This is the anthropologist sister, Jessie, again. After last week’s post about the educational difficulties Rochelle’s children face, I’ve been preoccupied by the problem. I think a lot about education, because that’s what I do for a living: I’m a faculty member in anthropology at a large, public university. The university I teach at is not particularly distinguished, but it is oriented toward research, and its students are overwhelmingly middle class and white. For most of them, going to college was not a hard won triumph; it was merely the expected next step after high school. It is exciting for them not because they are looking forward to exploring new ideas, but because they are getting away from home and living on their own, without parental constraints. The content of their courses is not particularly interesting to most of them, but they know that their incomes and life choices depend in large measure upon having graduated from college. So they’re going to do it.
But getting into college, let alone graduating from college, depends on a lot more than the popular American myth of success through hard work and pulling oneself up by one’s own bootstraps. It’s not just hard work. It’s not just good teachers. It’s not even just parents who care. It’s a whole constellation of social, cultural, and economic factors that provide an atmosphere in which children are able to prosper academically.
Take a look at the apartment Rochelle and her children live in. It’s in good repair and safe. It has adequate furniture, a computer, and the environment is stable. Rochelle has worked very hard to provide this home for her children, and it is in stark contrast to the environment in which she grew up. Her children aren’t moved from household to household, left with relatives for indeterminate periods of time, and ignored or taunted by their caregivers, who fail to feed them regularly. They aren’t left alone to fend for themselves, and they’ve never watched a house burn down with their cousins dying inside. So to Rochelle, the fact that her apartment is strewn with clothing and toys, has no regular spot for the children to do their homework, and no adequate lighting is not even noticeable. Her children’s situation is such an improvement over her own as a child that its shortcomings are invisible to her.
Kalinda the eldest child, is now 11, and has been diagnosed by the school system as a “slow learner.” She does not strike the casual acquaintance as “slow” in normal conversation. But she is certainly not academic. She has been teased in school, partly because she is overweight and partly because she has been labeled a “slow learner.” None of this makes school or what goes on there very enjoyable for her. Although she has recently had the services of a school appointed tutor, as well as a “Big Sister,” who takes her on various outings, there has been little continuity or intensive support for her academic difficulties. Rochelle works full time and is frustrated and annoyed that Kalinda has difficulties with arithmetic that she never had, herself. So, despite some real attempts at intervention, there is no systematic approach to the problem. By contrast, I remember my own daughter, now 29, having problems with arithmetic in second grade. Her teacher let us know about the problem, and I swung into action. My mother and one of my sisters had had serious problems with mathematics that lasted a lifetime, and I didn’t want my daughter to be handicapped by math fear. I made flash cards, and we worked on them every day. Once a week we went out to a fast food fish restaurant (my daughter’s favorite at the time), where we reviewed the week’s work and celebrated with fish and chips. It worked, and Leah ended up in the advanced mathematics program. But that kind of intervention depends on a parent with the time, the experience, and the conviction that educational obstacles can be overcome. It was luck, not virtue or intelligence, that resulted in Leah’s mathematical turnaround. She (and I) had been born into a fortunate slot in life.
Kalinda is having trouble learning arithmetic, but so did my mother and my sister, both of them members of Phi Beta Kappa. In fact, my sister used to call me at the end of the semester for help in figuring out her students’ final grades–she didn’t really understand percentages, despite her PhD. No one ever thought she was “slow.” No one ever believed she was a lost educational cause. Of course, my sister is white and middle class. Kalinda is not remotely slow at learning aspects of her culture that make more sense to her. She likes to wear sparkly, “sexy” clothes, and strikes “sexy” poses for photographs, though she is only eleven. She recognizes the approval her sexy aunt, the exotic dancer, receives from the family, and clearly wants to emulate her. No one in Rochelle’s family is academically or professionally successful. There are no role models for Kalinda in that realm of life. Certainly, teachers tell Kalinda and her fellow students that they need to do well in school so that they will ultimately do well in life, but how meaningful is that for Kalinda and students like her? Rochelle knows the same thing: her children need to do well in school so that they will do well in life. But whom does Rochelle know for whom that has been true? Literally no one, I suspect. Education may truly be the key to prosperity, the door to the path out of poverty. But what is the key to the key? What is the door to the door? For most people living in the culture of poverty, discussions about the value of education seem mostly like empty words, aimed at someone else. Of course, there are remarkable people who come from Rochelle’s world and through education succeed in escaping into the middle class. But the numbers are far smaller than affluent elites like to believe. Like all cultural systems, the culture of poverty reproduces itself generation after generation. Serious commitment to social and economic intervention is the only way to interrupt this pattern.