Bradford: Black Lives Matter and Black Education Matters Because Freedom Matters. Only When Black Folks Are Safe to Both Learn and Live Will America Be Free
Discussing the killing of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer has proven challenging, but that hasn’t stopped numerous people from wanting to engage in conversations about it with me. These conversations have varied in their rawness and content. Some of my white friends and colleagues have provided detailed descriptions of the violent incident, expressing newfound clarity and intensity. They depict Officer Derek Chauvin’s facial expression as that of a man who understood he had the power to end George Floyd’s life without consequence. Another person shared that in his final moments, Floyd desperately called out for his mother. In the subsequent turmoil that unfolded in Minneapolis, the head of the Police Officers Federation of Minneapolis argued that Chauvin and the other officers had been denied due process upon their firings. It is worth noting that Floyd himself was denied due process when one individual took it upon himself to act as judge, jury, and executioner for the alleged crime of using a counterfeit $20 bill.
Watching this event unfold is distressing, particularly as a Black person. I often quip to my friends, using humor as a coping mechanism, that Black lives matter and my own Black life matters a great deal to me. While this usually elicits nervous laughter, it also sparks moments of enlightenment. The most impactful humor often carries a painful truth. Nevertheless, the weight of this reflection on existence, and the fact that I have been allowed to exist, is a constant presence. Its anguish is an incessant droning that cannot be ignored.
Examining the past can offer valuable insights when attempting to understand the present. As protests erupted across America, memories of a party I attended as a high school senior resurfaced. I was one of only two Black students in my class, residing in the city while my friends lived in the suburbs. Without access to a car, I relied on others to pick me up if I wanted to go anywhere beyond the confines of a bus route. I was impoverished, while my classmates were affluent. Arriving at a half-constructed house located on the outskirts of a tree-lined street, I found myself amidst a crowd of numerous people. The varsity jackets displayed an array of rival colors, illuminated against the backdrop of golden beer and the flickering of yellow flames from cigarette lighters. Seeking some respite, I grabbed a beer. Approximately an hour later, the piercing lights of a police car pierced the darkness, spotlighting each of us. A concerned neighbor had reported the party to the local police. One of the boys present informed the officer that the house belonged to his family, which appeared sufficient to placate law enforcement. The party promptly came to an end. The police watched us disperse before departing themselves. Slumped in the backseat of my friend’s car, I pondered how, if a similar gathering had involved a group of Black kids in West Baltimore, the police response and the outcome would likely have been vastly different.
That party was a night of firsts for me. It marked the first time I heard one of my classmates casually utter the racial slur "nigger" with an unmistakable disdain for Black individuals, myself included. I confronted him that evening, but I felt as though I was the one forever scarred by the experience. I was so consumed by anger and frustration that I can no longer recall exactly what I said to him. It also served as my initial realization that education and law enforcement are not entirely separate entities but instead exist on a continuum. Moreover, race plays a crucial role in shaping their interactions with one another.
Considering the intertwined nature of race, education, and policing, it becomes impossible to ignore how these factors contribute to the progression or deterioration of our nation’s children, particularly Black children, throughout my adult life. These connections do not arise out of convenience or opportunism; they stem from a lifetime of observation. At this moment in time, the convergence of these issues is glaringly evident. Black Lives Matter activists assert that until Black lives truly matter, the significance of all lives cannot be realized. This call to action necessitates a critical examination of policing in Black communities and the treatment of Black individuals. It demands policies that acknowledge the distinctiveness and particular circumstances of these communities, encompassing their expectations, hopes, and fears. Above all, it requires empathy and a deep respect for every Black person’s right to exist freely and equally. Attempting to solve the problem of Black lives with a blanket solution for all lives is inherently flawed. Just as the party at the half-constructed house called for a different, empathetic standard, addressing the specific history and circumstances of Black people necessitates a unique approach. This empathy is paramount – an empathy that was painfully absent in the actions of George Floyd’s killer.
As the only group in the history of this nation who have experienced both physical enslavement and intellectual deprivation, not just due to personal feelings or economic factors, but as a result of public policies, any solution that requires Black people to make sacrifices will not be effective for Black people. Policies that uphold discriminatory school assignment zones or funding arrangements will never meet this standard. Directives that continue the racist practice of redlining under the guise of neighborhood schools will not meet this high standard. Orders that dictate where children should go to school rather than helping them find the school that best suits their needs will not meet this standard. What works for others cannot be used as the basis for determining what works for Black families. Similar to the public discourse about the police, which has entered new territory, the education system also requires a completely fresh approach for Black individuals.
It is common to believe that meaningful change is impossible in problems that are large and deeply rooted in race. However, when it comes to education, this is not the case, and in fact, change has already begun. There are families, educators, and various schools across the country that acknowledge the history of Black people in the United States and are working towards closing the gap between the quality of education Black children receive and our expectation that education should enable individuals to become the best version of themselves, with equal opportunities for a future that exceeds the achievements of previous generations. It is now time to look to these examples and learn from them.
However, if you subscribe to the "one size fits all" view of education advocated by many predominantly white schooling supporters and policy experts, you might believe that schools like these do not exist, just as every Black man who loses his life to police brutality is presumed guilty until proven innocent. The fact that there are not more institutions like these is a deliberate policy choice, similar to the concept of qualified immunity. In both cases, there is a choice to support or hinder progress, knowing that lives are being paid as a cost. While a reckless police officer can abruptly end a life, a subpar education condemns a person to a lifetime of not truly experiencing a fulfilling life.
The narrative of Black people is intertwined with the ongoing struggle of our country to uphold its founding principles. Black lives matter, and Black education matters, because the freedom of everyone is at stake. Only when Black individuals can exist in an environment that allows them to learn and live without fear will all Americans truly be free.
Derrell Bradford serves as the executive director of the New York Campaign for Achievement Now (NYCAN).
