Ruthless Equity, Chapter 9

In Chapter 9 of Ruthless Equity, author Ken Williams wraps up the book by arguing that “we must de-cide…put all other options to death” and commit to ruthless equity while fighting complacency every step of the way. (p. 186-187) 

Williams asks us to reflect, “Who saw more in you than you saw in yourself?” I think of the softball coach who made me a captain in my second year on the little league team, the program director who asked me to be a youth staff for a teen leadership program (see pic) I had attended, the senior in college who asked me as a freshman to be her assistant stage manager, the person who offered me the job as editor-in-chief of the local LGBTQ+ magazine, the woman who developed me to take over her position as she approached retirement. (I’m just realizing they were all women. Go figure.)

I have never been particularly ambitious, but I have always stayed open to opportunities, and while these people were offering me an opportunity, they were also asking me for help. I like to be helpful. Once I stepped into these roles, I was motivated to excellence, both out of fear of failure and disappointment, as well as enjoyment for the task at hand and a sense that it would lead to the next thing. I learned all kinds of leadership, communication, organizational, and interpersonal skills. I rose to “fill the crown,” (p. 140) and had some measures of success and fulfillment in these roles because someone asked me to fill them, not because I particularly aspired to. I can’t imagine where I would be without these women who believed in and motivated me. I learned valuable skills from each experience, which directed the trajectory of my career, and I’m grateful to those people, all of whom I admire.

At RIC, I’m pursuing a youth development MA. I am not an educator or a school nurse, but I have staffed a bunch of youth leadership camps, trained youth staff, mentored countless interns, and I’m a mom looking for any advice I can get to raise happy healthy children. The advice in this book is super helpful in affirming some instincts I’ve always had about youth work, especially being curious about the youth I’m working with, discovering their talents and strengths, and pushing them through achievable challenges. And Ruthless Equity comes at a critical moment in U.S. history, when we all have to decide what we’re willing to fight for. I have certainly succumbed to complacency at times, and I have written off some kids, for sure. This book has helped me to identify those moments of complacency and recognize that “essential learning outcomes” must be ruthlessly pursued, or I’m not doing anyone any favors.

As an action-oriented person who is often frustrated by “idea people,” I like the quote Williams chose to end the book. “The world is changed by your example, not your opinion.” - Paulo Coelho, Brazilian lyricist and novelist

Ruthless Equity, Ch. 8

In Chapter 8 of Ruthless Equity, Ken Williams argues that on a bad day, “you must discipline yourself to overcome it… understanding that you are always in control of your response, behavior, and choices.” (p. 174)

Williams points out how business owners have to show up each day, no matter how rough, and push beyond their mood to make a sale or provide a service, or face the consequences of dissatisfied adults who may abandon the business, post a negative review, file a complaint, etc. “Cheating students is easier than challenging adults,” (p. 174) says Williams, offering an explanation for how complacency sneaks into teaching, especially when students hit a learning curve and success seems further and further out of reach, aka “diplementation” (implementation dip).

In such a circumstance, a ruthless equity mindset reminds us that, “Rewiring of the brain in any form requires consistent repetition. Turning the corner with any new practice requires you to be both persistent and consistent.” (p. 176) This reminds me of a favorite saying: We can do hard things.

I was touched by Williams’s story about his most challenging 5th grade student called David. Williams’s breakthrough with David was hard fought; only after months of enduring David’s “stiff arm” tactics was Williams able to convey his own inspiration from his second grade teacher, Sister Mary Claire, which fuels his investment in and care for his students. This scenario hearkened back to the work of education researcher Lisa Delpit, whose three pieces of advice to teachers preparing to encounter a wide range of cultures, abilities, and talents, was essentially to:

1. Humbly recognize you have much to learn from your students and their communities.

2. Approach the work with a sense of inquiry.

3. Be willing to share your story.
   
   

