Behind School Doors: The Impact of Hostile Racial Climates on Urban Teachers of Color

Color blindness

Critical race theorists have defined color blindness (color-blind racism) as when institutions and individuals claim to uphold justice by ignoring race or racial difference (Bell, 2004; Delgado & Stefanic, 2000). This practice affirms and exacerbates racial inequity by discounting racism as a real barrier in the lives of people of Color (Bell, 2004; Bonilla-Silva, 2010). Color blindness does not only function in relation to “color,” which is often read as race, it also ignores intersecting realities of oppression for students of Color including language, culture, or immigration status. Participants repeatedly shared examples of how their schools were shaped by this oppressive stance. Teachers of Color committed to racial justice often found themselves isolated, left alone to raise racialized issues within schools that continued to silence them in the name of race neutrality.

For example, Selina was a Latina high school teacher who worked at a racially integrated school. With great disparities in academic success between White students and students of Color, however, she was frustrated that her school took no action to resolve this problem, which she described in an interview:

Our students of Color are not doing as well as they should be. Although this is recognized, there is still a silence that consumes the campus with regard to effective solutions. Only a few faculty members have ever engaged in a conversation such as this with me. They insist that all students are the same and should be treated the same, but this does not reflect the social reality where our students of Color and their respective communities are not treated the same.

There is a well-documented disparity in the success of Black and Latina/o students and their White counterparts (Oakes et al., 2004). Commonly referred to as the achievement gap, this framework assumes the cause and resolution to this discrepancy of achievement is in the hands of struggling students and their families. Many critical scholars have challenged this notion as racist by pointing out that the difference in achievement is actually a reflection of a structural problem, renaming this an opportunity gap (Flores, 2007; Noguera & Akom, 2000) or an educational debt (Ladson-Billings, 2006). With glaring differences in academic success between White and students of Color at Selina’s school, the staff believed that treating all students the same—a color-blind stance—could simply resolve academic disparities. Selina’s insight to the experiences of her students of Color, however, caused her to understand that color blindness was doing little to intervene on racial inequality; yet her perspective was constantly marginalized and overlooked by her peers.

Bernice was a veteran Latina teacher who worked in juvenile hall. She grew up in a working-class community and because of her own educational experiences, was personally motivated to provide critical learning opportunities for disenfranchised youth. Although teaching within a highly racialized context of incarcerated students, most of whom were Black and Latino, her school also took a color-blind stance, according to Bernice:

There is a large [district] push to focus on our ELL population, but rather than being open to exploring language and cultural differences, the staff prefers to look at our student population and issues from the lens of “cultural blindness,” stating that our youth are all the same regardless of background, ethnicity, home life, and language. I believe this stems from a need to be “politically correct” but also from a desire to avoid uncomfortable situations and conversations. Refusing to acknowledge a person’s life experiences is, in my opinion, robbing them of their humanity and individuality.

Similar to Selina’s struggles with her school’s color-blind approach to inequality, Bernice was frustrated that adults in her school operated with a “color blindness” to the race and culture of students. Whatever the reason for being color-blind—because the school believed it was providing an equal playing field, or because it was uncomfortable acknowledging differences—silencing the discussion of race also denied the discussion of racism, stifling any movement toward justice.

A color-blind attitude toward urban schooling is an ineffective approach to addressing inequity or injustice and many times results in increased responsibilities for teachers of Color. Participants described that a neglect for racial discourse in schools often forced teachers of Color to be lone advocates for racial justice. For example, Jeff taught at a high school with a majority Black student population. The only African American teacher on staff, he felt he was the only one to advocate for the issues of African American students:

Our leadership team is mostly White, with some Asian, Southeast Asian . . . [As the only African American] I’m the only one who speaks on African American issues and pushes the focus to serving African American students. I definitely feel that because of that, I have to represent even more and support every initiative because it would go unsaid and unnoticed if I don’t say it.

While it can be difficult to raise issues that no one else is raising, it evokes even more pressure to do so as the only teacher of a particular race on staff. The extra responsibilities Jeff endures are consequence of a hostile racial climate—He is the only Black teacher at a school where others do not advocate for racial justice. Today, Black teachers make up just 6% of educators nationally (Feistritzer, 2011), and many Black teachers find themselves alone at their school sites (CDE, 2013). Because of the pervasive climate of color blindness, not only did Jeff feel the need to be the representative for his race at meetings, but he also felt responsible to continually contribute to school initiatives that added significantly to his professional responsibilities. In addition to being time-consuming, this overburden of racial equity work was also “exhausting” and put Jeff on a path to possibly burning out.

