http://martynemko.blogspot.com/2009/06/white-teacher-speaks-out-what-is-it.html
What is it Like to Teach Black Students?
by Christopher Jackson
Until recently I taught at a predominantly
black high school in a southeastern
state.
The mainstream press gives a hint of
what conditions are like in black schools,
but only a hint. Expressions journalists
use like “chaotic” or “poor learning
environment” or “lack of discipline” do
not capture what really happens. There
is nothing like the day-to-day experience
of teaching black children and that is
what I will try to convey.
Most whites simply do not know what
black people are like in large numbers,
and the first encounter can be a shock.
One of the most immediately striking
things about my students was that they
were loud. They had little conception of
ordinary decorum. It was not unusual
for five blacks to be screaming at
me at once. Instead of calming down and
waiting for a lull in the din to make their
point—something that occurs to even
the dimmest white students—blacks just
tried to yell over each other.
It did no good to try to quiet them, and
white women were particularly inept at
trying. I sat in on one woman’s class as
she begged the children to pipe down.
They just yelled louder so their voices
would carry over hers.
Many of my black students would
repeat themselves over and over again—
just louder. It was as if they suffered
from Tourette syndrome. They seemed
to have no conception of waiting for
an appropriate time to say something.
They would get ideas in their heads and
simply had to shout them out. I might be
leading a discussion on government and
suddenly be interrupted: “We gotta get
more Democrats! Clinton, she good!”
The student may seem content with that
outburst but two minutes later, he would
suddenly start yelling again: “Clinton
good!”
Anyone who is around young blacks
will probably get a constant diet of rap music.
Blacks often make up their own jingles,
and it was not uncommon for 15 black
boys to swagger into a classroom,
bouncing their shoulders and jiving back.
They were yelling back and forth, rapping 15 different sets of
words in the same harsh, rasping dialect.
The words were almost invariably
a childish form of boasting: “Who got
dem shine rim, who got dem shine shoe,
who got dem shine grill (gold and silver
dental caps)?” The amateur rapper usually
ends with a claim—in the crudest
terms imaginable—that all womankind
is sexually devoted to him. For whatever
reason, my students would often groan
instead of saying a particular word, as in,
“She suck dat aaahhhh (think of a long
grinding groan), she f**k dat aaaahhhh,
she lick dat aaaahhh.”
So many black girls dance in the hall, in the classroom,
on the chairs, next to the chairs, under
the chairs, everywhere. Once I took a
call on my cell phone and had to step
outside of class. I was away about two
minutes but when I got back the black
girls had lined up at the front of the
classroom and were convulsing to the
delight of the boys.
IT IS A REALLY LONG ESSAY, THE REST IS ON THE LINK.
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