I’m channeling my anger about racism out there in the world into learning how to resolve conflict. We all hear in first period details about the new Conflict Resolution Council (CRC) that is being set up, with ten students from different grades and nine adults from the community, as well as the school. We are told the national trainers are looking for people who are not afraid of conflict and can think “outside the box.”
I fill out an application and go through an interview. I am asked to describe: a situation when I was open to new information different from what I thought previously; an example of a problem that is best thought of beyond just an either/or choice; and the most important outcome from resolving a conflict. My answer to the last one is that a good outcome for conflict is for all sides to get what they need, not necessarily what they want coming into the conflict.
A few days go by, and I find out I am one of three juniors who has been selected to be trained and serve on the CRC.
Training is incredibly interesting; we work on realistic conflict situations in a high school, role playing, looking at issues from different points of view, practicing listening and restating concerns, avoiding personalizing problems, and using creative brainstorming.
The job of the CRC is to listen to people in conflict whose concerns do not fall into other groups’ responsibilities. Like, the soccer team should solve their problem, conflicts on teacher teams should be solved by them or the administrator assigned to them, and confidential problems should be addressed by student counselors.
The first case brought before the CRC involves a student-teacher conflict. Both sides have agreed to have the case heard before the CRC, actively participate, and try to follow the recommendations of the CRC. The student initiated this hearing as an alternative to complaining to the principal. She thinks she will get a “fairer” hearing from a group that has a majority of students. The issue is about progress reports from her art teacher that will be on her record and forwarded to colleges.
We are in a large meeting room, and everyone seems on edge at the newness of this whole thing. CRC members are asked to sit in a large circle of chairs, surrounding three chairs facing each other in the middle of the large circle. A school administrator selected as one of the members of the CRC will act as a discussion facilitator when needed. She sits in one of the middle three chairs. The discussion will be between the student and teacher, sitting in the other two chairs. Those of us on the outside circle are to remain quiet and not interact in any way with the three in the middle. I saw this demonstrated in the training and it is amazing how, after a bit, the two people discussing their issue forget about the people in the large circle surrounding them, though they do sometimes look to the facilitator sitting in the middle with them.
The student’s name is Kaitlyn, and she’s a junior. The art teacher’s name is Mr. Mitchell. I’m pretty psyched to be a part of all this.
“Thanks to both of you for being willing to test out our new council for resolving conflicts within the Stone Creek High School community,” the facilitator says. “The expectation is that this will be primarily a discussion between the two of you, but I can help if you get stuck at some point. Later, comments will come from the other council members sitting in the large circle around us.” She looks Kaitlyn, and then Mr. Mitchell, in the eyes. “We’re not looking to wrap anything up today, only to make a start. So, Kaitlyn, will you initiate the conversation by stating your concern?”
“Last year I took Drawing from Ms. Nicely,” Kaitlyn begins. “She wrote great reports about my work and improvements. This year I’m taking Painting from Mr. Mitchell. He has not written a formal report yet for the first quarter, but comments he has made show it will not be favorable. I am concerned about how colleges will view this, since I want to have a career in fashion design.”
She has been looking at the facilitator, or sort of over her head, but now turns her gaze in the near proximity of Mr. Mitchell.
“It is accurate that I have tried to get Kaitlyn to open up and be more free-flowing in her drawing and painting,” Mr. Mitchell says. “Less snapshot reproduction, and more expressive. She has not acted on any of my suggestions, or asked for my assistance in any way. So, I’m not sure what she expects from me.”
“I do all my assignments, I don’t mess around in class, and the decision of how I express myself should be mine.” Kaitlyn’s voice rises a little, sounding stronger.
“I am not trying to force you to do anything,” Mr. Mitchell says, with a somewhat stiff manner. “Merely recommending a variety of art strategies and techniques that you might want to try, to tap into your creativity.”
Kaitlyn shrugs. “I prefer to stick with what works for me.”
“If you want to do traditional fashion design, your approach may be perfectly acceptable. But if you want to do art or explore a range of ideas of beauty, then you will need to grow in different ways, try new things.”
I make a note to myself—perfectionist? From her appearance, might be. She looks like she just walked down a fashion runway, the height of her platform shoes outrageous but trendy. Bet she expects a perfect job, perfect home, perfect husband and kids. On the other hand, Mr. Mitchell isn’t sounding all warm and fuzzy, or like he gives a crap what she decides.
“What if I’m not good at what you want me to try?” Kaitlyn asks.
“Then you’ll get better—if you keep trying rather than shutting down because you’re afraid of being judged,” Mr. Mitchell says, a bit more passion in his voice now. “Sometimes you don’t make things happen, you just let things happen. Aren’t you curious what else you might be able to do?”
“I had a 5th grade teacher who stomped on my confidence about art.” Kaitlyn’s voice is barely audible. “I have been careful ever since, rather than curious.”
“You have the rest of your life to be careful. Right now, let your adventurous side come out. What is the world you see?”
