It's the Same Old Story in Jena Today

For many years, I taught a course on the psychology of racism and led professional-development workshops for teachers. Most of the teachers I worked with were white, and they often remarked about how uncomfortable they were talking to students, especially in racially mixed settings, about the nation's painful heritage on race.

One elementary-school teacher said: "It is hard to tell small children about slavery, hard to explain that black young men were lynched, that police turned fire hoses on children while other men bombed churches, killing black children at their prayers. This history is a terrible legacy for all of us." Another teacher confessed that she could not look her students in the face when she taught such topics. It was too painful, too embarrassing.

But silence is not the answer. We can engage students -- from preschool through college -- in age-appropriate conversations about our collective past that take us beyond the usual talk of victims and victimizers. In the aftermath of the noose incident, history teachers at Jena High School could have talked about the courage of Ida B. Wells, an African American woman who led an anti-lynching campaign in the late 19th and early 20th century. Wells's campaign, which garnered international attention, still provides a lesson in empowerment for black students who all too often see themselves depicted in history only as victims. And white Jena students could have learned about the white supporters who joined Wells in her campaign to end this form of terrorism, a potential source of pride for those who don't want to identify with the role of victimizer.

The weeks that followed the noose incident could have led to a cross-racial dialogue in Jena, bringing together a coalition of parents to talk about how they might reduce racial tension in the school. Clergy members -- black and white -- could have created opportunities for residents of this small town to take a stand against bigotry, a "not in our town" kind of demonstration seen several years ago in Montana, where Jewish residents were being targeted with anti-Semitic graffiti, fliers and vandalism.

Such interventions may be difficult in this small mill town, where racial tensions have existed for years. But we will never know what might have been accomplished. What is certain is that in the absence of dialogue, violence erupted. The school burned, multiple fights broke out, whites and blacks were injured, and the lives of six young black men were placed in limbo.

In the end, the tree -- the source of shade and the symbol of separation -- was cut down. Now there is no refuge for anyone, and it feels like Little Rock all over again.

Landrieu's 2005 resolution concludes that we must remember our history "to ensure that these tragedies will be neither forgotten nor repeated." Next time, can we talk about race?

Beverly Daniel Tatum is president of Spelman College and the author, most recently, of "Can We Talk About Race? And Other Conversations in an Era of School Resegregation."