Overview

Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools is a book written by Jonathan Kozol in 1991 that discusses the disparities in education between schools of different classes and races. It is based on his observations of various classrooms in the public school systems of East St. Louis, Chicago, New York City, Camden, Cincinnati, and Washington D.C.. His observations take place in both schools with the lowest per capita spending on students and the highest, ranging from just over $3,000 in Camden, New Jersey to a maximum expenditure of up to $15,000 in Great Neck, Long Island.

In his visits to these areas, Kozol illustrates the overcrowded, unsanitary and often understaffed environment that is lacking in basic tools and textbooks for teaching. He cites the large proportions of minorities in the areas with the lowest annual budgets, despite the higher taxation rate on individuals living in poverty within the school district.

Retrieved from “

http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Savage_Inequalities&oldid=601088529

Directions

You will read an excerpt from Savage Inequalities. For this writing assignment:

Download the Savage Inequalities .

Summarize in your own words the following from the article:

Irl Solomon’s history class
Jennifer’s views on schools in poor area (Bronx & East St. Louis)
Contrast East St Louis with the school in Rye, New York

After your summary, include your own perspective/opinion about this article. For example, given your experience do you think in the past 20 years anything has changed in our system? If so, what? If not, why have things remained the same?

You should submit a 2 page double-spaced document written in 12 point font for this assignment. Remember that you must have a Turnitin score, and it must be under 30%, for credit on this assignment. Make sure to remove the questions from your submission (just number your answers).

328
1

H
erbert]. G

ons

dysfunctional for the affluent
m

em
bers of society. A functional analysis thus

ultim
ately anives at m

uch the sam
e conclusion as radical sociology, except that

radical thinkers treat as m
anifest w

hat I describe as latent: that social phenom
–

ena that are functional for aftlnent
or pow

erful p
u

p
s

and dysfunctional for
poor or pow

erless ones persist; that w
hen the elim

ination of such phenom
ena

through functional alternatives w
ould generate dysfunctions for the affluent

or
pow

erful, they will continue to persist; and that phenom
ena like p

o
v

eq
can

be elim
inated only w

hen they becom
e dysfunctional for the affluent or pow

er-
ful, or w

hen the paverless can obtain enough pow
er to change society.

Postscript

O
ver the yean, this article has been intelpreted as either a direct attack on

functionalism
or a tongue-in-cheek satirical com

m
ent on it%

either
intelpre-

tation is D
ue. I w

rote the article for tw
o reasons. First and forem

ost, I w
anted

to point out that there are, u
n

fo
h

ately
, positive functions of poverty w

hich
have to be dealt w

ith by antipoverty policy. S
e

~
n

d
,
I w

as trying to show
that

functionalism
is not the inherently conservative approach for w

hich it has
often been criticized, but that it can he em

ployed in liberal and radical
analyses.

3
1
Savage Inequalities

JO
N

A
TH

A
N

K
O

ZO
L

Socid inequality so pelvades our society that it leaves no area of life
untouched. C

onsequently, because w
e are im

m
ersed in it, w

e usually
take social inequality for granted. W

hen social inequality does becom
e

vbible to us, itssocinl ofigins often disappear from
sight. W

e tend to
see social inequality as part of the m

tuvd ordeling of liferaften ex-
plaining it on the’hasis of people’s individual chm

cteristi5s. (“The)”
are IzA

er, dum
ber, less m

oral-or w
hatever-than

nthorhers. That’s the
reason they have less than w

e do.) This selection, how
ever, m

akes the
sociol base of social inequality especially vivid.

