4 pages paper with a assigned title

‘‘Being’’ Black and Strategizing for Excellence in a Racially Stratified Academic Hierarchy

Carla O’Connor University of Michigan

Jennifer Mueller University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

R. L’Heureux Lewis City College of New York–City University of New York

Deborah Rivas-Drake Brown University Seneca Rosenberg

University of Michigan

This article reports the findings of an ethnographic study of Black identity and achievement in one predominantly White high school featuring a racially stratified academic hierarchy (RSAH). Foregrounding the experi- ences of three exceptionally achieving Black girls against those of other high- achieving but less stellar students, the study demonstrates how an RSAH amplifies and animates Black students’ constructions of Black identity to affect how Black youth strategize for academic excellence under second- generation segregation.

KEYWORDS: Black education, identity, achievement, race, social context, social stratification, achievement gap, qualitative research

Despite substantial evidence that Black identity can serve as a resourcerather than a liability in Black students’ pursuit of academic success, we have little insight into how Black identity gets converted into instrumen- tal actions that support high achievement and how the demographics and organization of schools affect that conversion. Taking up this area of under- study, this article reports on an ethnographic study of how individual and peer group constructions of what it means to be Black are implicated in how Black students strategize for academic success under second-generation segregation. In contrast, to first-generation segregation, which defines across-school racial segregation, second-generation segregation occurs when schools desegregated at the building level are resegregated by aca- demic programs to constitute a racially stratified academic hierarchy

American Educational Research Journal

December 2011, Vol. 48, No. 6, pp. 1232–1257

DOI: 10.3102/0002831211410303

� 2011 AERA. http://aerj.aera.net

(RSAH) where non-Asian minorities are disproportionately tracked into lower level courses and are underrepresented in higher level courses (Southworth & Mickelson, 2007).

Foregrounding the experiences of three exceptionally high-achieving girls, our findings demonstrate how the RSAH of one predominantly White high school (which we refer to as Hillside) amplified the girls’ vulnerability to peer suspicion that they were acting White. The distinctions in how these girls then strategized for excellence in light of these and other burdens were founded in the differences by which they defined blackness as a structured (marked by distinct or shared forms of oppression) or a cultural (marked by inclinations, style, and performance) phenomenon. Such meaning making then intersected with the affordances and constraints of Hillside’s racial and curricular organization to influence social and instrumental interactions with same- and other-race peers that inhered in the girls’ academic strategies

CARLA O’CONNOR is the Arthur F. Thurnau Professor and associate professor at the University of Michigan, School of Education, 610 East University Avenue, 4001SEB, Ann Arbor, MI, 48109-1259; e-mail: [email protected]. Her work includes exami- nations of how Black identity varies across contexts to informs achievement out- comes, how Black people’s perceptions of opportunity vary within and across social space and influence academic orientation, and how Black educational resil- ience and vulnerability are structured by social, institutional, and historical forces. In contemplating what it might mean to raise her own children in a predominantly White school district, she was inspired to ask the research questions and to design the research project that provided the data for this manuscript.

JENNIFER MUELLER is an associate professor of early childhood and teacher education at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, School of Education, Department of Curriculum and Instruction; e-mail: [email protected]. Her research interests focus on understanding how factors of identity shape how teachers take up issues of equity and multiculturalism and then enact these in classroom practice. A commitment to direct applications of research to practice guides her agenda.

R. L’HEUREUX LEWIS is an assistant professor of sociology and Black studies at the City College of New York–City University of New York; e-mail: [email protected]. He studies the educational experiences of ethnic and economic minorities in well-re- sourced settings.

DEBORAH RIVAS-DRAKE is an assistant professor in the Education Department at Brown University; e-mail: [email protected]. She studies the role of social contexts in the formation and development of ethnic/racial identity as well as the implications of ethnic/racial identity for academic and psychological adjustment. This research was motivated by a desire to better understand the role of school as a context for racial identity development and to help identify practices that promote positive link- ages between youths’ racial identity and their academic motivations and achievement.

SENECA ROSENBERG is a doctoral candidate in the School of Education, University of Michigan; e-mail: [email protected]. She studies the organization of schools and school systems, with a particular focus on improving disadvantaged students’ access to high-quality instruction.

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(e.g., working alone; in cooperation with Whites, Asian Americans, or Blacks of a particular socioeconomic status [SES]; to only prove Whites wrong or to also challenge a Eurocentric curriculum).

Our findings extend ongoing explorations of how racial identity and tracking affect Black achievement. The following literature review illumi- nates our interest in exploiting the complement between these two research traditions and in building upon recent examinations of how schools’ racial and curricular organization influences the relationship between Black iden- tity and achievement.

Tracking, Black Identity, and Achievement

Researchers have long studied how tracking and racial identity affect Black achievement. In studying racial identity, researchers have examined whether Blacks experience underachievement because they interpret ‘‘being’’ Black as in conflict with academic excellence. Founded in Ogbu’s (1987, 2003) cultural-ecological model and elaborated by Fordham’s research (Fordham & Ogbu 1986), this theory posits that Black youth, keenly aware of racism, question school’s instrumental value and interpret school- ing as a White domain that requires Blacks to ‘‘act’’ White in exchange for academic success. Unwilling to compromise their identification and affilia- tion with other Blacks, Blacks presumably forge an oppositional identity—resisting school due to the strains associated with crossing cultural borders and the peer pressure to ‘‘act’’ Black. Despite this theory’s promi- nence, most research refutes the notion that Blacks are culturally poised to oppose schooling (Tyson, Darity, & Castellino, 2005).

Studies of tracking find that Blacks underachieve because they are underrepresented in higher level courses and overrepresented in lower level ones (Lucas, 1999; Mickelson, 2001; Southworth & Mickelson, 2007). Such disproportionality is partly attributable to the limited availability of advanced courses in predominantly Black schools compared with predominantly White schools (Lee, Smith, & Croninger, 1997). But even when attending predominantly White schools, Blacks are underrepresented in advanced courses (Mickelson & Everett, 2008; Oakes, 1994; Pachon & Federman, 2005). This second-generation segregation limits Blacks’ access to academic environments known to support achievement (Oakes, 2005) and evidences how tracking influences Black achievement via its direct effect on Black stu- dents’ learning opportunities. Select studies explore the intersection between Black identity and tracking and analyze how RSAHs influence Black achievement indirectly by producing racial tensions with which Black students struggle when pursuing academic success.

Inspired by ongoing analyses of how the organization and microinterac- tions of schools construct race and racial inequality (Ferguson, 2001; Lewis, 2003; O’Connor, Lewis, & Mueller, 2007; Pollock, 2004), scholars found that

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Blacks in schools featuring RSAHs were inclined to perceive a divide between being Black and achieving in school and to experience ambiva- lence or peer pressure in pursuing high achievement (Carter, 2006; O’Connor, Fernandez, & Girard, 2007; Tyson et al., 2005). Researchers have documented the absence of such ambivalence or peer pressure in all-Black elementary schools (Tyson, 2002), in historically Black colleges (Willie, 2003), and in integrated schools where Blacks were equitably distrib- uted across the academic hierarchy (Mickelson & Velasco, 2006; Tyson et al., 2005). Carter (2006) argued that if White students dominate the top of the hierarchy, Black students are liable to perceive this as a ‘‘white niche’’—inclining them to avoid this space. Similarly, Tyson and colleagues (2005) reasoned that ‘‘an . . . often overlooked consequence of the underrep- resentation experienced by minorities in advanced classes is the perpetua- tion among both blacks and whites of stereotypes about black intellectual ability and the value of education in the black community’’ (p. 594). These studies indicate that Black students are not necessarily entering school believing blackness conflicts with academic excellence but are likely re- sponding to how schools’ racial demographics and organization align race and achievement.

