Coming Full Circle: Appreciating Black Educators

Key Blue, Joseph Schillinger

My fractured Jamaican and Caribbean identity has long been both an open wound and an inspiration. So, when my 10th-grade AP Global History teacher assigned us a research paper to write on the topic of our choosing, I focused on the figure of Jamaica’s prime minister, Michael Manley. That research paper — my first ever — became an opportunity to place myself and my estranged family’s history into a curriculum that overlooked the Caribbean and other Black nations. Unbeknownst to my high school self, that paper was a harbinger of an academic future still brewing.

Education has always been a passion of mine, but I never expected to become a teacher. Nevertheless, one PhD later, here I am: a college professor of Black literature. I learned from very, very few Black educators throughout my schooling — virtually none before college — but I always assumed it had little impact on me. My academic journey was quite successful despite having few role models who looked like me.

I learned from very, very few Black educators throughout my schooling — virtually none before college — but I always assumed it had little impact on me. My academic journey was quite successful despite having few role models who looked like me.

As I was finishing my dissertation on contemporary Black diasporic literature and the memory of the Duvalier dictatorship in Haiti, I felt deeply compelled to find my old high school term paper, that very first one I ever attempted. Rereading it 10 years later, I was shocked to see the same themes central to my dissertation. I wrote about the perceptions of Manley as both hero and villain that oscillated depending on a person’s economic class. I interviewed my father and maternal grandfather to highlight those different status-driven perspectives. I explained complex concepts such as socialism and the International Monetary Fund, along with their impact on Jamaica’s economy — all from independent research. That project was ambitious and globally focused, much like my dissertation. I am surprised to look back at the paper and still believe it’s of decent quality.

My intervention was clear — to apply a multifaceted lens to Manley’s leadership and ask whether pivoting to the ideals of socialism was worth bringing on the ire of the U.S. and the Western world. The independence of Caribbean countries in relation to larger international politics remains an important topic to this day. I deeply understood the ideas I was engaging with, and, looking back, I feel disappointed my paper didn’t receive the same energy and engagement it deserved. I recall my teacher focusing on whether Michael Manley’s supporters were violent or affiliated with gang violence — a response I can now see originated from a problematic, U.S. based othering gaze on a “developing nation.” I think I received some kind of B on the paper.

Now, I can’t help but wonder, what if I had completed that assignment under the guidance of a Black global history teacher? What if they had seen my paper as an open door, the start of a much larger conversation, and encouraged me to keep writing and reading about the history of Jamaica and the rest of the Caribbean?

I am grateful for all the experiences and detours I’ve had, thinking I might become a technical writer, a science writer, or even a grant writer instead of an academic. There’s value in all those divergences. But what if, what if I’d had a Black teacher, pushing me further every step of the way toward Black history and identity? Imagine: Black teachers greeted me in classrooms from K–12 through college and into my PhD program. Imagine: a Black educator read my paper on Michael Manley and told me, “Hey, you are clearly passionate about Black history — you should look for colleges with a robust Black Studies program.” Perhaps I could have created a more intentional plan. I was a first-generation traditional college student, but no one used terms like that a decade ago. With little idea of what my major would be, I chose my college based solely on financial concerns, eventually meandering my way to an English major simply because I loved to read. I landed at a college with the most diverse English literature courses in the country and finally had the pleasure of taking some wonderful seminars on Black literature with Black professors. Yet, it had been a haphazard and often uphill journey to those classes.

But what if, what if I’d had a Black teacher, pushing me further every step of the way toward Black history and identity? Imagine: Black teachers greeted me in classrooms from K–12 through college and into my PhD program.

And still, the mentorship issues manifested again when I started graduate school. Without professors cheering them on, many students got stuck and fell through the cracks as their self-confidence plummeted. That’s the kind of special power teachers wield over their students; the power to either uplift and inspire, or, on contrary, to dismantle any self-belief.

Despite obstacles, I was fortunate to find my way, and this fall I will start my position as an assistant professor at a small liberal arts college in upstate New York. Other students are not as lucky and can be discouraged by poor educational experiences. For a long time, I felt conflicted about entering academia, questioning whether I wanted to further participate in our flawed higher education system. Ultimately, I concluded that any career path I chose would mean entering institutions and systems mired in histories of racism, sexism, and numerous other oppressions. That’s the nature of the beast. The best I can do is help train the next generation of Black leaders to navigate these turbulent waters — so why not choose education?

I am happy to be a mentor for young Black scholars and writers, to fulfill a role I did not have in my early academic journey. I am grateful for the community of mentors and peers of color I have slowly but surely built since my time in high school. Don’t get me wrong — I encountered some amazing, supportive, and encouraging white teachers throughout my life. Now I understand how truly special it is to have an educator who has navigated some of the same complex racial and sociopolitical terrains as you.

To all those past, present, and future Black educators out there — thank you. You are so needed.