Take a long look at the man pictured above. Study his visage and photograph it, because I want the memory implanted in every crevice of your brain.
Upon initial perception of this person, a veritable stranger to all who choose to read this essay, one would probably ascertain him as generally staid and unthreatening, a typified profile of the average American white guy. He represents a great deal more than that to me because I used to be one of his employees. I know his name, but I will not mention it in this article for fear of being sued into oblivion. But I know what type of man he is.
Don’t be lulled into complacency by that smile. He is a killer, although not in the literal sense, because he has not been directly responsible for ending the life of another human being. However, ascribing the “killer” metaphor to this person is appropriate, as he is the man responsible for ending my teaching career.
I remember sitting across the table from him as he verbally excised the organs from my body, digging and ripping with words, creating a hollow feeling within. He looked like he was having a bit of a rough time controlling his emotions though, his face and neck plum red as he continuously spit invective in my direction. Still, he thought he was doing his duty by being brutally “honest”.
“You’re one of the most honest and hardest-working people I’ve ever met,” he said.
I had been employed at his school for three harrowing weeks before he’d come away with that perception. The principal at my previous school had expressed a similar opinion, citing my diligence and assiduousness as reasons for renewing my contract. So, I was rather confused by the person sitting across the table from me, a thirty-four-year-old Chief Operating Officer of a charter school.
I had a teaching certificate obtained from a local graduate school, was hardworking, experienced, eager to succeed, and brother to a woman he’d known for more than ten years. I should have been a coveted teacher, safe and secure.
“Thank you,” I said, devoid of entrails. Metaphorically, he had my stomach and heart in his hands, squeezing and twisting with each word. I instantly regretted affirming his compliment on my work ethic. ButI was also at a loss for what to say because I was frightened.
The charter school’s principal had assured me I was doing great two days before. Something drastic happened over the weekend though, prompting a complete reversal of fortune for me. I understood that I was quickly becoming an enemy within the plastered walls. Therefore, I focused on being as polite as I could. “I did come into this job knowing that it was going to be hard.”
“And I do mean what I said,” said the CEO. “You have a great work ethic and an upstanding character. Unfortunately…there is something else missing.”
“Okay?”
“Your general grasp of the teaching taxonomies is not where I want it to be. And you’re not as solid on the math content as I would like.”
He kept on talking, adding more insults to grievous injuries. Originally, I had been hired to teach sixth-grade math to students, and I had not thought it would be difficult teaching grade school math, especially after passing the math portion of the Praxis II exam without too much difficulty. As a college student, I received passing grades in financial and managerial accounting and aced a mathematics class in graduate school. As a grade school teacher, I excelled at teaching mathematics, fostering real growth and confidence in my students. Moreover, as a part of my initial interview with the charter school, I taught a math lesson to students. My credentials were solid, and deserving of respect. The CEO tossed all of my qualifications aside, choosing to accede to dark instincts, which made him question the viability of a black math teacher.
“These kids are counting on me to look after them,” said the CEO. “I cannot jeopardize their futures. I think I’ll be taking too big of a chance by keeping you here.”
I kept silent as he spoke, though I regarded his last comment as unnecessary and lacking the required tact. So, in addition to being unqualified, I was perceived as an existential danger to his children. The Spanish-speaking white savior was assigning himself the role of protector.
Did the CEO realize he was digging a hole for himself as he lobbed his spurious accusations against a certified teacher, an individual who had spent the last three years of his life teaching and molding the minds of young people?
I was infinitely more qualified than the Teach for America recruits he had hired, predominantly white recent college graduates with no discernable experience in the classroom. Most of them would teach for their required two years and then opt for a more lucrative career once the U.S. economy improved. Teaching was my career choice, as there was no other option for me at the time. I knew the job was often thankless and garnered very little pay — I earned less than 40,000 dollars per year. Why else would I get into education if not to help young kids to thrive?
The CEO pushed a beige piece of paper containing two paragraphs worth of writing across the desk, prompting me to look down. There was a line near the bottom of the form with my name typed beneath it.
“This is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do,” said the CEO. “But I am going to have to ask you to resign.”
As I was desperate to vacate the premises, I only spent a few seconds going over the letter before signing my name. Because I was emotionally exhausted, the casualty of a premeditated assault. There had been some information in the letter concerning two-months-worth of severance pay, but I did not care about that. I was worried for my safety and needed to get out of the building.
“Do you want to spend a few more minutes here?” said the teary eye principal sitting to my right. “I’m sure that the other teachers would like to say goodbye to you.”
I refrained from staring at the principal as I carefully considered a reply, as it felt as if I had been dropped into a horror movie. “No thank you,” I said as I gathered my things. “I think I’ll just leave now. Thank you.”
The CEO had reached out to my baby sister as I was covering the distance between the charter school and the home I shared with my parents. My cell phone rang as soon as I arrived at the house.
