Restorative Practices: A Social Discipline for the New Millennium

Restorative Practices is an approach to dealing with social behavior that separates the deed from the doer at the same time giving victims a voice that allows the offenders to understand how their behavior has affected the victims as well as other members of the community. Hopefully the offenders then feel remorseful and are willing to take responsibility for their behavior. The victim(s) and offender(s) then discuss together how the harm can be rectified and after that the offender is welcomed back into the community.
I began my educational journey with the International Institute for Restorative Practices in the summer of 2010. I worked for the Newark Public School system for twenty-five years and it was in February of 2010 that I heard about IIRP. My principal gave all the teachers an article to read on restorative practices at a faculty meeting. I went online to learn more about restorative practices and found the International Institute for Restorative Practices and also discovered that there was a workshop coming up, to be held in Bethlehem. I got permission from my principal to attend the workshop and was completely enthused by what I learned. Those of us at the workshop were told about the graduate program and if we enrolled before April 1rst of last year we would be considered for a scholarship. So I decided to apply not knowing at that time that I would choose to retire in the midst of all the hoopla, negativity where teachers were concerned, and budget cuts threatened to affect medical and retirement benefits.
One of the first articles I read was entitled Double Jeopardy by Cristina Anderson. Anderson in her article talks about the zero tolerance policy in schools and how it is used as a blanket approach to school discipline and the breaking of rules by students. Zero tolerance is suspension or expulsion. It came into being as a result of the 1994 Gun Free Schools Act and was meant to be used for violent crimes. The title of the article points out how students can be punished by the school system and depending on the offense become involved with the criminal justice system as well, hence double jeopardy.
I taught in the Newark Public School system for twenty five years and came to know for a fact that suspension and or expulsion is not necessarily the answer to many behavior infractions. Anderson states in the article:
“With specific regard to at risk youth, however the data appear more concrete. For this population it seems unlikely that school suspension will successfully impact behavior.” (Anderson, p. 1190)
“In addition these suspended youth may have more opportunity to congregate with deviant peers.” (Anderson, p. 1190)
This was substantiated by the behavior of a former student of mine, we’ll call him Outcast. He fits the profile of an at risk youth. He’s in foster care, mother a recovering drug addict but has been diagnosed as HIV positive, and his father incarcerated. In the course of the school year he was suspended for several infractions that were of a violent nature. He led some jumping incidents (three or more offenders fighting one student) after school which led to trips to the emergency room for some of the victims and their parents. Outcast was suspended on each occasion and then returned to school. The last time he was suspended, which was in June, when he came back he let me know what a great time he had on suspension inviting girls over to his house that were also suspended.
If Outcast had been involved in a restorative conference with the first violent incident and had been given the opportunity to hear how his behavior had impacted his victims and their families maybe it would have deterred him from being involved in further incidents of the same nature. Outcast is on his way to being systematically shamed by society and stigmatized by his behavior. He already feels deserted by his biological parents and feels that his foster mother does not care about him. His peers are his family literally. They give meaning to his existence. He rules the boys because he loves to fight. They respect him because most of them are afraid of him. He loves the girls and the girls love him even though at times he displays abusive behavior towards them.
Guy Masters in his thesis entitled Re-integrative shaming in theory and practice. Thinking about feeling in criminology discusses John Braithwaite’s book, Crime Shame and Reintegration. .
Masters says in the opening of the article:
“John Braithwaite’s (1989) theory of re-integrative shaming has seen him described as one of the new stars of criminology…” (Masters, 1997, p. 9)
Reintegrative shaming separates the deed from the doer and allows for expressions of community disapproval which is then followed by gestures of reacceptance back into the larger community. Disintegrative shaming or stigmatization leads to systematic shaming, or individuals that do not feel good about themselves and eventually become repeat offenders. Braithwaite identifies thirteen facts that have consistently been associated with offending or breaking the law. I was especially interested in fact 12 which stated:
“For both men and women, being at the bottom of the class structure, whether measured by socioeconomic status, socioeconomic status of the area in which the person lives, being unemployed, being a member of an oppressed minority (e.g. blacks in the U.S.) increases rates of offending for all types of crime apart from those for which opportunities are systematically less available to the poor (i.e. white collar crime).” (Masters, 1997, p. 14)
Many teachers realize that we are losing students to the streets (subcultures) and feel powerless in the face of this tragedy. I know that suspension does not work yet there is nothing else being offered as an alternative in dealing with chronic misbehavior. The student is either suspended or stays in the classroom where a great amount of disruption of other students learning takes place. The hierarchy in education does not want to hear from teachers. The climate in our country right now has led to bashing or blaming teachers for what ails the American Public School system.
I truly could identify with the article Fair Process in terms of how teachers are now being treated in many school systems. I was in a failing school in Newark and because of this we constantly had visitors from downtown and the state coming into the classroom. Four and five people at a time possibly even more, would cross over the threshold into the classroom observing, looking through papers, whispering to students and then leaving never saying a word to you, nor did you ever get feedback in reference to their thinking. Does anyone care about what teachers think? It states in the article:
“Fair process builds trust and commitment, trust and commitment produce voluntary cooperation, and voluntary cooperation drives performance, leading people to go beyond the call of duty by sharing their knowledge and applying their creativity.” (Kim & Mauborgne, 1997, p. 71)
As we were taking this course many of us wondered why Restorative Practices has not caught on in a major way and been implemented in more school systems across the country. The hierarchy in education is ignoring the fact that there is a direct correlation between behavior in the classroom and test scores. Why not ask teachers what they think the problem is and what could possibly be done? There are many creative and innovative teachers out there who would be willing to share their knowledge in search of a better way. That’s how I was led to IIRP.
In the article Restorative Justice in Everyday Life Ted Wachtel and Paul McCold discuss the development of the Social Discipline Window:
“By contrasting control and support the social discipline window classifies individual, organizational, and other approaches to formal and informal social discipline in a broad range of settings. These settings include parenting children, teaching students, supervising employees, regulating corporations and responding to international conflicts (Brathwaite 2000).” (Wachtel & McCold, 2000, p. 5)
The staff at CSF (Community Service Foundation) an organization that works with troubled youth and has a number of alternative schools in Pennsylvania, developed a shorthand method to distinguish the four approaches to discipline:

