Recently, I took a tour of my local elementary school, and it struck me just how deep the issue of school segregation runs. I was aware that this particular school had a low ranking of 1 out of 10 according to district metrics, with a staggering 95 percent of its students coming from families of color and 89 percent living below the poverty line. I also knew that this school was rarely considered by many of my white neighbors when weighing their options. Despite my awareness of these facts, I hoped to reconcile my skepticism with the memory of my own experience in a low-ranked public school, understanding that statistics only reveal part of the narrative.
What I discovered was both enlightening and disheartening. The principal had departed earlier in the year to lead a charter school, leaving behind a succession of temporary replacements. I observed the school’s talented music teacher and learned the institution lacked a Parent-Teacher Association (PTA). It was evident that dedicated staff members were working tirelessly, often juggling multiple roles to support the students amid significant challenges.
What truly impacted me was the turnout for the tour: only four attendees. It was early December, a peak time for school tours, when many institutions often have waiting lists or welcome groups of 20 to 40 inquisitive parents daily. This school is located near the border of Berkeley, a city renowned for its excellent public schools, just blocks away from trendy eateries serving $30 pizzas and vegan ice cream. The area is increasingly home to a number of progressive white and Asian families. However, while tech companies have surged into San Francisco, driving up housing costs and spawning new businesses, public schools have seen little financial influx; in fact, the school board recently implemented $9 million in budget cuts. Families of color and those with lower incomes who remain in the area face a myriad of disparities.
Among the white parents I know, these realities are often acknowledged but seldom discussed openly. A common refrain is that someone has relocated — or plans to relocate — to avoid the schools in Oakland. “We had to move,” a friend confided after relocating her family to Berkeley, conveying a sense of urgency. Her son is set to start kindergarten this fall, and I was curious about the school that prompted her departure. “I can’t recall the name,” she admitted. “But we just couldn’t send him there.”
No one explicitly states, “I don’t want my child at a predominantly Black and Latino school.” They don’t need to. Despite the complex data surrounding test scores, race, and socioeconomic status, the district and platforms like GreatSchools.com simplify it into stark numbers. The school I visited is at the bottom of the scale; just six blocks away, another school boasts a ranking of 8 out of 10 and has received multiple awards, with a student body that is 60 percent white.
There are systemic issues at play across the nation that prevent public schools from equitably distributing our tax dollars for all students’ benefit. Yet, a substantial portion of the responsibility appears to rest with affluent white families and the policies that enable them to educate their children in isolation.
In Alabama, for instance, where Black voters — particularly Black women — played a crucial role in electing Doug Jones to the Senate, the divide is stark. White communities have been “seceding” from larger, once-integrated school districts, thanks to legislation that permits towns with over 5,000 residents to create their own school systems. Consequently, numerous schools in the state are sharply divided by race and class.
As a parent, I feel an intense urge to provide the best for my child. Yet, I continually grapple with the question: Is it truly “best” if my neighbors lack the same opportunities? Focusing too much on what others don’t have can be daunting, but I’m often surprised by how many parents I know, once they find a reliable alternative to a low-performing school, seem to spend little time contemplating the experiences of those without alternatives.
After my visit to the neighborhood school, I can no longer afford that luxury. My husband and I are seriously considering whether to enroll our child there, not out of a desire to “rescue” anyone, but because it’s an important choice. It’s a complex decision, but as Nikole Hannah-Jones articulated in her influential 2016 essay in the New York Times Magazine, “One family, or even a few families, cannot transform a segregated school, but if none of us are willing to engage, nothing will change.”
While I don’t expect that visiting “underperforming” schools will compel white parents to enroll their children there, I urge you to visit nonetheless. Spend some time genuinely absorbing the reality of the achievement gap. Connect with the teachers and students.
Ultimately, these children and their families should be part of your understanding of the community you inhabit, as the children in my neighborhood school will always hold a significant place in my heart. For more information on family-building options and home insemination, you can explore this excellent resource. Additionally, if you’re considering options to enhance fertility, check out our post about fertility boosters for men.
Summary
The author reflects on the realities of underperforming schools in her neighborhood, revealing issues of segregation and disparities faced by students of color and low-income families. The piece emphasizes the responsibility of affluent families in addressing these challenges and encourages parents to engage with schools they might typically avoid.