This weekend I attended a teacher job fair with members of my team. Each time I attend a job fair in metro Atlanta, feelings of anxiety and sadness enter my mind for a brief moment. It reminds me of the years I’d drive up to Atlanta from Macon or Augusta in search of a teaching position. Dressed in my best suit, with several resumes and cover letters printed on the best paper I could afford. During those days, there was great excitement around job fairs because school districts were scrambling to compete for the best applicants, and contracts were being offered on the spot. Unfortunately, I never was able to land a position…each time leaving the job fair disappointed, wondering why it didn’t work out.

The irony is that the only job fairs I’ve attended since then are the ones where I’m seeking candidates to join our team. I haven’t forgotten what it felt like to be on the other side of the table looking for a position. Engaging with candidates on a deeper level to know what they bring to the table is equally important as experience and certifications. Who you are is as relevant as what you’ve accomplished.

Now, on the other side of the table, as a school principal, I can see that the job fair is a much more complex operation than I’d assumed back then. Principals are looking for the right mix of the 5E’s – experience, expertise, education, extra-curriculars and enthusiasm. More importantly, the doors that don’t open for you now are meant to stay closed because other doors are waiting on you to arrive. Had I secured a job at one of those job fairs I’d attended, I would not have had the experiences I’ve had along the way. I would not have met the people, the opportunities, and the learning experiences that shaped me. Being on the other side of the table has helped me to accept that postponement is not synonymous with failure. Sometimes it’s like a GPS, simply rerouting you after a wrong turn. The trip isn’t over, it’s just sending you in another direction.

Our vision of our lives seems so clear in our minds, but there is a larger, more magnificent plan that we often don’t see as we are envisioning our future. Trust the process, accept the closed doors, and keep pushing. Your journey won’t be an easy one, but know that there is a divine plan working on your behalf. One day you may very well find yourself on the other side of the table, providing opportunities to someone on a journey of their own. I know you probably have your vision board laminated and your yearly goals are written out on a list, but if it doesn’t work out you have to keep going. Don’t allow this moment to defeat you. Let it pull out of you the greatness that has always been there waiting for the right opportunity to arrive. It’s just around the corner on the other side of the table.

“The day you plant the seed is not the day you eat the fruit.”

Georgia Tech recently held their STEAM Leadership Conference. It was a virtual event, including presentations from educators around the country sharing their ideas and work around STEAM. Atlanta-based site artist Jeff Mather joined me to discuss the work he has been doing with schools like ours to support STEAM education. Working with Jeff takes me back to my days of being a classroom teacher at Monte Sano Elementary where I first met him in the 2006-2007 school year. Our school was working in collaboration with a local non-profit, The Art Factory, to create sculptures for a nearby park. Jeff would visit our school and lead the students through the process of designing large site art that reflected the themes of the space: wildlife, flight, and birds. It was my first foray into the realm of real project-based learning. At the time, I was a die-hard content-based teacher who saw any deviation from my plan as a distraction. I was in my 5th year as a classroom teacher. Jeff’s work with my students helped me to see that teaching my students deeply meant that I’d have to give up some control of how much noise they made, how much mess they made, and how they resolved some conflicts. Teaching and learning could involve painting, sawing, and sketching. The tools of my trade could include power tools, wooden horses, and lumber. Jeff planted seeds in my mind that would reemerge as I became a school leader.

Like many urban schools, ours is one situated in a food desert. Families in our community have limited access to fresh fruits and vegetables due to poverty or the distance from a high-quality grocery store or market. Our community is littered with Dollar Stores, convenience stores, and fast food restaurants. Our campus is expansive, with two gardens behind gates and another in the front of the school. These beautiful spaces serve our school well as areas with “green potential”. Consequently, our school’s focus is urban agriculture. Teaching young people about urban agriculture plants seeds of self-determination in their minds. We help them understand how they can cultivate vegetables in urban spaces. In doing this, there are real implications for teaching them about healthy food choices, economic opportunities, and the Science that applies to cultivating plants. We are planting seeds both literally and figuratively with our scholars by engaging them in urban agriculture projects.

I recently found a third grade class out in our garden with their teacher. I asked them if they’d like a tour of the space. Their faces lit up with excitement. I took them around and explained what was planted in each of the 19 planting boxes.

“This is lettuce, but it’s being overtaken by weeds. So, this is why we have to come out to remove the weeds so they don’t take over the plants we are trying to cultivate.”

“These are collard greens. Notice the flowers on the top. See these bees. They are helping to spread pollen from plant to plant.”

“Do you see the ladybug on this cabbage leaf? It’s important to have certain insects in the garden. The ladybug is the natural predator of aphids which can damage plants.”

It was an impromptu Science lesson for a group of curious third graders. I explained that each plant develops seed pods that could be saved for a new season and produce more of this same plant. We could share the seeds with others so they could produce vegetables like ours in their own gardens.

This idea of “seeds” came up again in our recent faculty meeting. I shared with the staff the concept of managing what seeds are planted in your garden. Our professional lives are like gardens in the sense that we are all planning, planting, and cultivating things we want to grow in our lives. We welcome seeds of innovation, seeds of encouragement, and seeds of celebration. We all want to cultivate more engaging lessons, nurture better organizational skills, or develop new approaches to old challenges. Our interactions with colleagues are moments when they can plant seeds in our professional lives that can grow and produce fruit. Being mindful of your professional garden forces you to take an inventory of what you have grown, what you want to grow, and what seeds are being brought to you. What happens when we don’t remove the weeds that begin to grow in our gardens? They gradually begin to overtake the plants we are nurturing, robbing them of the nutrients they need to grow. Likewise, we have to be mindful of who and what we take into our own professional lives.

“Some time must be invested for this to be manifested.”

-Cee-Lo Green from OutKast’s “Git Up Git Out”

Each day, I ask myself “Who did I help grow today?”. Many members of my team aspire to move into leadership roles in the future. I make it a point to debrief with them about the leadership moves that we are making as a school, shedding light on the psychology of why certain moves are made is my way of planting seeds in their professional gardens. I want them to understand the moves and pivots leaders must make to adjust to the challenges organizations face. I share the books and articles that guide my thinking so they have a sharper perspective on the trends in the profession and the research-base that informs our work. Someone asked me, “Do you think they read all of that stuff you share?” I think about the two pine trees that are on the front lawn of our campus. They are filled with pine cones embedded with seeds. Thousands of seeds are dispersed, but only a fraction of them will grow into mature Georgia pines. But the tree continues to produce the cones and seeds, knowing that its job is to produce the seeds. The development of those seeds into maturity is not the tree’s mission. That depends on the winds, the climate, and the soil those seeds land upon. The rest is up to a higher power.

Keep growing.

Keep producing.

Soundtrack: “Getting Grown” by Cee-Lo Green

The discussion of the role of the arts in public education has become virtually lost in light of the school closings due to the global pandemic. Many of our scholars find their greatest joy in those moments when they are able to freely create in art and music classrooms. Art and education can be seen as twins, born from the same womb. In the Yoruba tradition, the name “Kehinde” means “the second born of the twins”. The second born twin is considered the elder twin. The first twin, Taiwo, emerges into the world, determining whether the conditions are right to be born. Only then is Kehinde birthed.