Not: nothing is done in response to inappropriate behavior
For: makes excuses for the behavior; does everything for the youth asking little in return
To: responds by doing things to the youth; scolding, handing our punishments
With: works with young people and engages them directly in the process for holding them accountable
If my student Outcast had been exposed both to restorative conferencing and restorative practices being used in the classroom such as the use of the social discipline window and the concept of circles which we talked about and did role plays, perhaps his behavior would have been positively affected. Circles used in the classroom from the beginning of the school year could help establish expectations, both behavioral and academic, as well as help develop respect, access understanding, check on feelings only to name a few of the many benefits. Circles can add a therapeutic touch to the classroom setting which many of our students need. Today’s child, regardless of educational setting ( i.e. alternative., special , regular) needs a supportive atmosphere yet one that demands they be accountable for their misdeeds.
I retired from the Newark Public School system but I am currently on the school planning committee as a community member at my former school. I’m also active in a non profit organization called the House of Love Soup Kitchen, where the larger part of our clientele is homeless men and many of them are substance abusers. We also have other people that live in the community including women and children that attend.
I was very inspired by this course. I am looking forward to being a part of the graduate program at the International Institute for Restorative Practices and to applying what I learn to my own “disconnected” part of the world.

Stop Bashing Teachers...Stop!

(From the desk of a retired inner city teacher)

Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers…Stop!

Teaching is an honorable profession
Guiding minds in a quest for education
To discover… to learn
To build …to discern
How to break the social blocks
Of economic layers that tend to lock
Many of the future generation
Into patterns of self annihilation

When will the public begin to care
That young people are hurting every where?

