Equity & Excellence in Education ISSN: 1066-5684 (Print) 1547-3457 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/ueee20 An Apartheid of Knowledge in Academia: The Struggle Over the "Legitimate" Knowledge of Faculty of Color Dolores Delgado Bernal & Octavio Villalpando To cite this article: Dolores Delgado Bernal & Octavio Villalpando (2002) An Apartheid of Knowledge in Academia: The Struggle Over the "Legitimate" Knowledge of Faculty of Color, Equity & Excellence in Education, 35:2, 169-180, DOI: 10.1080/713845282 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/713845282 Published online: 15 Dec 2010. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 3230 View related articles Citing articles: 88 View citing articles Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=ueee20 Equity & Excellence in Education, 35(2):169–180, 2002 c 2002 Taylor & Francis Copyright
1066-5684/02 $ 12.00+ .00 DOI: 10.1080/10665680290175185 An Apartheid of Knowledge in Academia: The Struggle Over the “Legitimate” Knowledge of Faculty of Color Dolores Delgado Bernal and Octavio Villalpando1 The University as an institution is a key arena where “legitimate’’ knowledge is established. While discourses of power may have qualities of constraint and repression, they are not, nor have they ever been, uncontested. Indeed, the process of determining what is “legitimate knowledge’’ and for what purpose that knowledge should be produced is a political debate that rages in the University. Our presence, as working-class people of color (especially women of color), in an institution which values itself on its elitist criteria for admission, forces the debates and challenges previously sacred canons of objective truth. . . . It is probably for this reason that our presence here is so complex—and so important (Córdova, 1998, p. 18). I n the Afrikaans language, “apartheid’’ has been most commonly used to refer to the historical, rigid racial division between the governing white population and the non-white majority population in South Africa. The term not only describes the physical separation imposed by the white population, but also represents the subordination and marginalization of the cultural norms, values, and knowledge of the non-white majority in South Africa. In this article, we apply the concept of apartheid to the separation of knowledges that occur in the American higher education context.2 We believe that an “apartheid of knowledge’’ (Villalpando & Delgado Bernal, 2002) is sustained by an epistemological racism that limits the range of possible epistemologies considered legitimate within the mainstream research community (Scheurich & Young, 1997). Too frequently, an epistemology based on the social history and culture of the dominant race has produced scholarship which portrays people of color as deficient and judges the scholarship produced by scholars of color as biased and nonrigorous. We apply a Critical Race Theory (CRT) lens to analyze how an apartheid of knowledge that marginalizes, discredits, and devalues the scholarship, epistemologies, and other cultural resources of faculty of color3 is embedded in higher education. We adopt CRT for this analysis because, as Ladson-Billings (2000) states, CRT “helps to raise some important questions about the conAddress correspondence to Dolores Delgado Bernal, Dept. of Education, Culture, & Society, 1705 East Campus Center Drive, MBH 307, University of Utah, Salt Lake City, UT 84112. E-mail: bernal d@ ed.utah.edu trol and production of knowledge—particularly knowledge about people and communities of color’’ (p. 272). We draw from two specific CRT themes in this analysis. The first theme questions dominant claims of objectivity, meritocracy, and individuality in United States society, and the second affirms the importance of drawing from the experiential knowledge of people of color and our communities of origin (Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995; Solórzano, 1997). The first part of our analysis draws from national trend data on the representation of faculty of color across different types of postsecondary institutions, academic ranks, and departments. The second part of our analysis presents the tenure story of a faculty member of color. The story is told twice, from a majoritarian and a counter perspective (Delgado, 1989). The quantitative data, along with the story reveal how the structural segregation of faculty of color and the racialized discourse and double standards in higher education combine to create an apartheid of knowledge. Both the quantitative data and the story help to provide a context for the struggle over “legitimate knowledge’’ and illuminate how faculty of color challenge sacred canons of objective truth (Córdova, 1998). THE DE FACTO SEGREGATION OF FACULTY OF COLOR4 Malcolm X stressed that the United States differed from South Africa only in that they practiced what they preached, while we preach integration and deceitfully practice segregation (Kushner, 1980). 169 170 DOLORES DELGADO BERNAL AND OCTAVIO VILLALPANDO Despite an official end to de jure racial segregation and the current discourse surrounding integration and equality in education, higher education continues to reflect a state of de facto racial and gender segregation. Faculty of color are stratified along institutional type, academic ranks, and departments. In this section, we review national trend data to illustrate the de facto segregation of faculty of color. Segregation of Faculty of Color Across Different Institutions Since the early 1970s, faculty of color have increased our5 representation in all of American higher education by less than 6% (Astin & Villalpando, 1996; Sax, Astin, Korn, & Gilmartin, 1999). The smaller and more prestigious institutions, like private four-year colleges and universities, have had the smallest percentage of faculty of color. Indeed, less than 8% of the faculty at private four-year institutions self-identified as members of an underrepresented ethnic/racial group in 1998 (Milem & Astin, 1993; Sax et al., 1999). In contrast, the larger and less elite two-year institutions have had among the highest percentage and growth of faculty of color during the same period. In 1998, approximately 12% of the faculty at these institutions self-identified as persons of color. These patterns also hold true for women, regardless of race. Since 1989, women have increased their representation as a percentage of all faculty by approximately 7% (Milem & Astin, 1993; Sax et al., 1999). Women of color held the largest proportional representation in public two-year institutions, and the smallest representation in private universities (Astin, Antonio, Cress, & Astin, 1997). Faculty of color are not only concentrated in institutions of lesser prestige with fewer resources, but can also expect to achieve lower levels of lifetime earnings and social mobility as a result of working in these types of institutions (Astin, 1982, 1993; Carnevale, 1999; Karabel, 1977). The popular claims that higher education is objective, meritocratic, color-blind, race-neutral, and provides equal opportunities for all (Bennet, 1982; Bloom, 1987; D’Souza, 1991; Shlesinger, 1993) clearly do not hold up when analyzing the racial segregation and gender stratification of faculty in American colleges and universities. These claims, interpreted through a critical race lens, camouflage the self-interest, power, and privilege of dominant groups in U.S. society who in turn exert significant influence over higher education (Calmore, 1992; Delgado, 1984). The Segregation of Faculty of Color Across Academic Ranks In addition to our segregation along types of higher education institutions, faculty of color are also stratified by academic rank—and the disparities appear to have remained relatively unchanged in nearly 25 years. Between 1972 and 1989, faculty of color improved our representation within the rank of professor by less than 4% (Milem & Astin, 1993). This rank continues to be most elusive for women of color as a group. For example, only 9% of all Latina faculty and only 12% of all American Indian women faculty hold the rank of professor (Astin et al., 1997). The largest representation of faculty of color has consistently been in the lower and less prestigious academic ranks of lecturer and instructor, both of which are nontenure track positions. Between 1972 and 1989, African Americans, Chicana(o)s/Latina(o)s, American Indians, and Asian Americans comprised between 7% to about 12% of all lecturers and instructors. This representation constituted the largest and most stable presence of faculty of color among all academic ranks, suggesting that the minimal growth of faculty of color occurred only in the lower ranks of the professoriate (Milem & Astin, 1993). And again, women, regardless of race, occupy the lowest academic ranks (lecturer and instructor) in larger proportions than men. Among faculty of color, this pattern is repeated, with women of color representing a larger proportion than men in these ranks. For example, 37% of all Latina faculty, and 41% of all American Indian women faculty, hold the ranks of lecturer and instructor (Astin et al., 1997). The Segregation of Faculty of Color Across Academic Departments In addition to our disproportionate stratification along types of higher education institutions and academic ranks, faculty of color are also unevenly represented across different types of academic departments. Faculty of color are concentrated in departments that often have fewer resources and are considered less prominent and prestigious within higher education, such as humanities, ethnic studies, women studies, education, and the social sciences (Allen et al., 2000). Garza (1993) termed this phenomenon as the “ghettoization’’and “barrioization’’ of faculty of color and our scholarship. The data appear to support these assertions. For example, in 1995, 32% of African American faculty had appointments in the humanities or in education, while less than 2% of faculty were in the physical sciences (Astin et al., 1997). Similarly, almost 37% of all Chicana/o faculty held appointments in the humanities or in education while only 2% taught in the physical sciences. Women of color follow an equally disproportionate representation in these fields, with 34% teaching in the humanities or in education, and 3% in the physical sciences (Astin et al., 1997). Faculty of color have a high concentration in the humanities, social sciences, and education for reasons related to opportunity structures and to personal APARTHEID OF KNOWLEDGE IN ACADEMIA choice. First, as a result of K-12 tracking, students of color are often placed in vocational tracks or academic tracks that do not prepare them for science-based fields (Oakes, 1985). At every educational level from K-12 through graduate school, the