It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.

—Frederick Douglass, American social reformer, abolitionist, orator, writer, and statesman

EIGHT

Out of the Mouths of Babes: Black Children’s Fatigue

Joe

My son Joe—yes, the same one mentioned throughout the book, the associate professor of religion at Duke University and the Harvard, Duke, and Princeton graduate—was quite a handful between the ages of two and nine. I was a working mother, so both he and his sister, Mareisha, were in day care and then afterschool care. Joe was an especially difficult toddler and young child. He threw his share of tantrums and then some. Popular parenting tools like the time-out chair did not work at all for Joe. He was sent home from the day care center several times for “aggression,” fighting, and otherwise unacceptable behavior. (We learned later that allergies may have accounted for some of this behavior.) We tried Montessori school, where he lasted about three weeks. The teacher said that he did not string beads or march the Montessori way. (I thought the whole idea of Montessori education was that you were free to explore your own way.) Joe was always big for his age. By six months old, he was in the ninety-ninth percentile for weight and height. He was over six feet by the time he was 12. We sought the advice of a child psychologist who basically said that, based on her testing, he was of at least average intelligence. He was just “wired” differently. I am not sure that we learned specific strategies to help Joe from her.

Even with the behavioral issues, Joe has always had a huge heart. One day when he was three years old, I thought he was playing close to home, but I did not see him in the yard. He rode his big wheel to the next-door neighbors’, knocked on the door, and said, “Hi, I just came over to see how everybody is doing. You all OK?” The neighbors and I had the biggest laugh. When he was nine years old (1986), he woke up crying one morning because he was concerned that everybody in the whole world would die of AIDS. Still today his caring spirit is what his friends and colleagues admire. At his dissertation defense at Princeton, Cornel West, one of Joe’s advisers, said of his protégé, “Joe does not only possess one of the finest minds that I have encountered, he is one of the finest people I have ever known.”

Joe went to predominantly white schools and he was often the only Black boy in his class and the tallest. Up until fourth grade, he continued to have various behavioral issues at school. His dad and I were frequently in meetings with teachers. In fourth grade, his white male teacher transformed our perception of Joe from a difficult child of average intelligence to a brilliant one. He said, “I think the only thing wrong with Joe is that he is brilliant and has not been challenged.” Almost immediately Joe’s grades started to improve, largely, I think, because his self-concept improved. Fast-forward to high school, Joe graduated as valedictorian of his all-male Jesuit school, having attained straight As, and was awarded a four-year full academic scholarship to Harvard.

If Joe had not had a teacher in fourth grade who was able to see beyond the prevailing stereotypes of Black boys (less intelligent, aggressive) and see his potential, Joe’s life story may have been very different. Even we, as parents, were buying into the deficit narrative about Joe. I just wanted Joe to comply and to stop causing trouble. I did not thoroughly consider the role that implicit bias played in his earlier teachers’ assessments. I did not probe enough with Joe as to his day-to-day school experiences that may have contributed to his behavior. I do know that it was frustrating and fatiguing for us as parents and certainly for Joe, coming of age as a Black boy in the 1980s in America.

What about all the Black children who do not have a fourth-grade teacher like Joe’s? What about all the brilliant minds that are being lost because they are being stereotyped as less than—not capable?

Mareisha

Joe’s sister, Mareisha, did not have any significant issues until third grade. On a report card, she was labeled “lazy.” Mareisha was shy as a child, an introvert, but lazy did not seem to fit. When we sought clarification, the teacher told us that Mareisha often put her head down on the desk during music. When we asked Mareisha, she told us that the teacher would come close to her with instruments such as tambourines or maracas and wanted the students to show that they were getting into the rhythm. Mareisha did not like attention on her, so she put her head down and essentially recoiled. Rather than attempt to understand Mareisha’s behavior, the teacher judged her based on her interpretation of what putting your head on the desk meant. “Lazy” is a particularly triggering depiction because it is an entrenched stereotype about Black people and not one that we wanted to be a part of Mareisha’s record. After much cajoling, the teacher deleted the term “lazy.” It was fatiguing.

I share this story because I know that there are many Black parents who are extra vigilant in ensuring that their children are not stereotyped and labeled. The extra emotional toll is fatiguing.

