Let’s consider these words from Luke chapter 19 verses 1 through 4: Jesus entered Jericho and made his way through the town.  There was a man there named Zacchaeus.  He was the chief tax collector in the region, and he had become very rich.  He tried to get a look at Jesus, but he was too short to see over the crowd.  So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree beside the road, for Jesus was going to pass that way. 

As I’ve shared on several occasions, I grew up in church.  And when you grow up in church, certain stories (passages, parables) become quite familiar.  The pericope above is one such passage that I’ve heard expounded upon many times.  Even recently, I came across a short video on my Instagram feed.  Not surprisingly, the person’s perspective on Zacchaeus was similar to what I’d heard my entire life.  The emphasis was placed on verse 4: So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree…  In other words, the focus was on what Zacchaeus did to overcome his situation and ultimately see Jesus.  But while it’s okay to celebrate Zacchaeus’ effort, this also leads to unintended consequences.   

When we only highlight what Zacchaeus did, we’re also saying, If Zacchaeus could do it, so can you.  Want to get ahead in life?  Study harder and earn an advanced degree.  Want to purchase a home in a neighborhood that has well-funded schools and a lower crime rate?  Work harder and save your money for a hefty down payment.  While diligently studying to earn advanced degrees that increase our earning potential is important, we can’t overlook the systemic factors that limit meaningful access and opportunity.  Whether it’s racism or redlining, poverty or police violence, or homelessness and lack of affordable healthcare, numerous systemic obstacles are placed in the path of racially and ethnically minoritized (REM) and other marginalized individuals, which often makes achieving their (our) goals substantially more difficult.  Returning to Zacchaeus, when we only focus on his effort, we ignore the circumstances that prevented him from seeing Jesus. 

How often do we expect (require) people to jump through hoops while looking past the systems that are obstructing what they deserve?  How often do we celebrate individual exceptionalism rather than critiquing what makes such inordinate effort necessary in the first place?  How often have we thought to ourselves, Like Zacchaeus, if they really want it, they won’t let anything stand in their way? 

The inspiration for this blog was an epiphany I had while speaking with a group of administrators in Illinois about the popular equity vs. equality images.  And as I’ve shared previously, more than the height of the individuals in the images, or the amount of support (boxes) that they were given, the fence was the fundamental problem.  And so it is with Zacchaeus: more than his short stature and individual determination to see Jesus, the crowd was the problem. 

A word that simply means perspective or the lens through which we see or understand the world around us, our hermeneutic influences how we read, hear, and interpret scripture.  If we only value individualism and self-determination, we’ll likely perceive Zacchaeus as exceptional—a resilient person who rose above his circumstances and beat the odds—at the expense of ignoring systemic obstruction.  But if we’re sensitive to the structural injustices that plague society, we’ll recognize the significance of metaphorical fences and crowds before admonishing others to be like Zacchaeus. 

Even when reading scripture, always focus on the fence.

The blatant disrespect and disregard for Nikole Hannah-Jones and her scholarship by the University of North Carolina [at Chapel Hill] Board of Trustess is yet another example of racism in America. Simply stated: Black people can win (earn) a Pulitzer Prize and a MacArthur Fellowship and still be considered not good enough. 

Being Black in America is fraught with two things. First, showing others that you’re good enough while also not being too good to make them uncomfortable with your greatness. Next, people in positions of power will try to control the things for which you can be great. If Ms. Hannah-Jones won a Pulitzer for something that made White people comfortable, or reinforced the fairytale image of America, I would likely not be writing this today. 

And as a reminder, what’s happening to Ms. Hannah-Jones has absolutely everything to do with her while having nothing to do with her as an individual.

In schools, intervention and prevention are both important. And in some ways, intervention is necessary but not sufficient to truly promote positive and lasting outcomes for children. Since the Chauvin verdict a few weeks ago, I’ve been thinking about accountability and how it’s not synonymous with justice. 

Accountability is akin to intervention: what happens after a problem has been identified. It’s what we do to address or remediate a specific situation. A guilty verdict is simply holding a single person accountable for their actions. 

Prevention, however, would be better. In schools it would be providing effective Tier 1 instruction to all students to prevent underachievement. It would be establishing discipline policies that don’t lead to disproportionate outcomes for students by race/ethnicity, gender, disability status, or any other factor. It would include gifted eligibility criteria that don’t exclude students from racially and ethnically minoritized backgrounds, as well as those living in low-income and economic marginalization (LIEM; poverty) because we’re erroneously conflating a child’s performance with opportunity and access. 

Let’s not get distracted by a single successful intervention (accountability) as evidence of true effectiveness. In research terms we need to replicate that effect (do it over and over again), which only happens through comprehensive systems change (justice). Why is this important? Sometimes the system, in order to preserve the system, is willing to sacrifice one of its own.

This is what I know: fences are constructed. And because they’re constructed, they can be deconstructed. The fences (systemic oppression) of racism, sexism and patriarchy, low-income and economic marginalization (LIEM; poverty), ableism, and homophobia and transphobia exist because they are rules (policies) made by men (quite literally). These and other fences, however, don’t have to exist; but only if we don’t want them to exist. Because it’s always about the children: focus on the fence.