Children with bright shiny faces
Come to school believing it will take them places
But others getting up early coming too
Pack their book bags filled with legitimate issues
Confused children occupy the land
Bullying and fighting walk hand in hand
Sex and violence sing over the airways
Rage and cursing is the norm for the day

Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers…Stop!

Teachers take the children of this time
And attempt to elevate the state of their minds
Working with spirits raised up in anger
Oblivious to surrounding danger
Content to laugh…punch…push…shove
Kicking academics under the rug
Dancing their way into negative situations
That could easily lead to incarceration

When will restorative methods be applied
To rebuild communities and help save lives?

Teachers play many roles
Working to help students set some goals
Along with academic responsibility
Teachers many times have to be
At times a counselor…at times a mediator
At time a social worker…always a peacemaker
Many willing to go the extra mile
In an effort to reach the total child

Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers…Stop!

This country’s battling over test scores
Teachers are considered the enemy in this war
People pointing fingers and blaming them
For children failing in the public school system
No one wants to examine the behavior climate
As to a reason why test scores may have plummet
And through the years certainly declined
In spite of Zero Tolerance and No Child Left Behind.

When will it be known that there is a correlation
Between social behavior and education?

The building of jails is planned ahead of time
Feeding into the "school to prison line"
Based on students that fail the 3rd grade test given by the state
Who then can easily lose hope and help seal their fate
Spinning into a behavior cycle of no return
Because at an early age it was hard for them to learn
1 out of 9 black males ages 20-34 are currently in jail
It’s society not the teachers that somehow has failed!

Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers…Stop

Word has it that barriers are formed by an exclusive atmosphere
Governed by an elitist stratosphere
That three percent of the population
Controls ninety percent of the wealth in this nation
Seems like for these people it doesn’t matter
Somebody has to be at the bottom of the ladder!
Question: Is public education designed to maintain
A class system that refuses to change?

When will America begin to show appreciation
For the teachers in the field of education?

The educational hierarchy must realize
It’s the teachers who are directly involved in the lives
Of the students that they see everyday
So teachers’ input is important in everyway
Making decisions about the curriculum
Researching innovative ways of dealing with discipline
Teachers are a national treasure
Whose worth and value are beyond measure!

Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers
Stop bashing teachers…Stop!

When will the public begin to care
That young people are hurting everywhere?

When will restorative methods be applied
To rebuild communities and help save lives?

When will it be known that there is a correlation
Between social behavior and education?

When will America begin to show appreciation
For the teachers in the field of education?