To exam
ine the U.S.educational+em

.
K

ozol haveled m
und the

counq and ohsew
ed schools in pow

, m
iddle-cllasr,and +

m
m

m
uni-

ties. B
ecause schoals are financed largely by local property taxes, w

ealth-
ier m

rnm
unities am

able to offer higher salaries and
ath

ad
m

ore
qualified teachers, offer m

ore specialized and advanced m
urses, pur-

chase new
er texts and equipm

ent, and thereby
their children

better education. The extent of the disparitjes, how
ever, is m

uch greater
than m

ost people &.
As you read about.the tpg rchgds ~nrrasted

in this selectiah hy to project yourself intn each s
iW

n
. H

aw
da you

think that living in these c

om
m

unities and being a sbdent in these
schools w

ould likely affect you-not
only w

hat you ]em
, hut also your

\view
s on life,as w

ell asynur entire future?

“EA
STO

F A
N
Y
W
H
E
R
E
,
”

w
ites a reporter for the St. h

i
s

Post-
m

a
tc

h
, “often evokes the other side of the tracks. B

ut, for a k
t-tim

e visitor
suddenly deposited on its eerily em

pty streets, E
ast St. L

ouis m
ight suggest

another w
orld.” T

he city, w
hich is 98 percent black, has no obstetric services,

no regular trash collection, and tew
lobs. N

early a third of its fam
ilies live on

less than $7,500 a year; 75 percent ofits population lives on w
elfare of som

e
form

. T
he U

.S. D
epartm

ent of H
ousing and U

rban D
evelopm

ent describes it
as “the m

ost distressed sm
all city in A

m
erica.”

O
nly three of the 13 buildings on M

issouri A
venue, one of the city’s

m
ajor thoroughfares, are occupied. A

13-story office building, tallest in the
city, has been boarded up. O

utside, on the sidew
alk, a pile of garbage fillsa

ten-fw
t crater.

T
he city, w

hich by night and day is clouded by the fum
es that pour from

vents and sm
okestacks at the Pfizer and M

onsanto chem
ical plants, has one of

the highest rates of child asthm
a in A

m
erica.

It is, according to a teacher at Southern Illinois U
niversity, “a repositoly

for a nonw
hite population that is now

regarded as expendable.” The Past-
D

ispatch describes it as “A
m

erica’s Sow
eto.”

Fiscal shortages have forced the layoff of 1,170 of the city’s 1,400 em
ploy-

ees in the past 12 years. T
he city, w

hich is often unable to buy heating fuel or
toilet paper for the city hall, recently announced tllat it m

ight have to cashier
all but 10 percent of the rem

aining w
ork force of 230. The m

ayor announced
that he m

ight need to sell the city hall and all six fire stations to raise needed
cash. Last year the plan had to he scrappedafter the city lost its city hall in a
court judgm

ent to a creditor. E
ast S

t Louis is m
ortgaged into the next century

hut has the highest property-tax rate in the state. . . .
The dangers of exposure to raw

sew
age, w

hich backs up repeatedly into the
hom

es of residents in East St. Louis, w
ere first noticed at a public housing pro-

ject, V
illa G

riffin. Raw
sew

age, says the Part-D
ispatch, overflow

ed into a play-
ground just behind the housing project, w

hich is hom
e to 187 children, “form

ing
an o

o
d

g
lake of. ..tainted w

ater.”. ..A St. Louis health official voices her dis-
m

ay that children live w
ith w

aste in their hac!yrds. ‘T
he developm

ent of w
ork-

ing sew
age system

s m
ade cities livable a hundred yean ago,” she notes. “Sew

age
‘

system
s separate us from

the Third W
orld.” . ..

The sew
age, w

hich is flow
ing from

collapsed pipes and dysfunctional
pum

ping stations, has also flooded basem
ents all over the city. The city’s vac-

uum
truck, w

hich uses w
ater and suction to unclog the city’s sew

ers, cannot be
used because it needs $5,000 in repairs. Even w

hen it w
orks, it som

etim
es

can’t be used because there isn’t mo;ey
to hire driven. A

single engineer now

does the w
ork that 14 others did before they w

ere laid off. By A
pd the pool of

overflow
behind the ViUa

G
riffin project has expanded into a lagoon of

sew
age. Tw

o m
illion gallons of raw

sew
age lie outside the children’s hom

es. …
. .. Sister Julia H

uiskam
p m

eets m
e on K

ing B
oulevard and drives m

e to
the G

riffn hom
es.

