By Constance Cherise, Granite State News Collaborative

RESOURCES:

School programs for youth: Gear Up, Bring It! and My Turn 

Programs for immigrant families: Safari Youth Club and Welcoming New Hampshire

Additional resources: NAACP and YWCA 

Depending on perspective, the term “safe space” is variably defined. Idyllically, it is an inclusive, judgment-free zone, a place where freedom of expression is encouraged, and where mental and physical safety is supported. With such glowing attributes, safe spaces would seem a well-promoted idea. 

However, as with most concepts, safe spaces have their own detractors, whose perspectives include displacing a coping mechanism necessary to thrive in a world that may not always bend to one's will or agree with personal or public opinions.  In a debate about safe spaces on college campuses, Trigger Warning: Safe Spaces are Dangerous,  CEO of Pen America, a human rights and free expression organization, Susan Nossel states, “Declaring safe spaces can leave students dangerously exposed once they graduate. If students believe and expect emotional and intellectual safety on campus they may be frighteningly ill-prepared for the world they encounter, thereafter.”

In a state like New Hampshire where the racial demographic is overwhelmingly white, faculty that can relate to the experience of BIPOC students is an obvious issue. For cities like Manchester and Nashua where a concentration of diverse students reside, representation is a steadily growing need. In light of the incident of a racist homecoming proposal, that took place at Trinity High School in October, we reached out to members of the community for their perspectives of safe spaces for BIPOC students. We asked, ‘What do you do when you don't feel safe in your space and how can community members support and simultaneously empower marginalized students?’

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My personal and professional view is that schools should be spaces that are free from the trauma that comes with racism. These are not environments where children should be exposed to violent abuse like racism. This mindset of not viewing school as a safe space because "we're preparing them for the real world" is extremely harmful and flawed. Let's be honest, the "real world" is really a euphemism for encounters with abusive people. What you end up with is teaching children by having this mindset that racist behavior is something they should expect and accept as they continue to grow. We see this in other areas of life for children and adolescents where parents think they're setting their kids up for success by being harsh on them because "that's what they'll experience in life.”  Not only does this way of thinking just perpetuate the status quo, but there is plenty of evidence that shows this approach backfires. For example, studies show that kids who grow up in abusive households are more likely to become involved in relationships that include intimate partner violence because this behavior was normalized in their household. These kids don't grow up to say, "I'm so grateful to my parents for preparing me to be abused by the world by abusing me themselves or allowing me to be abused.”  So we absolutely need to reject that way of thinking because it causes more harm and is what is behind the cycle of intergenerational trauma.

If schools are interested in preparing students for encounters with racism, they can do this by being open and honest about the various forms that racism takes and embedding anti-racism into the school's culture. You don't need to allow racism to exist in order for people to learn what to do. That's a cop-out and is developmentally harmful. Even older teenagers are still at a very crucial point in their development where they are still forming their belief systems around safety and security, and being able to feel safe is very important for emotional and social development. If adults just accept that racist things will happen and don't do what is in their power to protect children from the trauma that comes with racism then that is negligence.   

It's unfortunate something that should be a given, such as school, should be a space where people are safe from racial trauma, is something that needs to be debated and that concepts like safe spaces have been turned into something to be laughed at or looked down upon. No student should have to experience the feelings that come with seeing your peers gleefully using your pain and the pain of your ancestors as a "joke.” No student should then be expected to return to "normalcy" after such an incident nor should they have to observe so-called adults downplaying the incident or issuing performative statements of apology when these incidents don't happen in isolation. It's extremely traumatizing and results in a lack of trust of those whom have been entrusted with their care and with society at large. Why is it okay to censor what is taught in school about the history of race and racism to protect the feelings of certain students (moreso their parents), but somehow seemingly impossible to protect the people who, even at this point in their young lives, have already experienced multiple episodes of racism?

