I have been an educator for a long time, 35 years in the classroom and now working with teachers across the country as an educational facilitator with WestEd. My focus has always been on equity, racial equality, dignity for all students. My first book Crossing the Hall: Exposing an American Divide (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07T8C9KL1) was an exploration to confront racism in our country, my classroom, and most significantly in myself as a white educator. I am more excited about my second book , Listen to the Truth They Bring, (https://www.amazon.com/dp/1733781021) because I decided to look for a new source of knowledge, not from the esteemed experts, but from my former students. They may not have prestigious titles or letters behind their names, but they are the experts of lived experience. Now adults with children and grandchildren of their own, they offer their truths with unabashed honesty about what is needed to move toward social justice. The book is a compilation of 22 interviews. The book does not promise a new theory on race, but instead is designed to encourage personal reflection and honest conversation with others. Sometimes social change comes from a revolt. I think it begins by listening.
I have been an educator for a long time, 35 years in the classroom and now working with teachers across the country as an educational facilitator with WestEd. My focus has always been on equity, racial equality, dignity for all students. My first book Crossing the Hall: Exposing an American Divide (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07T8C9KL1) was an exploration to confront racism in our country, my classroom, and most significantly in myself as a white educator. I am more excited about my second book , Listen to the Truth They Bring, (https://www.amazon.com/dp/1733781021) because I decided to look for a new source of knowledge, not from the esteemed experts, but from my former students. They may not have prestigious titles or letters behind their names, but they are the experts of lived experience. Now adults with children and grandchildren of their own, they offer their truths with unabashed honesty about what is needed to move toward social justice. The book is a compilation of 22 interviews. The book does not promise a new theory on race, but instead is designed to encourage personal reflection and honest conversation with others. Sometimes social change comes from a revolt. I think it begins by listening.
Irony and Hope
âI knew most young black men die between 18 and 25.
I knew my outcome would be in the streets.
I would soon be in prison or dead.â
Do you know what old English teachers savor? Delicious irony. Nothing is quite so pleasing as an unexpected twist in a narrative, and when itâs real life, itâs even sweeter.
Let me tell you about Ché Carter, a student I had some 30 years ago. He was a senior in my African American Literature class. At that time, I was a young, white teacher. Ché and most of his classmates were Black teenagers.
The years have not diminished my memory of himâbrash, bold, and with a light in his eyes that assured you of his intelligence. He made me crazy when he displayed his uncanny ability to take the class off course, to test the limits of my patience, and to make me laugh.
ChĂ© spent many hours of his high school career in the detention room, and this is where I reconnected with himâexcept the room has evolved over the years. It is now the principalâs office. The space seems to have claimed ChĂ© in the past and in the present. He now resides as principal in the same school that often characterized him as defiant. If thatâs not delicious irony, I donât know what is.
After 30 years, he greeted his old teacher warmly. I had asked to interview him, to hear his story and learn what brought him back to the school I had taught in for thirty-five years, Ann Arbor Huron High School, in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
ChĂ© did not confide in me when I was his teacher. Power and confidence infused him. The silent message seemed to be, âWhile I like you, I donât need you.â I heeded the message. Now, he opened up about his life. Nothing was off the table.
I asked him to start from the beginning. His parents separated when he was five, but he was quick to say both remained in his corner. As a child, Ché suffered from severe asthma requiring lengthy hospitalizations. Because his mother worked and had other sons to raise, he was often alone. Nevertheless, he always felt her support and presence. While juggling jobs and children, she also returned to school, graduating from college one year before Ché did. She was a special education teacher in the same school district.
His father, a former member of the Black Panthers, named him after the Cuban revolutionary, ChĂ© Guevara. ChĂ© was clear: âWe were always taught to be very strong and courageous, to stand up for what we believe in, to have lots of integrity, and be men of character.â To this day, his father is his âmoral compass.â ChĂ© is well aware that not all of his current students are as lucky as him when it comes to their childhood.
âDefiantââthis was the adjective often used to describe ChĂ© in high school. He explained, âI was a kid on the fringeânot special needs; I wasnât a risk. Nobody reached out to us. We had a kind of chip on our shoulders.â He continued, âWhen the world constantly reminds you over and over again that youâre different, you tend to want to push back. I did a lot of barking at teachers. Thatâs your defense mechanism saying, âHey, guess what? You may smash me with your teacher power, but Iâm going to take it back by making you mad and taking your class in the other direction.ââ
In his junior year, ChĂ© was suspended and sent to an alternative school for a semester. âI did get kicked out. I remember the incident. This white kid and I bumped into each other, and he called me the N-word, so I dropped him.â When I asked what consequences the white student faced, he replied, âNothing. I just knew I was the problem, and I was going.â
When it came to life after high school, ChĂ© said, âI knew I had to do it from the ground up.â That meant earning his own money for a car and college. âI tried to do everything to get money. Letâs just grind. More people I knew were getting shot, killed, locked up. Working so hard, I was staying out of it, but so many lost their lives.â
He is no stranger to violence. He shared, âMy brother got shot in a drive-by at a party. When I heard, I didnât believe it. He was supposed to go to the Navy that week. He survived, but the bullet went into his arm and tore up all the tendons. He was discharged before ever setting foot in the Navy, and this took me down another road. I wanted revenge. A bubbling gang mentality was in me. But I also began to realize that a lot of my friends were only talk. I was the one who would get hurt.â
Speaking with little perceptible emotion, he told me, âI knew most young blacks die between 18 and 25. I knew my outcome would be in the streets. I would soon be in prison or dead.â
He then described attending The Million Man March in Washington, in 1995, as a âmoment of awakening.â Louis Farrakhan, leader of the Nation of Islam, asked black men to assemble from across the country to commit themselves to lifting the black community in America. A portion of the oath Farrakhan asked Black men to dedicate themselves to follows:
I PLEDGE that from this day forward I will strive to love my brother as I love myself. I, from this day forward, will strive to improve myself spiritually, morally, mentally, socially, politically, and economically for the benefit of myself, my family, and my people. I pledge that I will strive to build businesses, build houses, build hospitals, build factories, and enter into international trade for the good of myself, my family, and my peopleâŠ1
That was ChĂ©âs âcall to action, a charge to go back to my community and do something powerful.â He promised himself, âWhen I get back, Iâm turning the switch. Iâm going to do it.â
Starting community college, he chose an interesting major, mortuary science. âI decided I was going to be a mortician,â he said. âI wanted to help people in their worst times. That comes from my mom. But a college-career guy said, âLook, youâve got too much to give to the living.ââ
ChĂ© changed his mind and his academic major. âI chose education.â
Paying for college entailed working three jobsâone of them being a custodian in the very school he now resides in as principal. Ah, the irony.
