Column: Nuances of nationalism, illusion of diversity must be faced in H-F

I was still half-asleep, and fully-cursing the rising sun when national headlines of Homewood Flossmoor High School students in blackface came across my screen.

I wish I could say that the news of suburban white boys painting their faces black left me anything more than disappointed.

I wish I could say that I sat straight up in bed, my body assuming the 90-degree angle reserved for the most unsettling and egregious news.

In truth, my phone was locked and back on the charger less than five minutes after I saw the story.

Not because the media is bursting at the seams with anti-black rhetoric and violence these days – well, that, too – but because I attended H-F from 2009 to 2013. And these boys may as well have been my former classmates making the same tired, racist jokes.

Contrary to the painfully politically correct remarks of community members, expressed with shaking heads and furrowed brows, about just how “unlike H-F” this incident was, I recognized the H-F I saw in the headlines.

When I was a student at H-F and managing editor of the nationally recognized Voyager newspaper I spent more of my time than was wise debating with white classmates about why their jokes about Africa were racist, and yes, even when they “meant it in a good way.” Or how the added “ah” sound didn’t soften the N-word coming from their mouths – yes, even if your black friends allow it. I was exhausted by the passive aggressive blows my white peers shot at Obama’s “policies:” half-baked arguments that were audible regurgitations of what they heard at home.

And, of course, there was the nationalism.

At a community forum following the HF student walkout, H-F principal Dr. Jerry Lee Anderson reminded residents that “We can allow the tenor of our nation to influence our community, or we can empower our community to influence the tenor of our nation.”

Ironically enough, uncritical nationalism seems to be one area of national discourse upon which Trump has actually united the country. In my time at H-F, a handful of years before the 2016 election, teachers and peers viewed nationalist attitudes through the white-washed lens of patriotic pride. Not only was nationalism harmless — it was dutiful.

Naturally, Trump’s “America First” agenda has since illuminated the dark underbelly of nationalistic pride in a country that was built by slaves and arguably maintained by immigrants.

Back at H-F, I implored my peers and teachers to more closely examine the disdain they held for those who did not stand for the pledge or hold nationalistic views. In a Voyager column, I urged my peers to recall the dismissive attitudes they held towards so many of the national tragedies inflicted upon people of color. I encouraged them to remember the mocking tone they used to parrot black girls whose diction and cadence they found worthy of ridicule. 

Only then, I told them, could we engage in a dignified discussion about the nuances of nationalism. 
Of course, these were the big moments. There were also the micro aggressions. There was the persisting belief throughout junior high and high school that my community, a subdivision nestled between Flossmoor road and Crawford Avenue, and dominated by black families, was “unincorporated Flossmoor” an assessment that seemed to have more to do with my neighbors’ color than our proximity to bordering Matteson. There was the incorporation of “black on black crime” statistics into discourse about police brutality a thinly veiled derailment of any attempt to hold officers accountable. 

This was a time when H-F’s black student population was just creeping past 50 percent. Today, it stands closer to 70 percent. Several of the students I interviewed for our coverage of the blackface incident expressed disbelief at the racial insensitivity (and outright racism) they have experienced at H-F, given the numbers.

How, they asked, in a school dominated by black students, could their classmates be so anti-black? To this question, I can think of no better response than that of Flossmoor resident Matt Epperson, at the community May 5 peaceology forum: Because we live under the “illusion of diversity.” 

Here in Homewood-Flossmoor we pride ourselves on sending our kids to school with black classmates. When the new black family moves in to the neighborhood, we pat ourselves on the back for not packing up and leaving. We give ourselves credit for the small talk we make with the Nice Black Lady on the next elliptical at the Racquet Club. 

And these things count. 

Still, like so many residents expressed at the forum we are polite, where we should be human. 
Indeed, countless (white) residents expressed a desire for a sense of intimacy within our community, where now, we prop up our diversity like a sort of golden egg some fragile treasure whose survival can only be maintained by delicate, gloved hands.  

But diversity isn’t some thin-shelled treasure that will shatter at human touch. No diversity only works when we stop being afraid to be clumsy, and awkward, and wrong. And, above all else, when we stop understanding race and racism as “black issues.” Frankly, black people didn’t create this mess of racism and hate. I can scarcely imagine a logical scenario in which we have become the designated problem solvers. 

