First Person

‘So there I was, figuring it out myself’: A Brooklyn teen on why the city’s specialized high school prep wasn’t enough

PHOTO: Teens Take Charge
The author at an event organized by Teens Take charge.

Stuyvesant High School once loomed large for high school senior Hiba Hanoune.

The school is one of New York City’s specialized high schools, long considered crown jewels of the city’s education system. The schools also look very different than the city, with just 11 percent of admissions offers for next year’s freshman class going to black and Hispanic students.

Under Mayor Bill de Blasio, the city has taken some steps diversify those student bodies, including expanding programs that provide students with test prep. The numbers haven’t budged, though.

In front of a standing-room crowd at the Brooklyn Public Library, Hanoune recently shared her less-than-ideal experience with the city’s DREAM program, which is supposed to help students prepare for the specialized high school exam — and explained how she eventually created a successful high school experience without Stuyvesant. The event was organized by Teens Take Charge, a group of students who advocate for changes in the school system.

In the time since Hanoune took the specialized high school admissions test, the city has changed the exam in an attempt to align it more closely with what eighth-grade students are expected to learn in class. The scrambled paragraphs that Hanoune encountered, for example, are gone. But advocates question whether the test has really changed in meaningful ways.

Here’s an expanded version of what Hanoune had to say.

It was September of 2014. There I was, the salutatorian of my graduating eighth-grade class, preparing myself for admission to my dream school, Stuyvesant High School. Stuyvesant was that one school that was going to help support me and set a springboard for my future endeavors.

My family wasn’t well off financially. Often times, we struggled and there was constant worry over whether we had food in the fridge or we had school supplies. I wasn’t expecting to enroll in a Kaplan or a Princeton Review course like my fellow affluent classmates. Nevertheless, I persisted. I sought out a free program that’s funded by the Department of Education called DREAM. Upon hearing the name of the program, I knew this was my chance to really meet my goal. I was one step closer to Stuyvesant.

Every Saturday morning, I would take a two-hour train ride to the site where the program was held. My excitement and eagerness faded upon finding out that my course was set in a dilapidated building, and my so-called instructor didn’t seem like she was there for the purpose of instructing but rather for the paycheck. We were given a workbook and told to start on page 2. I distinctly remember inquiring to my instructor about a problem in the workbook, and as a response, my book was thrown back and I was told to figure it out myself.

So there I was, figuring it out myself. I remember just copying off of my classmates because I didn’t want to hand in a blank workbook. We would have about 30 minutes of instruction; it was very minimal. The instructor just basically reiterated everything that was in the textbook.

After that first summer in DREAM, I was transferred to another site, where the instructors were better. But I quickly found that I couldn’t keep up with my classmates. The instructor just completely ignored the fact that some people were lagging. English was my stronghold so I did pretty well, but when it came time for math instruction I felt like she was just speeding through.

When we took practice tests, I would get discouraged by my low scores. My DREAM classmates went to more prestigious middle schools — screened middle schools that select their students based on their grades and test scores. When I tried to apply to a screened middle school, my immigrant parents discouraged me. They just weren’t very aware of the middle school process and worried about me leaving our neighborhood.

October rolls in. I show up to the test with two sharpened No. 2 pencils and little-to-no knowledge or practice for the test. I remember the morning of the test, my dad drove me to Dunkin’ Donuts and told me, ‘You got this.’ I sat down, and when I got to the first section, there was a scrambled paragraph. I thought, ‘Oh no.’ That feeling didn’t budge as I noticed that other kids were speeding through their questions.

November, December, January, February, March. Results day.

I opened my letter to find out my score amounted to nothing in comparison to my classmates. As classmates shouted that they’d been accepted to Staten Island Tech, or Bronx Science, my letter revealed that I was matched to my zoned high school. There I was, the salutatorian, matched to the zoned program.

My dad had all the confidence that I would get accepted to a specialized high school, so I only applied to my neighborhood high school. I think that reflected my parents’ lack of knowledge around the issue.

Although I didn’t get accepted to a specialized high school, I constantly told myself, ‘You can make it anywhere. You just have to make use of what’s available.’ I joined activities that interested me and stimulated critical thinking including mock trial, Model United Nations, and moot court — a law competition.

