They’re Not Gonna Take It: Hope in the Haze

At almost every music education conference I attend, I pose a question that usually splits the room in half. I ask the audience if they have ever considered the intersection of music education and White supremacy. 

According to the National Center for Education Statistics (NCES), White teachers make up about 80% of public school faculty, but in Music Education, 90% of the workforce identifies as White. This teacher demographic data sits awkwardly against a student population that is increasingly more racially diverse.

Given the disproportionate percentage of White music teachers, it does not shock me that so many conference participants are surprised to learn that music education is bolstered upon White supremacy. Over the years, I’ve presented to pre-service music educators, graduate students, music teachers, academics, and typically half the audience is surprised at the convergence. 

Recently, I had the privilege of talking to an audience of high school music students about a career in music education. More specifically, I taught them about an approach to music education I am developing called culturally generative pedagogy. In short, this is a critical teaching framework based upon culturally responsive pedagogy and centered on community arts making. Music classrooms are powerful contexts for students to explore themselves, name their worlds, and join in community with others. But, these can only happen in learning spaces where identities are valued, and students are encouraged to share, create, and generate music individually and together. Through this framework, educators can nurture communities of belonging with students through culturally generative music making—that is, music that comes from the people within the community to form something wholly new. For more information, you can read my 2023 article, “Altogether Different: Student Belonging and Culturally Generative Music Making.”

As I often do, I introduced myself to the teen musicians and asked the question. To my surprise, not a single high schooler raised a hand to indicate surprise at music education and White supremacy being connected. I was shocked. I paused, then asked the question again, sharing that this had never happened before. I elaborated on what I was asking—I had to know that they understood the question. 

This was a racially diverse group of at least 50 teenagers from towns and cities across the state. I asked them if anyone could explain their response to me. 

A student raised their hand and then calmly told us that their generation sees the 

injustice and they aren’t going to take it. The rest of the group shook their heads and 

clapped in agreement. The contrast between adult surprise and youth awareness 

awed me. 

Sometimes it is hard to feel hopeful when we work within systems centered around efficiency rather than care. When the implicit White supremacy we probably never noticed is replaced by the explicit kind we can’t help but see, it’s hard to feel hopeful. When we are bombarded with hate and vitriol from national leaders who far too many support, the future can seem daunting. In a system where the efficiency of accountability metrics is valued over relationships with students—and the messiness of that responsibility—hope can feel like a luxury. 

And, when things seem bleak, I know that I will continue to think back to that group of high school students that refuse to take it. They have inherited a world they did not make or ask for—a world with violence, hate, and injustice. Yet, that room of teens exuded joy, connectedness, and determination, which reminded me that our world is also filled with kindness, love, and goodness.

White supremacy is about the systems that continue to privilege White peoples, linguistics, cultural values, norms, and traditions over—and at the expense of—everyone, and all else. It’s the often ignored lens that enables many White music educators to overlook that 90% of the profession is White even when the majority of students are not. Culturally generative pedagogy is centered on individuals in community building something new—something that represents their authentic selves. The high school music students I met that day are doing just that—and I can’t stop thinking about this.

They give me hope. Where are you finding hope in the haze?

Brian Gellerstein is an Assistant Professor at Berklee College of Music, where he challenges the next generation of educators to rethink the intersections of music, race, and leadership. A graduate of UMass Boston, his doctoral research deeply investigated the impact of White supremacy and gatekeeping within the music classroom. Today, he focuses on developing culturally generative pedagogy as a pathway toward authentic student belonging.