Williams took the time to understand David’s home life, challenges, and self-perception. By sharing how Sister Mary Claire inspired Williams – and showing David the academic medal she presented to him in 1975 to prove it – Williams demonstrated his commitment to David and the other students, and his belief that they can achieve great things. David’s hug with Williams, which my teary eyes read as the climax of this book, signified that moment that all teachers must yearn for: knowing that your influence is changing your students in a positive way, charting their course for the better. Not only did David connect socially and emotionally, but following this heart to heart, David began to achieve academic goals at a more rapid pace, and caught up to students at his grade level, which for Williams we know is the ultimate goal of teaching (students mastering essential learning outcomes). Clearly David became a new source of inspiration for Williams, fulfilling number 1 on Delpit’s list of advice.

While reading Ruthless Equity, I’ve often questioned the author’s use of the word “ruthless,” which to me calls to mind violence and a lack of compassion. I’ve come to interpret ruthlessness in this context as focused, tireless discipline, which I’m sure wouldn’t sell as many books. Williams’s editor David Hogan aptly summarizes the essence of this book with his quote: The road to ruthless equity is long and challenging; you will be discouraged, but when you persevere, your rewards and the benefits to your students will be immeasurable. (p. 181)

"Aria" & "Teaching Multilingual Children"

 

Richard Rodriquez’s deeply personal account “Aria” about learning English as a young Spanish-speaking child enabled this English-only speaker to empathize with the plight of families living in America with a home language other than English. Rodriquez recounts a turning point at age seven, after teachers who were also nuns visited his home to urge his parents to speak English in the home so that he and his siblings would fare better academically. His parents agreed, and Rodriquez recalled, “That day, I moved very far from the disadvantaged child I had been only days earlier. The belief, the calming assurance that I belonged in public, had at last taken hold.” (p. 36) As the young Rodriquez began to speak more and more English, distance grew between his parents and the children: “No longer so close; no longer bound tight by the pleasing and troubling knowledge of our public separateness.” (p. 36) Rodriquez seems to find the trade off worth it, arguing: “Bilingual educators… do not seem to realize that there are two ways a person is individualized…. [W]hile one suffers a diminished sense of private individuality by becoming assimilated into public society, such assimilation makes possible the achievement of public individuality.” (p. 38-39) I found this contrast between public individuality and private individuality pretty fascinating. On the one hand, private individuality seems to me more at the heart of a person’s soul – who we are when we are most free, whereas public individuality seems necessary for survival in human society.

Virginia Collier’s not so personal essay “Teaching Multilingual Children” comprehensively advocates for seven guidelines for English language acquisition, prefacing this by saying, “The key is the true appreciation of the different linguistic and cultural values that students bring into the classroom.” (p. 223)

Collier’s guidelines contrast with the method Rodriquez credits with his pursuit of mastering English. She discourages: the perception that a teacher’s duty is to “correct deficiencies"; eliminating the first language; and forbidding “code switching,” (which I originally took to mean hiding aspects of one’s personality or speech and embellishing other aspects to assimilate to whatever group, but in this case code switching describes alternating or blending words from multiple languages within a sentence while speaking). Collier rather encourages: awareness that building language skills in a child’s first language will translate to learning English; using “caregiver speech” (p. 224), (which I immediately recognized as true to how I speak to my children); teaching English and “home language together with an appreciation of dialect differences to create an environment of language recognition in the classroom” (p. 227); and tailoring curriculum specifically to the English language learner, a technique backed up by research showing that the “most successful long-term academic achievement occurs where the student’s primary language is the initial language of literacy.” (p. 233)

Collier describes the three major bilingual teaching models as: transitional, maintenance, and two-way enrichment, remarking that a school system will choose its model based on philosophical and political goals. (p. 228) Collier acknowledges the pressure of unhelpful policies, pressure on teachers to speed up the process, and expectations that, “Teachers must be creative and flexible, serve as a catalyst for discovery as students learn to operate effectively in their multiple worlds, be able to mediate and resolve intercultural conflicts, keep students on task, and serve as a support base.” (p. 223) While this sounds like a tall order, Collier reminds us of the “enriching experience” of teaching as being “rewarding in ways that many other jobs can never be. You have the chance to interact daily with live, growing, thinking, maturing human beings.” (p. 223)

To balance the challenges of bilingual teaching with its rewards, it sounds to me like there is zero room for what Ken Williams warns about in Ruthless Equity: “complacency… the enemy to equity in education… a willful falling short of goal and purpose.”

