“I’ve heard the word ‘diversity’ quite a few times,” began United States Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, “and I don’t have a clue what it means. It seems to mean everything for everyone.” That is how the Justice responded to an opening statement made last fall by legal counsel defending affirmative action in college and university admissions. Seemingly casting doubt on the underlying premise of race-conscious policies – i.e., that a diverse student population performs better academically – Thomas’ incredulousness runs counter to a robust consensus around the meaning of diversity and the value it has in education and society more broadly. I confirmed this consensus through my work producing a literature review looking into the meaning and value of diversity in public education.
Prince Hastings is recorded as living in Warner by the 1820 census. His small home was high in the Mink Hills next to a small wetland now known as “Chocolate Swamp.” Prince probably worked as a laborer for local farms. It is not known what brought him to Warner or where he came from but the 1820 census indicates several other African-American families in Warner (Clark, Haskell, Cary, and Jackson). Perhaps Prince traveled to Warner with them.
Although born in the West Indies, Benjamin Darling’s ancestry traces to the Sengal-Gambia region of Africa. Much of his story is unclear, and legend surrounds his name. It is said that he rescued the man he was enslaved to when their boat was shipwrecked, and, for his loyalty, was awarded his freedom. Another story contends Darling escaped slavery. How he came to the Phippsburg area of Maine is not known. However, he was known there as “sturdy, industrious” and “with many staunch friends.”
Rosary Broxay Cooper, daughter of a Baptist minister, was born in 1913 and grew up in Eatonville, FL, one of the oldest Black towns in America. She graduated from the all-Black Florida Normal School with certification as a children’s nurse.
Hired to care for the children of the Merrill family, she traveled with them to New England, where the family owned a resort in Maine about 15 minutes from Portsmouth. It was there, in 1938, that she met and married Owen Finnigan Cooper and moved to Portsmouth. They lived with his mother and sister.
Anthony Clark may have been small of stature (5’3″) but he loomed large with his ability to play fiddle and call a dance. He ran week-long dancing classes at various halls and inns in western Merrimack County and was called a “dancing master.” Theresa Harvey, writing in 1823, recalls Clark at a muster, followed by a party at her Uncle Jonathan’s Musterfield Farm in Sutton:
“…As soon as possible after the dinner tables were cleared away, the hall was made ready for the dancers…Anthony Clark, the fiddler and dancing master, probably did more toward instructing the young people in the arts and graces of politeness and good manners than any other man of his day and generation…”
Eric and Sharon Houle have grown more and more upset since last school year when they were informed of a racist death threat targeting their son written on the bathroom wall of John Stark Regional High school.
Equally disturbing as the threats themselves, which were written by two white students, is the way the school district has handled the situation and failed to act in a timely manner, they said.
Seven months ago an accomplished chef and business owner was the target of racism when someone wrote the “N” word in white marker on the front window of his Caribbean restaurant.
Chef Gerald Oriol, owner of Caribbean Breeze at 233 Main St., kept the incident quiet, preferring to let police conduct an investigation into the April 8, 2022, incident.
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?’
A Texas man is suing New Hampshire State Police, alleging that a state trooper ethnically profiled and illegally detained him during a traffic stop in August 2019.
The lawsuit is the second in three years to accuse State Police’s Mobile Enforcement Team, a drug-interdiction squad with a history of using minor traffic violations as pretexts to stop and question drivers, of acting illegally during a vehicle stop. A previous lawsuit, involving a 2017 stop by a different trooper, Haden Wilber, led to a $212,500 settlement.
On a hot and humid August afternoon, Rachel Jones and her husband Glen are sitting on a bed in their air-conditioned room at the Comfort Inn. It has been home for them and their 11-year-old granddaughter for nearly two months, ever since their new landlord hiked their rent and then evicted them for renovations.
If you ask the students of Keene Community Education's English program what was most challenging about moving to New Hampshire, most offer the same answers: The cold, and the isolation.
The long winters are something the students have more or less gotten used to. But the feeling of being alone in a brand new place can take longer to overcome, especially since, in the students' experience, locals are sometimes slow to warm up to newcomers.
In downtown Montpelier, Vermont, anyone needing a ride can open an app on their smartphone or place a phone call. A few minutes later, a vehicle shows up.
It’s not Uber or Lyft — those ride sharing apps aren’t active in Montpelier — but the newest iteration of public transportation. The concept is called microtransit, and the specific program in Montpelier is known as MyRide.
Perhaps it's ironic — or even prophetic — that something purporting to stop so-called "divisive concepts" would be so divisive.
A lawsuit concerning these relatively new state regulations is making its way through the court system.
What are these concepts? What do they mean? And why is there a lawsuit against the state about them? In July, The State We’re In host Melanie Plenda explored these questions with NAACP President James McKim, Granite State News Collaborative Reporter Adam Drapcho, ACLU-NH Legal Director Gilles Bissonnette, and plaintiff Tina Philibotte, who serves as the Manchester School Districts Chief Equity Officer.
It’s been a little more than a year since a state law, regulating the teaching about racism, sexism and other forms of prejudice, went into effect. While no educators have been punished, or even investigated, according to a response to a Right to Know request, that doesn’t mean that the law hasn’t had an impact.
When the state of Vermont recognized four Native American groups in 2011 and 2012, Sherry Gould discovered an opportunity to not only join a tribe, but to protect her art.
Born and raised in New Hampshire, Gould is an Abenaki basketmaker who lives in Bradford. At the time, federal law blocked her from marketing her work as Native-made, since only members of state and federally recognized tribes gain the right to do so under federal arts and crafts legislation.
