A guide to disrupting harmful mindsets and practices in our schools so that students can thrive where they are.
Chapter 2. Leading Cultural Change on Parallel Paths: School and System
Foreword: Debbie from the BronxW. E. B. Du Bois, an African American intellectual and the first African American to receive a doctorate at Harvard, created a concept in 1903 that pervaded much of educational thought and still ripples through our discourse today. The idea: Only 10 percent of a marginalized community could be expected to achieve at high levels or be worth the investment into their professional education. He called this special group the "talented tenth" who were "exceptional men," "the best of [the] race that they may guide the mass away from the contamination and death of the worst." As a child, I saw the talented tenth myth personified in real life, and I thought that there was something horrendously unfair about it. I knew the people that I grew up with, that they were smart, they were capable. The elementary school I attended grouped us heterogeneously, and the notion of the bell curve was vigorously enforced (Herrnstein & Murray, 1994). At the earliest levels, we learned that some had "it" and some didn't. The idea of a growth mindset, that one could become smarter through different forms of teaching and learning, was missing in our daily classroom interactions (Dweck, 2008). Rather, the future paths we would take were fixed and etched in our psyches at very early ages. I can still remember Diego, who struggled with every academic task; Maria, who emigrated to the country in 2nd grade and who was reprimanded frequently when she'd use a Spanish word in place of an English one; and Noel, who was ridiculed for preferring to play double Dutch rather than basketball. Diego was the kindest student in the class, Maria had a grace and artistic ability that I recognized as a 1st grader, and Noel's rendering of poems and prose held me spellbound. Each of my classmates had gifts that went unrecognized, dreams and abilities that died a slow death grade after grade, year after year. Even as a child, I was attuned to Howard Gardner's (1983) notion of multiple intelligences as I recognized that ability, even brilliance, came in different forms. I knew that while I could excel in academic machinations, my three classmates far exceeded my ability to demonstrate kindness, artistry, and public speaking, for example. It pained me when they struggled, and I hated that some of the students laughed and that the teacher didn't stop it. The injustices I witnessed, while not registering on a conscious level, left an indelible mark on me and my sense of righteousness, purpose, and courageous action. Regretfully, the notion of the bell curve and fixed ability groupings hadn't changed 20 years later as I taught early on. Even more unfortunately, I, too, had drunk the Kool-Aid; that is, I had come to believe that IQ was the determinant of academic success and either you were blessed with ability or you weren't. I think it is noteworthy to recognize that we each are impacted by the environment in which we are educated. The notion of the haves and have-nots is hardwired into our education system and is the default belief system that is only changed with explicit, continuous, and courageous messaging by educators and support staff. Changing mindsets about what is possible is one of the signature elements of systemic improvement, and it occurs when leaders take rational actions (i.e., professional learning, sharing research, providing safe spaces to demonstrate risk taking and new behaviors) and model in ways large and small that levels of excellence can be achieved through equity. When I signed the contract with Richmond Public Schools saying that we would meet rigorous benchmarks in a very short span of time, I modeled that we had the innate capacity as a district to think and do things differently to bring about student success. I didn't realize it at the time, but this action signified a mindset that was diametrically opposed to what had always been believed—that is, that only the "talented tenth" would achieve at high levels. Later on, as a teacher, then an administrator, I knew with certainty that it was a fiction. Exploding this myth became the center of my leadership and informed my professional goals. My academic work and research seek to discern how to lead and teach in such a way that we create legions of difference makers. Du Bois himself came to see the flaws in his original thesis and revised his notions of leadership from the talented tenth to "the Guiding Hundredth" and predicated this new thinking on what we might now call a collective impact strategy: "We cannot have perfection. We have few saints. But we must have honest men [and women] or we die. We must have honest, far-seeing leadership or we fail" (Du Bois, 1935, p. 173). This book seeks to help you develop this far-seeing leadership. It will deepen your belief in the fact that we can partner with communities to supplement the services needed to grow our communities no matter where we are and that we can expand the vistas for all children. Through the stories shared here, you will see that it's possible to model not just what good teaching looks like but also what a good citizen looks like, what a caring person looks like. So much of what I know about that was formed in a beautifully diverse community in the Bronx where I experienced love and care. I grew up in the Bronxdale Houses, a housing project that was later renamed Justice Sonia Sotomayor Houses and Community Center in 2010 to honor one of its most famous residents, with whom I attended grammar school and high