It was my successful baby sister, a former Obama campaign worker and employee for First Lady Michelle Obama. There had been a poster containing Obama’s visage affixed to the door leading to the charter school’s human resources office. The memory of that magnificent and hopeful poster, juxtaposed with fresh memories of how the CEO treated me, made me want to cry.
As my sister and I spoke, she fired rapid-fire questions, while lamenting the callousness exhibited by the CEO.
“I can’t believe he did this,” said baby sister. “I’ve known him for years and he was always nice to me.”
“He did seem okay at first,” I said. “And I thought everything was going all right. I asked the principal if things were okay. She told me yes. The other teachers seemed to be impressed with what I was doing too. Then, without warning, I am summoned into the CEO’s office by the same principal, and then I’m told how much they thought I sucked. I just do not know what happened.”
“That is so flipping weird.”
“I don’t think I would have wished the experience on my worst enemy.”
“I am so sorry, Eze.”
“The CEO was insulting my intelligence, basically calling me stupid. The principal had this weird smile on her face when she called on me. I explicitly asked her how things were going. She told me everything was going great. But as the CEO is disparaging me in front of her, she just sits there, saying nothing.”
“Oh, God.”
“And you want to know what else she did?”
“What?”
“She was crying,” I said, tears streaming down the front of my face. “Meanwhile, I’m the one who is being eviscerated and she is the one crying. But I know that if I get emotional, I am going to be judged as a threat, looked down upon. So, I am the one who remains calm throughout this whole episode. This is some fucking bull man!”
“I’m going to call him,” said baby sister.
“Call him for what?” I said.
“I want to see if I can set up a meeting involving the three of you. He is going to have to sit with you and talk to you honestly about what happened.”
“If he is willing to do that.”
“He will have to do it. I will make sure that he does.
“Okay.”
“One question before I go.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have anything written down on paper?”
“Anything…written down…on paper?”
“Yeah. Do you have any kind of papers that contain evidence of how you performed? You are going to need receipts to prove your version of events. You can’t go to that meeting with nothing to show.”
I sighed before the light suddenly turned on, prompting me to smack the right side of my head with my hand. “Hold on a second.”
My decrepit desk was located to my right, the surface of it dulled, discolored, and scratched. I hardly ever used it except to hold the stuff that I was eventually going to toss into the garbage. I had assumed that the evaluation forms containing information on my performance would be one of those unnecessary items.
I pulled out the top drawer and flipped through the garbage until I came upon the first of eight evaluation forms. As I flipped through each sheet of paper and carefully read the inscribed notes, or precious evidence, I thought of that fateful afternoon, when I stood before the principal and the other teaching recruits and taught a math lesson. I was very good on that day, and the feedback I received from everyone in that room buttressed my assertion. If only I had had these documents in my possession during the firing. Still, there was no way I could have changed the outcome because I had been ambushed that afternoon, leaving me unable to process cogent thoughts. My soul was being snatched from me and I just wanted to get out of the place at the end.
“I found what I needed baby sister,” I said. “I’ve got the proof. Just let me know when and where I need to go.”
***
The CEO caught sight of me as he paid for his cup of coffee. Looking as if he had seen a real-life apparition, he waved me over to where he stood. As we engaged in small talk, he did not seem as confident. He knew that the dynamic from last time would not be appropriate.
He had chosen a popular coffee store, replete with young yuppie customers who were actively gentrifying a historically Latin neighborhood. I would have preferred a spot that afforded the two of us some more privacy. Beggars cannot be choosers, I guess. As the CEO and I sought a free table, I was struck by how small he seemed, as if he shrunk a few inches, his diminished stature a byproduct of a new reluctant and pronounced humility. There was an empty table situated against a shallow recess in the wall. Hastily, the CEO and I moved toward that spot.
We sat silent for a few minutes, the two of us sipping our beverages as we carefully considered what to say. Once again, I was thrown off balance by his obvious change of demeanor. As the head of a growing charter school empire, the young CEO, suffused with a cocksure confidence, had not been shy. Often referred to as a genius by certain members of the school staff, he actively sought ways to prove his smarts to everyone within earshot. That man was gone, at least temporarily, replaced by a shriveled mute of a man. Formerly spiked hairs on my arms and legs went limp.
We both placed our cups on top of the table, prompting the CEO to extend a hand in my direction. I cleared my throat as I gently placed the folder containing my evaluations on the table.
“Thanks for seeing me,” I said. “I know that you are probably pretty busy.”
“It’s no problem,” the CEO said. “I wanted to be here.”
You are such a liar, I thought. The CEO was pale and drawn, physical manifestations of his internal combustion. The man would have chosen literal hell instead of facing me. I had already survived three weeks of psychological torture while a teacher at his school. It was only right that he experience at least some fraction of what I went through. His suffering was nothing compared to mine. At least he had a job waiting for him after all of this was over.
“How are you doing with your preparations for the new school year?” I said. “Are you guys going to be ready?”
“I think so,” said the CEO. “Everything seems to be in place. We’re looking forward to the kids arriving.”