Furthermore, Marta was a Latina high school teacher who grew up in a similar community to her school and had deep understandings of her students, many of whom were gang-affected. While there were gang-related tensions on campus, her principal and much of the staff lacked the knowledge to address it, so like Jeff, Marta felt a responsibility to contribute her insights. However, in a topic similarly described by many participants in the study, school leadership ignored her contributions and instead pushed for color blindness. Marta explained,

At my site there is an issue about our school being a Norteño ³ school. Some of the Sureño students who go to our school have left out of fear or have been threatened and continue to be threatened on a daily basis. My administrator doesn’t seem equipped to deal with this problem at all. Her solution is to force integration, and to not allow the Sureño students to sit on the bench in front of the office anymore. She has not offered any other solutions. She’s asked for help, but won’t take my advice or help.

Marta worked in a school where she had insight to the realities of students that her principal and staff did not. A well-intentioned school rule, like forced integration, is driven by an ideal that differences can be overcome by just being together. (Color)blindness to the realities of gang-affected youth can have life or death consequences when it comes to relations between rival gangs. And although she was positioned to offer more culturally responsive solutions, Marta was overlooked and ignored in the face of color-blind attitudes.

Teachers’ experiences with their racialized and gendered identities were also mentioned prominently in interviews. Michelle, an African American first-year teacher on a mostly White staff, worked in a school that served mostly Black students and entirely students of Color. Because of her intersectional positionality as a novice teacher and a woman of Color, she explained that her perspective was devalued at the expense of students and their education:

There are the low expectations that I notice among our mostly White teaching staff. It is assumed that the students, none of whom are White, have attained a major victory by just sitting through the California Standards Test (CST) without being disruptive. I think the kids can do better than that, but as a new teacher, my views are not taken seriously.

Students of Color frequently face a culture of low expectations, an insidious form of racism with detrimental impact on student’s academic trajectories (hooks, 2001; Perry & Delpit, 1998). It has also been found that Black teachers tend to have higher expectations of Black students, often resulting in their academic success (Brown, 2009; Jordan Irvine, 2002). Michelle observed her mostly White peers minimize the capacity and potential of students, a racist sentiment commonly referred to as deficit thinking (Valencia, 1997, 2010). Even as Michelle attempted to equate low expectations with racialized stereotypes embedded in the culture of the school, as a first-year teacher of Color, her voice was dismissed, and racism continued to impede the educational opportunities of students of Color.

While racial justice should be a universal issue of concern, people of Color are often left with the responsibility of identifying and addressing racism. All of the quotes above reiterate examples of teachers of Color who, within schools fraught with color-blind racism, felt alone in their advocacy for students of Color and the struggle for racial justice. However, not only are they often the only ones to raise consciousness around racial inequity, but they are also not always heard. Working among colleagues who take a color-blind stance, being the lone advocate for students’ needs, and being overlooked in their insights can make schools racially hostile places for teachers of Color.

Racial microaggressions

In addition to feeling alone and silenced in their advocacy within color-blind schools, data also revealed that teachers of Color experienced racial insults in their professional contexts, often referred to as racial microaggressions. Racial microagressions are defined as everyday assaults directed at people of Color and rooted in factors associated with race, such as language and culture (Smith, Yosso, & Solórzano, 2007). Chester Pierce (1970, 1974) first coined racial microaggressions to describe racial offenses and/or put-downs that are “done in automatic, preconscious, or unconscious fashion” (Pierce, 1974, p. 515). Davis (1989) built upon Pierce’s work to highlight that, from the lens of the victim, microaggressions are not just personal slights, but instances of racialized harm. More recently, CRT scholars of education have borrowed this term to discuss the covert forms of systemic racism that exist in educational institutions (Allen & Solórzano, 2001; Smith et al., 2007; Solórzano, 1998; Solórzano, Allen, & Carroll, 2002). CRT scholars define racial microaggressions in three ways: (a) subtle verbal and non-verbal insults/assaults directed toward People of Color, often carried out automatically or unconsciously; (b) layered insults/assaults, based on one’s race, gender, class, sexuality, language, immigration status, phenotype, accent, or name; and (c) cumulative insults/assaults that take their toll on People of Color. In isolation, racial microaggressions may not have much meaning or impact; however, as repeated slights, the effects can be profound (Kohli & Solórzano, 2012). Because of their elusiveness, it can be hard to pinpoint racial microaggressions as racism, though they have very real manifestations and consequences for people of Color (Smith et al., 2007), and in this case, teachers of Color (Carrillo, 2010).

In the study, schools often utilized teachers of Color for their abilities with students of Color—they shared a language, connected well with families, or related to students in meaningful ways. At the same time, participants repeatedly shared that they experienced microaggressions where they were barely visible to their colleagues, and/or were treated with disdain or mistrust. Rudolfo was a veteran Latino teacher, and one of two Latino teachers on campus. While fellow teachers often relied on Rudolfo for his relationships with Latina/o students and families, these same teachers repeatedly called him by the wrong Spanish surname. Perhaps one mistaken name may have left Rudolfo wondering if it was a simple misunderstanding, but the cumulative, unapologetic nature of this experience solidified the racialized message of his invisibility (Kohli & Solórzano, 2012). Often framed as an innocent mistake, this recurring, albeit subtle, racial microaggression caused Rudolfo to feel invisible to his peers and isolated.