I think he’s asking a lot from her, to trust him. How can he build that trust? It’s like this is the first time they’ve talked about all this. I want to believe in him, he’s African American and there aren’t many teachers at Stone Creek who are, but seems like he hasn’t really reached out to her much. Why am I noting he is black? That is irrelevant to the problem here!
The facilitator intervenes. “This has been a great start to an important conversation. And the conversation will need to continue before the two of you reach a comfortable resolution. But I’m thinking now perhaps we could give some feedback that might encourage a continued conversation. Would that be okay?”
They both nod yes.
One of the teachers on the council starts things off. “Mr. Mitchell, I have had the opportunity to see some of your work as an artist and been very impressed. I hope your students have had the same opportunity, and more—to ask questions about your techniques, for example, and how vulnerable it feels to produce a work of art.”
“Perhaps working on a project together with students would create an atmosphere of more open interaction,” a parent says.
“Kaitlyn, it seems like you need to give yourself a break and allow your curiosity to come out more than worrying if you’re gonna do it right,” a student offers.
“Is there an opportunity for students to critique each other’s work, with modeling from you, Mr. Mitchell, of how to be constructive in feedback?” asks another student.
“I think we can’t overlook how difficult it is for students to unlearn messages they have received in the past, particularly regarding creativity and the pressure around grades,” a teacher says. “We adults need to be sensitive to those fears.”
“I think it is great you had the courage to bring this topic up, Kaitlyn,” a parent says. “It shows a lot of maturity on your part.”
“Mr. Mitchell, I think there is no one way to magically open up,” a student says. “If you come to understand Kaitlyn’s interests, strengths, and talents better, maybe you can suggest how to build on those in a way
that won’t seem so threatening to her.”
“I think that was well said,” Mr. Mitchell says. “Today has helped me to see how Kaitlyn and I can keep working on this together, with the rest of the class, and not stay stuck in a standoff. Honestly, some of us teachers slip back into old patterns from the past; I worked in a bureaucracy for years, where my job was defined in a narrow box of judge, grade, and certify students as “employable”—disconnected from any individual. I sometimes forget what the purpose of us being here is: to be a learning community where everyone grows. I also want to say that I remember as an art student the excitement of letting go of the fear of judgment by others. I should share those feelings with students.”
Wow, just talking can actually get someone to open up, even though they don’t know each other very well. I can’t wait to share this with Chelsea.
“Great comments, everyone,” a school counselor says. “I’d like to make a comment about our school in general. In the same way we have tried to normalize failure as a step on the road to success, we have to say that it is normal to feel discomfort, anxiety, and loneliness in a learning environment. ‘Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to truth.’ That’s a quote from someone I greatly admire, Pema Chodron. Learning means there are unknowns. That’s scary. So, the ultimate goal is to develop the courage to be uncomfortable, still growing.”
“Kaitlyn, Mr. Mitchell, I hope you will come back and let us know the resolution you reach,” the facilitator says. “Thanks for being great guinea pigs!”
On the way out, I hear one of the parents say, “I wish my boss had been here. My workplace could use this kind of approach.”
It’s hard not to be self-centered, thinking about the discussion. Like, I really related to Kaitlyn’s shame of being defined from the outside. Like, what would colleges think of her? Like, what do people think of me as a black person? Yet the only way for Kaitlyn to stop the shame is to not buy into the outside definitions. Every one of us can take the defining power back. We just need to figure out how.
At dinner, I ask Mama and Daddy when I first became aware of being mixed-race. Daddy looks at Mama and she says, “I guess it was when you first went to school and after a parent meeting, you pointed out the other kids were always the same color as their parents, but I was different from you and Daddy. My response was I was no different from you and don’t ever forget that. ”
I get up and walk around the table to hug Mama. “I didn’t forget.”
This conversation gives me the courage to pursue another topic I often think about.
“Mama, what exactly happened between you and the women of the first church we went to? They weren’t very nice, were they.”
“I didn’t think so at the time,” she said. “But your dad, and then some of the women I got to know later, helped me understand a custom for growing up black where the elders purposefully toughen up the younger ones so they’ll be able to withstand the challenges they will face in life as black men and women.”
“I felt bad I had not thought to prepare your mama for the sensitivity of black women to white women marrying black men, plus the bantering that goes on to toughen people up,” Dad says.
I’ve had it wrong all this time. I thought the way those women at church treated Mama was all about jealousy and competition from the short supply of men due to serving in wars and aggressive jailing by police. That might be part of it, but it looks like it’s not the whole story.
“I thought they were mean to you, Mama.”
“You didn’t really see any of it. I guess you got that impression from how upset I was right after,” Mama says. “But in the years since, I’ve become close friends with two of the women from that church through work at the hospital. To show you how close we are, we all laugh when one of them refers to me as not only white-skinned but thin-skinned.”
It’s hard for even us to talk about race. I wonder how much my wrong interpretation of what happened to Mama has influenced my standoffishness to blacks at school, particularly girls.
