Whose culture matters? Part II

Originally posted on September 27, 2011.

A few weeks ago, I discussed culture in classrooms. While some scholars argue for a core curriculum using a standardized canon, I suggested a focus on student literacy and critical thinking, reading, and writing skills. This week, I address a similar question:  Whose culture matters in neighborhoods?

I have pondered this question often since beginning my academic career. First, as neighborhood-based reforms such as Harlem Children’s Zone (HCZ) replicate across the country, their successes also raise some questions. In particular, consider HCZ’s Baby College. During this nine-week parenting seminar, parents learn how to read and discipline their children. Anyone versed in early childhood development literature will attest to the value of proper literacy and disciplinary practices. The question I often ask relates to the basic assumptions of the program. How does this program differ from the acculturation programs that occurred at the turn of the 20th century in New York? To be sure, there are differences. But, reformers cannot take for granted that, because they have some technical knowledge, it is the right knowledge.

Second, my dissertation relates to the diversity of cultural beliefs and practices in low-income neighborhoods. As such, I am always asking, “Whose culture matters, and how?” In particular, I investigate the role of culture to education outcomes in the short term and social mobility in the long term.

Renowned French theorist Pierre Bourdieu provides one answer: culture reproduces class positions. In other words, there is a dominant culture, and an individual’s knowledge and deployment of dominant culture will correlate to and maintain his class position. For instance, a teenager from a middle-class family will know to shake someone’s hand at an interview for an internship. Even more, he will know (or his parents will tell him) to apply for an internship rather than work at McDonalds.

Bourdieu’s argument is compelling and controversial. His goal as a theorist was to undress commonly accepted beliefs about society. In the United States, he shows that meritocracy is not the whole story. Although his writing is sometimes long-winded and sometimes confounding, the success of his theoretical argument—which is supported by his popularity—is that, after hearing only a brief description of social and cultural capital, most people will nod their head and murmur something like, “Ok. I get it. That’s interesting.” Not all scholars, however, agree with Bourdieu. If a dominant culture exists, they argue, so too does a non-dominant culture. If you recall my last blog, the argument is similar. Shakespeare is great, but so is Anansi. Why don’t we respect both?

Community cultural wealth is one response to Bourdieu’s singular focus on dominant culture. Each low-income neighborhood, the argument goes, has a unique set of non-dominant cultural practices. In relation to schools, educators ought to build on the capabilities of the students. The concept is particularly useful for developing policies and curriculum for school districts. It is also a response to the deficit-model of schooling. Instead of looking at what students’ lack, let’s look at what they have.

Both perspectives are helpful for understanding culture in neighborhoods; however, I suggest a hybrid solution. Like last week, literacy and critical thinking, reading, and writing are crucial. E.D. Hirsch’s most popular book is entitled, Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know. In the spirit of Bourdieu, it should probably read, “What Every American Needs to Know to Know to Be Socially Mobile.” Admitting the flaws of dominant culture makes it no less important to success. While not fair, students from non-dominant cultural backgrounds need to be conversant in a number of cultural styles to be successful. As a result, the most successful students are, what Prudence Carter terms, culturally flexible.

We will not solve the culture riddle anytime soon, if ever. The question, “Whose culture matters,” depends on who is asking and who is replying. However, educators can provide students with the literacy skills to read and write in a number of cultural registers.

Whose culture matters? Part I

Originally posted on September 06, 2011

Whose culture matters in classrooms? Since I began teaching English at a school with a diverse population of students, I have thought about this question often. While reading difficult, centuries-old English literature, students frequently asked, “Do we have to read this?” Or, “Why are we reading this?” To the first question, I invariably responded, “Yes!” To the second question, I usually paused and thought. Why do students have to read Canterbury Tales? If you are E. D. Hirsch, the answer is because the bawdy tales are part of a canon that “every American needs to know.”