These readings have me reflecting on my desire to learn Spanish, which leads right to my fear of failing to learn Spanish. It seems so daunting. I wish I had an opportunity to study Spanish in school, and I fervently hope my children will become fluent in Spanish (and teach me, or we'll learn together?) by taking courses in the Providence public school system. I attended the PPSD school choice fair where I spoke with multiple principals of “dual language” schools to consider opportunities for my son to be immersed in Spanish. It turned out the programs weren’t really designed for English speakers, and we weren’t encouraged (nor explicitly discouraged) to choose those schools. I’m left hoping my kids will be able to take Spanish classes by middle school, but I worry that it will be more difficult to learn a new language the older they get, and they/we will be missing out on opportunities to communicate with our community members.

I had an experience last year that left me feeling like I needed to boost my skills to open new doors in my career. I’d been reading local community job listings every day for years to make sure I knew what opportunities were out there; I knew that having a Masters Degree or being bilingual in Spanish would be the two most advantageous lines to add to my resume. When I was deciding whether to come back to RIC, I asked my would-be advisor if RIC offered an introductory course for professionals and it sounded like the possibility existed. I enrolled, and the advisor was looking into whether a Spanish class could be cross-listed for graduate students, and after some back and forth, long story short, it wasn’t possible, at least for me. Why isn’t RIC, a “Hispanic serving institution,” more actively encouraging professionals to acquire Spanish language skills? I understand that their intention is to serve Latinos and Spanish-speaking students, but they will also benefit from their classmates, colleagues, and neighbors being better able to communicate with them, and it would foster social cohesion. Maybe the reason is simply that there isn't demand for such a course or courses. I want to be able to speak with and provide services for as many of my neighbors and community members as possible. I think Spanish courses that especially helped people learn Spanish from a customer service perspective would be so helpful. I’m really enjoying being back in school, and it felt important for me to be in a classroom again, but part of me wonders if I’d be better served by spending these many, many hours on Duo Lingo for a tiny fraction of the cost of an M.A. Ah, well, no tener remordimientos!

Eliminating Ableism in Education

 

Mural at the RI School for the Deaf

Thomas Hehir’s 2002 article Eliminating Ableism in Education argues that “ableist assumptions… contribute to low levels of educational attainment and employment” and he offers six proposals toward “overturn[ing] ableist practices” that I’ll list/quote here because I want to remember them!:

"- Include disability as part of a school’s overall diversity efforts. (p. 22)
- Encourage disabled students to develop and use skills and modes of expression that are most effective for them. (p. 23)
- Special education should be specialized. (p. 23) [This does] not mean a different curriculum, but rather the vehicle by which students with disabilities access the curriculum.... Without special education teachers with disability-specific skills, children will continue to lack the skills they need[.]

- Move away from the current obsession with placement toward an obsession with results. (p. 25) “We will accept no more segregation.”

- Promote high standards, not high stakes. (p. 27) Disability advocates should oppose high-stakes testing.

- Employ concepts of universal design to schooling. (p. 28) Universal design [benefits] nondisabled people as well."

 

I really appreciated these key points because they are actionable steps educators can take to become part of the solution instead of part of the problem, when it comes to educating students with disabilities.

