Dr. Verenice Gutierrez is a 23 year practitioner and leader in the educational field. Dr. Verenice Gutierrez specializes in Special Education, Bilingual Education, Curriculum & Instruction, Educational Management, Educational Leadership, Racial Equity, Language Acquisition, Coaching and Mentoring.

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Why McFarland USA P*****d Me Off

I recently watched Disney's McFarland USA for the first time. Even though I had wanted to see it when it was released in theaters for...

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Changing the narrative about Black and Brown boys in K-12 education


My most recent experience has been serving as a K-8 principal in a large, urban, public school district in the Pacific NW.  My school was (is) what is known as "diverse".  This translates into: high poverty (90%), lots of kids of color (88%), lot of second language learners (49%) and lots of White flight.  I, however, loved my little school.  It was an honor to serve as the leader of a school full of children who looked like me, spoke like me and shared my cultural upbringing, belief, values, etc.  There was nothing wrong with the school that so many of the White neighbors chose to run away from, they didn't know what they were missing.
I've spent my career focusing on the benefits of bilingual education.  Since my degrees are in that field, I understand the detriment of language loss and the benefits of bilingual education on both identity and educational achievement. The 60% Latino, 50% second language learners student body was perfect for a Spanish immersion program.  I lobbied for and was granted the ability to start such a program.  One of the first steps to implementation was to sell the program to the English speaking, White families.  If you know anything about critical race theory, you know that sometimes we have to work the interest convergence as a way to gain access (permission) to the systemic structures that will help yield the desired outcomes.  So I sold the Spanish immersion program to the English speaking, White families that traditionally thumbed their nose at our school in favor of "better" schools.  We gained amazing interest.  Actually so much interest that we had three full sections of Kindergarten en espanol in our first year.  That meant every second language learner (Spanish, Somali and Vietnamese) had plenty of access to a slot in the program that is considered the Cadillac model for second language learners.  It also meant that we had more White families that held judgement about "those" kids and our school which they would not have attended had we not had a program they could benefit from long term.  When these parents arrived, so did the narrative about our Black and Brown boys.
It wasn't long before our highly involved, highly educated, White parents began to express concern.  Recess was "dangerous" they said.  It was like Lord of the Flies.  A free for all that was fit for survival of the fittest.  As the principal, I was alarmed.  I'd not heard that recess was that bad and of course I would look into it.  I asked my recess staff about this and they said it was a bit much to supervise over 100 Kindergartners but no one was being physically hurt and they felt they had it under control.  I trust my staff so I felt like we were good.  I let the parents know everything that was being done for recess to be safer so that they felt they were heard.
Then came one of the first e-mails.  A White grandmother was besides herself.  A Native American boy (darker skinned, long black hair in a braid) had threatened to KILL her little White grand-daughter.  Of course we jumped right on that one.  It is not okay for one Kindergartner to threaten to kill another Kindergartner.  Problem was he never did threaten to kill her.  The little girl reported some play that she was an active and willing participant to but then ran with her grandmother's over reaction and, as we say in Spanish, le hecho mas salsa a los tacos...she made it up.  With some very stereotypical details including how this young man was going to bring a rope and a knife to kill her.  She left out the part where she sometimes instigated and teased the boy to the point that he chased her as she gleefully ran away.  She left out the part about teachers having already spoken to both of them about not playing in such a manner and asking her not to taunt the boy.  She became the victim of a dark skinned, dangerous boy out to get her.  Have we heard this narrative before from White females?  Have men of color had to suffer consequences before because White females cry foul while omitting their contribution to the situation?  I don't blame the victim but this situation really pissed me off because the grandmother came in wanting us to persecute the little boy based off a lie.  When told her granddaughter had lied (which the little girl admitted) she never once took responsibility for her own actions and what they could have meant for this young boy.  She was more than willing to push him along the path that start the school to prison pipeline.
And there were more....Always the Black/Brown boys are dangerous, violent, out of control, angry.  Always there is an alarm accompanied by a demand that I do something, that I "fix it".  I was called to meetings with a mob of parents that were followed with "memorandum of understanding" and e-mails that read "we expect that....".  I often felt like the parents were trying to supervise me (at best) or trying to run the school (at the most extreme) by expecting that we implement their demands overnight.  Never with a consideration for the long term, averse affects to the young men of color they found so objectionable.
I then started to notice the behavior of the White boys.  I wanted to understand if our Black/Brown boys were really that different from their White peers.  They were not.  When I pointed out to parents that their White boys also engaged in play sword fighting then the narrative became that their White sons were being "imaginative/creative" because they were reenacting Star Wars.  If two White boys hit one another, they were having a "disagreement amongst life long friends" (because they've know each other since child care) rather than getting into a fight.  If a White boy blew out of the classroom he was "frustrated" and "expressing himself" rather than disturbing instruction and negatively impacting his peers.  In scuffles White boys hit or bite but Black/Brown boys "assault" due to the negative home environments they come from...what with all the domestic violence, drug abuse and gang activity.  If a White boy bothers another child he is being "annoying" or "lacks social skills" while a Black/Brown boy is "harassing" or "bullying" or "targeting" their peer.  Oh the hypocrisy of it all.
Of course I called these parents on their narratives.  They cried, they said they weren't racist, we met and tried to have conversations to address their concerns.  They still went right up to my supervisor to complain about my poor leadership and the dangers their children were subjected to that I wouldn't address.  My Black male supervisor and I had many talks about everything that was being done and how we needed to treat these White parents in a way that made them feel validated.  I had no patience for it or them.  Instead I built an empowerment program for our boys of color that tells them everyday: you are perfect just as you are and just as you are not.  You matter.  You get to show up in a space that won't tear you down further, that won't start you down the path of school to prison, that will make you bilingual and help you achieve academically.  Does this mean that White kids don't matter?  Of course not!  They matter just as much but not more and not less.
Just remember that words matter.  And the words that we use to describe Black/Brown males in America right now matter more than ever before.