Most Valued Possession

“Bye, Miz Wells! See ya tomorrow.”
Brenda watched the last child disappear through the school doors. She could feel her energy level plummet as she started the long climb back up to the third floor, where her classroom was located. Squeals of laughter and excited conversation still filled the hallways as stragglers took their time leaving the building.
Hey, Wells, congratulations! Top prize in the science fair is no easy feat.” Mr. Jones, the teacher in the room next to hers, was on his way out. “Have a restful and peaceful evening.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jones.” Brenda felt somewhat out of breath as she reached the last landing. She needed to start back to walking in the mornings. She pushed the door open that led to the hallway, and made her way to her classroom. Retrieving the key from her pocket, she opened the door, went to her desk and sat down heavily on her chair. She was exhausted.
She always tried to get some paperwork done before leaving for the day. She began organizing the papers on her desk. Reflecting on the past few hours brought a smile to her face. She and the class had been elated when it was announced on the intercom that they had won first prize in the science fair. The class had built a buzzer and a simple motor from the electromagnetic kit that the school supplied the sixth grade teachers with for use in the classroom. She was sorry Hakim Young had been absent the last couple of days and wasn’t there to hear the announcement. It had been his persistence and tenacity that finally got the motor to start running. Hakim had come a long way.
After sorting through some more papers, Brenda pushed the chair away from her desk, stood up and stretched. She walked over to her closet, took the radio out of it, walked to the back of the room and plugged it in. She tuned into the jazz station. One of her favorite songs was playing, Billie Holiday singing, “God Bless the Chile that’s Got His Own”. Brenda started humming the melody.
The spring breeze coming through the window felt refreshing. The muffled sound of voices from the parking lot floated into the room reminding Brenda that she had to get some work done, and get on home. Her husband, Danny, didn’t like her staying past four o’clock. As she turned from the radio she saw Hakim quietly standing in the doorway. He looked disheveled. He was a handsome young man, stocky, well built and trying to grow dreadlocks. Ordinarily he looked clean and some of the young girls would always feel honored when he chose to grace them with a hug for the day. He was quite the lady’s man.
“Hakim, where’ve you been the last couple of days? Come on in and sit down.”
Intuitively she knew something was wrong. He had such a morose air about him that a chill immediately gripped her heart.
He came into the room, took a chair off one of the desks, and sat down. He still didn’t say anything. Brenda took the chair off the desk next to him and sat sown beside him.
“Hakim, what’s wrong?”
Suddenly he jumped up turning the desk over. Brenda pushed her chair back out of the way. He then ran to the wastebasket and kicked it as hard as he could, knocking it over spilling its contents out onto the floor.
“Hakim! Stop it! Open your mouth and tell me what’s wrong! I can’t help you if I don’t know.” She wasn’t afraid. Over the years, she’d run the gamut of emotions with her students. He collapsed at one of the other desks, and laid his head on his arm. She knew he was crying. She went to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and spoke to him softly. “What happened?”
“My mother…” He could barely speak. “My …mother….died…this morning.” His voice was almost inaudible.
His words were a knife, cutting deep into her spirit. Instinctively, she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, but she knew his thirteen-year-old man-child temperament needed space. She stood there awhile and massaged his shoulders, then sat down beside him. There, in the empty classroom, void of the daytime liveliness of the children, surrounded by desks with chairs on top of them, she and Hakim sat in solitude.
She took one of his hands and held it tight. He squeezed it back communicating his unspoken grief.. They sat like that in solemn silence for almost an hour. Late afternoon was slowly moving towards dusk.
“Hakim, let me take you home.”
“Naw, Miz Wells, I’m alright.” He stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out into a world that was going about business as usual. “It ain’t fair, Miz Wells! Ma was gettin’ better. Said she was gonna beat it. Not to worry. She was a survivor. I believed her. Now she’s gone!”
Brenda heard the anguish in his voice and could feel her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry! Whatever I can do for you I will.”
Hakim remained by the window staring out of it. The sound of children playing and an occasional car leaving the parking lot intruded into the classroom. “First my father and now my mother. I know how my father got AIDS. He used drugs. Ma never did nothin’ like that! Why did she have to die too?”
Brenda felt as if a great weight had been placed on her shoulders. Her response was slow in coming. “I don’t have all the answers.”
Suddenly he turned facing her. “You always talkin’ about git your education. Well education can’t bring Ma back! I ain’t got nobody. I’m by myself!”
“You have your grandmother!” Brenda answered him calmly. She could sense the anger welling up in him all over again.
“My grandma’s house is already over run with people. Ain’t nobody to watch out for me but me!. I need to be right out there on the corner makin’ some real money!”