In any case, sitting in the forum and listening to these people who are presumably parents, neighbors, and friends of the students with whom I sparred over political rhetoric and racist stereotypes years ago, felt like the best kind of full-circle moment. Not because their being allies erases the hurt, but because it salves the wound.

As one resident shared in the forum: “forgiveness without acknowledgement of hurt is not possible.”

Let’s keep the conversation going. 

Homewood Pride Patrons pay homage to slain trans women, activists

The Epperson’s set at Homewood Pride was complete with the soulful crooning and raspy rock sounds that define the dad-daughter duo. And, of course, the baritone notes of social resistance. 

“Did you know that in the last year there have been 10 trans women who have been killed in this country, 7 just in the last month?” Matt Epperson asked the crowd of Pride participants in Downtown Homewood’s Martin Square. “All 7 of these women were black trans women.”

After their set, Epperson explained that the most vulnerable among the LGBTQIA community have also been the most instrumental in LGBTQIA activism. 

“Trans women, many of them trans Women of Color, were some of the most vocal activists in New York and San Francisco before anything was even happening in the middle of the country,” he said. “To fight and put their lives on the line for what ended up being a great LGBTQ+ movement, but that first benefitted gay white men.”

While The Epperson’s weighted words gave voice to grief and injustice, local vendors and residents showed their solidarity with song, dance, and rainbow margaritas. 

Kendra Richardson, fifth grader at Western Avenue Elementary, called the event ‘awesome,’ as she stood in line to get her face painted.

“It’s so fun to be here. I think it’s amazing to live in a place that is accepting. Everyone should accept who they are, be themselves, and show off who they want to be,” the fifth grader said, with a blithe shrug of her shoulders.  

But Richardson was not the youngest patron at Homewood Pride this year. Near the Aurielio’s vendor truck, just a couple feet above the ground, a tiny Prince fan stood between his parents. The purple onesie he selected for the event was embellished with the face of the seven-time Grammy winner. 

His mother, Santina, said she and her husband came out to enjoy the party. And that the inclusive and compassionate environment is exactly the kind of place in which they aim to raise their child.

Still, this year’s national Pride celebration was layered in the gritty textures of history and activism; and Homewood Pride was no different.

The Stonewall Riots of 1969, named after the gay bar and safe space for the LGBTQ+ New Yorkers, were a topic of conversation at the local event. The riots began after a police raid was launched to antagonize bar patrons, and ultimately catalyzed the national push for LGBTQIA rights. 

Epperson says it’s important to remember that these early resistance efforts were led by black trans women. 

“Remember, Stonewall, wouldn’t have been Stonewall without Marsha P. Johnson. And that Janetta Johnson, Honey Mahogany, and Aria Sa’id, co-founded the first transgender cultural district in San Francisco, three years prior to Stonewall,” he said.

Epperson explains that it is the intersection of marginalized identities that adds so much nuance to the fight for equality –– and equal acceptance across the rainbow.

 “Most of what LGBTQ+ People of Color have achieved has had to come in the wake of white gay progress, and they still haven’t had the same support,” he explains. “Racism is so deeply ingrained, we haven’t had the same strides against racism as we have for LGBTQ+. There are layers of intersection that can present an exclusion for folks. They’re black, so the race layer is there, they’re a woman, so they are devalued because of sexism, and not just a woman, but a trans woman. There are not many more ways a person could be alienated, unless they were maybe an immigrant, too.”

2017 H-F graduate David Meehan, who arrived at Pride in a white t-shirt that displayed “Black Love Matters” in colorful bubble letters, said that it is acknowledging the complexities of race, gender, and identity that make a good ally.

“Any time we’re talking about supporting a marginalized or oppressed group, it has to be everyone. You can’t prioritize the uplifting of one group over another, it has to be a collective raising up, especially for an ally,” Meehan said. “As a straight, white man such as myself, it’s super important for me to support any marginalized group that I can.”

Epperson says being a good ally isn’t about being perfect, but being present to their own privilege.

