Martin had The Dream — are we making it a reality?

When Martin Luther King Day rolls around, I devote a lesson to teaching my students about his work, the struggles he faced in achieving his dream, and the impact he had on our country and the world. But this year, it was much harder than I ever remembered it being.

My previous school district was in one of two states in this country that does not (necessarily) observe Martin Luther King Day. The student body was over 80 percent white, and the remaining less-than-20 percent was made up of Black, Hispanic, Vietnamese, and multiracial students.

I felt the need to quickly educate young White children — the next generation of the dominant part of society, in whose hands the ability to dismantle systemic oppression from the top lies. These children could be the ones to look upon their White privilege and recognize the way it damages those who do not have it. They could be an active, integral force in making much needed change. But only if I (and other grown-ups) did my part. And so I taught them with intention and urgency. I was serious about reality but enthusiastic about the possibility of change. Both the students and I came out of the lesson with feelings of motivation and hope for what might be accomplished as they grew older.

But a few days ago, in my current district, as I used the exactly same lesson plan… things did not quite play out the same way.

My lesson always begins with this video, of the story Martin’s Big Words:

As my kindergarteners sat quietly, wide eyes glued to the screen, I quietly watched them. I saw frowns, confusion, fear, and disbelief as the story unfolded. Signs that said White Only? Perplexed looks. Black people not being allowed to sit at the front of the bus? Frowns, confusion. People threatening to hurt Dr. King and his family? People bombing his home? Shock. Somebody shooting Dr. King because they didn’t agree with him? Sadness.

A small hand reached out to take mine, and a voice whispered,

I’m finna cry right now.

I nodded. “Me too,” I said, as tears stung my eyes.

The video ended and I wasn’t sure what to do. I was silent for a moment and finally said, “I need to talk to you about something.” And then there I sat, with a sea of students staring at me, waiting to hear what I had to say.

I struggled.

As something child-friendly spilled from my lips, I thought to myself, what can I possibly say that makes any sense right now? The stories always make it sound like we faced the challenges of racism during the Civil Rights Movement, and then Dr. King and his supporters peacefully protested, and the White powers that were agreed to relent, and Blacks and Whites came together and our world was better.

And that the dream came true. That all the little Black boys and Black girls joined hands with all the little White boys and White girls as sisters and brothers.

Except that every single one of my students is Black. Living in an impoverished, predominantly Black community. Going to a school with other poor, Black children.

What grounds did I have to say that segregation was a thing of the past and that we’re all just one big happy family?

With a deep breath, I told the truth.

I want you to know that as you grow up, people won’t always be nice to you. Even though we all learn that we should be kind and use our words to solve our problems, some people will still have a hard time doing that. These people won’t always be able to see how smart and wonderful you are. They might treat you like you are not any of those good things. But even if that happens, you need to keep using your words. Martin Luther King had a really difficult job to do, trying to change a whole country and trying to teach people how to get along. The reason he was able to make some changes is because he used his words, not his fists. He worked hard, and he never gave up. Whatever happens, don’t ever give up.

I looked at the few dozen faces staring at me intently. Searching for a sign of understanding, wondering if they knew what I was trying to say, but that I couldn’t voice in words more than those appropriate for a five-year-old. I was met with silence. So we all just sat in silence. And my heart slowly sank.

And then one hand went up.

“Yes?” I asked.

Okay, Ms. B. We will do it. We will work hard to make our country better and make a safe place where people will love each other, and help each other, and get along. And don’t worry! We won’t ever give up.

As she spoke, smiles emerged on the other little faces. Heads began to nod.

There is so much work to be done. We can educate our children about what to do, but this isn’t a job for them to do alone. It’s a job for every last one of us.