It doesn’t take long to realize Hirsch is wrong on two levels. First, to say there is a stock of cultural knowledge that all should know, sounds like a worthy claim. The problem occurs when one group tries to define that core. Classical texts do not occur a priori. Their creation and the possibility of their creation is sociohistorically determined. So too are the criteria used to judge them. I have an irrational love for Shakespeare’s writing; however, who’s to say there was not a woman with equal talent during Elizabeth’s reign (for a richer discussion, read Virginia Woolf’s thought-provoking essay, “Shakespeare’s Sister”). Even more, we know there were rich oral traditions occurring on continents across the globe during the 16th century. I’m not arguing that Romeo and Juliet isn’t beautiful. Mercutio’s monologues are nonpareil. I’m arguing that beauty is subjective. By legitimizing one work of art, we de-legitimize another. Beowulf is great, but so are Anansi and Ramayana.

Second, and possibly more to the point, the core knowledge argument is misplaced, especially in the 21st century. Students don’t need to have read a list of books. They need to be literate and critical. Literacy includes print and non-print sources. Being critical includes thinking, reading, and writing skills. In essence, the text—whether it’s Shakespeare or Bashō or a YouTube video—is just a venue for literacy practice. By emphasizing student literacy, we empower them to become better consumers, critics, and producers.

Next week, I will continue this blog, asking “Whose culture matters in neighborhoods?”

No culture left behind: Moving from intelligence to competence

In education, scholars, practitioners, and policymakers often espouse a deficit cultural perspective to explain academic success and failure; students who succeed exemplify a mainstream culture whereas students who fail represent an oppositional culture. Unfortunately, by “blaming the victim,” such arguments echo previous culture of poverty debates, reinforce stereotypes, and do little to move us forward. 

My dissertation examines the lives of African American and Latino teenagers in a low-income neighborhood. Summarizing my argument in one sentence, we ought to consider a surplus cultural perspective. 

Culture is vibrant, and cultural variation occurs as a result of a range of compositional factors such as race, class, ethnicity, educational attainment, and access to and quality of institutions. As a result, a surplus of cultures exists in neighborhoods in cities like Los Angeles, Washington D.C., and Brooklyn. 

A surplus perspective illustrates the cultural mismatch occurring between what students possess and what our educational system values. We are both failing to harness the strengths of students and de-legitimizing their cultural identities.

Next week, I will use an example to illustrate the cultural mismatch occurring in schools and explain why we ought to shift from conversations about intelligence to cultural competencies.

Blocked access and leveled aspirations

Last week, I recounted the amazing story of Diane, an undocumented first-generation college-goer. If Diane’s story illustrates the promise of higher education, my discussion today highlights the peril of blocked access and leveled aspirations.

I have been privileged to chronicle a critical moment in the lives of teenagers: the senior year in high school. The year is a celebration of endings and beginnings. It marks the end of their high school careers and, to some extent, their childhoods. Each activity, from the first day of school to the last, is imbued with a sense of finality as the end marks the beginning of college and a promising career. 

This year, I interviewed sixty male teenagers at three high schools in a low-income neighborhood. The participants divided into three categories: High-, middle-, and low-achievers. At each level, I asked about college and career aspirations. Admission standards for the students’ target schools rarely matched their grade point averages and standardized test scores. For instance, a teenager listed NYU when his scores indicated that he was more likely to attend UC Santa Cruz. Or, a student listed a Cal State when he was more likely to attend community college. The most solemn appraisals often came from low-achievers, who said something like, “I just want to get to a college.” Unfortunately, they did not know the required steps to get there.

That was fall. Now, it’s spring. For many students, letters of rejection have mounted. They know they will not be attending their dream schools. Some have changed their plans. Rather than attending NYU, they plan to go to St. John’s and then transfer to Columbia or NYU. Others are going to UC Santa Cruz. The third and largest group is still undecided. Their vague plans include going to community college and then transferring. 