Education is Taiwo.

The arts are Kehinde.

In May of 2016, my family took the escalator to the featured exhibit floor of the Seattle Art Museum to view the exhibit of Kehinde Wiley. An artist who describes himself as a descendant in art history’s portrait painting tradition, his works place Black men and women in heroic and aristocratic scenes, drawing inspiration from the Western tradition of portraiture with a notable celebration of African features. His palette and technique are drawn from the wellspring of classical paintings of noblemen and royalty, noting that his goal is “to be able to paint illusionistically and master the technical aspects, but then to be able to fertilize that with great ideas.” His works accomplish what great art and music have always done: force us to confront socio-political contradictions and issues of race, gender and power.

Four years after visiting Wiley’s exhibit in Seattle, the art teacher at our metro-Atlanta school introduced our elementary scholars to the works of Kehinde Wiley, tasking them with creating their own self-portraits inspired by his works. It was our effort to create a culturally responsive space for our scholars to experience the works of a contemporary artist and to grapple with the task of reconceptualizing the past in a way that asserts new ideas upon it. Walter Benjamin once wrote, “In every era the attempt must be made to wrest tradition away from a conformist that is about to overpower it.” The catalysts of changing the institutional forces working to devalue the arts in our schools are the educators and leaders who understand the intellectual complexity of creating art and the implications for fostering greater creativity in our schools.  

We find a similar duality in Hip-Hop culture as artists grapple with its legacy of social change, authenticity and lyricism, along with the missteps, materialism and misogyny. Lyric Jones represents a countercurrent of contemporary artists who strive to create Hip-Hop compositions in a way that honors the tradition. Her most recent album, Closer Than They Appear, gazes into Hip-Hop’s rearview mirror while steadily moving the culture forward with tracks like “Rock On” and “Cruisin”. Like Kehinde Wiley, she too, stands in a lyrical line of descendants that includes Pete Rock and CL Smooth, Big Daddy Kane, Souls of Mischief, Lauryn Hill and Little Brother. Jones captures the essence of this in her song “Rock On” where she confesses:

“I kept tally
Of every small to big victory
Even when Hip Hop grew more contradictory
Still was at the pep rally
Cause I marvel at the history”

Lyric Jones’ work epitomizes where the arts, education, culture and context converge. She references her joint enrollment and experiences in summer programs at the Berklee College of Music in her hometown of Boston as instrumental in her development as an artist. She possesses a transcendent level of skill, engaging in production, singing, songwriting, and drumming.  She IS the culture embodied. What is most significant for the future of the culture is the fact that she is also an educator at the Musicians Institute’s College of Contemporary Music.

In our mission to create schools that leverage the arts to unleash the genius we see in both Wiley and Jones, we must first reassess what it means to teach, what is taught, and what is valued in schools in the frantic “race to the top”. I acknowledge that what happens in the classrooms, whether in person or virtual, is most critical.  But I would suggest that we start our assessment of the relationship between the arts and education at the front doors of our schools.  The lobby of a school tells the story of a school. Too often the visual cues of the vestibules of our schools are overlooked. They are indicative of what is valued in a space. Here we discover, long before our interaction with its citizenry, whether athletics, academics, alumni or the arts are held in high regard. The critical thinking skills and differentiation we espouse as we discuss raising student achievement in the core content areas is not the same brush used to paint the arts in our schools. The arts are currently underfunded in our schools and relegated to second-class status in relation to other content areas. The band and string orchestra teachers at my school must serve multiple schools rather than building deep relationships with a group of students and families at one school. This is a problem that must be addressed at the federal level of education. We’ve arrived at this point in public education after a series of education reform efforts that included measurements of progress in specific subjects, causing administrators and policymakers to trim budgets and streamline their offerings to align with what was measurable on standardized tests.

Education must confront its own contradictions. Blooms Taxonomy was revised in 2001 by a consortium of psychologists, curriculum theorists, and educational researchers. It illustrates the cognitive processes and the continuum of complexity of tasks from ‘remember’ to ‘create’. According to Blooms, ‘create’ represents the highest form of cognitive activity. This is where we find students generating a log of activities, assembling a team of experts, designing a project workflow, or developing a learning portfolio. Elliot Eisner, in a 1969 article entitled “What the Arts Taught Me About Education”, suggests that the complexity of painting “requires the exercise of the mind…and the process of perceiving the subtleties of a work of art is as much of an inquiry as the design of an experiment in chemistry.”

We are called upon to widen our conceptualization of what it means to be smart. Reconstruction of this concept necessitates the dismantling of the notion that education, at its core, is limited to the importation of that which can be measured by standardized tests. Dismantling this requires an examination of the core of university programs that prepare our teachers and our teacher leaders.

Audre Lorde, in her critique of feminists during her time once wrote “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Her quote reminds us that reforming institutions from within can be a challenging undertaking. To be employed within, and at times bound by the the bureaucracy of public education, yet possessing a keen knowledge of its ongoing toxicity and disservice to our young people who are predominantly Black, and Brown is both an invocation to self-determination and an invitation to the dance between compliance and creativity. Elliot Eisner, in looking back on his experiences as a student and the sacredness of the visual arts during his elementary years, describes the visual arts as a source of ‘salvation’ from the drudgery of diagramming sentences in English grammar classes.

As educators, we most often focus our professional expertise on how the context of schooling transforms scholars. The context of schooling also transforms those of us working in schools, peeling away layers of lingo, acronyms, and new initiatives. Leaving us alone in our classrooms engaged in our own personal quests to impact the lives of our scholars. We become more connected with our sacred selves. As Eisner describes his first experiences teaching art in Chicago Public Schools, he formulates an intricate mosaic bound together by a deep commitment to both art and education. He suggests that the context and the content have transformative potentiality, writing:

“Chicago also provided the theoretical tools and the intellectual climate that I needed; much of it was like my life as a child at home; ideas were prized almost for their own sake. Analysis, debate, and intellect had a happy marriage.”

Elliot Eisner

Eisner’s pericope on the context of his own transformative experience with art and education is much like my own experience as a school leader intent on exploring the voids that exist between the arts and core content courses.

As I first walked into the metro-Atlanta school I had been chosen to lead as principal, I looked intently at the hallways and what adorned its walls. I wanted to get an understanding of the culture of the school and the community through what was posted. It was April, yet some of the work posted was dated from November of the previous year. Framed artwork was hanging in many locations throughout the building, honoring the legacy of African-American history and culture. I wondered why the energy, creativity, and excitement of the hundreds of students of the school wasn’t more prominently displayed around the campus. Three years later, our halls are adorned with art created by scholars in class. Hallway displays include project-based learning and student writings. We have become much more intentional about presenting scholars with complex tasks to broaden their own sense of self-efficacy.  Eisner challenges the prevailing culture of public education, writing, “educational practice does not display its highest virtues in uniformity, but in nurturing productive diversity.” There is complexity in a musical score or in sixteen bars of rap lyrics. There is intellect and critical thinking at the forefront of a painting. There is genius in the choreography that accompanies a Jazz composition. As a school leader, I’m interested in finding ways to initiate that sense of “salvation” Eisner describes for those students who have developed a dread for other content areas. The city of Atlanta has become the nexus of an African-American Renaissance where artistic virtuosity emerges from every corner of the city. It is a place where one can walk in the footsteps of W.E.B. DuBois and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community artists and activists are found leaving indelible marks on the city through their work in schools and on murals. We now have the opportunity to re-envision schools as spaces where the arts are repositioned in the instructional hierarchy. Instead of the arts standing in the periphery, let’s explore how the arts can sit at the center of all we do in our schools.