schooling process lacks the commitment, skills, and resources to support and develop talent among students of color who are interested in the natural or physical sciences or in other science-based fields. Few students of color have an opportunity to benefit from adequate resources and academic support to pursue our interests in these fields, and are consequently ineligible for graduate programs and for jobs in the academic profession. The second reason why faculty of color are concentrated in these fields is often related to our sense of responsibility to our community (Villalpando, 1996, in press). We often enter fields where we can work toward achieving social justice for our communities through teaching and research on issues that address the status of our politically and socio-economically disenfranchised communities (Garza, 1993; Villalpando, in press). We produce scholarship that addresses different forms of social inequality, often through the fields of humanities, education, social sciences, and ethnic studies. Scholarship produced by faculty of color in these fields, however, is often undervalued by the academic profession, even though, as Garza (1993) notes: Most of the national and international politics and principal movements for change of at least the last quarter century centered on racial and ethnic group matters. Therefore, this kind of scholarship and the scholars who do it should be accorded the necessary respect and legitimacy it and they deserve (p. 40). Rather than receiving respect, this kind of scholarship is regarded as illegitimate, biased, or overly subjective (Turner & Myers, 2000; Turner, Myers, & Creswell, 1999). The representation of faculty of color across all institutions, academic ranks, and departments has remained relatively unchanged since the early 1970s, resulting in our current de facto segregation in higher education. We contend that our under-representation and disproportionate stratification in academia also isolates our contributions and scholarship, rendering our knowledge to the margins. CHALLENGING A DOMINANT EUROCENTRIC EPISTEMOLOGY Higher education in the United States is founded on a Eurocentric epistemological perspective based on white privilege and “American democratic’’ ideals of meritocracy, objectivity, and individuality. This epistemological perspective presumes that there is only one way of knowing and understanding the world, and it is the natural way of interpreting truth, knowledge, and reality. For 171 example, the notion of meritocracy allows people with a Eurocentric epistemology to believe that all people —no matter what race, class, gender, or sexual orientation— get what they deserve based solely on their individual efforts. Those who believe that our society is truly a meritocratic one find it difficult to believe that men gain advantage from women’s subordination or that whites have any advantage over people of color. This epistemology, or system of knowing, is at least partially based on an ideology of white supremacy and white privilege (Harris, 1993). By white supremacy we adhere to a definition that goes beyond the overt racism of white supremacist hate groups and includes: [a] political, economic, and cultural system in which whites overwhelmingly control power and material resources, conscious and unconscious ideas of white superiority and entitlement are widespread, and relations of white dominance and non-white subordination are daily reenacted across a broad array of institutions and social settings (Ansley, as cited in Harris, 1993). By white privilege we refer to “an invisible package of unearned assets’’ and a system of opportunities and benefits that are bestowed on an individual simply for being white (McIntosh, 1997). Tatum (1999) writes about the power of white supremacy and the invisibility of white privilege, and points out their very real effects by stating that “despite the current rhetoric about affirmative action and reverse discrimination, every social indicator, from salary to life expectancy, reveals the advantages of being White’’ (p. 8). Because it is invisible, white privilege and an ideology of white supremacy are legitimized and viewed as the norm, the point of departure within a Eurocentric perspective (Thompson, 1998). Practices, standards and discourses, like those adopted in higher education, are based on this Eurocentric norm and faculty of color and/or knowledges that depart from this norm are devalued and subordinated (Aguirre, 2000; Parker, 1998). Certainly, the discourse within higher education works in a very material way “to construct realities that control both the actions and bodies of people’’ (St. Pierre, 2000). A Eurocentric epistemological perspective can subtly —and not so subtly— ignore and discredit the ways of knowing and understanding the world that faculty of color often bring to academia. Indeed, this Eurocentric epistemological perspective creates racialized double standards that contribute to an apartheid of knowledge separating from mainstream scholarship the type of research and teaching that faculty of color often produce (Villalpando & Delgado Bernal, 2002). This apartheid of knowledge goes beyond the high value society places on the positivist tradition of the “hard sciences’’ and the low regard for the social sciences; it ignores and discredits the epistemologies of faculty of color. 172 DOLORES DELGADO BERNAL AND OCTAVIO VILLALPANDO An apartheid of knowledge ignores and excludes the “cultural resources’’ that are based on the epistemologies that many faculty of color bring to academia. Our concept of cultural resources is similar to the community “funds of knowledge’’ concept that addresses how Mexican school-aged children draw on their diverse linguistic resources and family knowledge to function in schools and society (González et al., 1995; Velez-Ibanez & Greenberg, 1992). It is also similar to the concept of “pedagogies of the home’’ that allows Chicana college students to draw upon their bilingualism, biculturalism, commitment to communities, and spiritualities in their academic pursuits (Delgado Bernal, 2001). We believe that cultural resources include the knowledge, practices, beliefs, norms, and values that are derived from culturally specific lessons within the home space and local communities of people who have been subordinated by dominant society. Cultural resources are often shaped by collective experiences and community memory and passed on from one generation to the next. These resources can be empowering and nurturing while also helping us survive in everyday life by providing strategies and skills to confront and overcome oppressive conditions. CRT challenges a Eurocentric epistemological perspective by recognizing people of color as creators and holders of knowledge that may challenge and critique mainstream traditions (Delgado Bernal, 2002; LadsonBillings, 2000; Solórzano, 1998). It calls for epistemologies in higher education that acknowledge the racialized history and present social realities of people of color. We use a CRT epistemology to frame the following story. The story demonstrates how the Retention, Promotion, and Tenure (RPT) process is grounded in a Eurocentric standard of knowledge that devalues and separates the worldviews and cultural resources that scholars of color often bring to academia. ONE STORY: A MAJORITARIAN AND COUNTER PERSPECTIVE In this article, we adopt the CRT storytelling method to demonstrate how a dominant Eurocentric epistemology leads to an apartheid of knowledge that impacts the lives and success of faculty of color in the academy. Storytelling in CRT provides a rich way of understanding knowledge from communities of color (Bell, 1987, 1995; Williams, 1991). It is a type of narrative that challenges preconceived notions of race, class, and gender and confirms that we must listen to those who experience and respond to racism, sexism, classism, and heterosexism (Parker & Lynn, 2002; Solórzano & Yosso, 2002). Critical race scholars view experiential knowledge as a strength and draw explicitly on the lived experiences of people of color to counter the dominant educational discourse about people of color. Storytelling has a rich legacy and continuing tradition in African American, Chicana/o, Asian American, and American Indian communities (Olivas, 1990). Indeed, Delgado (1995) asserts that many of the “early tellers of tales used stories to test and challenge reality, to construct a counter-reality, to hearten and support each other and to probe, mock, displace, jar, or reconstruct the dominant tale or narrative’’ (p. xviii). The storytelling method and the development of composite characters that emerge from research and experience is also a way for education scholars to put “a human and familiar face to educational theory and practice’’ (Solórzano & Delgado Bernal, 2001, p. 337). This work builds on the scholarship of Bell (1987, 1995), who tells stories of society’s treatment of race through his protagonist and alter ego Geneva Crenshaw, and Delgado (1995, 1999) who discusses race, class, and gender issues through Rodrigo Crenshaw, the half-brother of Geneva. Sleeter and Delgado Bernal (in press) point out that there is a web of composite characters of professors, graduate students, and undergraduates whose interconnected lives have recently appeared in the educational literature (Delgado Bernal, 1999; Solórzano & Delgado Bernal, 2001; Solórzano & Villalpando, 1998; Solórzano & Yosso, 2000, 2001; Villalpando, in press). These characters illustrate the educational system’s role in reproducing and sustaining racial, gender, and class oppression, as well as the myriad of ways in which people of color respond to different forms of oppression. We add to this body of literature by introducing Patricia Avila, a Chicana assistant professor.6 The storytelling method enables us to challenge reality by offering one story that includes both the stock story from a majoritarian perspective and a counterstory from a non-majoritarian perspective (Delgado, 1989). A “story’’can refer to a majoritarian story or a counterstory; it becomes a counterstory when it incorporates elements of critical race theory (Solorzano & Yosso, 2002). In other words, a counterstory counters a set of unexamined assumptions made by the dominant culture. The first part of our story, the majoritarian story, is from the perspective of white faculty members. It conveys how unexamined assumptions seemingly objectively guide the tenure process. The second part of our story is presented as a counterstory from the perspective of Patricia Avila, and it illuminates just how biased and partial these unexamined assumptions can be. Both parts of the story revolve around the Retention, Promotion, and Tenure (RPT) process for faculty of color by looking at how a decision for tenure