Tag Archives: Public Education

“College Isn’t for Everyone”—It Depends on Who Is Saying It and Why!

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First, a full disclosure: During my 11 years as a high school principal, I encouraged and witnessed many students who graduated from my high schools and chose not to attend college immediately—even though, consistent with my school’s policy and expectations, they were college-ready, eligible, and, in many cases, had been accepted to several colleges.

Some chose to start private entrepreneurial businesses. Others entered well-paying civil-service careers with excellent benefits or went directly into strong private-sector positions. Some used the STEM education they received while in high school to earn technology-industry certifications and went on to work for major corporations. Others attended specialized skills-training institutes, for example, in the culinary arts, or pursued long-term careers in one of the military services.
Still others entered construction-trade apprenticeship programs after earning both a college-ready high school diploma and a CTE (Career and Technical Education) pre-apprenticeship certification. Some combined pathways, attending a post-high-school specialty training institute or CTE program and later starting their own businesses related to the skills or crafts they had mastered.

Many of these graduates did well, and continue to do well, without having attended college, while others simply delayed college until it made sense for their personal or professional goals.

And that is precisely why I do not automatically object when someone says, “College isn’t for everyone.” For me, the critical questions are: Who is saying it? To whom are they saying it? And for what reasons are they saying it? It is ultimately a matter of the professional expertise and ethical intent of the person giving the advice—and whether that advice is designed to expand the advisee’s possibilities or prematurely limit them.

All of the above is to say that, in public education, the same words and phrases can carry vastly different meanings—and produce vastly different consequences—for students from different socioeconomic classes and for specific cohorts of students, particularly when it comes to college and career advisement.

After spending more than 40 years working at virtually every level of this profession, you certainly do not get to see and hear everything; I stopped saying that somewhere in my third principalship year—but you do get to see and hear a lot. And during my long period of experiential seeing and hearing, I have learned that if I were creating a critical:

“Parents, You Must Pay Attention to This” list, one item would unquestionably appear near the top:

“When the school is speaking about your child, which political language are they using?”

Are they using the vocabulary of high expectations?
Are they using the vocabulary of efficacious care and concern?
Are they using the vocabulary of equity and equality of opportunity?
Are they using the vocabulary of dream-affirming generational advancement?
Are they using the vocabulary of fully developing your child’s innate gifts and talents?

And are they using the vocabulary of having the agape love of wanting for your child what they would want for their own child?

Yes, public education is always, ultimately, and above all, a political act.
Therefore, guidance and counseling, like every other part of the public education system, are not politically or values-neutral. And in an efficacious, ethical, and best-seeking-for-every-student sense, they should not be neutral. They should actively help students overcome external societal factors that would dismiss, diminish, or deny their human potential.

However, there is another side to this reality:

Our economic system is not presently structured as though public schools will successfully prepare every, or even the vast majority of students to enter a meaningful, economically sustaining adult-life after high school, or a meaningful and useful postsecondary school career pathway. And we should at least be willing to ask an uncomfortable question: What would happen to the many institutions, private and civil service occupations, and businesses built around correcting, fixing, supervising, punishing, and incarcerating people if our public schools actually succeeded with nearly all of the children they serve?

Consider, for example, an admittedly imaginary scenario in which New York City public schools fully achieved the often-stated mission that “all children will learn”—including dramatically improved educational and economic outcomes for Black and Latino boys. That achievement alone might not eliminate all known forms of crime or the need for some form of criminal incarceration.

But imagine what might happen if we could substantially interrupt one of the major pathways to incarceration in America—one that has long concerned educators like me and many other human- and civil-rights advocates: the so-called school-to-prison pipeline.

The implications would extend far beyond schools.

Imagine, for example, how dramatically the debate over the future of NYC’s Rikers Island might change if far fewer young people ended up there after being repeatedly exposed, grade after grade, to inadequate educational experiences, low expectations, and denial of access to high-quality learning opportunities—conditions that can contribute to eventual involvement with the criminal justice system. The numerical realities themselves could fundamentally alter the political conversation: fewer people entering the pipeline would mean fewer people needing to be incarcerated.

And so, when I hear the statement “College isn’t for everyone,” I immediately and instinctively follow it with two questions:

“Who is saying it—and why are they saying it?”

Because after more than four decades in public education, I have heard colleagues, from classroom teachers to district superintendents, propose, implement, support, or mandate pedagogical practices and educational policies for other people’s children that they would never accept for—or impose on—their own children.
And therein lies the problem.

