First Person

Polls convinced me Hillary Clinton wouldn’t lose. As an education researcher, the result was a wake-up call

PHOTO: Creative Commons / Neon Tommy
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Like a lot of Americans, I watched the election returns in shocked disbelief. All of the major polls had offered me confidence in a Hillary Clinton victory.

But while I was surprised by the results, I should not have been. I study school segregation, and my research has taught me one thing over and over: numbers alone are not enough.

To get an accurate understanding of situations, qualitative researchers like me believe that we must talk to humans. We must be out in the field forming respectful relationships, conducting ethnography and in-depth interviews. This effort to understand people’s lives and circumstances, interactions, beliefs, and social processes is important so that researchers — often ensconced with like-minded individuals and within liberal cities and universities — don’t miss what is actually happening on the ground.

I’ve seen the importance of this time and again in my own work. When conducting research for my book, “Public Housing and School Choice in a Gentrified City,” I wanted to understand why some groups opted out of their neighborhood school while others did not. To do that, I had to be deeply embedded in the community, talking to people about their complicated feelings about race and class and schooling.

If I had conducted a survey with questions about parents’ desire for “diversity” in their children’s schools, the results would have been misleading at best, since people use that word in so many different ways.

As I work to understand school segregation, I’ve also seen how the constant reliance on test scores to describe schools can alter the schools themselves and affect people’s choices. I have found that while advantaged parents in gentrifying communities would like to send their children to schools with “good” test scores, they also do not want their children in schools that are explicitly test-centered. This puts administrators of schools that must improve test scores in a bind and can reduce opportunities for integration.

Yet in education, we continue to place great value in numbers to judge the quality of schools, teachers, and student learning. We discount other factors and make decisions about teacher tenure, merit pay, the creation of charter schools, and school closings based on these flawed measures. Parents leave cities, buy real estate in certain communities, and select schools based on numerical school rankings.

We do that because numbers are powerful in their ability to convince us that they represent the truth.

That’s what happened to me this election cycle, when the poll numbers lulled me into missing the whole story. My parents had reported to me that wealthy, well-educated friends from their country club in the swing-state of Ohio, where I grew up, were Trump supporters. I heard about large parts of North Carolina, Ohio, and Pennsylvania with nothing to see but Trump yard signs; of Catholic-educated, one-issue voters from my childhood parish choosing Trump; and of a friend whose black grandson and his roommates were for Trump, too.

I paid this no attention. The numbers were very clear.

I don’t share these anecdotes to imply that they were valid research findings. But they do remind me how much qualitative research, done in a systematic, neutral way, might have contributed to the conversation before the election.

Pollsters, pundits, and I placed too much value on numbers alone while discounting the nuanced feelings on the ground in parts of middle America. We failed to explore this dynamic and how it could result in a Trump victory.

We can’t lose sight of this truth as it connects to education research. We must do our best to create new ways to understand school, teacher, and student success that are not oversimplified or misleading, and then advocate for their use.

We also need to support the work that gets us there. In education research, grants are far more lucrative and jobs far more plentiful for those who use quantitative methods. That data, when used well, has real value. But qualitative research cannot be overlooked.

Qualitative data is often wrongly disparaged for its alleged subjectivity, lack of reliability, or its cost. I would argue that the over-reliance on quantitative data in this election proved incredibly costly. Let’s not make the same mistake in education.

Molly Vollman Makris is assistant professor of urban studies at CUNY’s Guttman Community College. She holds a doctorate in urban systems and is the author of “Public Housing and School Choice in a Gentrified City: Youth Experiences of Uneven Opportunity.”

First Person

‘I didn’t feel like I had anyone to ask for support’: Why it matters to have teachers who look like me

PHOTO: Alan Petersime

For 10 years — the first decade I was in school — all my teachers were white women.

As a Mexican-American kid, I didn’t get the chance to have a man of color as a teacher until high school. Going into my senior year, I like how diverse my teachers are now, but I wish I’d had the same experience when I was younger.

When I think about why it matters to have a teacher I can relate to, I think back to fifth grade. A classmate said to me, “Mexicans are illegal—they cross the border every day! How about you, did you cross the border?” This bothered me. So, after class, I asked the teacher for help. But all she said was, “That’s OK, he was just playing.” From there, I had nowhere to go. She was at the top of the food chain.

In 1990, before they met, my mother and father came over the border from Mexico. My mom’s parents weren’t making enough profit from their cattle ranch, so they had little choice but to immigrate. My mom came with them to the United States and worked at a restaurant so she could send money back home. My father followed his older brother here because he wanted to start a new life. Little did he know he would one day cross paths with my mother and eventually start a family.

But my classmate was “just playing” when he insulted all of this. I wish my teacher had done something else.

If I’d been the teacher, I would’ve taken a different approach and worked to understand why we were acting and responding the way we were. Maybe the other student and I could’ve found common ground. But, unfortunately, we never had a chance to try.

Up until ninth grade, I had zero male teachers of color. I didn’t feel like I had anyone to ask for support when things like the fifth-grade incident happened. Many of us students felt that way — and that’s why I want to be a teacher, a fifth-grade teacher in particular. I want to make my culture an asset in the classroom and be a teacher students feel comfortable confiding in, no matter their background.