As w
e ride past blocks and blocks of skeletal structures, som

e of w
hich

are still inhabited, she slow
s the car repeatedly at railroad crossings. A

seem
–

ingly endless railroad train rolls past us to the right. O
n the left: a blackened

lot w
here garbage has been burning. N

ext to the burning garbage is a row
of

12
w

hite cabins, charred by fire. N
ext: a lot that holds a heap of auto tires and

a m
ountain of tin cans. M

ore burnt houses. M
ore bash h

s
. The train m

oves
alm

ost im
perceptibly across the flatness of the land.

Fifty years old, and w
earing a blue suit, w

hite blouse, and blue head-
cover, Sister Julia points to the nicest house in sight. T

he sign on the front
reads M

O
TEL. “It’s a w

horehouse:
Sister Julia says.

W
hen she slow

s the car beside a group of teen-age boys, one of them

steps out tow
ard the car, then backs aw

ay as she is recognized.
The 99 units of the V

illa G
riffin hom

es-tw
o-story

structures, brick on

Savage loequalities
1

331

the first floor, yellow
w

ood ahov-fonk
one border of a recessed park and

playground that w
ere Elled w

ith fecal m
atter last year w

hen the sew
age m

ains
exploded. T

he sew
age is gone now

and the grass is very green and look invit-
ing. W

hen nine-year-old Serena and her seven-year-old hrother take m
e for a

w
alk, how

ever, I discover that our shoes sink into w
hat is still a sew

age m
arsh.

A
n inch-deep residue of fouled w

ater stiU
rem

ains.
Serena’s hrother is a handsom

e, joyous little boy, hut trouhlingly thin.
Three other children join us as w

e w
alk along the m

arsh: Sm
okey, w

ho is nine
years old hut cannot yet tell tim

e; M
ickey, w

ho is seven; and a tiny child w
ith a

ponytail and big brow
n eyes w

ho talh a constant stream
of w

ords that I can’t
alw

ays understand.
“H

ush, Little Sister,” says
ere
Q

.I ask for her nam
e, but “Little Sister” is

the only nam
e the children seem

to know
.

“There go m
y cousins,” Sm

okey says, pointing to tw
o teen-age girls above

us on the hill.
The day is w

m
,

although w
e’re only in the second w

eek of M
arch: sev-

eral dogs and cats are playing by the edges of the m
arsh. “It’s a lot of squirrels

here,” says Sm
okey. ‘T

here go one!”
“This here squirrel is a friend of m

ine,” says Little Sister.
N

one of the children can tell m
e the approxim

ate tim
e that school begins,

O
ne says five o’clock. O

ne says six. A
nother says that school begins at noon.

W
hen I ask w

hat song they sing after the flag pledge, one says, “Jingle
B

ells ”
Sm

ke
cannot decide if he is in the second or third grade.

@
-year-old M

ickey sucks his thum
b duringthe w

alk.
The children regale m

e w
ith a chilling stov as w

e stand beside the m
arsh.

Sm
okey says his sister w

as raped and m
urdered and then dum

ped behind his
school. O

ther children add m
ore details: Sm

okey’s sister w
as 11 years old. She

w
as beaten w

ith a brick until she died. The m
urder w

as com
m

itted by a m
an

w
ho knew

her m
other.

The narrative begins w
hen, w

ithout w
arning, Sm

okey says, “M
y sister has

got Idled.”
“She w

as m
y best friend,” Serena says.

“They had beat her in the head and raped her,” Sm
okey says.

“She w
as hollering out loud,” says Little Sister.

I ask them
w

g
n

it happened. Sm
okey says, .Last year.” Serena then cor-

rectshim
and sh&

ays, “Last w
eek.”