Hehir discusses how Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1971 and the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) prohibited discrimination in education and other settings. (p. 2) I learned about Section 504 in 2016 after being hired by the City of Providence to Direct its Human Relations Commission, and was surprised to find out that I also had the secondary title of Section 504 Coordinator. I had to look it up, and soon understood that I would be looking for ways in which all City Departments were complying with Section 504, from playground design to educational practices and access to government. I had an eye opening experience when one Human Relations commissioner, a paraplegic man named John Gaffney who got around in a motorized wheelchair, offered to take me on a journey through a few blocks of downtown Providence between his condo and City Hall (where we were unable to hold commission meetings because the wheelchair lift was broken). It was frustrating to see how a few inches of curb could prevent him from patronizing a restaurant, or crossing a street in a more convenient or safe place. Astonishingly, at the end of our journey, John brought me to the rooftop of his building to enjoy the view, but he got stuck! There were two elevators but the only one that activated when we pushed the call button was inaccessible due to a single step. I had to get help from the management office to get him down. I only worked for the City for one year, but my crowning achievement was leading the effort to get a new wheelchair lift installed. Now, I see ADA violations everywhere! I get on people about shoveling sidewalks and driveways, who sometimes push back with, “No one is going out in a wheelchair in the snow!” And I’m like, “That’s because people like you don’t shovel well enough – or place your trash barrels conscientiously, or park legally!” Don’t even get me started on the placement of electric rental scooters. I hope more people have experiences like the one John took the time to give me. Once you open your eyes to these barriers, you can’t unsee them.

I was interested in reading “The Education of the Deaf” section of Hehir’s article because I have deaf family members. I grew up with an aunt who became deaf after an early childhood illness and specialized professionally in lip reading and sign language interpretation. (She was even hired by police to lipread for a high profile RI murder case, and someone played her in a dramatic reenactment on the 90s crime show Unsolved Mysteries.) Communicating with Aunt Lena meant that all of us little cousins had to focus on articulating, be sure to face her when speaking, be careful not to interrupt others who were speaking with her, and listen attentively because her speaking voice was less intelligible than the other adults. I don’t recall this being annoying or difficult for any of us, and it’s easy to see how this built better communication skills among the family. My mother told me that Aunt Lena, who had been married to my dad’s deceased brother, attended the RI School for the Deaf, which, in her day – 60s-70s – was more like being institutionalized. Students lived at the school in tiny cell-like rooms and didn’t have much time with their families, as I understand it, though that is not at all the case today. It sounds like Lena’s education compared to the “total communication” Hehir describes (p. 6) that combined speech, lip reading and ASL.

Hehir explains how “the education of deaf children was severely set back by oralism,” which cast aside ASL and prioritized lip reading and speech (p. 6) until “the 1960s, when research began to reveal the benefits of manual communication (Stuckless & Birch, 1966),” which attributed to above average literacy.

My childrens’ donor dad Kurt became deaf due to meningitis when he was about 18 months old. Growing up in rural Maine, Kurt was fortunate to have an outstanding lipreading and speech teacher. Kurt says the decision to not teach him sign language was because he was the only deaf student in a rural seven-town district for his entire K-12 experience. I asked Kurt what he thought about deaf educator Leo Jacob’s assertion that “under the best of circumstances only 30 percent of speech can be read from lip movements.” (Jacobs, 1989) Kurt replied: “I’d agree with 30 percent comprehension from lip reading. For me, the rest is filled in with context and common phrases that enable my brain to put it all together.” Kurt is one of the highest functioning individuals I know, who has never struggled to be gainfully employed, usually in complex leadership roles in historic preservation.

Because Hehir’s article came out before I had a cell phone, and considering how well Kurt can communicate with others via text and email, I imagine that the consequences for deaf students not learning ASL are less impactful in 2025. And 23 years of technological advances means hearing aids and cochlear implants are increasingly available and effective at reducing/eliminating hearing loss – but let’s not take the ableist perspective that deafness should be cured! Kurt is a candidate for a cochlear implant, but he hasn’t pursued it. Sure, there are times when it would be easier for ME if I could pick up the phone and call him, but I can imagine a dozen reasons why Kurt prefers to carry on communicating as he has all his life.

