Intercultural Responsiveness

Proceed with caution.

I wish I could say the right thing all the time. I wish I could listen, and keep an open mind, and respond with love and grace all the time. I wish I could understand that we’re all trying to figure this out, and that we’re all simply in different places for different reasons. I wish I could be more patient, and I wish I had more of a sense of urgency. I wish I could change it all, erase the pain, and eliminate the hate.

Denying a group of people, any people, access to loving and caring for one another isn’t responding firmly by giving them what’s best for them. It isn’t demonstrating the importance of holding up some ideal or value or moral purpose for the benefit of all. It isn’t standing up for deteriorating truth or refusing to give in to the downward spiral of humankind. Denying a group of people, any people, access to loving and caring for one another is one thing, and one thing only: Hate.

It is possible to overcome hate. The first step is accepting the fact that we all have it in ourselves to hate. The second step is realizing that we all have, do, and will hate. The third step is recognizing that we must stop hating. I’m not saying these three steps are easy, but I am saying they’re possible. We actually have a choice in the matter, and to think anything less is not simply wrong, it’s selfish.

Standing behind history, science, philosophy, religion, majority mindset, public opinion, ignorance, or pain justifies absolutely nothing. Hate is hate, and love is love. Confusing the two makes a fool of only yourself. You have the power within you to make a change immediately. There is nothing standing in your way. The path to right is within your reach, and the first step is directly in front of you.

Don’t proceed with caution.

This is that time during the school year when we tend to get a little edgy with one another. Our colleagues borrow something, or fail to follow through on something, or comment slightly wrong about something, or ask us to do one more something, and we kinda lose it. Our bark comes with a bite. Our students talk out of turn, fail to come to class prepared, roll their eyes, get rough in the hall, or make another rude remark, and we whip out that discipline referral fast enough to make their heads spin. Our pen becomes mightier than the sword. The parents insist on a faster response, complain about how an issue was handled, question a grade that was distributed, or comment about how we work for them, and a simple conversation turns into an ugly argument. Our words slice like a hot knife through butter.

I’ve wondered before, and been reminded recently, that perhaps things only turn ugly like this near the end of a school year because there is, in fact, an end to a school year. Maybe if there really was no such thing – an end to a school year – we would simply go about our business from day to day, paying no attention to remarks and feelings that relate to being at the end of our wits. I don’t know, though. I can’t imagine it would be much different since regardless of the time of year, we still stumble through our relationships with one another. Regardless, I’m sure we can breathe a little deeper, take a few extra moments, and aspire a bit more often to something more becoming.

Nothing our colleagues, students, or parents do merits the negativity that can rule our hearts and minds and make it’s way out our mouths. I love the people I work with, all their ups and downs and inbetweens. I’m honored to be in the lives of the students we’re trusted to nurture, every single one of their goals and passions and misguided thoughts. And, I’m privileged to be trusted by the parents who give their very selves (or, at the very least, a part of themselves) to us each and every day, their expertise and opinions and comments both welcome and unwelcome. Still, the end is near, and I’m quite honestly very much looking forward to it.

Well, kind of.

My youngest daughter loves all things princess. For that matter, so did my older daughter at one time. Likely, she still does, as my wife’s still pretty partial to princesses as well. Fine, I like them too.

I’ve been hoping we would watch Disney’s “The Princess And The Frog” for some time now. The reality of a princess who isn’t as “white as snow” is appealing to me, you know, to challenge the assumptions we have about who a princess is. While conveniently avoiding having to navigate through the messages we send to young girls about the role of a princess, I was ready to help me and my family take a small step toward cultural proficiency through a Disney film.

Yeah, I know.

Now, Jasmin and Pocahontas and Mulan are certainly not your typical princesses; however, let’s be honest about a few things. First, does everyone really acknowledge them as “real” princesses? Second, they’re fairly “exotic” and safely not of “this” place. And, third, while they aren’t white, they certainly aren’t that dark; I mean, they certainly aren’t like Princess Tiana dark.

We loved the movie. It was fun, like all Disney movies are. It had some good messages, like all Disney movies do. Yes, it had some poor messages as well, like all Disney movies do, but it seemed to be serving my plan well: Indeed, all princesses do not look the same. And then, it happened.

“What did you think of the movie? Did you like it?”

“Yes. I liked that princess girl, but what happened to her?”

I knew who she meant. The blonde, white girl who initially pursued Prince Naveen. The one who didn’t get married to the prince at the end of the movie.

“Well, she’s fine, but she wasn’t the princess. Remember, Princess Tiana was the princess. The one who married Prince Naveen. Isn’t she pretty?”

“Yes, but, I’m not like her.”