The question is not whether every child must attend college, or even attend college immediately after high school graduation; my opening full-disclosure statement makes that student-by-student, personal-journey point clear. The question is whether we are providing other people’s children with the same range of high-quality advice, choices, preparation, encouragement, information, and opportunities that we would insist upon for our own.

“We need to bring back vocational education!”
(Enthusiastically cheered on by the social-media professional education experts.)
Actually, we don’t—not if by “bring it back” we mean returning to the way vocational education was too often used as a targeted, group-demeaning practice for separating students into two categories: those who allegedly could only work with their hands and those presumed to possess the intellectual “gray matter” required to work primarily with their brains.
We know better now. That was an artificial—and, dare I say, often cynical pedagogical division.

What we should do instead is continue upgrading and expanding a modern Career and Technical Education (CTE) philosophy: one that prepares students for meaningful post-high-school careers while refusing to separate technical skill from intellectual development, academic rigor, entrepreneurship, college readiness, or future professional growth.

What many members of the NYC public may not fully appreciate is that schools such as the High School of Fashion Industries, Transit Tech, and Aviation High School are CTE schools. These schools demonstrate that career preparation and serious academic preparation need not be competing educational philosophies. They can enrich both the minds and the skilled talents of young people.*
In other words, we can educate both the mind and the skilled talents of a young person at the same time.

That power of CTE conversation brings me to NYC’s Murry Bergtraum High School for Business Careers.

I recently read a sad story about this historically significant NYC high school. A school with the physical capacity to serve approximately 3,000 students is now serving roughly 90 students.

Speaking as a former high school principal and superintendent, I don’t know how to look at those two numbers—3,000 and 90—and conclude anything other than that something is terribly wrong. And when a problem reaches that level of magnitude, tinkering around the edges is not enough. Sometimes an extraordinary problem requires a radical reimagining of what a school could become.

So, here is mine.

Think about the extraordinary possibilities represented by the Murry Bergtraum High School for Business Careers name, mission, location, and physical capacity. This is a school situated in New York City—the financial capital of the world; home to an enormous civil-service workforce; thousands of small businesses and major corporations; thriving technology, healthcare, construction, and skilled-trades sectors; and one of the world’s great tourism and hospitality destinations.
Why not radically reimagine Murry Bergtraum as a powerful, comprehensive, 21st-century CTE high school organized around multiple career-themed majors?

Imagine a school offering rigorous college-ready academics alongside pathways in finance and banking; accounting; entrepreneurship and small-business development; hospitality and tourism; information technology and cybersecurity; artificial intelligence and AI coding; public administration and civil service; construction management and skilled trades; healthcare administration; marketing and digital media; and other emerging fields tied directly to New York City’s present and future workforce needs.

Then build partnerships around those pathways—with corporations, labor unions, government agencies, colleges and universities, professional associations, apprenticeship programs, and successful entrepreneurs. Give students opportunities to earn industry-recognized certifications, college credits, paid internships, apprenticeships, and authentic workplace experiences before they graduate.
And make entrepreneurship more than an elective course. Make the school itself an entrepreneurial incubator, where students with the interest and ability to build something of their own can graduate not merely knowing how businesses work, but having already begun the process of creating one.

That would be my proposal: a total CTE redesign for Murry Bergtraum High School. Based on my experience, I have found that students enrolled in high-quality CTE programs are often strongly self-motivated to come to school every day, engage passionately in their CTE courses, and be inspired by a like-minded group of fellow CTE students and dedicated CTE teachers. They also benefit from access to industry partnerships, external stakeholders, internships, and other authentic work-based learning experiences.

And perhaps most important, there is the very real possibility of a good job—not four years after graduating from high school, but immediately after graduation. That makes the incentive to stay in school, successfully complete the program, graduate, and enter a meaningful career pathway extraordinarily powerful.

A school building designed to educate approximately 3,000 young people but serving roughly 90 should not simply generate a conversation about declining enrollment. It should force us to ask a much larger educational question:

What could we create here that thousands of New York City students and families would actually want—and deserve—to attend?

The larger point, however, is not simply about one school.

Communities that have historically experienced educational disenfranchisement need to pay very close attention to the “love language” being used when their children are discussed—even when those communities are represented politically by people who look like them.