is made at the academic department level. The setting is at an urban, public four-year teaching college, in a small curriculum studies department. Patricia Avila’s file is being reviewed by her department for consideration of promotion to associate professor with tenure. She is the only Chicana in her department, but there is a new African American assistant professor, Ronald Lindsay, in her department of eight faculty. Ronald is an ally and has his own tenure process to face APARTHEID OF KNOWLEDGE IN ACADEMIA in the near future. Patricia has been with the department for six years, and her file is being reviewed in the fall term of her seventh year. The majoritarian part of the story begins with a meeting of her department’s four tenured RPT committee members, all of whom are white and female, except for the chair of the committee who is male. The committee members have read Patricia Avila’s published work and reviewed her file in advance of the meeting. Dale, the RPT chair, begins the meeting. “Well, Patricia’s file is complete. She submitted a pretty well-developed professional statement, copies of her publications, teaching evaluations, and syllabi. We also received three letters from her external reviewers. Let me begin with a summary of her publications. “As you noticed in her personal statement, she describes her scholarship as focusing on the sociocultural and educational experiences of Chicana and Chicano students. Most of her publications seem to address some dimension of schooling and curricular issues for Chicanos or other minority students. In the past six years, she’s had six articles published in refereed journals, four chapters in edited books by university presses, two technical reports, one published as a monograph by the college and the other by the district, and three articles forthcoming or in press by refereed journals.’’ Catherine, a senior professor in the department, who considers herself an unofficial mentor to Patricia and views her role during this meeting as an objective supporter of her tenure, is the first committee member to speak after the chair, “I have to say that I really appreciate Patricia’s positive nature. You know, even though her scholarship addresses somewhat controversial issues—maybe even a bit militant—unlike some other minority faculty, she doesn’t carry around any anger that is misdirected at us or at students. I really like the fact that she can be objective and positive in her relationships with her colleagues and students in the department. I also have to say that Patricia has what would appear to be an impressive file. In fact, I’m a bit surprised by it. When she first got here, I really wasn’t sure whether she would get to this point. She came highly recommended as a skilled former elementary school teacher, and came from a good doctoral program, but I wasn’t sure how she’d do in her writing and publications. So, to see that she’s published six articles in refereed journals is very exciting to me.’’ Sarah, an associate professor and one of the most outspoken faculty in the department offers a different perspective on Patricia’s publications, “Well, Catherine, I can see where her six refereed articles may seem impressive if we’re only looking at quantity, but I think that we also have to look at where she’s published them. “For example, she has one publication in Aztlan, an ethnic studies journal that sometimes publishes poems and short stories. I don’t think that Patricia would misstate 173 that the journal was refereed, but I would question who the people were who reviewed her articles. And, the more important questions—who really reads her articles in these journals and how do the articles inform practice or theory in the field of education? She’s not an ethnic studies professor; she’s an education professor. The same issues apply for her article in Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies. She’s not a women’s studies professor, so why publish an education article in a women’s studies journal? So, for me, the fact that she has six refereed articles is less important than where these pieces were published and how they inform her field. And, by the way, I should add that the fact that three of these articles are co-authored makes me wonder what her contributions were to each piece.’’ “You have a good point, Sarah,’’ says Dale. “Our RPT department policy does state that our scholarship must inform educational practice, theory, or research. So, I would also wonder how these outlets in which she’s published advance educational theory or practice. Why didn’t she just publish in education journals?’’ Catherine, attempting to be supportive, points out, “Patricia has articles in Equity and Excellence in Education, Urban Education, Curriculum Inquiry, and the other pieces in press are in more practitioner-oriented education journals.’’ “Well, she showed poor judgment by not submitting everything to education journals,’’ says Dale. “I wish she’d consulted with us before submitting her work. Now, she may have put herself in a bind.’’ Jeannie, another member of the committee, refers everyone back to Patricia’s personal statement and says, “Patricia actually indicates that she purposely sent some of her work to outlets outside of education because her scholarship is interdisciplinary. As she states, her work ‘focuses on eliminating racial and social inequality in education by examining the sociocultural experiences of Chicanas and Chicanos.’ But, as you say Dale, the question is why didn’t she choose education journals for all of her work?’’ “I wondered the same thing,’’ says Sarah. “Maybe the ethnic and women’s studies journals she chose were more open to some of the inherent biases in her work?’’ Dale then re-directs the conversation toward Patricia’s teaching by asking, “OK, publications are important, but remember that teaching is equally significant in this department. In the last six years, she’s developed four new classes for the department and taught the core graduate multicultural seminar every term during each of the last five years. She’s also volunteered to teach our methods class on three different occasions. Her teaching evaluations were a little above the department average, although her lowest scores and strongest criticisms seemed to come from her multicultural education courses. She really got hammered hard by some students in these courses.’’ 174 DOLORES DELGADO BERNAL AND OCTAVIO VILLALPANDO Jeannie explains that the scores from students’ teaching evaluations have never been of much value to her. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really trusted those numbers much,’’ she says. “The questions aren’t worded very clearly and I think that students are confused by them. I find students’written comments to be much more helpful and valuable. So, the fact that Patricia’s scores were this or that doesn’t mean much to me. I want to know what the students stated in their own words about her teaching.’’ “Well, I agree with you to an extent,’’ says Sarah. “These teaching evaluation scores aren’t very important to me either, but I think that we have to pay attention to patterns. In Patricia’s case, she’s had a pattern of low scores in her multicultural education courses. Every time she’s taught it, she gets lower scores than she does on all of her other courses. But, as you say, Jeannie, the more important issue is the students’ comments. Dale, can you read some of the written comments that students have made in their evaluations of her multicultural education classes?’’ “Sure,’’ he begins, “many of the comments in this class were positive, but there were also many that were very critical. For example, r r r r r The instructor was very biased; she only presented one-sided views of minority students’ educational experiences. The professor didn’t invite differing viewpoints that countered her viewpoint. She blamed the schools for all of the minority students’ problems and didn’t want to place any responsibility on the students or their families. This class focused too much on the needs of ethnic minority students. I expected a multicultural education class to also focus on the needs of students with learning disabilities. One of the main goals of this instructor seemed to be to make us Caucasians feel guilty and responsible for all of the minorities’ educational problems and lack of success. This professor supports reverse discrimination and doesn’t believe in merit. “Well,’’ says Sarah, “there you have it. It seems that Patricia’s lack of objectivity in her teaching is isolating and silencing students. We can’t take this issue lightly. Our department has always placed a very high value on good teaching. I seem to remember that we brought these same issues to her attention during her third-year review, so obviously she hasn’t taken them seriously.’’ Catherine tries to offer a sympathetic response to Sarah, “You’re right, teaching has always been very important in this department. In the 17 plus years that I have been here, I don’t recall that we ever recommended a professor for tenure who was a poor teacher. If indeed Patricia is struggling with being an effective teacher, then we need to be concerned. I know that minority students really like her and her teaching, and . . .’’ “But that’s exactly the point,’’ interrupts Sarah, “minority students love her, but mainstream non-minority students appear to be challenging her biased favoritism. The question is, what do we do with a faculty member who silences students?’’ Catherine continues, “I was about to say that the fact that so many of our minority students like her is a very good thing, given that our minority student enrollment has and continues to increase. And I’m not convinced that all white students feel silenced by her. In fact, look at Mary Baker, probably one of our best master’s students ever. She constantly says how indebted she is to Patricia for her guidance. She’s not even her formal advisor, but Mary goes to her for academic and professional advice. Mary attributes much of her intellectual development to Patricia’s courses and mentoring. She is very indebted to Patricia, and credits her for being admitted to UCLA’s education doctoral program next year.’’ Referring to Patricia’s professional statement, Dale reminds everyone that “she states that she’s become the ‘unofficial’ advisor to about eight master’s students in the department, and the assigned advisor for another 12—and I don’t think they’re all minority students. She’s directed seven theses and is currently on 11 other thesis committees. So, she has her share of students to advise. She’s no slouch there. In fact, you may have read the three unsolicited letters of support from our students in her file. They were all very positive, and were especially complimentary about her mentoring. With respect to her service, she’s been a member of six department committees and chaired four of them, including the admissions, scholarships, and curriculum committees, as well as the faculty search committee for Ronald’s position. She’s also been a member of three college-wide committees and three university committees, including the academic senate and the diversity committee. She has a long list of outside groups she’s participated in and led, four of which alone were somehow related to Chavez Elementary School.’’ Jeannie observes, “Patricia has a very good service record. She’s really been involved with many department, college, and university committees, and her participation in community groups, especially at Chavez Elementary is very commendable. I wonder how she found the time to stay so involved with so many community organizations and projects?’’ “Well,’’ says Sarah, “I agree that her service record is very long, but she would have been better-served by being more selective about her involvement in some of the community groups. You know, some of those organizations were more political in nature than educational. At times she seemed to cross-over into political activism instead of educational leadership.’’ Catherine looks confused and asks, “Sarah, I’m not sure I see in her CV where she lists her involvement in political organizations.’’ APARTHEID OF KNOWLEDGE IN ACADEMIA Sarah replies, “Well, look at her involvement with the Chavez Elementary Parents Against the English Only Initiative, her consultation work with the Consortium to defeat the Anti-Bilingual Education Proposition, and some of the volunteer work she’s done with the Immigration Center. In my book, she would have been a more productive role model by participating in in-service presentations related to education instead of getting into political activism.’’ “Nevertheless, she’s done what she’s done and there you have it,’’ says Dale. “That’s her file.’’ Rather than provide an analysis of the first part of our story here, we ask you to listen for the story’s points and compare and contrast the reality in the first half of the story with the reality in the next part of the story. The next part of the story is the counterstory, which takes place at the same time that the RPT committee is meeting. Patricia and Ronald are having lunch together in the Faculty Center. This is only Ronald’s second year in the department, and he is interested in supporting Patricia and knowing how she feels about the department’s review of her candidacy for tenure and promotion to associate professor. Ronald asks, “Does this feel kind of eerie for you Patricia? How do you feel about the fact that at this exact moment our colleagues are reviewing the last six years of your life’s work and debating whether you’re worthy of joining ‘the club.’ You don’t seem very anxious about it.’’ “Anxious?’’ asks Patricia. “I’m not sure that I feel anxious any more. I’m more curious than anxious about knowing how our colleagues are interpreting my scholarship. I am pretty confident about my record; it’s solid for achieving tenure at this institution.’’ Ronald interrupts, “Well, it may be solid, but you and I know that the tenure process is very subjective, especially for faculty of color and the type of scholarship that many of us do. How can you be so confident that you’ll be reviewed fairly?’’ “Well,’’ replies Patricia, “you’re right. The process is hardly ever ‘objective,’ but they would have a lot of explaining to do if I got rejected. I compared my record and productivity with that of most of our colleagues sitting around the RPT tenure table right now, and I know that it stands on its own. What I’m most curious about is knowing how they are interpreting the focus of my scholarship on social and racial inequality in education. Most of my teaching, publications, and service have addressed the intersection of race, class, and gender, and I’ve been especially focused on the experiences of Chicana and Chicano students. Our colleagues have never had someone like you or me in the department, with our type of scholarly agenda. Even though they’ve never told me explicitly that my scholarship might be a little too controversial for them, I’ve always had the sense that I was on my own, especially 175 since no other colleagues shared a similar interest until you arrived.’’ “But they really can’t do anything about the focus of your scholarship,’’ says Ronald. “Your work is getting published in good journals and you’re making contributions to your field. How can they challenge that?’’ “Yes,’’ Patricia says, “I’m getting published, but I wonder how my colleagues will respond to some of the journals where my work is being published. I have stuff in good education journals, but I also explained in my professional statement that I’m deliberately placing some of my work in Chicana/o studies and women’s studies journals.’’ “So, it sounds like the issue isn’t just where you’re publishing but what you’re publishing and why you’re publishing it in these journals, isn’t it?’’ asks Ronald. “That’s right,’’ replies Patricia. “For example, I did some work on how Chicana/o students interpret their familial knowledge as assets in their formal schooling experiences. I interviewed Chicana/o high school students who came from working class families, like me, and asked about their family and cultural practices. I thought it was a good piece that would help Chicanas/os re-interpret how their family’s cultural resources may have shaped their educational experiences, despite the often poor schooling conditions that they had to endure. I also wanted to counter the cultural deficit discourse about Chicanas/os and their families. I purposely sent the manuscript to Aztlan, the premiere Chicano/a Studies journal, and it received excellent reviews. The journal published the article, and I feel very good about the audience who will read it. Yet, I’m wondering whether my colleagues will value this journal in the same way that they value mainstream education journals. This is what I mean about feeling curious, and maybe even a bit concerned. I wonder if my colleagues really value my scholarship and my potential contributions, or whether they will conclude that somehow my work is less important because it’s based on the experiences and voices of working class Chicanas. Ronald says, “Of course, they would never say this explicitly, would they?’’ “No,’’ answers Patricia, “but they may instead focus on the publication outlets as the substitute issue. In other words, they may explicitly question why I published in Frontiers and Aztlan since these are not education journals, but implicitly suggest that ethnic and women’s studies journals are second class and less rigorous outlets. However, the real issue is that the knowledge ‘created’ by, for, and about women and people of color is considered by the academy as biased or illegitimate. Not only are we often unsuccessful in publishing much of our work in ‘mainstream’ journals, but then we’re penalized for publishing it in ethnic and women’s related journals. To everyone’s detriment, our knowledges and epistemologies are separated from and subordinated to ‘mainstream’ Eurocentric knowledge.’’ 176 DOLORES DELGADO BERNAL AND OCTAVIO VILLALPANDO Ronald responds, “So you’re somewhat confident about your publication record, but a bit concerned about how they will interpret it. What are they likely to do about your teaching? Surely there isn’t a lot of room for misinterpreting your strong contributions around teaching, is there?’’ “No,’’ says Patricia, “there shouldn’t be. My classes have always had among the highest enrollments. I’ve taught the most demanding courses in the department, have created several new classes at the department’s request, and my teaching evaluations have consistently been above the department average. “My only question revolves around the multicultural education course that I’ve taught every term since coming here. You and I know, and the literature bears this out, that courses with a focus on race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, class, power, and privilege touch on very personal issues for students. These courses often make white students very uncomfortable, and they frequently take their frustrations out on the instructor through negative course evaluations. I’ve yet to meet a colleague —and especially a woman of color— who teaches these types of courses and hasn’t been burned by some white students in the teaching evaluations. I guess that my hope is that my colleagues understand this and place any of the negative evaluations I received in context. I’ve had some very assertive white students in these courses who have threatened to write letters to the department chair and college dean because they feel ‘marginalized’in my multicultural education classes. The irony is that students of color routinely tell me that they feel silenced in most of their courses with our white faculty colleagues when issues of racial inequality come up in class discussions, yet they aren’t writing letters to the chair or writing negative comments on teaching evaluations.’’ Ronald tries to reassure her, “They really can’t ding you on teaching, Patricia. They have to recognize that you’ve been a workhorse and understand that you are bound to get a few critical evaluations for teaching a course that pushes students to examine their own privileged positions in society.’’ “Yeah, I hope you’re right,’’ answers Patricia. “I would hope that our colleagues understand the impact that I have as a teacher, advisor, and mentor to the many students who seek me out. I have never turned a student away and, like you, I feel a special commitment to our students of color. I’ve been very careful to make sure that I’m available for students of color—and for communities of color outside of the campus. In fact, I’ve always been careful to try to balance my university service with my outside service so that I’m able to stay connected to the local Latina/o community.’’ Ronald says, “Again, hopefully the committee will understand how your presence benefits the department by linking us a little more to the educational issues in the Latina/o community.’’ “Well, Ronald,’’ says Patricia, “whether the committee’s ability to understand my work is important for my tenure, but what’s most important for me is knowing that I will continue to have an opportunity to stay at this campus and continue to represent the educational needs of Chicana/o and Latina/o communities.’’ WHAT DOES THE STORY TELL US? My story is about real experience, an experience that is as real as my social reality. It is an experience that is representative of the practices, rules, and customs that minority persons like myself encounter inside and outside of academia. I tell my story to bring to light an alternative interpretation of institutional practices in academia that support the majority stock story (Aguirre, 2000, p. 319). This story adds to the collection of scholarship that provides alternative interpretations of higher education practices and documents the challenges that faculty of color face in academia (Altbach & Lomotey, 1991; Olivas, 1988; Padilla & Chavez, 1995; Smith, Altbach, & Lomotey, 2002; Turner & Myers, 2000; Valverde & Castenell, 1998). It does so by offering competing interpretations and perspectives of the RPT process, and unveils at least two important issues that are usually not discussed in traditional analyses of higher education practices. First, the story illustrates how the dominant Eurocentric epistemology is embedded in the formalized RPT practices and procedures that guide the committee’s tenure review. The committee’s Eurocentric worldview is a very important issue, given how it influences the academic choices of all tenure-track faculty members, and especially those who draw upon cultural resources as does Patricia Avila. In previous work, we provided an in-depth review and discussion of racialized double standards in higher education and how they impact faculty of color (Villalpando & Delgado Bernal, 2002). The story in this article points to how a Eurocentric epistemology creates racialized double standards that are firmly embedded in the whiteness of the academy and facilitate an apartheid of knowledge. The committee cannot find much value in Patricia Avila’s scholarship partially because their discourse and the RPT process they follow are based on a particular set of standards that are believed to be neutral, meritocratic, and objective. Even the rules of their discourse “allow certain people (usually white and tenured) to be the subjects of statements and others (often untenured scholars of color) to be objects’’ (St. Pierre, 2000, p. 485). Individual members of the committee who consider themselves supportive of Patricia do not have the insights or necessary perspectives to adopt a discourse or epistemological stance that can help them recognize her scholarship, APARTHEID OF KNOWLEDGE IN ACADEMIA teaching, and service as important and valuable. Their situated realities frame the evaluation of her work. Their inability to adopt a non-Eurocentric epistemology gives rise to the second issue highlighted in this story, that is, the ways in which the knowledge and cultural resources of a scholar of color are overlooked and devalued in the RPT process. Among many faculty of color, cultural resources are often revealed in academia through a personal and scholarly commitment to improving the socio-economic, political, and educational conditions of our own or other similarly disenfranchised communities. Faculty of color often draw from cultural resources to inform our work, most often apparent through the content of our teaching, publications, service, and student advising and mentoring. The cultural resources and epistemologies that many faculty of color bring to academia contribute to the goals of higher education and to the overall knowledge base in academia, yet these resources and epistemologies are often unrecognized or devalued. The RPT committee members in the majoritarian story suggest that the focus and content of Patricia’s work is suspect and biased, rather than valuable and relevant to important social issues. Even though she has a record that includes both quantity and quality, the committee openly questions the rigor and worthiness of the ethnic and women’s studies journals in which she has published. In addition, Patricia experiences a devaluation of her teaching, as students and the committee discount the legitimacy of what she teaches and accuse of her of being biased. Research shows that issues of authority and legitimacy in the classroom are especially complicated for faculty of color who teach multicultural or social justice classes (Bell, Washington, Weinstein, & Love, 1997). For example, “A professor of color and a white professor teaching about racism . . . are likely to be perceived quite differently by students of color and white students’’ (p. 308). Finally, Patricia’s community service is viewed as “political activism instead of educational leadership’’ even though (and probably as a result of the fact that) it is directly related to improving the educational conditions of the local Latina/o community. Despite the significance of her publications, teaching, and community service that address social justice issues related to the educational needs of an underserved and disenfranchised racial/ethnic community, her work is characterized as lacking academic rigor and being inherently biased. 177 perspectives. Scheurich and Young (1997) describe the process that leads to this form of racial division as epistemological racism. This apartheid of knowledge in the academy is sustained by the de facto racial segregation that exists in higher education institutions, across academic ranks, and within departments. Our analysis of national data on faculty over the last 30 years reveals that there has been very little to almost no change in the representation of faculty of color in higher education. Faculty of color continue to be severely underrepresented in American higher education. When viewed through the CRT theme that challenges dominant claims of meritocracy and objectivity in U.S. institutions, the pernicious underrepresentation of faculty of color along with the apartheid of knowledge that exists in academia underscore the pressing need to eliminate the racialized barriers that exist in higher education. The CRT counterstory telling method we adopt in this article helps to illustrate the process by which higher education reinforces an apartheid of knowledge. By analyzing the decision-making process of one of the most important gate-keeping practices for faculty in higher education, our story twice-told reveals how the cultural resources and experiential knowledge that faculty of color can contribute to the learning environment is devalued and dismissed by academia. To value our experiential knowledge, higher education must recognize the cultural resources that we bring to academia and must welcome, engage, and encourage our perspectives and our scholarship, for the benefit of all students. As Matsuda (1988) states, “human beings learn and grow through interaction with difference, not by reproducing what they already know. A system of . . . education that ignores outsiders’ perspectives artificially restricts and stultifies the scholarly imagination’’ (p. 3). Critical race theory suggests that the experiential knowledge of faculty of color brings different perspectives about how to move toward eliminating all forms of subordination and how to create a more just society. Until higher education fully recognizes and places greater value on our epistemologies and scholarship, the struggle over “legitimate knowledge’’ in academia will continue. NOTES SUMMARY In this article we have proposed that, by marginalizing the knowledges of faculty of color, higher education has created an apartheid of knowledge where the dominant Eurocentric epistemology is believed to produce “legitimate’’ knowledge, in contrast to the “illegitimate’’ knowledge that is created by all other epistemological 1. We thank Marvin Lynn and Maurianne Adams for their important comments and insightful suggestions on this manuscript. We also thank Mary DeLaRosa for her much appreciated assistance in the final version of this manuscript. Both authors contributed equally to this manuscript. 2. In adopting the term apartheid, we recognize that there are very significant material differences between the context of South Africa and that of American higher education, and we are in no way equating the two contexts. Rather, we use the term to 178 DOLORES DELGADO BERNAL AND OCTAVIO VILLALPANDO help us convey the racial divisions between a dominant Eurocentric epistemology and epistemologies that stand in contrast to it, and to illustrate the climate of separation between what is considered “legitimate’’ knowledge and “illegitimate’’ knowledge in academia. By doing this, we also extend Padilla and Chavez’s (1995) notion of “academic apartheid,’’ which refers to the climate of academia that keeps faculty of color on the margins. 3. We use the term people of color to refer to persons of African American, Chicana(o)/Puerto Rican/Other Latina(o), American Indian, and Asian American ancestry. 4. This section builds upon material that we discuss in greater detail in our chapter, “A Critical Race Theory Analysis of Barriers that Impede the Success of Faculty of Color,’’ that appears with the important collection of works found in Smith, Altbach, and Lomotey (2002). 5. We use “our’’ and “we’’ to include ourselves among faculty of color throughout this article, rather than the detached “their’’or “they.’’Our intent is not to essentialize the experiences or scholarship of faculty of color, but to collectively address the nature of many of our experiences and those of our colleagues of color. 6. Patricia Avila and the other persons in this story are composite characters who represent authentic experiences based on biographical narratives in the humanities, education, and social science literature, dialogues with colleagues, and our own personal experiences. As Solórzano and Yosso (2002) state, “We are not developing imaginary characters that engage in fictional scenarios. 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International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education. 180 DOLORES DELGADO BERNAL AND OCTAVIO VILLALPANDO Villalpando, O., & Delgado Bernal, D. (2002). A critical race theory analysis of barriers that impede the success of faculty of color. In W. A. Smith, P. G. Altbach, & K. Lomotey (Eds.), The racial crisis in American higher education: Continuing challenges for the twenty-first century (pp. 243–269). New York: State University of New York Press. Williams, P. J. (1991). The alchemy of race and rights. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Dolores Delgado Bernal is an assistant professor at the University of Utah with a joint appointment in the Department of Education, Culture, and Society and the Ethnic Studies Program. Octavio Villalpando is currently assistant professor of Educational Leadership and Policy and associate director of the Center for the Study of Race and Diversity at the University of Utah. Integration and Inclusion: A Troubling Nexus: Race, Disability, and Special Education Author(s): David J. Connor and Beth A. Ferri Source: The Journal of African American History , Winter, 2005, Vol. 90, No. 1/2, Brown v. Board of Education: Fifty Years of Educational Change in the United States, 1954-2004 (Winter, 2005), pp. 107-127 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Association for the Study of African American Life and History Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/20063978 REFERENCES Linked references are available on JSTOR for this article: https://www.jstor.org/stable/20063978?seq=1&cid=pdfreference#references_tab_contents You may need to log in to JSTOR to access the linked references. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at https://about.jstor.org/terms Association for the Study of African American Life and History and The University of Chicago Press are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Journal of African American History This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms INTEGRATION AND INCLUSION? A TROUBLING NEXUS: RACE, DISABILITY, AND SPECIAL EDUCATION David J. Connor and Beth A. Ferri* There are perhaps five million children in the United States who are colored. There are close to five million other children who will be directly affected by this decision. I am not speaking of the majority of white children, many of whom have been undoubtedly injured spiritually by the philosophy and practice of segregation. I am speaking of disabled children, who are "different," not because of color but because of blindness, deafness; because they are crippled, have cerebral palsy, or speech defects, or epilepsy; or are what we call "retarded." These children we have also segregated.... All of these children, some with real disabilities, others with the artificial disability of color, are affected by this great decision. ?Lillian Smith, Letter to the Editor, New York Times, 19541 Responses of the southern white establishment to the U.S. Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education decision were quick, generating powerful repercussions. Historian Waldo E. Martin, Jr., pointed out that the "Southern Manifesto," drafted by Senators Strom Thurmond of South Carolina and Harry Byrd of Virginia, provoked such resistance that "southern school desegregation was effectively delayed until the courts intervened in the late 1960s."2 Other extreme responses ranged from closing state-funded schools in Virginia, (in some instances causing African American children to lose four years of formal education), to deploying the National Guard at Little Rock, Arkansas, to ensure integration.3 In addition, "pupil placement" laws were approved from the mid-1950s allowing local districts to assign students according to academic and psychological criteria including preparation and aptitude, as well as "morals, conduct, health, and personal standards of the pupil."4 However, despite these external measures, we argue that it was the internal re-structuring of schools that effectively maintained segregation after Brown. Perhaps above all, an increase in the use of testing to determine the Intelligence Quotient (IQ) of students served to justify the academic tracking of students according to "abilities."5 In addition to tracking, a response to the integration of students of color was the increase in special classes, located in different parts of the school building, and even in separate schools. In one * David J. Connor is a doctoral student in the Department of Curriculum and Teaching at Columbia University, New York, NY; and Beth A. Ferri is Associate Professor in the Prog and Leadership, Cultural Foundations of Education, and Disability Studies at Syracuse Univ NY. 107 This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 108 The Journal of African American History example, perhaps to curb the flight of white students from the district, school officials in Washington, DC, placed over 24 percent of their newly admitted African American students in separate special education classrooms. In comparison, the number of white students in special education between 1955 and 1956 was only 3 percent. In fact, within Washington, DC, between 1955 and 1956, special education classes in schools doubled in enrollment; over 77 percent of students in these classes were African American.6 The response of school officials to integration in the late 1950s and stretching throughout the 1960s was to develop structures and procedures that continued to maintain racial segregation (or at least minimize the possibilities for integration). In response to such widespread institutionalized practices, several important lawsuits successfully challenged the status quo. Diana v. State Board of Education (1970) and Larry P. v. Riles (1971? 79) were landmark legal cases that confronted important biases inherent in standardized public school assessment procedures.7 The first case, Diana, featured a class action suit filed on behalf of nine Latino children who had been forced to take an individually administered IQ test in English, and as a result were classified as Educable Mentally Retarded (EMR). However, when retested by a Hispanic examiner, eight children were found not to be EMR. In the second case, Larry P., plaintiffs claimed the overrepresentation of minority children in EMR classes in the San Francisco public schools was due to educational practices, including teacher bias. These two cases clearly revealed that school personnel, tests, and testing practices played a major role in deciding who received the label of "disabled" and were thus responsible for the disproportionate placement of racial and linguistic minorities in separate special education classes. These practices also publicly highlighted how special education, along with ability tracking, was unofficially serving as a tool to resegregate classrooms along racial and ethnic lines, despite the Brown ruling that determined racially segregated schools were unconstitutional. Of equal importance, the cases drew attention to how special education labeling and placement decisions were primarily based on Stereotypie beliefs about white intellectual superiority. The Diana and Larry P. cases were the latest efforts to question the widespread use of purportedly "scientific" and objective measures to gauge intellectual ability. The IQ score as a measure of innate, fixed intellectual abilities had been challenged since the 1920s. From that time these evaluation instruments have been used to reinforce social hierarchies among racial and ethnic groups.8 Although many educators continued to consider them relatively neutral and valid, others came to view them as a mechanism of institutionalized racism, manifesting cultural and linguistic biases favoring norms predicated upon values and expectations of America's white, middle-class professionals.9 This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Integration and Inclusion: A Troubling Nexus 109 SPECIAL EDUCATION AND ACCOUNTABILITY Despite reforms over the last thirty years spurred by Diana and Larry P., it is troubling that a disproportionate number of students from racial, ethnic, and linguistic minority groups continue to be referred for special education services, and a large percentage are evaluated, labeled "disabled," and subsequently placed in segregated programs.10 Related to this phenomenon is the overall racial imbalance of the teaching corps. It has been estimated that 90 percent of public school teachers are white, while 40 percent of students are from racial minority groups.11 Cultural, social class, and linguistic differences have historically influenced teacher perceptions of students, often resulting in misunderstandings and practices that pathologize, rather than celebrate, human difference.12 Current critiques of special education call attention to the roles of psychologists, educational evaluators, and teachers in monitoring and classifying children in relation to a mythic "norm."13 Social scientists Herv? Varenne and Ray McDermott noted the assumed complicity of specialists within the field of education in the disability labeling process, and pointed out that, "in institutional America, the only tasks professionals may, indeed must, perform as professionals given specific authority by the State is to document what is wrong. . . . This is their job and responsibility."14 In addition to being duty-bound to "locate" disability, specialists in education, like the instruments they use, are not without bias. Because of overrepresentation of students of color in disability categories, the field of special education has come under increased scrutiny from the United States Department of Education Office for Civil Rights (OCR).15 Furthermore, a growing number of special education scholars have challenged the scientific-medical framework that posits disability as a deficit, a pronounced deviation from the norm (discussed in more detail below).16 Instead, these scholars prefer to conceptualize disability within social and cultural frameworks, stressing the need for society to examine practices and mores that often do not fully accommodate individuals with a disability. Other researchers point to negligence on the part of scholars in the field of special education for failing to address racial overrepresentation in disability categories.17 However, in their desire to maintain dominant practices within the field of special education, many traditional scholars either downplay or ignore issues of race.18 THE CATEGORY OF DISABILITY At this juncture, it is important to discuss the categories of disability and, by extension, disabled students. Historically, within the field of education, disability has been understood through "the medical model." In brief, disability is perceived as a "problem" within an individual who is viewed as "broken" or "ill" and therefore in need of being "fixed" or "cured." Thus, disabilities are seen as the predicament of the individual in the biological domain (ignoring This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 110 The Journal of African American History social or cultural influences). In the medical model, students designated disabled are often taught in separate classes, segregated and grouped together with "others" with the same or similar labels. While the psychological and social shame of being "othered"?as a devalued member of the community in comparison to nondisabled people?appears of little concern to traditional special educators, it is of great concern to those who claim to have become disabled by unjust practices that have become systemic and standardized.19 Greatly influenced by the civil rights organizations forged by African Americans in the 1950s and 1960s, people with disabilities organized their own political movement. Disability rights activists have made significant strides toward gaining access to schools, services, jobs, and housing, which are all viewed as opportunities for improving the quality of their lives.20 Simi Linton has written extensively about usually ignored but nonetheless pervasive societal practices that oppress people with disabilities. She pointedly declared that, "the enormous energy society