Some Black students are, nevertheless, high achieving in the midst of a ‘‘tracked’’ divide between being Black and excelling academically—and the racial identities of some confirm that Black identity can enhance achieve- ment (Altschul, Oyserman, & Bybee, 2006; Chavous, Rivas-Drake, Smalls, Griffin, & Cogburn, 2008; Wong, Eccles, & Sameroff, 2003). With researchers having demonstrated that Black identities vary as per distinctions in how Blacks perceive the opportunity structure (O’Connor, 1999), perform their blackness via speech and style (Carter, 2006), regard other Blacks, empha- size race in their self-concepts, and adhere to philosophies regarding how Blacks should act (Sellers, Chavous, & Cooke 1998), what remains under- studied is how these varied identities instrumentally support achievement in racially stratified systems.

Akom (2003) and Butterfield (2006) illuminated microlevel strategies that supported Black achievement, but they did not examine those strategies in rela- tion to how second-generation segregation influenced constructions of race and racial identity. Of those works that considered the interplay between Black identity, achievement, and RSAH, Carter (2006) emphasized how dif- ferent identities influenced Black high achievers’ relations with their Black peers tracked elsewhere in the hierarchy but did not demonstrate how differ- ent expressions of blackness influenced academic excellence. Mickelson and Valesco (2006) showed that Black identity motivated high achievement when Black students excelled to counter the stereotype of Black intellectual inferiority, but they did not show how such motivation was manifest via academic strategies.

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In short, current research fails to illuminate how students with distinct Black identities differently strategize to maintain high achievement under second-generation segregation and if, how, and which peers are associated with these strategies. Using the case studies of three stellar students as our empirical referent, this study addresses these underexamined areas.

Research Design and Analysis

Our study of the ways Black students articulated their racial identities in relation to their achievement in Hillside High School began with individual interviews of 44 Black students in Hillside’s 2002 and 2003 graduating classes and included the highest achieving Black students in these classes and a sub- set of low achievers. The interviews covered family background, peer rela- tions, academic orientation, perceptions of racial climate and opportunity within Hillside and in society, and interpretations of ‘‘being’’ Black versus White. Eight high achievers (6 females and 2 males) were subsequently re- cruited for in-depth studies, which were conducted from winter 2001 through spring 2002 and involved intermittent shadowing of participants.

The research team varied in race (Blacks, whites, and a Latina), gender, and age (early 20s to mid-30s, with some investigators being misrecognized as secondary students). We exploited these differences to enhance the cred- ibility of the generated data (using the most youthful investigators to docu- ment the school site, as they could better blend into Hillside’s social milieu; relying disproportionately on these same investigators to shadow in-depth participants who shared their race and gender; and privileging the race matching of participants and investigators when conducting individual interviews).

We analyzed interviews to understand how participants differed in their interpretations and enactments of what it meant to be Black, what about their backgrounds seemed to explain these differences, and how these dif- ferences corresponded with how students coped at Hillside. Interview data were supplemented by field observations of the school—including our documentation of the spatial and racial organization of Hillside and what we observed about these and other Black students therein. Our article foregrounds 3 of the 8 in-depth cases—those of 3 girls, Sidney, Makela, and Jasmine. Although all 8 in-depth study participants were high achieving, the focal students demonstrated unmatched achievement. Their grade point averages (GPAs), rigorous course schedules, and academic recognition set them apart from their Black peers—academically and physically.

As juniors in 2000–2001, they had taken a minimum of two advanced placement (AP) and one otherwise accelerated (AC) courses and had enrolled in a minimum of two AC courses each preceding year. In the spring of 2001, their GPAs ranged between 3.83 and 3.86. Only 35 of the 169 Black students in the classes under study had GPAs of at least 3.0, and only 1 had

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a GPA that fell within the range of the focal students (without having taken advanced courses).1 At graduation, these girls were among a select group of students honored for having a GPA of at least 3.5 each academic year and were otherwise honored for their leadership, character, and citizenship.

These girls’ stellar performances provide a unique opportunity to study the everyday race-related perceptions and negotiations that support Black aca- demic excellence in an RSAH. To date, ethnographies of this kind rely on less stringent indices of achievement (e.g., high GPAs absent consideration of course load, placement but not performance in advanced courses). These girls’ elite status meant that they experienced greater racial isolation than other high- achieving Blacks in Hillside—increasing their vulnerability to criticism from Black peers. How they subsequently negotiated Black and other peer relations in support of exceptional achievement was partly a function of how they made sense of being Black. Hillside provided an ideal context for examining these ne- gotiations because its racial and curricular organization established a stark divide between rigorous academic spaces that were White dominated and Black-dominated spaces that were either nonacademic or lacked rigor.

Hillside

Nested in a small, affluent, Midwestern city, Hillside served over 2,600 students. Seventy-five percent of the students were White, and 13% were low-income. A comprehensive high school, AP courses were offered in over 15 subjects, alongside AC courses in math, English, science, and social studies. Remedial courses in math and science were available, as were a vari- ety of academic, vocational, and arts electives (e.g., African American litera- ture, economics, cosmetology, homebuilding, dance, photography).

These extensive curricular options were instantiated in academic wings. The athletic wing housed the gymnasiums and physical education class- rooms. The music wing featured band, choral, and orchestra practice rooms. The vocational wing housed automotive shop, health sciences, and other vocational courses. The building’s center housed most of the academic courses, with the first floor designated primarily for upper and lower level science courses. The second floor housed language and history courses, and the third floor featured primarily English and math courses. Some math classrooms were found on the first floor, along the vocational wing. While the teachers in these first-floor rooms taught advanced math courses such as calculus, most of the remedial math courses were offered along this corridor (North Hall).

Also serving Black (15%), Asian American (6%), and Latino (3%) students, Hillside featured an RSAH. Black students constituted 20% to 40% of the voca- tional and remedial classes we visited and only 7% to 15% college-prep but non-AP or non-AC courses (2–4 Blacks). Our shadowing of Black students in AP and AC courses ensured that at least 1 (3%) Black student was present

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(usually finding 2, 8%, in AC courses), but teachers reported that the most advanced courses regularly had no Blacks. In contrast, sections of African American literature were predominantly Black (82%–90%). This RSAH and the wing organization of the school produced noticeably raced spaces.