school. Bronxdale was a multigenerational, multiracial, and diverse community. If I close my eyes, I can see that the Tanners are right down the hall with the Ramirezes next door and next door to them, the Pacinos. The Toders, an older Jewish family, are right across from our apartment and the folks my mother trusted to hide our Christmas toys. From them, I not only learned to dance the hora, but I always got dreidels and another holiday to celebrate getting candy. Growing up in public housing in the 1950s and early 1960s, being raised by a divorced mom with my two siblings, and seeing few positive depictions of women of color in positions of power and influence, this was my reality. However, I was blessed with a brilliant mother and an affirming suite of experiences that mitigated the barrage of negative messages. I recall how my mother and grandmother spoke up to challenge unilateral decisions. For example, in 1st grade, they wanted all of the girls to be blonde (wearing wigs made of yarn) for a skit. My grandmother said, "Hell no!" and made my wig dark brown. My mother challenged the nun who had chastised me for not attending Mass on the day of my confirmation. She called her out for her hypocrisy and told her to speak to her about the decision as it was her doing. There were so many times that I saw courageous, albeit respectful, disobedience, and it fueled my willingness to get into good trouble, as Congressman John Lewis called it. As everyone who knows me knows, I continue to get into trouble to this day. Bronxdale replicated a nursery school model created in Chicago where children were cared for on-site to help the working mothers, many of whom were single because of death or divorce. This prescience provided phenomenal learning opportunities and was influential in my aspiration of becoming an educator. Many of these brilliant teachers were from the South and had come north for graduate work at schools like Columbia, NYU, and Cornell. After graduation, some wanted to stay in New York but were unable to be hired in the New York City public schools. These amazing, extremely well-educated women—Miss Forkner, Miss Mary, Miss Pryor—became teachers in the city's daycare centers. In music, they taught us to sing in different languages, and in PE, we moved to Bizet's "Toreador Song" from the opera Carmen. Economically, life was a challenge for my divorced mom, but thanks to Bronxdale, we lived in a rich community in terms of its diversity and culture. She worked two jobs and relied on my brother and me for help with chores like the laundry, which we pushed in a shopping cart down the street to the laundromat. And while my upbringing taught me compassion, if I had a wish, it would be for my mom's life to have been easier. Her sacrifices allowed her to see her little Debbie from the Bronx graduate from Harvard before she died. She inspires my work with people in communities, and I see her in these moms that are trying to make a way out of no way. While my work wasn't done in the community that raised me, I have chosen to serve the children in similar communities. Once you've experienced a community such as this, you never lose it. It becomes a calling in your life. We can honor our upbringing in the choices that we make. We can help to instill the same sense of pride and gratitude. It is amazing that many of us underestimate the power and influence of our leadership, perhaps because there are so many times when we don't have the ability to just make things happen via fiat or edict. But I have come to understand that over the long haul, the degree to which our espoused and enacted values are manifested within an organization is one of the ways that we are able to bend the vision, culture, and ultimately norms and outcomes of the system. We are watched continuously by those we lead to see how we act in times of comfort but, more important, in times of difficulty. Are we adhering to what we profess even when challenging or inconvenient? For example, some leaders profess that all children can learn, but they believe there are conditions attached. Additionally, they may accept a growth mindset for children but not for their teachers, administrators, support staff, and parents and other community members. In changing mindsets, what you do dwarfs what you say about who can and who can't be successful. Walking that talk on a daily basis was critical for my efficacy as an instructional leader. This book names a pernicious mindset among people in marginalized communities. It believes that in our predominantly Black and Brown neighborhoods, what we offer and who we are is inferior, so if you want your child to do better, then they have to leave. There has been a real cost to Black and Brown people as they leave to succeed in the halls of prestigious schools. For some, the toll can be paid, and they can leave intact with minimal scars. But for many, there are parts of them that are broken by the experience. That is too high a cost. Giving back to our community can take on different meanings. I never worked in the Bronx that shaped me, but I worked in communities like it intentionally and take the Bronx with me wherever I go. I believe in this way I've never left my community. The issue presented by Nancy and Roberto is that too often our young people are forced to choose between being successful by divorcing themselves from their whole and authentic selves or being unsuccessful. Our challenge as leaders is to establish learning environments and experiences that demand that students can be who they are in their community and be successful in their chosen world. We need them to identify their own values and connections, to learn how to