Is the school or district message:

We love the fact that your child’s presence helps pay the bills and sustain an educational system in which some other children will receive the highest-quality educational opportunities?

Or is the message:

We love your child enough to insist that, regardless of socioeconomic status, race, ethnicity, immigration status, parental wealth, or political power, your child receives every reasonable opportunity to become the highest expression of their best potential self?

Those are two very different educational agape love languages.

And if I had to grade myself on one aspect of my own career, I would probably give myself somewhere between a D and an F for my inability to convince some of our most educationally dismissed and American-Dream-disinherited communities to consistently ask a few basic questions whenever a major education policy is announced:

“Which groups of adults, and which groups of children, are being enfranchised and empowered by this policy?”

“Which groups of adults, and which groups of children, are being disenfranchised and disempowered by this policy?”

And, even more importantly:

“What will the implementation of this policy mean for my community—and specifically, what will it mean for my child?”

Whether the issue is the misguided and politically motivated proposed paraprofessional bonus, the annual class-size debate and its disconnection from the far more important question of a school’s instructional quality, or New York State’s changing Regents examination requirements, parents should resist evaluating educational policies solely through education’s rhetorical “greatest hits,” political slogans, endorsements from stakeholders whose primary interests may not be the children, or the racial and cultural identities of the people promoting them and the policies.

Every public-school-system action can play out differently across different school districts, and in different schools within the same district, and with different groups of children within the same school building.

So do not simply rely on—or automatically trust—a person because of their skin color (“all skin folk ain’t kin folk”), nationality, political party, organizational affiliation, or political rhetoric. Ask the question that matters most for your child:

“Will this action expand or restrict my child’s educational opportunities?”

Malcolm X offered a warning that remains relevant here: “If you form the habit of taking what someone else says about a thing without checking it out for yourself, you’ll find that other people will have you hating your friends and loving your enemies.”

Which brings me back, once again, to the statement at the center of this essay:
“College isn’t for everyone.”

But before accepting that advice when it is directed toward your child, ask the three questions that have guided this entire discussion:

Who is saying it?
Why are they saying it?
And who is your child?

That third question may be the most important of all. Who is your child—their interests, gifts, talents, academic strengths, aspirations, temperament, dreams, and possibilities? And is the person offering advice about your child actually taking the time to know that child before deciding which educational and career doors should remain open—or be quietly closed?

Because ultimately, the question is not whether the speaker is a political friend or enemy of you. The far more consequential question is:

Is the person saying “College isn’t for everyone” speaking as a friend—or an enemy—of your child’s future possibilities?

________________________________________
*And, since we are on the subject, here is another CTE proposal: Congress could significantly increase federal Perkins funding and expand its funding portfolio to explicitly include career-intensive visual and performing arts high schools such as New York City’s LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts, Baltimore School for the Arts, Alabama School of Fine Arts, Los Angeles’s Ramon C. Cortines School of Visual and Performing Arts, and Washington, D.C.’s Duke Ellington School of the Arts.

Why shouldn’t we recognize these schools as engaged in serious professional career technical/technique education?

A young person intensively studying instrumental or vocal music, dance, theater, technical theater, filmmaking, visual arts, or another professional arts discipline is not simply participating in an extracurricular activity. That student is developing specialized techniques, professional habits, technical competencies, discipline-specific knowledge, and potentially marketable career skills.
If we are serious about expanding our definition of career and technical education for the 21st-century economy, then Congress should consider expanding the federal Perkins funding framework so that qualifying career-focused visual and performing arts programs can benefit from those federal resources as well.

Episode 3 of Lanterns Reclaims the Uncorrupted Meaning of “Woke”: Black Protection and Black Progress

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Episode 3 of Lanterns Reclaims the Uncorrupted Meaning of “Woke”: Black Protection and Black Progress

I promise: this essay contains no spoilers. I will only suggest that you watch Episodes 1 and 2 before watching Episode 3, so that what happens in that episode can land in your heart and mind with its full meaning and power.

As I watch the current use of the word “woke,” I am struck by how far it has traveled from the meaning I first understood in the early 2000s—and from its much earlier expressions in Black political and cultural life. Marcus Garvey, for example, issued his Pan-African call to “Wake up Ethiopia! Wake up Africa!” And in 1938, blues and folk musician Lead Belly (Huddie Ledbetter), speaking in connection with his song about the Scottsboro Boys, urged Black people traveling through Alabama to “stay woke.”

