out of place...like I was in quarantine.

The frictive nature of Lexington H. S. meant that black kids had to pick sides without a lot of support from faculty or family (who were just trying to make sure that we stayed in school).  Black kids had to choose whether are not they were going to spend time with other black kids (who were most likely distant relatives or people they knew from de facto segregated neighborhoods) or the white students (with which they went to class or shared common interests).  Black kids in the college prep and honors classes were going to be one of a handful...and stood to be isolated because of the perceived threat (by white students) or the perceived tokenism (by black students).  It can be an aweful thing to be caught in the middle.

Add to these polite incidents a variety of overtly racist overtures...like sitting in a Chemistry class and having the white kid turn around and say, "Sean, you are still a nigger." Or, putting up a black history month display, and coming in on a Monday to find the whole thing defaced by words like, "Nigger History is Not History."  The polite racism of some via isolation or the overt racism of others with the use of one of the most vitriolic words in American history can create a complex that can make you both defensive and scared: defensive of criticism and scared to trust anyone.

I am so envious of people who can look back on their HS career with joy and/or a sense of nostalgia.
I think one reason, I've never really returned to Lexington is because of the hostile treatment that it represented.  This isn't to say that there weren't moments that I will always cherish, but it is to say that going to school in Lexington, SC always made me feel less than, which ultimately forced me to be more than.  Thus, I became an overachiever.  I had no choice but to be better, in order to leave and never look back...I wanted to be more than a "nigger" in the back of the classroom.

When I think about the kind of relationships I have today with people of all races, its a wonder that they exist because my time in Lexington was painful.  It's only been in my adult life that I have seen God's hand in healing me.  There's been a lot of soul searching, a lot of praying, a lot of talking, and a lot of forgiving.  I get it: RACE is a difficult subject...and an even harder problem to combat!  But people of God character must seek to build school systems that empower all youth.  Parents must seek to be involved to challenge injustice when their children are being confronted with isolation, racial antagonism, and institutional oppression.  And, we must all be change agents in a world that sometimes wants us to be separate and unequal.

I pray for the day where my sons and daughters will be able to sit in classrooms and won't have to be subjected to isolation or being ashamed of the rich African heritage from which they come.  I pray that we can be a better today...then we were before. SELAH