I know we look for ourselves in things. It’s what connects us and makes us feel valued. Indeed, all princesses do not look the same, but we hope they look like us. How many young people find themselves when they look around, and, if they don’t, how many young people know where to turn for that feeling of being valued? A lot of eye rolling happens when there are conversations about who the faces are in media, and who our children see when they look toward those faces and beyond. Let’s stop pretending like it doesn’t matter.

It matters.

I dropped my oldest daughter off to soccer practice, and as I made the turn toward my opening garage, I had to pause momentarily so as not to drive into the still rising door. A glint of sunlight highlighted a small spider scurrying up a single strand of silk stuck to the insulated bottom of the door, and it made me wonder what would become of that spider as the garage door finished opening and closing. But, as my car came to a stop and I stepped out to enter my house, I wondered something else. What was the spider doing before it caught the bottom of the door and rose with it, frantically attempting to determine what would happen next?

Aside from the hours upon hours devoted to state testing and processing discipline referrals, the better part of my time recently has been focused on preparing and delivering equity training for some groups in our school district. It’s the work that matters most to me, aside from my ability to interact directly with students and help them navigate the choices they are making as they grow up imperfectly in an imperfect world. It’s the work that keeps me struggling at times to make sense of what we’re doing as educators. I’m part of an institution that is focused on student growth and achievement. While I’d like to see us focus more on relationships than tests, I can’t disagree that we should be promoting student growth and achievement. Still, where are we taking them, and where are they coming from?

We spend countless hours as educators attempting to determine how we need to help our academically and behaviorally struggling students grow and achieve in our system. We’re certain of the system, argue that it’s what we must operate within, recognize that so many seem to thrive in the system, and are constantly baffled by our few successful but mostly failed efforts at conforming those “other” students to the system. We will point to every external factor we can find. We will speak endlessly about how these factors beyond our control limit our ability as educators to help students be successful in the system. We will repeat the same mistakes over and over and over again, and then, when frustration continually builds, we start to shut down.

Change starts with me. It starts with you. Change happens when we accept how little we truly know about ourselves and those we work with. It happens when we acknowledge that “our” system isn’t what works for everyone, and we take meaningful steps toward being responsive rather than forcing conformity. Change is only beyond us if we elect to perpetuate the myth that it is beyond our control, beyond ourselves.

I want to know what the spider was doing before I showed up, and I believe the spider will survive, regardless of my passive indifference as it hangs by a thread. If I wonder that and believe that about a spider, surely I can muster up just a bit more for a student. So can you.

“You know where it ends, yo, it usually depends on where you start.” ~ Everlast

The tears she shed were like daggers in my heart. All I could do was sit next to her, speechless, trying to sort out in my mind what it must be like for her. Trying to get a defiant child to follow the law and attend school, reaching out for resources to help her improve as a parent, inquiring about the expense of various options, struggling to figure out how to put food on the table, attempting to keep vehicles in operating condition to make sure she could get to where she and her family wanted, needed, and were even required to be, all while battling health issues beyond my comprehension for which she had no ability to pay for, and therefore no possible way to make sure they were properly addressed. I just couldn’t make sense of it. It’s just not the life I live. I simply had nothing to offer but support and hope.

*****

I knew the right thing to do was to just shut my mouth, but as the frustration boiled up inside me, and my self righteous indignation consumed me, I just couldn’t help myself.

“Sir, I could actually arrest you,” the officer flatly stated.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going to say to me and that’s what you’re going to do, arrest me? Unbelievable.” Thick with an air of power and privilege, I wished I could capture those words with my hand and pull them back before they wafted toward his ear.

The officer quickly apologized (rightfully so, I thought) and confiscated my driver’s license as I left my car on the side of the road and walked the few short blocks back to my house. Too angry to recognize how easily I avoided a much greater problem, I waded through my options as I determined what I would do to address the issue at hand. Two years earlier, on a busy Christmas Eve, my daughter and I got rear-ended in an accident that sent us both to the hospital. I was unable to locate my proof of insurance, and was cited for such even though the accident was the fault of the other driver. I was told this could be cleared up easy enough by sending my insurance card (once I found it – and later did inside the bag I was carrying in my vehicle) to the court along with the summons. And, after completing that task, I thought all was over. Unfortunately, the courts never communicated with the Department of Motor Vehicles, and unbeknownst to me, I had been driving on a suspended license for those couple of years.

It was a frustrating, but (in hindsight) quite honestly comedic, chain of events that happened the following day as I worked to remedy the situation. Without going detail by detail, the short of it was that it involved long lines and waiting at the driver’s license branch, an expired passport, a birth certificate not issued by the right agency, a visit to the courthouse vault to retrieve a copy of my divorce decree, a game of pulling numbers and pretending to not understand the procedures, repeatedly being asked to provide photo identification (somewhat problematic without a driver’s license and an expired passport) at every turn, and ultimately my gift of time to a man who was angry enough to create issues if he hadn’t gotten his way. This all makes for a good story (for another time, perhaps); However, all of this isn’t the point of my words here. My story from years ago humbles me from time to time in the present, and recently, I was humbled yet again. I avoided problems with the officer for a reason, and it wasn’t because I was kind and considerate. I was able to get a new driver’s license in the course of a single day (the very next day, mind you, after mine was confiscated), and it wasn’t because the system makes it easy. I know what it’s like to be me. Do I know what it’s like to be someone else?