Brenda jumped up from the chair she was sitting on and quickly went to the window where he was standing. She placed one hand on his shoulder and the other hand on his chin trying to get him to look at her. “Stop talking foolishness! You’re upset and I understand that!”
He avoided looking in her eyes. “Jojo was right all along. This a white man’s world. A black boy gotta do what he’s gotta do if he wants some real money in his pocket.” The agitation in his voice was evident.
Brenda put both hands on his shoulders. “Hakim, listen to yourself. You’d rather choose violence, jail, and or possible death? Your mother didn’t want that for you!”
“I tried it Ma’s way. What did it git her? She ain’t never did no wrong and she’s dead! Leave me alone, jus’ leave me alone!”
He broke away from the grasp she had on him, turned quickly and headed straight for the door. Brenda went after him, hoping to be able to stop him from leaving.
“Hakim, wait!” she called to his back.
“It ain’t about nothin’ you got to say. I don’t wanna hear no more!” His words echoed in the corridor as he disappeared down the stairs.
Brenda was shattered. Six months of working closely with Hakim’s mother and now she was gone and Hakim was headed for the streets. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. The wailing sound of a saxophone emanating from the radio punctuated her feeling of isolation and helplessness. She went over to the window and closed it, and then unplugged the radio and put it back into the closet. Time seemed as if it had almost come to a standstill. She went over to her desk, and gathered her papers together. Her hands were trembling. She stuffed them in her briefcase. Taking her purse out of the drawer she headed for the door.
Everything was a blur. She was vaguely aware of the drive home. All she knew was that she eventually arrived there. She saw her husband’s truck in the driveway. She was glad he was home. She needed someone to talk to. She parked her car next to his truck and tiredly got out. After locking the door she ascended the three stairs leading to the house. She noticed that the grass was almost a foot tall. She must remind Danny Jr. to mow the lawn. With all the rain, the grass had shot up and now looked like a mini jungle. She put her key in the lock, and opened the front door.
“Hello!” she yelled out. Something certainly smelled good. Music from the same jazz station she’d been playing at school greeted her. She and Danny loved jazz. The mellow, mournful sound of a trombone accentuated her grief.
“Hey baby, I’m in the kitchen,” her husband yelled back ”I got something good in the oven. I hope you’re hungry.”
Brenda really didn’t feel like eating, but said nothing. Danny rarely got home before she did. She set her bags down in the vestibule and went into the kitchen. “What are you doing home so early?”
“We finished a big job today so I thought we’d celebrate with some steak for a change. And with me cooking it! How about that?”
It was hard for Brenda to share Danny’s enthusiasm. She didn’t answer him. She sat down at the kitchen table, put her elbows on it, and propped her head up with her hands. She watched him silently. He was very muscular, not an ounce of fat on him. He exuded strength.
“Hey, why are you so quiet? What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“One of my student’s mother passed away.
“I’m sorry baby. I know you must feel awful.”
She watched him as he opened the broiler checking on the steaks. “It was Hakim’s mother. You know, the student I’ve been telling you about.”
“Isn’t that the one whose mother had AIDS?” he said as he turned the steaks. “You knew it was going to happen at some point. You need to just put it off your mind for now, and join in this celebration with me.
“Danny, I’m really tired right now.”
“ I stopped by the deli and got your favorite string bean salad, along with some other goodies. Brenda this job was a major accomplishment!”
She felt emotionally, psychologically, and physically fatigued. An inexplicable anger began to rise in her. The high, shrill sounds of a trumpet, playing in the background, accentuated the mounting tension in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry Danny. I feel horrible. I refuse to pretend otherwise, not even for you.” She looked at him. She knew she had hurt him but at this point she didn’t care. It seemed as if she was the one that was the leaning post, the one that always had to be all things to all people, wife, mother, teacher, confidant, nurse, psychologist, mediator, housekeeper, cook, to name a few. She needed her space.
“Brenda, if you wanna have a pity party you go right ahead, but I refuse to let you dampen my spirits. This was a fantastic day for me! You need to learn how to leave your job at work.”
“I don’t need to hear this coming from some who works ten to twelve hours a day, six days a week, and only comes home to eat and sleep.” Brenda knew she was being unfair but she was emotionally beyond the point of return. “You wanna do something for me for a change, feed the children and all of you just leave me alone.”
She jumped up from the table, ran from the kitchen, up two flights of stairs to the attic. The attic was her sanctuary and her study. She went in and closed the door behind her. She lay down on the day bed and buried her face in her pillow and cried. Tears flowed freely for Danny, for her children, for all children, for Hakim, and for all the Hakims she’d encountered in her classroom over the years. Eventually she fell asleep.
When she awoke, the stars in the black sky twinkled their brilliance at her through the window. She took a deep breath, trying to allow their beauty to soothe her troubled spirit. It must be late. Danny and the children were probably asleep. Continuing to look out at the magnificent night sky Brenda prayed.
