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FUTURE FIRE FIGHTERS By Sherwyn Benn
FUTURE FIRE FIGHTERS
By Sherwyn Benn
There isn’t a day that goes by during which I do not acknowledge that I am not like everyone else around me. As I walk through the school doors every morning, the reflection is blinding. As I attend workshops and meetings, the reflection remains the same. Where are all the Black male teachers in this school? Where are the Black male teachers in the board?
Every day when I go to school, I make the choice to immerse myself in my work and speak the language of education, so all things will be neutral. There really is no colour barrier, right? Everything is just fine! Education is working to make the future better.
But as soon as the doors close and the students aren’t around, it is now the informal conversations with colleagues that remind me that my world is not like everyone else’s. Time to shut down and go back into my corner.
No, I do not have a cottage. No, my parents did not grow up the same way your parents did. No, my knowledge of investing is not yet at that level. Hmmm? Let’s try and shift the conversation back to neutral territory and talk about school sports – that usually works, right? Oh wait, somehow, I am now defending another Black athlete who is doing so well in athletics, but for some reason isn’t performing in school. I am again speaking for an entire race and culture.
The trend is the same. The result is another moment to confront that I am just not like everyone else around me. This is tiring! I either stay silent, or I laugh at the jokes to find a neutral place. All to fit in and be part of the crew.
Blazing a path I was the first in my family to attend a university. It was the proudest moment for myself and all of my extended family when I was accepted. I played on a varsity team for five years. I even turned around and became the head coach for that university. I did it! I made it! I learned how to master being one of a few lonely Black people in a different world. I learned how to fit in and use my difference to entertain everyone. Maybe that is why I am tired. I never wanted to be an entertainer.
In fact, I never wanted to become a teacher, because I never loved education. Something about school just didn’t make sense. It never felt like it was speaking to me. But education taught my parents that you could be respected, and my parents taught me that it was my duty to be the best I can be. Education taught me that if I had good grades, worked diligently, and climbed the ladder, I’d be respected. So, I did as my parents and the education system told me. The means of earning respect with my friends and family seemed straightforward. However, the struggle for respect seemed so much harder in school and among strangers. It always felt like I was fighting to not be considered “that Black guy.” Strangers couldn’t see your education, and in schools you are “the Black guy.” It seems much clearer to me now: the reason education wasn’t speaking to me was because it told me one thing while the outside world told me something else.
Igniting a fire George Floyd’s death has ignited a fire in all of us who are tired. Tired of the confusion and staying silent. You are that Black guy/person. You will always be different. George Floyd’s tragedy has created a flame that everyone can see. There have been fires before, but a fire in the year of 2020 and during a time when everyone has had enough time to reflect during quarantine makes it extremely apparent that the way it “should be” is not the way it really is. The struggles I encounter are not because I am different, but because there are people who are not okay with different. There aren’t enough Black educators in our schools because there are too many students who still can’t make sense of the messages they receive at home and from school.
I don’t mind listening to someone’s experience at the cottage. I don’t mind learning about other aspects of peoples’ lives. There just aren’t enough people willing to listen to our stories. It is hard to make sense of life when all the micro-aggressions you encounter every day all say, “You are not like me.” My life’s path was different. My life experiences are different. How misguided I’ve been in thinking that I had to be the same. Afraid to speak because my stories are different. My story becomes relevant when the fire is blazing red. Smoke may generate intrigue, but there’s probably a firefighter out there who will deal with that, right?
Racism is raging hot again and it is because the conversation keeps getting muted when those who are comfortable get uncomfortable. The stories of all those who are “tired” need to be heard so that those who are “different” can make sense of their belonging. The conversation needs to start with our educators so that people learn how to smell for smoke, and learn how to prevent it from becoming a raging inferno.
Maybe one day we may be so well versed with differences that we learn how to avoid fires all together, from educators to police officers. Education should be difficult, not because we struggle with trying to learn the way it’s supposed to be, but
because we struggle with the discomfort of not knowing how it’s supposed to be. The discomfort of listening to their stories and shared experiences. Of learning how to smell for fires, and prevent them whenever we can.
If it weren’t for the amazing teachers I had at my school, I would never be in this amazing profession. The teachers who immersed themselves in the stories of their students. The educators who reached out to connect with students on a realistic level. The people who wanted to know what you knew, instead of telling you the way you should be. The ones who were navigating life with you, not for you.
The conversation that needs to carry on is not just for the adults, but for the children. For the students. There will be more male black teachers when education speaks to them. When education listens to them. Let them speak!
Sherwyn Benn is a member of the Toronto Secondary Unit.
