Racial disparities once again embroil our nation

As chaos and rioting erupted following the Rodney King verdict, I watched from the balcony of my apartment. It was the spring of 1992. I was a bilingual, immigrant middle schooler, living in the slums just south of South Central Los Angeles. I could see looters running by, pushing carts full of the spoils taken in advantage of the situation. I watched the flames across the street as businesses burned to the ground to the soundtrack of gunfire and screaming. News anchors on TV talked in theory about something far from their own neighborhoods.

As I processed the trauma of racial division and violence adding to the existing poverty and gang violence that was already our daily reality, certain truths began to take shape in my young mind: some people were less worthy than others. The world looked at my Black and brown neighborhood, and called us “thugs” and “wetbacks.” This didn’t do much for my self-esteem and motivation as a young student. I began to see us as the world saw us. I began to hate myself. A vicious cycle had already started to materialize in my life: I was treated as an outsider. This made me angry so I acted out in defiance of those with authority and thereby confirmed their biases against me (and my Latinx immigrant out-group). I remember the sense of shame. I remember the resignation and the hopelessness that followed.

Despite this, and thanks to an awesome Latinx US Government teacher, that bilingual immigrant kid got out of LA and into OSU.

Almost thirty years later, I see our nation embroiled in similar racial disparities. As a counselor at DDHS today, I also see two conflicting realities: I see the central tenet of the American dream that says with hard work, you can become anything no matter who you are--a premise with just enough truth to keep it alive. I also see the more confusing and darker reality, indicating that some remain on the outside looking in: wondering why we’re still trying to prove our belonging, wondering why we are welcome as long as we learn to be chameleons that blend to the background, our narratives on the margins of history books, school curriculum, and teachers’ reflections. We wonder why we still need a month to celebrate who we are, instead of being woven into the patchwork of our country: beautiful, unique, part of the whole. My story causes me to reflect on our school and our students. One quarter of our student population is of Latinx Heritage. As educators, we must become ambassadors of the American dream for the next generation. It is a dream that must be fought for--not just by the young people battling barriers some of us will never know--but by the entire community. To be an educator is to fight for and with our students, to stand with them and champion them, even when we don’t understand the truth they are telling us. This is the way to a better tomorrow for all of us.