Teaching While Black (TWB)
Note to Readers: Courageous Conversation protocols are used in this reflection.
By Don Allen (Journal of A Black Teacher) REAL-LIFE FICTION
In my second year teaching 7th-grade English to a predominantly Black middle school, I was making a difference. My classroom hummed with purpose as students turned ideas into action. They put out a monthly newspaper filled with their voice, stories, and dreams. We organized clothing drives to give back to the community, teaching the value of service and empathy. They knew their voices counted, not just with me but with the middle school. Many of them, for the first time, felt seen.
By the end of that year, I was asked to move up with my students to teach 8th-grade English. The decision of the administration felt like a validation of the relational trust and curricular rigor I had established. However, the optimism I carried into my new role was quickly tempered when a new White teacher took over my 7th-grade classroom.
Fresh out of a special education program, this teacher came in with her own sense of what "real teaching" looked like. She started immediately dismantling the systems and practices that had worked so beautifully without consulting me or understanding the foundation I had laid. The monthly newspaper? Gone. The focus on community engagement? Replaced with a narrow, standardized approach. Worse, she started telling students explicitly or implicitly that what they had learned with me was wrong or irrelevant. Confused and disheartened, students shared snippets of these remarks with me. "She said we don't need to write like that," one told me. "She said the newspaper wasn't real work," said another.
That, however, was more than a difference in teaching philosophy- it was a microcosm for the much larger systemic issues facing black educators. Black teachers were traditionally perceived as less capable and rigorous, less deserving of professional respect. This was one more mindset stemming from racism, yet it persists today through both overt and covert mechanisms.
As Mohammond Cruz so aptly writes in his book Time for Change, Professional Learning Communities are designed to foster a deep understanding of new teachers concerning classroom dynamics while continuing from established practices. Cruz warned that without explicit equity work, PLCs could just as easily become playgrounds for reinforcing biases rather than dismantling them. "New teachers," he notes, "should be guided to see their role as building on the expertise of their colleagues, not erasing it." The failure to do so in my school—a failure to address the racial biases that shaped this new teacher's approach—was not just a disservice to me but to the students who were caught in the crossfire.
This phenomenon is not new. The historical erasure of Black educators can be traced back to the desegregation of schools following Brown v. Board of Education. While the decision was a legal and moral victory, it led to the mass displacement of Black teachers and administrators as White-led districts consolidated power. As The New York Times noted in a 2019 article, "Between 1954 and 1965, an estimated 38,000 Black teachers and administrators lost their jobs in 17 states." This loss reverberates today, where Black teachers make up only about 7% of the U.S. teaching force.
My experience was no different from this historical pattern. With multiple degrees and a great deal of training, my qualifications were implicitly called into question. It wasn't just the new teacher who thought less of me; the greater school culture did nothing to prevent such biases from continuing unchecked. Instead of taking the problem head-on, administrators dismissed it as a misunderstanding. This lack of acknowledgment and confrontation of racial bias perpetuated the inequity.
The impact on my students was palpable. They had learned to take pride in their work to see themselves as leaders and thinkers. When their accomplishments were dismissed, it sent a clear and painful message: their voices didn’t matter as much under a White teacher’s watch. For some, it deepened their distrust of the education system. For others, it was just another reminder of the barriers they would face throughout their lives.
But it is not my story; it belongs to a much bigger narrative that is still being written. In her book, published in 2020 and entitled We Want to Do More Than Survive, Dr. Bettina Love issues an impassioned plea to educators for abolitionist teaching rooted in equity and justice. "Black teachers," she writes, "have always known the transformative power of education, but they have also known its weaponization." My classroom was a place of transformation; the new teacher's approach was an example of weaponization.
Moving forward, anti-racist training and mentorship need to be front and center in schools for incoming teachers, particularly in diverse settings. PLCs could play an instrumental role, but only if organized through the principles of equity. As Cruz says, "PLCs must be spaces where power dynamics are unpacked and where the expertise of teachers of color is not only valued but centered." Anything less, and we are perpetuating the cycle.
I remained in the school for several more years, continuing to fight for my students and for systemic change. But the experience has left a scar—not only for me but for the very community I served. It stands as a reminder that even as individual teachers make a difference, true change requires collective, institutional action. Until schools face the biases that undermine Black educators, stories like mine will continue to unfold.