“God help me with my hurt and anger. Danny’s a good husband and I know it. And please God, Hakim is like one of those stars shining so brightly. He’s one of yours. Please show me how I can help him.”
Turning on her back, she decided to spend the rest of the night in the study. A lone tear was beginning to make its way down her cheek. She reached over to her desk and got some tissue out of the box and wiped it away. Closing her eyes she tried to relax her mind. She fell into a fitful sleep.
Brenda…
Brenda…
Turning on her side, Brenda opened her eyes for a moment and then closed them again. Her face muscles twitched.
Ya got to fight for ‘em…Don’t give up chile…don’t give up. Brenda tossed and turned in her sleep. Remember…stop…look back…look back to the ships with sails billowing in the wind and stuffed with African humanity rolling over the seas to the fate that awaited them on opposite shores. Families ripped apart at the auction block are sent into slavery to be beaten and slain by prejudice and hatred “I ain’t got nobody now!” cried youthful voices in their native tongues. Good for only picking cotton and working in the sun from can’t see in the morning ‘til the work is done. Don’t you dare teach them nigras to read! “Education can’t bring Ma back!” Looking to the North Star, having dreams which seem to be so far out of reach. Keep them backs bent in that hot field! Don’t even ponder what might be over yonder. Whack smack. “…and before I’d be a slave I’d be buried in my grave.” I don’t want my child going to school with no niggers! Hatred held at bay by the National Guard surrounds schools as little black children tentatively make their way into uncharted territory. “Education ain’t all that!” “I have a dream…” expounds Dr. king standing in the bosom of Abraham Lincoln. Mercedes, saabs and jeeps stand at the curbside smiling at poverty. “I’m gonna quit school and make me some real money!” “I have a dream…” “I’m gonna make me some real money!” “I have a dream sings Dr. Martin Martin Luther King!” “I’m gonna make…”
“Baby, wake up!” Her husband Danny was shaking her. Sitting up slowly Brenda could feel her head pounding. Her face felt all puffy.
“Brenda, tell me what’s bothering you.” Danny sat down beside her on the day bed. She sat up, put her arms around him, and buried her head in his chest and started crying all over again.
Brenda snuggled close to him as he continued to hold onto her. He reached over to the desk and got some tissue. Gently he placed his finger under her chin and tilted her face towards him. She kissed him through her tears. He began wiping them away.
“Baby, please stop crying.”
“Hakim’s mother was such a beautiful person. She wanted the best for him. It’s not fair Danny!”
“Who ever told you life was fair?”
Brenda sat up straight. “I don’t care. It just isn’t right. The real kicker now is that Hakim is talking about quitting school. Says he’s going to make some real money. You know what that means? He’s going to start selling drugs!” The agony in her voice expressed the intensity and depth of her feeling.
“Stop beating on yourself. You’re a great teacher! You always give one hundred percent to your students. You taught Hakim about the importance of school and so did his mother. Now he’s got to find his own truth.”
Sighing deeply, Brenda laid her head against Danny’s shoulder. They sat quietly together in the dark room. The stars twinkled at them from their lofty position in the sky. Brenda felt comforted and consoled by Danny’s presence. She and Danny had weathered many a storm over the years.
“Danny, I love you so much. You know I didn’t mean what I said earlier.”
“I know. Guess what? Part of the good news was that I wouldn’t have to keep working such long hours, and I can be home more with you and the children.”
Brenda put her arms around him and hugged him. She held on to him for a long time. Danny was right. Where was her faith in herself? She was an excellent teacher. She had seen many of her students excel. Hakim was speaking out of grief and probably didn’t mean what he was saying.
“I just wish I could make the world see how precious these children are that society wants to throw away,” Brenda said softly, yet fervently.
“Baby it’s a shame we don’t have more teachers of your caliber. You take a personal interest in your students. I just wish you wouldn’t upset yourself so much.”
“I can’t help it Danny. You know that.” Brenda gently disengaged herself from his arms, sat up and looked him in the eyes. “I was having the weirdest dream when you woke me up.” She paused trying to recall her dream, and then continued speaking.
“Our ancestors died for our right to a decent education and not for the right of our children to sell drugs! Children are the future of our race. They are all valuable, the good ones and the not so good ones. They should be our most valued possession!”
“Woman it’s almost four o’clock in the morning and you wanna talk about a dream! Conversation to be continued!” Danny said emphatically and stood up.
“Danny, I want to go to Hakim’s grandmother’s house to see if I can help in anyway.”
“You know I don’t want you going into strange buildings by yourself. If that’s what you want, I’ll go with you. I’ll close the shop early and meet you here after school. C’mon on now, let’s go to bed please.”
Brenda took his hand and allowed her self to be pulled to her feet. She now felt at peace within her spirit. She followed him out of the study, taking one last look back at the stars, which continued to twinkle in the night as their sparkling splendor radiated beauty.

