It has been almost four days and I’m still experiencing restless sleep after reading Nikole Hannah-Jones’ essay in The New York Times, “In Fighting for Every Black Child, Did I Betray My Own?” Trained as an English teacher in New York City, I’m a Black woman who taught for 10 years at a school similar in all ways but one to the middle school where Hannah-Jones sent her daughter. Hannah-Jones’ bright, ambitious teenager accused her mother of intentionally sending her to “a bad school” when her class privilege could have bought better options.
I taught at a school founded by a white woman philanthropist who wanted to give students who lived north of 96th Street in Manhattan the “same” educational opportunities her own children had. Her privilege brought with it funding and resources that other schools in our district struggled to access. Although I taught mostly in the middle school, I joined my high school colleagues in boasting of our 100% high school graduation rate and 100% college acceptance rate. We knew we were doing great work. We also knew we were an exception to the many schools failing Black and brown students across all five boroughs.
We knew we were doing great work. We also knew we were an exception to the many schools failing Black and brown students across all five boroughs.
At the heart of Hannah-Jones’ essay is a mother with a long, distinguished history of writing about school segregation and how it operates, trying to articulate the deep, relentless and intentional segregation of New York City public schools — and who wanted to protect her daughter from the social isolation and racist microagressions she says she experienced when her parents sent her to an all-white school.
As her daughter’s middle school principal, Emily Paige, frames it: Segregation in New York City schools is a Venn diagram of race, class and ability. While Hannah-Jones agonized over the racial segregation she was trying to challenge with her choices, I reflected on how often teachers and parents applaud the majority-Black and -brown schools that triumph over racial (and, somewhat, class) segregation by leaning into the segregation of students by ability.
The truth of the matter is, my school was highly successful because we rarely accepted sixth graders who hadn’t gotten at least a 3 out of 4 on their state English and math tests. Yes, they could be “lower income.” And based on the school’s mission (and location), they most definitely would be either Black or Latinx. However, if they were to be selected into our elite, sacred halls of learning, they could not be too academically behind, too slow to catch up or indifferent to the great educational opportunity we were offering them.
Hannah-Jones sent her daughter, Najya, to one of the middle schools in the Urban Assembly network. The one thing that distinguishes Urban Assembly from the network that funded and supported the cohort of schools where I taught is that Urban Assembly does not screen students based on test scores. It serves the same population of families as my former school does. Najya had every right to feel betrayed by her mother’s decision to skirt the racial and class segregation and also to forgo the advantage of a school segregated by academic ability. Like all children, Najya wanted what was best for her. She wanted a mother who only thought of her.
What I hate for Najya is that she would probably have a different gripe if her mother had enrolled her in one of the considerable number of diverse schools that screen for students who are easier to teach. I’ve kept in touch with former students who have shared their struggles in some of the elite colleges we were so proud to get them into. Of course, they battled the social isolation and racism Hannah-Jones was trying to avoid for Najya. However, they also realized they had their own learning gaps and struggled to make up for them. While I was still teaching, I watched a few eighth graders take the specialized high school exam because they wanted “better.” Like Najya, they too questioned the quality of our selective school when they couldn’t successfully mount a hurdle designed to keep the “big 10” high schools the domain of the dwindling white, middle-class families wanting to uphold their liberal values by not forsaking “public” schools.
As a 16-year-old student now attending one of the city’s selective high schools, Najya believes her mother’s decision to live up to her own values robbed her of the education she wanted. As a 51-year-old woman who worked within that school system, I understand what Najya doesn’t: Black parents are presented with false “choices” from the start. Yes, they can buy their way into schools that owe their success to maintaining at least one of the three tiers of school segregation. However, the fact that so many Black parents are presented with such a rigid either-or decision only guarantees that Black girls who want a rigorous academic setting and a safe environment to foster their identity will never have the education they truly deserve.
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