Today, the term is routinely deployed by ideological descendants of the anti-civil-rights and anti-Black-progress coalitions of the 1950s and ’60s. More recently, they have been joined by a younger group of self-described progressives who sometimes find themselves apologizing for, and distancing themselves from, what is a false presentation of “woke” or “wokeism.”

And then there is a large cohort of extraordinarily talented Black journalists—all younger than I am—who rarely correct their White colleagues when the term is used in ways that bear little resemblance to its original meaning. Surely many of them are more knowledgeable than I am about its linguistic and cultural origins. (Where is the New York Times’ John McWhorter when we really need him?)

I can understand people in my 75-plus age group being confused about the Woke phrase. The only reason I became familiar with the contemporary use of “woke” many years ago was that, as a lifelong public-school educator, I remained connected through social media to many of my former students.

And what I encountered as the meaning of “woke” was not that complicated.

Stay awake.

Don’t sleep on dangers intended for you. Study—and, in particular, study your history and the history of America’s racist traditions. Stay alert to current events, especially those forces capable of harming your present existence or restricting your future. Recognize threats. Recognize opportunities. Protect yourself. Prepare yourself. Make progress for yourself and your cultural community.

In essence, as I understood it, being “woke” was a call for Black Protection and Black Progress.

I don’t recall anything about DEI, who could use which bathroom, men playing in the WNBA, or canceling the language of White America. In fact, the “woke” commentaries I encountered were not anti-White at all. They simply were not addressed to White America.

They were positive Black messages, by Black people, addressed to Black people.

Who stole “woke” and then cynically corrupted its meaning is an analysis I will leave to those working in the political, cultural-linguistic, and historiographical arenas.

My primary interest, as always, is educational.

And that brings me to Season 1, Episode 3 of Lanterns.

What the writers, director, and actors accomplish in this episode is to educate a nation about the painful fragility of Black existence—especially for Black boys, who are too often forced to surrender their childhoods much too early because, in the eyes of too much of America, their birth certificates might as well have been stamped:

Dangerous if he survives to adulthood.

In that sense, Episode 3 reclaims and restores what I understood to be the original, unadulterated meaning of being “woke”: a compassionate commitment to Black survival and success.

We All Received “The Talk”

Black boys of my generation received “The Talk” when we reached a certain age and, perhaps more importantly, a certain size.
I remember being told that I could no longer run on the sidewalks of Crown Heights, Brooklyn.

“If you want to run, run in the playground at P.S. 9 or in Prospect Park.”

That rule seemed strange to me, since joyfully running was an essential part of our early-adolescent play world. But I was also given very specific instructions about what to do—and what not to do—if stopped by the police. I was told to carry identification and a dollar or two in my wallet.

Like young people everywhere, however, we were determined to prove that the old folks worried too much.

So one day, walking home from Middle School 294, my friends and I decided to race along Vanderbilt Avenue between Fulton Street and Atlantic Avenue. Our adolescent logic was impeccable: there were mostly factories along that stretch and no pedestrians, so technically, we reasoned, we were not really violating our parents’ prohibition against running on crowded sidewalks.

Halfway up the block, a police car pulled us over.

The officers emerged menacingly, shouting and snarling commands.
Suddenly, “The Talk” was no longer an annoying collection of parental rules.

It was a survival manual.

I immediately reminded my friends: Don’t run.

We put our hands against the wall as directed. Continuing down my mental checklist of instructions, I spoke loudly, clearly, and politely, without turning around or making any sudden movements:

“I am reaching into my pocket to get my wallet and I.D.”

Without turning, I handed my wallet to the officer closest to me. Prominently displayed inside was my Police Athletic League (PAL) membership card.

The atmosphere suddenly changed.

One officer said something to the effect of, “Oh, these are Officer Powell’s kids”—referring to the officer who ran the PAL program at our local police precinct.

They let us go.

We continued our journey to the Brooklyn Public Library—shaken and, needless to say, no longer running.

We also reached an immediate and unanimous agreement:

We were not telling our parents about the incident.

I certainly wasn’t, because I had no desire to stand quietly—which is what children were expected to do in those days—through a long Caribbean-American parental speech titled:

“I thought I told you not to…”

That would have been followed by several versions of “What were you thinking?” Followed by: “Oh, you were not thinking?”

