Throughout American history, Black educators who dare to teach truth have found themselves thrust into the center of a societal storm, vilified as boogeymen intent on dismantling the very fabric of society. In a world built on systems of injustice, to challenge those systems is to invite scrutiny, backlash, and demonization.
Yet, if being a nightmare to those who perpetuate inequality and oppression is the price of truth-telling, then so be it. History demands no less of us, and the stakes are too high for silence. To teach truth is to engage in resistance.
Black educators who critically examine history, challenge dominant narratives, and uplift the lived experiences of marginalized communities are seen as threats because their work disrupts the status quo. When we center the histories and voices of the oppressed, we expose the foundational cracks of a society built on exploitation, erasure, and inequity.
Marimba Ani once said, “Our healing as a captive and exploited people lies in our ability to acknowledge our fear of the system that has been constructed to imprison us. Acknowledging that fear is the operating principle. Acknowledgement of the fear will take away its power.”
For Black educators, this truth is visceral.
The system, be it public education, media, or political structures was not designed with us in mind. In fact, it was explicitly constructed to exclude us, to devalue us, to teach us lies about who we are and what we can become. Yet, the act of naming these injustices through teaching our children to recognize and confront these systemic barriers is itself a form of liberation. It is an act of defiance that terrifies those invested in maintaining the status quo.
The vilification of Black educators who teach truth is not new. From Carter G. Woodson to Septima Clark to contemporary educators fighting for culturally relevant pedagogy, there has always been a coordinated effort to undermine our work. The attacks often take the form of public defamation, targeted harassment, and accusations of being “divisive” or “unpatriotic.”
This playbook is designed to silence. As Derrick Bell aptly observed, “The silence of many who you suppose are on your side is so predictable that protesters must consider it part of the risk of confronting authority.”
When Black educators are targeted, the outcry from supposed allies is often muted or nonexistent. The burden of advocacy and defense falls disproportionately on the shoulders of the oppressed. It is a lonely and precarious position, but one that must be embraced with courage and clarity of purpose.
Consider recent debates over the inclusion of African American history in school curricula. Across the country, legislators and interest groups have rallied to ban books, erase mentions of systemic racism, and prohibit discussions of intersectionality. Educators who persist in teaching these topics are painted as agitators, radicals, and even threats to democracy. But what these critics fail to acknowledge is that democracy itself demands the constant interrogation of power.
Teaching truth is not antithetical to democracy; it is its lifeblood. Those who cling to these systems do so because they benefit from them. Their livelihoods, identities, and power are tied to the maintenance of inequality. When Black educators teach truth, they reveal the fragility of these systems, and in doing so, they provoke a visceral reaction from those who see any form of equity as a loss.
To pursue justice is to accept that you will be attacked. Those who seek transformation—especially in the realm of education—must expect to be misunderstood, maligned, and defamed. The work of justice is not for the faint of heart.
As W.E.B. DuBois wrote, “Freedom of speech and of thinking can be attacked in the United States without the intellectual and moral leaders of this land raising a hand or saying a word in protest or defense, except in the case of the saving few.”
Those “saving few” are often Black educators who refuse to be silenced, even in the face of overwhelming resistance. The attacks are not merely personal; they are strategic. They are designed to undermine the work, to sow doubt, and to create an environment where others are too afraid to follow.
Some might advise those dedicated to justice to be more covert and quiet. But that is the point of the attacks: to silence, to render invisible, and to make the work impossible. To retreat in the face of such opposition is to cede ground to those who would rather perpetuate injustice than confront uncomfortable truths.
If being truthful means being vilified, then I welcome the role of the “bad guy” in a society built on injustice. If teaching our children to see the world as it is and imagine a better one makes me a nightmare to those who benefit from oppression, then so be it.
History has shown us that those who challenge systems of power are rarely celebrated in their time. They are cast as villains, only to be vindicated decades or centuries later. The irony is that those who vilify Black educators for teaching truth often position themselves as defenders of freedom and morality. But what kind of freedom requires the suppression of ideas? What kind of morality depends on the erasure of history? True freedom requires confronting uncomfortable truths. True morality demands justice, not just for some, but for all.
Despite the risks, the work of teaching truth must continue. Our children deserve to know their history, to see themselves reflected in their education, and to be equipped with the tools to navigate and transform the world. They deserve educators who are unafraid to name injustice and who refuse to settle for a society that consigns them to the margins.
This work is not easy. It requires courage, resilience, and a deep commitment to justice. It requires us to confront our own fears and to stand firm in the face of opposition. But it is also profoundly rewarding.
To see a student light up with the realization that their voice matters, that their history matters, and that they have the power to shape the future—this is why we do what we do.
For those who support justice, this is a call to action.
Speak up.
Defend the educators who are under attack. Challenge the policies and practices that seek to silence truth. As W.E.B. DuBois warned, “Than this fateful silence there is on earth no greater menace to present civilization.” The silence of allies is complicity. The time to act is now.
To my fellow Black educators: Know that you are not alone. Your work matters. Your voice matters. The backlash you face is not a reflection of your worth but a testament to the power of your impact.
Keep going. Keep teaching the truth. Keep being a nightmare to those who fear justice. In the end, we may be cast as villains in the narratives of those who oppose progress. But in the eyes of the students whose lives we touch, we are heroes.
And that is more than enough.