Queering Our Schools

My immediate question when embarking on, “Queering Our Schools,” a chapter in the social justice-based collection Rethinking Sexism, Gender, and Sexuality” was: When was this published? Answer: January 2016, mere months after the Supreme Court’s landmark Obergefell v. Hodges case that legalized same-sex marriage, a cause for which I had consistently fought for in Rhode Island since 2004. (We legalized it legislatively in 2013.)

When I was advocating for marriage equality, I didn’t have much interest in entering the institution of marriage, but I knew a lot of people who were desperate for the legal protections. Now that I am 1.5 years into a same-sex marriage with two young children, I am immensely grateful to possess all of the rights and responsibilities marriage confers. It’s frightening to think how arbitrarily marriage equality came about – a five-four Supreme Court decision that would be unthinkable in 2025. And now my wife and I are each pursuing costly second-parent adoption of the child we didn’t give birth to. Marriage equality was not the be-all and end-all of LGBTQ+ civil rights, as many believed at the time. The backlash has hit the transgender community the hardest.

The Rethinking editors note that “the ‘traditional’ mom-dad-and-kids family is a minority – not a majority – experience, so many children and their families are affected by what are often oppressive school customs” (p.25) It’s a great point, likening the struggle for acceptance of children of same-sex parents to children raised by other family member, guardians, or a single parent. When we accommodate one group of people, we often make things better for other groups of people. (Think ADA regulations for wheelchairs paving the way for stroller-pushing parents.) Why should any child grow up believing their family is somehow less than?

The editors ask: “How can we create classrooms and schools where each child, parent, and staff member’s unique, beautiful self is appreciated and nurtured?” (p. 23) This reminded me of an NPR interview with a teacher that I heard just a few days ago. A gay student asked to speak with the teacher after class, at which point he explained his discomfort with a heteronormative joke she had made in class. The teacher had been riding high, feeling like the lesson had gone swimmingly. Her confidence plunged at learning she had made this student feel "othered." She apologized, and he went on to explain that it was only because she had created such a safe environment that he was comfortable telling her about this minor infraction. He went on to say that every other classroom overtly projected heteronormativity, and that her classroom was a respite. This of course encouraged the teacher, and her attitude was that she could always try harder to be inclusive of everyone.” I thought how lovely that was, and yet I imagined how other teachers might be discouraged by this feedback and give up. And I truly empathize with that sentiment. (I have certainly “stepped in it” myself.) As the editors point out: “When you invite kids to talk openly and ask questions about gender and sexuality, you have to be ready for whatever happens. It’s trickier than geometry.” (p. 23)

The RI Department of Education’s “Guidance for RI Schools on Transgender and Gender Nonconforming Students” issued in 2016 helps teachers navigate the tricky and rapidly changing landscape of gender identity among their students. The guidance aims “to create the conditions to provide a safe and supportive environment at school.”

I have read this document before and appreciate its thoroughness and conviction to protect the equal rights of trans students in the classroom. RIDE justifies the guidance by citing the various studies showing negative health outcomes for trans students. To me, one of the most compelling arguments for trans rights is the fact RIDE cites (from Advocates for Youth, 2016) estimating that “one in 2,000 babies is born with the biological characteristics of both sexes or of neither sex entirely.” This is especially compelling if you believe God doesn’t make mistakes.

Sadly, many people’s experience is so far removed from the trans experience that rather than try to wrap their head around it, or even just tolerate it, they would rather trans people conform and pretend to not exist. What will happen if the federal government demands that RIDE retract this guidance? Who is prepared to stick up for the trans youth who will be hung out to dry? I hope that RIDE’s rules are here to stay. It’s the best chance these kids have to get an education and pursue their dreams. Earlier today, local organization The Womxn Project reported that the Chariho School District voted to uphold RIDE's guidance, saying "Through personal stories, expert medical input, and legal arguments, the community made it clear: the RIDE policy protecting trans students and Title IX rules must stay." In response, the committee paused its effort to strip these protections—for now." If you know a trans or LGBTQ+ youth in need of support, please refer them to Youth Pride, Inc., a wonderful local nonprofit.