Young, Gifted, and Black

One of The Winters Group’s principal strategists, Valda Valbrun, a K–12 educator, laments that children of color often do not feel good about themselves because of the limitations that school systems put on them and the inequities in resource allocation that I mentioned in chapter 3. Valda has worked in several districts as a teacher, principal, and head of teacher development and sees the vast inequities that disproportionately affect Black children. “White teachers and administrations have deep-seated perceptions that Black kids are just incapable of achieving. They pity them and set low expectations.” Research shows that Black and Latino students are least likely to be recommended for honors or advanced placement classes.¹ Black and Latino students represent 38 percent of students in schools that offer AP courses, but only 29 percent of students enrolled in at least one AP course. Black and Latino students also have less access to gifted and talented education programs than white students.

According to the Office of Civil Rights, Black students—and, in particular, Black boys—were two to three times more likely to be enrolled in special education classes than their nonblack peers.

Black students without disabilities are more than three times as likely as their white peers without disabilities to be expelled or suspended. Although Black students represent 15 percent of students in the Office of Civil Rights database, they make up 35 percent of students suspended once, 44 percent of those suspended more than once, and 36 percent of students expelled. Further, over 50 percent of students who were involved in school-related arrests or referred to law enforcement are Hispanic or Black.² As mentioned in chapter 3, Black children represent 19 percent of the nation’s preschool population yet 47 percent of those receiving more than one out-of-school suspension. In contrast, white students represent 41 percent of preschool enrollment but only 28 percent of those receiving more than one out-of-school suspension. As a result, Black students spend less time in the classroom, further affected their access to a quality education.

Over 80 percent of K–12 public teachers are white, while less than half of the students are white.³

Research shows that white teachers often pity and underchallenge Black children. They see them in a deficit framework, not capable of meeting, let alone exceeding, standards. Black students with Black teachers are three times more likely to be recommended for gifted programs. When Black and white teachers evaluate the same Black student, white teachers are 12 percent less likely to predict that the student will finish high school and 30 percent less likely to predict that the student will graduate from college.⁴

Children Know

My daughter-in-law, Kamilah Legette, a research associate at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, studies the impact of bias on students of color. Her research⁵ reveals that children know when their teachers perceive them to be deficient. Children answered her queries with comments like the following:

• “I mean just because they think they can just look at you and say ‘Oh, you’re a bad child,’ but they actually don’t even know you, so that’s just what they think before they actually get to know you, but then when they get to know you, their opinions would change and they would think, and then they’ll know that you’re nice, you’re not a bad child.”
• “They didn’t really think that I had the answer. I was raising my hand to say something, but like the teachers kept calling on white people, not me. But I keep trying. It can be kinda hard, because I feel like my teachers don’t like me or think I know things.”
• “It’s just, I can’t really explain it to you, but sometimes it’s like I can tell at first they think I’m going to be a certain way and then they find out I’m different.”

It is fatiguing and psychologically damaging for children who are eager to learn to experience these biases, intentional or not. These situations can lead to internalized oppression that can follow the child through adulthood.

For my son, Joe, once he was told that he was smart and capable, he started to perform that way. This is called efficacy. I met Jeff Howard, a Harvard-trained psychologist, in the early 1990s. His organization, the Efficacy Institute,⁶ works with school administrators to advance the belief that there is nothing wrong with the kids. They can all succeed if they have the right tools and supports. Efficacy is the judgment one makes about one’s own ability to achieve. If teachers send messages, either explicit or implicit, that they do not expect the students to succeed, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Compounding the racism caused by harmful stereotypes, as pointed out in chapter 3, schools that educate Black and Brown children are underfunded and, in general, underresourced. The coronavirus outbreak again shed light on the digital divide as one of many problems. Students were forced to learn from home and, disproportionately, students of color did not have access to the internet.⁷ What is so fatiguing is that this inequity was not new. Why had it not been effectively addressed before the pandemic?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Internalized oppression starts in preschool. The famous black doll experiment⁸ first conducted by psychologists Kenneth and Mamie Clark in the 1940s and repeated several times since is evidence that Black children often have a negative self-image. In the experiment, researchers show Black children ages four to seven several dolls, some white and some black, and ask the children a series of questions about them, including which one is pretty, which one is smart, and which one is good or bad. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the children pick the white doll for the positive attributes and the black doll when the label is negative. When the interviewer asks the children why the white doll is better, some say that it is because it is white. Others will say that it is because it has blue eyes or because it is pretty. The most telling aspect of the experiment is the last question—Which doll looks like you?—in response to which the children point to the black doll. It is very fatiguing that the results have not changed since the 1940s. Then is now.