Soundtrack: Rock On by Lyric Jones

Read more here: https://www.edweek.org/leadership/opinion-how-some-principals-responded-to-the-violence-at-the-u-s-capitol/2021/01

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained Angels unawares.

Hebrews 13:2

Just along Euclid Avenue, tucked away between a smoke shop and an African market, in one of Atlanta’s most eclectic neighborhoods is a Mexican restaurant that doubles as one of my favorite locations for writing on weekends. I order the ceviche, a traditional Peruvian dish of seafood, lime, and avocados. I think briefly about Ms. Lecaro, an elderly Ecuadorian woman in Union City, New Jersey who first introduced me to the dish in a third-floor apartment along Kennedy Boulevard. Ceviche is made by blending shrimp and crab together with onions, avacado and drenching the mixture in fresh lime juice. The acidity of the citric juices reconfigures the proteins in the seafood, ‘cooking’ them while they marinate. In a thick Ecuadorian accent, she struggled to explain to me how to make the dish myself, which I only attempted once. As I settled in for an authentically South American experience, I’d instead experience the American South in all its fullness.

A sign has been taped to the front door of El Bandido Mexican Restaurant that reads “Mask Required”. As I pull the handle, the door squeaks like an old saloon door causing a few people to turn their heads. I smile underneath my pale blue surgical mask because ever since the mask requirement has been implemented in metro-Atlanta, I feel that I enjoy a level of anonymity as I move through the city. I’m not recognized by anyone now. No longer am I forced to make an abrupt exit from a store or restaurant when I see a problematic parent or scholar who I’m not in the mood to encounter. I’m a masked literary crusader moving discreetly through the city unbothered as I “write the wrongs” of the Black American experience. Anonymity has its limits though. Certain features aren’t hidden by the masks we wear and certain infections are more insidious and deeply rooted than Covid-19.

As I approach the stand, I’m greeted by a familiar face.

“Amigo! Just one?”, he asks. Angel is a middle-aged Latino man. I’m not certain where he is from, but I’ve noticed in previous visits that he effortlessly vacillates between English and Spanish, sometimes in mid-sentence. He is affable and tries to remember my orders, making me feel like a familiar patron when I’m there.

I nod. “Just one.”

“Inside or outside?”

I think for a moment about it and opt to sit outside given all of the commotion inside the restaurant. Between the music and the chatter from the customers, I wouldn’t be able to settle into my thoughts and get much writing done.

“I’ll sit outside today”.

He pauses and says, “Ok, well we will need to hold your ID if you sit outside. We’ve had a few people leave without paying.”

I declined that proposition, knowing how forgetful I am about leaving my ID at a place. I’d take my chances sitting inside today at one of the high-top tables. El Bandido represents many things to me. It represents my support of a minority-owned small business. Using my dollar to support our solidarity and self-determination as minorities in America is a point of pride for me.

He nods and leads me to a table about six feet from the entrance. I unpacked my bag and began to delve into my writing. When the ceviche arrived, I took a break from my writing. Less focused on the words on the page, I could now see that the restaurant had become even more packed inside.

The door opened with that familiar screech and in walked three white females. As they were greeted I could see them looking around the restaurant. Seating was limited. Their only option would likely be outdoor seating. I began to wonder if Angel would ask for all three IDs or just one from the party. I wanted to see how Angel would slide it in so that it landed well. How would they respond once he shared the news that an ID had to be surrendered to sit outside?

He asks, “Just three today?”. They all nod as they look around the restaurant.

“Inside or outside?”

They look at one another and one of them whispers through her mask, “Outside.” He reaches underneath the podium, grabs three menus, three bundles of silverware, and whispers, “Follow me.”

There was no mention of “leaving IDs” or of “people leaving without paying”. Angel was gleeful, seating them in a corner of the patio where the sun cast bright rays of warmth upon the three of them. They removed their masks and got comfortable as Angel chatted with them about the specials of the day.

The food was South American, but the experience was one characteristic of the legacy of the American South. 

Here in Little Five Points, on a tree-lined street in the mecca for Black Americans, I was experiencing the microaggressions that compelled James Baldwin to characterize our country as the “yet to be United States of America”. The food was South American, but the experience was one characteristic of the legacy of the American South. This brief encounter was layered with prejudice, White privilege, and inter-minority microaggressions that speak to assumptions about the character of people of color.

My grandparents grew up in communities where the need for them to work caused many of them to leave school by the third or fourth grade. At polls, African Americans were given literacy tests in states like Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. The generation of African-Americans born around the 1920s would have experienced this widespread effort to disenfranchise them using literacy as a technicality. Because of that, I take my role as a school principal very seriously because I am only the second generation in my family to finish high school and attain a college education. But this wasn’t 1924 and this wasn’t a dusty coffee shop at a rural train depot. This was in the heart of the Black Metropolis.

My mind is racing now. I’m thinking about the relationship between Latinos and African-Americans. I’m thinking of the Jim Crow laws of the South that designated certain areas in establishments for people of color. I’m dismayed that my effort to support a minority-owned business was tainted by what appeared to be a blatant injustice.

“Nah, Angel wouldn’t do me like that would he?”, I thought to myself. I kept looking back at the patio door, waiting for him to return from taking their drink orders after he seated them on the patio. As the door of the restaurant opened again, rays of light hit the wall and my attention shifted to the large picture of a Mexican bandit and the name of the restaurant, El Bandido. Roughly translated as “the outlaw” or “the bandit”, I felt like I’d just been robbed. Those three minutes seemed like an eternity, then the door opened. With his three menus in hand, Angel was headed in my direction. Since my mind had been racing, I hadn’t yet had a chance to get my words together, but I knew that I was going to stop him and say something. There’s a saying among writers that you don’t find books, but rather books find you. I am a writer, but at this moment, I hadn’t yet found the words, but I was certain that when he approached, the words would find me.

I navigate through Little Five Points because it is one of the destinations in Metro Atlanta where I feel creatively free amongst the artists selling their portraits on the street and the musicians performing on crowded sidewalks. This incident was an affront to all that the area represented to me.

“Maybe I’m reading too much into this” I thought for a moment. Then I reminded myself that the fight for freedom is not only won in those moments that are highly visible and monumental. Real freedom and change have to reach down into the city, stroll down Euclid Avenue, and touch the soul of people like Angel who perpetuate discriminatory practices in their day-to-day existence. These small assaults on our dignity as men and women of color grow into Briana Taylor incidents, Armaud Aubury incidents, and George Floyd incidents. A police raid at the wrong address, a jog through a neighborhood, or a traffic stop should not be the precursors to Black death. Left unchecked, we die a bit every day when we continue to internalize the American reality.