In my high school, there is a major, major disparity. There is an honors academy, which I attend, and a zoned program. Honors students have first priority to take honors classes and also have access to Advanced Placement classes. In the honors program, I feel challenged and stimulated. It has been very rewarding, but I don’t think it’s fair that some of my peers don’t have access to those classes just because some test scores or grades from their middle school years mean they don’t qualify.

This fall, I will be heading to Columbia University to study human rights. Attending Columbia was just a dream that I didn’t think was attainable until I got my acceptance letter.

The specialized high school exam tests material that would not be known to your average eighth-grader — unless a prep course was taken. Yes, the specialized high school test is race-blind. Yes, the specialized high school test is bias-blind. But we cannot forget that only 10 percent of students who make up these schools are black or Latino. The dichotomy speaks for itself. Something must be wrong.

This barricades financially disadvantaged students’ opportunities to attend an elite high school. Claiming that the test is not biased sounds like an absolutely valid justification for keeping it in place. But the test actually subjugates thousands of qualified students simply because of their lack of resources and for reasons beyond their control. One test is not and should not be the determining factor of one’s success.

Hiba Hanoune is a senior at Fort Hamilton High School in Brooklyn. 

First Person

I’ve spent years fighting for integrated schools in New York City. I’m also Asian-American. Mayor de Blasio, let’s talk.

PHOTO: Christina Veiga
Parents weigh in on a proposal to integrate District 2 middle schools by making them enroll students with a range of academic abilities earlier this year.

Dear Mayor de Blasio and Chancellor Carranza,

I write as a school integration advocate, racial justice activist, public school mother, and a first-generation Japanese-American.

I have spent years working with other parents to make New York City’s public school system more equitable, facilitating conversations on school integration as a means to dismantle racism in our society. I believe it is past time we address the segregation in New York City public schools, and I agree that something must be done with the specialized high schools — which currently admit few black and Latinx students — as part of this work.

However, I am concerned about how you’ve rolled out this proposal without including the people it will affect.

As opposition mounts and the Asian communities across the city mobilize against your plan, I wanted to share some thoughts so that you are better prepared to create a meaningful dialogue on perhaps the most complex part of the school integration work.

I would like to ask three things from you. One is to please see us Asian New Yorkers for who we are.

There is no question that Asians have been (and many still are) marginalized and disempowered. If one learns the history of Asians in the U.S., she understands that our past is filled with violence and struggles. Our history is steeped in discriminatory policies at federal and local levels, including the Chinese Exclusion Act and Japanese internment. We were only given the “model minority” status because doing so was convenient for domestic and international politics.

We are also a very diverse group of people, representing more than four dozen countries. This fact alone makes it very difficult to make any general statements about us.

That doesn’t mean, though, that we should be ignored in this conversation or inaccurately lumped in with whites. High average test scores do not automatically equal privilege, and they are certainly no match for white supremacy — a concept many self-proclaimed “non-racists” are unable to recognize. This lack of understanding makes it nearly impossible to identify Asians as oppressed people of color.

The second thing I ask is to bring all of us – whites, blacks, Latinx, and Asians (East, South, and Southeast Asians) – together to develop solutions to integrate our schools.

The unfortunate fact is that our city is not typically equipped to have productive conversations about race and racism. And if racism of white against black/Latinx is difficult to grasp for some, understanding how Asians fit into this discourse is even harder.

Our position is so complicated, even racial justice activists – including Asians themselves – often do not know how to talk about us. When we are not ignored, we are perceived as “outsiders,” even if this is the only country some of us know.

But there is no reason we can’t work together. History tells us that Asians have been fighting for civil rights alongside black and Latinx people for decades, even after the white system began using us as pawns. Even in the highly contentious affirmative action arena, in which some Asians have been co-opted by white anti-affirmative action groups, many Asians remain in favor of affirmative action and are continuing to fight for equity for all people of color.

Finally, to make that work, I ask that you adopt a “bottom up and top down” approach, in which community conversations and shared decision-making happen under your leadership. Such a framework has been proposed by a group of advocates, including students.

The Department of Education has already hosted a series of town halls to solicit ideas on diversifying our schools, and has done a good job of getting people to come out. However, on this proposal for the specialized high schools, there was no consultation with affected communities, including students.

