The Rake – May 2002

By Meleah Maynard

I Against I: Why can’t we all just get along?

Well, because we’re different. And because we don’t always want to get along. But at Roosevelt High School, Somali and African-American students are learning that taking sides is no longer an option.

Stories differ as to exactly what sparked the violence at Roosevelt the night before the terrorist attacks. It started after the evening’s football practice, when a fight broke out between players—who were mostly African-American—and a group of Somali boys. At a bus stop just outside the school, the war of words quickly came to blows, and somehow in the scuffle an assistant coach was stabbed in the back as he tried to stop the fight. A 14-year-old player was stabbed in the chest. The coach recovered almost immediately. The boy, who is African-American, spent a few days in the hospital. Eventually, both healed. But the incident was far from over.

For weeks after the fight, Roosevelt’s halls were crawling with police looking out for more trouble and reporters looking out for a new angle on a story too titillating to pass up. School violence is always news. But this was even more compelling, because people just don’t get stabbed in schools in this town. And then there is our seemingly endless fascination with black-on-black violence (unless it happens in a ghetto). But this story went one better: Most Somalis are Muslim, and September 11 had just turned all Muslims into the enemy of free people everywhere.

The stabbing made local headlines in print and on television for more than a week. School administrators and teachers suddenly found themselves fielding frantic phone calls from parents wondering whether they should keep their kids at home for awhile or enroll them someplace else. Students pleaded with their parents to allow them to stay at Roosevelt. Some received permission only after proving the school’s safety by physically escorting their parents from one end of the school to the other.

Roosevelt principal Michael Huerth told the press repeatedly that the stabbing was an isolated incident. While it’s true, Huerth said, that real tensions exist between Somali and African-American students at the school, the fight and subsequent stabbing were more a reflection of the widening divide between many Americans and dark-skinned immigrants in a post-September 11 world.

More than half a year has passed since the stabbing. But many students say they still can’t stand at a city bus stop or hang out at the mall wearing a Roosevelt sweatshirt without enduring the familiar jibes. “Roosevelt, isn’t that the school where someone got stabbed? You shouldn’t go there.”

No wonder my initial requests for interviews went unanswered. Here I am, a reporter, looking to stir things up all over again. When teachers did call me back, the suspicion was clear in their voices. Students, once I finally met them, were more blunt. “We don’t think you should write this story,” most conversations began. Conflicts between Somali and African-American students were, for the most part, about miscommunication, they told me. From their point of view, reporters had only made the waters murkier.

As I listened to these young people I couldn’t help thinking how mature most of them seemed, and how easy I had it when I was in high school in suburban Arizona 20 years ago. But what’s happening at Roosevelt is not unique. American and foreign-born students are feuding all across the country in public schools that are ill-equipped to deal with what amounts to forced integration far beyond the bounds of what Brown v. Topeka Board of Education encompassed.

I visited Roosevelt 14 times for this story. I spent many hours sitting in hallways waiting for students whose promises to show up for interviews went unkept. In all that time, I never saw anything approaching violence. Instead, each time the bell rang, I saw students from countries all over the world burst out of classrooms to form a giant, moving mass of colorful clothing, body piercings, chunky heels, low-slung pants, and a loud slurry of different languages trying to make it to class before the next bell rang.

What, no violence? Not even one punch thrown? No, not one.

“Black Americans are not immigrants. They are not to be
compared to immigrants. It’s like comparing apples to bicycles.”
—Mahmoud El-Kati

There are still 10 minutes before Roosevelt’s Unity Group meeting starts, but the room is already packed. “Over here, sit over here!” a Latina girl yells, waving to her friend who nimbly climbs over the back of a nearby chair to grab the only empty seat in the midst of several other Latin-American students. There are about 40 students here—a larger turnout than usual. “It’s probably because there’s pizza,” jokes one boy loudly as he points to five Domino’s boxes stacked on a table in the back of the room.

Unity Group was formed before the school day ended on September 11, says Karen Hart, Roosevelt’s Dean of Students. Hart spent her day on September 11 racing around the school with the message, “We need to unify. NOW!” Principal Huerth had tried to get the group going the year before as a way to help Somali and African-American students work out their differences. But the group floundered. The events of the last two days brought the idea back to life and with a much broader mission to unite the whole school.

