The View from the Trenches

It is obvious by the look on his face he does not have a clue what To Kill a Mockingbird is about. And his teacher knows it. He is 17. He sits in an 11th-grade American literature class.

While his classmates talk over author Harper Lee’s meanings—discussing what her literary classic says about race in America at the time it was written—his eyes are glued to the page. As if by not looking up, he can assure that no one will ask him a question.

He cannot read. After class, talking with a reporter, his teacher wonders out loud how he was allowed to come this far in school. She has urged him to enroll in adult-education classes for help. Whether he goes—who knows?

The fact that he is Latino makes it a more sensitive issue than she thinks it ought to be. Often, she says, “Latino parents tend to blame the schools for treating their kids the same as everyone else, as if somehow we’re ripping them off by not treating them as special.”

But for every parent who feels that way, she says, there is the minority parent who cares passionately about his or her child’s success—making it impossible to blame race or culture alone for the bumpy road many students seem to travel.

“I also have a Latina student who is trying to get a scholarship, whose parents are fully supporting her so she can continue her education. I am so proud of her,” says this career educator at a North County high school. “Too often, I see Latina girls expected to be babysitters for their little brothers and sisters. And the end result is they can’t fight la cultura; they end up getting married too young and having babies. The culture often doesn’t value education for women.”

This teacher—like many who’ve spent decades watching students of all backgrounds succeed and fail—is frustrated and saddened every time failure overtakes success. And she—again like many others—is afraid that if the reporter uses her name, it will make her seem some sort of racist dinosaur who doesn’t want to accept the changing demographics of San Diego and the nation.

San Diego’s County’s schools—all 603 of them, in all districts—are responsible for the education of nearly half a million young people. Of these students, 57.4 percent are nonwhite. In the trenches every day are the thousands of teachers, 79 percent white, 73 percent women. So critical is the shortage of teachers of color that special recruitment efforts have been established—complete with signing bonuses and pay incentives for any who agree to go to underachieving schools.

In 2001, every California teacher is focused on testing. The state’s drive to improve the scores is both a challenge and a headache for teachers and administrators who complain they’re “teaching to the tests” instead of teaching a love of learning.

“My hope is that with new, standards-based tests, there may be benefits in the lower grades, so students don’t get to high school without the necessary tools,” says one. But, she says, it’s not just about ability; it’s about discipline.

“Kids of all races have a difficult time sitting down and concentrating,” she says, adding that it’s hard to compete with TV car chases for excitement. “They’re so used to the 30-minute television solution to everything. It may take me weeks to get through even one book in my class.”

Another teacher is open about his disdain for the all-or-nothing approach of the state’s Stanford 9 tests. “It’s not a fair way to judge a student or a school’s success,” says Ray Lozada, who teaches in San Ysidro, where the student body is virtually all Latino. Instead, “You need a three-part system, with tests, a year-long portfolio and an oral presentation to say why they should be promoted to the next grade.

“I spend way too much time teaching test-taking skills,” he says, “rather than the skills needed to make it in high school. Teaching a student to fill in a [test sheet] bubble and how to erase properly—is this what education is really about?”

—Cathy Clark

Do you like what you read? Subscribe to San Diego Magazine »