As mentioned in chapter 1, research demonstrates that babies as young as nine months old show preference for their own race.⁹ Researchers do not conclude that this is racism, but it demonstrates that we do notice color early in life.

Childhood Interrupted

Black children often “grow up too fast” because of their social circumstances and stereotypes about their innocence. They experience the effects of structural racism based on where they live, where and what they learn, their economic means (what they have), and their legal means (how their rights are executed).

In 2018, 32 percent of Black children were living in poverty¹⁰ and 65 percent of Black children were living in single-parent households versus 24 percent for white children.¹¹ As a result, older children may have to carry out more household duties at young ages and be expected to care for younger children while their mother works. These circumstances often lead to chronic absenteeism from school, poor nutrition, and more health challenges, as described later in this chapter.

Black children are perceived to be older and less innocent, regardless of social standing, something known as adultification bias. Studies show that Black boys as young as 10 are viewed as older and therefore more responsible for their actions, whereas white boys of the same age are presumed innocent. We, as Black people, can feed into that narrative by using names like “little man” as terms of endearment. We also often feed into the stereotype that boys should not cry as it is a sign of weakness.

Young Black boys are often taught how to withhold and withdraw to avoid provoking the fear or ire of those around them.¹² As I mentioned, my son, Joe, was tall for his age from the time he was a toddler. He was often told in day care to be careful because he could hurt the other children because of his size. Regarding Black girls, compared with white girls of the same age, they are seen as needing less support and nurturing and as knowing more about adult topics, including sex.¹³

The Talk

Many Black parents have “the talk” with their children. The talk is about racism and police brutality against Blacks. Parents know that there is a high likelihood that at some point during their adolescence, their children will encounter racism in the form of an undeserved encounter with the police. The talk goes something like this: “As Black people, we continue to be subjected to unfair treatment based on the color of our skin, especially from law enforcement. If you are stopped, even if there seems to be no reason for it and you think you are right, just follow their instructions. Keep your hands in sight—on the steering wheel or up in the air. Do not make a move without their permission, and when you do, tell them exactly what you are doing—for example, reaching into the glove box for the registration. Only answer the questions directly, with no additional commentary. If you are taken into custody, immediately call me and I will take it from there. Your job is to live.” Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote a book in the form of a letter to his teenage son. It’s titled Between the World and Me,¹⁴ and it draws on history as well as personal experience to discuss the different forms of violence against young Blacks. Adolescent psychiatrist Adrienne Clark says “the talk” should start as early as age six with age-appropriate language. At this age she recommends a book called Something Happened in Our Town: A Child’s Story about Racial Injustice.¹⁵ The emotional burden this necessity puts on children and parents is fatiguing.

Black target
Source: The Winters Group, Inc. Art by Krystle Nicholas.

Racism Makes Children Sick Too

Chapter 4 highlights the deep-seated and systemic nature of racial disparities in health care and outcomes. These disparities start in the womb from maternal exposure to stress manifested by preterm and low birth weights and carry through adulthood as higher incidences of heart disease, diabetes, and depression. As pointed out in chapter 4, the stress generated by early experiences with racism has been proven to create toxic stress.

Black children are exposed to more racial stress by situations at home, poverty, experiences in school, the fear of being racially profiled by police, and the denial of their innocence. Stress leads to actual changes in hormones that cause inflammation in the body, an indicator of chronic disease. Researchers have found that Black children are more prone to toxic stress (trauma). Based on research from the Opportunity Institute, they assert, “‘Stress’ is a commonplace term for hormonal changes that occur in response to frightening or threatening events or conditions. When severe, these changes are termed ‘toxic’ stress and can impede children’s behavior, cognitive capacity, and emotional and physical health.” Events that can engender toxic stress include a parent or close family member being incarcerated; the witnessing of domestic violence; physical or emotional neglect; financial hardships; exposure to external violence; divorce or separation of parents; overt discrimination; and placement in foster care. As has been discussed throughout the book, Black people disproportionately experience all of these stressors, which all can be tied to structural racism.¹⁶

As pointed out in this chapter and in chapter 4, Black children are more likely to live in poverty, experience environmental racism (be food insecure, live in a food desert, or not have access to clean water), lack access to good-quality health care, suffer from poor nutrition, not get enough sleep, and not receive a good education.