On November 7 the first event organized by Unity members took shape. Everyone at Roosevelt stood side by side around the outermost edge of the school’s football field in a symbolic “circle of peace.” Despite the cold, the event lasted almost an hour as students read poems written especially for that day and talked about their concerns and hopes for the future.

This meeting is big enough now that our circle has turned into a lopsided oval. At one end, a large group of Somali girls are quietly talking. They are a striking group in their diaphanous, floor-length skirts and colorful long-sleeved shirts. In keeping with their Islamic faith, most of the girls wear scarves over their hair. Some wear a combination of Muslim and Western styles. About a dozen lanky Somali boys, dressed in the same droopy pants and boxy, oversized shirts as their American peers, are seated across the room flanked by small clusters of teens from other African and Asian countries, about a dozen African-American students, and a handful of white kids.

“We have to get started,” says a tall Somali girl as friends shush the crowd for her. One of the most active Unity members, she is the student who came up with the idea for the circle of peace. “There are too many fights happening in our school,” she explains, adjusting her purple scarf. She tells the group that according to the latest calculations, there have been 50 altercations between freshmen so far this school year. By contrast, she points out, seniors have been involved in only three. Members of the group need to volunteer to go to freshman homerooms to talk to them about some of the things that help keep fights between older kids to a minimum. “We’re on a mission,” she says, smiling. “This is a first step toward building peace in our school.”

It isn’t easy playing the role of cultural ambassadors in high school. Some kids give them a hard time in that “everyone hates a do-gooder” sort of way. But the Unity members believe their efforts to promote cultural tolerance are slowly paying off. To get an idea of how enormous an undertaking this is, consider that more than half of Roosevelt’s 1,500-plus students are immigrants who speak more than 26 languages.

As record numbers of African immigrants have relocated to the United States in the last 10 years, the need to reevaluate the notion that race defines a person seems more pressing than ever, says Mahmoud El-Kati, who teaches African-American history at Macalester College in St. Paul. Clashes between new immigrants and those who already live here are nothing new. But in the case of black Americans and African immigrants, he says, conflicts are too often dismissed with comments such as, “Why can’t black people get along?” Because they can’t, says El-Kati with a laughing sigh. It’s clear he’s said this many times before. They can’t get along because most don’t know the first thing about each other. How could they? They’re from two different worlds. What’s more, race is a myth, El-Kati says. “It’s a false consciousness that we’ve been living under for years. The arrival of so many more black people in this country may finally make it obvious that race is not an indication of who people really are. What unites people is culture. But that’s much more complicated to learn about and understand.”

Roosevelt students are very aware of the ways culture unites them. Their understanding of how it divides them seems more tenuous. Fabian, an earnest and soft-spoken African-American sophomore, says he is struck by how difficult it is just to get people talking about cultural issues. “People don’t see each other as equals. Everyone thinks they’re better than everyone else. People are ignorant. Some want to educate themselves but others just don’t want to take the time to find out what other cultures are about.” But problems between African-American and Somali students are about more than just fear and misunderstanding, Fabian says. Some people are angry too. “I see Somalis as black people but some people don’t. They just see them as foreigners who came here and don’t understand our history. They don’t know the hardships of slavery. They don’t respect what we’ve been through, so they don’t get the respect of being black.”

Somali students bristle at those sentiments. Their families have also suffered. Yet they have moved on. Though they empathize, the way slavery still impacts their black American classmates is as lost on them as it is on most Americans. That happened a long time ago, they say. Why can’t they get over it?

“Kids here were watching Rugrats and Barney while we were running for our lives,” says Sadia, scooting her chair closer to the table. “We didn’t know if we would die tomorrow. [African-American kids] don’t know anything about that. We’ve been through a lot, our generation, you wouldn’t believe what we’ve seen.” Dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt, jeans, and platform shoes, she is both girlish and world-weary.