code switch without shame, and to be unwilling to sacrifice their cherished beliefs for expediency. Much of my work as the superintendent of schools was a counternarrative for the idea that you have to leave your community to be successful. We told our children, "You can stay here and receive a stellar education, and you'll also be viewed as a whole person." The central challenge for leaders who want to create their own counternarrative campaigns is to answer the question, How do you become a prophet in your own land? How are you able to hold up a community and convey all that it has to give in a way that galvanizes its people? Nancy and Roberto have written this book to help you answer these questions. Both of them are living counternarratives. Nancy was a teacher and principal in her East Jose, California, community, and Roberto was a superintendent back in his home of Newburgh, New York. They share their stories of how they were able to hold up a mirror in these places, name what needed to change, but also let folks know that this is where we are but not who we are or who will remain. Because they value the communities from which they came, Nancy and Roberto embrace every aspect of what we call "community." They are keenly aware of the challenges, but they see the beauty, humanity, brilliance, opportunity, capacity, and love in the communities from which they came. The three of us share these foundational beliefs that your home community is the birthplace of your brilliance. This belief inspires their commitment to change the world with their resilience and their courageous leadership. There are three attributes or abilities I prize above all else: wisdom, which is having knowledge and knowing why and how to use it; courage, which is acting according to an ethical moral code, especially when it is most important to the well-being of those you serve, understanding that you do so not because you're unafraid but in spite of that fear; and acting from a place of empathy and love, which is seeing the humanity and worth of those you are privileged to serve. The three attributes guide leaders to do more, believe more, inspire more, fight more, and demand more and result in a legacy worthy of the shoulders upon which we stand. I've often told people who've worked with me: if a child or parent doesn't have a dream, give them one of yours. With their phenomenal book, Nancy and Roberto will show you how to help the young people under your watch believe that they do not have to leave to succeed. — Deborah Jewell-Sherman, Gregory R. Anrig Professor of Practice in Educational Leadership Harvard Graduate School of Education Deborah Jewell-Sherman is the first woman professor of practice at the Harvard Graduate School of Education (HGSE). She served as superintendent of the Richmond (VA) Public Schools from 2002 to 2008 and built a reputation as one of the most successful urban district superintendents in the country. Since returning to her alma mater in 2008, Jewell-Sherman has served as the director of the Urban Superintendents Program and currently serves as core faculty for the Doctorate of Education Leadership Program (Ed.L.D.). Printed by for personal use only |
W. E. B. Du Bois, an African American intellectual and the first African American to receive a doctorate at Harvard, created a concept in 1903 that pervaded much of educational thought and still ripples through our discourse today. The idea: Only 10 percent of a marginalized community could be expected to achieve at high levels or be worth the investment into their professional education. He called this special group the "talented tenth" who were "exceptional men," "the best of [the] race that they may guide the mass away from the contamination and death of the worst."
As a child, I saw the talented tenth myth personified in real life, and I thought that there was something horrendously unfair about it. I knew the people that I grew up with, that they were smart, they were capable.
The elementary school I attended grouped us heterogeneously, and the notion of the bell curve was vigorously enforced (Herrnstein & Murray, 1994). At the earliest levels, we learned that some had "it" and some didn't. The idea of a growth mindset, that one could become smarter through different forms of teaching and learning, was missing in our daily classroom interactions (Dweck, 2008). Rather, the future paths we would take were fixed and etched in our psyches at very early ages. I can still remember Diego, who struggled with every academic task; Maria, who emigrated to the country in 2nd grade and who was reprimanded frequently when she'd use a Spanish word in place of an English one; and Noel, who was ridiculed for preferring to play double Dutch rather than basketball. Diego was the kindest student in the class, Maria had a grace and artistic ability that I recognized as a 1st grader, and Noel's rendering of poems and prose held me spellbound.
Each of my classmates had gifts that went unrecognized, dreams and abilities that died a slow death grade after grade, year after year. Even as a child, I was attuned to Howard Gardner's (1983) notion of multiple intelligences as I recognized that ability, even brilliance, came in different forms. I knew that while I could excel in academic machinations, my three classmates far exceeded my ability to demonstrate kindness, artistry, and public speaking, for example. It pained me when they struggled, and I hated that some of the students laughed and that the teacher didn't stop it. The injustices I witnessed, while not registering on a conscious level, left an indelible mark on me and my sense of righteousness, purpose, and courageous action.