“It scared m
e because I had to cry,” says Little Sister.

“The police arrested one m
an but they didn’t catch the other,” Sm

okey
says. Serena says, “H

e w
as som

e idn to her.”
B

ut Sm
okey objects, “H

e w
eren’t no idn to m

e. H
e w

as m
y m

om
m

a’s
friend.”

“H
er face w

as busted,” Little Sister says.

Serena describes this sequence of events: “They told her go behind the
school. They’ll give her a quarter if she do. Then they hock her dow

n and
told her not to tell w

hat they had did.”
I ask, ‘W

hy did they M
her?”

“They w
as scared that she w

ould tell,” Serena says.
“O

ne is in jail,” says Sm
okey. “They cain’t find the other.”

“Instead of raping little hitty children, they should find them
selves a

w
ife,” says Little Sister.

“Ihope,” Serena says, “her spirit w
ill com

e back and get that m
an.”

“A
nd kill that m

an,” says Little Sister.
“G

ive her another chance to live,” Serena says.
-M

y teacher cam
e to the funeral,” says Sm

okey.
‘W

hen a little child dies, m
y m

om
m

a say a star go straight to H
eaven,”

says Serena.
“M

y grandm
a w

as m
urdered,” M

ickey says out of the blue. “Som
ebody

shot tw
o bullets in her head.”

I askhm
, “Is she really deadBY

.
“She dead all right,” say? M

ickeyi “She w
as layin’ there, just dead.”

“I love m
y friends,” Ser&

a say! “I don’t care if they no k
n

to m
e. I care

for them
. I hope his m

other have another baby N
am

e her for m
y friend that’s

dead.” “I have a cat w
ith three legs,” Sm

okey says.
“Snakes hate rabbits,” M

ickey says, again for no apparent reason.
“C

ats hate fishes,” Little Sister says.
“It’s a lot of hate,” says Sm

okey.
Later, at the m

ission, Sister Julia tells m
e this: “The Jefferson School,

w
hich they attend, is a decrepit hulk. N

ext to it is a m
odem

school, erected tw
o

years ago, w
hich was to have replaced the one that they attend. B

ut the con-
struction w

as not done correctly. The roof is tm
heavy for the w

alls, and the en-
tire structure has begun to sink.It can’t he occupied. Sm

okey’s sister w
as raped

and m
urdered and dum

ped betw
een the old school and the new

one.” . ..
T

he problem
s of the streets in urban areas, as teachers often note, fre-

quently spill over into public schools. In the public schools of East St. Louis
this is literally the case.

“M
artin Luther K

ing Junior H
igh School,” notes the Post-D

ispatch in a
story published in the early spring of 1989, “w

as evacuated Friday afternoon
after sew

age flow
ed into the idtchen. . . . T

he kitchen w
as closed and stn-

dents w
ere sent hom

e.” O
n M

onday, the paper continues, “East St. Louis
Senior H

igh School w
as aw

ash in sew
age for the second tim

e this year.” The
school had to be shut because of “fum

es and backed-up toilets.” Sew
age

flow
ed into the basem

ent, through the floor, then up into the kitchen and
the students’ bathroom

s. The backup, w
e read, “occurred in the food prepa-

ration areas.”
School is resum

ed the foU
ow

ing m
orning at the high school, but a few

S
avage inequalities

I
333

days later the overtlow
recurs. This tim

e the entire system
is affected, since

the m
eals distributed to evely student in the city are prepared

the tw
o

schools that have been flooded. School is called off for all 16,500 students in
the district. T

he sew
age backup, caused by the failure of tw

o pum
ping sta-

.

~

rirjns, lirrre, orrsials nr rhc laiel~ school o, slllrr dow
n tile filtnacrf.