A teacher’s perspective: Cut from the same cloth: Why it matters that black male teachers like me aren’t alone in our schools

In middle school, I started seeing more male educators, but they were all white. Then, when it came time for me to start high school, I ended up going to school in a different neighborhood — an hour commute away—and things finally changed for me. Since starting high school, I’ve had six male teachers of color, and it’s made a huge difference.

My high school makes a big deal out of the whole “building relationships” thing. To my teachers and everyone else at the school, relationships are just as important as academics. At first, it was hard to get used to, but eventually it started making sense to me. I’m in an all-male mentorship group led by two African-American men who openly share about their struggles growing up in New York, and give us advice in any area of life — including what it means to appreciate our cultures. This is one of the things I like most about my school.

It’s hard to explain the way it feels to have a teacher who looks like you; they’re like older brothers who become a huge part of our lives, even if it’s just for four years. They make it easier to connect and socialize and help me feel more like I belong. To me, learning from someone who reflects who you are is one of the best things a student can experience.

Near the end of the school year, my mentorship group did an activity where we took turns getting asked questions by other students and staff. One of the mentors asked me, “What’s it like being Mexican American and how has your background influenced your goals?” No one had ever asked me that before, and it took a long time for me to process the question.

After a few moments, I spoke a bit about my family’s story and shared some of the stereotypes I had encountered and how they affect me today. Everyone was so supportive, and the mentors encouraged me to continue breaking stereotypes and defining myself rather than letting others define me.

It was nerve-wracking at first, telling my story in that group, but after three years of high school, we’d developed that level of trust. It was the first time I’d shared my story with that many people at once, but it felt intimate and very different from the time in fifth grade when that kid tried to tell my story for me.

Finally having teachers that look like me has made a huge difference. They don’t just mentor me and help me with my academics, they also make my goal of becoming a teacher seem more realistic.

Having men of color I can look up to and model myself after is a big part of why I have no doubt I’ll make it to college — and eventually be able to give other kids the type of help my mentors have given me. I know where I’m needed, and that’s where I’m headed.

Jose Romero is a senior at EPIC High School North in Queens, New York. This piece originally appeared on the blog of TNTP, a national nonprofit and advocacy group that trains new teachers.

First Person

A Queens teacher on Charlottesville: ‘It can’t just be teachers of color’ offering lessons on race

PHOTO: Bob Mical/Creative Commons

In a few short weeks, school will resume in New York and I’m already thinking about how we are going to address racism within the four walls of my classroom. I’m thinking about what texts, historical and current, we can read and films and documentaries we can watch to support dialogue, questioning, and solutions for combatting that ugly, pervasive thread in the fabric of our country’s patchwork quilt called racism.

Last year we read “Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass,” a former slave turned abolitionist, and juxtaposed its reading with a viewing of Ava DuVernay’s documentary “13th,” which discusses modern-day slavery in the guise of mass incarceration. Students asked questions of the documentary as they watched it and discussed those queries within their groups and with the class at large afterwards.

We do our children and ourselves a disservice when we don’t have these difficult conversations as a part of our collective curriculums. However, many teachers from various walks of life are neither well-versed nor fully comfortable discussing race on any level with their students. Not talking about racism won’t make it go away. If anything, not talking about racism in the classroom further perpetuates racist ideologies that are, at their root, born out of ignorance. Education’s goal is to dispel ignorance and replace it with truth.

With that being said, just how many teachers feel equipped to facilitate lessons that touch heavily upon race in the classroom? Not nearly enough.

According to Teaching Tolerance, “The dialogue about race should start in the classroom — the teacher-prep classroom, that is. Preservice teachers should be exploring multiculturalism and discussing ways to honor diversity in their future classrooms.”

But often, Hilton Kelly, a professor of education at Davidson College in North Carolina told the site, the coursework isn’t giving future teachers the training they need to talk about race. “Even when future teachers take courses on diversity and multiculturalism,” Kelly said, “those courses don’t take the critical approach to race that future teachers truly need.”

“Food, folklore and festivals are not the same as an analysis of race in America,” Kelly argued.

But an analysis of race in America is exactly what needs to happen. Furthermore, it can’t just be teachers of color solely facilitating such lessons in their classrooms.

I don’t want to write about the events going on in Virginia. I don’t want to think about it. I’m so tired of the hatred and I long for peace, but I can’t very well in good conscience remain silent. That would be akin to protesting with those hate-mongers in Virginia last weekend. I can’t just write about back-to-school shopping, lesson planning, and business-as-usual while my brothers and sisters in Virginia are being murdered in cold blood by white supremacist American Nazis.

Are the children of Virginia safe? Are our children anywhere safe? What can I do to make a difference within the hearts and minds of the children whom I teach? If education is our best vehicle for bringing about change — which it is— how am I going to infuse the lessons I teach with critical thinking and analysis about racism in the United States for the seventh-graders entrusted in my care? How are other educators planning to address these events with their students at every grade-level?

I pose these questions to all who are reading. Whether you are a teacher, a student, a parent, an administrator, or a community member, I plead with you to work together to create answers that work toward healthy conversations and hands-on action in the fight against racism.

Vivett Dukes is a teacher at Queens Collegiate: A College Board School. A version of this post first appeared on New York School Talk