*****

Who I am is not my job; rather, it’s what I do. Still, I want what I do to matter. Making a difference, a positive difference, in the life of the students, families, and staff I serve matters. It matters to me because it’s partially how I must learn and grow and exhibit my love of others. More importantly, I want it to matter to others so that hopefully, in some small way, I can be a part – even an extremely small part – of taking a step forward.

I’m almost constantly in meetings with students and/or parents and others attempting to navigate a concern. It’s what I do. And, I’m pretty good at it. But, being pretty good at it doesn’t mean I always know what to do. I don’t. In fact, more often than not, I’m usually at a loss. Sitting next to this mother, hearing her share her story (not that I hadn’t heard it before), and realizing how little I could understand what was facing her and her family, it changes me. I have faith that it will be all right in the end, I really do. Right here, right now, though, I want to offer more.

Maybe that “more” is simply support and hope. Maybe that’s not so simple. Maybe it’s what we all need more of.

Sometimes I wonder how we got here. You know, this place where we’re so hypercritical of one another instead of collaboratively and relentlessly pursuing what matters most. Maybe that’s it, I suppose, that creates a seemingly unnavigable void. The “what matters most” part isn’t as agreed upon as we’d like to think. Perhaps it would be simpler if we just disagreed on how to get there, but when “there” is defined so differently by so many people, well, it gets complicated. Complicated, though, isn’t inherently bad. No, it’s how we handle complicated that matters.

The energy we put into some details is baffling. What day will we start and end the school year, and when will we schedule our breaks? Should professional development days be more frequent small chunks of time, or spread further out with increased length? What materials and/or programs should be adopted to address the curriculum and standards and discipline concerns? When will we (or, more accurately, when will we be allowed to) meet to work together? What rules, policies, and procedures should or shouldn’t be in place? This endless cycle repeats itself until finally confusion turns into submission, and I don’t know whether to spit or go bowling.

Maybe, just maybe, we should be wrestling with some other topics …

* Who are these young people in front of me and colleagues around me? What do I think I know about them, what do I want to know about them, and what would they like me to know about them?

* How will I cultivate a relationship with those I serve and serve with? What do I need to know about myself and them, as well as what do they need to know about themselves and me?

* What am I doing to be responsive to them instead of figuring out how to get them to conform to me, and why does that even matter? Is my hope their hope, or is their hope my hope, or are they entirely different but simply waiting for and needing others to affirm and support?

Eventually, we educators have to connect with the reality that we are in the business of people. So, when we consume ourselves with things that have nothing to do with people, we’re ignoring our job, our calling, our purpose. A healthy debate is wonderfully stimulating, and can serve a valuable purpose. However, let’s take a closer look at what the debates have become about, and let’s take ourselves to task if we’re failing to contribute in any meaningful way to improving our love of people.

This is hard work, folks. But, we can do better. I can do better.

I made enough mistakes as a youth in school to last a lifetime. The thing of it is, though, is that the mistakes I made weren’t the first or the last ones I made. I’m still making them, and I always will. If any of the adults in my life had failed to give me an opportunity to learn from my mistakes, even at the risk of me making them again (which, I did), I’m certain I wouldn’t be where I am today. The mistakes we make are very real and very important, but they’re only beneficial if we’re allowed to learn from them.

A bully, a drug abuser, a fighter, a rule breaker needs love and grace as much as he or she needs to change. There is absolutely nothing wrong with sending a clear message about what is right and what is wrong. We should promote safety for all at every turn; however, we should also be promoting a welcoming environment for all as well. Consistent consequences should be the norm rather than the exception. Unfortunately, along the way, we lost sight of what we’re here for: Directing positively instead of shutting down negatively.

So, a phrase like “zero tolerance” became all the rage. It felt good to demonstrate that making a mistake in a “major” category would result in a response so serious that potentially people would feel they no longer had to deal with it in any way at any point, now or in the future. Oh, how silly and misguided we can be. Pushing a problem further away doesn’t solve anything; rather, it makes it more impossible to actually do something meaningful about it.

Aside from the fact that zero tolerance policies have proven to be ineffective, something far more disturbing has happened because of them. Zero tolerance sends the following message: Not only do I give up on you, personally, I give up on believing that any positive change can happen for anyone. This message of hopelessness is not what we want to promote, so let’s stop promoting it. I want the young people I work with to know that I will never, ever, give up on them, no matter what. I want the young people I work with to know that I will invest as much time and work and love and grace as I can possibly muster in order to help them.