.It
\lu

n
ll

Lurhtr K
ing, thr: pnrking lot dadF

n
l arr ~

1
9

0floodrd. “It’s
a

disaster,” says a legislator. “The streets are under w
ater; gaseous fum

es are
being em

itted from
the pipes under the schools,” she says, “m

aking people iU.”
In the sam

e w
eek the schools announce the layoff of 280 teachers, 166

cooks and cafeteria w
orkers, 25 teacher aides, 16 custodians and 18 painters,

electricians, engineers and plum
bers. The president of the teachers’ union

says the cuts, w
hich w

ill bring the size of ldndergarten and prim
ary classes up

to 30 students, and the size of fourth to tw
elfth grade classes up to 35, w

ill
have “an unim

aginable im
pact” on the students. “If you have a high sch~ol

teacher w
ith five classes each day and betw

een 150 and 175
students . . . , it’s

going to have a devastating effect.” T
he school system

, it is also noted, has
been using m

ore than
chers,” w

ho are paid only
$10,000 yearly, as a

East St. Louis, says the chairm
an of the state board, “is sim

ply the w
orst

possible place I can im
agine to have a child brought up. . . . The com

m
unity is

in desperate circum
stances.” S

po~ts and m
usic, he observes, are, for m

any
children here, “the only avenues of success.” Sadly enough, no m

atter how
it .

ratifies the stereotype, this is the truth; and there is a poignant aspect to the
fact that, even w

ith class size soaring and one quarter of the system
‘s teachers

being given their dism
issal, the state hoard of education dem

onstrates its gen-
uine but skew

ed com
passion by attem

pting to leave sports and m
usic nn-

touched by the overall austerity.
Even sports facilities, how

ever, are degrading by com
parison w

ith those
found and expected at m

ost high schools in A
m

erica. T
he football field at East

St. Louis H
igh is m

issing alm
ost everything-including

pa
. There a?

a
couple of m

etal pipes-no
crossbar, just the pipes. B

Shann

coach, w
ho has to use his personal funds to purchase Q

,the football
o

s and has had to
cut and rake the football field him

self, has dream
s of having goalposts som

e-
day. H

e’d also like to let his students have new
uniform

s. The ones they w
ear

are nine years old and held together som
ehow

by a patchw
ork of repairs.

K
eeping them

clean is a problem
, too. The school cannot afford a w

ashing m
a-

chine. The uniform
s are carted to a corner laundrom

at w
ith fifteen dollars’

w
orth of quarters. . . .

In the w
ing of the school that holds vocational classes, a dam

p, unpleas-
ant odor fds the halls. T

he school has a m
achine shop, w

hich cannot be used
for lack of staff, and a w

oodw
orking shop. T

he only shop that’s occupied this
m

orning is the auto-body class. A m
an w

ith long blond hair and w
earing a

w
hite sw

eat suit sw
ings a paddle to get children in their chairs. ‘W

bat w
e need

the m
ost is new

equipm
ent,” he reports. “I have equipm

ent for alignm
ent, for

Savage Inequalities
I

335

exam
ple, but w

e don’t have m
oney to install it. W

e also need a better form
of

egress. W
e bring the cars in through tw

o other classes.” C
om

puterized equip-
m

ent used in m
ost repair shops, he reports, is far beyond the high school’s

budget. It looks like a very old gas station in an isolated rural tow
n. . . .

The science labs at East St. Louis H
igh are 30 to 50 years outdated. John

M
cM

illan, a soft-spoken m
an, teaches physics at the school. H

e show
s m

e his
lab. The six lab stations in the room

have em
pty holes w

here pipes w
ere once

attached. “It w
ould he great ifw

e had w
ater,” says M

cM
illau. . . .

Leaving the chem
istry labs, I pass a double-sized classroom

in w
hich

roughly 60 ldds are sitting fairly still but doing nothing. “This is supenised
study hall,” a teacher tells m

e in the conidor. B
ut w

hen w
e step inside, he

finds there is noteacher. “The teacher m
ust be out today,” he says.