What a Great Job!

I’ve made a momentous decision. I have decided to retire from the Newark Public School System as of 7/1/10. It was a gradual decision that I prayed about and asked the Lord for guidance. This past year put the letter C in the word challenging. The amount of paperwork added to an already overloaded teacher paperwork system coupled with the insensitivity of the hierarchy to come to the realization that innovative/therapeutic classrooms need to be designed to address not only academic needs but behavioral and social issues as well.

It is now time for me to hang up my public school teacher shoes and put my dancing shoes back on and return to the arts. It will take a lot of self-discipline. There will be no more time clock to punch…no Kronos…it will be me and the muses hanging out and teaching by creating meaningful pieces that speak to the soul of the people.

It’s been a roller coaster of a ride with the Newark Public Schools but all good things must come to an end. God blessed me with an excellent job that had great benefits. The job enabled me to put all six children in private high schools…it enabled us to move from the projects…to a townhouse…to our own home. We’ve been able to travel in the summers together as a family and I have been blessed with a wealth of experience and knowledge that I can draw on for the rest of my life.

A republican governor took over and a gargantuan bite out of education has affected all of New Jersey’s public school systems…layoffs hurting all school employees…a huge number of retirements…cut backs in programs…paying for health benefits...reconfiguration of pensions...and a host of other concerns.

The next few years are going to be difficult in the NJ spublic chool systems. My prayers, my heart, and my love goes out to all those that remain and who still care enough about the children to want to make a difference in their lives.

Diary of an Inner City Teacher II

2/1/10
Today was a pretty cool. I spent the day in the rolling hills of PA at a workshop on Restorative Practices. The leader was dynamic and has somewhat made me a believer...of course until I get back in the classroom and my hair stands straight up on end bracing for the onslaught of energy that will be unleashed.

Restorative Practices is taking the concept of Restorative Justice and developing a broader setting in which its practices can be employed; the premise being that “human beings are happier, more productive and cooperative, and more likely to make positive changes in their behavior when those in positions of authority do things with them, rather than to them or for them.”

“You’re out of here”… “I’m writing you up”… “Keep it up and you’ll be suspended!” These are short phrases that describe the zero tolerance policy in today's educational setting which is problematic and needs to seriously be examined. Is suspension or expulsion the answer? No, because in urban areas the streets become the teacher and in suburban areas the internet becomes the comforter. Is classifying students the answer? No because many classified students will be returning to the regular education setting by way of the inclusion movement thus requiring that the behavior climate in the regular education setting should be ready to receive these students back.

School climate is a definite concern in many school systems and restorative practices is an emerging discipline that addresses this concern.