Overall, for the high-achievers, the application process has been humbling. They realize that they are not as competitive as previously thought. However, they gained admittance to a decent college and from now until college graduation they have time to make up the difference. For the middle- to low-achievers, the process has been deflating. Today, they enter a critical time in their quest for higher education and social mobility. They will either do what it takes to go to college and their life will be markedly different, or they will not.

What is my point? Secondary and postsecondary education institutions have failed these young men. There is no reason such a high stakes process should be so unsystematic or damaging. 

I have identified two improvements; I invite you to think of more. First, schools at every level need to do a better job of building the infrastructure to get teenagers from high school to college. It is no longer enough to talk about creating a college-going culture. The supports need to be there in order to promote college readiness. Offering college level courses that lack rigor or extracurricular activities where the students meet infrequently and little is accomplished do not equal college access or success. Those classes and activities pad resumes, but do little to get teenagers to college.

Second, the process to get to college should be transparent. At every step of the way, students should know where they stand in relation to college matriculation. Relatedly, data sets are robust enough to provide benchmarks for students. Districts use a range of elementary school data, including students’ attendance and grade point averages, to predict which students are at-risk of dropping out of school. We ought to use the same predictive modeling for college-going. From the data, schools could offer intervention programs for students who are not on pathways to success. That means providing classes before and after school as well as enrichment opportunities throughout the year. We have to capture students’ interest and create conditions for learning, not store promising, capable young men in the corners of classrooms.

We are increasing injustice by waiting until students are eighteen years old to tell them that they do not have the competencies to matriculate to college. And worse, we are allowing strangers to tell them via rejection letters.

Race, research, and justice: Why Trayvon Martin matters to me

Some of my most vivid memories as a high school teacher are of police. Police cars patrolled the neighborhood. They parked in front of the school and at nearby intersections. In school, police officers walked the hallways. Out of school, they walked the streets. 

Police were ever-present in the neighborhood. That is the context in which my students lived. What does it do to a teenager to be under constant surveillance? What effect does being guilty until proven innocent have on a human being? 

As a teacher and researcher, I have been fortunate to interact with thousands of amazing African American and Latino/a men and women. As a result, my life has been have enriched beyond measure. My experiences have also allowed me to address my own biases and stereotypes and question how I have benefited from white privilege and how I reproduce it. After all, growing up in a suburb of Washington D.C., rarely did I see a police car patrolling my neighborhood.

I am a white male who conducts research with African American and Latino teenagers. That is not a footnote to what I do; it is the topic sentence. Certainly, in terms of trustworthiness of research, I have to consider how my race, class, gender, and age affect the data I gather. Does a 17-year-old black male respond differently to me than someone of a different race or class? 

Considering the research that I produce, I have a social responsibility to ensure that my interpretations and representations do not perpetuate stereotypes or injustices. How is what I write different than, what Robin D. G. Kelley calls, the “ghetto ethnographies” of the 1960s?

These are not incidental questions and, given the history of race relations in the United States, they are important to ask and answer, even if asking is uncomfortable and the answers are unclear.

I write today as someone who mourns the loss of Trayvon Martin and hopes his family finds peace. 

I write because race relations in the United States are complicated, and we need to talk about them more often, more candidly, and more respectfully. 

I write because Trayvon reminds me of my own brother, who was shot and murdered a week after his sixteenth birthday. Due to a lack of evidence, the police never apprehended the murderer even though most knew who committed the act. No other event has influenced my life more. Everyday, I wonder what David thought about during his last moments and, as my graduation and wedding approach, I miss him even more. 

Finally, I write because, unlike Trayvon Martin, my brother was presumed innocent. 

Why, even in death, do select groups including the media continue the prejudiced criminalization of African American males?

Justice for Trayvon

The first three hours after school

After the last school bell rings, teenagers have a variety of options to occupy their time. The number of options multiplies due to several factors. First, older age correlates to increased freedom. In addition, parents or guardians are likely to work after school lets out. Second, in urban neighborhoods, teenagers have access to a variety of locations. Friends’ houses, parks, fast food restaurants, and public transit are all within walking distance. Teens are not dependent on rides from parents or older siblings.