Black students were less likely to be found on the building’s third floor because only 2 years of math were required for graduation and Black stu- dents were underenrolled in advanced math courses. Blacks were particu- larly noticeable along North Hall, as it housed courses where they were oversubscribed. Blacks were elsewhere visible on the first floor, as it pro- vided gateways into the building and afforded convenient gathering places. Black students clustered just inside of the main entrance, several yards off the cafeteria, and also gathered near the entrance adjacent to the physical education wing. During lunchtime, Black males dominated the basketball courts in this wing and Black students clustered at select cafeteria tables. Students repeatedly referenced these racialized spaces. One male noted,

There are very strict racial divides. . . . Generally White people don’t hang out with the Black boys who play basketball. There might be a few of them who do, but if you’re a White person, you just don’t walk up to a big group of Black guys playing with basketballs.

He additionally noted that in his brother’s physics class ‘‘there was like one [other] Black kid and she was mixed. And that’s basically the same across the board in all advanced science classes and . . . math classes.’’ Having been asked, ‘‘When is race an issue at Hillside?’’ a low-achieving female responded,

Certain floors . . . it depends where you are. . . . In the morning . . . the majority of the Black kids are right here, by . . . or in the cafeteria, at a couple tables. White kids are usually more down the hall, or mostly on the second and third floor.

Recognition of these divides was poignantly articulated in the following exchange with two students:

[Author]: What do you think would give us insight into Black life at [Hillside]? Deanne: The hallways. Sharon: Yup. Deanne: All the Black people are on the first floor particularly down like [North Hall]. And . . . you see some of them on the second floor and even less on the third floor. Except during second and third hour when they’re all on the third floor. Sharon: Because they’re all taking African American literature [both students are enrolled in the course and laugh].

These noticeably Black spaces—North Hall, the African American litera- ture course, and in or near the gym and cafeteria—did not coincide with

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rigorous academic spaces. The very structure of Hillside’s racial and curric- ular organization not only conveyed that blackness was incompatible with academic rigor but also institutionalized a vulgar divide between the Black academic elite and other Blacks.

Less stellar but still academically competitive students were less racially isolated given this divide. The highest achieving Black male participants either were on the basketball team or connected with other Black males over pickup basketball. High-achieving Black girls were disproportionately represented among track athletes. And all in-depth study participants (save the focal stu- dents) and most high achievers took African American literature, the one course where Blacks constituted the majority. Sidney, Makela, and Jasmine had opted out of this course precisely because it lacked academic rigor.2

High achievers otherwise discussed how ‘‘all the Black people would kind of sit together’’ in courses where they were the minority, which was confirmed by our observations. In contrast, our focal participants had little opportunity to huddle with other Blacks, as their elite course schedule meant that other Blacks were rarely in their courses or even on the halls they traversed; both gender and athletic inclination precluded their participation in extracurricular spaces frequented by high-achieving Blacks. Jasmine explained,

I’m kind of to myself when I’m at school. . . . I . . . really don’t see [other Blacks]. Hillside is structured so that . . . the math department is together. The English department is together. The history depart- ment’s together . . . then towards the backside of the school are . . . classes like ecology, core math, integrated math, and stuff. A lot of my friends are in those classes so I don’t see them at all. . . . We’re separate. And that’s another thing. I feel like when people tell me there’s . . . 11% Black kids in this school, I’m like, ‘‘No there’s not.’’ Cause I only see . . . 3% of them during my school day because I’m [on] the main hall . . . and they’re [on North Hall] and I never go back there. So, to me this school’s . . . segregated in the sense that the Black people are back here and then there’s a few like Blacks in the main halls and then it’s a lot of White kids.

How, then, did our focal participants negotiate their isolation—their rel- egation to rigorous academic spaces that were ostensibly ‘‘White’’ and struc- tured in conflict with how blackness was positioned at Hillside? Moreover, how did these negotiations support their academic success? In showing how their orientations and strategies reflected an exchange between their racial identities and Hillside’s RSAH, we draw upon the experiences of the other study participants to substantiate our findings.

Coping With Second-Generation Segregation

Despite their competitive performance, the focal girls were not among the most socioeconomically privileged participants. Of the 44 students

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interviewed, 13 had two parents with at least bachelor’s degrees and who were white-collar professionals. Sidney fell shy of such privilege, as her mother was a professor and her father, having completed high school, was a book retail manager. Jasmine’s mother had a bachelor’s degree and worked as a bank officer. Her father completed some college and was a supervisor with the local road commission. Makela was 1 of only 7 partic- ipants from a single-parent household. Her parents were separated, and she lived with her mother, who had completed high school and worked as a cus- todian. Makela had minimal contact with her father, who had not completed high school and had worked in a mill factory before retiring.

Only Jasmine attended school solely in the Hillside School District (HSD). Makela, born in a neighboring state, attended school in a predomi- nantly Black, low-income district prior to moving to HSD at age 10. Sidney, having moved to HSD in summer 2000, previously attended a pre- dominantly White school where Latinos were the predominant minority.

Our findings indicate that the distinct strategies by which the girls coped with Hillside’s second-generation segregation and pursued academic success therein were a function of but not wholly determined by differences in their interpretations of what it means to be Black. Each girl emphasized the extent to which being Black is a structured phenomenon (i.e., defined by institu- tionalized inequalities and systematic oppression). However, they varied in whether they perceived similarities between Black oppression and other op- pressions; in how they characterized Black agency, given this oppression; and in how they defined and embraced blackness as a cultural practice. We will show that these distinctions intersected with Hillsides’ racial and cur- ricular organization to influence the social and instrumental interactions with same- and other-race peers that inhered in their academic strategies.

Jasmine—Working in Isolation to Prove Whites Wrong

Jasmine explained that she and her friends were ‘‘really into fashion.’’ This was evident from the first interview. She wore silver hoop earrings and a matching chain that rested on a black mock-turtleneck sweater. She had on a black miniskirt and a fitted black denim jacket. Her fine, blown hair skimmed her shoulders, and she sported wispy bangs. On this day and others, Jasmine looked like a walking advertisement for The Gap.

At Hillside, many Blacks defined Jasmine’s fashion preferences as ‘‘White.’’ In explaining what it meant to ‘‘act White,’’ Black students echoed the perspectives of Carter’s (2006) respondents. They associated whiteness with speech (standard English; valley girl speech), status (having wealth), peer relations (socializing primarily with Whites), style (being ‘‘ditzy’’), the presumption of superiority (acting ‘‘stuck up’’), and dress. Wearing ‘‘expen- sive’’ or ‘‘preppy’’ attire (‘‘tight tops and flared jeans,’’ and clothing from The Gap and Abercrombie and Fitch) were all defined as acting White. In

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contrast, to ‘‘act Black’’ was to wear Pelle Pelle or FUBU clothing lines, to sag if you were a boy, and to wear intricate hairstyles if you were a girl. Otherwise blackness was marked by ‘‘cool,’’ ‘‘confidence,’’ ‘‘clowning,’’ ‘‘loud’’ talk, and/or ‘‘acting ghetto’’ (a classed articulation of blackness that included ‘‘loud’’ talk but was also described as acting ‘‘crazy,’’ ‘‘stupid,’’ or ‘‘with no sense’’).

