Some call me "Flem"
- Dr. Stephen R. Flemming
- I'm an elementary school teacher turned high school English teacher, School-Based Teacher Leader (SBTL), and adjunct professor here in Philly. These posts are the views, as I see them, from room 105, my first classroom number. Enjoy, engage, and share!
Sunday, June 21, 2020
The Spirituality of it All
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
IAsked | On the questions of defunding or disbanding police | My class community responds
Thursday, June 4, 2020
"It's so important to feel like [we're] worth something" | A King HS Town Hall
“Our generation is not a setback, it’s a wake-up call!”
Those were the words of one of Martin Luther King High School’s Class of 2020 graduating seniors.
With permission from our principal, Keisha Wilkins and moderated by my colleague, Angie Crawford, today we held a school-wide town hall. It was primarily for students, but the vast majority of the staff also joined the call. Although only a handful of students logged on at 10am to join the discussion, the entire event was still a whole Black mood!
The goal was to provide a space for students, and perhaps faculty, to express their thoughts and opinions about the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and countless other Black people at the hands, and knee, of police and the reaction of society to State violence against Black bodies.
Together they expressed their collective outrage at the stealing of the lives of these fellow Black Americans from us! Although they completely understood why some chose to destroy property and make off with items from food to toiletries, they didn’t approve. They did, however, celebrate the other nonviolent demonstrations and marches that brought attention, again, to the issue. As one student put it, although she wasn't out there marching, she still had something to say about it, regardless. Her action is to divest from primarily White-owned businesses to support Black-owned businesses.

The conversation, however, didn’t end there. The discussion organically shifted to the pedagogical and inter-relational violence that occurs in schools every day and as experienced by the students participating in the town hall this morning. Well aware that MLK's faculty and staff were on the call, these young people did not hesitate to center their race in the discussion and to relay their experiences with the school and their teachers.
One of the biggest themes from the discussion was on the student-teacher relationship. Citing potential barriers between teachers and Black students, one student felt that while we’re (teachers) often concerned about schoolwork “Nobody takes the time out to find out what’s wrong [with us]”; that between home and school, they seem to be “nonstop knocked down.” That while we’re concerned about grades, they’re asking themselves, “How am I going to eat tonight? Where am I going to sleep tonight?” These are direct quotes.
In some cases, our students are de facto caregivers for younger siblings. “I’m the one putting food in the house! That’s the parents’ job, but they too busy getting high.” This same student noted that he’s often the one trying to maintain his siblings and fight [child] protective services.
The mental trauma that results from all of these experiences is real. “If they don’t care about me, why should I care about me?” Another student co-signed. “I can’t get no peace. Everybody gives up on me so I give up on myself.” It was at this point that our STEP Clinical Coordinator stepped into the conversation to offer her continued mental health assistance, expertise, and support.
The students also offered solutions for us to consider. Sick and tired of trite teaching methods, they told us that we “can’t just give packets and think that I’m gonna do it.” They noted the differences in their learning styles and the necessity for us to adjust our instruction accordingly. They were also quick to note that school is not only about teaching and learning, but about love and compassion. It’s about “letting them (students) know ‘you’re gonna make it, you’re loved, you’re gonna be okay’” One also urged us to “be a parent in a sense to these kids.” She qualified her opinion. “Be a parent to them, then a teacher and a mentor.” “It’s so important to feel like [we’re] worth something," said another.
Stop.
Think about that for a moment.
As moving and imperative as this town hall was up until that point, it got even more moving. One shy student spoke very briefly in the beginning and then again at the end. In short, she was not okay; and that was okay. But when the seniors spoke directly to this freshmen student, sharing words of encouragement and of faith (quite literally as they referenced prayer and God) and typing into the chat their Instagram names (we used to exchange phone numbers) for her to use to reach out to them, that was a poignant illustration of compassion, empathy, and love for all of us to witness and to emulate!
Despite the challenges and exhaustion that often comes with being a Black student in public schools, these young people also took the time to express their love and to appreciate two teachers, in particular, who showed “tough love and pushed me” and who were really “like a mom.” “Y’all really are my superheroes!”
The lesson here is simple. Listen to Black youth! Their words and experiences are not case studies in a book to simply discuss. Their experiences have real implications on how we should approach school. Shrugging off their life’s journey is not an option. To reiterate one young lady’s words, “It’s so important to feel like [we’re] worth something!” Black Lives Matter at school. To some, they always have mattered at school and always will. The problem is that some is not enough. All lives matter when Black lives matter...in society and at school!
Tuesday, June 2, 2020
On Black Lives Mattering | Dear Congresswoman Scanlon
Monday, June 1, 2020
"Peace isn't always the answer, but..." | One student's thoughts about last night
Friday, May 29, 2020
"Their blackness is what I fear..." | One student's thoughts on the murder of George Floyd


Thursday, May 28, 2020
Dr. King on why we can no longer wait
These are Dr. King's words, a small excerpt from his letter from Birmingham Jail to white clergy on why the "Negro" can no longer "wait"...
We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must
be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was “well-timed” in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation.
For years now
I have heard the word “Wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This “Wait”
has almost always meant “Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice
too long delayed is justice denied.”
We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia
and Africa are moving with jet-like speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at
horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who
have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, “Wait.” But when you have seen vicious mobs
lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen
hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast
majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst
of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you
seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has
just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is
closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental
sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward
white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a fi ve year old son who is asking: “Daddy, why
do white people treat colored people so mean?”; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary
to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept
you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading “white” and “colored”; when
your first name becomes “nigger,” your middle name becomes “boy” (however old you are) and your
last name becomes “John,” and your wife and mother are never given the respected title “Mrs.”; when
you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe
stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments;
when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of “nobodiness”— then you will understand why
we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no
longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and
unavoidable impatience.












