Red Lines That Fail to Fade
The annual MLK Day assembly was held in mid January of my freshman year of high school. As I made my way from third period to the gym, I watched all of the kids in my grade that were deemed “popular” walk past the entrance and straight to the parking lot. They were ditching the assembly. The kids that always claimed front row at every pep rally and Homecoming willingly forfeited their prize spot. That morning, I watched students of color and members of the Black Student Union speak to a sparse audience. It made me sick, as it demonstrated how many saw the holiday as a chance to ditch school rather than celebrate its significance. As February rolled around, our student government decided to deck the lunch room out in “Kindness Month” decor. The blatant disregard for Black History Month shocked and offended students and faculty alike. My first year at Roosevelt High School was a perfect example of how white privilege allows people to live in harmful ignorance. By not needing to consider race, white people often fail to see the harm their choices and ignorance causes. The fact that skipping an assembly to grab boba or attempting to celebrate kindness month seemed minimal to many exposes the inherent issue: white ignorance.
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Between 1920 and 1940, “redlining” practices and racial ordinances restricted who could buy and rent homes in Seattle neighborhoods. This quite literally meant that certain neighborhoods within Seattle proper would be colored red to be identified as a high financial risk, giving banks an excuse to deny home loans and shoot up interest rates. These red zones not-so-coincidentally lined up with historically black, Japanese, and Jewish neighborhoods. Consequently, people of color found residence in the Central District, called the “CD”, and the International District, which were the only neighborhoods available to them. This left neighborhoods such as north seattle, Madison Park, and Magnolia white washed. Redlining policies effectively segregated the city of Seattle and have left a racial divide that still lives on 80 years later. Roosevelt High School is one of the 21 high schools that belong to the Seattle Public School district. It is nestled into the neighborhood of northeast Seattle, a predominantly white and upper-middle class utopia where everyone flaunts their white fluffy dog with those gross eye boogers and a piercing bark. I am not the exception (shoutout Rocco, love you pup). The school district is a direct reflection of the socioeconomic and racial divide that originated from housing segregation policies.
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Prior to beginning high school, I had not thought much about race. As a white, straight, cis woman, my identity allowed me to walk through life without racial barriers. It is an incredible privilege to be able to approach any situation without considering how your race will affect others’ treatment or perception of you. Until high school, I had only attended small, private schools where the main demographic was upper class and white. As I started public school for the first time at the age of fourteen, I was excited by the idea of entering a more diverse community of students. However, it was at this public high school where the realities of racism, injustice, and socioeconomic divide became the most prevalent to me.
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The Seattle Public School Board wrote Policy 0040 in 2020 to promote anti-racism within the Seattle Public School district. It took four years, from the start of my high school career to the end, for our district to stop trying to convince itself that it was “woke” and actually look at what was going on within schools. High schools on the south end could barely afford books and struggled with providing the required classes to graduate students on time. Drive twenty minutes north and schools were dolling out AP classes like cookies and outfitting mediocre athletes in prominent brands. The racial and socioeconomic divide led to more and more instances of racism, micro aggressions, unfair punishment and segregation within the schools. The board outlined the policy as an effort to “dismantle racist structures within the district” by altering curriculum and amplifying BIPOC voices in policy making.
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The Central District, one of the few neighborhoods that allowed people of color to purchase homes during redlining, became a historically black neighborhood defined by culture and community. Between the 1950’s and 60’s, the black population living in the CD jumped from approximately 40% to 80%. Even after racial covenants were outlawed in 1948, racism continued to plague Seattle’s neighborhoods. Blatant threats were sent to minority groups looking to move to new areas and the socioeconomic barriers between neighborhoods were pronounced. The CD also faced over policing and underfunding, problems Seattle’s minority neighborhoods still face today.