“You must be excited.”
“We are. We are.”
He and I shared a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before I sighed and said, “I wanted to talk about what happened during my time at your school.”
“You can go ahead,” said the CEO.
“I think there was some confusion and miscommunication when I was there. I wanted to take the opportunity to address the concerns that I have. You have heard one side of the story. I want to be able to present my side. I have documents in my possession that I would like to show you.” I reached for the blue — my favorite color — folder, flipped open the cover, and pulled out the eight sheets of paper. My hand trembled as I held the papers aloft. “Would you like to take a look at these? These are the evaluations from when I taught my lesson.”
“Sure,” said the CEO. “Let me have a look.”
Just as he had done with the resignation letter, I slid the papers across the surface of the table, engendering sweet karma. As the CEO read through and flipped each page, he shook his head from side to side. Hope upwelled within me like a spring. Hope for what, though? He was not going to rehire me, and I could not go back to a place where I was treated so shabbily. After the CEO finished reading through the last page, he combined it with others before handing them back to me. He interlaced his fingers as he prepared his next words.
“This is a…regrettable situation,” said the CEO. “Unfortunately, there is nothing more I think I can do right at this moment.”
The upwelling of hope suddenly dried up. Successive seconds passed, yielding no apology or simple acknowledgment of wrongdoing.
“That is pretty regrettable,” I said.
“But there should be other teaching jobs available right now. You could still teach at a traditional public school and positions open up all the time during the school year. I could write a recommendation that you can use for other potential employers. You have very much to offer the education profession, Eze. You can still be a mentor and role model for so many young men.”
Despite projecting some humility at our meeting, the CEO’s arrogance breached through the wall, revealing its ugly face. There was a lack of emotional intelligence on his part. He thought he was making things better by talking. Instead, he kept pouring salt into the wound. I was not good enough to teach at his stupid school. I got it. And if a terrible teacher like me was suitable for a “traditional” school, then he was implying that a typical public school operated below his exalted standards. Why was it so hard for him to apologize? Why was it so difficult for him to admit he was wrong? I had already signed the nondisclosure agreement, the document preventing me from suing his fucking school into the dirt.
“Thank you for the offer,” I said. “I’m still confused about my dismissal from your school. I just do not understand why I was asked to resign my position if I am everything you say I am. I’m beginning to wonder if there was a personal element to this.”
“Hmm,” said the CEO. “What do you mean personal? Because this has nothing to do with your race.”
The CEO’s bungled attempt to disabuse me of my accurate suspicions failed. Of course, this was about my race, as I was one of the few black math teachers. The expectation had been for me to be the magical math Negro, capable of creating numbers and equations out of thin air. Instead, I was just better and more experienced than my counterpart, a twenty-one-year-old recent graduate with no experience teaching kids. That should have been enough for me to retain my job. I was good and could have become excellent with more time, practice, and patience. Instead, I was afforded three weeks before being released three days before the school year was set to start, summarily replaced by a white candidate who would probably quit the position in two years.
The CEO kept on digging the hole just by talking.
“I hadn’t thought about race at all,” I said. Images of the vice principal staring holes into my back flooded my consciousness. She had been against my hiring from the start, the chief strategist behind my defenestration. “I was just thinking that there might have been a personality conflict, although I did not sense it immediately.”
“Sometimes it’s just about the fit, you know,” said the CEO, visibly relieved. “It might just come down to that fact.”
I sighed and said, “I’m going to leave now. Thank you for meeting with me, I guess.”
He smirked in triumph as I prepared to leave, precipitating a daydream. In this dream, I grabbed my cup of tea and slammed it across his face. As he writhed from the shock and the pain, I jumped across the table, tackling him to the ground. Pinning his arms against the floor with my legs, I repeatedly slammed my fist against his forehead until I heard his skull crack. Though I was exhausted, I reveled in his considerable pain and anguish.
He caught me staring directly at him, freeing me from my reverie.
“Eze?” said the CEO.
“Thanks again,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” said the CEO. “I will everything I can to help you.”
One week after our meeting, as I searched for a teaching position, I reached out to the CEO by email. He responded by saying that he would not be able to help me because I had not been employed with the school for an extended period.
I was on my own then, my nascent teaching career and life seemingly in tatters.
***
Thirteen years have passed since I survived that harrowing encounter with the CEO and his minions. During that time, I secured a master’s degree and became a supervisor with a reputable hospital laboratory. Life is better, although the experience from the last decade still haunts me, sparking latent, fiery anger like flint. On the days I become really steamed, I perform a Google search using his name, excavating dozens of articles that slavishly extol his supposed virtues.
He recently quit his job as CEO of his charter school, opting for a position with the Bill and Melinda Gates charter school network. I no longer have to urge to bash his face, which is progress.
Have you ever experienced a similar event, an excruciating moment in time when you were treated like garbage in the workplace due to the color of your skin?
I want to read about it.