I beckon for Angel to come by my table. He rushes over and I pull my mask down and say, “Hay reglas para los negros?” He pauses, touches his head as he recalls my initial request to sit on the patio and his response. Stunned by my statement and the lexicon in which it was delivered, he walks away.

I’ll miss the ceviche.

An influenza pandemic spreads across the nation in 1918 and 1919. As the cases grow, officials across the country decide to close schools. New York and Chicago decide to keep their schools open and send health care workers into the schools to closely monitor the conditions of the students and hygiene practices. In nine cities across the nation, inter-agency conflict erupts. The Board of Health in Baltimore orders schools to be reopened. The Board of Education defies the order and closes the schools indefinitely in the midst of the pandemic. In some communities, Italian immigrants are blamed for spreading the virus. The nation was in turmoil and the agencies tasked with unraveling the conundrum were at odds with one another as the plight of the nation and its children hung the balance.

_________________________

A crowd gathers outside a school board meeting in downtown Augusta on an unusually warm July afternoon in 2020 to make their voices heard. The temperatures and the months of restrictions are beginning to heighten the tension. The crowd consists of people of all ethnicities and ages. The district’s board of education is inside conducting a meeting while just outside the doors a group assembles, some masked, some unmasked, to express their frustration with the decision to cancel graduations. It’s a scene that is playing out simultaneously in cities across the country. The mayor has issued a mask mandate, but the governor has countered that it can’t be enforced. Meanwhile, the governor has allowed for restaurants and salons to reopen statewide. Two hundred miles west in Atlanta, a similar conflict is playing out between Georgia’s governor and Atlanta’s mayor. While the governor has not mandated masks be worn by the general public, the Mayor Bottoms has issued a mandate that masks be worn given the spike in Covid-19 cases and CDC projections.

It is virtual insanity as agencies and policies collide. Parents find themselves caught in the crosshairs of what’s best for their children’s health, educational progress and what’s feasible for their work schedules. Some explore homeschool options, others are in desperate need of schools to reopen so that they can resume work in coming weeks. When polled, the responses from parents are equally split between a return to traditional classes, a hybrid model of instruction, and virtual instruction for the start of the school year. There is not easy solution at hand.

Five months into the global pandemic, the 45^th occupant of the White House threatens to withhold funding to schools unless they reopen. The Secretary of Education contradicts the recommendations of the CDC and makes a press run downplaying the risk of reopening schools. Meanwhile the CDC reports that there have been over three million cases of Covid-19 and over 135,000 confirmed deaths as a result of Covid-19. These astonishing numbers are continuing to rise even as schools remain closed since mid-March.

 The push to reopen schools without ongoing discussions inclusive of the professionals directly impacted by these decisions negates the protections needed for our teachers, administrators and most importantly our children. The reduction in school nurses in public schools has put our schools at a strategic disadvantage in monitoring and responding to the healthcare needs of children at school. This is not another task we can add to the plates of teachers. Some have talked about having teachers take the temperatures of students as they enter classrooms. Details are still inconsistent on what a traditional classroom would look like under the recommendations provided by the CDC.

Canaries in the Mine

We can’t rush back to a normal existence because normal no longer exists. The National Center for Education Statistics notes that 20% of U.S. teachers are 55 years or older. Many of the educators that fall into this group suffer from underlying health conditions, putting them at greater risk of infection. The principal’s first task is to ensure the safety of the students and staff under our leadership. Keeping them safe means keeping them apart for now and launching into virtual learning to start the school year. It’s the best course of action until we see significant decreases in cases and mortality nationwide.

We must not allow our students to be used as the litmus test for herd immunity from Covid-19. What the Trump administration is suggesting is reminiscent of the use of canaries in British coal mines, a practice that started as early as 1911. Miners would take canaries into the mines because if there was carbon monoxide present or other poisonous gases, the canaries would be affected first, signaling to the miners that they needed to exit the mine. This moment requires educational leaders willing to take a stand on behalf of our most vulnerable. Our children and schools can’t be intimidated and coerced into placing educators and families in harm’s way as the federal government tries to figure it out. The interagency conflict of the early 1900’s has revisited us. Health officials are under fire for making points of clarification on news outlets in an effort to better inform the public.

With every challenge, we have an opportunity to create better outcomes. In the face of this challenge we will create virtual spaces to reach our students, and when the appropriate time comes, we will continue moving public education into a space where other advanced nations and American higher education has been for decades – a fully-equipped hybrid educational model for P-12. Research has proven that all students learn differently. Every child does not need to walk into a school building each day to receive a high quality education. There are some students who need that structure and socialization each day, but there are groups of students who would thrive much better in a different type of structure that we will now be able to provide as an option moving forward.  The teaching ranks are filled with educators who have earned advanced degrees through online courses. It is time to extend that option to our students on a broader scale. For far too long we’ve lagged behind the private sector in the way we use technology in public education. Let’s revamp the profession from the inside out starting with teacher preparation in colleges, professional development in districts, and ongoing professional learning for leaders.

I miss all of my students, but I’m especially disappointed in not being able to welcome our newest Pre-K and Kindergarten students. I imagine a five-year old who is looking forward to the first day of Pre-K or Kindergarten, but sadly won’t have the experience of holding mom and dad’s hand as they walk to the classroom for the first time. They won’t get to sit on the carpet this fall and talk about their summer. The playgrounds will remain empty for a time. Buses will remain parked. But in this expansive chess match of politics and policy, they will be safer at home as young kings and queens in quarantine and not pawns in peril. We will not allow them to be canaries in a mine.

Soundtrack: Virtual Insanity by Jamiroquai

Corporal Punishment in Georgia Schools: 20-2-730, et seq. It may not be excessive or unduly severe or be used as a first line of punishment; it must be administered in the presence of a school official; a written explanation must be provided on request; and it may not be administered if a physician certifies that the child’s mental or emotional stability could be affected.

In 1962, a brisk autumn had fallen upon Tennille, Georgia’s D.D. Crawford School. It was an all-Black elementary school during the years before school integration that stood on a street that would later be renamed after Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, a champion of non-violence. The math teacher, Mr. Dennis, was a beacon in the community. He and all of the teachers at the school were looked up to as respectable professionals who’d come back to help educate the youth of one of the state’s poorest rural communities. On this morning, he had asked the class to produce their homework from the night before. The room grew still with silence. As he waited for the students to pull the papers from their desks and bags, his anger smoldered because it appeared that the entire class had not done the assignment. He slammed his hand against the oak desk, “Everybody outside now!”  The class of thirty-five black children, mostly from sharecropping families one generation removed from slavery, quickly filed out of the classroom. Mr. Dennis grabbed his wooden paddle and looked at the students over his glasses with a look of disbelief. “I gave this assignment and I expected it to be completed. Unacceptable! This is what happens when you don’t follow directions. Everybody has to pay the consequences now.” One by one, Mr. Dennis struck each student twice on the buttocks with the wooden paddle that had been used as his primary means of behavior management since the start of his teaching career. Just the sound of the blows was intimidating. Mr. Dennis poured his frustration into each swing of the two-inch thick wooden board. Next in line was Jim, a skinny fourteen year old kid whose family grew vegetables in on a plot of land not too far from the school. Jim loved school and read voraciously. Jim actually had his homework in his desk. He thought, “Should I tell him?” Jim was hesitant because he didn’t want to be the only student in the class who produced the homework and risk being the brunt of jokes from his classmates. He placed his hands against the wall, took the two blows, and returned to his seat. Once he walked back into the classroom, Jim quietly lifted the top of his wooden desk, reached for the homework, folded it neatly and placed it in the pocket of his overalls.