Regretfully, the notion of the bell curve and fixed ability groupings hadn't changed 20 years later as I taught early on. Even more unfortunately, I, too, had drunk the Kool-Aid; that is, I had come to believe that IQ was the determinant of academic success and either you were blessed with ability or you weren't. I think it is noteworthy to recognize that we each are impacted by the environment in which we are educated. The notion of the haves and have-nots is hardwired into our education system and is the default belief system that is only changed with explicit, continuous, and courageous messaging by educators and support staff.
Changing mindsets about what is possible is one of the signature elements of systemic improvement, and it occurs when leaders take rational actions (i.e., professional learning, sharing research, providing safe spaces to demonstrate risk taking and new behaviors) and model in ways large and small that levels of excellence can be achieved through equity. When I signed the contract with Richmond Public Schools saying that we would meet rigorous benchmarks in a very short span of time, I modeled that we had the innate capacity as a district to think and do things differently to bring about student success. I didn't realize it at the time, but this action signified a mindset that was diametrically opposed to what had always been believed—that is, that only the "talented tenth" would achieve at high levels.
Later on, as a teacher, then an administrator, I knew with certainty that it was a fiction. Exploding this myth became the center of my leadership and informed my professional goals. My academic work and research seek to discern how to lead and teach in such a way that we create legions of difference makers.
Du Bois himself came to see the flaws in his original thesis and revised his notions of leadership from the talented tenth to "the Guiding Hundredth" and predicated this new thinking on what we might now call a collective impact strategy: "We cannot have perfection. We have few saints. But we must have honest men [and women] or we die. We must have honest, far-seeing leadership or we fail" (Du Bois, 1935, p. 173).
This book seeks to help you develop this far-seeing leadership. It will deepen your belief in the fact that we can partner with communities to supplement the services needed to grow our communities no matter where we are and that we can expand the vistas for all children. Through the stories shared here, you will see that it's possible to model not just what good teaching looks like but also what a good citizen looks like, what a caring person looks like. So much of what I know about that was formed in a beautifully diverse community in the Bronx where I experienced love and care.
I grew up in the Bronxdale Houses, a housing project that was later renamed Justice Sonia Sotomayor Houses and Community Center in 2010 to honor one of its most famous residents, with whom I attended grammar school and high school. Bronxdale was a multigenerational, multiracial, and diverse community. If I close my eyes, I can see that the Tanners are right down the hall with the Ramirezes next door and next door to them, the Pacinos. The Toders, an older Jewish family, are right across from our apartment and the folks my mother trusted to hide our Christmas toys. From them, I not only learned to dance the hora, but I always got dreidels and another holiday to celebrate getting candy.
Growing up in public housing in the 1950s and early 1960s, being raised by a divorced mom with my two siblings, and seeing few positive depictions of women of color in positions of power and influence, this was my reality. However, I was blessed with a brilliant mother and an affirming suite of experiences that mitigated the barrage of negative messages. I recall how my mother and grandmother spoke up to challenge unilateral decisions. For example, in 1st grade, they wanted all of the girls to be blonde (wearing wigs made of yarn) for a skit. My grandmother said, "Hell no!" and made my wig dark brown. My mother challenged the nun who had chastised me for not attending Mass on the day of my confirmation. She called her out for her hypocrisy and told her to speak to her about the decision as it was her doing. There were so many times that I saw courageous, albeit respectful, disobedience, and it fueled my willingness to get into good trouble, as Congressman John Lewis called it. As everyone who knows me knows, I continue to get into trouble to this day.
Bronxdale replicated a nursery school model created in Chicago where children were cared for on-site to help the working mothers, many of whom were single because of death or divorce. This prescience provided phenomenal learning opportunities and was influential in my aspiration of becoming an educator. Many of these brilliant teachers were from the South and had come north for graduate work at schools like Columbia, NYU, and Cornell. After graduation, some wanted to stay in New York but were unable to be hired in the New York City public schools. These amazing, extremely well-educated women—Miss Forkner, Miss Mary, Miss Pryor—became teachers in the city's daycare centers. In music, they taught us to sing in different languages, and in PE, we moved to Bizet's "Toreador Song" from the opera Carmen.
Economically, life was a challenge for my divorced mom, but thanks to Bronxdale, we lived in a rich community in terms of its diversity and culture. She worked two jobs and relied on my brother and me for help with chores like the laundry, which we pushed in a shopping cart down the street to the laundromat. And while my upbringing taught me compassion, if I had a wish, it would be for my mom's life to have been easier. Her sacrifices allowed her to see her little Debbie from the Bronx graduate from Harvard before she died. She inspires my work with people in communities, and I see her in these moms that are trying to make a way out of no way.
