The age of innocence

African American children and the absence of childhood blamelessness

“The presumption of innocence, the benefit of the doubt, walking without worrying—these should not be hallmarks of white privilege. They are human rights—human rights—that should be enjoyed by all.” 
—Randi Weingarten, American labor leader, attorney, and educator

Implicit bias affects us all. Conclusions borne of humans all-too-ready to resort to assumptions and stereotypes entail consequences running the gamut from simple slights to the use of lethal force.

Consequentiality matters. Dismantling implicit bias takes on added urgency in some arenas, like the police force. The life-or-death power possessed by the police as a necessary element of the job makes addressing implicit bias an imperative.

Implicit bias affects how law enforcement engages with communities of color, with negative, sometimes deadly, consequences. The seemingly endless parade of high-profile deaths of young black men at the hands of white police officers signals the need for further inquiry, investigation, and, where warranted, intervention.

But the effects of implicit bias do not begin and end with law enforcement. Recent data on the negative perception of African American children illustrate its pervasiveness and perniciousness. The data reveals the widely-held perception that African American children lack the relative blamelessness typically associated with youth. What might otherwise be considered mischievousness in white children becomes malevolence in black children.

Consider this: Oklahoma public schools suspend African American children at a rate approximately three times that of white children, a disparity remarkably consistent with national data. To its credit, Tulsa Public Schools (TPS) reduced overall out-of-school suspensions for 2016–2017 by 26 percent.

In a 2014 Journal of Personality and Social Psychology study, researchers asked college students and police officers to estimate the ages of young children. The researchers told the study respondents that these children had committed crimes. The respondents proved far more likely to overestimate the ages of young black boys and less likely to view black children as innocent. They viewed black children aged ten and older as “significantly less innocent than other children of every age group.”

“Most children are allowed to be innocent until adulthood,” analysts wrote, “black children may be perceived as innocent only until deemed suspicious.”

If we see African American kids not as tender, vulnerable, and naive, but rather as hardened, precocious, and menacing—as psychologically fully-formed virtually at birth—then we may deny them the presumption of innocence. In a system fraught with lower expectations for African American children, this innocence conundrum only exacerbates an already-wide achievement gap, not just in school, but in life. It contributes to the much-talked-about school-to-prison pipeline, the confluence of legal policies, education policies, and social constructs that funnel struggling children, often children of color, from schools to jails and prisons.

Locally and nationally, contributing factors to the school-to-prison pipeline include: poverty, implicit bias, school policies (e.g., zero-tolerance; overemphasis on testing), ineffective strategies for meeting the needs of students with disabilities, and the failure to address trauma-related issues tied to the destruction of traditional Native American cultures. The Oklahoma Advisory Committee to the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights hosted school-to-prison pipeline public hearings in 2015 and issued a report containing recommendations in 2016.

Negative perceptions about African American children also extend beyond boys. A report published this year by Georgetown Law’s Center on Poverty and Inequality found similar perceptions about African American girls. People generally view them as less innocent and more grown up than white girls, and therefore needing less nurturing and protection. The disparities in perception emerge as early as age five, preschool for some children.

“If our public systems, such as schools and the juvenile justice system, view black girls as older and less innocent, they may be targeted for unfair treatment in ways that effectively erase their childhood,” said Rebecca Epstein, lead author of the Georgetown report.

These perceptions about our African American boys and girls too often translate into cruel realities: the stunting of individual growth and the blunting of developmental potential, disparities in school discipline, and disastrous interactions with authority figures, including law enforcement officers. When we perceive African American childhood naughtiness as nastiness, we deny those children the essence of childhood: a sense of wonderment, a lack of maturity, and an experimental, trial-and-error approach to life situations.

In “These Are Our Children,” an Essence magazine website video, African American mothers reflect on their role in confronting the end of innocence for their offspring. These mothers arm their children for implicit bias combat, outfitting them with an extra layer of protection to deflect situations their contemporaries simply do not face. While no bulletproof vest exists, two core beliefs lie at the core of the armament. These mothers must: be fully present in their children’s lives and constantly affirm their children’s worth and the value and validity of their dreams and aspirations.

The diagnosis is clear; the cure, less so. Implicit bias is a chronic human relations issue to be treated, but not likely fully cured. The prescription seems straightforward, but difficult nonetheless: Know. Care. Act.

We must know about—acknowledge—these troubling findings. We must care about them enough to say, “No more.” We must act—educate and eradicate such that these implicit biases diminish.

To paraphrase Frederick Douglass: It is easier to build strong black children than to repair broken black men and women. Withholding the presumption of childhood innocence may well haunt us when the denied enter adulthood, scarred by the experience and untrusting of the systems and institutions that facilitated it.

All of us must work to create a world in which all children can be children, with an equal opportunity to succeed—and fail—and to reach their full potential. Investing in them yields economic and social dividends for us and our entire community. In Tulsa, examples abound.

Prominent Tulsa organizations like the Oklahoma Center for Community and Justice (OCCJ) and the Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) facilitate programs and projects that reduce bias, bigotry, and racism and promote self-esteem and leadership among children. The empowerment efforts of groups like OCCJ and the YWCA are among the examples of ways Tulsans work to create a world of possibility and promise for all.

TPS, through its Student and Family Supports initiative, champions supports for all students with food, medical attention, tutoring, transportation, and a host of other services, programs, and resources. The goal is to ensure that all children receive the guidance and help needed to graduate from high school, ready for college or a career.

The new Greenwood Leadership Academy, a partnership between TPS and the Met Cares Foundation, educates PK-1 students by engaging them in an academic program focused on scholarship, entrepreneurship, technology, and citizenship. The school seeks to leverage the Greenwood District history to transform the academic and social outcomes of North Tulsa’s
students.

Innocence lost is painful. Innocence never accorded can be catastrophic.

Hannibal B. Johnson, a Harvard Law School graduate, is an author, attorney, consultant, and college professor. He writes and lectures about the history of the Greenwood District.