ChĂ© is filled with confidence and passion. His past fuels ChĂ©âs connection with his students today. He earns their trust. âI know what it means to be marginalized, stigmatized, invisible.â He knows he will improve the lives of his students. I envy his energy.
When I began teaching, I believed in education. I believed in its power to transform lives, the lives of all students regardless of race or economic background, or any of the other labels used to describe our differences. But the years have worn down my confidence. For 35 years, I saw students divided in ways that often helped generate academic outcomes determined by economics and race. Today, as an educational facilitator, I work with teachers across the country, and I have seen nothing to restore my idealism. We are more divided than everânot only in classrooms but in our country.
I am sure of one thing: American schools are a microcosm of our country. Improve one, the other benefits. Fail one, the other suffers. They are mirrors of each other. I have attended workshops, read extensively, and learned from those such as Ta-Nehisi Coastes, Ibram X. Kendi, Bettina Love, Lisa Delpit and so many others of all races; but equity is not our reality. Now, I seek a new source of knowledge. Iâm referring to students and former students who offer their truths.
Every student who sat in my class offered me something to learn. Regardless of economic background, or race, or any other descriptor, each had a story to tell. However, when someone is different from us, we are offered an opportunity to see from a new lens. So, I decided to reconnect with former students, just as I did with ChĂ©. I interviewed 22 former students. All presented me with a different perspective than my own because of race or economic background. Their graduation dates varied widelyâfrom 10, to 20, to almost 40 years ago. All are adults now living in America. They are my experts on lived experience.
There was no master plan on how the former students would be interviewed. I relied only on my memories and let names come to mind. And then I tracked them down, reconnected, and asked if they were willing to be a part of this project. When the final list of students was compiled, I knew it contained a balance of those who had been successful in high school and those who struggledâa mix of those who seemed to enjoy their school experience and those who fought against it every step of the way. Not one turned me down. Topics that repeatedly surfaced in the interviews determined the chapters of this book.
An English teacherâs life is teaching stories, the literature that enriches and educates. Perhaps the personal stories of these former students will help heal our educational system and our country. Perhaps they will restore my hope that now resides within principal ChĂ© Carter.
Inclusivity, diversity, and equity are not just buzzwords but essential elements of the learning experience in Americaâs schools. Yet, they are often in short supply. In her book "Listen to the Truth They Bring, "seasoned educator Lori Wojtowicz brings to light the voices and lived experiences of 22 former students from diverse backgrounds. With great care, Wojtowicz shares the experiences and insights of these students, who discuss issues of race, education, and inequality from their unique vantage points. Many of the students featured in the book identified as Black and candidly discussed the impact of race on their educational journeys. The book highlights the challenges students of color face in the education system. It underscores the importance of accurate history in shaping identity, the need for inclusive and empowering educational practices, the power of educators to positively influence students, and the broader societal issues reflected in schools. More importantly, the book serves as a powerful call for empathy, understanding, and inclusivity, fostering a sense of compassion and open-mindedness among its readers.Â
As an educator and advocate for racial justice, I approached this book with a keen eye for its potential to inspire reflection and catalyze reforms. Through the power of storytelling, Wojtowicz challenges inherent biases in education, advocating for a more just and inclusive learning environment. Her approach to illuminating the issues facing students of color and the importance of creating supportive and empowering learning environments for all students is both enlightening and empowering. In a time when public school investments are dwindling and social-justice-oriented education is under attack, âListen to the Truth They Bringâ offers unique perspectives that can inspire change and foster a more equitable educational landscape.
The gift of Wojtowiczâs teaching journey and reflective approach is her commitment to witnessing resilience and strength in students. It is an engaging read for educators, parents, and others engaged in improving the student experience. In sharing the honest testimonies of former students, Wojtowicz uses her platform and privilege to amplify seldom-heard points of view. The author stresses the importance of actively listening to students' truths without judgment and cultivating empathy toward the challenges faced by students from marginalized backgrounds.