Irl Solom
on’s history classes, w

hich I visit next, have been described by
journalists w

ho cover East St. Louis as the highlight of the school. Solom
on, a

m
an of 54 w

hose reddish hair is turning w
hite, has taught in urban schools for

alm
ost 30 yead. A graduate of B

randeis U
niversity, he entered law

school hut
w

as draw
n aw

ay by a concern w
ihckvil-rights. “A

fter one sem
ester, I decided

that the law
w

as not for m
e. I said, ‘G

o and find the toughest place there is to
teach. See if you like it.’ I’m

still here. . . .
“I have four girls right now

in m
y senior hom

e room
w

ho are pregnant or
have just had babies. W

hen I ask them
w

hy this happens, I am
,told, W

ell,
there’s no reason not to have a baby. There’s not m

uch for m
e in public

school.’ The truth is, that’s a pretty honest answ
er. A diplom

a from
a ghetto

high school doesn’t count for m
uch in the U

nited States today. So, if this is re-
ally the last education that a person’s going to get, she’s probably perceptive in
that statem

ent. A
h, there’s so m

uch bitterness-unfairness-there,
you h

a
v
.

M
ost of these pregnant girls are not the ones w

ho have m
uch self-esteem

. . . .
”V

ery little education in the school w
ould be considered academ

ic in the
suburbs. M

aybe 10 to 15 percent of students a
n
in truly academ

ic program
s.

O
f the 55 percent w

ho graduate, 20 percent m
ay go to four-yeir colleges:

som
ething like 10 percent of any entering class. A

nother 10 to 20 percent m
ay

get som
e other ldnd of higher education. An equal num

ber join the m
ilitary. . . .

“I don’t go to physics class, because m
fib has no equipm

ent,” says one
student. ‘T

he typew
riters in m

y typing class don’t w
ork. T

he w
om

en’s
toilets . . . ” She m

akes a sour face. “I’ll he honest,” she says. “Ijust don’t use
the toilets. If I do, I com

e back into class and I feel dirty.”
“Iw

anted to study Latin,; says another student. “But w
e don’t have Latin

in this school.”
‘W

e lost our onlp-Latin teacher,” Solom
on says.

A
girl in a w

hite jersey w
ith the m

essage D
O

T
H

E
R

IG
H

T TH
IN

G
on

the front raises her hand. ‘Y
ou visit other schools,” she says. “D

o you think the
childien in this school are getting w

hat w
e’d get in a nice section of St. Louis?”

I note that w
e are in a different state and c

q
,

“A
re w

e citizens of East St. Louis or A
m

erica? she asks. …
In a seventh grade social studies class,the . . . teacher invites m

e to ask
the class som

e questions. U
ncertain w

here to start, I ask the students w
hat

they’ve learned about the civil rights cam
paigns of recent decades.

A
14year-old girl w

ith short black curly hair says this: “Every year in
Febm

ary w
e are told to read the sam

e old speech of M
artin Luther K

ing. W
e

read it every year. ‘I have a dream
. . . . ‘ It does begin toseem

-w
hat

is the
w

ord?” She hesitates and then she finds the w
ord: ‘perfunctory.”

I’H
sk her w

hat she m
eans.

‘W
e have a school in East St. Louis nam

ed for D
r. K

ing,” she says. ‘

T
he

school is full of sew
er w

ater and the doors are locked w
ith chains. Evely stu-

dent in that school is black. It’s like a tem
ble joke on history.”

It startles m
e to hear her w

ords, hut I am
startled even m

ore to think how

seldom
any press reporter has observed the irony of nam

ing segregated
schools for M

artin Luther K
ing. C

hildren reach the heart of these hrpocrisies
m

uch quicker than the grow
n-ups and the experk do. . . .