Amal adds, “You know, we have not had an easy life either. We’ve seen dead people. We’ve seen people starving. We’ve lived in camps and been separated from our families. It’s been very hard. But we’re here now and we have to do the best we can.” The slender 18-year-old senior speaks with a serious intensity. She frowns through a lot of our conversation and mentions more than once that the mentally ill Somali man who was shot by police in South Minneapolis in early March lived in her building. “I can’t believe they killed him. We came to this country to be safe from killing.”

Relations between Somalis and African-American students need to improve. But they worry that more discussion will only exacerbate the conflict. It’s hard, they say, to talk about differences and come together at the same time. Besides, all cultural groups clash from time to time. “It’s normal,” Amal says, slipping a few stray strands of dark hair up under the edge of her scarf.

One Somali boy wonders aloud whether so much attention is paid to their feuds because they are black. “It seems like that’s the way things are here. Police stop black people on the street. Black people have trouble getting jobs. We are always being treated as if we have done something wrong. Our experience is the same now in that way.” No one really responds to his comment. He’s far more Americanized than the others, and his insight about America goes with his high level of assimilation. It isn’t something the others can really relate to. Not yet. He’s been in the U.S. longer than many of his peers. His accent is barely detectable and he says he feels bad about that because he is a Somali and he doesn’t want to lose that identity.

“The realization of African-American indifference to African realities was disappointing and jarring to me at first, but I eventually came to accept that I could not expect black Americans to automatically share African passions for African struggles. I resolved to encourage those black Americans I met who were interested in Africa but was no longer surprised when many were not. And I came to understand that much of the time, on politics as on many things, African-Americans and Africans had entirely different perspectives.”
—Philippe Wamba

Roosevelt’s student population has changed dramatically over the past dozen years. When it opened in 1922, and for decades thereafter, the bulk of the school’s students were Norwegian kids from working-class families living nearby. Today, at around 500 students, Somalis are the largest population. That’s partly because Roosevelt has been designated by the school district as the site that offers bilingual education to Somali students. It’s hard to say just how many Somalis have settled in Minnesota, but estimates range from 3,000 to 50,000.

African-Americans are the next largest group at Roosevelt, with a population about half that of the Somalis. Some students believe that disparity is part of the reason for the friction between the two groups. “Sometimes it feels like they’re overrunning the school,” says Tim, an 18-year-old Unity member. “African-Americans feel like we’ve definitely lost ground since they came here.” To make matters worse, he adds, many Somali boys only add to existing tension by imitating African-Americans. “They’re trying to be the same as us but they aren’t.” In some cases, they mimic the peculiar styles and gestures of gangs, and that gets them into trouble.

“They’re just trying to fit in, I think,” says Abdi, whose white V-neck sweater and slacks instantly mark him as an immigrant. “They try to wear the clothes and talk like [African-Americans], but then they wear the colors and that causes problems.” Abdi hasn’t tried to affiliate with any gangs, but he can understand why some Somali boys do. “When they dress in colors some of them think they will be accepted. But they don’t really know what they’re doing and then it’s too late. They’re in a fight.”

Even though it’s hard to know how to ask questions about someone’s culture, it’s better to just ask them, according to Amal. Because knowing the truth might keep people from saying things that are hurtful or rude. “Like, for example, we pray in the afternoon each day. Before that we go into the bathroom to wash our hands, faces, and feet. And people will look at us or laugh because they don’t understand.”

“They say things like, ‘Oh their feet stink and that’s why they are washing them,’” says Fartun, a straight-talker who interjects her opinion sparingly. She laughs when relating some of these things. But it’s clear that some of it still stings.

“Some people will never understand,” she adds. “They won’t change.” Unlike Amal, Fartun wears the traditional long black scarf over her hair, a long-sleeved blouse, and a skirt that touches the tops of her shoes.

All the education in the world won’t change the minds and behaviors of people who don’t want to get along, says Fabian. “They say they don’t like the idea of unity. They just want to stay apart because they’re too proud. They don’t want to share their culture with someone else. I like to know everything about a person. I don’t want to just believe in stereotypes and not understand anything.” But criticism goes both ways, Fabian continues. “Everyone has to stop blaming each other. Somalis say it’s not their fault because black people are calling them names, and black people say it’s not their fault either because the Somalis are saying things about them. It just goes back and forth.”

