Michael Hogan

EDUC 557
Final Paper and Journals
12/13/19
 For ‘DaShawn’ and ‘Santana,’ a ninth grader and senior, respectively at Gray Ledge High

School, a neighborhood school in West Philadelphia, developing a publicly acknowledged ‘hard’

identity is a matter of safety, and even survival. These students, who played a central role in my

first paper, offer insights into the ways in which fighting, understood to be a common form of

risk taking behavior at Gray Ledge, is a form of identity formation. Indeed, Nakkula and

Toshalis (2006) argue that, “...adolescent risk taking is an effort toward creative expression, an

effort to create an interesting and unique self” (42). As I have argued prior, the creation of “an

interesting and unique self” is complicated by the acute challenges students face, particularly

around threats to personal physical and psychological safety as well as that of close friends and

family members. The development of a hypermasculine identity, a ‘hard’ identity, is a response

to these threats. It is a means of establishing personal safety and providing protection.

Fighting exists in a highly nuanced and contextualized space at Gray Ledge. The district

policy that prohibits fighting is commonly and candidly disregarded in both formal and informal

spaces and settings. Fighting, understood to be a part of students’ lived experiences, is openly

discussed, with students being advised by the school climate officer, Mr. Smith, to ‘pick a fight

you can win’ for example. Implicit in this calculated disregard for district policy is Gray

Ledge’s designation as a neighborhood school. Serving a concentrated population of some of

the most vulnerable young people in the district, Gray Ledge was cast by the school climate

officer, ‘Mr. Smith,’ as a violent space. The challenge, as he framed it, was not to eliminate that

violence, but to teach students how to analyze possible confrontations and to make decisions

based on whether fighting, that is, engaging in risk taking behavior, will yield a positive, or less
negative, outcome than the alternative. Fighting, then, is at once a problem and a solution and

the necessity of developing a ‘hard’ identity is a foregone conclusion.Santana.

As a matter of identity development tied to risk taking, it is useful to apply Marcia’s work

around identity development to fighting in order to better understand the ways in which it is

simultaneously a problem and a solution. I have argued that DaShawn, who first expressed an

intention to fight in an attempt to protect his brother following his being jumped on his way to

school, is in a state of moratorium. In other words, he is engaging in a risk taking behavior in an

attempt to ‘try out’ a hyper-masculine ‘hard’ identity. It must be emphasized, however, that the

bravado he is attempting to wield comes from a place of empathy and compassion to protect

someone whom he understands to be vulnerable. In my experience, this is common amongst the

younger adolescents at Gray Ledge. Conversely, older students, like Santana, are engaged in a

state of foreclosure, expressing a reluctant willingness to fight, but no longer seeking out

opportunities to do so, “I try to avoid it, but you can’t always. These kids gotta be hard. You

fight when you have to.” Santana’s sentiment, echoed amongst other students in a similar

position, lends credence to the idea that fighting is treated by students, and by Gray Ledge, as

necessity. I addressed point in my last paper, though this paper will seek to more formally

problematize Gray Ledge’s treatment of fighting because it undermines the potential for

students, like DaShawn and Santana, to develop and experience a sense of faith in a school

community. This faith is essential to developing in students a sense of empathy and autonomy

that I argue is central to undermining the incentives to fight. This is premised upon Gray

Ledge’s communicating to students that the school is a community and that this community is

capable of, and willing to, support students, a stark contrast to the message that is communicated
through the school’s present approach to subverting district policy. A commitment to civics

education, I argue, is an effective way to meet these challenges in so far as this model provides

students with a space to develop a sense of empathy, autonomy, and faith in school.

It is prudent, at the outset, to establish a working definition of faith. Nakkula and

Toshalis argue that faith is, “the dynamic and symbolic frame of orientation or the ultimate

concern to which a person is committed and from which she derives purpose in life” (211).

