Introduction: The Journey

Our journeys as educators, activists, or anyone who desires to make change are often not linear. As a result of this there will be times in any activist's journey where it will feel like we aren't making progress at all. Much of what we learn in school about how significant change happens is focused on hero worship. We are socialized to believe that change occurs because a once-in-a-generation leader shows up and makes it happen. Because this is the way that our history books remember freedom movements, it is easy to trivialize our own ability to make change.

In the midst of my efforts to make change I have found myself falling into the trap of self-doubt. Who am I to believe that I am the one to move or shift systems that have been around for so much longer than I have? Systems that are so much bigger than I am? And systems that are so resistant to change? People read books written by experts, and my professional and educational experience would suggest that I am one of those. However, I actually think the story that needs to be told is a story of overcoming: overcoming doubt, overcoming real and perceived limitations, overcoming racism.

In my journey to overcome, I have found that the person who makes the most change isn't always the person who knows the most. Typically the people who make the most change are the ones who have the ability to cut through the noise. There is now, and has always been, a lot of noise around the topic of ending racism. One would think that everyone could get behind the idea that racism is bad and should be dug up from the roots in the systems that we all have to exist in. Instead, recently many states made it illegal to teach about racism in schools. Historically anti-racism advocates have faced ridicule, violence, false imprisonment, and in some cases, death. It goes without saying that the noise that surrounds anti-racism work is so loud that it is often deafening. The noise serves to paralyze us into cynicism, to keep us stuck in doubt, grief, or guilt. The noise aims to drown out our voices and make it harder for us to communicate with one another. Toni Morrison describes “the noise” this way: “the function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language and you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn't shaped properly so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up…. None of that is necessary.”1

The unjust structures and the people who support them are going to continue to do their work. Those of us who are inclined to create a just world for the students that we serve have to do our work too. We can only do this work as we are. We don't have the luxury to wait for someone else or to wait until we are a better version of ourselves. The heroes who are immortalized in our history books who led movements deserve all their praise, adoration, and credit. However, systems do not shift because of the actions of an individual. Systems shift because of committed individuals, imperfect individuals, the people the history books don't remember. Famed civil rights leader Ella Baker embodied this concept, saying, “You didn't see me on television, you didn't see news stories about me. The kind of role that I tried to play was to pick up the pieces or put together pieces of which I hoped organization might come. My theory is that strong people don't need strong leaders.”2

There Is a Movement Inside You

The urgency of the moment dictates that we do not have the luxury of waiting for the once-in-a-generation leader. Instead, this book will encourage you to find the movement that exists inside of you. The battle for equity in education requires all of us to bring something important to this work. Your movement might not be mine. We need leaders both inside and outside of the classroom. We need a diverse set of skills, perspectives, and passions. If the education system is ever truly going to work in a way that serves all children, we need your movement—whatever it may be.

I often hold Overcoming Racism intensives where I talk about an activist named Dorothy Counts, who integrated schools in Charlotte, North Carolina, in 1957. On her first day of school, Dorothy Counts was met by a mob of upward of 300 angry white children and adults. Figures I.1 and I.2 show her being harassed by her peers. Her first day of school was marked by her teachers ignoring her. Her classmates threw things at her, shouted racial epithets at her, and some boys even formed a circle around her at lunch and spat in her food. The district superintendent ignored her family's pleas to protect their daughter and the local police chief made it clear that he would do nothing to offer her protection. After four unbearable days at Harry Harding High, Dorothy's parents mercifully withdrew her from the school. By all accounts Dorothy, who is 81 now, is a hero. But when I ask participants in the Overcoming Racism intensives who she is, almost nobody recognizes her face.

Figure I.1 Dorothy Counts on her first day of school, Charlotte, North Carolina, 1957.

Photo by Douglas Martin, published September 5, 1957, in the Charlotte News. Public domain.

Figure I.2 Dorothy Counts on her first day of school, Charlotte, North Carolina, 1957.

Photo by Douglas Martin, published September 5, 1957, in the Charlotte News. Public domain.

The truth is I put this image of Dorothy Counts in the beginning of my presentations for completely selfish reasons. Dorothy Counts is a constant reminder to me of the sacrifices that people who look like me endured simply to get an equitable education. Dorothy was willing to put her entire community on her shoulders and face the rage and hatred of a bigoted crowd. Looking into the eyes of Dorothy Counts before I speak is a reminder that this work takes courage, and it has always taken courage. It is also a reminder that anti-racist change has never come without resistance, and that freedom has never truly been free. The breadth of Dorothy's bravery is only matched by the cowardice of the rageful crowd. What were they so afraid of, those three hundred people assembled to intimidate one high school girl?

I've been doing anti-racism work since I was 14. I've faced threats; I've been the target of white supremacists; I've faced police with tanks, dogs, and tear gas. My passion has always propelled me forward and the heroes who came before me have always strengthened my resolve. However, the years following the brief movement for Black lives following 2020 have been some of the most difficult. The swift transition from a widespread outcry against racism to the widespread passing of polices intended to reinforce racism is heartbreaking. In 2023, with half of the country passing laws targeting anti-racism training, for the first time in my activist journey I have considered what it would look like if I stepped away from this calling.

Black people have fought for centuries to have full enfranchisement in schools. My forebears shed literal blood, sweat, and tears simply to walk through the doors of institutions of learning that fought just as hard to keep them out. Both of my parents went to segregated schools for much of their childhood. I have always felt like it was my responsibility to do my part to make the world a little bit safer for my future children and all of the students I had the privilege to teach. As a historian, I have studied the centuries in which Black families were disallowed to attend schools, followed by the century of forced segregation, and I have lived my entire life in the decades of trying to make schools equitable for children who look like me. In the last year or so I have watched as, in what feels like a matter of months, white parents have organized to get books banned, to outlaw anti-racism training, and to undo centuries of hard-fought progress.

As I write this, half of the country has passed laws limiting the ability of schools to train their teachers in anti-racist practices. In the time in which I have committed my life to anti-racist change, I have felt pretty much every emotion imaginable. I have been afraid of driving past Confederate flags and plantations on my way to a rural workshop. I have been angry after being the target of misinformation and slander from white supremacists trying to discredit my work. I have felt joy and hope and love while watching the healing and liberatory nature of this work in schools. For the first time in my life, anti-racism work has broken my heart.

There is a part of me that won't stop crying for the fact that Dorothy had to face that crowd, and 66 years later people are using their positions of power to erase the fact that this happened from the history books. I say this all to emphasize that there is more work to be done. I have written this book for anyone and everyone who believes, like Dorothy did, that our students deserve an equitable education, no matter the cost. Dorothy Counts's story is not frequently told. It is a reminder to me that just because the history books don't remember you doesn't mean you didn't make a difference. In the end it's possible that not a single person remembers the name Matthew Kincaid or the work of Overcoming Racism. But just like Dorothy Counts, the change will endure. This book is for those courageous enough to...