From participating in after-school activities to hanging out with friends, what teens do and the people with whom they interact either reinforce or detract from college access. Meaningful after-school activities provide extended learning opportunities and engender college-going behaviors. That knowledge and those behaviors even extend to informal activities such as playing basketball or eating at a fast food restaurant with friends. During those times, teens discuss a range of issues including choosing and paying for college. In contrast, informal activities such as gangbanging or doing drugs have the ability to derail college access. Poor choices out of school lead to poor grades in school. Not only are the teens participating in illicit activities, the conversations differ starkly from those of their more academically engaged teens. 

President Obama is sounding the alarm for increased postsecondary opportunities. At the same time, district administrators are making tough choices. Those choices include which programs to fund and which positions to staff. Unfortunately, after-school activities are often the first to go. The reasoning goes something like, “We have to focus on the core, not the periphery. An after-school college prep program is nice, but it won’t improve test scores.” That reasoning ignores the value of after-school programs, which provide supervision, mentorship, and extended learning opportunities.

If we want to improve college access, it’s time to focus on the first three hours after school.

Preparing students for success now and later

“What does this have to do with anything?” is the question I have heard, in some form or another, from high school students over the last seven years. The question is a valid one. What does Macbeth have to do with a teenager from South LA? Why does he need to know the definition of an isosceles triangle? The answer has to be more than “because it’s important.” The reality is I have forgotten about as much geometry as I have learned and I still manage to function throughout the day. 

There are answers, even good ones. Many of the themes in Macbeth parallel contemporary issues. Triangles form the basis of construction and architecture. To learn about them is to see the world a little differently. The challenge is for teachers to draw connections between abstract concepts and real life, to show how critical thinking and learning translates to success now and the future.

Extending the above argument to schools and neighborhoods, something more complex is happening. The rise in school choice has coincided with a select few “no excuses” college prep schools. From kindergarten on, these brand name schools excel in creating college-going cultures. The expectations are clear: College or bust. The stories are well known as journalists report how, against all odds, students make it from Harlem to Harvard. The problem, however, is not the students who succeed. It is the students who do not. And, there are a lot of them.

College-going prep schools have extended the curriculum from basic skills to everything individuals need to know to succeed in mainstream society, which includes how to speak and act. Questions of relevancy have been answered. Learning becomes future oriented, for a time when students leave their low-income neighborhood to attend college. The unintended consequence is that the future orientation often devalues students’ present contexts and cultural knowledge. 

Often, ideas sound so good and gain so much popularity that they go unquestioned. After all, if a group promises and delivers a high performing school to a neighborhood where the schools have historically underperformed, why would anyone complain? My argument has focused on the worst-case scenario, when education becomes acculturation. Of course, there are culturally responsive college prep schools. We cannot, however, assume that speaking about college access is the same as working towards socially just educational outcomes. 

Sometimes, even the best intentions go awry.

Are the kids really alright?

A few weeks ago the New York Times published a blog entitled “The Kids Are More Than Alright.” The author had several major points:

• Teenagers’ use of marijuana is lower than it was thirty years ago.
• Teenagers’ use of alcohol, tobacco, and other drugs is far lower than it was thirty years ago.
• Teenagers have less sex and lower rates of pregnancy than the previous generation.

These three points lead the author to conclude:

Every few years, parents find new reasons to worry about their teenagers. And while there is no question that some kids continue to experiment with sex and substance abuse, the latest data point to something perhaps more surprising: the current generation is, well, a bit boring when it comes to bad behavior.

After I read the short blog, I was stunned. I have no doubt that the initial report is valid and reliable. From a national perspective, drug use and teen pregnancy may be declining. But, at such a grand scale, what does that really tell us? What do we learn when numbers are stripped from context? How does drug use differ among race, class, and gender? The report provides further evidence to support the need for well-designed studies that include quantitative and qualitative data. The blog, which includes a quote from an editor of Seventeen and references to Teen Mom and Gossip Girl, introduces questions about the blurring of journalism and entertainment in one of the nation’s most influential newspapers. 