And the lecture would not have ended at home. Neighborhood and church elders, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and godparents would eventually have been informed of our bad-decision deed, requiring us to endure multiple sequels of that original admonition speech.

But there was another childhood lesson in Black protection that I did not understand until years later.

I was a dedicated reader of Ebony and Jet magazines. One month, however, I could not find the latest issue of Jet. And, as my mother undoubtedly hoped, I soon forgot about it. There were too many scooters to build, war games to play, comic books to read, and stickball and skelly games demanding my attention.

Years later, I learned why that issue had disappeared.

It contained the horrific open-casket photograph of Emmett Till.

That next summer, without any explanation to us kids—not required in those days—the Black parents in our neighborhood canceled their children’s trips down South. My mother explained to me years later, when I was in college, that the neighborhood “ban” had been imposed largely to protect Black boys from the possibility of suffering a similarly murderous fate.

That was those parents being protectively “woke.”
Not a political slogan.
Not a partisan insult.
Not a cable-news debating point.

Protection. Awareness. Survival. Preparation. Progress.

And That Is What the Parents in Lanterns Are Trying to Do
The Black parents in Lanterns are trying to protect their Black boys the best way they know how—albeit in heightened and dramatic ways appropriate for television.

The two extraordinary actors, Jasmine Cephas Jones and J. Alphonse Nicholson, are portraying what generations of Black parents before, during, and after my generation have tried to do.

First, get their children safely to adulthood.

Second, make them strong enough to confront unfair and undeserved societal obstacles without allowing those obstacles to define or defeat them.

And finally, help them discover and realize their innate gifts, talents, possibilities, and special calling in life.

That is the essential arc of effective parenting.

And schools can either assist or hinder that work.

I resented then—and still resent today—those portions of my childhood that had to end prematurely. I resented having to think about survival to adulthood as a goal at such a young age. And I hated hearing another warning that sounded grossly unfair to my young ears, but turned out to be painfully true: “You must be twice as good to get a fair chance.” My teenage years seemed to exist between dangerous extremes: Would my life be damaged or ended by a police bullet or arrest, drugs, imprisonment, or the unsolicited violence of another Black or Latino teenager in the neighborhood?

As an educator who spent many years working with teenagers, I know that growing up is hard enough. Young people should not also have to calculate their chances of surviving to adulthood while simultaneously trying to discover who they are. They should be thinking about future careers, occupations, aspirations, and possibilities—not wondering who they might become if they can safely make it to adulthood.

That is one reason we desperately need well-educating, intellectually challenging, emotionally nurturing, and physically safe public-school buildings where Black and Latino young people do not feel hunted—or haunted—by society’s fears of them and low expectations for them.

Parents cannot fight this battle alone.

Public schools must do their part.

They must create safe, secure, and educationally rich learning environments capable of bringing forth the best gifts and talents of children whom too much of society has already decided are unworthy of our best adult efforts.

The Baton Must Be Passed

And speaking of gifts and talents, a personal disclosure:
One of the wonderful young actors in Episode 3 of Lanterns, Lumi Oniyide, is the child of two of my former students. One of those former students—despite all of my shortcomings as a principal—decided to become a principal and is now a great one.

There is something beautifully circular about that for me.

A former principal watches the child of his former students portray, in a powerful work of art, themes that connect directly to the lives of generations of Black children—and to the educational responsibility of those adults entrusted with preparing them for the future.

There is always hope in the positive passing of the baton.

One generation protects, prepares, educates, and encourages the next. And then that generation must do the same for the children coming behind them.

Perhaps that is another way to understand what “stay woke” was always supposed to mean:

Know what came before you.

Know what could be coming for you.

Understand what surrounds you.

Protect what is precious to you.

Prepare an easier path for those who will follow you.

And every day, keep moving forward as the best presentation of yourself.

That is our collective, sacred Woke-Hope.

That is Woke Black Protection.

That is Woke Black Progress.

Ask yourself: “Are You Afraid” of a Positive Black Future?

And that is why I hope Episode 3 of Lanterns, “OutKast,” receives the Emmy recognition—and award—I believe it deserves.

Lanterns, Season 1, Episode 3, “OutKast,” is currently streaming on HBO Max and through the HBO Max Amazon Channel in participating regions.