What Jim experienced is not unlike the violence inflicted upon Black bodies across the American South during the 60’s. The fear of violence against Black bodies at the hands of racists and law enforcement, dominated all aspects of life. The inflicting of pain upon the bodies of children at the hands of school officials was state sanctioned with laws that are still in place today. Both Mr. Dennis and Jim were positioned in an oppressive system that perpetuated this devaluing of the complex inner-workings of Black life, strivings, and the psychology of fear. Jim would later attend Fort Valley State College and become an educator. Jim’s experience would have implications for my own journey as an educator. Jim is my father.

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The year was 1963. Black college students and civil rights activists filled the streets of Birmingham in organized non-violent protests. Black college students conducted sit-ins at lunch counters waiting for service that never came because of the color of their skin. During that same month, about four hours east of Birmingham, Marie was a ninth grader at T.J. Elder High School staging a silent protest of her own.  It was a warm Spring day in 1963, a perfect backdrop for a day away from classes. She and her sister Helen had decided that they would arrive at school but cut classes for most of the day. The plan was to meet in the restroom, wait for the bell to ring, and then to casually walk off campus and spend the day at the park. The bell rang and they could hear the hallways clearing out as everyone reported to their homeroom classes.

Marie waited inside the restroom stall until she heard the familiar footsteps of the school principal, Mr. Taylor. His wingtips made an unmistakable sound as they tapped against the hard tile floors. His gait was slow, deliberate and recognizable. She quickly stood on the top of the toilet so that he would not be able to see her black and white saddle oxfords. The stall door suddenly flew open and there stood the school principal staring at her through  thick horn-rimmed glasses.

“And what are you doing young lady?”, he asked.

“I…I was gonna go to class but I needed some more time”, she said.

“You realize, don’t you, that this won’t end well for you. Report to the office Marie. Now.” he said.

His voice hinted at his growing agitation that she would try to not only skip classes but convince him that she was not up to something.  She stepped down from the toilet, grabbed her stack of books and marched through the empty halls toward the office. Mr. Taylor presented her with two options. The first option was for him to place a call to her parents to notify them that she was sneaking around the school and not in classes. She knew that her parents would be furious, and the consequences would be severe when she returned home that evening.  The second option he presented was that she receive a paddling and return to class. It’s not that she didn’t care, but she knew that both options would lead to physical pain. But she absolutely knew that the severity of the blows inflicted by her principal would not compare to the blows at the hands of her mother.

“I’ll take the paddling! Just don’t tell my mama.” she pleaded.

Mr. Taylor already knew which option she would choose. He’d seen this scenario play out hundreds of times before with other students. He reached down, opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a wooden paddle inscribed with the words “Board of Education”. It was a sinister nod to the power of the wooden board to correct the wrongs of pupils with just a brief but ‘impactful’ appearance. After her meeting with the “Board of Education” Marie made her way to class and never uttered a word about what had happened in the restroom or the office. Marie would later become a teacher. Marie is my mother.

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Some twenty years after my parents had their respective experiences with corporal punishment in Georgia schools, I would sit in a classroom at Swainsboro, Georgia and again bear witness to the pervasive belief that beatings in schools were an effective method for controlling behavior. Interestingly though, by 1983 my school was integrated. The principal, Mr. Crenshaw, was White and the assistant principal, Mr. Eason, was Black. Mr. Eason was the “muscle” around the school and much of his day was spent around the office where the strong scent of his cigars would waft out into the front office and hallway. He was our very own “Joe Clark” before we even knew who Joe Clark was and what that leadership style meant. I’d witnessed him march many students out of class, into the hallway and inflict several loud blows with a thick wooden paddle. The familiar sound of the board making contact with an unlocking soul would echo down the hallways. Interestingly though, I never saw him paddle a White child. There was either a stark difference in how discipline was prescribed for them or he wisely adhered to an unwritten rule about who could and couldn’t be the recipients of his “board of education”.

In 2004 I was a 5^th grade teacher at Jessie Rice Elementary in Macon, Georgia. Nigel had interrupted my class for the last time. He had so many discipline referrals that I once considered pre-printing his name and usual infractions as a checklist on them to save instructional time. Classroom disruption, refusal to follow directions, rude and disrespectful behavior…Nigel was consistent to say the least. On this particularly eventful day I wrote him up and sent the referral to the office. The principal called back to the classroom and told me to bring Nigel to her office during his P.E. time. I imagined she was going to call his parents and have him spend a few days at home. When we walked into her office she was standing in front of her desk.  She looked at him and told him that he was not here to disrupt the learning of others. She told him that she was not going to tolerate his behavior any longer. She turned around, picked up a wooden board from her desk and told him to bend over the desk. Then she delivered three swift blows to Nigel as I looked on. I recall the times I’d heard that sound coming from the hallways of my elementary school, but this time I was actually seeing it firsthand as a result of a referral I wrote. I was an accessory to this crime. In an almost methodical manner, she passed me a clipboard to sign that I had witnessed the paddling. I signed and walked back to class with Nigel. I didn’t know what to say. There were no words. I didn’t intend for him to get beaten with a wooden board as a result of my referral. But I didn’t say anything. Neither did he. What was there to to say? I never wrote another student up during my time at Jessie Rice Elementary. I learned to manage my classroom discipline without involving the school administration. My principal at Jessie Rice was very likely a product of the same outdated structures for managing behavior that my parents were nurtured in at D.D. Crawford School and T.J. Elder School. While discipline was important, this brutal method didn’t sit well with me. I believed that any physical discipline should be administered at the hands of parents in the home and not by school officials. I resigned at the end of the school year.

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There are 19 states in which corporal punishment is still legal. Those states are  Alabama, Arkansas, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Missouri, Mississippi, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and Wyoming.  While only about 15% of Georgia’s schools report that they continue to use this practice, it is interesting that the states where corporal punishment is still legal predominately consists of former slave-holding states who were part of the Confederacy. This assault on the bodies of children, particularly Black children, is part of a long legacy that lingers on the pages of school laws.

