Beloved Community

Inequities of Music Education

Exclusion and inequity occurs in our own field of music education. For example, the rhetoric of our profession has long endorsed music for all, yet the statistics about participation in school music education suggest that we have provided music for some. Rabkin and Hedberg (2011) analyzed four Surveys of Public Participation in the Arts and found that, in 1982, 53% of 18-year-olds reported receiving a childhood music education, whereas in 2008, only 37% of 18-year-olds reported receiving music education. Furthermore,

In 2008, those whose parents had the highest educational attainment (highest socioeconomic status) were 17% less likely to have had a childhood arts education than the adults of 1982. Those whose parents had the lowest educational attainment (lowest socioeconomic status) were nearly 77% less likely to have had childhood arts education. (p. 46)

The decline in rate of arts education for White children was “relatively insignificant” between 1982 and 2008; however, the decline in rate of arts education for Black children was 49% and the decline for Hispanic children was 40% (p. 47).

In an extensive analysis of the 2002 Educational Longitudinal Study, Elpus and Abril (2011) provided a more definitive picture of public high school band, orchestra, and choral ensemble participation in the United States. The researchers’ key findings were as follows: In 2004, only 21% of high school seniors reported participation in school ensembles. White students were overrepresented in ensembles, and Hispanic students were significantly underrepresented. Students in the highest socioeconomic quartile were significantly overrepresented, whereas students in the lowest socioeconomic quartile were underrepresented. Children of parents who received a graduate degree were significantly overrepresented whereas children of parents who attained only a high school diploma or less were underrepresented.

Elpus (2014) conducted a follow-up study investigating enrollment in all high school music courses between 1982 and 2009. Instead of studying high school students’ self-reports, Elpus analyzed data from 10 separate high school transcript studies by the National Center for Education Statistics. Here, the researcher found that high school student enrollment in at least one music course remained relatively stable between 1982 and 2009, at about 34% of all students. The percentage of students enrolled in music for all 4 years of high school was about 5% in 1982 and increased slightly to 9% in 2009. Elpus’s primary interest, however, was the effect of No Child Left Behind disaggregated data provisions. Which students who were predicted to enroll in music courses had been left out? He found that No Child Left Behind provisions “may have prevented Hispanic students and students with IEPs [Individualized Education Programs] from enrolling in music courses, and may have exacerbated the declining trend of fewer ELLs [English language learners] enrolling in music courses” (p. 228).

Regardless of whether we use the figures from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Educational Longitudinal Study, the 34% of high school students who enroll for one music course, or the 9% of students who remain enrolled throughout high school, all evidence suggests that we do not reach 100% of students. More important, the three foregoing studies, taken together, demonstrate that poor children, Black children, Hispanic children, English language learners, and children with disclosed disabilities receive a lesser quality music education than do more affluent, English-speaking, able, and White children. Perhaps some do not have access to public music education at all.

What Can We Do?

When we are confronted with statistics like this, our first inclination may be to do something—look for support to purchase instruments for schools; figure out ways to hire more Black, Hispanic, and bilingual music teachers; or create culturally relevant music curricula. Perhaps instead we should try to talk about inequity and exclusion in our communities, schools, and professional organizations; however, Gutmann (1994) contends that “questions concerning whether and how cultural groups should be recognized” are among the “most salient and vexing” in democratic societies (p. 5). So conversation is not a simple proposition. Instead of honest dialogue, we debate over who is disadvantaged or left out compared to whom—are children more needy because they are Hispanic, low-income, or English language learners? Often, we are led to think in simple binaries: that is, to compare middle-class, White students to everyone else. To engage in meaningful conversation, we need data—not merely large-scale studies like the ones previously presented but also more local data. For example, D’Ambrosio (2015) was surprised to learn through her dissertation research that, among the school programs she investigated, as few as 9% of middle school students were allowed to enroll for band and orchestra because a majority of students were required to attend mandatory instruction and tutoring for standardized test preparation. Furthermore, she was surprised to learn that music teachers often blamed school principals for their failure to support music ensemble enrollment, yet those teachers knew little about state regulations that constrained principals’ decisions. D’Ambrosio recommended that music teachers should study their school contexts carefully and communicate more accurately with others about student populations and state policies. Indeed, data can awaken us to circumstances of our organizations that we might not identify otherwise.

But data analysis does not tell us everything we need to know. In fact, when we speak about data analysis, we often speak in aggregate terms. We categorize individuals and consider differences among various categories. While this may occasionally prove useful, it often turns out to be destructive because we fail to recognize the differences among individuals. We allow the meaning of equity to become sameness, and we allow our rhetoric to become “music for every child” instead of “music for each child.” Others remain invisible when they are seen in the aggregate—to truly recognize others as they desire to be seen, we must take time to hear individual stories.

I teach the capstone course in our doctoral program where students begin to put together ideas for their dissertations. In that course, students read theoretical literature, outside music education, to construct a framework for their research. A student in the most recent class struggled for weeks about which concepts to employ. Evidence of the struggle came in the form of papers that included what I perceived to be a hodgepodge of theoretical concepts. I thought perhaps he was having difficulty understanding the general principle of linking the concepts in his framework, until one evening when we had a conference. He explained: “If I choose culturally relevant pedagogy, someone might pay attention to my dissertation. If I choose a more critical perspective, anyone who reads my dissertation will only see me as an angry Black man.” Although I had rightly perceived that this student was struggling, I had no idea what the struggle was about. The beloved community is marked by relationships of mutuality—I needed to see this student as he desired to be seen.

In her book, Colormute: Race Talk Dilemmas in an American School, Mica Pollock (2004) offers a chapter of advice to educators on speaking about race. At least two recommendations pertain more generally to speaking about all kinds of inequity and exclusions: “To disarm fears of error, try stating directly that the task at hand is to work together through inevitable errors: in our quests to make things better we will fail in countless small ways that we must continually repair” (p. 224). Also “state a commitment to inserting yourself into all analyses of ‘problems’ and potential remedies—and urge that others do the same” (p. 224).

As we make our way toward Greensboro, this is the kind of conversation we have in mind—conversation about dilemmas, in our society and in our profession, for which there are no simple answers. We are delighted that Gloria Ladson-Billings has agreed to be our keynote speaker, and we all expect that she will challenge our thinking. In addition, we will hear stories from a panel of music education doctoral students, with an opportunity for all of us to inquire about what their stories might mean for music teaching and music teacher preparation. Our Areas for Strategic Planning and Action will have ample time to meet, to celebrate accomplishments since the last symposium, and to plan ahead. Finally, our own Carlos Abril has agreed to be the ethnographer for the symposium, drawing connections among our stories, highlighting challenges that may lie ahead, and sending us forth to conceive of our work in new ways. On behalf of the Symposium on Music Teacher Education Executive Board, I invite you into the conversation.