In the late ’80s, I took my first job in the chemical dependency treatment field in Troy, Ohio. There I met a woman named Beverly, who would become a great friend and mentor, and who worked in the Drug Prevention Division of the organization we both worked for. She possessed master’s degrees in psychology and African American Studies. She invited me to join her in facilitating a group of African American high school students called Blacks Against Drugs (BAD). I was honored. We met regularly and got to know the students well. They were a group of energetic, intelligent, wonderful and curious young people.
As time went on and we became closer to the students, they eventually came to trust us. Then the stories began to flow. Troy is a predominantly white community. As a matter of fact, the Black population was quite sparse. The students told us that, in their classrooms, there were often no more than two Black students. They told us of being shamed by their teachers. There was practically no information or stories about Black people in their history books except for the subject of slavery. Whenever the topic was broached in class, all the white kids would turn and look at the Black kids. Snickers and jokes would follow, the kids said, uninterrupted by the teachers. Naturally, they came to feel alienated, to say the least.
There were two Black counselors at the school, but when the students went to them, the counselors urged them to tolerate the abuse, telling them that those who took every opportunity to demean them really meant no harm. One of the more painful things they told these precious Black children was, “You should try to be more like them” — the white kids. I literally had to restrain myself from shouting out loud, although every fiber in my body became twisted and taut.
