Report card. Although the Washington, D.C., schools were among the first to desegregate after Brown, Sousa's story was eventually repeated all over the country. With the prodding of federal judges, legal segregation was ended, and, in fits and starts, repeated attempts were made to integrate through busing and magnet schools. Too often, especially in big cities, white flight and resegregation accelerated. Still, throughout the 1970s and early 1980s, black scores rose on the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP), the respected federal test known as "the nation's report card." And yet by 1988, African-Americans and Hispanics (the latter unmentioned in Brown but now becoming the nation's largest minority group) had stopped catching up to their white and Asian-American contemporaries.
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Today, the disparity remains troubling, persistent, and large. Last year, 6 of 10 black fourth graders who took the NAEP reading test had not even partially mastered grade-level skills. Only 25 percent of whites scored that low. In high schools, the situation is just as dismaying: Black and Hispanic seniors on average read and do math only as well as white eighth graders.
Surprising as it may seem in 2004, Chief Justice Earl Warren's opinion in Brown made little reference to scholastic achievement. Instead, it focused on the psychological damage of segregation and asserted that as long as education is separate, true equality of opportunity cannot exist. But now, as the racially charged fights over desegregation recede into the past, a new national debate over how to close the minority achievement gap has emerged. Not only is integration hard to achieve, but it is no longer universally assumed to be the key to excellence. If anything, the argument has been reversed: To have any hope of luring whites into majority-black schools, educators must first raise academic achievement in those classrooms. The 2001 No Child Left Behind Act is the most prominent example of this intellectual shift. The law does not concern itself with how integrated a school is. It simply demands achievement from every student, in every school.
To reach that goal, schools must find ways to prevent disorder and indifference from overwhelming education. Novak's experience is all too common. As he tries to continue his social-studies lesson, Phillip McPherson, a 14-year-old with a high forehead and watchful eyes, swivels around in his chair and flirts with a classmate. "Phillip, turn around," Novak calls. Phillip ignores him. "That's two demerits, Phillip, turn around." Phillip picks up a pink notebook on the girl's desk and begins to flip through it. Novak moves beside him. "OK, that is detention; don't make it an hour visit," Novak says. Phillip does not look up at the teacher. Novak breathes in and exhales: "Phillip. Turn. A. Round."
Novak is not a bad teacher. He possesses, according to his colleagues, great promise, energy, and vision. He tutors students after school and tries to design class projects that catch kids' attention. But the placement of a brand-new instructor in a tough, failing school, without meaningful guidance or support, is just one example of the systemic failure of minority education in America.
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