…
The &

n
ride from

G
rand C

entral Station to suburban Rye, N
e
w
Y

ork,
takes 35 to 40 m

inutes. T
he high school is a short ride from

the station. B
uilt

of handsom
e gray stone and set in a landscaped cam

pus, it resem
bles a N

F
England prep school. I enter the school and am

directed by a student to the
office. The principal, a rel?xed, unhurried m

an w
ho, unlike m

any urban princi-
pals, seem

s gratified to have m
e visit in his school, takes m

e in to see the audi-
torium

, w
hich, he says, w

as recently restored w
ith private charitable funds

($400,000) raised by parents. T
he crenellated ceiling, w

hich is w
hite and spot-

less, and the polished dark-w
ood paneling contrast w

ith the collapsing struc-
ture of the auditorium

at [another school I visited]. T
he principal strikes his

fist against the balcony: “They m
ade this place exh.em

ely solid.” Through a
w

indow
, one can see the spreading branches of a beech tree in the central

~
urtyardof the school.

In a student lounge, a dozen seniors are relaxing on a cq
eted

floor that
is constructed w

ith a num
ber of tiers so that, as the principal explains, “they

can stretch out and he com
fortable w

hile reading.”
T

he library is w
ood-paneled, like the auditorium

. Students, all of w
hom

are w

hite, %
seated at private carrels, of w

hich there are approxim
ately 40.

Som
e are doing hom

ew
ork; others are looking through the N

ew
York Times.

Every student that I see during m
y visit to the school is w

hite or A
sian, though

I later learn there are a num
ber of H

ispanic students and that 1
or 2 percent

of students in the school are black.
The typical student, the principal says, studies a foreign language for four

or five years, beginning in the junior high school, and a second foreign lan-

p
ag

e (Latin is available) for tw
o years. O

f 140 seniors, 92 are now
enrolled in

AP
[advanced placem

ent] classes. M
axim

um
teacher salaq w

ill soon reach
$70,000. Per-pupil funding is above $12,000 at the tim

e I visit.
The students I m

eet include eleventh and tw
elfth graders. The teacher

tells m
e that the class is reading R

obert C
oles, Studs Terkel, A

lice W
alker. H

e
tells m

e I w
ill find them

m
ore than w

illing to engage m
e in debate, and this

turns out to be correct. Prim
ed for m

y visit, it appears, they nm
ow

in directly
on the dual questions of equality and race.

Three general positions soon em
erge and seem

to he accepted w
idely.

T
he

n
t

that the fiscal inequalities “do m
atter very m

uch” in shaping w
hat a

schoo
offer (‘That isobvious:

one student says) and that any loss of funds
@i?

in R
ye, as a potential consequence of future equalizing, w

ould be dam
aging to

m
any thingsthe tow

n regards as quite essential.
The econd

osition is that racial integration-for
exam

ple, by the
of black c

n from
the city or a nonw

hite suburb to this school-w
ou

d
m

eet w
ith strong resistance, and the reason w

ould not sim
ply be the fear that

certain standards m
ight decline. The reason, several students say straightfor-

w
ardly, is “racial” or, as others say it, “out-and-out racism

” on the part of
adults.

rd. oslhon vo~ced by m
any students, hut not d

,is +at equity is

Q

Q

T
he@

s?
basically a go

to ‘be’
deslred
;

and should be pursued for m
oral reasons, hut

“w
ill probably m

ake no m
ajor difference” since poor children “still w

ould lack
the m

otivation” and “w
ould

fail in any case because of other prob-
lem

s.” At this point, I ask if they can td
y

say “it w
ouldn’t m

ake a difference”
since it’s never been attem

pted. Several students then seem
to rethink their

view
s and say that “it m

ight w
ork, but it w

ould have to start w
ith preschool and

the elem
en

q
grades” and “it m

ight he 20 years before w
e’d see a differ-

e~
ce.”

