The anger was palpable in 1968. Now it’s déjà vu.
I was a junior at Fayetteville State University in North Carolina when Dr. Martin Luther King was killed on April 4, 1968. The president of the university closed the campus in the uproar.
I packed my bags and got on a bus back to Hartford, my home.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d been a student at Hartford Public High School in the 1960s and aspired to be a school teacher. But I saw no teachers of color at my high school. I was drawn to the comfort of attending a historically black college in the South — where they thrived, in large part because of the institutional racism that existed at many four-year universities.
So, there I was, on a bus, believing I was escaping the violence of the South and heading back to safety in the city I’d left.
I returned home to find Hartford on fire and on lockdown. It shocked me, to witness my community being torched by the very people who lived there. While the majority chose peaceful means of registering their disapproval, others, unfortunately, chose destruction.
Their anger and frustration were palpable. People were tired of patiently waiting for social, racial and economic reforms and equality.
Dr. King preached about inequality and the institutional racism that disproportionately disenfranchised people of color. It impacts education, housing, healthcare, banking, the job market and the criminal justice system.
It has made a significant segment of Americans angry.
As we continue to battle this global pandemic known as COVID-19, we must also deal with the resurgence of another pandemic — the disease known as racism.
Demonstrations broke out across the nation last week protesting the police brutality that resulted in the horrific death of George Floyd, a black man, by a white Minnesota police officer. With today’s camera phones and social media, people can witness injustice and cruelty firsthand. Calls to action can be spurred spontaneously by a simple post on Facebook or Twitter.
Peaceful protests around the country were tainted by rioters, looters and instigators.
It was déjà vu for me. America has yet to deal in a meaningful way with the racism that has metastasized in its major institutions. Until our country re-examines the laws and policies that are supposed protect and empower all citizens, we’ll continue to have these inequities and disparities along racial lines.
African Americans and Latinos make up about 28 percent of Connecticut’s residents, yet they account for 75% of the state’s prison population. Something is amiss.
This concerns me, as a black man who is also superintendent of Bloomfield public schools.
Bloomfield is a unique Connecticut suburban town. The demographics of our school population — about 90% are of African American and West Indian descent — reflect that of an urban school district. We are a competitive school system that aspires for excellence in academics, athletics and the arts, and we take pride in the diversity of our community.
Over the last several years, the Bloomfield Public Schools system has offered learning opportunities focused on equity and race to build knowledge and skills for our students, staff and community. Recently, our district provided extensive professional development about implicit bias and culturally relevant teaching practices. We will step up efforts to engage our school community in frank conversations about race, stereotypes, expectations and fear.
Our children are watching. We know they are hurting, confused and seeking guidance.
An educated mind is the most powerful tool for combating ignorance and racism. Educators have an important role to play in making sure our students are critical thinkers and knowledgeable about African American history. Our young people will, ultimately, change the historical bias in these institutions. That is a theme we will be affirming in Bloomfield. Education is, indeed, power.
Dr. King had it right. Society and the institutions that run it must learn to judge people not by the color of their skin but the content of their character.