Today, the way that law is enforced in African-American communities reminds me of how brutality has been a familiar foe in our lives in this country. Brutality that existed in the larger society found a place in our schools. Now, we see the outgrowth of that same brutality, that belief that violence inflicted upon a person will instill enough fear in others that behavior will be managed through psychological intimidation. This is the mindset that made lynching in the American South a social occasion documented in photographs depicting celebratory crowds.  The public nature of the brutality was intended to send a message to others of what their fate might be if they did not adhere to the social order in place.

I am thankful to work as a principal during a time when members of the education profession have developed a deeper understanding of the intricacies of trauma, research on the social-emotional aspects of education, and the importance of relationships in creating successful student outcomes. Educators are more aware of how disparities can emerge to undermine opportunities for students of color as they find themselves on the disproportionate end of corporal punishments, school suspensions, and expulsions. I’m equally hopeful that the way Black bodies are perceived by law enforcement in our communities continues to evolve beyond the brutality that we see on our streets today. The haunting lyrics of Billie Holiday’s song, “Strange Fruit” paints a morbid picture of the lynchings of Blacks in the South. It reminds us of the more recent dozens of examples of unarmed African-American men and women whose interactions with law enforcement have left their “Black bodies swingin’ in the Southern breeze” for us to see as monuments of our ongoing oppression.

Principals have an opportunity to push against this narrative in the ways they educate students, train teachers, and inflict discipline in their schools . The opportunity to enact social justice in school has never been more important than right now in 2020. Teachers need comprehensive training on mentoring, restorative discipline practices and the disproportionality that exists when it comes to suspensions among African-American boys and students with disabilities. Pressures to implement zero tolerance policies come from parents and teachers. Narratives are spun to characterize more informed, research-based approaches to discipline as “being soft” on students. The waters are troubled and deep, but courageous principals are walking through it each day.

Soundtrack: “Revolution” by Nina Simone

So I got locked into all of the analysis
And found myself locked into a kind of paralysis
And something was calling and I almost didn’t hear it
But I spent a lot of time being blessed by the spirits

-Gil Scott Heron

from “Don’t Give Up”

I live in East Atlanta. At 7:45am, the streets of Lithonia are sparse. It was once noted as one of the nations’s wealthiest African-American enclaves. As the sun rises gently over the Georgia pines, there are a few retirees out walking with their dogs and the occasional jogger putting in their morning miles. On this June morning I was on my way to Marbut Traditional Theme School to meet with my operations team to discuss the progress they are making on preparing our building for students in the Fall. As I turned onto Marbut Road, I noticed someone walking who looked familiar. She was wearing a hijab, so I only caught a glimpse of her face. Looking back in my rearview I could see that it was one of my scholar’s parents, carrying what appeared to be a heavy bag and walking in the direction of the school. I drove past, then quickly circled back and asked if everything was okay. She replied in a thick accent, “Hi Mr. Principal. I’m going to the bus stop. I’m on my way to work”. Knowing that the bus stop was two miles away, I insisted that she get in so that I could take her there. When she got in, I noticed her face was covered with sweat. I was glad to be of assistance to her, thinking of how God places us in certain positions to do good for others. I’ve been on the receiving end of these good deeds on many days, so returning the favor was an absolute obligation. On the way to her bus stop she shared with me how the kids were doing. She asked me about my family. She told me that she has an additional scholar coming to our school this Fall. In those few moments we talked about school uniforms, jobs, and the new realities of school openings in 2020. As she exited, I wished her a great day at work and she said “God bless you Principal Mountain.” As I drove back to the school, I thought about the beauty of leading where we dwell. To see our parents in the everyday struggle humbles one to understand that we are here to serve. We serve their scholars and in a broader sense, their families in helping to forge greater access to opportunities and support.

To see our parents in the everyday struggle humbles one to understand that we are here to serve. We serve their scholars and in a broader sense, their families in helping to forge greater access to opportunities and support.

I thought about the educators who lived in my neighborhood as I was growing up in Swainsboro, GA. Mr. Tims, the band director, lived around the corner. Mr. Bright, the bus driver, lived a few blocks away. Mrs. Trice, my Kindergarten teacher, lived just 2 miles away. Their homes were landmarks we’d drive by on our way to other destinations, and I’d hope to get a glimpse of them as we drove past. There is beauty in dwelling where you teach or lead. It embeds you in the energy of the community your students emerge from. You see them in the corner store, grocery stores, and on the sidewalks.

Mr. Solomon is one of my favorite Marbut parents. He works as a cashier at my neighborhood convenience store. His face lights up whenever my daughter and I walk into the store. He greets us in a thick Ethiopian accent, “Doctor! Selam! How are you?” His daughter and my daughter became fast friends during their time at our school. When we visit his store, he insists on having her pick out a treat free of charge. She is always happy to oblige his generosity. He occasionally asks me what he needs to do to help his middle school or high school scholar and I always try to point him in the right direction with a name or a phone number to call. There are days when he refuses to accept payment for my purchase. It’s a welcome battle that I gladly lose occasionally. It’s all love. It’s the beauty of leading where one dwells.

During my time teaching at Monte Sano Elementary in Augusta, GA in the early 2000’s, I actually lived across the street from the school. The Summerville neighborhood of Augusta had a quaint southern feel, with historic homes and cottages dating back to the 1920’s and 1930’s. When our daughter was born, I was able to go home at lunch to check on my wife and our newborn infant, then walk back across the street to pick up my students from lunch. In the evenings while walking the family dog or sitting on our front porch, I’d have conversations with my neighbors about our school and inform them of the great things happening at the school. To this day, I still keep in touch with neighbors Fred and Sallie who were consistent and staunch supporters of Monte Sano Elementary through the years. As principals and teachers had come and gone, they watched from a distance. They loved the neighborhood and the school that served the neighborhood. They watched our daughter grow up and gifted her with a hand-quilted blanket when she was born. They reminded me of the unique personalities that neighborhoods possess and how school leaders must tap into the richness of a community to extend the reach of the school.

How did I end up living in the community of the school I’m leading in 2020? Prior to moving to Atlanta from Washington State, I’d heard about the notorious Atlanta traffic. I dreaded being late to work as a building leader, early in my career. What type of example would I set if I had the misfortune of being consistently late to work due to traffic on I-20 or I-285? I decided to find a place to dwell in the community where I’d be leading that would not require me to have to access any major thoroughfares. Thankfully, we found a place only 4-minutes drive from the school. I can walk to the school in under 15 minutes. But it’s deeper than proximity. It’s more about community. I’m better connected to the community I serve by living in the midst of it. I’m better equipped to understand the challenges they face, the resources at our disposal, and the potential partners and allies we have.

Too often the allure and comfort of leadership insulates us from the real-life struggles our families face.

So, this afternoon I noticed that dark clouds were heading in our direction. I began wrapping up my tasks in the office around 6pm, preparing to head home. Set the school alarm, loaded up my car, and pulled out of the school’s driveway. As the rain began falling, I noticed a familiar figure walking down the street. It was the same parent I’d dropped off earlier this morning at the bus stop. She was making the 2.5 mile trek back home from the bus stop after a long day of work. I blew my horn, and without a word she came over smiling. Perfect timing and a perfect end to a long day for both of us. She shared that she was from Belize, Central America and the many struggles of finding good schools for her children. In times like these, we need to take better care of one other. Too often the allure and comfort of leadership insulates us from the real-life struggles our families face. Leading is service and service starts in the places where we dwell.