“The Struggles of a Life with Addiction” were the words plastered across the cover of Roosevelt's newspaper during the last week of January 2019. Behind the title was a cartoon of a black man in casual clothing partaking in an implied drug exchange with a white business man. The stories covered that week highlighted the connection between drug abuse and homelessness and the cost of rehab. However, not one story explained the role race plays in these issues. By not examining the systemic racism that is so integral in problems of drug abuse and homelessness, the news team had no explanation for why they illustrated the racial disparity. The Roosevelt News faced instant backlash from students, staff, and the greater city of Seattle for the racist cover that failed to offer any further explanation. The story was instantly picked up by The Seattle Times. I remember thinking about how some of my close friends were on the news team. “They’re not racist”, I thought to myself, “so how could this have happened?” This experience taught me the power of privilege. There is an ignorance that comes with white privilege that allows people to go about life without considering race. As a white person, I never need to consider my race when I walk into a new situation nor do I need to be concerned with how my race will impact my opportunities. The ability to ignore race coupled with the implicit biases that are so systematically woven into society causes ignorant and harmful actions. Although I was not involved in the paper, my whiteness and ignorance could have easily made me fail to see the harm such a cover would cause. Although surely well-intended and, likely, aimed to expose inherent societal issues, the news team caused harm that day. January 25th, 2019 was a dark day for Roosevelt High School, as our school’s issues of ignorance were brought to the forefront and used as an example for the rest of the district. Once the story was picked up by local news, staff and administration sprung into action. News staffers went through six hours of diversity, equity, and inclusion training that educated them on implicit bias and sensitivity. The week following the incident happened to be Black Lives Matter Week, where each day was dedicated to discussions on racism and minority experiences.
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Policy 0040 begins with identifying the systemic and structural racism that lives within the district. It communicates the intention of rebuilding “an anti-racist institution” and intends to leave not a stone unturned in its process of analysis and restructuring. The Board continues to explain that it is for the effects of redlining and the limiting of educational resources across racial groups that policies such as these are necessary. The board separates racism into three categories, individual, institutional, and structural, and communicates that anti-racism will work to disrupt and dismantle all three. Among the policy’s 25 initiatives, a few that stand out include increasing opportunity for students “furthest from educational justice”, amplifying the voices of black and BIPOC in all further decision making, establishing anti-racism audits for all further policies, revamping curriculum that highlights minority history and culture, recruiting more BIPOC to staff and administration, and dismantling zero-tolerance disciplinary practices. Not only does the policy acknowledge the racism and segregation that plagues the district and city, it clearly outlines steps to combating and reforming it.
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By 1970, the dominant 80% black population in the CD had dropped to about 70%. Fast forward 45 years to 2015 and the black population had plummeted to 20%. It’s anticipated that, by 2025, that number will fall below 10%. What can explain this increasingly rapid decline? A phenomenon known as gentrification. Gentrification is the process by which an existing neighborhood, often minority and working class dominated, is taken over by increased rent prices, renovated homes, and a wealthier demographic. Although gentrification may not be as explicitly racist as redlining or racial covenants, it reaps the same results. Seattle, like many other metropolitan cities such as Chicago and Detroit, continues to feel the effects of historical redlining through gentrification.
Over the years, the city of Seattle has become increasingly whiter and richer, with wealthy neighborhoods expanding and infiltrating historically black and minority dominated ones, such as the CD. As the city becomes increasingly expensive and more craftsman, traditional homes are being leveled and built into modern boxes, minority populations have been effectively pushed out and sent southward. Now, the CD has become unrecognizable. Modern, cookie cutter homes can be found sprinkled across each street and many boutique businesses have closed or been replaced. The racial and socioeconomic divide that once was caused by redlining has been maintained by gentrification.
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My senior year of high school was anything but typical. By the time second semester rolled around and my class had wrapped up college applications, the pandemic hit and we never saw a normal day of high school again. As we were all sitting at home, depressed about the cancellation of prom and graduation, the news broke that George Floyd had been brutally murdered by police. The conversation about race had already been at the forefront of many of my student government’s meetings all year and my new perception of how segregated and unjust our country, district, and school was had been formed. However, never had I been so aware of such overt and horrifying racism and injustice. Having not attended a gathering in months, my friends and I jumped at the opportunity when we heard about a BLM march hosted by Nathan Hale, another SPS school just north of us, for the graduating class of 2020. During a time so bleak, desperate, and scary, marching alongside others my age, graduation robe and all, gave me hope. In a world where it seemed that no progress could be made, marching alongside and hearing the stories of such young change agents seemed to be a step forward.
Find my annotated bibliography here.