It’s not at the expense of others. It’s for the benefit of all. It’s the opportunities that were given to me, and quite likely or at least hopefully to you. It’s what we all deserve.

And more.

I wonder if we think often enough about the people and events that have come and gone. They penetrate the fabric of our lives, but begin to fade over time. What burns with destructive force at the moment tends to become just a flicker. A painful experience, a powerful idea, a joyous occasion, a difference maker – sparks fly, flames grow, and then embers settle to an eventual ever dimming glow. And then, it’s dark.

I’ve made enough mistakes in my life so far to keep me focused with my wife and daughters. I’m reminded of what I do not wish to repeat, even when I feel the tug toward that seemingly pleasant but ultimately destructive path. When I say to my girls, “It’s not worth it,” I mean it. And I walk into school each day with the wisdom of my past mistakes tucked away in my heart and soul, finding opportunities frequently to share the truth with those I work with and serve. Yet, when we haven’t experienced it ourselves – felt the pain on our own finger of that red hot stove top burner – it falls short of the message meant to be delivered.

How often do I return to those patterns, even though I know better? And, how often do I fail to repeat the valuable lessons of my own past, or of our collective past? I want to do more and better, differently and the same. Loving my family, my friends, my teachers, my students is what sustains me. It fuels the fire that was ignited long ago, and will continue to burn long after we’re gone. It’s unforgettable, as long as we allow it to breathe. There are times we may want to extinguish it, but if we think often enough about the people and events that have come and gone, then there’s really only one logical conclusion …

Let it burn.

My one word for 2011 was … serve.

June marked the halfway point, and as we move from 2011 to 2012, I have some thoughts to share.

We tend to look at the word “serve” in one of two ways. Either we serve ourselves, or others serve us. If it’s the former, then it’s about looking out for what we want or need, or what those closest to us want or need. If it’s the latter, then it’s looked down upon in a worldly sense if you are the one serving, and it’s held up in a worldly sense if you are the one being served.

Both ways are wrong.

True leadership, true love, is to serve. It matters not what you do for a living, who you do or don’t interact with on a day to day basis, how much you may be worth in a financial sense, or how little you may have in terms of material possessions. True leadership, true love, is to serve – not yourself, but others – completely, entirely, fully.

Him first, others next, and myself last. I either get that or I don’t. I either do it, or I don’t. It’s a daily struggle, and the closer I get to living out what I profess to believe, the more I’m living out what it truly means to serve. I choose to go against the grain, and it’s refreshing and full of blessing. Come with me.

This is the fourth installment of a series making an appearance occasionally in this blog designed to give some specific guidance regarding how to work with an organization on intercultural responsiveness. The first three installments can be found here: Nuts & Bolts: Part 3, here: Nuts & Bolts: Part 2, and here: Nuts & Bolts: Part 1

We can do a tremendous amount of work related to intercultural responsiveness; however, if we’re not applying this work to our day to day lives, it’s not having the positive impact for all that it’s intended to produce. Specific to education, professionals are being asked to demonstrate culturally and linguistically responsive practices with students, families, community members, and staff. So, what does that mean?

We want the quick fix, the tool box, the laundry list, the binder, the “make and take” professional development opportunities. This isn’t that kind of work. Again, it’s a journey – an on-going and never-ending one at that. It doesn’t mean there aren’t some specifics that can be identified, and the attempt will be to do just that here.

The National Center For Culturally Responsive Educational Systems (NCCRESt) provides a wealth of information on these topics, and the quick synopsis below is drawn from one of their practitioner briefs entitled Addressing Diversity in Schools: Culturally Responsive Pedagogy.

Activities to help one become culturally and linguistically responsive

1. Engage in reflective thinking and writing
2. Explore personal and family histories
3. Acknowledge membership in different groups
4. Learn about the history and experiences of diverse groups
5. Visit students’ families and communities
6. Visit or read about successful teachers in diverse settings
7. Develop an appreciation of diversity
8. Participate in reforming the institution

Activities that are culturally and linguistically responsive

1. Acknowledge students’ differences as well as their commonalities
2. Validate students’ cultural identity in classroom practices and instructional materials
3. Educate students about the diversity of the world around them (near and far)
4. Promote equity and mutual respect among students
5. Assess students’ ability and achievement validly
6. Foster a positive interrelationship among students, their families, the community, and school
7. Motivate students to become active participants in their learning
8. Encourage students to think critically
9. Challenge students to strive for excellence as defined by their potential (all students have the potential to learn, regardless of their cultural or linguistic background, or differing abilities)
10. Assist students in becoming socially and politically conscious

Well, there you have it: Some basics. Along with the perpetual caveat: Nothing about this work is basic. Ever. And, that’s a good thing.