Soundtrack: Don’t Give Up by Gil Scott Heron

We’d just ended our Title I Annual Meeting and as the parents began filing out of the cafeteria I saw one parent approaching me and smiling. I knew her well from afternoon dismissal. Her daughter was one of our best 5th grade students and I’d recently remarked to her mother that her daughter’s report card grades and MAP scores were impressive. Both of them beamed with pride and a bit of surprise at knowing that the principal was checking up on her progress and performance. On this evening though, she had something she wanted to share with me. She started by saying, “Thank you for tonight. Now I understand the numbers and how things are calculated. I have to tell you that when you first came here, I had to get used to all of the changes. But now, after three years, I can see what you are doing. I can see you are in it for the right reasons. You are all about the kids.” I smiled and thanked her for the support and honesty. Then, with a bit of hesitation, she continued as a look of concern replaced her smile, “You know, I have to tell you, some of your own teachers were really working against you last year too. But most of them have moved on. Keep doing what you are doing. We see the difference you are making.”

The Sailboat Theory

Imagine that the school is a large sailboat traveling through choppy waters. Nearly all of the crew is on the deck shifting sails and holding on, trying to help the captain steer the ship through treacherous waters. We realize that we are in the throes of the storm and we will either survive together or sink to the depths of the foamy waters around us. Missing from this picture are a few members of the team who should be on deck helping. Instead, they are on the lower deck actively drilling holes in the ship to hasten our descent. Somehow, they fail to understand that they are working to sink the very vessel they are aboard.

Leaders in any industry have to accept the fact that there will be members of the team who have not bought into the vision or the mission of the organization. Sometimes it’s an ideological clash or personality conflict. Leadership styles vary, and as organizations change the priorities shift and the expectations for performance increase. This can create tension and factions begin to form throughout and organizations, school, or church. Efforts to undermine the work can become as extreme as folks researching your driving history in an effort to create distractions from the tasks at hand. Embracing and overcoming the resistance requires a thick skin, inner fortitude, and a healthy sense of humor.

The PowerPoint Principle

Scraping the surface to determine why folks actively work to drill holes in their own ship can lead to a number of conclusions. Many educators are married to old methods and practices that have become second-nature to them. Pushing folks beyond their comfort zone can evoke resistance. One recent example of this is what I call “The PowerPoint Principle”. PowerPoint was developed nearly 40 years ago. I enter classrooms where students are engaged in research and still learning on this program that was once a cutting edge technology. I would encourage any educator to introduce their students to the ten PowerPoint alternatives for 2019. The PowerPoint Principle is this: Never allow your skills to become outdated. You can’t build for the future with antique tools. Information is power and teachers have to remain current in order to keep up.

The Harvard Business Review published an article entitled “Choosing Strategies for Change”. in 2013 The article outlines the 3 steps for managing change successfully:

1. Analyze the situational factors
2. Determine the optimal speed for change
3. Consider methods for managing resistance

The authors, Kotter & Schlesinger (2013), provide leaders with five methods to address “these holes” being drilled into our ships as leaders implementing change. The methods are education, participation, facilitation, negotiation, and coercion. In the middle of my 10th year in educational leadership, I can recall using each of these methods in some way to address resistance.

Education: The solution to stop “these holes” from being drilled may be an honest conversation about why certain initiatives are being implemented. Whether it’s from student performance or a parent survey, data tells a story and can be the impetus for a call to action. We decided last year that our uniform policy needed stricter enforcement. We started the year off on the same page. Students and parents had a clear understanding of the expectation. Recently students suggested ‘free dress days’. I knew this would’t go over well with my staff unless it was aligned to a school-wide initiative. I explained that we would only consider a ‘free dress day’ if it was in support of one of our academic initiatives. We decided that the monies raised would benefit our Urban Agriculture program. Educating the students on the convergence of our interests was a amenable resolution. Likewise, teachers understood and didn’t perceive it as a compromise on our policy but rather as a strategic student-led fundraiser in support of our collective work.

Participation: I was once told that the best leaders “run to their resisters” to participate in school-wide initiatives. Call them up onto the deck, drop the drill for a moment, and come help to lead this project. Let them share their perspective in a way that is tied to the overall mission of the school. In 2013 I worked with a team of 10 high school department chairs in Augusta. I noticed that during our department meetings a few guys were frequently disengaged from the discussion. I devised a plan to have them as part of the agenda of every meeting. One would share a success from his team, another would share a best practice, while another would facilitate a group activity.

Facilitation: We’ve been implementing Guided Reading school-wide. At times, what is perceived as resistance is linked to a knowledge gap. They may just not know how to do it effectively yet. Creating a culture where a growth mindset is conveyed by the leadership is key. “We’re not there yet, but just wait!” Facilitating peer observations and ongoing professional development can absolve the anxiety and resistance to a non-negotiable expectation.

Negotiation: In 2000, I worked for Merrill Lynch in the World Financial Center in lower Manhattan. As the trading volume increased, we were called upon to work overtime to process the high volume of trades that were being bought and sold on the New York Stock Exchange. In addition to receiving overtime pay, they provided dinner and a chauffeur driven ride home if you worked past 9 pm. Negotiating with staff can include providing incentives for peak performance such as comp time, early leave, meals, or special recognition for helping the organization meet its objectives.

Coercion: This is the most basic tool for addressing resistance. Helping team members understand that we rise and fall together. The climate of accountability in public education leans in this direction, linking performance and achievement to school ratings, career trajectories and teacher evaluations. Consistent and successful execution of expectations tied explicitly to performance reviews can effectively fill “these holes” being drilled in the ship.

Helping the crew members preoccupied with drilling either find their way up to the main deck or off of the ship is the job of the leader. The ever present sound of drilling will always be heard in the depths of a ship moving in the right direction. Responding to the sound, implementing appropriate countermeasures, and filling the holes is part of the journey of leadership. Ask any leader about resistance and they will share stories of push back, passivity, and apathy on many fronts. Those of us who lead accept it as part of the journey we love. Schools are organic spaces where things are either growing or becoming stagnant. We love seeing teachers thrive, students learning, and parents actively woven into the fabric of the school community. The work of the leader is a labor of love. Nevertheless, we don’t love these holes.

The week preceding the Thanksgiving Break is a busy one for any school principal. There are evaluations to be completed and parent events that require attention. In my movements through Marbut’s hallways over the last few weeks I’ve encountered two fourth grade students who continue to politely remind me that they would like to meet to revisit a proposal they shared with me in October. Our school recently partnered with TNTP (The New Teacher Project) to enhance the ways we access parental engagement and student voice. A student focus group was convened and students were asked to share ideas about what could be done to improve the school from their perspective. Melissa Jones-Clarke, a TNTP Performance Coach, facilitated the focus group and remarked that the students were “sharp and articulate about what they wanted to accomplish and where they wanted to go in the future”.