While Jasmine’s dress, hair, and speech signaled whiteness to many of her Black peers, she bristled at the notion that there was a cultural essence to being Black. She reported that, usually in jest but sometimes in derision, her peers said, ‘‘I sound White. . . . I talk White because I complete my sen- tences. . . . I dress White. My hair is white.’’ She concluded, ‘‘How can you act a certain color? How can you act Black? How can you act Asian? How can you act Latino? . . . That’s who you are. . . . I just think it’s stupid.’’ Thus, when Jasmine explained why Blacks were more likely to find themselves in school trouble, she attributed it to differences in how the ‘‘bad’’ behaviors of Whites and Blacks gets ‘‘publicized,’’ noting that when the ‘‘White person gets in trouble nobody knows about it. . . . Black kids get in a fight . . . its published in the paper . . . so that’s why it seems like the Black kids are . . . more rowdy . . . and they’re not. Everyone acts the same.’’

For Jasmine, being Black was wholly a structured phenomenon. Throughout her interview, she discussed the persistent racial barriers Blacks faced in Hillside and beyond and noted that ‘‘Black people are always gonna have it harder. . . . That’s how it’s always been . . . and that’s how it’s gonna be.’’ ‘‘There’s always gonna be White people to put Black people down.’’ Jasmine, however, avoided drawing parallels between the oppres- sion of Blacks and the oppression of other groups.

Compared to Makela and Sidney, who made repeated references to how Black oppression paralleled that of other groups (i.e., women, other minor- ities, poor people), Jasmine only suggested a parallel once when she noted that ‘‘being Black or any other minority . . . you’re not gonna succeed as easy.’’ In Jasmine’s worldview, Black subjugation was profound and distinct, and this heightened sense of subjugation buoyed her academic motivation. She noted,

I’ve had teachers [where] I’m the only Black kid in my class, and they think I’m . . . stupid. And it feels so good when you say, ‘‘Oh, I got an A on this test, what did the White students do?’’ . . . I feel like . . . I have to prove something to them, and . . . that’s giving me the moti- vation to do well.

Jasmine offered one telling story about how she strategized, given this motivation:

I had to switch AP Analysis teachers this year. . . . I had her freshman year, and second semester. . . . I got a B. . . . I got . . . her again for AP

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Analysis. . . . And the first day of school she comes up to me and says, ‘‘Do you think you can handle this class?’’ She didn’t ask anyone else that. And . . . like in front of the whole class . . . and then for the next week or so she’d always stop, ‘‘Jasmine are you understanding this?’’ Well look I’m not slow. I am not slow!

Jasmine’s father advised her to switch teachers, but she did so only after having outperformed her White peers:

Before I switched out of her class . . . the best joy was a quiz [where] everyone in the class got Cs or Ds, and I was the only A. And I was . . . like, ‘‘Are you sure you don’t want to ask these people . . . if they think they’re gonna do well?’’

Jasmine consequently indicated that she would advise other Black stu- dents, ‘‘Don’t lower your standards because your teacher has lowered her standards for you. . . . Prove them wrong.’’ But Jasmine generally pursued this strategy in isolation, as she was often the only Black student in her courses. She explained,

I don’t . . . have the support from the other kids in my classes like I do from my best friend [Michelle, who is Black and] in English [with me]. . . . We help each other out. . . . With my other classes . . . there’s not . . . people in those classes that [are] like, . . . ‘‘You don’t understand this, I’ll help you.’’ . . . I’m not saying that it doesn’t . . . go on . . . but I haven’t found it. And then I kind of . . . isolate myself in most classes . . . cause . . . I’m the only Black person . . . so I don’t really like feel like I fit in anywhere.

Jasmine reported not fitting in as the only Black person in her advanced courses, but she was not the only minority in these courses. She had Asian American classmates. But as we will illuminate in discussing Sidney and Makela, Jasmine had no basis for relating to them. Having defined being Black as a uniquely structured position, Jasmine did not readily assent that she and her Asian American peers shared the experience of oppression. In the absence of identifying with Asian Americans along these lines and not other- wise articulating that which she might have in common with Asian Americans, Jasmine did not seek them out for support and opted for solitary academic pur- suits in the absence of having other Blacks in a given course. Under the same circumstances, Sidney called Asian American classmates her friends, and Makela identified Asian American associates with whom she studied.

Jasmine was estranged simultaneously from lower income Blacks. She explained that in middle school she was ‘‘tight’’ with a number of lower income Blacks. Then, it ‘‘never seemed to bother them’’ that she was excel- ling academically, had more money, or talked and dressed as she did. They ‘‘still liked [her].’’ Now they perceived her as ‘‘stuck up,’’ and they had ‘‘de- initiated’’ her from the group.

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When we met Jasmine, all of her friends were Black and of her SES. In inquiring how she moved from having a group of Black friends of mixed SES to one that was middle class, she explained (as reported previously) that Hillside’s RSAH prevented her from regularly encountering Black students during the day, as she took classes on ‘‘main hall’’ and they took courses on ‘‘North Hall.’’ She noted,

That’s why I don’t see them. It’s just I can’t. . . . I don’t have time to walk all the way to [North Hall] and miss my next class ’cause [North Hall] is way out there. . . . I’m not walking back there to see y’all. Y’all not that important.

Given Hillside’s organization, Jasmine would have had to risk her aca- demic performance to bridge the physical divide between herself and other Black students. In not taking this risk, she became suspect in the eyes of those Blacks with whom she lacked common cultural referents. Her best friend, Michelle, confirmed this when in defining what it meant to ‘‘act White’’ she explained that other Black students said that about her and Jasmine. She and Jasmine determined that ‘‘they’re saying that about us because we don’t act like them.’’ When asked how they acted, she paused and extended ‘‘I don’t know’’ and false starts before offering being ‘‘loud,’’ ‘‘talking about people,’’ and ‘‘acting up.’’ Michelle explained her hesitant response as follows: ‘‘I didn’t want to use the word ghetto to describe their behavior because I don’t want to describe my people that way. And it’s . . . a stereotype too.’’ Like Michelle, many students felt uncomfortable associat- ing blackness with acting ghetto but indicated that in Hillside ‘‘acting ghetto’’ was a common, albeit problematic, shorthand for lower class Black style.

Hillside’s RSAH prevented Jasmine from being in regular contact with other Black students, and the Blacks with whom she did connect with under these constraints were of her SES. In middle school, Jasmine took the same classes as lower income Blacks and sat by them in class and at lunch.3

However, Hillside was organized such that they were no longer in her clas- ses or on the halls she frequented. She no longer connected with them at lunchtime because she was often studying. And, as a middle-class Black who did not define blackness in cultural terms and who had accoutrements and privileges that signaled whiteness (e.g., standard English, Gap attire), Jasmine’s lower income peers would have difficulty assessing her loyalty. In middle school, the regular interaction Jasmine had with them bridged the class-rooted4 cultural gulf that divided them, but Hillside’s organization circumscribed opportunities for sustaining these relations.

