Teachers College "One Listen" Event

Champion or Bystander --
Dr. Bernard Gassaway

Good evening, President Furman, faculty, staff, students, and guests. I want to thank Chelsey and Paula for inviting me to offer remarks in this One Listen event.

I have decided to frame my remarks on Proverbs 38:1: “Speak up for those who have no voice, for the justice of all who are dispossessed.”

Please ponder this question: Are You a Champion?

Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines a champion as “someone who fights or speaks publicly in support of a person, belief, or cause”;  “a militant advocate or defender”; and “one that does battle for another's rights or honor.”

While I agree with these definitions, I would add that champions create cultures of care and do not remain silent when they see injustice. To paraphrase the MTA slogan, if champions see something, they do something. Champions understand that silence is betrayal. They understand what Bill Ayers said about teaching, “Teaching has always been, for me, linked to issues of social justice. I've never considered it a neutral or passive profession.”

Were it not for champions in my life, I would not be speaking before you this evening.

As an elementary school student, I do not remember having a champion, other than my mother. I remember being suspended frequently from school for fighting or insubordination.

As a middle school student, my teacher Mr. Liebowitz was my champion. He made it possible for me to return to school even after I was arrested for an incident that had occurred outside of school. I was guilty of taking a quarter from another student. For this, I was arrested, and the police took a Polaroid picture of me and placed it on the bulletin board under a sign that read “Gang Members”—even though I was not in a gang.

In high school, my English teacher Ms. Kleinstein believed that even students who were classified as at-risk could learn to read Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth. Through her care and compassion, she concentrated on convincing me that I could go to college and be successful even when I did not see or believe in my own potential, similar to Jonathan in the Podcast Three Miles.

In college, Mr. Carl Thomas, director of HEOP at LeMoyne College, was my champion. He helped me to understand that I did belong at a Jesuit Institution, even though I was neither White nor catholic.

My college career almost ended as soon as it began. One day in my freshman English class, the professor said the one word that I never wanted to hear him say: Bernard. You see, he called on me to read aloud. Because I was aware that my education up to that point had been inferior, I was horrified to participate, particularly because I felt like an outsider among all of my Caucasian classmates. This was probably not unlike how the students of University Heights felt when they visited Fieldston. After the professor called my name, my hands trembled, and my knees knocked. In the middle of reading a passage, I made a mistake. Instead of saying “diaphragm,” I said, “diagram.” As if on cue, the entire class began to laugh, even the professor. I felt so small. This confirmed that I was not supposed to be there. I knew daily, consciously and subconsciously, that I was the only black student in most of my classes. Instead of reacting violently, as I would have two years prior, I decided to use this experience to work harder. I had something to prove. This was truly a defining moment for me.

Though I considered myself a champion for children, I have learned that even champions need champions.

In 2007, I became a doctoral student at Teachers College (TC). While 95% of my experiences here were positive, I do remember feeling a little intimidated in certain environments within TC. This is ironic because I worked and lived in some of the toughest neighborhood in New York City. I recall one specific time when I needed to have a form signed—such a simple task. I walked into an office to ask two individuals for help, and they literally berated me. I apparently had unknowingly not followed the established protocol. Fortunately for me, I had a champion at TC. My champion (now my friend) was Ellie Drago-Severson. From the first day of her class, I knew she was caring, compassionate, competent, and very demanding. When I explained to Ellie what I experienced, she did what champions do. She did something! I will leave it at this: I did get the form signed, and I went on to earn my doctorate on May 20, 2015.

As I reflect on the podcast, I wonder if Melanie had any champions at University Heights?

Principal

In 1997, I became the first African American principal at Beach Channel High School, in Queens, NY. One day during my fourth year, a student accused a teacher of hitting him. I filed the obligatory report to the Office of Special Investigation. They asked me to investigate the case and submit my findings. I decided to refuse the case and have them investigate it instead. I also insisted that the teacher be removed pending the outcome of the investigation. They complied with my request.  After nearly two months, they completed their investigation and found the charges of corporal punishment were substantiated. The superintendent then made the decision to allow the teacher to return to the school. I met with the superintendent and the deputy legal counsel for the department of education. I demanded that this teacher not be returned to Beach Channel. In fact, I DID NOT understand why they had NOT terminated the teacher. As they persisted, I informed them if they returned the teacher to my school, I would resign on the spot. They decided not to return the teacher to Beach Channel. It was extremely important for me not to just say something but be prepared to do something.

Sometime in 2010, now principal of Boys and Girls High School, as was my practice, I was welcoming students’ each morning as they entered the school. On this particular morning, a student appeared to be distraught. As she entered the building, she began to cry. I called for our school social worker. Moments later, I went to check on the student. The social worker said that we needed to send her home; she had woken up this morning and found her mother dead. She still somehow got dressed and came to school. I was dumbfounded—why would the social worker want to send her home? The student came to school to talk to the only person she knew who could help—her teacher—who was her champion.

Regrettably, because of the enormity of the challenges that my students faced, our efforts to champion them were not always successful. I remember when a 17-year-old student requested that I lighten her course load to enable her to come to school later in the day to accommodate her work schedule. I asked her where she worked. She told me that she worked near Grand Central Parkway in Queens. She then explained that she got off work at 5 a.m., but she needed to go home and take a shower and get an hour or two of sleep. She explained that she was an escort. Somehow in her mind, describing her job in this way gave her a level of dignity that did not come with the cruder term prostitute. I wish I could tell you that I (we) was instrumental in helping her change her life conditions. That is not the way this story ends. Frankly, I cannot tell you how it ended. I do know that my staff and I used our limited resources and made efforts to support this student, though our efforts were unsuccessful. Perhaps this is how some staff at University Heights felt when they tried to help Melanie.

Teacher of Teachers

I am currently teaching a graduate course in public school finance at another institution. I asked one of my students, a New York City teacher, what she would say to the governor or to members of the New York State Legislature about funding inequities and fixing what she described as a broken school system. She gave a passionate response with several excellent ideas and strategies. I then asked her what was preventing her from delivering her message to them. She responded, “I never thought about it.” We may surmise that if she and others remain silent, nothing will change. People often say, “I am only one person. I cannot do anything to change the system.” I am reminded of a quote from Margaret Mead: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.”

            In closing, when I listened to the podcast, I did not think of social justice; rather, I thought of the effects of injustice. When I think of injustice, I can hear it, see it, feel it, taste it, and smell it. In other words, it is palpable. I think of the high suspension rates among African American boys, the school-to-prison pipeline, homelessness, illiteracy, poverty, racism, violence, gaps in all categories, and inferior education. This describes the experiences of University Heights students and many of my students; in fact, it also describes my own experiences.

Furthermore, when I think of social injustice, I ask myself, what responsibility, if any, an institution has for addressing social justice challenges, first within the institution itself and secondly within the larger community? What role, if any, should for example TC play in influencing, shaping, and (when necessary) correcting the urban educational discourse? Does TC have a moral responsibility to not only say something but do something?

The answer lies in this quote from Helen Keller: “Until the great mass of the people shall be filled with the sense of responsibility for each other’s welfare, social justice can never be attained.”

So I ask, are you willing to Speak Up For Those Who Have No Voice? Are you willing to be a Champion?

Thank you!

Dr. Gassaway delivered this speech on September 30, 2015 at Teachers College.

© Bernard Gassaway, September 30, 2015