Abstract
In the late 1990s, one of my University of Colorado music education colleagues and I began conversing about the lack of racial/ethnic diversity within our student body and the music education profession writ large. Much of the literature of that period was focused on describing the teacher workforce, but researchers were struggling to pinpoint key factors contributing to the pronounced underrepresentation of teachers of color. A U.S. Department of Education report (Choy et al., 1993), for example, showed that 87% of female teachers and 90% of male teachers were White. In a companion report published 4 years later (Henke et al., 1997), researchers confirmed that far fewer teachers than students identified as minorities (i.e., nearly twice as many Black students as Black teachers, and over three times as many Hispanic students as Hispanic teachers). While there was some evidence of an inroad being made in the recruitment of Hispanic teachers to the profession, the vast majority (87%) of teachers still identified as White.
Faced with those realities, my colleague and I applied for a university grant that would support a special outreach initiative modeled after the so-called “grow your own” programs. We partnered with high school music teachers in the Denver Public School District—one of the largest and most diverse school districts in the nation—to identify student musicians of color who exhibited an interest in and some attributes for music teaching. We provided transportation for students between Denver and Boulder and hosted them for a full-day campus visit during which they could (a) shadow a music education student through a portion of their daily schedule; (b) observe representative classes, lessons, and rehearsals; (c) meet with music education faculty and administrators over lunch to learn about the typical music school application, audition, and admissions processes; (d) visit with a financial aid representative concerning scholarships and need-based aid; and (e) tour the campus and music facilities. We also provided students with a packet of resource materials they could take home and share with their parents, a list of upcoming music events, and a voucher for a complementary pair of tickets to a concert or recital.
Later that school year, we followed up with the 50 or so student attendees to see if any of them were considering enrolling at a 4-year college or university, and if so, what their intended major would be. Fewer than 10 students were planning to attend a 4-year institution, and not a single one indicated they would be majoring in music, let alone music education. Several of the college-bound individuals did clarify that while they might continue participating in music ensembles, their parents wanted them to major in fields that were more prestigious or lucrative than music teaching.
As my colleague and I reflected on this outreach initiative, which we continued for a second year with similar outcomes, we realized that our best intentions were undercut by a gee–whiz naïveté that blinded us to the incredible range of uncertainties, anxieties, and biases students of color must navigate when making application and deciding to attend a postsecondary institution (Miller & Endo, 2005). Depending on the nature of their school music program and personal economic circumstances, our outreach program attendees may not have experienced music education in a way that motivated them to consider a music career. They may not have been able to supplement their in-school music learning with private lessons, or perhaps they did not receive timely and appropriate guidance on how to apply and audition. They may not have been able to purchase an instrument that would allow them to put the best of their musicianship on display, or buy dress clothes suitable for presenting themselves as serious students or aspiring professionals. And they may not yet have learned how to work through the folkways and bureaucracies that permeate music schools as social organizations, or developed the confidence needed when thrust into contexts where nobody looks, sounds, or acts like you.
The hard lesson was that our effort to bridge a cultural divide simply could not produce the kind of shift in perspective needed to attract urban school students of color to the music education profession. We had provided brief access to “windows”—limited opportunities for students to develop understandings of a wider world, see how others conduct themselves in that world, and assess how they might fit in. Yet we had neglected the need for deep looks into “mirrors”—sustained and meaningful opportunities for students of color to experience their own culture and build their own identity within educational contexts where they might find themselves, their families, and their communities valued. Sarah Leibel, from the Harvard Teacher Fellows Program, explained it this way: It’s really important that students have people who reflect back to them their language, their culture, their ethnicity, and their religion. It doesn’t mean all the people in their lives have to do that mirroring, but they should have some. And we know that in the teaching profession, there really are not enough mirrors. (Moss, 2016, para. 4)
Fast-forward two decades, and the diversification challenge remains. The proportion of school-age children who are White is now hovering just under 50% and will soon represent a plurality rather than a majority, but the proportion of teachers in U.S. public elementary and secondary schools who are White remains at 80% (deBrey et al., 2019). The situation appears no better within music teacher education, with an estimated 80% of prospective music education majors (Rickels et al., 2013) and 86% of music teacher licensure candidates identifying as White (Elpus, 2015).
The fact that we have not been able to close the teacher diversity gap raises important questions about the process of becoming a teacher (or music teacher), and whether it is truly as fair, equitable, and democratic as we might like to believe. It seems unconscionable that in a democracy, where education is characterized as “the great equalizer,” we have been unable to break the vicious cycle of too few music teachers of color, and too few students of color choosing to become music teachers. Are music teacher educators unwilling to challenge policies and practices that clearly perpetuate inequities in systematic ways? Or do they lack familiarity with the recent scholarship on music teacher diversity and the efforts of researchers to unpack a web of complexities underlying minority music teacher recruitment, licensing, hiring, mentoring, and retention (e.g., Abramo & Bernard, 2020; Clements, 2009; DeLorenzo & Silverman, 2016; Fitzpatrick et al., 2014; Palmer, 2011)? Perhaps there is a bit of both at work. Regardless, it is time to shine a bright light on this issue, bolster our collective efforts to better understand why we have failed to gain traction, and then formulate a comprehensive strategy for initiating change and making real progress.
I make this bold declaration, while also recognizing that our society is going through a rather topsy-turvy period at present. Last spring, we witnessed senseless acts of violence committed against Black Americans, culminating in the shocking televised death of George Floyd. These incidents propelled many in higher education to begin long-overdue and frank conversations about diversity, equity, and access. But then a bitterly contested election ensued with the outcome called into question and notions of truth distorted, culminating in an attempted insurrection on January 6, 2021. Americans witnessed the fragility of democracy exposed as never before, and then democratic ideals reaffirmed only hours later. Meanwhile, the pandemic has been unrelenting, with the long-awaited vaccine rollout sputtering at the starting gate.
Into this maelstrom strode a Black woman, 22 years of age, youth poet laureate Amanda Gorman. Near the conclusion of President Biden’s inauguration ceremony, she read her original poem titled “The Hill We Climb.” Given everything so many have been through over the past year, her words and cadence provided for both reflection and release, both comfort and courage. They could not have come at a better time. Gorman closed with the following lines: When day comes we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid The new dawn blooms as we free it For there is always light, If only we’re brave enough to see it If only we’re brave enough to be it
As music teacher educators, working with the educational system of American democracy, we must be brave in confronting demographic disparities and improving the diversity of our profession. Music teaching does not come without challenges, but it also is not without reward. Let’s envision a time when more classrooms are populated by music teachers of color who invoke powerful ideas and inspire others through their pedagogy, just as Amanda Gorman has done through her poetry.