Sidney—Sharing the Burden of an Oppressed Minority

During her initial interview, Sidney wore straight blue jeans, a blue fitted V-neck sweater, and brown loafers. Her hair, which was natural, wavy, and

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parted down the center, was pulled into a bun. Gold butterfly clips sat on either side of the part, shy of her temples. This defined Sidney’s style—subtle with a hint of being ‘‘preppy.’’ Despite dressing in ways that were defined as ‘‘White’’ by Hillside’s Blacks, Sidney strongly identified as ‘‘Black.’’

She explained that while her parents emphasized their tribal ancestry, they ‘‘have always said . . . you have to realize that you are Black and you have to be cautious because opportunities are going to be taken away from you because you are Black.’’ Having acknowledged these inequities, Sidney, in contrast to Jasmine, also defined blackness in cultural terms. For example, she described Black people as being ‘‘more animated overall’’ and her brother as the ‘‘typical Black boy’’ who ‘‘is smart’’ but ‘‘doesn’t want to do his work, doesn’t want to sit still’’—posing a challenge for White teach- ers who ‘‘can’t deal with’’ this ‘‘cultural difference.’’ She maintained that racial achievement gaps were a consequence of Blacks being less committed than Asians and Whites to scholarly endeavors:

I . . . have a lot of Asian friends, and . . . Asian parents . . . they always want that emphasis on education. . . . I don’t think that exists as much in the African and Hispanic communities. . . . They’re . . . like, oral tradition. . . . You don’t have that emphasis . . . on scholarly all the time. It’s more . . . family oriented. . . . The goals are to improve the community, not to . . . make this great, intellectual conquest.

Although Sidney often painted Blacks in culturally uniform strokes, she stressed one variant—ghetto culture—and argued that the demands of Blacks living in poor, racially segregated communities produced distinct ‘‘belief systems and behaviors’’ that facilitated ‘‘survival.’’

But Sidney did not regularly practice that which she defined as culturally Black:

I definitely see myself as a part of . . . Black culture. Especially since I’m . . . aware of . . . our history . . . which is a lot more than most other [Black] people can say. . . . We celebrate Kwanzaa and Martin Luther King Day. I did a mentoring program last year . . . specifically for minority students. My dad goes to [a Baptist] church, and I kind of get involved in that.

For Sidney, being Black was not a function of being embedded in ‘‘Black’’ cultural practices but a function of her knowledge of Black history, her willingness to help other Blacks, and her inclination to engage intermit- tently with activities she defined as Black. Consequently, Sidney felt she had few common referents with which to connect to other Black students. She explained that Hillside’s organization provided her ‘‘no opportunity to meet [other Blacks]’’ but added that she also had ‘‘no common interests’’ with them. She elaborated, ‘‘I’m not real involved with church and that aspect of [Black culture]. Not really involved with sports . . . and that’s . . .

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kind of where you find a lot of [Black students].’’ Having characterized her- self as an ‘‘intellectual,’’ she believed that this orientation was culturally for- eign to Blacks. Perceiving a gulf between other Blacks and herself, Sidney’s close friends were Asian American.

Speaking substantively about Black people’s experience with discrimi- nation, Sidney assumed an ‘‘oppressed minority perspective’’ (Sellers, Smith, Shelton, Rowley, & Chavous, 1998) in that she emphasized the simi- larities between Black and other forms of oppression, as was evidenced in her defense of affirmative action:

People don’t understand affirmative action . . . how it’s created because for years and years Black people couldn’t go to these schools. And . . . they’re still trying to stop Black people from suc- ceeding. And minorities and women—not just Blacks. And [affirma- tive action is] to level the situation out.

Sidney explained that

people tend with their close friends to be with people that have like a similar background so . . . they can empathize . . . like any minority is going to connect with another minority. Because it’s predominantly Asians [in my classes], I think that’s probably why [I connect with them].

Sidney’s oppressed minority perspective combined with her presump- tion that she was more culturally in tune with Asian Americans, as per her scholarly orientation, provided the basis for her befriending Asian Americans and becoming the only Black member of the International Club, which was ‘‘tied into the Asian Student Alliance’’ and was primarily composed of Asian Americans.

In contrast, Sidney reported that throughout her schooling career her Black peer relations were strained, and she suspected that currently Black students thought she ‘‘acted White.’’ Although she had not been directly accused of this, Sidney’s suspicions were likely correct, as Hillside’s Blacks frequently defined ‘‘acting White’’ in ways that captured Sidney’s dress (‘‘preppy’’), orientation (not acting ‘‘ghetto’’), speech (standard English), and social relations (no Black friends).

Sidney, nevertheless, explained that she persevered through academic trials precisely because she was Black, as was the case when she struggled through Calculus BC with Bs instead of As:

I’m one of the only girls and the only Black . . . and I’m not even gonna drop [this course] cause that would make a profound state- ment. . . . This is just a weight that I’ve always accepted. . . . You have to accept your burden and your responsibility.

Sidney persisted in calculus because she believed dropping the course would reflect poorly on girls but especially on Blacks (given her stress of

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‘‘only’’). Despite believing Blacks were intellectually disinclined, Sidney did not want her actions to further stigmatize Blacks. In accepting this ‘‘burden,’’ she demonstrated an allegiance to Blacks, but it was with Asian Americans that she assumed this burden—studying and doing homework with them. These academically supportive relationships began by her ‘‘just talking to them in class, to kind of doing study groups, to being really good friends.’’

At Sidney’s previous school, Asian Americans were less populous, and Hispanics were noticeably absent from the advanced program in which she was enrolled. Then, Sidney socialized and studied primarily with Whites, as the demographics and racial organization of the school did not afford opportunities to interact with ‘‘others’’ whose culture and status reso- nated with how she interpreted being Black and how she situated herself within and outside of this interpretation. In Hillside, Asian Americans were available for bonding, and Sidney identified with them over Whites because her racialized sense of self allowed her to identify with Asian Americans in terms of culture and oppression.

Makela—Strategizing From a Position of Power and Oppression

During the initial interview, Makela wore a black pullover, black bootleg dungarees, and white leather sneakers. Her fashion choices then and there- after were racially neutral for Hillside. They did not signal whiteness, as she did not wear preppy attire, nor were her clothes expensive. Makela ex- plained that she shopped ‘‘on the cheap’’ and indicated when a particular outfit had been purchased from Target (pronouncing the store’s name as if it were a French word). Labels that signaled blackness (FUBU and Pelle Pelle) were not evidenced in her wardrobe.

Like Sidney, Makela believed that being Black was culturally specific: ‘‘We’re more out. [Other] people are all closed in. . . . They . . . have to be . . . this perfect package. . . . We just say what we have to say.’’ She too believed that Black culture included a lower class variant—ghetto culture: ‘‘And then like the ghetto people [in Hillside] it’s mostly Black people. . . . I’m ghetto sometimes. . . . I have ghetto tendencies. But sometimes it’s . . . just like play fighting [in the halls] or just like talking real ghetto.’’ In explain- ing her own ghetto tendencies, she reported,

I just do real ghetto stuff sometimes. People are like, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ I’m like, ‘‘Shh—this is my natural way!’’ . . . Like if my eraser on my pencil’s gone, I’ll take a safety pin [and attach it]. . . . People don’t understand that. Sometimes I just have be ghetto to survive [resounding laughter].

