Recently, I visited my local elementary school, and it was a stark reminder of the ongoing issue of school segregation. I entered the school aware of its low ranking—just 1 out of 10 according to district assessments. A staggering 95% of the students are children of color, and 89% come from low-income families. Despite this knowledge, I hoped to find a balance between my skepticism and my own experiences as someone who attended a low-ranking public school, recognizing that statistics often tell only part of the narrative.
What I discovered was both enlightening and disheartening. The principal had departed earlier in the year to manage a charter school, leaving the institution in the hands of a series of temporary substitutes. I observed the dedicated music teacher at work and learned that the school lacks a Parent-Teacher Association (PTA). It was evident that the educators are committed, often working extended hours and juggling multiple roles to benefit their students, but they face significant challenges.
What struck me most was the low turnout for the tour: only four parents attended. This was surprising, given that it was December—a peak time for school tours when other schools often have groups of 20 to 40 parents visiting daily. This particular school is located near the border of Berkeley, a city famed for its excellent public schools, just a few blocks from trendy businesses and upscale eateries. As tech companies continue to thrive in the Bay Area, property values have surged, displacing many families, particularly those from Black and low-income backgrounds. Despite the rising wealth in the area, the local public school system has seen significant budget cuts, with the school board recently slashing $9 million from its budget.
Among the white families I converse with, these realities are often acknowledged but seldom discussed openly. A common refrain I hear about Oakland schools is that families plan to relocate to neighboring jurisdictions to avoid them. One acquaintance shared her experience of moving her family to Berkeley, suggesting they narrowly escaped a dire situation. When I inquired about the school that prompted her move, she couldn’t recall its name but was adamant about not sending her child there.
It’s an unspoken truth: few openly say they don’t want their children attending a predominantly Black and Latino school. They don’t need to. Although the statistics regarding test scores, race, and socioeconomic status are intricate, the district and platforms like GreatSchools.com distill this information into easily digestible rankings. The school I visited is at the very bottom of the scale, while another institution just six blocks away boasts a ranking of 8 out of 10 and a student body that is 60% white.
Numerous systemic issues contribute to the failure of public schools to utilize tax revenue equitably. However, a significant portion of the accountability appears to rest with affluent and white families whose policies allow them to educate their children in segregated environments. For instance, in Alabama, communities have been “seceding” from larger, once-integrated school districts, enabled by laws that permit towns with more than 5,000 residents to create their own school systems. This has led to a stark racial and economic divide among schools in the state.
Like any parent, I have a strong instinct to provide the best for my child. Yet, I find myself questioning whether my choices truly reflect what’s best if my neighbors lack the same opportunities. Focusing too much on what others lack can feel overwhelming and futile, but I’m consistently surprised by the parents I know who, once they find a satisfactory alternative to a low-performing school, seem to disregard the realities faced by those without options.
After my visit to the neighborhood school, I can no longer afford to ignore these issues. While I’m uncertain if my husband and I will ultimately choose to enroll our child there, we are taking the decision seriously—not out of a desire to “rescue” anyone, but because we recognize the importance of community involvement. As Nikole Hannah-Jones articulated in her impactful 2016 essay, “One family, or even a few families, cannot transform a segregated school, but if none of us were willing to go into them, nothing would change.”
I realize visiting schools with lower rankings may not necessarily lead parents to enroll their children there; I don’t presume it should. However, I encourage families to take the time to visit and truly engage with the reality of the achievement gap. Look into the eyes of the teachers and students.
At the heart of this issue are the children and families who deserve to be part of your understanding of the community, just as the kids in my local school will always remain a part of mine.
For more insights into parenthood and family journeys, check out this post about couples’ fertility journeys and hiring a night nurse if you’re considering support for your little one. The CDC also provides excellent resources about pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, the challenges faced by underperforming schools are deeply intertwined with systemic inequalities and parental choices that often prioritize personal convenience over community welfare. Engaging with these realities is crucial for fostering a better understanding of our shared educational landscape.