Monday, August 4, 2014



In Memory Of...
On Friday, August 1, 2014 at about 5:35 p.m. my youngest former foster son lost his life by drowning in the Willamette River just under the Sellwood Bridge in Portland, OR. According to reports, friends tried to help him but could not. He went underwater never to come back up again. He was not a strong swimmer and he wasn't wearing a life jacket.

That Friday was another hot day, above 90 degrees, in what has been a long series of hot days. I can picture my son and his friends deciding to take a dip in the water to cool off. They may have planned to do so or it may have been completely spontaneous. What is obvious is that they were not fully prepared to be in the river. No life jackets, no life preserver or some flotation device to throw out in case of an emergency. Just young male bravado and a sense of being invincible. After all, when you are young you really do believe you will live forever and that nothing will happen to you.

When I first read a post about this on Facebook I got a sinking, terrified feeling of dread. I message the young man whose post I saw hoping, as he did, that nothing had gone awry in the world. His reply stopped time for a few seconds but, simultaneously, a lifetime. I Googled my son's name with the words "drowning portland, or" after it. There it was confirmed in a list of several links all telling me exactly what I did not want to confirm. I woke my partner from the nap he was taking to tell him the news I had woken up to from my nap. His Google search was the same as mine. So much for hoping that somehow, someway, my devices were lying to me.

Next came the phone calls to my former secretary (who'd been my back up foster placement) and to my older former foster son to check on him. That call broke my heart and was the first to set off the tears. There were other calls, texts and Facebook messages that would break me down on Saturday but I spent most of the day in a numbed haze.

I wondered if we hadn't changed the foster placement if the outcome would have been different. I remembered Ms. Felicia's advice that all youngsters should learn to swim because there are so many opportunities to be in water in Portland. I admonished myself for not pressing the boys to take lessons. I tried not to give into the guilt of my self perceived failure to honor the promise I made their biological mother to take care of them because I did as much as I could and asmuch as they would let me.