Having defined blackness as a cultural phenomenon that included a lower class variant, Makela celebrated (as per her humor and implicit crit- icism of ‘‘other’’ people) and claimed this culture as her own (given her own

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‘‘ghetto tendencies’’ and invocation of the Black collective ‘‘we’’). She also defined blackness via inequality and assumed an oppressed minority per- spective. She explained in different ways throughout her interview that ‘‘if you’re any type of minority, even if you’re just a woman . . . people are con- stantly pushing you down.’’

Makela, however, emphasized Black agency despite oppression. After complaining that each year during Black History Month the Black Student Union coordinated an assembly that provided a ‘‘lame account’’ of Martin Luther King, she explained what she would prefer:

There’s lots of eras . . . they can do . . . like a decade-by-decade [thing] . . . exploring . . . the 1890s when half the Black male population’s being lynched. . . . Go to the 1900s, . . . express the Black Migration. Go to the 1920s, talk about the Harlem Renaissance. Go to the ’30s, talk about the depression for Black Americans. How it was different and similar to everybody else. Go to the ’40s, talk about . . . Motown . . . how music brought . . . Black people more together. Go to the ’50s, the ’60s. . . . You can talk a little bit about [MLK], but talk about some . . . other people too. Talk about Malcolm X. Talk about Marcus Garvey and the Back to Africa movement. Go to the ’70s. Talk about the Black Panthers. . . . There’s just much elements of Black culture that people don’t know how to represent.

Her desire to have Black people represented more dynamically was fur- ther revealed when she criticized Hillside’s curriculum:5

I don’t get . . . the curriculum . . . the things we read. We read Huckleberry Finn—prize-winning novel. That book sucked. And all of the books that we read, it’s always about some sophisticated White person and then some lowly Black slave . . . and that’s sup- posed to give more people more insight into Black culture. No. Big thumbs down.

Makela explained that she would prefer if they read ‘‘Revolutionary Tales . . . a book of short stories by African American women.’’ Instead they always read ‘‘stuff like Black Boy and Native Son [which are] good books, but there comes a time when you get sick of reading about the same situations.’’

Makela lamented the fact that Hillside’s curriculum emphasized slavery to the exclusion of other Black history and positioned Whites as superior. She was tired of reading books by and about Black men that emphasized Black subjugation, and she wanted to read texts that defined Blacks as rev- olutionaries and were written from Black women’s perspectives. Her interest in illuminating various Black ‘‘eras’’ demonstrated recognition that not only were Blacks victimized but that they also resisted and created.

How did these orientations influence Makela’s schooling orientation and strategic interaction with peers? Like Jasmine and Sidney, she sought to do well partly to counter negative stereotypes regarding Black ability, but she

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did so in ways that affirmed her notion of what it meant to ‘‘be’’ Black. In recounting how she would advise Black freshman, she explained,

[At Hillside] there are going to be a lot of stereotypes towards you. . . . Like, when I walk into my AP and AC classes, it’s just you. . . . You are all alone, and it’s this big barrier to show that you can do it [because teachers] . . . give you this vibe that . . . you’re not going to do well.

Makela demonstrated her own ‘‘show’’ of ability as follows:

In history . . . most people write their term papers on [the] Civil War, Abraham Lincoln, stuff like that. I wrote my . . . paper on Motown and how it affected the music industry. . . . People were like, ‘‘That’s not a term paper.’’ My teacher was like, ‘‘Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this?’’ I was like, ‘‘Whatever!’’ It turns out that I got a 95, the highest [grade]. She was like, ‘‘This is so good.’’ I was like, ‘‘Yes, I knew that.’’ But she did not. . . . Teachers want to trip on you if you’re Black. But I show them.

Makela’s ‘‘show’’ challenged the orthodoxy of Hillside’s curriculum and the privileging of Whites, while also confirming Black agency and ability. But while Makela invoked this show in light of how Blacks were stigmatized in Hillside, she adopted a second strategy to cope with being the only Black in class. Like Sidney, she connected with Asian Americans:

In my AP chem class, some of my friends are Asian, and so in the class before that . . . AP Analysis . . . we sit in there, and we do our homework, and we huddle up together in our minority corner . . . and . . . do all our work together.

Later, she clarified that her Asian ‘‘friends’’ were really only ‘‘associates,’’ as her interaction with them was limited to the classroom. Makela otherwise socialized with Blacks, and those with whom she was closest were of her own SES. She pointed out that her best friend, who was of the same class back- ground as she, initially found her suspect: ‘‘Black people say, ‘Oh well she acts White.’ [But] when they get to know me they’re like, ‘Oh I didn’t know.’ . . . Even my best friend . . . was like, ‘I thought you were . . . stuck up.’’’

Unlike Jasmine, Makela interpreted blackness as both a cultural and structured phenomenon. Unlike Sidney, she regularly practiced what she defined as Black culture, including its lower class variant. These interpreta- tions and practices permitted her to counter suspicions that she ‘‘acted White’’ and positioned her to have strong relations with those of less affluent backgrounds.

Across-Case Interpretation

Given their rigorous academic schedules, Sidney, Makela, and Jasmine were enrolled in courses that were ‘‘White’’ (absent select Black and Asian

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bodies) and were not enrolled in courses that defined institutionally what it meant to ‘‘be’’ Black at Hillside (i.e., to be enrolled in remedial and voca- tional courses on North Hall or in African American literature). Consequently, they rarely encountered other Blacks in their courses (and did not even encounter each other during the semester in which we con- ducted observations). Their Black peers, however, communicated on aver- age that ‘‘acting White’’ was partly signaled by not associating with Blacks or associating exclusively with Whites. Given this extant definition of ‘‘white- ness,’’ the girls’ structured relegation to ‘‘White’’ spaces made them especially vulnerable to criticism that they were acting White. Second-generation seg- regation at Hillside had institutionalized a divide between being Black and being academically elite.

Other high-achieving students were better positioned to manage this divide precisely because Hillside’s academic hierarchy was steep and Blacks were nearly absent at the very top. Thus, while other high achievers were only now and then the single Black student in their courses, the focal participants were regularly the only Black in their courses. The typical Black high achiever could generally ‘‘stay around’’ other Blacks precisely because they were excluded from the most rigorous courses in school (as they were unlikely to be enrolled in AP courses, somewhat likely to be enrolled in AC courses, and most likely to be enrolled in college-preparatory but non-AP and non-AC courses, with the proportion of Blacks increasing as you de- scended the hierarchy). As one high-achieving male stated, ‘‘There’s not enough of us’’ at Hillside but ‘‘there’s enough of us, to get along, and have our own little cliques in class.’’ Similarly, a high-achieving female noted that in leaving her Catholic school things changed from ‘‘[her] being like the only Black person in class [to where] there’s not like that many Black people . . . in [her] classes now, but it’s more than at St. Sebastian.’’ Additionally, most high achievers opted for the one course in which they were destined to be the majority—African American literature—a course with low academic standards. Outside of courses, the high-achieving males coalesced over basketball, and the athletic high-achieving females coalesced on the track team.