“It’s not just about individual discrimination. It’s about restricted access to housing, healthcare, education. These personal biases play out in policies,” he explains. “These are things that I don’t have to think about, because my ID says who I am. Folks with a privileged status can go their whole life without having to know these things.”

Jackie McKethen, LGBTQIA activist and Governor’s State University (GSU) Advisory Board Member, is working to combat the structural inequalities that plague gay and trans youth. 

She founded the Jackie McKethen Scholarship at GSU for LGBTQIA community members and allies.

“60 percent of the homeless youth are transgender kids who have been kicked out by their parents or relatives. I started the scholarship fund because with all the things going on in the trans community, the likelihood of a person being able to get a complete education is low. The odds are against them,” McKethen said. “I thought I would try and help those odds, and give them a chance that they may not otherwise have.”

McKethen is running for Crete Township Committeeman in 2020. She says that while she fights for structural change, acceptance at the social level is stalled by those that are hateful, and loud. 

“I believe that at least 80 percent of the community is supportive, or at least tolerant of LGBTQIA. The problem is there isn’t much opportunity for allies to show their support, other than Pride. Whereas those that are anti are much more boisterous,” the activist explains. “So, they’re the ones that are heard.”

While members of the LGBTQIA community face a lessened homophobia than decades past, McKethen explains that an ignorance of trans history keeps the fires of transphobia burning bright, and bloody.

“A lot of people don’t realize that transgender people have been around for 3,000 years,” McKethen explains. “We know the American Indians actually viewed them as consultants, problem solvers. Both the American Indians and Hindu peoples realized that we are a people that can see two sides of any question.”

McKethen says she is fighting to change the perception of trans people as ‘Aliens that people don’t think are real.’ 

Still, she asserts, her self-acceptance does not take the opinions of her peers into account. 

“I want to see us understand that trans people are people, too,” she said. “We bleed red, we have all the same organs. Just because we don’t identify with our anatomical gender assignment, doesn’t make us bad people. But mostly, it’s no one else’s business how I live my life. I answer to God. Not man.”

For more information on the Jackie McKethen Scholarship, contact Laura Mannion at (708) 534-3145, or lmannion@govst.edu.


Guest Commentary: 'Things Are Different This Time.' H-F Residents Align On The Right Side Of History.

PRINTED IN THE HOMEWOOD-FLOSSMOOR CHRONICLE 6/20/20

Flossmoor Police Chief Tod Kamleiter was aghast at the video of George Floyd’s murder by Minneapolis Police.

“There isn’t a cop I know that could look at that and say it wasn’t wrong,” he said in an interview.

Still, the Flossmoor chief struggles to see any racial incentive behind former officer Derek Chauvin’s decision to kneel on Floyd’s neck for nearly nine minutes, three of which were beyond the moment he became visibly unconscious. 

For some Americans, the systemically racist piece of the police brutality puzzle remains elusive — cloaked in a mysticism that, apparently, only the most left-leaning factions of our communities can understand.

With this, it can be reasonably assumed that the June 7 protest from Patriots Park through the east side of Homewood was populated by more than a hundred members of a more historically informed Homewood-Flossmoor. 

Nineteen-year-old Declan Cawley, a Flossmoor resident, toted a sign emblazoned with “ACAB,” an acronym that has been popping up at protests across the nation.

“ACAB, ‘all cops are bad,’ stems from the fact that police institutions are inherently not there to protect people. They initially started from runaway slave patrols designed to protect property. Police are here to protect the ideals and wishes of the ruling class, not the rest of us,” the teenager explained.

Historian Sally Hadden unearths a similar finding. According to the website for the Law Enforcement Museum, Hadden writes that historically, police were the ones taxed with maintaining the status quo during the enslavement period: “The history of police work in the South grows out of this early fascination, by white patrollers, with what African American slaves were doing. Most law enforcement was, by definition, white patrolmen watching, catching or beating black slaves.”

Today, both local and national news coverage has amplified the rallying calls of peaceful protesters across the globe .

Like Cawley, young leaders of the Black Lives Matter movement are calling for widespread reform of a police force that they find terrorizes its citizens. In MassachusettsNew Jerseyand Minneapolis, citizens’ demands to defund and reform police are being met by policymakers.