The “Rethinking…” editors argue that “the cornerstone of nurturing classrooms and schools is community” (p.24), and that sounds spot on to me. With curiosity, intention, and humility, teachers and youth workers can build that community.

The Silenced Dialogue

 The Silenced Dialogue: Power & Pedagogy in Educating Other People’s Children 

Lisa Delpit

I was happy to reencounter Lisa Delpit, and learn more from the work of this living black education researcher born in 1952 who Harvard University states “worked ardently to promote anti-oppressive teaching practices and reforms to language and literary education. Amid the ‘process vs. skills’ teaching debate of the 1980s, Delpit emerged as a groundbreaking advocate for educational access for students of color.”

In the chapter titled, “The Silenced Dialogue: Power & Pedagogy in Educating Other People’s Children” of her 1995 book Other People’s Children, Delpit explains the existence of a “culture of power” and how it permeates classrooms through individuals’ experience with the dominant culture and the power dynamic between teachers and students.

Delpit argues, among her five defining points of the culture of power, that those who are not already participating in the culture of power – whether due to racial, socioeconomic, or other identity – are better off explicitly learning the rules of the culture, like “discourse patterns, interactional styles, and spoken and written language codes” (p.29), to make acquiring power easier. Delpit finds that most white educators and school personnel don’t understand that “if the parents were members of the culture of power and lived by its rules and codes… they would transmit those codes to their children.” (p. 30) This concept aligns with Jean Anyon’s findings through her 1980 study on the impact of socioeconomic status that students were essentially taught to meet prejudiced expectations of their abilities and the skills they’d need for future employment.

Delpit goes on to suspect that liberal teachers within the culture of power may be uncomfortable exhibiting an authoritative style in the classroom, leading students outside of the culture to feel they are being deprived of the teacher’s expertise. Cultural viewpoints come into play: does a teacher earn the privilege of being an authoritarian because they are a teacher, or does a teacher “achieve authority by acquisition of an authoritative role?” (p.35) 

Through qualitative research, Delpit shares stories of students and educators being denied the success they seek, leading to Delpit’s understanding that “pretending that gatekeeping points don’t exist is to ensure that many students will not pass through them.” (p.39) This “pretending” reminded me of Melody Hobson’s call for “Color Bravery” in order to push through the uncomfortable conversations that can lead to breakthroughs in our thinking about race and inequality. Delpit seems to have approached her entire career through the lens of Color Bravery.

To summarize, Delpit suggests that “students must be taught the codes needed to participate fully in the mainstream of American life, not by being forced to attend to hollow, inane, decontextualized, subskills, but rather within the context of meaningful communicative endeavors; that they must be allowed the resource of the teacher’s expert knowledge, while being helped to acknowledge their own ‘expertness’ as well; and that even while students are assisted in learning the culture of power, they must also be helped to learn about the arbitrariness of those codes and about the power relationships they represent.” (p. 45)

For me, this really gets at the heart of my early educational experience. My 36-student Kindergarten classroom was taught by two stern, elderly nuns. Through consternation, I strived to precisely learn their rules to avoid punishment. This continued even after transitioning to public school in third grade. I couldn’t understand how some children exhibited behaviors that drew humiliating punishments. Looking back now, it’s easy to see the arbitrariness of these “rules” (aka the culture of power) that Delpit identifies, and how it was especially challenging for some of my classmates to adhere to them. 