In my second year teaching 7th-grade English to a predominantly Black middle school, I was making a difference. My classroom hummed with purpose as students turned ideas into action. They put out a monthly newspaper filled with their voice, stories, and dreams. We organized clothing drives to give back to the community, teaching the value of service and empathy. They knew their voices counted, not just with me but with the middle school. Many of them, for the first time, felt seen.
By the end of that year, I was asked to move up with my students to teach 8th-grade English. The decision of the administration felt like a validation of the relational trust and curricular rigor I had established. However, the optimism I carried into my new role was quickly tempered when a new White teacher took over my 7th-grade classroom.
Fresh out of a special education program, this teacher came in with her own sense of what "real teaching" looked like. She started immediately dismantling the systems and practices that had worked so beautifully without consulting me or understanding the foundation I had laid. The monthly newspaper? Gone. The focus on community engagement? Replaced with a narrow, standardized approach. Worse, she started telling students explicitly or implicitly that what they had learned with me was wrong or irrelevant. Confused and disheartened, students shared snippets of these remarks with me. "She said we don't need to write like that," one told me. "She said the newspaper wasn't real work," said another.
That, however, was more than a difference in teaching philosophy- it was a microcosm for the much larger systemic issues facing black educators. Black teachers were traditionally perceived as less capable and rigorous, less deserving of professional respect. This was one more mindset stemming from racism, yet it persists today through both overt and covert mechanisms.
As Mohammond Cruz so aptly writes in his book Time for Change, Professional Learning Communities are designed to foster a deep understanding of new teachers concerning classroom dynamics while continuing from established practices. Cruz warned that without explicit equity work, PLCs could just as easily become playgrounds for reinforcing biases rather than dismantling them. "New teachers," he notes, "should be guided to see their role as building on the expertise of their colleagues, not erasing it." The failure to do so in my school—a failure to address the racial biases that shaped this new teacher's approach—was not just a disservice to me but to the students who were caught in the crossfire.
This phenomenon is not new. The historical erasure of Black educators can be traced back to the desegregation of schools following Brown v. Board of Education. While the decision was a legal and moral victory, it led to the mass displacement of Black teachers and administrators as White-led districts consolidated power. As The New York Times noted in a 2019 article, "Between 1954 and 1965, an estimated 38,000 Black teachers and administrators lost their jobs in 17 states." This loss reverberates today, where Black teachers make up only about 7% of the U.S. teaching force.
My experience was no different from this historical pattern. With multiple degrees and a great deal of training, my qualifications were implicitly called into question. It wasn't just the new teacher who thought less of me; the greater school culture did nothing to prevent such biases from continuing unchecked. Instead of taking the problem head-on, administrators dismissed it as a misunderstanding. This lack of acknowledgment and confrontation of racial bias perpetuated the inequity.
The impact on my students was palpable. They had learned to take pride in their work to see themselves as leaders and thinkers. When their accomplishments were dismissed, it sent a clear and painful message: their voices didn’t matter as much under a White teacher’s watch. For some, it deepened their distrust of the education system. For others, it was just another reminder of the barriers they would face throughout their lives.
But it is not my story; it belongs to a much bigger narrative that is still being written. In her book, published in 2020 and entitled We Want to Do More Than Survive, Dr. Bettina Love issues an impassioned plea to educators for abolitionist teaching rooted in equity and justice. "Black teachers," she writes, "have always known the transformative power of education, but they have also known its weaponization." My classroom was a place of transformation; the new teacher's approach was an example of weaponization.
Moving forward, anti-racist training and mentorship need to be front and center in schools for incoming teachers, particularly in diverse settings. PLCs could play an instrumental role, but only if organized through the principles of equity. As Cruz says, "PLCs must be spaces where power dynamics are unpacked and where the expertise of teachers of color is not only valued but centered." Anything less, and we are perpetuating the cycle.
I remained in the school for several more years, continuing to fight for my students and for systemic change. But the experience has left a scar—not only for me but for the very community I served. It stands as a reminder that even as individual teachers make a difference, true change requires collective, institutional action. Until schools face the biases that undermine Black educators, stories like mine will continue to unfold.
I can’t wait until you get your own building.
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