Our views on how and when children, especially BIPOC children, should be protected have been severely distorted due to 500 years of colonization that led to the loss of many indigenous child rearing practices. These child centered practices were replaced with practices that resulted in children being forced to diminish their spirit and to reject who they are so they can be accepted. This is what immediately came to my mind when I first heard of this story outside of just total anger, frustration, and disappointment that this happened in the first place. I immediately became concerned for the kids, especially the BIPOC kids in that school, because I know adults have a tendency to downplay these things, because they know it's a reflection of them. It's a reflection of what they've allowed to be tolerated. They go in a “cover-your-ass” mode which includes displacing, projecting, and distracting rather than sitting with the feelings of discomfort.

While I feel that schools should absolutely be a safe space from racism, I do not have the confidence that most schools in this area would be able to establish an environment and culture that would allow BIPOC kids to feel safe and protected. I don't think the competencies that are needed to do that exist as is evidenced by the way this situation has been handled and responded to so far. There is still a lot of fragility around the topic of race and racism that prevents any substantial progress from being made. Until people can sit with discomfort and accept the role race and racism still play in our world, we will continue to see these incidents and the resulting trauma. If the school wants to be seen as a safe space for BIPOC kids, I would say, at minimum, they would need to bring in an outside resource to provide direction on how to do that. But that also takes time and a level of openness and deference from school leadership that I haven't seen yet. With students experiencing race-based trauma daily, there is an urgent need for the BIPOC community to create healing spaces for ourselves, and for our children so we can send a message that racism is far from normal, when you do encounter it, here are some things you can do, and that there are adults out there that recognize what's going on in the schools and we are willing to be uncomfortable on your behalf because this is not okay for anybody to experience, but definitely not okay for children.

If I'm not feeling safe in a space, I will generally leave that space for my own well-being. This is part of setting boundaries for yourself and listening to your intuition. If I'm unable to leave that space for whatever reason, I focus on calming my mind and body so that I can remain strong and protected until I am in a safe space. This typically involves me bringing my awareness to any physical sensations I may be experiencing such as tension in my muscles or a change in my breathing pattern. I then seek to send a signal to my mind and body that while we do sense danger, we are still in control and have more options available to us than fight or flight. I do this by oxygenating my body through deep breaths and reminding myself that I have the support, strength, and protection of all those that came before me. I will even visualize in my mind that I am surrounded by people who fought for my existence. This allows me to access my full decision-making abilities around what I may do next.

Kevin Pajaro-Mariñez, Assistant Director of Equity and Inclusion at Phillips Exeter Academy, and founder of the Black Men’s Reading and Reflection Group (BMRRG)

Supporting students AND empowering students 

In order to support students who have experienced harm (especially those who are marginalized), we as a community need to first be honest about the conditions that allow for harm to occur. We must recognize that society is inherently stratified (i.e. divided and unequal) on the basis of race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, religion, and more. This stratification is the breeding ground for laws, policies, and practices that establish the rationale for the (un)intentional mistreatment of marginalized groups. We must recognize how individual instances of harm marginalized communities experience are always connected to foundationally inequitable systems. The lives of real people are at stake when we are in (or avoiding) conversations about racialized, gendered, classed, sexualized, ableist, spiritual, and other forms of harm.

 There needs to be a commitment to provide students the language to understand the harm they experience, (un)consciously cause to others, and witness. Legislation like the Divisive Concepts Law police/surveil how students, teachers, and community members can advocate for themselves and others. That there are legal consequences attached to acknowledging and discussing the specificity of ideas like injustice, privilege, indigenous genocide, colonization, slavery, etc. means a fear about how a critical consciousness around these topics equips people to disrupt oppression. We need to also provide spaces for students, with and without adults, to process and make sense of harm in their communities. The everyday lives of students are often being determined without their input, as if others know what is best for them. This erasure has detrimental effects on students who are already at the margins. Therefore, we should center the voices of students that are most impacted when creating inclusive policies and practices. 