A
t this stage in the discussion, several students speak w

ith som
e real feel-

ing of the present inequalities, w
hich, they say, are “obviously unfair,” and one

student goes a little further and proposes that “w
e need to change a lot m

ore
than the schools.” A

nother says she’d favor racial integration “by w
hatever

m
eans-including

busing-ven
if the parents disapprove.” B

ut a contradic-
tory opinion also is expressed w

ith a good deal of fervor and is stated by one
student in a rather biting voice: “I don’t see w

hy w
e should do it. H

ow
could it

be of benefit to us?
Throughout the discussion, w

hatever the view
s the children voice, there

is a degree of unreality about the w
hole exchange. The children are lucid and

their language is w
ell chosen and their argum

ents w
ell m

ade, hut there is a
sense that they are dealing w

ith an issue that does not feel very vivid and that
nothing that w

e say about it to eachother really m
atters since it’s ‘just a theo-

retical discussion.” To a certain degree, the skillfulness and cleverness that

Savage
Inequalities

1
337

they display seem
to derive precisely from

this sense of unreality. Q
uestions of

unfairness feel m
ore like a geom

etric problem
than a m

atter of hum
anity or

conscience. A
few

of the students do break through the note of unreality, hut,
w

hen they do, they cease,to be so agde in their use of w
ords and speak m

ore
aw

kw
ardly. Ethical challenges seem

to threaten their effectiveness. There is
the sense that they w

ere skating over ice and that the issues w
e addressed

w
ere safely frozen underneath. W

hen they stop to look beneath the ice they
s

M
to stum

ble. The G
erhal com

petence they have acquired here m
ay have

been gained by building w
alls around som

e regions of the heart
“I don’t think that busing students from

their ghetto to a different school
w

ould do m
uch good:’

one student says. ‘Y
ou can take them

out of the envi-
ronm

ent, but you can’t take the environm
ent out of them

. If som
eone grow

s
up in the South Bronx, he’s not going to be prone to learn.” H

is nam
e is M

ax
and he has short black hair and speaks w

ith confidence. -B
using didn’t w

ork
w

hen it w
as tried,” he says. I ask him

how
he know

s this and he says he saw
a

television m
ovie about B

oston.
‘,I agree that it’s unfair the w

ay it is,” another student says. ‘W
e have A

P
[A

dvanced Placem
ent] courses and they don’t. O

ur classes are m
uch sm

aller.”
B

ut, she says, “putting them
in schools like ours is not the answ

er. W
hy not

put som
e A

P classes into their school? Fix the roof and paint the halls so it d

not he so depressing.”
The students h

o
w

the term
“separate hut equal,” hut seem

unaw
are of

its historical associations. “K
eep them

w
here they are hut m

ake it equal,” says
.a girl in the front row

.
A

student nam
ed Jennifer, w

hose m
anner of speech is som

ew
hat less re-

fined and polished than that of the others, tells m
e that her parents cam

e here
from

N
ew

Y
ork. “M

y fam
ily is originally from

the Bronx. Schools are hell
there. That’s one reason that w

e m
oved. I don’t think it’s our responsibility to

pay our taxes to provide for them
. I m

ean, m
y pe-e&

ethere
and

they w
anted to get out. There’s no point in com

isfo a
lace_&

&
w

here
schools are good, and then your t

a
x

e
~

s
~

~
~

~
c

;
~

~
t

h
~

pl~

i%
ere you began.”

I bait her a hit: “D
o you m

ean that, now
that you are not in hell, you have

no feeling for the people that you left behind?”
“It has to be the people in the area w

ho w
ant an education. If your par-

ents just don’t care, it w
on’t do any good to spend a lot of m

oney. Som
eone

else can’t w
ant a good life for yon. You have got to w

ant it for yourseIf:
Then

she adds, how
ever, “I agree that everyone should have a chance at ta

h
g

the
sam

e courses. . . .
”

I ask her if she’d think it fair to pay m
ore taxes so that this w

as possible.
“I don? see how

that benefits me:
she says.