While Cawley represented Generation Z’s look toward a reimagined tomorrow, older generations at the protest remained captivated by a nightmarish past.  

As residents exalted the names of slain Black children, parents and activists — loved ones whose lives mattered — former Homewood-Flossmoor High teacher Steve Altman used his voice to pull at the bloodied thread connecting present and past.

“Emmett Till!” Altman exclaimed. And then, “Fred Hampton!”

That Altman chose to speak these names gnaws at the part of us that is lulled back to sleep by propaganda and fiction. Many of us, possessed by fear and alleged powerlessness, seek comfort in the American narrative that unarmed Black men are killed by police due to their own ill doings. 

Alas, a 14-year-old Emmet Till, found brutalized beyond recognition after being falsely accused of whistling at a white woman in Mississippi in 1955, subverts this narrative of inherent criminality and guilt. When contrasted with the name of Black Panther Party leader Fred Hampton, assassinated by police while asleep in his Chicago home, a clearer historical picture emerges. 

Regardless of age or geographical region; regardless of child-like innocence or armed, political activism, Black people in this nation have been hunted by the state since its inception.

Conversely, the leader of our nation seems to lack historical awareness. 

Last month, as national protests swelled with disrupters, President Trump invoked the 1967 legacy of former Miami Police Chief Walter Headly, notorious for his violation of civil rights, with his tweet “When the looting starts, the shooting starts!”

Homewood resident Margaret Brady says it is the president's words that incite violence in the people, not the other way around.

Brady carried a sign on June 7 animated with a photo of President Trump, shrouded in her demand to “STOP BIGOTRY.”

“There is a direct line between his hatred and his vile, inflammatory bigotry and speech, and what we see happening today,” she said. "The awful wound of racism is being reopened and we are all, finally, after 400 years, feeling the pain of what we’ve done to others.”

Indeed, as the communities of our nation have glowed orange and red with fiery rage at the systematic refusal to protect American citizens and prosecute corrupt police, Homewood-Flossmoor residents have declared their official position: “Black Lives Matter.” 

But there was something more than heady talks of structural change at the June 7 protest that left residents feeling jubilant and hopeful. Their signs and spirits personified the dynamic humanity, creativity and brilliance erased by the institutions that may confine Black people, but shall never define us.  

H-F graduate Rachel Altman carried a sign with words from Maya Angelou’s 1969 poem, ‘Caged Bird’: “‘The caged bird sings with the fearful trill of things unknown, but longed for still. And his tune is heard on a distant hill, for the caged bird sings for freedom,’” Altman read. 

For her, Angelou’s freedom song is more relevant than ever. At this moment in history, Altman finds, the pursuit of freedom is not specific to those who have known the shackles of institutional enslavement. It is specific to those with a liberation of the mind.

“I read online that for change to come we need a critical mass, with more and more people being aware to create the solutions. This seems different than other times. People are really listening and learning. I’ve seen a lot of my friends, white friends, online sharing things they never knew before. They are reading, they are learning. There is always more for us to learn and know, but it seems different this time.” 

“I think this is awesome,” she said, taking in the scene of the Homewood protest. “It’s not just in the big cities. There are a hundred people out here, from all different backgrounds. This is something.” 

Schools More Resistant To De-Segregation Discipline Black Students Disproportionately Today, Researchers Find

Just as theologians and laymen alike have long theorized about a Godless hell, the road to the school-to-prison-pipeline is paved with “good intentions.” 

While research shows that the pipeline (SPP), slowly pushes students who face more severe school punishment -- typically Black, brown, low income and students living with disabilities -- out of the community and into the carceral system, Sociologist Aaron Kupchik finds that school agents of the pipeline may be acting unconsciously. 

“A big part of it is racial hostility,” the author of The Real School Safety Problem told Blavity. “I’m not accusing that of being explicitly on the mind of disciplinarians today, but it helped create decades of patterns of how schools respond. Schools that had more cases challenging desegregation, these sites of battle, have higher rates of suspension today, especially of Black students. There is something about the legacy of the resistance to desegregation that so many schools showed after the Brown v. Board of Education decision.”