Last, I’ll share that in a previous class I summarized a reading of Delpit’s advice to teachers and youth workers preparing to encounter a wide range of cultures, abilities, and talents, as:

1. Humbly recognize you have much to learn from your students and their communities.

2. Approach the work with a sense of inquiry.

3. Be willing to share your story.

Literacy with an Attitude

In Patrick J. Finn’s 1999 work Literacy with an Attitude: Educating Working Class Children in Their Own Self-interest, Finn explains in chapter 2 how socioeconomic status impacts the quality of education – and it’s not because lower income students have lower capacities to achieve. Underpinning Finn’s assertion is a summary of Jean Anyon’s groundbreaking and remarkably enduring study in which fifth grade classrooms (of mostly white northern New Jersey students) were categorized based on family income. Anyon observed that teachers were essentially teaching to meet prejudiced expectations of students’ abilities and the skills they’d need for future employment.

When reading the comparisons of the varying degrees to which students’ conceptual and creative skills were nurtured across the spectrum of classrooms designated as working class, middle class, affluent professional, and executive elite, I strongly identified with having mainly a working class education, though my inclusion in my suburban public school’s “gifted program” from fourth through sixth grade offered a taste of an affluent professional education. In the gifted program, fifteen students per grade would leave their regular classrooms for one period each day to delve into months-long explorations of topics outside the standard curriculum, such as ocean ecosystems, Greek myths, Mayan culture, and computer literacy. Lessons and assignments incorporated multimedia sources, artistic creations, and group projects, presumably while the other (non-gifted?) classmates continued to be “graded on information, neatness, and the student’s success in paraphrasing the sources used” (p. 14), which was exactly my school experience outside of the gifted program. I was absolutely “learning to follow orders and do the mental work necessary to keep society running smoothly,” and that if I cooperated, I “would have the rewards that well-paid, middle class work makes possible outside the workplace.” Whoa.

When comparing the polar opposite working class and executive elite classrooms, the teachers’ assumptions about their students was a determining factor in their pedagogy. In “the executive elite school the teachers regarded their students as having higher social status than themselves” (p.18), and regarding ideas around societal structure, “there was little questioning of the status quo” (p. 19). To keep students in line, they were often told, “It’s up to you,” reminding them of the expectation that they would be successful. Meanwhile, teachers in the working class schools often described students as “lazy” (p. 11), regarded creative assignments as “extra” (p. 10), and had low expectations for positive learning outcomes. Perhaps the most telling observation was that working class students were “learning to resist authority in ways sanctioned by their community,” while executive elite students “were learning to be masters of the universe” (p. 20).

In Ken Williams’ 2022 book Ruthless Equity, he names the enemy to equity in education as complacency – “a willful falling short of goal and purpose,” and claims that “complacency is the most corrosive force in education” (p.39). As a Providence parent of young children, I was aware of the reputation of our school district, and that our students mainly came from working and middle class families, but it wasn’t until I began researching schooling options for my children, that I gave any consideration to the idea that teachers’ presumptions about their students had an outsize influence on achievement. A prescribed attitude adjustment seemed to be at the heart of the new Providence Public School District (PPSD) philosophy. I can’t find the early communications that led me to think this, but it had to do with believing that students are capable of achieving more than previously thought. Just last month PPSD Superintendent Dr. Javier Montañez said in a statement:

"Our teachers and school leaders are working diligently to provide all students with the world-class education they deserve and there are clear signs that their efforts are yielding positive results for PPSD…. [W]e are proud that for the first time in our District’s history one of our elementary schools was recognized as a prestigious Blue Ribbon School for their progress in closing the achievement gap… exemplify[ing] what is possible when we prioritize our students…. We believe in the promise of ALL of our students and have invested significant time, resources, and support to lead them on a path to success."

I’m feeling good about my choice to send my children to our Providence neighborhood public school, as their assigned teachers’ attitudes seem to be the opposite of complacent, which I would describe as enthusiastically dedicated. I hope my children continue to be blessed with teachers connected to their “inward teacher,” described in Parker Palmer’s The Heart of a Teacher as “the living core of our lives that is addressed and evoked by any education worthy of the name.”