“Good conversation,” I say. “I need some alone time now to think.” I head to my bedroom.
Rejecting outside definitions means making yourself vulnerable. But that’s not a bad thing, because you learn what and who you can trust by being open. I think that’s why my parents have such a great marriage: they totally trust each other. And they trust each other because they accept themselves, who they really are, and are open with each other. Like Handful in Invention of Wings, I derive inner strength from my mama.
During the conversation between Kaitlyn and Mr. Mitchell, I was thinking in old, therefore comfortable, stereotypes—perfectionist young girl and black man—outside definitions kept alive inside me by my fixation on them. My perceptions are different now, though, and they come from the conversation between them that actually started building a connection, where Kaitlyn could ask, “What if I fail?” and Mr. Mitchell, despite being a proven artist, could say, “No big deal.” The point was not a past bad experience or definitions of one’s future but the present. Right now, open up and try. I’m glad people told Kaitlyn she was brave. She was. And Mr. Mitchell was brave, too, saying he could be more understanding.
Inspired, I pick up the spiral notebook Daniel and I share. Reading his entry from last night stuns me. I have never heard Daniel speak of his father, his real father, before. Also, the old Daniel, pre-arrest, would have endlessly obsessed about his legal problems, ratcheting up his level of anxiety with each thought about his situation. This is different.
Should I try to find my father? Now that I’m not so perfect either, maybe we could revive our close times. Not judge. Not think about me driving you away, wanting all the yelling to stop, wanting my mom to stop crying. Looking for you now might hurt Mom more than what I’ve already done. Make her feel like she is not enough. She is. She’s everything to me. But she would want me to open up to others, wouldn’t she? Probably not you, though. If I could take a risk with you, maybe I could take a risk with others. I’m starting to learn to be real with Cora, and Sean’s like a dog with a bone. He’s not letting go of me. They make me feel better about myself, the real me, which I can see by letting them in.
What amazing insight from Daniel. All my friends, and there aren’t that many of them, seem to be lurching forward in personal growth.
Maria and I spend some time on the golf course today. As we’re walking to the second hole, she tells me about her launch into a new endeavor, encouraged by teachers who have been pushing her to take a risk. Maria is combining the risk idea with a guy she heard on Oprah last Sunday morning, talking about a “curiosity” project he invented. The goal is to meet a new person every day.
“Cora, isn’t that a perfect way for me to come out of hiding?” Maria says. “I’ve been sort of unthinkingly invisible. You are the only person, Cora, who knows I am undocumented. I have to keep that hidden for my family’s safety, but it doesn’t mean I have to shut down all of who I am.”
“You’re up to tee off, Maria. What’s the project all about?” I ask.
Maria says, “Just to have a real conversation with people I don’t know well, which is pretty much anyone but you.”
Her drive is the best I’ve ever seen from her. Everything must be in alignment for Maria today.
Not counting my parents, people I know well would include Chelsea and Daniel and starting to know Sean and Maria better. Maria counts me as the only person she knows well. What does that even mean?
My drive at the second tee results in a shank to the right, ending up in the woods.
Walking down the fairway, Maria continues, “What I’ve learned so far is I need to start things by saying something important to me, not start right in asking somebody a question. That puts people off, makes them think I’m pushy, like getting into their business. So yesterday at the grocery store there is this check-out person who goes to our school, I’ve seen her around, and I said to her, ‘I just got done with my golf intramural class.
It is so nice to be outside and I saw a wild turkey for the first time. There aren’t many turkeys left in Mexico, where I’m from.’ Then she starts being interested in me, asking questions, but not like judging me. Today I saw her in the hall on the way to morning block and she says hello, all friendly like. I felt more a part of the school.”
“I mainly make small talk with people in stores,” I say. “Or, in school, I just talk about schoolwork. I guess I don’t see those kind of encounters as going anywhere, so why open up?”
Maria has a good lie and her long nine iron shot puts her a ways from the cup on the green. Me, I get lucky from an awkward shot that ends up close to the green on the fairway. Joining up, we head toward our balls.
“For me, I don’t know to start with who might be a friend,” Maria says. “And people don’t think of me as a possible friend if I don’t open up to them. Here’s what I did today: I was early for the bus coming out here to the golf course, so instead of huddling down waiting for you, I struck up a conversation with the bus driver. Turns out he met my dad one day at the lumber mill. He said, ‘One of the Mexicans.’ I said right back, ‘We’re not all alike.’ And he said, ‘You’re right. Your dad was the funny one, had everybody laughing.’ I can’t believe I had the nerve to say that to him. But he didn’t think anything of it. I amazed myself, saying what I really think for a change.”
“Wow, Maria, that took courage.” How would I have acted in that situation? I probably would have thought the bus driver was just prejudiced and shut down.
My chip shot over a sand trap makes it on the green, but I’m still far from the cup.
School Tales Page 17