Indeed, the landmark Brown V. Board of Education ruling would go on to become one of the thousands of defining moments in American society, with the 1954 decision that schools kept racially “separate but equal” were fundamentally unconstitutional. As a result, History reports, the Supreme Court ruled that Black children condemned to segregated schools were “deprived of the equal protection of the laws guaranteed by the 14th Amendment.”

But while Black children gained the right to access the better funded schools of their white peers, the issue of how they would be treated within the variegated schoolhouse walls was left up to educators’ discretion. And the consequences continue to pelt Black communities. 

Researchers at the Center for Civil Rights Remedies and the Research-to-Practice Collaborative, National Conference on Race and Gender Disparities in Discipline found that students in Florida students who were suspended in the ninth grade -- disproportionately Black, low income and disabled children -- were less likely to graduate on time and pursue higher education and more likely to drop out, deepening the academic achievement gap between white and non white students. When the reality that Black students also receive longer suspension sentences, the sociological picture grows especially bleak. 

The 2019 arrest of then-six-year-old Kaia Rolle captures the stranger-than-fiction results of persisting anti Black attitudes in U.S. schools. The former first grader, a local CBS station reported, was charged with battery after reportedly kicking school staff, and taken to a Florida juvenile detention center. In line with the demographics that researchers find are funneled into the SPP, CBS reported that the student was living with disabilities -- Rolle's grandmother told officers she suffered from sleep apnea and a sleep disorder. Neither her age nor her medical history deterred school authorities from seeing that the young child be handcuffed and taken to jail for her tantrum-- where, according to CBS, her grandmother learned that the child was fingerprinted and mug shot. 

Though the bizarre arrest of tiny Kaia Rolle may seem like an outlier in its severity, interdisciplinary leadership educator Marlon Cummings found similar extremes reflected in his studies of how rural schools and communities grapple with demographic shifts -- and how the failure to do so manifests in disproportionate school punishment.

“In the districts that have high populations of Black and Brown students, you obviously see the high rates of discipline, but what's interesting is even where students of color only make up 10 to 30, or an even lower percentage of the student population, they still tend to outpace other racial groups. Typically in Black boys, but in girls as well, detention, suspension, and expulsion rates are higher than the district average. In some cases, it’s so clear to see that you will have a school of 3,000 kids, of which 300 are Black, and when you look at the kids getting suspensions, 80% of them are Black kids. Like, how is that possible?”

As Cummings raises a pressing question, Kupchik answers another: just how do lower graduation and employment rates correlate with a higher likelihood of incarceration for suspended students of color?

“Several studies have found that students who get suspended are at a greater risk for all sorts of bad outcomes. That includes failure in school, which makes sense -- it also means these students are at greater risk of not graduating. Without a high school diploma, it's certainly much harder to get a job. You're kind of set up for financial instability,” the University of Delaware professor said. “You become known as a troublemaker, you're also at greater risk of committing misbehaviors down the road, so not only are people watching you more closely, you’re more likely to be committing negative behaviors. All of these together lead to greater problems down the road.”

Indeed, the evolution from childhood to incarceration often overlaps for children whom America’s educators deem less than worthy. And the transition is marked incrementally by the slew of societal consequences that follow the decision to push students of color out of the safe space that schools promise. The message sent to students, Kupchik finds, is that they do not belong in our society -- and, he says, students receive it loud and clear. He found that more than 10 years after facing severe school punishment, students are less likely to be civically engaged in their communities.

“I found that students who are suspended out of school are less likely to vote and volunteer in their community over 10 years later,” Kupchik explained. “My hypothesis is that when you get suspended out of school on a zero tolerance policy, it’s fundamentally undemocratic. These students learn that they have less of a voice in what’s going on around them, they're not being treated as partners in any educational process, they’re being treated as objects that are acted upon in a harsh way. That doesn't set people up for participating in their communities or in civic dialogue.”

While Kupchik and Cummings’ studies focus on public schools, the reality that severe school punishment disproportionately impacts Black children also draws the light towards charters -- institutions which are publicly funded, but unrestrained by the standards that govern conventional public schools, like licensed teachers, or an elected school board. What’s more, many charter school systems are built in low-income, high-minority communities -- the population most impacted by severe school punishments. 

