Down by the Riverside

“Critical What What?”

In addressing the “critical what what” question with regard to education, it is important to understand what CRT has meant in legal studies. First, CRT seeks “to articulate racism as a structural phenomenon, rather than as a problem that derives from the failure on the part of individuals and institutions to treat people formally the same” (Carbado, 2011, p. 1613). One implication of an understanding of racism as a structural phenomenon is the need to look beyond issues of intent. People of color experience the injury of racism regardless of motive (Brown & Jackson, 2013). This move to downplay the significance of intent is particularly important for the study of race in education.

The harms inflicted upon underrepresented minority schoolchildren who are constrained in low-achieving, under-resourced schools, provided with less skilled teachers or systematically left out of gifted and talented classes, exist regardless of the reasons provided by the educational officials for allowing these circumstances to occur. (Brown & Jackson, 2013, p. 16).

As illustrated in the preceding quote, a second, closely related implication of viewing racism as a structural phenomenon is the importance of looking to material consequences for persons of color. Crenshaw (1988) describes this attention to outcomes as the expansive vision of antidiscrimination law that “stresses equality as a result and looks to real consequences for African Americans” (p. 1341). This focus on outcomes and results is significant with respect to the examination of urban education, particularly urban education reform. Although public education has always been in a state of reform (Donnor & Dixson, 2013), this particular moment of education reform, where school closures, school takeovers/turnarounds, the expansion of charter schools and charter school networks as a replacement for democratically elected boards of education and the wholesale firing of veteran teachers, most of whom are African American, are the reforms of choice, is in dire need of a more focused and critical analysis of the relationship between race and education (Dixson, Buras, & Jeffers, 2015; Dixson, Donnor, & Reynolds, 2015).

The issue of reform and its consequences for people of color has been a primary focus of CRT scholarship in legal studies. As Carbado notes, CRT rejects the view that racial progress has been “a history of linear uplift and improvement” (p. 1607). He argues that the racial progress narrative ignores the “reform/retrenchment dialectic.” This dialectic emerges in American history in the form of retrenchment in response to apparent racial reform. Carbado asserts recognition of this dynamic as one of the key claims of CRT and offers the following three examples:

(1)the end of legalized slavery and the promulgation of the Reconstruction Amendments (the reform) inaugurated legalized Jim Crow and the promulgation of Black Codes (the retrenchment); (2) Brown v. Board of Education’s dismantling of separate but equal in the context of K-12 education (the reform) was followed by Brown II’s weak ‘with all deliberate speed’ mandate (the retrenchment); (3) Martin Luther King Jr’s vision of racial cooperation and responsibility, which helped to secure the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (the reform), was re-deployed to produce a political and legal discourse that severely restricts racial remediation efforts: colorblindness (the retrenchment). (pp. 1607-1608)

This dynamic represents the “ebb and flow of racial progress and retrenchment” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 18). Thus, as we consider the process of urban education reform, we use this reform/retrenchment framework to understand the contemporary landscape of education for children of color in public schools.

In addition to highlighting this dialectic between reform and retrenchment, CRT scholars in legal studies have also offered a way to understand the underlying forces shaping these cycles. In particular, scholars have highlighted the roles of interest convergence and interest divergence in the reform/retrenchment cycle (Bell, 2004; Carbado, 2011; Guinier, 2004). Legal scholar, Derrick Bell (1980) used the Brown v. Board of Education case as one example illustrating interest convergence. According to Bell (2004), the principle of interest convergence has two parts. First, “the interest of blacks in achieving racial equality will be accommodated only when that interest converges with the interests of whites in policy-making positions” (p. 69). Second, a racial remedy will be “abrogated at the point that policy makers fear the remedial policy is threatening the superior societal status of whites” (p. 69). Bell argued that, rather than an example of racial progress based on justice, Brown represented this convergence of interests between powerful whites and African Americans seeking educational equity. As Bell (2004) and Ladson-Billings (2006a, 2006b) have pointed out, although Brown ended de jure racial segregation, it helped to usher in policies that served as de facto segregation vis-à-vis magnet programs, bussing, special education, honors and advanced placement courses and inequitable school funding.

Another related construct that has been associated with the reform/retrenchment dynamic is that of interest divergence. In 2004, Guinier built on Bell’s concept of interest convergence to explore interest divergence as another possible explanatory factor in the failure of Brown to achieve the social, education, and political progress expected. According to Guinier, “while Bell focused on interest convergence to explain the limited reach of the Court’s initiative in Brown, geographic, racial, and class-based interest divergences were also at work, ordering social, regional, and class conflict” (p. 99). She argued that, along with interest convergence, these interest divergences shed light on the forces at work in the post-Brown era and help to explain the fissures that developed. According to Gillborn (2013), “both interest convergence and divergence are wrapped together in a theory that makes sense of policy as a never ending campaign to secure ever greater control and benefit to White powerholders” (p. 138). Thus, the interplay between these two forces provides a way to understand the patterns of reform and retrenchment that are evident in the history of racial progress in the United States.