For example, Somali students often see their African-American peers from low-income households as coming from families that don’t work hard enough to get what they want. “They’re sometimes jealous of us,” says Fartun. “Our parents work hard to get a better life and see us get ahead. We have gone through so much. Our parents work day and night. They would starve to see us have a good life. This is a free country. Everyone can work.” In addition to providing for their families here in the United States, many Somalis also send money back home to family members, some of whom still live in camps. On the other hand, African-Americans are suspicious of the Somali attitude. Their eagerness to work often leads to grumbling that Somalis are “taking all the jobs.”

“It does seem like that sometimes,” says Tim, who has often heard Somali students say that African-Americans are “lazy” and don’t try hard enough to succeed. “It’s hard to understand how they can come here from a poor country and do better than African-Americans who have lived here all their lives.” It goes back to cultural understanding, says Fabian. “They can never really know what black people have been through here. They come to this country and they strive to do well and that’s good. But some people see it like black people have just run mile after mile, and here Somalis come and jump in and win right before the finish line.”

Immigrants don’t know it, but black Americans have already done the kinds of things they’re doing now and more, El-Kati says. “Nobody has ever worked harder than black Americans when they got to this country. In a lot of ways we were pretty much like Somalis until World War II. But people wear out after so long. You can only believe that if you work hard and do what your father did and his father did and you’ll get ahead for so long before you don’t believe it anymore. A lot of black Americans are just worn out.”

New arrivals get cut slack that’s not available to Americans and they don’t even know they’re getting it, says El-Kati. “There’s a belief in this country that immigrants are harder workers than we are. It’s not unusual for immigrants to come here and do better than Americans. But I ask you, if the U.S. were truly concerned about the welfare of black people, why did it take so long for black Americans to gain their civil rights? African immigrants are here today because the civil rights movement led to the passage of the 1965 Immigration Act. Only then were large numbers of African immigrants able to come here.”

The trouble starts as these new groups assimilate, often finding themselves pitted against this country’s poorest citizens in a struggle for leftovers. But past generations of European immigrants had one thing that saved them. Eventually they came to be seen as white. “If we continue to see race as we see it now, it’s possible that new African immigrants will someday be seen as black people,” El-Kati says. “What will that mean for them in the future? Will they then be treated just like black Americans?”

“A small group of thoughtful people could change the world.
Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”
—Margaret Mead

It’s been six months since the stabbing and a few Unity members are busy putting up orange flyers congratulating students on being violence-free for half a year. A few more group members are gathered in Karen Hart’s cluttered office making posters for the fight prevention campaign. Hart sketches a sun on the back of a piece of paper as three Somali girls look over her shoulder offering suggestions. “No, no we can’t change it all now. We have to get this up in the display case,” Hart says. The girls agree, and gather up the markers and paper they’ll need.

On May 17 Roosevelt will hold its first intercultural festival. By coincidence, May 17 is also Norwegian Independence Day. Mary Lathrop, Roosevelt’s fine arts coordinator, is struck by the irony. “Years ago that’s what we would have been celebrating here. We’ll be having performances and food from a variety of cultures: Hmong, Hispanic, Somali, Irish. It’s a way for us to get to know each other better. It’s a challenging thing. Our kids have to be more open-minded than a lot of people do if we’re going to have peace. But students don’t want to come to school if there isn’t peace. Some of them come from tremendously difficult backgrounds and this is a safe place for them. They like to be here.”

Before retiring to her current part-time position, Lathrop taught English at Roosevelt from 1982 to 1997. But her career in education began in Minneapolis in 1964 when she took her first teaching job. The changes she’s seen could fill a book. “In the old days, when all of my students celebrated Christmas, I would assign an essay about what people did on Christmas Eve. People would say things like, ‘What? You open all your Christmas presents on Christmas Eve?!’ Or, ‘Your family’s stuffing has clams in it?! We don’t do that!’ Now the differences are so much greater, it’s a whole entire mindset. There are so many things that we believe are a certain way. But not everybody has those sets of beliefs. Kids learn that here on a daily basis. It doesn’t take world travel for these kids to learn about the world.”

© Meleah Maynard