The high performing Success Academy charter school in Brooklyn, New York, made national headlines in 2015, as a rumored “Got To Go” list, in which students who were apparently unfit for the school’s time and resources, was identified. The discovery raised questions surrounding what lengths the mostly Black and brown school was willing to go to to protect its high academic standing, the New York Times reported. Nine out of 16 of the students named on the list would end up leaving the school. 

Indeed, the issue of pushing children of color out of school is not bound by state lines. Parents of four of the students listed on the Brooklyn school’s “Got To Go” list cited disruptions like being asked to come pick up their students in the middle of the work day as part of their calculation to eventually withdraw their children from Success Academy -- a phenomenon Kupchik also found a thousand miles away.

“I interviewed a whole bunch of parents down in Alabama, whose children had been suspended repeatedly and some had been expelled from schools. These parents, most of whom were low income and worked low wage jobs. They don't get paid time off, and if they miss too much time, they would lose their jobs,” he said. 

Kupchik explains that for many parents, a suspension is just the first domino to fall in a series of obstacles thrown up by administrators. 

“Getting suspended means your parent has to first come to school to pick you up the day of suspension, then they have to supervise you, or risk that you are unsupervised at home. And then typically, repeated suspensions come with some type of hearing, or meeting with administrative staff, and then finally you have to accompany the student back to school when their suspension is over. All of these events happen -- and they are not scheduled in advance. I’ve talked to several parents who lost jobs because of having to pick kids up, and these are families who can't afford to lose jobs.”

Naturally, schools observing “zero tolerance” or “no excuses” policies stand at the center of the pipeline, as they penalize students for minor infractions, and create an atmosphere in which the student is routinely removed from the classroom. 

Kupchik remembers the story of one Alabama mother faced with the impossible choice of leaving her dying father's bedside, her disabled child without care, or going to save her teenage son from juvenile detention -- the school said she only had an hour and a half to make her choice. The infraction, Kupchik says, was minor -- a dress code violation or talking back to a teacher. 

But schools with the central aim of rigid discipline are not marketed for all of America’s students. The Century Foundation found that schools dolling out severe punishments often serve the low income students of color whom leadership believe need “an attitude adjustment.”

“Recently, there has been a trend toward “No-Excuses” pedagogy in an attempt to better educate low-income students,” The Century wrote. “This trend is—either consciously or implicitly—predicated on the notion that low-income students inherently need a different style of teaching to succeed.”

Regardless of racist intent -- suspensions don’t work. While Kupchik finds that schools with higher suspension rates also carry lower test scores than those with lower rates, Cummings explains that, like a mirror that never flatters nor demeans, children’s misbehavior is often a mere reflection of what’s been poured into them. 

“Kids can see through bullsh**t,” Cummings said. “They know when you really care about them, it looks like: ‘I’m expecting more from you, you can do this, I believe in you.’ You can go to the most hood or rural school and tell kids that they can be anything, give them opportunities, expose them to stuff, and those kids are successful, it doesn't matter where they come from. Whether it’s charter, public, suburban, it doesn’t matter -- the pipeline is out in the culture. If the kid is getting certain messages, they are going to go out and seek approval in other ways. And sometimes those ways are not always healthy -- they can lead to drugs, alcohol, or doing things that don't align with the best version of themselves. The person who runs a criminal enterprise could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. It all depends on the direction they were given.” 

 The Governor's State University professor adds that suspensions only serve to further isolate children while failing to redirect them towards more positive behavior. 

“Suspensions don’t do the work to repair the harm that’s done, it’s just ‘We’re going to send that kid away.’ I’ve had administrators tell me ‘I'm gone have three days of peace with that kid out.’ Instead, we should approach students from a very culturally responsive lens," Cummings told Blavity. "Understanding what's going on in their life, what may have triggered the misbehavior. And then using restorative justice is always a more positive way to go because the kid has to own up to what they did, you allow the person who is being victimized to tell their role in it, you have this opportunity to talk about what they could do differently, to learn to live in the same space together with someone who may feel wronged. When you suspend them, you’re just getting rid of them. These are kids. The roughest and toughest are still kids. When you talk to them, kids will let you know what’s going on with them. When you suspend them, you’re not solving a problem.”