Also relevant to understanding reform, whether in the law or in education, is recognition of the power of discourse. According to Carbado (2011), part of the work of CRT scholars involves “highlighting the discursive frames legal and political actors have employed to disadvantage people of color” (p. 1615). Examples of these frames include: colorblindness, reverse discrimination, merit, citizenship, and the new “post-racial” discourse. These frameworks “can function as repositories of racial power” (p. 1615). For example, CRT scholars have argued that

the contemporary ‘jurisprudence of colorblindness’ is not only the expression of a particular color consciousness, but the product of a deeply politicized choice . . . The appeal to colorblindness can thus be said to serve as part of an ideological strategy by which the current Court obscures its active role in sustaining hierarchies of power. (Crenshaw, Gotanda, Peller, & Thomas, 1995, p. xxviii).

Thus, part of the CRT project involves revealing the ways that the dominant discourse is employed to maintain inequity and acknowledging the challenges for people of color in trying to navigate this discourse. Crenshaw (1988) suggests that CRT can provide a transparent analysis of how race, racism, and oppression manifest and offer strategies and insight on how “the rocks and very hard places can be negotiated” (p. 1639).

In seeking to understand the nature of urban education reform and the implications for students of color in these districts, attention to the discursive framing of these processes is crucial to understand how to minimize the danger of the discourse. For example, Dixson, Donnor, and Reynolds (2015) highlight the contemporary role of post-racial discourse in education.

Indeed race has raised abiding questions in the social sciences and education for several decades. Despite debates within both fields regarding the meaning of race, the current popular sentiment among the lay public and many educational practitioners is that on November 4, 2008, America reached a post-racial moment with the election of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States.

Thus, while CRT scholars are arguing that race matters in education, we are working within a socio-political context that justifies denying racial inequity due to the election of the nation’s first African-American president as an example of significant racial progress. This is but one example highlighting the importance of CRT for navigating the dangers of contemporary racial discourse.

In the following sections, we first outline a few of the key components of contemporary urban education reform. We then explore how these trends have manifested in two river cities: New Orleans and Memphis. Finally, we outline how CRT can be employed to better understand education reform in these two sites. Before exploring these cases, however, we should clarify our perspectives with respect to the two focal cities. While the nature of contemporary education reform in these two cities arguably makes them noteworthy in any examination of urban education, our interests in education reform in New Orleans and Memphis are both personal and professional. Dr. Dixson’s research agenda for the last several years has focused on how race gets deployed and racism manifests in “race- neutral” education policies and practices. Given the public discourse about post-Katrina New Orleans as an opportunity to remake schools that were more equitable along race and class, she was interested in how the architects of education reform in New Orleans would meet this goal. Personally, her teaching career began in New Orleans. Dr. Rousseau-Anderson’s relationship to Memphis is similar. Personally, she was both a student and a teacher in the Memphis public schools. Professionally, over the past decade, she has examined various aspects of equity in relation to Memphis schools. Thus, we both have a strong personal connection and professional commitment to our respective focal cities. Moreover, we have previously collaborated on works involving CRT. Given the current reform conditions in these sites, it seemed appropriate to utilize CRT as a means to gain a deeper understanding of the nature of urban education in these two river cities.

Trends in Urban Education Reform

In this section, we briefly describe the reform practices and conditions that are most relevant in the two focal cities. These include: (1) a form of portfolio management; (2) the growth of human-capital organizations; (2) the active involvement of philanthropic organizations; and (4) the role of politics.

New Orleans: “The Storm of a Lifetime”

Over 1,000,000 people were displaced when the levees designed to protect the City of New Orleans from flooding breached on August 29, 2005 (http://www.datacenterresearch.org/data-resources/katrina/facts-for-impact/). While not the deadliest natural disaster in the United States, Hurricane Katrina was the costliest and has had the most impact locally and nationally (http://georgewbush-whitehouse.archives.gov/reports/katrina-lessons-learned/chapter1.html). The devastation that followed the levee breaches has had an impact on New Orleans in ways that go beyond the loss of life as well as property loss and damage. Policymakers, politicians and education reform advocates viewed the flooding of New Orleans as an unprecedented opportunity to make sweeping and myriad changes to public policy. ¹ Others, primarily locals, educators, community members and students have a divergent perspective on education reform, a perspective that is often missing in our national discourse on post-Katrina education reform (Dixson, Buras, & Jeffers, 2015).

