It was the first or second day of my placement at a new school. The school was very diverse, with more than 3/4 of the students being Black, Hispanic, or Asian, while the remaining 1/4 identified as white. I was really excited to be in the classroom and was meeting my teacher for the first time. As she was talking to me about her students she described them with respect and enthusiasm. She was talking to me about her expectations and about the student in their class- they loved being challenged and they loved doing hands on activities like drawing or making something.  She was overwhelmed by the energy in the class and said it was hard to maintain a healthy order for the whole hour. She noted that her class had many ‘high need’ students in the class and that she preferred that they be integrated in all the activities and not put in a group by themselves as to isolate them and hider their leaning. She noted that the class learned better as a whole with the students leaning together.

All in all, she was speaking highly of her students and understood how to teach them. Then she said “and oh gosh, we have a new student named Louis (not his real name, but it was Hispanic in origin)… he is Puerto Rican and doesn’t speak a lick of English... fresh of the boat”  She then continued to briefly and casually describe the newest addition to her class. His friends translated for him in class and not to mind if he doesn’t participate much, “he doesn’t know what’s going on”.

When I was in my sophomore year of highschool I decided to do a portrait of our new home for my mother for her birthday. At the time many houses in Boston were being foreclosed, the house we moved into was one of them.  The house was a beautiful victorian and represented a new begining for my family. My mother, who raised me alone for the majority of my childhood had re-married and this was her first time being a homeowner, and my first time living in a house. As a visual art major at school, I brought my painting to school to use some of the school's materials and get feedback from the teachers on my anticipated gift. Before going to the art department I had one more class and had to take my painting with me. As I sat in my spanish class the room was abuzz with chatter. "i'm tryna go to the snack machine, you got a dollar?"', a classmate asked me. "no, sorry" I said. Looking at painting he then said "yes you do, you're rich, I seen your house!" After he said that I didnt know what to say. I had no idea what my family income was, and why would I? Not only that, but my parent's money was not mine, their income did not affecct the change in my pockets or lack thereof. Growing up in Boston, class distinctions were hard for me to explain and still are. How do I explian that I dont live in "the hood" but next to it?, that I live on a quiet street, but hear shots and sirens from two blocks over? my class has been on an upward shift my whole life and I take experiences from every instance of my poor to middle class journey.

I had a good friend from elementary through high school whose name was Gulistan. We’d been in  a lot of the same classes together throughout school. People, students and teachers, would make fun of her name, make a funny face when they heard it for the first time, or not even bother to try to say it right. She was the only Turkish person at our school besides her younger brothers. In elementary school kids teased her and called her Gully even though she didn’t like being called that. Once in high school, I even heard a teacher make a comment about her name in front of the class saying that it sounded like a country “You know Pakastan, Afghanastan, Gulistan” then laugh about it. When that happened I felt really bad for her because the teacher was making fun of her in front of the whole class. Now looking back at that experience I still find it incredibly disrespectful that he did that. My high school was mostly White with some Black and Hispanic students. However, in the advanced and honors courses there was very little diversity. After reading the Amos article it reminded me of this experience and how people aren’t conscious of their privilege unless they find themselves in a situation where they are the minority.

           I attended my neighborhood high school, which is located in an urban area. The high school is not in the best condition. The ceilings were peeling and leaked often when it rained, it had asbestos in the auditorium, the lights were dim, and many other things were wrong with the building; however many of the teachers were superior. Many students, teachers, and parents complained about the school building, even going on strike at City Hall. Governor Christie refused to visit the school to see the bad conditions of the high school so that maybe he can give money for it to be fixed or rebuilt.

            Although I found it disheartening that the governor refused to visit the school, what I found even worse is the comments that I read on the local newspaper website. People referred to the students as “animals in a jungle,” and others, who may have never even been to the school, commented, “why should Christie give the school money when many of the students do not want to learn?” I note that they may have never been to the school because there is obviously learning occurring if they walked through a classroom. 

It is already my third year in America as an international student, but I still wonder what diversity means? Does it mean gathering people from all around the world to a same place? Does it mean sharing knowledge, opinion, and culture from defferent backgrouds? The gap between international and domestic is so huge that I have to bridge language gap, culture gap, even personality gap to get to the other side compeletely. If I go ahead to bridge all the gaps, I certainly will lost part of my identity. But if I don't go ahead and stop at where I am, I can't get to the other side. Walking in the middle of the bridge is what I feel right now.

http://www.mindfulschools.org/uncategorized/mindful-schools-featured-in-time-magazine-cover-story/

“You’re not Jewish.”- Katy (pseudonym)

“I went to talk to you because after the gym teacher took attendance, I thought you were the one Jewish person in the class.”- Sarah (pseudonym)

I spent last semester studying in Denmark and every Thursday as part of my coursework I visited a very small, independent K-10th grade school. The student body (about 150 students total) was predominantly white and there were only two non-ethnic Danish students amongst the approximately 35 8th through 10th graders that I spent most of my time working with. My position at the site was one of a participant-researcher. I worked with the English teacher to lead presentations on and discussions about American culture. I served almost as an ambassador of the United States to students who had never met an American before. I ate lunch with together with the students and chatted with them during breaks. But I was also collecting notes about the classroom culture and even led group interviews at the end of my semester there to gather student perspectives on gender in the classroom – a topic I wrote my final term paper on. I share this background because I want to make clear my position in relationship to the students I worked with. I was not considered a teacher exactly, but I was also not considered a "friend."