 I’m still marinating on the part of the question that asks how to empower students. The word “empower” is to give power or authority to; to enable or permit. I’m thinking a lot about the role of power in that definition. I can’t help but to ask myself, what does it mean to give power to people who, individually and structurally, never had/have access to power? How is power part of someone’s calculus who was never intended/imagined to have it, and instead be subjugated by it?  It’s tough for me to work through the idea that marginalized people can be empowered in a world that inherently sees their existence, traditions, knowledge, etc. as “other.” What do we make of a world that continually reminds people, who have little to no power already, of their marginalization? Another piece of this conversation that’s important, in my opinion, is the idea of fragility. Lots of conservative rhetoric hinges on the idea that marginalized people who wish to address oppression are “fragile” and are always complaining about something. However, “fragility” in this context is weaponized to thwart how marginalized communities name the specific ways they are harmed and, as a result, can build collective capacity to challenge the status quo. I would argue this talking point actually highlights the discomfort and insecurity conservatives have accepting the reality that not everyone is on the same playing field. In dealing with emotional, psychological, physical, and other kinds of harm, oppressed people are anything but fragile. We are constantly being told to endure hardship with the empty promise that “change is slow, but on its way.” At what point do we start asking more critical questions about what it takes to build a world where we don’t have to justify why people matter? 

Where do people go to find safe spaces? If it doesn’t exist, how do they build it? 

I want to start with the conflation of “safety” and “discomfort.” Safe spaces, in theory, are spaces where people are assured they will not be targeted on the basis of their social identities (i.e. race, class, gender, and sexuality). Contrary to popular conservative rhetoric, safe spaces attempt to provide an opportunity where the discomfort in having conversations, for example, about inequality and racial violence is not exacerbated with the fear of being attacked on the basis of identity–this holds especially true for oppressed people. 

I look at safe spaces as the opportunity for folks to be in community together, heal, and process. These spaces can be cultivated in the communities where people already live. If none exist, these spaces can also be created by community members who have the willingness, energy, and capacity to sustain them. The pandemic has also shown us how safe spaces can be established online. Generally speaking, safe spaces are places where folks can simply be. 

The other side to the “safe space” conversation for me is the uncertainty safety holds for marginalized communities. “Safety” is defined as freedom from the occurrence or risk of injury, danger, or loss. While one could make the argument that everyone is subject to harm in some way, I’m thinking about particular forms of harm that not everyone experiences universally. For instance, as a Black person I am always subject to experience the weight of anti-Blackness and racialized microaggressions. The thought I grapple with, then, is what does safety look like for people who are always considered structurally vulnerable? Surely, this does not prevent me from cultivating meaningful friendships and being in community with folks. However, what is “safety” and “safety” for who? Who are we building safety for? Is safety really for the people who experience a world as an inherently unsafe place? Or are we prioritizing the emotional and psychological well-being of people with privilege who are afraid to grapple with the truths of our inequitable reality?  I have come to believe the latter group gets prioritized in conversations about safety at the expense of those who are positioned as perpetually unsafe.

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Supporting and empowering is kind of the human journey itself. I think safe spaces are a theoretical concept because we have to actually look at what is a safe space? I know many people don't believe in actual safe spaces. They believe in Gracious Spaces. I think dedicating a space, and maybe not even calling it safe, but maybe calling it a space for healing, or space for connections, depending on the nature of that space. Knowing that there are spaces for allowing fragility and honesty and also spaces that allow for connection. Having spaces does not disempower people. If we think about it, from the beginning of time, people always created spaces, we have sacred monuments, and we have all kinds of spaces in which we go to gather, to commune, or even individually, to help to grow or empower. I think about sacred sites and having spaces for youth to connect, to decompress, to empower through community is really important.  In these cases, connecting with elders in the community and community leaders, that would be able to help guide students, in organizations that support BIPOC folks, is the best place to go because healing is in community.  

When these situations occur, it's important to not stay in isolation. Sometimes when we are in isolation and we are fearful it can create more fear and increase anxiety. It's important to connect to resources out there. That is very important. Youth inherently have less resources. They have less efficacy and less power. It is really important for communities to connect to these spaces. To say, these are resources that are available. We should be doing that in advance in the world that we live in. We should allow schools to already know or just different communities to say, hey, we're here and we exist. We can share that with the guidance counselor or the resource that is there, but I think we have to also make our presence known whether through media or connecting with places.

–Constance Cherise is a freelance writer and contributor for Turner Classic Movies. 

These articles are being shared by partners in The Granite State News Collaborative as part of our Race and Equity Initiative. For more information visit collaborativenh.org. 

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