In the months after Katrina, the Recovery School District (RDS) took control of 107 of the 128 schools in the Orleans Parish School District (Dixson, 2011). Under Act 35, the RSD was only supposed to operate schools in a district it took over for 5 years (Dixson, 2011); however, during the 2010-2011 school year when the Louisiana Board of Elementary and Secondary Education (BESE) had to return the schools back to OPSB, State Superintendent Paul Pastorek, created a plan, approved by BESE, that allowed individual schools to decide if they wanted to return to OPSB if they were deemed “not failing” (Vanacore, 2012). Thus, for many community members, the RSD is a seemingly permanent fixture in New Orleans as an educational oversight body (Dreillinger, 2015). Rather than return the schools to the OPSB, the control of schools remains with a predominantly younger and whiter crop of educational leaders and entrepreneurs. As another example of this retrenchment, at the conclusion of school year 2013-2014, the RSD had chartered all of the 107 schools that it ran directly (Layton, 2014), thus making it nearly impossible for the schools, if they were eligible to return, to go back as traditional public schools. As charters, they have independent school boards that would essentially duplicate the functions of the elected school board.

At the conclusion of school year 2013-2014, the Recovery School District had either closed or relinquished direct control of the schools it had taken over in 2005. The schools that the RSD did not close were awarded to charter operators (http://www.louisianaweekly.com/new-report-details-successes-and-challenges-of-n-o-schools/; http://www.louisianaweekly.com/opsb-wants-to-take-over-john-mcdonogh/). Some news reports describe New Orleans as the first school district that is “100 percent” charter. ² This description is inaccurate since the Orleans Parish School Board still directly runs six traditional schools and is a charter authorizer with oversight of 14 charter schools (Cowen Institute, 2015). This move from a traditional school district with an elected school board that has complete oversight and control of schools to the PMM has been in development for nearly two decades. However, the scale and magnitude of the implementation of the PMM in New Orleans is significant and historic. As discussed in K. L. Buras’s (2012) review of education reform in New Orleans, this last decade has ushered in an era of reform that is unprecedented and comprehensive in its scope in that not merely were the reforms focused on school governance, but also included expanding the role of alternative licensure for classroom teachers, school leaders and state level educational administrators (K. L. Buras, 2012).

In the decade since the devastation caused by the levee breaches associated with Hurricane Katrina, the city has been the site of incredible interest from business and a new class of political actors, “social entrepreneurs.” An intricate and coordinated network of political actors at the state and federal levels, as well as the philanthropic community aided the changes to public education, a site many commonly referred to as “ground zero” for reform experimentation. The role of local and federal politics provided the necessary legislative legitimation to completely overhaul the publicly funded and democratically elected system that has been disrupted by the PMM and “diverse provider” models. The premise of these reforms was the mantra of “education as a civil right” and the need to refashion schools in New Orleans to redress long-standing racial inequity. The “transformation” of public education in New Orleans relied on coded racial language that cast the “status quo” as Black politicians and veteran Black educators and educational leaders as unfit or lacking the commitment and will to educate poor African Americans. This “old guard” (Horn, 2011) has been replaced by a younger and whiter group of educators and educational leaders and entrepreneurs (Dixson, Buras, & Jeffers, 2015). The Louisiana legislature actively came together to alter legislation that changed the very nature of public schooling (Dixson, 2011). As Dixson et al. (2014) note, New Orleans is one example of the role of extra-educational actors in school reform.

It is not enough to say that extra-educational actors or interest groups are diverse. That is, mainstream media outlets and the general lay public often describes reform efforts as being successful because of the diversity of participants in public education reform, especially those who are not traditional educators, i.e., philanthropists and corporations or grass roots organizations. It is the undue influence of the former that illustrates the exceptionally political nature of these reforms. It highlights the ways in which privilege, power, and prestige, or the lack thereof, becomes afforded to some. This is a political gesture as it not only deals with the distribution of resources and the ability to influence policy, but also suggests the ways in which educational reformers and their reforms, intentionally or unintentionally, render some voices mute (p. 476).

Thus, the “system of systems” that is now what constitutes public education in New Orleans is diffuse by design. Although a series of lawsuits filed by individuals and social justice organizations coupled with demands and protests by parents, students and community members for more transparency and shared decision-making have sought to bring more cohesion to this system of systems, it remains that school governance in New Orleans rests squarely on an entrepreneurial model whereby parents must navigate at least 58 separate school districts in order to “choose” a school for their child (Dixson, 2011).