Ma’khia Bryant was 16. A child. Yes, investigations are important; but let’s never forget that she was at least the fourth—it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep track—Black young person (three of them teenagers) to be killed by police between April 11 and April 20. These tragedies are painfully juxtaposed against the numerous White individuals who have committed heinous crimes (e.g., murder) and sometimes being heavily armed, yet are apprehended, if at all, without police officers even reaching for a gun, taser, or mace. Distractions are diversions. And quite honestly, we can’t afford them. Focus. On. The. Fence.

As I stated on March 30, the children are the real MVPs. It was the video captured by Darnella Frazier, a 17-year-old Black child, that exposed what happened to George Floyd last year. Children testified in court in order to hold Derek Chauvin accountable for his actions. Let’s never forget that. I’m grateful that their pain and time weren’t wasted.

That yesterday’s verdict is remarkable is evidence enough that there is much work to be done. And to be clear, what happened wasn’t justice; it was accountability. It was a step, a single step, up a steep staircase towards justice. We must never, ever, lose sight of the system that made the death of George Floyd and too many others commonplace throughout American history.

Is this a moment to celebrate? Maybe. But not because an individual may spend the rest of his life in prison; it’s because this moment has been a long time coming for people who have been routinely abused by an unjust system. Beyond the verdict, this moment must signal a renewed commitment to continue climbing the staircase towards justice.

Here’s the difference between accountability and justice: it’s not justice until systems are set up and consistently operate in ways that don’t place Black lives at risk of death and other harmful outcomes for simply existing. It’s not justice until policies consistently hold people accountable for their actions. It’s not justice if Derek Chauvin is afforded the privilege of White exceptionality—that he was a lone actor whose behavior doesn’t represent the larger unjust system. In the absence of significant systemic change, yesterday’s verdict is merely a slap on the wrist of the rotten tree that ultimately produces the bad apples that disregard Black lives.

A lot (too much) is happening in America. And as a Black man, it’s both exhausting and absolutely terrifying. Anything I do, or don’t do, can lead to my harassment or even death. And for those who still feel that I’m *different* because of how you know me, rest assured: I’m no different than any other Black person in this country.

But lest we lose sight of the central issue, remember: the problem is not police officers; it’s policing. The problem is not bad teachers, administrators, or other educators; it’s the education system. In other words, the pervasive and persistent disregard of Black lives is far beyond the individual actions of a few *bad apples.* Fundamentally, the system is the issue. And to continue with the apple analogy, we have more than a few bad apples because the tree is rotten. As I've shared via social media before (see January 18), the *bad apple* defense absolves the system of its primary role in perpetuating negative (deadly) outcomes.

Should individuals be held accountable? Yes. Does the system need to be overhauled? Yes. We can walk and chew gum at the same time.

Why must we focus on the fence? Isn’t it true that some students require more support? Isn’t it true that some schools need differentiated staffing? Isn’t it true that we need to assist some families more than others? Yes, these are realities. But before we highlight what we’re doing, we need to ask ourselves what makes such actions necessary. In other words, why do some students need more support? It’s the fence of racism that disproportionately places less qualified teachers and instructional methods in front of racially and ethnically minoritized students. Why do some schools require more staffing? It’s the fence of redlining and other discriminatory practices that unfairly places a significant number of students from marginalized backgrounds into a single school. Why do some families need more assistance than others? It’s the fence of systemic oppression that prevents them from earning a livable wage, which leads to working multiple jobs and less time to be meaningfully engaged in their children’s schooling—not because they don’t want to, but they are balancing attending our meetings at 10:00 AM with providing for their families’ basic needs.

When we overlook these and other systemic barriers, not only do we unintentionally reinforce deficit ideologies about students, families, schools, and communities, but we also perpetuate savior complexes about ourselves. We run the risk of thinking that the problem lies within the individual [child, family, school, or community] and shift the attention to what we’re doing to help them.

In explaining the image, I used to say that as a short person there’s nothing inherently wrong with me, but I would need more support than those who were taller. While on the surface this seemed like a reasonable explanation to not problematize the individual, it didn’t critique the fence that was obstructing my view and prematurely centered my personal circumstance. Said another way, despite being short, I wouldn’t need individual intervention if the fence wasn’t there. And more than being short, the fence was the problem.

Have you ever heard that we should work smarter and not harder? Fundamentally, this means fixing the structural inequities that plague our systems, including education, rather than applying bandaid approaches that are focused on individuals. Focus on the fence.

Whether teachers and their instructional practices, principals and their discipline policies, or school psychologists and their assessment approaches, educators boast about being student-centered. But this is what I know: sometimes keeping the child at the center of what we’re doing has a lot less to do with the individual child than it does other factors. I was speaking to a group of administrators a few weeks ago and showed the popular images that contrast equity and equality. During our discussion, someone said that we need to fix the fence. In other words, more than the differentiated (tailored to the individual) support (e.g., the boxes) that we should provide students and families, fundamentally the fence is the problem. If we truly want what’s best for children, we must shift our attention to the systemic policies and practices that deny meaningful access and opportunity to everyone. Yes, it’s appropriate to give individuals what they need; but let’s focus on the fence.