Diary of an Inner City Teacher II (religion)

Today is the second day of Kwanzaa. The principle for the day is Kuchichagulia which means self determination. I refuse to let circumstance define my destiny. Kwanzaa is a celebration of African American culture starting with our roots in Africa. Belief in God is a sure foundation in the heritage of black people.

As far back as my memory goes God was there. My grandmother taught her grandchildren to pray when we were still knee high to a grasshopper. Every night before we went to bed we got on our knees and said the Lord’s Prayer, then blessed everybody in the family. Sunday school was an important part of our lives.

As a teenager I was part of a very unique group in high school. Our friendship transcended racial and ethnic barriers as well as religious and economic ones. I had black, white, and Asian friends. Some were Jewish, some were Christian, some believed in God and some didn’t. Some came out of mansions and others from much more modest circumstances. Our common bond was that we wanted to make the world a better place to live in for all people. We came of age during the anti communist era, the civil rights era, and the Vietnam War era. Berkeley, CA was considered a radical little town and that’s what we were, radical in thought, radical in vision, and radical in action.

After being inspired by Malcom X to critically examine the role that the Christian church played in slavery I began to explore other religions. I was so inspired by Malcom X’s autobiography I became a student of Islam for a short period of time. I was given the name Tamam which means good.

Then I met my husband. My husband’s grandparents were pastors in a church where the founder of the church was an ex-slave that taught that Jesus was black and that black people were also part of the early origins of the Christian church. These ideas which were revealed to him by God have since been verified by research; the African Heritage Bible being one of many sources. More and more people are now beginning to accept a darker version of Jesus as opposed to the blond blue-eyed portrait of my formative years. My grandmother-in-law invited my husband and I to her church in Miami when we were there visiting. It was at that time that I became a follower of Jesus and wanted to personally learn more about him.

Jesus was a radical in his time. He went against the established religious practices of the day and challenged people to seek a higher spiritual plane. Many of the religious leaders and other people felt so threatened by him that his short dynamic ministry came to an abrupt end when he was betrayed and crucified.

If it is possible to be a left wing Christian then that’s what I am. I definitely believe that all Americans have a right to decent housing, health care benefits, education, and food. There should be no homeless people in one of the richest nations on earth, nor hungry individuals let alone starving children. Jesus was also a pacifist and so am I.

In the public school system there is suppose to be a separation of religion and state. Teachers are not supposed to impose their own philosophical views upon their students. The American culture is so diversified that even in the inner city I have had students from different ethnic groups as well as religious backgrounds and developing a climate of respect is extremely important. Here’s an interesting anecdote.

One afternoon in class after hearing gunshots outside the students were agitated and a girl stated that she was afraid. Before I could stop myself I asked the students how many of their parents and guardians prayed daily for their children’s safety. Every hand shot up in the class. Each child respected the fact that the adults in their lives prayed for their protection in a dangerous world.

Well…so much for separation of church and state.

Diary of an Inner City Teacher II

I guess people wonder why a teacher would be concerned about addiction. I empathize with the children sitting in my classroom whose lives have been negatively impacted by drugs and who suffer daily from the repercussions of having strung-out parents.

Drug addiction is a serious problem in the United States. It doesn’t matter whether they are prescribed or from the streets. They’re taking people out of here right and left. Drugs know neither racial boundaries nor economic walls. They’ll whip the mess out of the rich and famous as well as the economically disadvantaged; then move on to the middle class and anybody else who thinks they’re big enough or bad enough to beat them. The difference in outcome though is that the wealthy and the insured go to various rehabs and the less fortunate eventually end up in jail…money talks in this country loud and clear.

How many of you have loved ones, friends, or acquaintances struggling with this demon? If you don’t know of anybody personally have you heard about someone’s struggle through the grapevine?

As teachers we’re suppose to teach our students to say no to drugs yet when many of them go home there are folks getting high. Then children listen to their various electronic devices as rappers glorify the head trip or put on a DVD where characters are rolling up getting ready to get wasted.

How does a teacher separate society’s romantic image of getting stoned from the reality of addiction?