By Zoneil Maharaj, Photos by Angelica Flores and Steve Wake
Jul 16, 2007 - 9:20 PM
East Oakland Community High School students march for their education and lose, but only come out stronger
School board member Noel Gallo speaks to a crowd of 250 students and faculty members of East Oakland Community High School on February 27, 2007 at a rally to protest the school's closure. (Photo by Steve Wake)
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News vans are lined up in front of East Oakland Community High School (EOC) in the Oakland foothills. Behind them, a long row of vehicles stretching down Fontaine Street.
At 2:00 p.m., the school day is officially over. Cameramen set up their gear as students pass out purple ribbons so they can wear their colors with pride and solidarity. Wayne Yang and Jeff Duncan-Andrade, co-founders of the school, along with other faculty members make sure things go smoothly, donning all black outfits to distinguish them from the rest. Everyone is praying it doesn’t rain, as it has the last few days. The gray clouds looming overhead seem suspect at first but soon pass.
Roughly 250 students, parents and faculty members have gathered in front of the school campus toting picket signs that read: “Give us time to grow!” and “Don’t take away our future.” Scattered throughout the hallways are messages. One reads: “All great achievements require time.”
On this day, the last day of Black History Month, this crowd of predominantly Latino and African American youths will march eight miles to keep their school open. Starting on Fontaine St., the marches will work their way down Golf Links Rd. to 82nd Ave. and walk 80 blocks to the Oakland Unified School District headquarters on 2nd Avenue.
The school is only in its third school year and has yet to graduate its freshman class that enrolled in the 2004-2005 school year. Faculty members, concerned parents and several members of the district school board argue that if the school is shut down, it won’t be allowed any time to improve or reform. Instead, it will leave the students without a better alternative, throwing them into repeating cycle of failure that has plagued district schools for decades.
State-appointed district administrator Dr. Kimberly Statham will make her final decision on whether or not to keep the school open, citing low California High School Exit Exam and Standardized Testing and Reporting as the main reason for the school’s proposed closure. In previous months, district administrators have been flippant, raising concerns about low enrollment, transcript errors and coursework accreditation.
At the rally, Reverend Zenzile R. Scott of Abundant Light Ministries gives the opening speech. Her daughter, Kayla, is a sophomore who has only been at the school for six months but is already showing progress.
“I’ve seen a dramatic improvement in attitude and grades,” Scott says. “She enjoys doing the work they’re assigning her…She’s highly motivated. No other school has been able to reach into my child and pull out her potential as a student and as a leader.”
Outspoken parent Tyra Robertson makes the boldest claim.
“It’s too much being a minority growing up in America today,” says Robertson, a member of a community organization called Village United. “Here we are in 2007 fighting for our rights to education. If you can’t see this is about color, then you’re avoiding the elephant in the room.”
Accusations of a racist school board, however, carry the least weight. The district representatives range in ethnic and cultural backgrounds, including State Administrator Statham who is African American. Above all else, the school district’s claims are founded on reported poor test data. But the students, parents and faculty members don’t make any qualms about that. They know that the genesis of East Oakland Community High thus far is not a success story. However, what it can be, gives them hope.
“Everybody makes mistakes in life and our school has made mistakes. But we’re trying to make it better,” says student Evarette Lavender, 17, at the rally. “You can’t say we didn’t fight.”
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Cultural Production
After school, the hallways of East Oakland Community High echo with thumping hip hop beats. Inside a classroom, Deandre "Bubba" Jones and two of his classmates sit at computers doing homework. They're sitting at keyboards, but they're not typing essays. Instead, they're composing hip hop tracks using midi keyboards and audio production software.
As the speakers slap drum-driven beats from this next generation of hip hop producers, two girls enter the classroom. One situates herself on the piano while everyone huddles around. She starts with "Lean On Me" as one boy sings along while the others laugh. She switches it up to something more contemporary, Lil' Jon's "Snap Yo Fingers," and every shouts "OKAYYY!" Then she slows it down with John Legend's "Ordinary People" before getting old school with Beethoven's "Fur Elise." And yes, the students rap along to Beethoven, reciting lyrics from Nas' "I Can," which samples portions of the classical composition.
Bubba has an idea. He heads back to the computer and opens up a track he was working on. He has the girl play the "Fur Elise" on the keyboard so he can sample, chop and layer it underneath a drum pattern, giving the classical tune a hard hip hop edge.
Bubba is heavy set with loosely braided cornrows and a neatly shaped thin beard. He wears baggy blue jeans, a long black t-shirt and black and green Air Force Ones. Everyone calls him Bubba because he’s country. “Can’t you tell?” he asks, with a southern drawl. Though he’s been banging on tables and freestyling since the age of 10, he didn’t take rap seriously till May of last year when he enrolled in the hip hop production class, an elective offered by the school. The class helped him realize his potential and gift as a beatsmith.
“Making beats is easy. It’s like a rhythm, feel me? I can hear something and find the key,” says the sharp-eared 18-year-old as he creates a quick drum pattern. “I just can’t stop.”
East Oakland Community High School possesses a progressive perspective and unorthodox curriculum founded on three principles of success: college success, community empowerment, and cultural production – the belief that students should be producers of culture, as opposed to consumers. Along with the basic high school curriculum courses of math, science, history, and humanities, the school offers classes in urban sociology, raza studies, hip hop production and performance, guerilla theater and street photography.
Students learn about the current social issues. In the past, students have taken trips to the U.S./Mexico border to discuss and develop race relations, visited refugee shelters in Tijuana and taken weeklong “learning without walls” retreats in Southern California. Guest speakers at the school have included members of the Black Panthers, Chicano activists the Brown Berets and militant rap duo Dead Prez.
Yes, the school can feel a bit militant. The instructors themselves speak of revolution, making changes and ending oppression. Inside one of the classrooms hang posterboard presentations about social marginalization. The definition of “hegemony” is written on one of the boards: “controlling people’s thoughts, culture, minds, and eventually actions.”
“They don’t see the value in the type of work we’re doing,” says Rosa Cabrera, who makes students look at the world with critical eyes in her street photography class. Along with learning the basics of photography, students document their lives and communities to produce a counter narrative to their negative representation in the media. During the march, the students will equip themselves with film cameras and document the day.
Bubba is no longer enrolled in the hip hop production class but drops in after school to work on his music. He’s an artist on the youth label Young, Ethnic and Powerful (YEP) Records founded by Clemente Pena, teacher of the hip hop production class.
In Pena’s classroom is a stage with turntables and drum set with an Oakland Raiders blanket hanging behind it. One student is scratching records in Pena’s office. Another is preparing to step into the isolation booth to record her vocals. The classroom was a storage room until Pena and students spent weeks clearing it out. Together, they built the stage and studio. For many, this is a second home. On nights and weekends, this is where Jones and others can be found sometimes staying as late as 9 p.m.
“They knows this is what we want to do,” Jones says. “It’s better than us being on the streets.”
This will soon come to an end.
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