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PHOTO BY STEFAN LEGACY
Edmonton’s first Black female principal reflects on the challenges and triumphs of leading in the face of discrimination
FROM A YOUNG AGE I UNDERSTOOD what racism was and how it affected me, even though I didn’t have the language to identify what was happening to me. Attending school in the 1960s was a very unfulfilling experience for me. The daughter of Caribbean immigrants living in a French-speaking community, I was one of three Black students in my elementary school. My classmates referred to me, every day, as “la Negresse”. When my parents complained, my teachers claimed that they never heard this derogatory language used.
I loved to read, yet I never had a chance to read aloud at school, even though my parents spoke to the teacher on many occasions about it. In fact, when I think about it, I learned to read at home rather than at school. The teacher in the classroom never acknowledged my presence; it was like I was invisible. My spelling tests or artwork were never posted.
I remember these days vividly, and I am sure that’s why I wanted to become a principal. I wanted all students to know that they have an ability to learn, that they are valued, and to have positive experiences in their lives each day between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m.
My most indelible memory of high school was the one and only time I met with the guidance counselor. She looked me straight in the face and told me I could be a waitress when I completed high school.
University was grueling. There were less than a handful of Black students attending the faculty of education at McGill University. My marks were marginal, not because I did not comprehend the material, but rather because of unfair assessment practices. In several courses, no matter what I wrote, I received a low grade. In one course, after writing an essay, a high-achieving student and I exchanged names on the work we submitted to the professor. The other student received an A for my work. The assignment that I submitted (and that was actually completed by the high-achieving student) received a C. When I challenged the professor on my mark, he threatened to have me kicked out of the faculty. I couldn’t let that happen, as my parents had scrimped and saved to pay for university.
I was interviewed several times before landing a teaching position at a special needs high school. In previous interviews, I was continually told that I interviewed well but wasn’t a good fit for the school. This special needs school had numerous Black pupils from the Caribbean who had been shepherded there by community schools because of limited reading and writing skills. The administration, though kind, left me to sink or swim on my own.
My journey to leadership was challenging. Over the years my applications to leadership school and entry leadership positions were rejected more times than I care to remember. Many district leaders received their first appointments in their late 20s or early 30s. I was in my mid-40s when I was part of a presentation to Alberta Education regarding programming for a challenging student who had very demanding parents. The superintendent of the day was very impressed with the presentation, and at the end of the meeting, he openly questioned his administrative team as to why I was not in leadership school. That night changed the trajectory of my career from teacher to teacher leader.
Courage and skill
Four years later the news broke to the Black community and district staff that I had been appointed as a principal. Community leaders were astonished and pleased to have a “headmistress” in their midst. Some teachers, particularly those who did not know me or many Black people, often referred to me as “Aunt Jemima.”
I quickly learned that being a Black leader in white institutions required great courage and skill. I grew to realize that it was not necessarily the message that would be challenged, but rather the messenger. I am a large woman with a compelling voice and a strong will, and my actions were often interpreted as pushy and aggressive. In actual fact, I was passionate and fervent about my work as a leader. I was always intentional about making my language invitational, and I was mindful of the image I projected.
Once when I brought watermelon to work, a teacher asked if it was a preference because my people were former slaves.
My car became a topic of discussion. Although it was perfectly conditioned, it was older and so my co-workers wondered aloud if I was imitating the main character from the TV sitcom Sanford and Son, who drove a beat-up car. (I have driven a Lexus ever since.)
I was demure in my attire and never came to school in casual dress. Being Black, I always felt a bit of self-doubt in decision making, so I created copious documentation each night about the situations and incidents that had taken place earlier that day.
There were ongoing instances where I faced discrimination manifested as an open lack of respect for me as an educational leader. A sitting trustee once asserted to senior administration that I was not good enough for a particular school. The trustee subsequently went on to question my decision making in an open forum. Several parents whom I did not know felt so embarrassed for me that they reported him to the superintendent.
I vividly remember the numerous times I was faced with the question: “Are you really the principal?” One of these occurred when a parent came into the school holding the school newsletter with my picture on the front page. He refused to speak with me because he felt it was a printing error and that I really couldn’t be the principal. In another instance, a fire inspector totally ignored me because he thought someone was pulling his leg in directing him to my office in order to have his questions answered. Many other times this question was posed by parents, students, community stakeholders, customs officers, provincial staff and even a school trustee.
Leadership challenges
Supervising teachers was emotionally draining. I felt like I was walking on eggshells. White teachers seemed to have a sense of entitlement and minimal experience as victims of racial discrimination. Parents, students and colleagues typically revered and respected them. With me, many teachers were consistently professional, but some pushed the boundaries, creating challenging situations around ethical and moral issues. For example, I spoke to a coach who was using racial slurs and derogatory language when “motivating” players during practice. He claimed my displeasure with his conduct was because I was too sensitive and said the students understood what he meant. When I relieved him from his coaching responsibilities, my name became mud with other school and district coaches.
I stand by that decision, knowing that in the current sports climate, my decisions around that teacher’s conduct would be wholeheartedly supported.
Speaking up for one’s race is often viewed as exclusionary. I was called racist for being too lenient when responding to discipline issues related to Black students. Sometimes, when teachers spoke about Black students, they forgot there was a Black educator in the room. One glare usually interrupted the conversation. Invariably the teacher came to me to apologize. I took that opportunity to model how to speak in a respectful manner about Black students.
My last several years of leadership were spent at district office in central services. I took on several projects related to diversity. It was then that I realized how many meeting opportunities senior administration offered to religious groups and alternative educators; however, there were also several gatekeepers who kept racialized community members from receiving the same opportunities.
Working the human resources angle to hire qualified teaching staff for the fledging diversity program was extremely frustrating. It was easy for department officials to hide behind policies and regulations to stifle support for marginalized children. I ended up having two of the best paid “lunchroom aides” to facilitate the work in diversity — it was the only way I could hire them.
Like many Black educators, I retired earlier than necessary. The constant adversity and discrimination wore me down. It was like a slow drip of water on my head. I am so pleased to see that policies and regulations are now being reviewed to address the needs of marginalized students. Good teachers continue to examine their practice in order to meet student needs. Anti-racism education is becoming an ongoing professional development discussion.
My true joy is knowing that more than a handful of teachers I mentored have become assistant principals, principals, consultants and university professors. These educators are influencing the work around racism, Indigenous studies, sexual orientation, gender, poverty and transitioning immigrant/refugee students into Canadian schools.
In this George Floyd moment, now is the time to speak difficult truths, to pry open the doors to address systemic racism in our schools. We will never eliminate systemic racism from our schools’ future until we recognize its uncomfortably tight grip on our past.
Rosalind Smith was Edmonton’s first Black female principal. She began her leadership career in 1996.