Responding to Racist Attacks on Popular and Heroic Black Public Figures: An Educational Imperative for Adaptive, Corrective, and Protective Lesson and School-Wide Response Planning

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As the bulk of the decent, non-prejudiced poisoned citizens left in America express, justifiably so, righteous anger and moral indignation at the U.S. President’s escalation toward more explicit visual expressions of the ugly beliefs and policies that undergird his reign of racism; professional educators, who are human beings and ethically embarrassed citizens (we take any form of ignorance personally), will also feel the pain of this moment. And that pain will not be limited to Black educators only. We therefore must “stay focused, and stay on the job.”

First, we must recognize, from a pedagogical perspective, what Barack and Michelle Obama meant, not only (but especially) to Black children in our own country and beyond, but also to children of every color, ethnicity, and nationality, in schools not just across the United States, but in schools all over the world.

So, our first job is to develop age- and grade-appropriate lesson plans, across multiple content areas, including active involvement with guidance and counseling departments, that support healthy healing, conceptual correction, and, particularly in light of the current ICE brutal assaults on human beings, a reassuring sense of both group and personal protection.

We know enough developmental psychology to understand that when young people are hurt, angry, or frightened, they will not always express or act out those feelings in the most positive or productive ways; therefore, professional educators must step in directly into the present fray, and help students process this disgraceful moment in our history in the most positively edifying and emotionally strengthening manner possible.

Each school-based administrator must make a personal and professional decision regarding how far to go, and in what format; therefore, I would not offer a blanket recommendation for how school leaders should respond to these types of historical moments.
That said, based on my past experiential practice as a high school principal, where we understood that whatever major event existed in the public atmosphere, our students already knew about it, so instead of hiding from the obvious, what I did then, and what I would do now, is to shift into full response mode.

I would immediately convene a crash cabinet, school-leadership and departmental emergency meeting to design a school-wide classroom, and guidance-counseling response strategy, beginning with four grade-level assemblies that I would personally lead. After all, we invested a great deal of time—eight years—building students’ pride, resilience, hope, and aspirations around the exemplary model and public leadership excellence of the Obama family; and we cannot allow all of that deliberate self-esteem-building work to be attacked without a purposeful teaching-and-learning response.

A note of caution for principals: understand that superintendents are, by job description, though not necessarily by personal preference, both educational and political actors. You must therefore read the present situation within that dual context and know your superintendent’s position on this matter before acting.

As for me, I have articulated my own self-guiding response position to moments such as these across several chapters of my book, Report From the Principal’s Office: A 200-Day Inspirational and Aspirational School Leadership Journal, including:

13. The Ethical Principalship.
20. Ethical Righteous Authority Means You Can’t Always Ask for Permission to Act.
21. Wise Righteous Authority Means There Are Times When You Should Ask for Permission to Act.
32. The Authentic Principalship.
64. The Mindful Principalship.
And very relevant to our present concern:
75. Part of the Effective Principalship Practice Is Not Throwing Yourself Under the Bus!

So, act according to your ethical inclinations, pedagogical responsibilities and your district political realities.

I do not want to get any principal in trouble, so full disclosure: my leadership style is my leadership style, and even when teaching future school administrators, I always explain my leadership approach with a clearly stated warning label. That said, I firmly believe that the most moral, ethical, and pedagogically sincere educators, and especially educational leaders, are, in fact, made in and for this moment.

This is not a moment for professional silence, instructional avoidance, or moral retreat disguised as neutrality. Racist attacks on major well-known by students Black public figures, particularly those who represent dignity, excellence, and aspirational possibility, inevitably, one way or another, land in our classrooms, whether we invite them or not.

The question before educators is not whether students will be affected, but whether we will meet them with intentional guidance, protective care, and intellectually honest instructional practices. If we truly believe that education is both a moral and civic endeavor, then this is precisely the moment when principled, prepared, and courageous educational leadership must rise to meet the work.

Michael A. Johnson has served as a NYC public school teacher, an award-winning principal, and a school district superintendent. A former adjunct professor of education and the author of two books on school-building leadership, he writes about educational equity, policy, and the ethical and moral obligations that come with safeguarding the educational lives and promising futures of all children. Inspired by ancestral heroes such as Dr. Gerald Deas, John Lewis, and W.E.B. Du Bois, he strives to make as much “good trouble” as possible before closing his eyes for the final time.

Modern Slave Catching 2.0: Why Studying Black History Is Civic Literacy and a Survival Skill*

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Suppressing the historical record of a people does not only deny their participating humanity; it strips the entire nation of the civic navigation tools required to recognize the signs of grave communal danger and inhibits even the enfranchised from comprehending, and thus resisting, their own depersonalization.