This creates an obvious conflict and challenge with governance and decision-making not only about the day-to-day operations of a school, but also for the larger policy issues that will impact students within the school. Dixson (2015) reviewed a report by Public Impact and New Schools for New Orleans (2015), two non-profit education reform organizations, on the tenth year anniversary of education reform in New Orleans. Dixson notes that the authors’ claims about the success of the reforms rest on a narrow role of “government,” presumably, elected school districts, as primarily regulatory and non-profit charter school organizations as “levers” for innovation (p. 6). Dixson finds that the authors make an ironic claim that education reform in New Orleans should be free of “political intervention” and that the “New Orleans community” would be “better off” in a bifurcated system. The authors do not, however, acknowledge that eradicating unions or refusing to enter into collective bargaining agreements with teachers, reducing the size and involvement of governmental agencies and relegating them to “regulatory” functions, are all, by definition, “political interference.”

Prior to the reforms, Dixson notes in her review that Black teachers were over 70% of the teaching population nearly reaching parity with the demographics of the schools (Mitchell, 2015; See also, Cook & Dixson, 2013). In 2009-2010, that number had decreased to 56% and by 2014, 49%. ³ In 2013, African American students comprised 96% of the student population in the RSD as compared to being 71% of the population in OPSB schools and 44% of schools run by BESE (Cowen Institute, 2014). Thus, the reforms ushered in a demographic mismatch between students and teachers that had not existed prior to Katrina.

Rebuilding New Orleans after the massive destruction caused by the levee breaches has been wrought with challenges in light of the City’s history of racial inequity in nearly every sector from employment to housing to education. Although it is encouraging that the city is on the road to recovery, it is perhaps still too premature to celebrate the path that many legislators and policymakers have taken to rebuild the “city that care forgot.” Thus, the levee breaches did more than just devastate the physical landscape of the Gulf Coast. It also completely disrupted the public infrastructure ushering in an era of neo-liberal policies that have transmogrified the social, political, economic and educational infrastructure in New Orleans.

Memphis: New Orleans-Style Reforms Head North

According to one of the local philanthropists deeply involved in education reform, “‘Memphis is poised to be either the first or among the first major urban centers to fully and deeply transform public education for all kids – in our case, without having to suffer a hurricane to get there’” (Zubrzycki, 2013). This allusion to New Orleans is not accidental, as several of the current educational reforms are intentionally patterned after the Crescent City. Following the road map of New Orleans, an expressed goal of district leaders is to become “‘a system of schools rather than a school system’” (Zubrzycki, 2013).

As noted in the previous section, the reform conditions in New Orleans were shaped by action of the state government. Similarly, many of the local reforms in Memphis were established or facilitated by the legislature and governor. One of the precipitating events that set wheels in motion in Memphis involved the Federal Race to the Top competition. Then governor, Phil Bredesen, spearheaded an effort to secure Race to the Top funds for Tennessee. He pushed the legislature to pass an education bill called “First to the Top” which made Tennessee more competitive for Race to the Top funds (Camera, 2014). Among other things, the legislation revised the teacher and principal evaluation system, putting greater emphasis on test scores and value-added measures, and paved the way for the creation of the Achievement School District (ASD). Tennessee was awarded Race to the Top funding ($500 million) in March 2010. But the role of the legislation in the grant process is noteworthy, as the changes supported with Race to the Top funds had been written into state law (Camera, 2014).

As previously noted, one of the prominent features of the First to the Top legislation and the subsequent Race to the Top application was the creation of the ASD. Modeled after the Recovery School District, the state-run ASD follows the portfolio management model (Camera, 2014; Carr, 2013). Schools that fall in the bottom 5% statewide in terms of achievement are eligible to be taken over by the ASD. The borderless district includes a mix of schools that are run by the ASD itself as well as other schools that have been turned over to CMOs. The CMOs include both local and national organizations. For example, Aspire, Green Dot, Scholar Academies, and KIPP have been awarded schools in the ASD. The schools in the ASD exercise autonomy over hiring and use of funds. They take over existing buildings with the expectation that they enroll all students who had been previously zoned to the school (Zubrzycki, 2013).

As has been the case in other sites, the implementation of the PMM in Tennessee (specifically in Memphis) has happened alongside the growth of human capital organizations. For example, TFA, TNTP, New Leaders, and Building Excellent Schools are established national organizations who are active in the Memphis educational landscape. Moreover, other local nonprofits (e.g., Memphis Teacher Residency) have emerged to address human capital needs. While each of these organizations was working in Memphis prior to the start of the ASD, the growth of the ASD has arguably increased demand for the services of these groups. Additionally, other entities have become engaged in the local landscape in conjunction with the ASD. For example, Relay Graduate School of Education, chartered by the New York State Board of Regents in 2011, has been approved to offer licensure programs in Tennessee, with a specific focus on providing teachers for the ASD and other “high priority” (i.e., low-performing) schools (Roberts, 2015). Thus, the role of human capital organizations in the Memphis case is similar to other sites of urban education reform.