In early October they arrived at my office door smiling and asking for “just a moment to discuss an important matter”. The language was so precise and polished that I welcomed the conversation and settled back in my chair to hear what these two fourth graders had to say. While our school has a strict uniform policy, these two 4th grade students proposed a “free dress day” for students to express their individuality. I shared with them that our school model and tradition includes required uniforms. I explained that we had tried to do “Free Dress Fridays” in the past but it became an issue with behavior.

So here we were, weeks later and I was cornered with another request to meet and follow up on the initial meetings. “Ah, yes…I remember. You wanted to discuss the dress code and possibly having a free dress day, correct?” They beamed with pride and replied, “Yes!” I said, well Mondays are really busy, let’s plan to meet tomorrow. Come see me during your Specials time and we can discuss it.” Honestly, I assumed they’d soon forget about their plan to upend our strict dress code for a proposed “free dress” day for students. Tuesday arrived and as I was on my way to do an observation I encountered Alina who smiled and politely reminded me, “Excuse me Mr. Mountain, yesterday you said Mondays were very busy, so we were following up to see if we could possibly meet with you today to discuss our proposal about the dress code?” Inside I was conflicted because of my pride in the persistence of these two students to tactfully present a proposal with such professionalism and grace. On the other hand, I was annoyed that they actually remembered and followed up with me in the midst of my busy schedule. More than anything else, I was reminded that we are educating our students to intentionally disrupt the status quo and become citizens who advocate for change in productive and meaningful ways. How could I make this experience more meaningful for them as a community service project with a convergence of interests for the school and the students?

As we strolled into my office, these two 4th graders already had an aura of victory and we hadn’t even discussed the proposal. They reminded me that we planned to do one day each month of free dress where the uniform policy would be waived. Recently, I’ve been reading “Empire State of Mind” by Zack O’Malley Greenburg. The book chronicles the rise of Jay-Z to an industry mogul. One of the points Greenburg makes is Jay-Z’s penchant for asking during a business deal, “What’s in it for me?” Essentially, he wants to know in any business dealings, how can our interests converge to create positive outcomes for both parties. This is where we found ourselves on this fateful afternoon in my office. We decided that we needed to make the free dress day in support of a school-wide initiative. Our STEAM focus is Urban Agriculture, so we decided to align the “free dress day” with a fundraiser for our Urban Agriculture program. Students would donate $1.00 in support of our STEAM program to support aquaponics, hydroponics and container gardening. We’d be able to purchase plants and seeds for the Spring season.

This experience reminded me as a school leader to always be open to providing a space for students to advocate for change even when it appears to send ripples through our own school community. Education means much more than test results and grades. Seeing students develop a proposal, advocate for others, and show persistence and professionalism is the authentic application of what we teach to students about activism and effecting change. The question is “Are we prepared to hear them when they speak?”

This month I’ve been talking to students about how to display courage.  In order for our young people to understand how to embody courage, we must show them examples of those who have confronted obstacles and risked comfort for the sake of progress.  Individuals who put the needs of the group before their own are the example of courage our young people need to see.  Muhammad Ali is a perfect example of this.  Between 1967 and 1970 he was banned from boxing for refusing to participate in the Vietnam War.  He lost his title, was sentenced to five years in prison, and fined $10,000 as a result of his decision.  A contemporary example of this is Colin Kaepernick, whom I mention in my new book, The Mountain Principles:  Lessons on Leading & Learning.  Both Ali and Kaepernick engaged in noble fights on behalf of others.

People driven by a cause and purpose are relentless.  They are undeterred when it comes to moving around or through obstacles.  Along with the other 115,000 other school principals around the nation, I’m fighting for the quality of the education of our children.  The fight is ideological, philosophical, and theoretical. The opponents in the fight vary depending on the circumstances. At any given moment, the opposing parties could be publishers, vendors, politicians, parents, or media outlets.  Regardless of the opponent, the fight ensues daily.

Principals must never allow themselves to become prisoners of their position, afraid to confront harsh realities with the bitter words of truth. 

Rather than going through the motions, I want to unravel the tangled pieces of public schooling, with the help of a talented team of educators, and create spaces where students thrive and grow in ways that aren’t necessarily measured by normed referenced tests. How do we get beyond where we are now as a school and community and push forward?  It is a noble fight. 

Another fight worth fighting is for the autonomy of teachers to be creative and innovative in their practices.  We’ve traveled light years beyond the days when my teachers stood in front of the class holding a teacher’s edition reading off pre-printed directions to the class.  Teachers have the world at their fingertips and can extend the classroom to other states, countries, and galaxies using instructional technology.  The unfettered genius of teachers should never be stifled.  Teachers are professionals and should be treated as such.  As long as the curriculum is being taught, I love to see teachers integrating students’ interests, the arts, and discussion into the curriculum.  Standardization is a mixed bag of guidance, clarity, and constraints on creativity that can dull the luster of a brilliant educator if thrust upon them irresponsibly.  The fight is to find the delicate balance between teaching standards and teaching the child in a way that meets their needs.  It is a worthy fight.  

The fight for the respect of the profession is one that principals should be prepared to join.  Respect their time.  Respect their intellect.  Respect their voice.  For the most part, parents understand that teachers are professionals and treat them as such. However, there is a small subset of parents who engage teachers and schools in a verbally aggressive manner unbefitting of the role that teachers play in our children’s lives. Profanity laced text messages, veiled threats, and unreasonable demands are poor models of interaction for our students.  When parents engage in these behaviors, leaders should gracefully step in to support teachers in a way that teaches the appropriate behavior and establishes clear norms for how teachers will be treated.  Teachers prepare for this work by completing years of education, certification tests, graduate school, and a wealth of ongoing professional development. They deserve the respect that is afforded to any professional.  Sometimes that respect is shown by simply bringing a valid concern to the teacher before escalating it to the administration.  The fight for the respect of the profession is real.  It is a righteous fight. 

Edgar Albert Guest describes the drive to fight a righteous fight in the most eloquent way in his poem titled “Courage”:

Courage isn’t a brilliant dash,
A daring deed in a moment’s flash;
It isn’t an instantaneous thing
Born of despair with a sudden spring
It isn’t a creature of flickered hope
Or the final tug at a slipping rope;
But it’s something deep in the soul of man
That is working always to serve some plan.

Courage isn’t the last resort
In the work of life or the game of sport;
It isn’t a thing that a man can call
At some future time when he’s apt to fall;
If he hasn’t it now, he will have it not
When the strain is great and the pace is hot.
For who would strive for a distant goal
Must always have courage within his soul.

Courage isn’t a dazzling light
That flashes and passes away from sight;
It’s a slow, unwavering, ingrained trait
With the patience to work and the strength to wait.
It’s part of a man when his skies are blue,
It’s part of him when he has work to do.
The brave man never is freed of it.
He has it when there is no need of it.

Courage was never designed for show;
It isn’t a thing that can come and go;
It’s written in victory and defeat
And every trial a man may meet.
It’s part of his hours, his days and his years,
Back of his smiles and behind his tears.
Courage is more than a daring deed:
It’s the breath of life and a strong man’s creed. 

Edgar Albert Guest