This Post was written by IS community member and Lancaster, PA chapter leader Susan Knoll.
When my friend Lauren and I started our Lancaster, PA Integrated Schools chapter two years ago, it was right before the pandemic hit. In fact, our first chapter meeting, to be held in person at Lauren’s house, was the same day COVID was declared a national emergency. I remember getting several texts that afternoon from interested friends and neighbors, stating they were worried about getting together with people indoors (back then, it had never occurred to us to make a bonfire). I texted back, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. We’ll be safe.” Only 8 people, out of the original 20 who RSVP’d, showed up that night, many of them close friends. After spending a lot of time sharing our fears about COVID, we discussed Courtney E. Martin’s On Being article, “The Problem With Seeking the Best for Your Kids.” Our discussion was enlightening and intimate, but little did Lauren and I know what an uphill battle promoting school integration would be.
For the first part of our chapter’s life, most people were understandably distracted, adjusting to the everyday anxiety that has now become the norm. We hosted a couple follow-up meetings on Zoom to discuss two more of Martin’s articles on school choice and privilege. Those were not well attended–maybe 6 people again, mainly close friends–but the discussions remained rich. At that time, conversations sometimes veered towards the lure of private schools as a way to stave off the exhaustion and uncertainty of virtual learning, especially for parents with young ones. By the end, though, most people would affirm their commitment to our local school district and to “staying put.” During our meetings, we’d begrudge our private school friends their overnight online learning. Meanwhile, we waited several weeks for our underfunded district to establish a meal distribution plan to families, for packets to arrive with months’ worth of learning activities, and for each family (not student) to receive an iPad donated by a local foundation. Staying put for many families with racial and/or economic privilege in the spring of 2020 began to feel like a tall order, and I feared we were going to watch many of our neighbors go. Some of them did.
Not long after, during the summer of that year, the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd galvanized the racial consciousness of many White people. Members of the Black community were posting and tweeting about the unprecedented numbers of White allies they saw protesting in the streets. I posted a tweet by teacher and education scholar JPB Gerald on my Facebook page that succinctly described what I saw happening: “White parents: BLM! (removes child from public school, forms pod with other White parents to hire a tutor, not their concern what happens to the kids who can’t afford this who happen to be Black and Brown).” One of my friends, who is White and who sends her children to an exclusive private school in town, snarkily responded, “Good luck getting any of us to give up our privilege.” We sparred back and forth, with me, always the idealist, telling her why I felt her skepticism was unwarranted. I explained that I was in community with people who were considering how their individualist choices were having a negative impact on the collective good. Our local Integrated Schools’ Facebook page had doubled in membership that summer. It gave me hope.
Our chapter’s last well-attended meeting was a two-part discussion in September of 2020 on the recently-released “Nice White Parents” podcast. Once again, the conscience of many White parents had been piqued. I felt optimistic that many of my fellow White parents living in our primarily Black and Latinx district were seriously examining their choices and how they either upheld or dismantled White supremacy. I knew we were working against the fear that the pandemic was stoking, but I was confident that the larger conversation about White privilege was louder.
Today, I no longer feel hopeful. It pains me to say this. I feel like a fool for only now realizing what Black and Latinx people (and even my cynical friend) have known all along: most people with economic and racial privilege will not likely give it up.
The challenges of promoting Integrated Schools’ mission–in short, for those with racial and/or economic privilege to “show up, shut up, and stay put”–in our current context feel daunting. The smog around public schools, especially in under-resourced districts, is especially toxic. Families with privilege–of all races–are leaving public schools by the droves, for all sorts of reasons. The typical reasons families used to give–such as poor test scores and quality of instruction–seem to have doubled. Now families say that they need consistency so they can keep their jobs and manage childcare. They have concerns about their young children learning virtually for any significant amount of time. Their child is health-compromised and masking is woefully unenforced. Their children are severely depressed or anxious from the daily uncertainty. From some parents of color, I hear that they have never considered public schools, with their 80% White teaching force, safe and affirming spaces for their children. Similarly, I’ve heard many parents of LGBTQ+ students state that they, too, are seeking safe and affirming spaces for their children, which they don’t believe they can find in a public school setting.
This new smog is tough to combat. Maybe because it’s happening alongside the daily onslaught of anti-public school rhetoric pouring out of conservative politicians across the country as they take advantage of the desperation felt by most parents to advance their decades-long dream of privatizing education. Maybe because, as a parent, social worker, and human being, I’m exhausted too. I just want to keep things simple: to send my child to my local public school, go to work, watch reruns of 30 Rock with my family, and try to get through these troubling times.
I’m not giving up on Integrated Schools or the original mission of Courtney Everts-Mykytyn. Indeed, I need this space for continual support. I use it as my North Star. When I’m feeling particularly down about a conversation I just had with yet another privileged neighbor or friend, I listen to an Integrated Schools podcast episode and regain some sanity.
Recently, I also listened to a 2018 interview with Nikole Hannah-Jones,and it gave me pause. At the end of the interview, Ms. Hannah-Jones concludes that the behavior of White liberals will never change–they will continue to hoard opportunities for their kids at every turn–and hence, the benefits of school integration will likely never be realized without legal intervention. The interviewer, Chris Hayes, is desperate for some better news about our kind, to be able to end the conversation on a positive note. She says that just because the case for voluntary integration isn’t hopeful, it doesn’t absolve any of us–especially those who believe in democracy and public goods –from defending public schools and participating in them, and working to ensure they are safe and adequate spaces for all children, especially Black ones.
The forces of White comfort and privilege are recalcitrant. But what I want to say to the parents who tell me they’re withdrawing from our public school system is: Don’t all parents want the whole host of desirable things? Smaller classrooms, physical safety, affirming spaces, consistent teachers, etc., etc.? Don’t all families and students deserve that?
There are other things I want to say too, but I bite my tongue. The current of privilege is a strong one to swim against, and frankly, I don’t have it in me right now. And if you don’t either, I want you to know you’re not alone. Recently, at a meeting with fellow chapter leaders, we had to join one of three breakout groups–one for active chapters, one for newer chapters trying to be more active, and one for those who weren’t active, but who still felt the need to “hold space” in their communities. I joined the last group, along with about five others. Our chapter hasn’t had any new joiners since the summer of 2020, but I still think the need for us all to “hold space” for others trying to swim against the current in our communities is vital. To the parents struggling to stay put: I’ll be here waiting if and when you need me. I’ll be here waiting if and when you decide to join us.
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