Another commonality with other large urban districts is the role of philanthropy. In Memphis, local funders have come together in a collaborative effort to pool resources toward a consensus agenda (Belton, Berner, Doyle, & Perigo, 2014). This agenda has involved attention to charter schools through the expansion of existing schools and the recruitment and development of new schools. It has also focused on the issue of teacher effectiveness. The funding from the local collaborative is “meeting the immediate need for new talent (e.g., by bringing new teachers to Memphis) and also supporting a longer-term effort to develop and retain local talent” (Belton et al., 2014, p. 7). These philanthropists view this as a “‘once-in-three-generations opportunity . . . an unprecedented alignment of human-capital partners, a pipeline of talent, demonstrated high-performing school models, and a pipeline of new charter schools coming into the city’” (Zubrzycki, 2014a). In addition to local philanthropists, education in Memphis has also been influenced by funding from national sources. The city school district received a $90 million grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation in 2009. The funds have been used for a variety of initiatives related to teacher and principal effectiveness (Roberts, 2013b).

Thus, the Memphis case reflects several of the forces evident in other locations, including New Orleans. The legislature and governor have played key roles in establishing the conditions that have facilitated the recent changes and made Memphis the site of one of the most “radical education experiments” in the nation (Camera, 2014). Similarly, the growth of human capital organizations has happened alongside the implementation of the PMM. And philanthropists, both local and national, play a prominent role in this story.

However, as with other sites, these changes have not been implemented without controversy. In particular, many of the charges leveled against the ASD echo those from New Orleans. For example, on average, the achievement results from the ASD have not been significantly better than the schools they replaced. In 2012-13, the first year of operation for the ASD, math proficiency in ASD schools increased by 3.3%, while Reading/Language Arts (RLA) proficiency went down 4.5% (Camera, 2014). At the end of the second year of operation, the district had averaged 3% gains in Math and a 1% gain in RLA (Roberts, 2014b). While some schools in the ASD have demonstrated noteworthy gains, an analysis of the first three cohorts of ASD schools by the Tennessee Consortium on Research, Evaluation and Development indicated that the effects of the ASD on student achievement growth have been largely statistically insignificant. Where the effects have been significant, the direction has been both positive (three times) and negative (two times). These effects also varied by subject, cohort, and academic year (Zimmer, Kho, Henry, & Viano, 2015).

In addition to considering growth from year to year, it is also instructive to examine the average achievement results for the ASD schools. Achievement data on 14 of the ASD elementary and middle schools located in Memphis were available on the Tennessee Department of Education website for the 2014-15 school year. ⁴ According to the data provided on the website, 26% percent of ASD students in Memphis scored at a level considered either proficient or advanced in Mathematics on the state test. For Reading and Language Arts, the percentage of students scoring either proficient or advanced was 12%.

By definition, the ASD schools were in the bottom 5% of schools statewide at the time of takeover. Thus, it is arguably not meaningful to compare these results to those of the local education agency (LEA) or the state. However, it is worth noting that the ASD intervention was not the only strategy included in the First to the Top legislation. In addition to the ASD, the local school district has its own turnaround model (known as the Innovation Zone or iZone). Schools in the bottom 5% statewide can become part of the ASD or can be included in the iZone model. Thus, the iZone schools are comparable to the ASD with regard to student achievement at the time of assignment to this alternative turnaround strategy. Moreover, the two strategies began implementation at the same time. Thus, the iZone offers a meaningful comparison group for situating the ASD achievement results.

Student achievement results for 14 iZone elementary and middle schools in the Memphis area were available from the state website for 2014-15. In Mathematics, 35% of students in the iZone scored proficient or advanced and 20% scored proficient or advanced in Reading and Langauge Arts (as compared to 26% and 12%, respectively, for the ASD schools). Thus, the achievement results for students in the ASD are notably lower than those of students at comparable schools that remained within the LEA. Comparisons between the ASD and the iZone with regard to growth in achievement have shown similar results (Zimmer et al., 2015), with the iZone outperforming the ASD. Thus, one critique of the ASD revolves around the relative lack of impact on student test scores, particularly when compared to other reform strategies operating within the LEA.