Then I got angry. Angry at him for his carelessness and self-centered selfishness. Angry because when he so stupidly got into the river knowing that he was not strong enough to swim those waters without a life jacket, he wasn't thinking of those now hurting. He wasn't thinking about the deep pain his brother feels after already having lost a father and being separated from his mother and younger brother by circumstance, which is also a loss. He wasn't thinking about the heavy loss other family members and friends feel from this loss. He was thinking he was young and invincible and going to live forever.

My Christopher always tells me not to dwell on the negative, to focus on the good instead. He especially emphasized this when he asked if I was okay and what I was thinking. He got an "ok" and that I was hoping that the Portland Fire & Rescue would not recover the body because it would be bloated and perhaps damaged by river creatures and I didn't want my other son to have to identify it. I don't think he was expecting THAT. Truth is, I was thinking about that a lot. I went back and forth between that and dreading having the Willamette River be my boy's final resting place and hoping that it was a quick, painless death rather than prolonged. Conflicting reports state the body has not been recovered while others state it has. My other son hasn't let me know which is true. My mind was a dark place Saturday (and now) so I had to stay numb or lose my mind.

I did take Chris's advice and decided to focus on the positive before going to bed. I know he had an amazing high school experience and a great senior year. He got to have the American dream his mother immigrated here for. At one point he wanted to be an FBI or CIA operative and I have no doubt he would have been an amazing one. He was set to start his next chapter as he was already enrolled in college and had a job lined up. He was in a very positive place.

I've been reading books by psychic medium Echo Bodine about the death process which have really helped with this particular event. Echo talks about why the soul is here on earth and what happens when its time is up. She calls death "graduation" because at the time of death the soul has completed the time it needed to learn the lessons it had to learn in this incarnation. She also advices that if we are open, the souls of our departed will visit us in our sleep. I had such a visitation last night.

It started with whatever dream I was actively in when my son made his visitation. I keep thinking he was dream bombing, just like photo bombing. I was conscious of being pulled away from the dream by the awareness of a presence. I can't even remember what I was dreaming but I remember the awareness and the pull of a presence. I also remember knowing that it was to my left and I wonder if the side of the body has any significance. I turned my head first to see him standing there wearing the same clothes and in the same stance as in the picture everyone is using for their memorials. I felt the same aloofness he shows in the picture. That sense of "whatever" and self absorption he always had. I remember smiling and calling him to ask him to come over. There was no response but I got a sense of knowing that he is ok and that he is fine with both his death and the manner in which he died. I turned my whole body with the intention of walking to him but that's when my toy Malti-poo, Zoe, jumped off the bed and I was jolted awake knowing that means she won't go potty outside if not accompanied. Between Zoe and my son they knew that what I got would be enough and that, perhaps, he just isn't ready to give me more. After letting Zoe potty and going back to bed, I did invite him to come back again. I let him know that is something I am both open to and I would welcome it.

I also wondered what lesson there is here for those of us touched by his death. Everyone will take a different lesson but I think mine goes right back to preparing children for the adversities of life. It's in the reality that this group of young adults went to the river ill prepared for the realities of swimming in such a body of water. They didn't think about the depth of the river, didn't consider the current and didn't bring the tools they needed to adequately play in the river. They forgot to honor that Mother Nature is much, much mightier and that we are but lowly mortals operating within a much mightier universe. They brought youth, carefree attitudes and a belief that they would live forever. Yet all of their lives are irreversibly altered because of this event.

So, while countless adolescents will continue to roll their eyes at me and some will tell me to "fuck off" or call me a "bitch", I am doing what I have been called to do. My soul's charge in this incarnation is to help young men and women acquire the tools they need to "swim" in the mighty river of life.