While I will not claim to have access to DaShawn’ “ultimate concern,” I would argue that based

on the ways in which his brother’s being jumped has functioned as a turning point for this

student, the safety of those closest to him is something at least akin to an “ultimate concern.”

This is admirable, to be certain, and it presents a compelling challenge to teachers: what choice

structures can teachers provide students that make fighting a less compelling option as opposed

to reaching out to the school, by which I mean adults in the building, for support? It is not

necessarily my intention to construct that choice structure, largely because it is beyond the scope

of this paper, but rather to offer some guiding principles that could be broadly considered,

engaged with, and applied in an effort to support students in a variety of settings and contexts.

Furthermore, however, I do not believe that it is the place of schools to impart or mandate faith

on any student, especially when that faith is in the school itself. In the case of DaShawn, it is

less compelling, I would argue, to attempt to ‘stop’ him from fighting, especially if the

alternative is a mandated program proposed by the school. Rather, a sense of faith in an

organically grown sense of community offers a greater degree of security and support that

students like DaShawn can be compelled to engage with in a way that feels authentic to them.
 In prioritizing the development of a sense of autonomy and empathy in the students at

Gray Ledge, and in similar settings, I will begin by addressing a tension that is alluded to,

though not fully realized, in my argument that fighting occupies a liminal space at Gray Ledge.

To further flesh out this point, it is useful to turn our attention to the entrance to Gray Ledge.

Arguably the most overtly and heavily policed space in the building, students walk through a

metal detector as their backpacks and purses slowly pass through a scanner. Rife with tension,

the school police officers dole out commands and directives to students, ostensibly in an effort to

maintain some semblance of efficiency and order, as the students themselves experience

frustration at the ensuing bottleneck. This is a physical manifestation of an effort to police

students in a way that seeks to limit the ostensible negative manifestation of the neighborhood

within the building. To the extent to which students have incorporated the neighborhood into

their understanding of their identity, Gray Ledge is casting itself as an institution that is either

incapable of, or unwilling to, accept, respect, and support the entirety of who its students are.

While there exists a concerted effort to control students in particular ways at this

peripheral space, indicative of efforts throughout the building, fighting is treated differently.

This, I argue, is at once an example of Gray Ledge’s commendable effort to support students in

the context of their lived realities, but also a harmful legitimization of physical altercation that

reinforces a problematic notion that masculinity is tied to an ability and willingness to perform

one’s physical prowess. Thus, by heavily policing students at the entrance, Gray Ledge

reinforces the notion that certain aspects of a student’s identity and lived experiences are beyond

the permissible boundaries of the school, though fighting is not. This complex and, in some

ways, paradoxical message that certain forms of violence are permissible is jarring, potentially
isolating, and undermines a sense of faith in the school community that underlies the

development of a sense of autonomy and empathy that I believe to be fundamental to a strong

school community--at least one that is strong enough to support its most vulnerable members.

DaShawn is a student that I would argue is particularly vulnerable, given both his

position and circumstances inside and outside of school. Furthermore, he is a student that

explicitly lacks faith in his school. In the days following the planned altercation between his

brother’s assailants and himself, DaShawn came to school with raw and subsequently scabbed

knuckles. When I suggested that he visit the nurse, his response was curt, “I ain’t visiting that

fucking lady. Y’all [adults in the building] don’t need to get involved.” DaShawn came close to

engaging another fight with a peer later that day, following a verbal altercation. A once vocal

sense of optimism and determination, what could be interpreted as the desire to develop a sort of

faith in the school, has given way, by and large, to a sense of detachment from school and

regularly engaging in physical and verbal altercations with peers as well as foregoing

relationships with adults in the building, particularly those that have reached out in an effort to

support him.