James was one of the only Black male teachers on his elementary school campus, and the only teacher from a working-class community. Like Rudolfo, his mostly White colleagues often relied on him to connect to students, particularly when they were struggling. James confided, “Other teachers always feel as if I can relate to all students of Color just because I’m an African American male from a low-income community.” By assuming this connection, James felt his colleagues had essentialized his experiences and those of their students, seemingly confirming the myth that all working-class people of Color relate to each other. This overreliance on James was a racial microagression that stemmed from stereotypes about the community and a limited knowledge of him and his life.

One of a few Spanish-speaking teachers on campus, Bernice advocated for Spanish-speaking students and their families. Her administrators were often frustrated by her vocalism and began to question her. For example, one day, Bernice and her White colleague both arrived at school wearing clothing with a baseball team logo. While nothing was said to the White teacher, Bernice experienced racial microaggression when she was asked to change her clothes because they felt that she was representing her connection to a local gang. She explained, “My relationships with parents and with the community, my ability to work well and be successful with gang-affiliated youth, has led to my leadership questioning my ethics and my ties to different gangs.” Bernice was one of just a few teachers on campus with the cultural and language abilities to understand and support the needs of many students and their families. The school was happy Bernice took on this role, as they benefited from her relationships to students. However, they did not appreciate her vocalism, and even feared her connection to gang-affiliated youth. Her success as a teacher was undermined and devalued because of the administration’s racist beliefs about Latina/os and gangs.

Like Bernice, Marisa was successful with students. Even so, Marisa felt put down by colleagues and questioned in her pedagogy, which was culturally responsive:

My students produce excellent work, meeting benchmarks and passing their CAHSEE English exam. I have been trained to engage the population of students that I now work with by starting with empathy and getting them to share their stories. I’ve been gawked at for using this method; I’ve had several teachers tell me that we’re not here to listen to our students’ problems. I am called an “enabler” at times when I stand up for students at staff meetings. I feel put down by many colleagues for the way in which I engage students, which is with respect, honor, and gratitude.

In the current culture of accountability, many teachers find it difficult to bridge test preparation to a curriculum relevant to students’ lives. This was something Marisa was skilled at doing, approaching it through a pedagogy of love that she learned over years of critical PD with a local Latina/o teacher activist group. However, because her pedagogy was so starkly different than her predominantly White teaching staff, they questioned the credibility of her methods. Teachers of Color repeatedly shared an array of such racial microaggressions, such as a lack of trust for the perspectives, frameworks, or cultural actions of people of Color. If you understand Marisa’s pedagogy through her positionality as a teacher of Color, as she does, the disrespect to her methods as a successful teacher was also a racial slight.

In addition to the racial microaggressions of being invisible, stereotyped, and questioned, in some cases teachers of Color were “othered” by peers because they held stereotypical beliefs about communities of Color. Although on the surface, it could seem positive that teachers of Color were spared the deficit frameworks applied to students of Color, but because many teachers of Color felt profound respect for students and connections to their communities, microaggressions directed at students were also felt deeply by teachers of Color. For instance, Ramon actually taught at the high school he attended as a student. Although the school had a predominantly Latino student population, he was one of few Latina/os on staff and the only teacher of Color in his social studies department. Ramon heard his colleagues make many racist comments about students, their families, and the local Latina/o community. Although this racism was not intended for him, the impact for Ramon was real and significant:

The chair of my department was trying to sell his truck—an old beat up clunker. At a department meeting, he was laughing “All these Hispanics are trying to get my truck. It’s a piece of crap, but they all want to buy it. It’s so funny.” I’m usually someone who’s vocal about racism, but as one of the younger teachers on staff, I felt like, “Do I really want to call this out?”

The department chair carried stereotypes about Latina/os that were so normalized he felt comfortable laughing with his peers about them in a professional context. When the chair so callously shared his racist views, this racial assault shaped the racial climate of a required staff meeting, thus affecting Ramon’s professional environment.

Ramon explained that experiences like these lead him to disconnect from his peers. “One of the teachers sent out an email, ‘Hey, let’s get together for happy hour after school.’ But a part of me doesn’t want to go. Because of these racial experiences, I don’t feel comfortable building with my peers,” reflected Ramon. For new teachers, networks and support are needed for both growth and retention (Borman & Dowling, 2008). The isolation that Ramon felt because of racial microaggressions is a factor that can ultimately affect his sustainability in the field.

Teachers of Color are being recruited into schools for particular assets, such as their language abilities and positive student relationships. However, teachers of Color are far more complex than just these qualities. The participants in this study were committed to racial justice and, as empowered people, brought many strengths into the classroom with them—they brought history, knowledge of self, advocacy, and love, to name but a few. But they were not valued for these powerful and transformational tools. Instead, the teachers of Color were often invisiblized, stereotyped, questioned or even “othered” from their community. These interpersonal experiences with racism, reflective of institutional structures of racial inequity and racism, were indicative of the hostile racial climates in which teachers of Color work.