Another critique of the ASD involves its staffing practices and the disruption that these practices have for communities (Burnette, 2014b). When the ASD takes over a school, teachers have the option to re-apply for their positions. However, this move from the traditional school district to the ASD is viewed by teachers as a risk to job security, benefits, and seniority, particularly for veteran teachers (Carr, 2013). As a result, many of the existing teachers do not reapply to the ASD, leading to the turnover of the entire faculty (or almost the entire faculty) at some schools (Roberts, 2012, 2013a). In the first year of the ASD, eighty-seven percent of the teachers in the schools directly run by the ASD did not return to the school when it entered the ASD. During the same year the CMO-managed schools within the ASD saw a 100% turnover from the previous year (Henry, Zimmer, Attridge, Kho, & Viano, 2014). Moreover, the teachers staffing the CMO-managed schools are largely inexperienced. In 2012-13, sixty-eight percent of the teachers hired into the new ASD schools were beginning teachers or did not have experience in Tennessee public schools (Henry et al., 2014).

Even in cases in which some of the faculty members remain, the loss of veteran teachers is significant. For example, one of the ASD charters is located in the historically black neighborhood of Orange Mound. When the charter school took over, approximately two-thirds of the faculty did not return. According to one of the teachers who stayed, “‘There were a lot of teachers who grew up in Orange Mound and live in Orange Mound . . . They brought a lot to the table in terms of their experience living and working in Orange Mound. It was really sad to see them go’” (Carr, 2013).

Another source of contention has emerged in response to the process for determining which provider takes over an eligible school. Previously, schools were identified as eligible to be added to the ASD portfolio and meetings were held between the school community and the charters identified by the district to potentially takeover the schools. These meetings provoked some controversy and protest. For example, charter operator Green Dot backed out of an agreement to take over a Memphis high school after protests from students, parents, teachers, and community members who argued that the school’s results were improving and intervention was not necessary (Burnette, 2014a; Roberts, 2014b). In addition, protests erupted at other schools involved in the matching process (Burnette, 2014a; Roberts, 2014a). As a result, a new procedure (referred to as the “community input” process as opposed to the “school matching” process) began in the 2015-16 school year.

One community in which protests emerged is Frayser, an area of Memphis with a population of approximately 40,000 that was formerly the home to a substantial blue-collar workforce. However, the closing of several plants and general economic downturn have left Frayser as one of the more distressed parts of Memphis. The population is predominantly African American (over 80%). Fewer than half of the adults in Frayser have a high school diploma, and the community includes some of the poorest census tracts in the county (Camera, 2014).

Frayser is also home to the largest number of ASD schools in a single zip code. Of the 20 ASD schools spread across the Memphis area in the 2014-15 school year, six schools were located in Frayser. Additionally, two Frayser schools were selected to be part of the ASD for 2015-16 and have been assigned to local CMOs. One of the CMOs had no existing schools at the time of matching. The other organization had one existing school when the Frayser school was assigned. Upon the take-over of these schools, almost all of the elementary schools in Frayser are part of the ASD (Burnette, 2014a).

This concentration of schools in Frayser has not been accidental (Zubrzycki, 2014b). According to the ASD school superintendent, in the search for a neighborhood in which to concentrate the ASD’s efforts, Frayser “‘popped off the map’ because of its high numbers of low-performing schools, but also because there were a number of active community organizations” (Zubrzycki, 2014b). While the ASD received initial support from several of these community organizations, recent rounds of school takeovers appear to have led to a fracturing around the presence of the ASD. For example, in a letter to the ASD in December 2014, one of the community organizations asserted: “It is our position that the Achievement School District should improve the performance and outcomes in the schools they presently run and those that they have approved before considering absorbing any additional schools” (Spears, 2014). Yet, this pushback is not only occurring in Frayser. The school board of the LEA recently passed a resolution calling for a moratorium on the ASD’s take-over of schools (Tatter & Aldrich, 2015). Thus, as in New Orleans (Buras, 2014), the implementation of the PMM in Memphis has begun to meet some resistance.

CRT and Urban Education Reform in New Orleans and Memphis

In examining the cases of these two cities, as well as considering the evidence from other sites, we submit that there are several insights that CRT can offer into the process of urban education reform. The first involves recognition of the reform and retrenchment cycle. As described earlier, CRT scholars have pointed to the racial retrenchment that inevitably follows any reform in U.S. law or policy. Arguably, this retrenchment is evident in the current urban educational reforms through the shifts in racial power that have occurred as a result of the reform process. The displacement of African American educators in both New Orleans and Memphis has occurred at the same time as the growth of organizations that are largely run by whites. For example, Buras (2014) asserts that

New Orleans charter schools are less about the needs of racially oppressed communities and more about the Reconstruction of a newly governed South – one in which white entrepreneurs (and black allies) capitalize on black schools and neighborhoods by obtaining public monies to build and manage charter schools (p. 3).

Moreover, this pattern has been repeated in other locations. Menefee-Libey (2010) notes that the reform process in Chicago was viewed by some “as less an educational reform initiative than a power grab hostile to the interests of low-income people and communities of color” (p. 86).