This resistance is often met with reactions ranging from exasperation to intense verbal

and physical altercations with adults. Nakkula and Toshalis address the resistance that DaShawn

is engaging in, “In traditional “resistance models,” students are understood to resist teachers’

efforts to reach them due to the psychological baggage they bring to school...resistance is...a

critical impediment to healthy functioning in and outside the classroom” (Nakkula, Toshalis,

2006, 255). While there is an argument to be made that DaShawn is engaging in this traditional

resistance model, it is worth complicating the idea of “healthy functioning in and outside the
classroom.” For DaShawn, healthy functioning may well entail doing so in a way that preserves

his, and his close friend’s and family’s, physical and psychological safety.

These risk taking behaviors, which should be understood as a form of resistance, serve to

position DaShawn as both a victim and as a man, much the same way that he positioned himself

following his brother’s altercation. DaShawn seeks to replicate this structure in the hallways of

Gray Ledge by putting himself in a position to have a negative interaction with an adult, portray

himself as the victim, and respond to that victimhood in a way that allows him to perform his

‘hard’ identity for his peers. Åkerström, et al.(2011) expound upon this dichotomy of

masculinity and victimhood:

Abstract cultural identities such as “men” and “victim” conflict, but it seems a
simplification to argue that they are incompatible in practice. Instead, they may
constitute parallel discourses, visible during the same conversation and providing
speakers with resources as they go about making sense of their experiences and
reproducing their identities” (104).

It is imperative that one recognize that even in so far as DaShawn may be seeking to construct

scenarios in which he is victimized, it is possible, and perhaps even likely, that he genuinely sees

himself as a victim and is responding in kind in the role of a ‘hard’ young man. The parallel

discourses that ​Åkerström, et al, describe are embodied here as DaShawn draws upon both

culturally informed identities, common amongst the students at Sayre, to ensure his safety, and

that of his brother.

There is research to support the idea that DaShawn’ performance is grounded in a

genuine sense of belief. Goffman (1959) argues that, “At [one] extreme, we find that the

performer may not be taken in at all by his own routine,” though in turn, “At [the other extreme],

one finds that the performer can be fully taken in by his own act: he can be sincerely convinced
that he impression of reality which he stages is the real reality” (17). Obviously, it is impossible

to be certain whether a student, like DaShawn, is convinced of their performance or not. This

distinction, however, is immaterial. Rather, Goffman’s compelling argument should be

understood as a spectrum between a genuine belief in the performance, that is the sense of

victimhood is genuine and subsequent response should be treated as legitimate, or, at the other

end of the spectrum, the student is making a choice to be performative and therefore is

communicating something that is legitimate and should be treated with respect. In the case of

DaShawn, his response to what was surely a traumatic experience for both himself and his

brother should be responded to by adults with a sense of compassion and empathy, regardless of

the ways in which he is externalizing those feelings. Furthermore, by reframing Goffman’s

argument as a decision a student is making, it leads to a fundamental question: why is that choice

being made?

I would argue that DaShawn’ decision can be tied, in large part, to his relationship with

Gray Ledge. Nakkula and Toshalis note that, “Feminist and other critical psychological

researchers...have presented alternative versions of resistance models...they have shown how

resistance can be a healthy defensive response to oppressive and potentially abusive

relationships” (255-6). Resistance, in the traditional model, is met with hostility, thus creating a

self-fulfilling prophecy that that this model works to explain. DaShawn’ relationship with school

could be understood as oppressive in a meaningful way, especially in so far as his trauma is met

with an implicit suggestion that he engages in further risk taking behavior. While I am

compelled to believe that Gray Ledge’s treatment of fighting is meant to be an act of support and

recognition, I would argue that it functions to ostracize the most vulnerable students at times
when they are most in need of support. Fighting, while informally accepted, cannot officially be

facilitated by the school. In essence, the school creates a highly problematic relationship with

students in so far as it places the solution to the problems, fighting in pursuit of a ‘hard’ identity,

outside the support structure of school. In this way, Gray Ledge implicitly endorses the

development of a hard identity.