Standing at the pinnacle of Hillside’s very steep hierarchy as girls who were not track athletes, our focal participants had only intermittent school- structured opportunities to make public (if they so chose) their social affili- ation with other Blacks. But how the girls individually made sense of what it meant to be Black, and if they adopted or rejected this sense making via their own performances, determined whether they were inclined to bridge the divide that separated them from their Black peers and, if so, with which Black peers they were likely to do so. This sense making, moreover, influ- enced how they strategized for excellence. In short, while the girls varied, as did the other students in the study, in terms of how they made meaning of Black identity, their distinct positioning in Hillside’s RSAH uniquely

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strained their personal capacity to demonstrate their racial allegiance and bounded, in turn, the academic strategies available for their choosing. Below we summarize our findings regarding these girls—illuminating how their orientations and experiences compared with those of other high- achieving students.

Makela was not the only high achiever to perform unabashedly that which she defined as Black culture, but she alone evidenced a keen analysis of Black agency and dynamism and subsequently celebrated Black culture via academic strategies that challenged Hillside’s Eurocentric curriculum. The capacity or inclination to invoke ‘‘Black’’ culture was otherwise impli- cated in focal and other competitive students’ social relations and the aca- demic strategies that were situated therein.

For Jasmine, blackness was not about culture but about oppression. But having defined Black subjugation as distinct, she had no basis for identifying with the only other minorities likely to be in her courses (i.e., Asian Americans). In class, then, Jasmine usually worked hard and alone to excel. Only 3 high-achieving peers similarly perceived blackness as a structured but not a cultural phenomenon. Also middle class, none were as isolated in school as Jasmine, and each reported working with other Black students in class as Jasmine did when she was in AC English with her best friend. Outside of class, these same students were similarly estranged from lower income Blacks. For example, one of these students explained that she was ‘‘different from’’ both her cousins who lived in predominantly Black and underserved areas and most Black students at Hillside. Consequently, she was accused of ‘‘acting white’’ and only connected with ‘‘some Black people’’ at school—attributing the disjuncture to her using ‘‘vowels’’ and being ‘‘soft spoken.’’ Like Jasmine, she was ‘‘hurt’’ by the acting white label and the accordant exclusion ‘‘which had only gotten worse’’ at Hillside, compared to her previous and less stratified schooling experiences.

Jasmine’s experiences differed from those of Makela and other Blacks who reported being ‘‘loud’’ or ‘‘ghetto’’ and who indicated that they were embraced by other Blacks, including those of lower SES. But Jasmine’s failure to meet local definitions of what constituted lower class Black style did not singularly estrange her from poor Blacks. Having previously called less privi- leged Blacks her friends, Hillside’s RSAH ruptured her everyday contact with them. Without regular social contact and in the absence of common cultural referents, lower income Black peers had few means of registering Jasmine’s allegiance. In high school, then, the within-racial group disjunctures had also ‘‘gotten worse’’ for Jasmine, who now only socialized with middle-class Blacks, while her friends had previously been socioeconomically diverse.

In contrast, those like Sidney, who conveyed alienation from their own conceptions of Black culture, reported consistent histories of estranged Black peer relations. For example, one such student indicated, ‘‘I can’t really relate to other Blacks’’ and ‘‘never really did.’’

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I don’t dress like a lot of ’em. . . . I know I act White. I know I talk White. . . . I guess I am Black in parts that . . . you can visually see but that’s it, . . . so my friends are White and we do everything together.

But while Sidney drew upon her perceived connections with Asian Americans (as did Makela) to establish relationships with Asian Americans for the purpose of academic support, these students articulated no basis for connecting with Asian Americans and reported bonding only with Whites for social and academic purposes, save one exception, who noted that she had transferred to the HSD from a California school that had ‘‘a lot of Koreans.’’ There, she included a couple of Koreans among her White friends but noted that there really were not any Koreans at Hillside and she was ‘‘most comfortable’’ with Whites, so her friends were now ‘‘just White.’’ While the ready availability of Asian Americans in Hillside’s most competitive courses provided the demographic platform necessary for Sidney to shift her allegiance to them, this platform was insufficient for these other Black students to evidence social or academic partnerships with Asian Americans, absent a cultural connection or an oppressed minority perspective.

Conceptual and Practical Implications

Nearly a decade ago, Ferguson (2001) argued that in exploring ‘‘the rela- tionship between racial identification and school success’’ we may have ‘‘misplaced’’ our emphasis on the influence of Black peers. This emphasis privileged the impact of Black peer group constructions of Black identity and marginalized analyses of how schools amplify and animate Black stu- dents’ conceptions of what it means to be Black in order to affect Blacks’ educational experiences. In highlighting the racial identity and schooling ex- periences of three exceptionally high-achieving Blacks against other high- achieving but less stellar students, we document the institutionalized gulf between the Black academic elite and other Blacks in one RSAH. This gulf amplified the significance of Black peer group expectations (conveyed on the part of students in this and previous studies) that Blacks demonstrate their racial allegiance by maintaining social contact with other Blacks pre- cisely because the elite were denied structured opportunities for mundane and publicly visible contact with other Blacks. The institutionally circum- scribed opportunities to ‘‘stay around’’ other Blacks intersected with domi- nant peer group interpretations of what it meant be Black to increase the elite student’s vulnerability to suspicion that they were ‘‘acting White.’’ However, the prospect for and mechanisms by which the elite negotiated this divide both socially and academically was dependent on individual in- terpretations and performances of what it meant to be Black that emerged at

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this intersection and were rooted in but not determined by differences in stu- dents’ backgrounds.

Consequently, while we found, as did Carter (2006), that some Blacks were ‘‘cultural straddlers’’ in that they were more adept than others at tra- versing ‘‘the social boundaries between their ethnic peer cultures and their school environments’’ (p. 322), our work additionally demonstrates that these peer cultures are differentiated by social class. By implication, the boundaries separating ethnic peer cultures and school environments are var- iegated, and students’ articulation of particular cultural valences influences not only if they can traverse the boundary but where on the boundary they are able to do so—affecting, in turn, with which subgroup of ethnic peers they are likely to establish a cultural connection. While ‘‘ghetto ten- dencies’’ facilitated relationships with lower class Blacks, middle-class status supported (but did not determine) tastes, styles, and performances that were judged by many Blacks as White and facilitated relationships with the Black middle class. This boundary crossing (or absence thereof) was subsequently implicated in the various academic strategies of focal and other participants (i.e., working alone, with other Blacks, with Whites, with the only other minorities in a course, or with an eye toward challenging a Eurocentric curriculum).

These strategies reflected the intertwined influence of individual differ- ences in the interpretations and performances of Black identity and the school’s demographics and organization. Thus, we cannot solely examine Sidney’s construction of Black identity to understand why in transferring to Hillside her study partners became primarily Asian American when previ- ously they had been White. We also must examine how the character of Hillside’s RSAH differed from that of her previous school and allowed her to animate differently via the race of her academic support group, her defi- nition of being Black, and how she fit into and outside of that definition. Similarly, if Hillside were equitably organized, Jasmine’s conception of blackness would have facilitated her perception that she ‘‘fit in’’ in her clas- ses and would have afforded her regular opportunities to work with other Blacks rather than in isolation—an option available to high achievers in less competitive courses—and one Jasmine adopted when she had other Blacks in class. In short, while the students’ interpretations of blackness may have been consistent across school and classroom sites, the animation of this meaning making (in this case, via peer relations and the associated academic strategies) depended upon the demographics and organization of the site in question. Figure 1 diagrams this interplay between the racial and curricular organization of schools and individual and peer group con- structions of Black identity—illuminating how, through these intersections, institutionalized structures amplify and animate the individual and peer group meanings Black students take to school to produce social and aca- demic consequences.