The majority of the sixty teenagers in my study of a low-income neighborhood have experimented with drugs. Marijuana is now easier to get than alcohol. I recently discussed my findings with a colleague who grew up during the 60s. He was surprised at my surprise about the prevalence of drugs. Drug use and experimentation, he said, was much more pervasive thirty years ago. Of course, the study supports that. However, such a stance ignores the changing nature of drug use. It is true that many of the participants of my study only experiment with drugs. However, it is also true that a number of them use drugs as a coping mechanism. 

Maybe drug use across the nation is the lowest it’s been in thirty years. However, a statement in like “the current generation is, well, a bit boring when it comes to bad behavior” trivializes what is occurring in low-income neighborhoods. It also moves us no closer to understanding or solving the pressing social issues of our time. Maybe it’s just a blog, but it’s also the New York Times.

Getting to the truth: Doing research with teenagers

Credibility is the first (and most important) criteria for establishing trustworthiness in qualitative research. Credibility, like it’s step-sibling validity, is often the subject of much debate; scholars argue about what it can and cannot do and what strategies researchers should and should not use to ensure rigor in research (see “Varieties of Validity,” an article Yvonna Lincoln penned, or “Qualitative Research and Public Policy”, an article Bill and I wrote). Plainly speaking, however, credibility is truthfulness. How does a researcher know his or her data and interpretations approximate the truth? And, what strategies did he or she use? When it comes to research with teenagers, however, credibility is anything but a straightforward idea. Permit me to elaborate with an example. 

The Smallwood Recreation Complex, located in the northwest corner of a neighborhood in South Los Angeles, spans nine acres. The main feature of Smallwood is a multipurpose brick building, which houses a gymnasium, boxing ring, weight room, and dance studio. A playground, soccer field, baseball diamond, and tennis and basketball courts dot the landscape behind the building. Large eucalyptus trees line the outskirts of the park.

During the spring prior to my year-long ethnography, I conducted a pilot study of the neighborhood. I visited parks, schools, and businesses and interviewed residents, teachers, and workers. I conducted participant observations at Smallwood five times. During each visit, the setting was often the same. Cars filled the parking lot. Adults sat at benches watching children on the playground. Young men played basketball. Three or four men in their 20s and 30s congregated at the building’s main entrance. Children and teenagers walked in and out of the building. After each visit, I often left feeling upbeat. Los Angeles is one of the most park-poor metropolitan areas in the United States; however, the young residents of this neighborhood had a nice place to play and exercise.

Last month, I asked Matthew, one of my informants, to go to Smallwood with him. I knew the 18-year old often boxed and played basketball at the park. On the morning of the scheduled visit, he said, “Hey Randy, we can’t go. Not today.” Two days later, while driving Matt home, I reminded him that we still needed to visit the park. “What?” he responded, “You want to go at the worst time. Three gangs is battling.” A Latino gang member shot and killed someone from a rival gang. The park, he said, was the hotspot. Matt continued, “They shot up right where I live. I was pissed and grieving.” Later, I discussed Smallwood with Matt and his peers. To them, the park and the surrounding neighborhood represented a contested territory, a place where violence could occur suddenly. 

How does a researcher make sense of such divergent experiences? What is the truth? If, as Paul Rabinow says, fieldwork is a “cultural activity,” my experience highlights the dual process of interpretation. I was both making sense of the experiences of my participants as well as myself in the field. My understanding of the park diverged significantly from that of my subjects. 

So, which is it? Is Smallwood a family-friendly park or gang-controlled territory? I have embedded in my study multiple strategies to ensure credibility. In this instance, different methods provided different interpretations. The challenge of credibility is not to eliminate different interpretations like crossing items off of a grocery list. The challenge is to acknowledge that multiple truths exist, often simultaneously, and to understand what that means for the lives of those involved.