Yet, it is important to note that this retrenchment process has not followed the pattern of the examples offered from the law (e.g., Brown and Brown II). Rather, it appears in the case of education reform that retrenchment is intimately tied into the reform process. In fact, we would argue that what we are witnessing is not precisely a case of the reform and retrenchment cycle. Instead, what we are seeing in urban education is more consistent with retrenchment masquerading as reform. In the name of reform, organizations run largely by whites have gained a significant foothold in the education of students of color, in some cases replacing schools and even districts that were formerly led by African American educators (Dixson, Buras, & Jeffers, 2015).

Moreover, this example of racial retrenchment hiding in plain sight highlights the dangers of the discursive “reform” shift. For, in much the same way that “colorblindness” has been appropriated by conservatives for use against the interests of persons of color (Bonilla-Silva, 2013; Williams, 1997), the very term “reform” is fraught with potential danger for students and educators of color. As Crenshaw (1988) argues, navigating the dominant discourse can be treacherous. For, in the midst of a system that is not working for students of color, who can possibly stand against “reform”?

The challenge for people of color, however, revolves around who has the power to define reform. As Reckhow (2010) highlights, “foundations have helped to set the terms of the national policy debate by defining which policy strategies are ‘real’ reforms and which actors are ‘real’ reformers” (p. 301). For example, in the past, some of the local philanthropic groups provided little support to public schools in Memphis. They viewed the local public school system as not open to the reforms thought important for improvement of outcomes (Belton et al., 2014). However, recent changes in the educational landscape have contributed to a shift in the perception of the willingness of public schools to engage in reform. Public schools in the local area now receive a significant amount of philanthropic support (Belton et al., 2014). In this way, the local foundations have the influence to shape the definition of “reform” and the types of “reform” that receive support.

This process of defining “who is a legitimate reformer” and “who is authentically invested in improving education for children in urban school districts” is also reflected in funding patterns of national foundations (Scott, 2011, p. 588). According to Scott (2011), “the ‘real reformers’ tend to come from outside of education, to be White and male, and to embrace particular ‘paternalistic’ approaches to educating poor children of color” (p. 589). Moreover, insofar as advocacy for reform is often framed using the language of civil rights, critics of such reforms are labeled as supporters of an inequitable status quo (Buras, 2014; Scott, 2011). Here is the danger inherent in the “reform” discourse. To be in opposition to “reforms” that are positioned as improving outcomes for underserved students is untenable. For example, the ASD school superintendent asserted that, “‘the traditional school system is not set up in a way that unleashes excellence . . . top down bureaucracies don’t do that. These kids need to be getting the education they deserve’” (Burnette, 2014a). Who can argue against the quest for excellence and providing students with the education they deserve? It is in this treacherous discursive space where the call for “reform” permits the underlying process of retrenchment.

However, as we employ CRT as a tool to understand what is happening in urban schools and districts, it is important to return to one of the key tenets of the theory: Racism is a structural phenomenon embedded in systems and, thereby, does not rely on ill intent on the part of individuals. Individual politicians, philanthropists, administrators, and educational entrepreneurs could, in fact, be pursuing aims of educational equity. The intent of all individuals involved in this process could be to achieve improved outcomes for students who have been traditionally underserved. However, if the process results in the loss of economic stability and community empowerment for persons of color, the intent of the reforms is largely irrelevant. Whether stakeholders intend to undermine the status of African American teachers and school leaders or not, an expansive view of educational equity requires that we attend not only to narrow outcome measures such as test scores but also to the employment and empowerment of Black professionals. In this way, the reforms have a more insidious impact than just changing actors in public education. The displacement of Black educators has a socio-economic impact as well, particularly on a Black middle class that is already unstable (Bruenig, 2013; Dixson, Buras, & Jeffers, 2015). The reforms that essentially displace Black educators have undermined and destabilized an avenue of employment that allowed African Americans to reach the middle class. The residual effects in a weakened economic system that already negatively impacts African Americans disproportionately can and have been devastating to the overall health of many of the communities targeted for reform. Yet, because racism is a structural phenomenon, all of this can happen without an identifiable “bad actor,” and, in fact, can be facilitated by individuals who intend the opposite.

Finally, whether these cases reflect a reform/retrenchment cycle or simply retrenchment disguised as reform, it is important to highlight the dynamic role of interests in this process. CRT scholars have noted the interplay of interest convergence and divergence in the reform and retrenchment cycle. For example, whereas Brown v. Board is upheld as a prime example of the role of interest convergence, the fracturing of interests along the lines of race, class, and geography is offered as a case of interest divergence (Guinier, 2004).