I recently read an excellent book on the history of post–WWII East Germany (Beyond the Wall: A History of East Germany by Katja Hoyer); and so, watching the daily growth of Germany’s neo-Nazi AfD party, and then reading that the AfD movement was making its greatest growth spurts in those parts of Germany that were formerly East Germany (“Germany’s nationalist AfD party hopes to take power in 2026” — Washington Post, 1/13/26), was quite surprising, since I imagined that these were the Deutsche Volk who were heavily exposed to a solid public educational system that held the anti-fascist principles of Marx, Lenin, and Engels as the underpinning philosophy of their pedagogy. What happened?

I thought: how could so many in this part of the German nation enthusiastically embrace the neo-Nazification of the AfD? And further, how could AfD supporters ignore the history of how both West and East Germany suffered terribly from the interrupted process of national development (how did that Nazism stuff work for you’ll the last time)?

But (back to my book) it seems that East Germany suffered the most from an entire nation losing its way and choosing to follow the sick and twisted mind of a Make Germany Great Again (MGGA) leader. And I thought about the AfD’s sister proto-fascist/retro-confederate organization in the U.S., the Make America Great Again (MAGA-GOP) movement. And then, it made sense why, it’s the intoxicating, but not soul healing, ideology of resentment and anger.

So, despite decades of communist ideological scaffolding and indoctrination, the poorest parts of Germany, the communities left out of the West German “economic miracle” and deprived of any stable sense of place or purpose in this world, would revert, as their 1930s political ancestors once did, to their most primitive tribal limbic defense mechanism:

“We were great, and we could be great again if not for the presence of the racialized ‘other!’”

Genocidal acts perpetrated anywhere in the world can be conveniently-contextually redefined, selectively applied, and politically justified based on the race, religion, and nationality of the beaten-down “other.” The Somali community in Minnesota fits all three categories and, therefore, like enslaved African victims of the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act, they have no human rights that need to be respected by ICE or the Department of Homeland Security, after all, they are not considered humans.

And so, I would recommend that the decent people of Minnesota and other parts of our nation that are negatively impacted by ICE/DHS, particularly those wonderful and compassionate opposing slave-catching modern abolitionists like the late Renee Good — study the work-actions of movements like the Underground Railroad and how they helped Africans escaping from bondage to realize their innate right to freedom.

“A strong man will deliver us,” until he doesn’t. And only then do his followers discover that they have surrendered both their humanity and the good promises of their future history.

History is a great teacher, but denying and hiding history is a grave mistake. Movements like the AfD in Germany, Ms. Meloni’s right-wing alliance of parties in Italy, England’s Reform UK party, and America’s own homegrown MAGA/GOP movement should study how these types of proto-fascist movements have never served their nation’s or their followers’ best interests; things always seem to end badly, because they are movements based on a lie. That lie is that the only way their members can realize their humanity is to physically oppress, traumatize, and try to snuff out the physical and spiritual humanity of the darker, or not-like-us “others.” And yet, ironically, this denial of historiography and the denial of humanity to the disenfranchised and oppressed “others” eventually pushes these reactionary citizen-actors further and further away from the meaningful and purposeful humanity that they so desperately seek.

*Slave Catching 1.0: The Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 transformed the entire nation, both free and slave-holding states alike, into an extension of the slave states’ justifying and policing apparatus. The law compelled all citizens and public officials to detain and return escaped enslaved people to bondage, and it criminalized any act of refusal. This statute stripped African freedom seekers of even the most basic human rights and legal due-process protections, including the right to contest their fate. In effect, the Act nationalized slavery’s vindication and enforcement and made the entire nation’s citizens, and the federal government, its guarantor and enforcer.

Cell Phones in Schools Operational Follow-up: As a profession, how many bad policy historical experiences do we need?

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Yes, there have been many instances where some student somewhere, in some classroom, has used a pencil, pen or a computer in an unintended, not so good, and perhaps, even in a dangerous way, should we then ban those writing and educational instruments from schools? Continue reading →

The issue isn’t cell phones in public schools; the problem is the many academically unchallenged and learning underserved students in these institutions.

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“…If we can’t get more interested and capable students successfully into and through the STEM college major and career gatekeeper course of Algebra 1, then that student having or not having a cell phone won’t matter.” Continue reading →