Let’s practice what we preach and have an inclusive, participatory process. Let’s not ignore the Asian community when we talk about school integration, and let’s specifically include Asian voices — parents and students — in this discussion about specialized schools and all schools. Let’s have real conversations aimed at uniting those who have been marginalized, not dividing them. And let’s explain how these decisions will be made and why.

This is an opportunity to start a conversation that should have happened when Brown v. Board of Education was decided 64 years ago, and to create more equitable, integrated schools. Let’s make sure we do it right.

Shino Tanikawa is the vice president of District 2’s Community Education Council and a school integration advocate.

First Person

If teachers aren’t equipped to help trauma victims, students suffer. Learn from my story.

PHOTO: Anthony Lanzilote

It took one of my kindergarten students, Andrew, to help me figure out how to handle my toughest teaching challenge.

My classroom wall was full of pictures that Andrew had drawn for me. He often greeted me at the door with a smile. But Andrew would also scream, act out, and even hurt himself in my class.

For quite some time, I thought that if I could find a different way to ask him to get back on task, maybe he would not become so aggressive, not bang his head on the floor. But regardless of how tactfully I approached keeping him engaged or redirected his behavior, Andrew would implode. And with little to no support, I quickly grew weary and helpless.

Eventually, I did learn how to help students like Andrew. I also eventually realized that when you teach students who have been impacted by trauma, you have to balance ownership and the reality that you cannot solve every problem. But the trial and error that it took to reach that point as a teacher was exhausting.

I hope we, as a profession, can do better for new Memphis teachers. In the meantime, maybe you can learn from my story.

I grew up in a trauma-filled household, where I learned to mask my hurt and behave like a “good girl” to not bring attention to myself. It wasn’t until a high school teacher noticed how hard I flinched at being touched and privately expressed concerns that I got help. After extensive investigations and professional support, I was on the road to recovery.

When I became a teacher myself, and met Andrew and many students like him, I began to see myself within these children. But that didn’t mean I knew how to reach them or best help them learn. All I knew to do when a child was misbehaving was to separate them from the rest of the classroom. I didn’t have the training to see past a student’s bad behavior and help them cope with their feelings.

It took a while to learn not to internalize Andrew’s attacks, even when they became physical. No matter what Andrew did, each day we started over. Each day was a new opportunity to do something better, learn from a mistake, or work on developing a stronger bond.

I learned to never discipline when I am upset and found success charting “trigger behaviors,” using them to anticipate outbursts and cut down on negative behaviors.

Over time, I learned that almost all students are more receptive when they feel they have a real relationship with the teacher. Still, each case must be treated differently. One student may benefit from gentle reminders, private conversations, or “social stories” that underscore the moral of a situation. Another student may respond to firm consequences, consistent routines, or reflection journals.

Still other students sit in our classrooms each and every day and are overlooked due to their mild-mannered demeanor or their “cooperativeness.” My childhood experiences made me aware of how students mask trauma in ways very unlike Andrew. They also made me realize how imperative it is for teachers to know that overachieving students can need just as much help as a child that physically acts out.

I keep a watchful eye on students that are chronically fatigued or overly sensitive to noise or touch, jumping for minor reasons. I encourage teachers to pay close attention to students that have intense hygiene issues, as their incontinence could be acting as a defense mechanism, and I never ignore a child who is chronically withdrawn from their peers or acting out of character.

All of this took time in the classroom and effort processing my own experiences as a student with trauma. However, many teachers in Memphis aren’t coming from a similar background and haven’t been trained to see past a student’s disruptive behavior.

It’s time to change the way we support teachers and give educators intense trauma training. Often, compassionate teachers want to help students but don’t know how. Good training would help educators develop the skills they need to reach students and to take care of themselves, since working with students that have been impacted by trauma can be incredibly taxing.

Trial and error aren’t enough: If teachers are not equipped to help trauma victims, the quality of students’ education will suffer.

Candace Hines teaches kindergarten for the Achievement School District, and previously taught kindergarten for six years with Shelby County Schools. She also is an EdReports content reviewer and a coach and facilitator for Teach Plus Memphis. Hines serves as a fellow for Collaborative for Student Success and a Hope Street Group Tennessee Teacher Fellow.