Poor blacks suffered as urban public schools became the primary locus of integration; the change fomented an unhealthy battleground of racial tensions. Race became synonymous with poor blacks, and public education itself became stigmatized as it became more and more closely associated with racialized poverty. (p. 112)

Thus, the fracturing of groups and divergence of interests along different lines helps to explain the failure of Brown to bring about lasting racial progress.

We assert that similar processes can be observed in the contemporary urban education reforms in the two focal cities. We argue that the development of the “system of systems” in both New Orleans and Memphis can, at least on the surface, be understood as an example of interest convergence. In theory, the model of the RSD and the ASD represents the convergence of the interests of politicians, philanthropists, and educational entrepreneurs with those of underserved students of color in public schools. The students of color in under-performing schools receive improved educational opportunities and outcomes while influential whites gain through the organizations that are supported in these efforts. These largely white-run organizations receive several benefits that are both material (e.g., use of publically-funded school buildings at no cost) and political (e.g., the shift of influence away from school districts).

However, underneath this surface-level convergence of interests, divergences such as those outlined by Guinier (2004) can be seen. For example, in New Orleans, the reforms have created racially segregated schools whereby upper middle class and upwardly mobile whites have access to the schools that are highly resourced and have the most stable and veteran teachers whereas lower income African Americans are in schools that are the most unstable in terms of teachers and leadership. For middle class Blacks, the city’s catholic or other private schools can offer a haven when admission to the higher achieving public schools is evasive (Dixson, 2015, field notes). Similarly, the structure of the ASD permits a similar divergence along class lines. The population of ASD during the 2013-14 school year was 92.5% economically disadvantaged and 96.6% African American. Thus, the system largely serves a low-income student population. As in New Orleans, middle- and upper-class Black students have other educational options and are largely not enrolled in the ASD. These differences in schooling options along socioeconomic lines are similar to those described by Guinier (2004) and reflect the differential impact of the reforms.

However, despite these similarities, we submit that these divergences operate in a slightly different manner than those described by Guinier (2004). Rather than fracturing the interest convergence that led to reform and permitting the subsequent retrenchment, we submit that the divergences that we observe in the cases of New Orleans and Memphis operate to maintain the retrenchment called “reform.” By disproportionately impacting low-income student populations, while maintaining other options for middle and upper class African American students, there is less opportunity for coalition-building within the African American community in opposition to these reforms. Thus, rather than fracturing the reform, these divergences permit the current retrenchment process.

Conclusion

As previously noted, legal scholar Devon Carbado (2011) raised an essential question at the 20th anniversary of CRT in legal studies: “Critical what what?” His question was directed at the “stuff” of CRT, of what makes it CRT. After posing this question, he then went on to outline some of these core ideas: recognition of racism as a structural phenomenon; the importance of looking to material outcomes (i.e., an expansive vision); the significance of the reform/retrenchment dialectic; the role of interest convergence and interest divergence; and the power of discourse. In this article, we have sought to relate these core ideas to the process of urban education reform in two cities by considering the ways in which the features and conditions of reform (or retrenchment) in these contexts reflect the operation of these dynamics.

In addition to raising a question about the core ideas of CRT, Carbado (2011) also pointed to the need for clarity on the goals and aspirations of CRT. What is it that we hope to accomplish with CRT in education, specifically in urban education? To address this question, we return to the work of CRT scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw. In her 1988 article, “Race, Reform, and Retrenchment: Transformation and Legitimation in Antidiscrimination Law,” Crenshaw pointed to the double-edged sword of legal reform:

The very reforms brought about by appeals to legal ideology, however, seem to undermine the ability to move forward toward a broader vision of racial equality. In the quest for racial justice, winning and losing have been part of the same experience. (p. 1385, emphasis added)

We argue that the same is true in education. The very reform processes that, on the surface, are intended to bring about equity and increased opportunity to learn can, in fact, lead to the maintenance of inequitable outcomes. For example, even if schools “win” in the short term with higher standardized test scores, can this be viewed as a “win” in the face of the large-scale loss of African American educators from these systems? We submit that a role for CRT in the study of urban education is to draw attention to this dichotomy and to give language to the structures that create this win-loss reality for so many teachers and students in urban schools. For example, CRT can provide the critical vocabulary to help us understand the current situation in the Frayser community of Memphis and others like it. Frayser is ground-zero for education reform in Memphis. Yet, it also represents the win-loss dichotomy ─ the burden of school reform. CRT offers a way to examine the dynamics of school reform in places like Frayser. This community, which is bordered on one side by the Mississippi River, is unquestionably in need of changes in schools and schooling outcomes. It is in need of school reform. However, the change that is needed is one that does not demand the sacrifice and loss inherent in the current “reforms.” CRT’s role, then, is to provide a critical voice and to call attention to these losses so that at last the burden of urban school reform might be laid down.