This endorsement, well intentioned as it may be, is problematic because it serves to force

the most vulnerable students out of the support structure that the school provides. However

poorly resourced that structure is, the effect is to undermine a sense of the school as a community

and, thereby, faith in the school. There must exist a distinction between recognizing and

validating the ways in which a hard identity is significant for students and providing students the

opportunity to critically examine that reality. Simon (2001) argues that:

[S]tudents should regularly be asked two basic moral and existential questions about the
topics they study: ‘What are the implications for what I am learning and beliefs?’ and
‘How does this material help me understand my place in the world?’...Asking these
questions about why we what study matters, I believe, has the potential of helping ​school
matter much more deeply to students. (211).

Gray Ledge, in an effort to be empathetic, has forfeited a unique opportunity for students to

engage critically with fighting, and the development of a hard identity, because of the school’s

implicit endorsement. Furthermore, Simon argues that engaging in such questions could

potentially lead to students finding greater meaning in school. I would further argue that adults

engaging in these learning experiences alongside students, which Gray Ledge is uniquely

positioned to do given that it has placed fighting in a liminal space that both recognizes it as

undesirable and as a lived reality, a sense of community can begin to develop.

 This sense of community would likely be particularly significant for students like

DaShawn, both as an emotional and intellectual endeavor. Indeed, DaShawn is well positioned

to engage in this community given the calculated approach he takes to undermining his

relationship with the school by positioning himself as hard and as a victim simultaneously.

Toshalis (196), however, argues that, “Absent opportunities to share the stories that give

structure their sometimes disparate and confusing experiences, many teens engage in risky

behaviors involving...violence, and daredevil feats” (196). What DaShawn lacks is not the

ability to generate stories and meaning, but rather a community to support him in developing an

alternative structure from the risk taking endeavors that he is presently engaged in. Indeed, from

the moment that DaShawn enters Gray Ledge there are virtually no opportunities to engage in a

meaningful form of sharing the experiences he is responding to. Rather, he is encouraged to

engage in a form of meaning making and identity formation that is violent and outside the

official parameters of the school support structure.

There is a compelling argument to be made that Gray Ledge’s positioning and

endorsement of fighting is a response to resource scarcity. The resources that comprise Gray

Ledge’s support structure likely pale in comparison to the needs of students. An endorsement of

fighting, and an effort to support students in navigating that space, may be a form of care and

support given a lack of access to preferable resources. While a thorough examination of the

resources that Gray Ledge has access to, and the reasons for the inequitable distribution of

resources, are beyond the scope of this paper, I will attempt to move forward in a way that

accounts for these constraints.

 I will first turn to a moral argument, proposed by Slote, that I believe works to undermine

the argument that, even under legitimate resource constraints, Gray Ledge’s current endorsement

of fighting and the development of a hard identity is acceptable. Slote (2013) asserts that, “What

is morally wrong will be wrong because it reflects or expresses less than fully empathic concern

for others, and what is right and morally good will be so because it exhibits a high degree of such

concern” (22). Even under the most generous of analyses I do not believe that it is reasonable to

argue that officially endorsing fighting, as opposed to empathizing and working with students in

the context of a community, is morally good. While it is empathetic, it is not fully emphatic in

that it does nothing to meaningfully address the issue, but to endure it. Rather, in order to

engender a sense of faith in the school, absent access to certain resources, a school like Gray

Ledge should strive to provide an educational environment, built upon empathy, that foregrounds

the development of empathy and autonomy.

Cooper (2011), who argues for fundamental empathy in schools, offers a compelling

argument. One of her central tenets is ‘Taking a Positive Affirmation and Approach,’ under

which she describes risk taking in an academic setting, “Positive relationships made students feel

secure about the relationship with the teacher, so they could take risks with unknown ideas” (54).