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The distinct status of our focal participants in this analysis speaks vol- umes regarding the dysfunction of second-generation segregation. Out of 169 Blacks in the graduating classes under study, they alone stood at the peak of Hillside’s RSAH. Skeptics might question whether the school was at fault for the girls’ racial isolation and the accordant way second-generation segregation bounded Blacks’ within-group relations and influenced the rela- tionship between racial identification and school success. Couldn’t poor choices (on the part of high achievers who enrolled in less competitive courses) and inadequate preparation (on the part of those who struggled academically) alternatively account for this? After all, HSD had no official tracking policy, and most teachers we interviewed attributed the docu- mented disproportionality to the cultural deficiencies of Black students and their families (O’Connor, 2006). Three teachers, however, lamented the fact that when it came to course placement ‘‘White students are given

Racial and Curricular Organiza�on of School

Individual Interpreta�ons and

Performances of Black Iden�ty

Black Peer Group Dominant Interpreta�ons

and Performances of Black Iden�ty

Personal Background

(e.g., SES, gender)

Rela�ons with Black-and Other-

Race Peers

Academic Strategies

Figure 1. The generation of Black and other race peer relations and related aca-

demic strategies.

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the benefit of the doubt [and] Black students particularly Black boys aren’t.’’ Two teachers added that ‘‘by the time [they] recognize that [Black students] have been misplaced it’s too late to transition them to the higher level . . . course.’’ A third teacher stated,

We don’t make African American students feel as if they’re welcome in these courses. The students know that teachers doubt their ability to compete in these courses. That stuff hangs in the air. And it is heavy— real heavy.

Four years prior to collecting data, a districtwide student-designed and - administered survey on discrimination substantiated these teachers’ anoma- lous perspectives in finding that many students attributed Hillside’s RSAH and that of other high schools in HSD to differential treatment and expect- ations on the part of school officials (33% of students overall, and 59% and 31% of Blacks and Whites, respectively). During our period of data col- lection, HSD’s superintendent believed that such discrimination was ongoing and was working to close these gaps on multiple fronts, including coordinat- ing professional development opportunities aimed at mitigating teacher and counselor bias, cultivating Black student efficacy, and better educating Black parents on how to navigate the dizzying array of course options.

But the findings of Yonezawa, Wells, and Sema (2002) remind us that ‘‘detracked’’ systems that place ‘‘the onus of the reform on students to take high-track courses’’ (p. 38) are destined to fail because (among other find- ings) minority students were prone to bypass more challenging classes because they hungered for ‘‘places of respect’’—classrooms where they were not racially isolated and their cultural backgrounds were valued. Moving to more advanced courses required them to abandon supportive peer group relations, as would have been the case for Hillside’s high achiev- ers, who reported drawing upon the support of other Black students in their courses, given their placement in competitive but less elite courses. But if ed- ucators assume responsibility for dismantling the structures and norms that compromise the proportionate enrollment of minority students in advanced courses, as Yonezawa et al. advise, this study suggests that educators must also meaningfully attend to the specific constellation of students in their care—how they vary across and within racial groups and will likely function socially and academically in this changed environment given this diversity.

Research on Catholic and other high schools featuring constrained cur- riculums have long demonstrated the capacity of minority students to expe- rience success in schools with high academic press (‘‘America’s Best High Schools,’’ 2010; Bryk, Lee, & Holland, 1993). Additionally, when Black stu- dents were integrated en mass into advanced courses where they would have been previously excluded, they performed on par with students who would have traditionally qualified for this placement (Burris, Welner, &

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Bezoza, 2009). Placing this extant literature in conversation with the findings of this study demonstrates Black students’ capacity for academic excellence in racially diverse schools that are equitably organized and are simulta- neously responsive to the diversity in experiences and racial identifications that define racial groups.

Our emphasis on growing the inclusion of Blacks in college-prep courses may appear misguided in light of recent concern that efforts of this kind ignore the fact that in this century half of the 14 million anticipated job openings requiring a postsecondary degree will not go to bachelor’s degree holders but to people with an associate’s degree or occupational cer- tificate—the so-coined ‘‘forgotten half’’ (Symonds, Schwartz, & Ferguson, 2011). But we submit that as we work toward equitable educational and occupational opportunity, Blacks should not constitute a disproportionate share of the ‘‘forgotten half.’’

Notes

The research reported herein was supported by funding from the Spencer Foundation, the W. T. Grant Foundation, and the Center for the Study of Black Youth in Context.

1These 35 students included only 3 males. While all 3 were taking college-prep courses, their GPAs ranged between 3.2 and 3.5 and they had enrolled in a total of one advanced placement and two accelerated courses between them. Our exclusion of males because they fell far outside of the elite status that characterized our focal par- ticipants meant we did not explore systematically how gender affected boundary cross- ing and the concomitant microstrategies that supported excellence in this racially stratified academic hierarchy (although basketball and track, respectively, figured in the social negotiations of high-achieving male and female students). Given extant evi- dence that Black boys are positioned as ‘‘trouble’’ and Black masculinity may contradict school norms (Carter, 2006; Ferguson, 2001), an analysis of how Black boys pursue excellence is warranted.

2Makela complained that the course assigned ‘‘books we have already read’’ and that the teacher acts ‘‘like [the kids].’’ Jasmine and Sidney, respectively, characterized the course as ‘‘a joke’’ and ‘‘not challenging.’’ When shadowing students enrolled in the course, we observed that teacher-student talk and interactions were often far afield from the core subject matter and students were often off-task.

3Featuring one gateway (math) course that was White dominated, Jasmine’s middle school was less racially stratified than Hillside, and Jasmine’s enrollment in this course left her less isolated.

4Although this gulf was rooted in socioeconomic status differences, it was not determined by them. Other middle class in-depth study participants took up per- formances that made them less suspect. They and others reported that they could be ‘‘loud’’ and ‘‘crazy,’’ and we observed this ‘‘loudness’’ as they moved through the halls (i.e., could often hear their talk and laughter across long stretches of hallway). Others adopted styles of dress that signaled blackness. However, they were less dependent on these ‘‘authenticating’’ performances, as they had greater contact with other Black students.

5Jasmine also criticized Hillside’s curriculum. She was ‘‘mad’’ that ‘‘Western Civ is required,’’ while ‘‘Asian Civ, African Civ, and Latin Civ’’ were electives. She noted, ‘‘We know enough about Europe. . . . One of these [other Civs should be] required. . . . Western Civ . . . can be an elective.’’

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Manuscript received January 25, 2011 Accepted April 14, 2011

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