A Hope Deferred

For thirteen-year-old Jaaren, it was hard to dream.

After all, Jaaren was an abnormality. He was a smart, gifted student in an environment where middle school boys would much rather crack a joke than crack open a book. While his peers gossiped at the lunch table about what the girls were wearing, Jaaren was deep in his studies. While others were chomping at the bit to get to gym class, Jaaren was most looking forward to playing trumpet in the school band. As a deeply religious Jehovah's Witness, Jaaren found his peers' actions repulsive, especially when they would "act the fool" in class. In many ways, Jaaren was an old soul, trapped in a young adolescent's body. And yet, that trapping was more than metaphorical. Jaaren was actually trapped. He was trapped in a life situation that he had little hope of escaping due to the hand he had been dealt. All Jaaren could do was endure, and try to get through each day to the next.

This was the Jaaren I met in 2007 in my classroom. His intelligence was off the charts. His critical thinking was top-notch. But he was reserved. I could see that he was holding back. His short answers and essays were frequently underwhelming. I knew he could do more so like any good teacher, I tried to push him. Initially, there was pushback. After all, a teacher instantly winning over her or his students only happens in Hollywood movies. But more and more I began to get through to Jaaren. On the last day of school, he asked me about the difficulties and challenges of being a first-year teacher. I answered him honestly. He appreciated that. And he appreciated the fact that like unlike others who looked like me, I fully intended upon coming back and not giving up on the students, despite the daily challenges they provided. Looking back on my first year of teaching, I saw Jaaren as one of my biggest success stories.

But I knew there was more I could do.

And so, at the start of Jaaren's 8th-grade year, I recruited him to join the school quiz bowl team. This took some significant arm-pulling on my end but fortunately, I had a strong ally on my side: Jaaren's mom. Jaaren's mom and I had built up a good rapport and I like to think she saw me as someone who was truly invested in her son's education. Not only did he help me recruit Jaaren, but she also helped me snag Jaaren's younger sister as well to join the team. While his sister didn't quite match Jaaren's intellect at that point, she provided an additional team member for an activity where we would need everyone we could find. While our team did not win the league title, we did win our one single match on a day when it ended up snowing right when the match ended. Victory, in the form of falling snowflakes, never tasted so sweet.

Toward the end of the year, there was a school-wide assembly for grade-level awards. With a strong commitment to his craft, Jaaren had become a musical virtuoso and he was presented with the school band award. When his name was announced, there was applause from the audience and Jaaren later remarked to me that was the first time that people had ever clapped for him for doing something well. He got emotional as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in his life, Jaaren was both being seen and appreciated by his peers.

Knowing that Jaaren would be moving on at the end of the year, I pulled him aside during the last week of school and presented him with a gift. It was a book called A Hope in the Unseen by author Ron Suskind which followed Cedric Jennings, an inner-city Black student in Washington, DC with aspirations of attending an Ivy League school, despite growing up in abject poverty. I saw a lot of Cedric in Jaaren and I knew that Jaaren would easily make that connection as well. I didn't know if Jaaren had ambitions to attend an Ivy League college but knowing that there were Cedric Jennings out there was important for him to see and understand. I wanted Jaaren to know that although he may have felt alone where he was, there were others out there like him. There were others who went through what he was going through. And there were others who came out the other side and made it out alive.

In short, I wanted Jaaren to have hope at a time when he may have felt hopeless.

I can't help but think about Jaaren on days like yesterday. While he did not end up attending an Ivy League school, Jaaren did go on to become a college graduate and is now gainfully employed. He succeeded where so many in his place simply gave up hope. I don't know if the story of Cedric Jennings inspired him, but I like to think it didn't hurt. After all, if someone like Cedric could overcome his challenges then I knew that Jaaren could as well. I'm sure his high school teachers saw and appreciated his drive as well. I'm sure a keen guidance counselor recognized his talent. And I know his mom stayed on him, making sure that he didn't take his intelligence for granted.

Yesterday's atrocious Supreme Court ruling does more than build additional barriers for students of color in higher education. It robs them of hope. It robs them of a hope that they can be the ones who get out. It robs them of a hope that they can make their way to the halls of Harvard, or Princeton, or Brown. It robs them of a hope that they prove wrong everyone who has ever doubted them. It robs them of a hope that they too, belong among this country's elite.

Students like Jaaren need that hope. They need to see and read about people like Cedric Jennings. They might not all want to do to an Ivy League school, but they need to see that it is possible. Representation matters. If an inner-city kid from DC can make it to Brown, then why can't the local high school student be the first in their family to attend community college? Join the Army? Become a mechanic? While Cedric's path might not be your own, isn't it inspiring to know that someone who looks like you can succeed at one of the most prestigious universities in the country?

That's what the conservative Supreme Court members missed. Badly. Affirmative action isn't about taking away spots, it's about righting a historical wrong. It's about giving those from historically underrepresented communities a foot in the door. An opportunity, nothing more and nothing less. After all, once he got to Brown, Cedric was on his own. He had to navigate an elite Ivy League school, just like the thousands of other students, the vast majority of whom had resources that far surpassed what he had. Once all students arrive on campus, they are on their own. Professors don't know who is a legacy or who is a first-generation college student. Once through the door, every student is essentially on the same level. No matter who helped get them to that door in the first place.

And yet, despite yesterday's decision, we'd be remiss not to hope. Because so much of our history is built on hope. While this is a huge blow, we have to hope for the better nature of angels. We have to hope that colleges and universities will continue the trend of doing away with standardized test scores. We have to hope that there is a continued emphasis on personal essays and extracurricular activities. We have to hope that schools continue to see a student body from all 50 states as a positive rather than a burden. We have to hope that schools continue to give first-generation immigrants and students of color opportunities that were denied to their parents and grandparents. And we have to hope that through it all, schools hear from alumni like Cedric and Jaaren about how important college was for them and what it meant for them to be the first in their families to graduate and to achieve a life they never thought possible.

Because without that hope, we are left with nothing.