While my work wasn't done in the community that raised me, I have chosen to serve the children in similar communities. Once you've experienced a community such as this, you never lose it. It becomes a calling in your life. We can honor our upbringing in the choices that we make. We can help to instill the same sense of pride and gratitude. It is amazing that many of us underestimate the power and influence of our leadership, perhaps because there are so many times when we don't have the ability to just make things happen via fiat or edict. But I have come to understand that over the long haul, the degree to which our espoused and enacted values are manifested within an organization is one of the ways that we are able to bend the vision, culture, and ultimately norms and outcomes of the system. We are watched continuously by those we lead to see how we act in times of comfort but, more important, in times of difficulty. Are we adhering to what we profess even when challenging or inconvenient? For example, some leaders profess that all children can learn, but they believe there are conditions attached. Additionally, they may accept a growth mindset for children but not for their teachers, administrators, support staff, and parents and other community members. In changing mindsets, what you do dwarfs what you say about who can and who can't be successful. Walking that talk on a daily basis was critical for my efficacy as an instructional leader.
This book names a pernicious mindset among people in marginalized communities. It believes that in our predominantly Black and Brown neighborhoods, what we offer and who we are is inferior, so if you want your child to do better, then they have to leave. There has been a real cost to Black and Brown people as they leave to succeed in the halls of prestigious schools. For some, the toll can be paid, and they can leave intact with minimal scars. But for many, there are parts of them that are broken by the experience. That is too high a cost.
Giving back to our community can take on different meanings. I never worked in the Bronx that shaped me, but I worked in communities like it intentionally and take the Bronx with me wherever I go. I believe in this way I've never left my community. The issue presented by Nancy and Roberto is that too often our young people are forced to choose between being successful by divorcing themselves from their whole and authentic selves or being unsuccessful. Our challenge as leaders is to establish learning environments and experiences that demand that students can be who they are in their community and be successful in their chosen world. We need them to identify their own values and connections, to learn how to code switch without shame, and to be unwilling to sacrifice their cherished beliefs for expediency.
Much of my work as the superintendent of schools was a counternarrative for the idea that you have to leave your community to be successful. We told our children, "You can stay here and receive a stellar education, and you'll also be viewed as a whole person."
The central challenge for leaders who want to create their own counternarrative campaigns is to answer the question, How do you become a prophet in your own land? How are you able to hold up a community and convey all that it has to give in a way that galvanizes its people?
Nancy and Roberto have written this book to help you answer these questions. Both of them are living counternarratives. Nancy was a teacher and principal in her East Jose, California, community, and Roberto was a superintendent back in his home of Newburgh, New York. They share their stories of how they were able to hold up a mirror in these places, name what needed to change, but also let folks know that this is where we are but not who we are or who will remain.
Because they value the communities from which they came, Nancy and Roberto embrace every aspect of what we call "community." They are keenly aware of the challenges, but they see the beauty, humanity, brilliance, opportunity, capacity, and love in the communities from which they came. The three of us share these foundational beliefs that your home community is the birthplace of your brilliance. This belief inspires their commitment to change the world with their resilience and their courageous leadership.
There are three attributes or abilities I prize above all else: wisdom, which is having knowledge and knowing why and how to use it; courage, which is acting according to an ethical moral code, especially when it is most important to the well-being of those you serve, understanding that you do so not because you're unafraid but in spite of that fear; and acting from a place of empathy and love, which is seeing the humanity and worth of those you are privileged to serve. The three attributes guide leaders to do more, believe more, inspire more, fight more, and demand more and result in a legacy worthy of the shoulders upon which we stand.
I've often told people who've worked with me: if a child or parent doesn't have a dream, give them one of yours. With their phenomenal book, Nancy and Roberto will show you how to help the young people under your watch believe that they do not have to leave to succeed.
— Deborah Jewell-Sherman, Gregory R. Anrig Professor of Practice in Educational Leadership Harvard Graduate School of Education
Deborah Jewell-Sherman is the first woman professor of practice at the Harvard Graduate School of Education (HGSE). She served as superintendent of the Richmond (VA) Public Schools from 2002 to 2008 and built a reputation as one of the most successful urban district superintendents in the country. Since returning to her alma mater in 2008, Jewell-Sherman has served as the director of the Urban Superintendents Program and currently serves as core faculty for the Doctorate of Education Leadership Program (Ed.L.D.).