expends in keeping people with disabilities sequestered in subordinate positions is matched by the academy's effort to justify that isolation and oppression."21 Despite these barriers to full participation in society, the academic discipline of disability studies has evolved, thereby creating new and political understandings of disability. From this framework, disability is seen as interacting with social, cultural, historical, legal, and medical discourses, as well as further complicating factors such as race, ethnicity, gender, age, and class. As a result, the term disability has come to represent "a linchpin in a complex web of social ideals, institutional structures, and government policies."22 Many people with disabilities, therefore, have claimed status of disability as a significant marker of their own individual identity, while adopting a "minority model" of their shared identity. The purpose of identifying as a minority is to unite together and, along with allies, influence social change leading to a more equitable society.23 The "social model" of disability, in contrast to the medical model, focuses on everyday societal practices that prevent people with disabilities from fully accessing all aspects of life, especially schooling; and several scholars in fields of special education and disability studies have criticized the damaging, taken for-granted practices within the special educational field. For example, a typically unquestioned practice in the field is the seemingly perpetual expansion of disability categories. These categories, which then become reified as "natural" to many people, can be otherwise viewed as socially constructed descriptions, a response to particular needs determined by powerful, dominant ideologies and institutions within society.24 In most education textbooks, several categories of disability are commonly referred to, in a self-explanatory manner, as "high incidence." The same categories are also often described as "soft," implying a less tangible nature?perhaps because of their apparent "invisibility"?in comparison to physical or sensory disabilities. The use of high incidence "soft" categories, we argue, serves to This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Integration and Inclusion: A Troubling Nexus uphold institutionalized segregation on the grounds of disability, while in fact, perpetuating separation based on race. CONSTRUCTED DISABILITIES Given how the field of disability studies seeks to question assumptions about all categories of disability, it can be argued for the purpose of exploring the nexus of race and disability, that certain categories may be considered more problematic than others. Since the early 1970s the OCR has reported the persistent overrepresentation of minority children in categories requiring specialized clinical judgment.25 Racial disparities are highly pronounced in the specific categories of Mental Retardation (MR), Emotional Disturbance (ED), and Learning Disabilities (LD).26 Thus, "invisible" disabilities involving the capacity to "think" or learn and/or those of a social nature, i.e., those pertaining to cognitive/academic development and behavior, are consistently ascribed to racial and linguistic minority students.27 In contrast, less subjective categories such as blindness or deafness are proportional to racial and ethnic representation within the overall population.28 This indicates that overrepresentation is much more pronounced in more subjective disability areas than in diagnoses that are more obvious or objectively determined. The most recent government reports find that while African Americans constitute 14.8 percent of the population, they represent 20.2 percent of all students in special education classes.29 African American students remain three times as likely to be labeled as MR as white students, two times as likely to be labeled ED, as well as almost one and a half times as likely to be LD.30 In fact, African American students remain the most overrepresented of all groups in nine out of thirteen disability categories nationwide, a fact that significantly influences the restrictiveness of their school environment.31 It is important to note that the original legislation of The Education of All Handicapped Children Act (1975) contained the clause of Least Restrictive Environment (LRE), which allows students several options for placements, from those located separate from their nondisabled peers to those located in the general education classroom.32 However, an unintended result of this option has been a series of mechanisms by which three-quarters of students have been placed in classes that separate them from nondisabled peers.33 Anastasios Karagiannis questions whether soft disabilities in schools assist or confine children, by calling attention to the correlation between students labeled disabled and the rates of their subsequent imprisonment. He charges that schools are "places of pre incarceration for disadvantaged students" that foster dependence on "ossified organizations whose practical engagement ends with labels."34 In chronicling the discursive construction of learning disability, D. Kim Reid and Jan Valle argue that the discourses of science, medicine, and psychology constitute the roots of special education.35 They pointed out that these discourses "become apparent as we consider the process by which once This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 111 112 The Journal of African American History ordinary children struggling in school become disabled students."36 Reid and Valle highlight typical language used to describe students who experience difficulties in school, including phrases such as "areas of deficiency," "discrepancy between ability and achievement," "visual and auditory processing deficits," "erratic performance," and "inattentive behaviors."37 Disability, therefore, is equated with a missing element, and that element can be detected (and defined) by multiple clinical procedures such as observation, testing, and evaluation, resulting in students becoming permanently labeled disabled, and contained in a test-warranted "cocoon of professional help."38 Thus, clinical judgment prevails in the conceptualizing and subsequent operationalizing of "soft" disabilities in schools. Like LD, the categories of ED and MR are subject to a great deal of interpretation. In light of this, we believe it worthwhile to include federal definitions of these disabilities to help demonstrate their socially constructed nature. Mental retardation means significantly subaverage general intellectual functioning, existing concurrently with deficits in adaptive behavior and manifested during the developmental period, that adversely affect a child's educational performance.39 In the current federal definition of Mental Retardation (MR), it is interesting to note that there is no explicit mention of IQ. The definition includes the difficulty experienced by an individual in adapting to the demands of various environments during development (currently considered up to age 18, formerly 16), yet a level of subjectivity is involved?in defining "significant," "subaverage," and "general"?because these are concepts relevant to, and contextualized within, a specific culture and history.40 The federal definition is largely culled from that generated by Richard Heber of the American Association on Mental Deficiency (AAMD) in 1961 in which he claimed "subaverage intellectual functioning" was considered to be one or more standard deviations below the mean; an IQ score of 85 or below.41 However, in 1973 MR was redefined, changing "subaverage intelligence" to an IQ of 70, effectively reducing the "retarded" population from 16 to 2 percent, arguably saving social and educational agencies money, and limiting their responsibility for legally providing services to individuals labeled MR.42 Such official changes paradoxically denote an arbitrariness in relation to disability, illuminating how definitions shift according to the needs of those doing the defining. At the same time, various social and political organizations have generated their own definitions of disability. For example, in 1992 the American Association on Mental Retardation (AAMR) created a definition emphasizing a multi-dimensional understanding, in contrast to the medical and federal classifications that traditionally cast MR within a framework of incompetence.43 Among official categories, MR remains most likely to be assigned to African American male students. Donald Oswald, Martha Coutinho, and Al Best concur that while "increased poverty is associated with increased risk of This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Integration and Inclusion: A Troubling Nexus 113 disability," there is still a "systematic bias" involved in identifying African American males as MR, while whites with a similar ability profile receive the (arguably) more palatable label of LD.44 Racial bias is suggested in national statistics that show the likelihood of black males being labeled MR to be between four and five times that of whites in Connecticut, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Nebraska.45 Furthermore, African American students who attend school in wealthier communities are more likely to be labeled MR and assigned to segregated classes than those attending predominantly African American, low-income schools, highlighting a complicating factor associated with socioeconomic class.46 Emotional disturbance means a condition exhibiting one or more of the following characteristics over a long period of time and to a marked degree that adversely affects a child's educational performance: (a) An inability to learn that cannot be explained by intellectual, sensory, or health factors; (b) An inability to build or maintain satisfactory interpersonal relationships with peers and teachers; (c) Inappropriate types of behavior or feelings under normal circumstances; (d) A general pervasive mood of unhappiness or depression; (e) A tendency to develop physical symptoms or fears associated with personal or school problems. The term includes schizophrenia. The term does not apply to children who are socially maladjusted, unless it is determined that they have an emotional disturbance.47 Terms once used such as "delinquent," and "culturally deprived" have been shed in recent years in favor of the term "emotionally disturbed."48 Once again, the onus is squarely on what students cannot do: an inability to perform academic tasks, partake in adequate social interactions, live up to behavioral norms, enjoy or feel comfortable in school. What is lacking in the federal definition is any recognition that schooling is highly interactive and significantly contextualized, and how these factors may influence student behavior and academic performance. In addition, notions such as "inappropriate behavior or feelings" and "normal circumstances" (italics added) masks the definers' ability to determine universally assumed appropriateness and normalcy. Indeed, scholars such as James Banks, Geneva Gay, Gloria Ladson-Billings, and Lisa Delpit have long drawn attention to how nonblacks may mistakenly perceive demonstrations of African American students' behavior as threatening, whereas such behavior accurately represents culturally appropriate norms within black communities.49 Second to MR, African American students are labeled ED with over twice the frequency of white students. However, while discussions about cultural differences in behavior and social interactions have featured prominently in multicultural literature, they have been significantly downplayed in traditional journals of special education.50 Failure to explore different behaviors, vocabulary, perceptions, and expectations customarily posit students labeled ED as lacking in relation to unquestioned cultural and behavioral norms of the mainstream society. Citing a 90 percent white teaching force educating a multicultural population that includes 40 percent minority students, Delpit This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 114 The Journal of African American History also calls attention to racial and ethnic imbalance in the power structures of classrooms.51 In addition, Thomas Parrish calls attention to financial incentives for overidentifying students of color as disabled. Because special education is a complex bureaucratic system operated by middle-class professionals, poor or working-class family members are often too overwhelmed to negotiate its intricacies or challenge decisions made by "experts." Students of color, therefore, may have "fewer advocates to protect them" from being subjected to the practice of labeling.52 In another study by Parrish and Christine Hikido examining the connections among poverty, minority students, and state funding, the authors conclude that there is "a much stronger relationship between special education and race than between special education and poverty."53 Such findings continue to be extremely disturbing, strongly suggesting that classification rates for ED? for black students over twice the rate for white students in twenty nine states?are implicated in the high dropout rates for African American youth.54 Specific Learning Disability means a disorder in one or more of the basic psychological processes involved in understanding or in using language, spoken or written, that may manifest itself in an imperfect ability to listen, think, speak, read, write, spell, or to do mathematical calculations. The term includes such conditions as perceptual disabilities, brain injury, minimal brain dysfunction, dyslexia, and developmental aphasia. The term does not include learning problems that are primarily the result of visual, hearing, or motor disabilities; of mental retardation; of emotional disturbance; or of environmental, cultural, or economic disadvantage.55 The term "Learning Disabled" (LD), coined in 1962 by Samuel Kirk, is problematic for many reasons.56 The meaning of LD has always been contested by different interest groups including governmental agencies, educational researchers, and professional organizations, all having proposed alternative definitions. Traditionally, researchers in the field of special education have argued about particular orientations to the study of LD?all deficit-based, including theories of perceptual motor, language, neuropsychological, and metacognitive disabilities. In contrast, more recent constructivist-oriented researchers have come to place increased value on the social context as well as interests of the child. It is abundantly clear, therefore, that the label LD signifies different things to different people, and continues to shift with ongoing research. The federal definition casts a broad net over "imperfect abilities]" and lists numerous skills that are thought to form the core of literate school learning. Tasks that have become a normalized part of our culture, such as reading and writing at an expected level, at a certain rate, and at a given age, can also be viewed as social demands. Herv? Varenne and Ray McDermott argue that, "without schools, [there can be] no learning disabilities," calling attention to "the category of LD as constructed in accordance with the needs of public education."57 Interestingly, the federal definition also contains a This content downloaded from f:ffff:ffff:ffff:ffff:ffff on Thu, 01 Jan 1976 12:34:56 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Integration and Inclusion: A Troubling Nexus 115 caveat of what LD is not, including "environmental, cultural, or economic disadvantage," defining the disability without recognizing any existing social inequalities that may impinge upon academic performance. To complicate matters further, each state can add further criteria to the federal definition, but cannot subtract any clauses. For example, in New York, it was added that, "a student who exhibits a discrepancy of 50 percent or more between expected achievement and actual achievement determined on an individual basis shall be deemed to have a learning disability."58 Once again, the "expected" levels of achievement are subject to determination by local educational authorities, and evaluating students according to mathematical formulas for academic performance is a highly subjective process (although it is viewed otherwise by those who employ these methods). In addition to MR and ED, the category of LD is also deeply implicated in the tangled issues of race, disability, and special education. Emerging as a label during the 1960s, students with a learning disability were characterized as having average or above average intelligence, specific rather than generalized deficits, and a white, middle-class cultural/familial background. The category of LD originally became associated with white students to such a degree that students with similar levels of academic achievement were given different labels based on their racial, ethnic, and class backgrounds.59 In fact, in the first ten years following the emergence of the category (1963-1973), the vast majority of students labeled LD were white, middle-class males.60 As a result, specific categories within special education became as "racially segregated" as general education. While white students were overrepresented in the categories of LD and Gifted, African American students were overrepresented in the MR and ED, and underrepresented in Gifted?even if they achieved comparable test scores to whites.61 However, over the last three decades, the label of LD has become increasingly applied to students of color.62 An exception to overrepresentation of minorities is the under representation of Asian American students with disabilities.63 Stereotyped as the "model minority," and often academically outperforming middle class white students, they are far less likely to be labeled in subjective categories of MR, ED, or LD than any other minority group. In states with large Hispanic or Native American populations, students from these groups are also more likely to be overrepresented in special education than their white counterparts.64 Data on Hispanic students are complicated by the fact that they tend to be underidentified in elementary school, but overidentified as learning disabled in high school.65 Furthermore, students who are "English Language Learners" (ELL) or labeled "Limited in English Proficiency" (LEP) are overrepresented in special education, especially in the upper grades.66 All of this information suggests that students from racial, ethnic, and linguistic minority groups, except of Asian origin, are more likely to be identified as needing special education services, and by receiving them, increase their risk of educational segregation according to ability and/or race. This content downloaded from 172.58.29.117 on Tue, 05 Apr 2022 15:34:23 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 116 The Journal of African American History As we have seen, the clinical judgment involved in labeling students as disabled in the "soft" categories, while claiming authority from scientific, medical, and psychological discourses, is actually far from "objective." What compounds the problem of overrepresentation of students color in disability categories, however, is another round of subjective judgments: once labeled, where should the student be placed? Indeed, there is a marked correlation between the type of disability label and the restrictiveness of the placement. The U.S. Department of Education recently reported statistics about access to the general education environment for students labeled MR, ED, and LD. Figures for students spending "greater than 21 percent [of] time outside of regular education classroom during the 1997-98 school year revealed that [this was the case for] 82 percent of students labeled MR, 70 percent of students labeled ED, and 56 percent of students labeled LD.67 Once labeled disabled, there is an increased likelihood that minority students will be educated in more restrictive placements in comparison to their white peers sharing the same label, leading Fierros and Conroy to conclude that "increased time in the regular education classroom is largely attributable to a special needs student's race."68 INCREASED ACCESS TO SCHOOLS: SEGREGATION MAINTAINED The Brown decision was rooted in the Fourteenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution: "No state shall make or enforce any law which shall.. . deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws."69 In other words, "If states have undertaken to provide an education to its citizenry, then they must do so for all its citizens."70 This sharply contrasted with educational policies regarding students with disabilities, since "laws in most states allowed school districts to refuse to enroll any student they considered 'uneducable,' a term generally defined by local school administrators."71 Parents and advocates for children with disabilities saw the wider implications of Brown, namely, the need to have the rights of disabled students also recognized within the law. In 1975 their combined efforts resulted in Congress passing the hallmark legislation of Public Law (P.L.) 94-142 mandating a "free and appropriate education for all handicapped children" (FAPE).72 This law guaranteed an educational evaluation for each child having (or suspected of having) a disability. To many disability advocates, the Education of All Handicapped Children Act (1975) was as significant as the Supreme Court Brown decision. The law specified that all students, regardless of their disability, were entitled to a public education that had hitherto not...
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