Racism’s impact on children’s health is vast. It leads to weathering, as pointed out in chapter 4. Youths who experience discrimination early in life face accelerated aging. They are also diagnosed with depression more often. In the University of Georgia study, depression among Black youth was significant at ages 10–15 and 20–29. Chapter 4 points out that Black children die more often from sudden infant death syndrome and are more likely to have asthma, be obese, and attempt suicide in high school due to depression.

The connected systemic issues interrupt Black childhood, affect their academic achievement, and almost guarantee that the cycle will be repeated for the next generation.

SUMMARY

Children are our most precious gift. They deserve the best. Black children deserve the best too if we are to break the cycle of intergenerational fatigue. When children are taught that they are gifted and have unlimited potential, they fulfill that narrative. When they are told that they are less intelligent and older than their years, they also fulfill that narrative.

Marian Wright Edelman, founder of the Children’s Defense Fund and activist for children’s rights, said, “If we don’t stand up for our children, we don’t stand for much.” We often declare that children are our future. Are only some children our future and others OK to “throw away”? What can we do?

Take a systems approach: Even though there are numerous organizations and efforts working on the issues that I highlight in this chapter, I wonder whether there is enough of a coordinated, collaborative national effort to change the trajectory. I wonder whether we really are changing systems or simply focusing on programmatic solutions. There are initiatives such as Advancing Equity for Women and Girls of Color, which was started with the Obama administration. I do not think it has gotten much traction. A nationwide Boys and Men of Color initiative has taken root in a number of cities based on findings from the My Brother’s Keeper task force. Programs often have an objective of changing the children or helping the children cope rather than changing the system, which would mean dismantling policies and practices that perpetuate structural racism. Systems are hard to crack, but that is what it will take. (I realize this is not new news.) Programs tied to larger systems change such as Head Start, a federally funded preschool program, have worked to improve school readiness.

Distribute school resources equitably: As mentioned in chapter 3, schools that educate Black and Brown children are woefully underfunded. Often districts are funded based on an equality (everybody gets the same amount) rather than an equity model (resource allocation is based on need). I think this is an easy fix. It is tangible and quantifiable. Every child should have access to technology—a computer and internet access.

Change the narrative about who Black children are and what they are capable of: Media images need to change. Deficit thinking needs to change. Parents are mainly responsible for this, but teachers play a big role too. We can all play our part in debunking myths and shattering stereotypes. It takes a village.

Fix economic inequities: The rich get richer and the poor get poorer, as the saying goes. The cycle of poverty cannot be broken if we have systems that favor those with higher incomes over those with lower incomes. While I realize this is a complex issue, fraught with politics and different worldviews, it could be fixed if we wanted to do it. Some countries, including many European countries, pay parents when they have children as a means of reducing poverty, something known as a child allowance. Some countries pay poorer parents more (equity model). They get this allowance whether they work or not, a basic difference from the United States’ child tax credit.¹⁷

Provide incentives for larger grocers to operate in Black and Brown communities: Children need access to healthy food. I discussed food deserts in chapter 4. The lack of access to nutritional food leads to poor health outcomes. According to the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA), nearly 30 million people live in food deserts. Family Dollar, Lyft, and Thrive Market are addressing this issue. Family Dollars are often located in low-income areas and have started carrying fresh fruit. Lyft, the ride-sharing app, is providing rides to Washington, DC residents to larger food chains. Thrive Market, an online retailer sells organic foods at 50 percent off retail prices.¹⁸

Mandate that landlords provide safe, lead-free, clean housing: As mentioned in chapter 6, Black and Brown families are often living in substandard housing. Even though there are policies to prevent this, there is little monitoring and it takes months, if not years, to bring the perpetrators to justice.

Love your children and love somebody else’s too: Children need love. They need encouragement. They need hope. They need to know that adults believe in them.

Changing the world for children will change the world for all and lift the burden of Black fatigue.