Whereas Cooper argues that a particular type of risk taking behavior, that is an academic or

intellectual risk, is tied to a strong relationship between a student or teacher, DaShawn engages

in a different type of risk taking behavior in order to establish a hard identity that is, in many

ways, premised on an adversarial relationship with adults in the building. However, I would

argue that DaShawn’ willingness to take risks, that is his ability to reason with alternatives and
make a choice with a particular goal in mind, is a place for Gray Ledge to begin capitalizing

upon Cooper’s argument.

In capitalizing upon Cooper’s argument, the development of relationships between

teachers and students, Gray Ledge is in a position to support the development of empathy and

autonomy in students like DaShawn. A productive and meaningful place to direct these energies

is towards the development of a civic identity. Nakkula and Toshalis argue that,

...if we are to promote adolescent faith development, we must seek out and enhance
opportunities for youth to feel as if they are truly being seen and known and to practice
seeing and knowing others, for it is only through connection that we can reclaim out
students from anonymity. (223)

A commitment, on behalf of Gray Ledge, and schools like it, to civic education opportunities for

students, predicated on strong relationships between students and adults, has the potential to

foster the development of school community and, subsequently, faith in the school. Returning to

DaShawn, a student who has experienced trauma in his community and reacted in the way that

Gray Ledge has implicitly suggested that he do, is in a position to benefit from a commitment to

access to civic education opportunities because it will promote a sense of empathy and autonomy

that can be channelled to addressing challenges in the community, such as students being jumped

on the way to school.

Indeed, a civics education can be empowering. Levinson (2012), addressing what she has

termed “The Civic Empowerment Gap” argues that:

there is ample evidence that they [Levinson’s students in a Boston Public School] are
unlikely to become active participants in American civic and political deliberation or
decision making. As a result, they are unlikely to influence civic and political
deliberation or decision making. (31)
Given this empowerment gap, it is reasonable for a student like DaShawn to seek out an

alternative channel that provides him with a sense of autonomy. A commitment to civics

education, which could be embedded within the humanities courses at Gray Ledge, addresses

that by providing a tangible and autonomous alternative with the potential to think about the

community, thus encouraging the development of a sense of empathy.

Importantly, an important tenet of Levison’s approach to civics education is attainable for

Gray Ledge, given its limited access to resources: providing students with the opportunity to

interact with “ordinary role models.” Levinson (2012) argues that, “educators need to select

civically efficacious people who share some range of characteristics with students...Students

need to have the opportunity truly to get to know and feel a connection with these people…”

(160-1). By foregrounding the role of relationship building in this space, relationship building

facilitated by the school, there is a tremendous amount of opportunity for students, like

DaShawn, to build connections that speak to a desire to instigate change in their lives and

communities. Students’ perceived ability to foster this change begins with a faith in school, and

this cannot happen as long as Gray Ledge is promoting the development of a hard identity

through fighting.

For students like DaShawn, that is, those in precarious positions and who may have

experienced trauma, Gray Ledge’s efforts to be empathetic by subverting district policy and

validating the development of a hard identity through fighting are problematic and dangerous.

Gray Ledge is communicating that the school community is incapable, or unwilling, of

supporting all students by endorsing a form of identity formation, which students use to protect

themselves, that necessarily exists largely outside of the school community. A faith in school,
premised upon empathy and autonomy, can be restored through a program of civics education

that speaks to student’s desire to be a part of meaningful change in their communities. This is

accessible to a school like Gray Ledge and potentially deeply meaningful to students like

DaShawn who are provided with an alternative to developing a hard identity through fighting.

Works Cited
Article

Åkerström, M., Burcar, V., & Wästerfors, D. (2011). Balancing Contradictory

Identities—Performing Masculinity in Victim Narratives. ​Sociological Perspectives​,

54​(1), 103–124. ​https://doi.org/10.1525/sop.2011.54.1.103

Books

Cooper, B. (2011). ​Empathy in education.​ New York, NY: Continuum.

Goffman, E. (1959). ​The presentation of self in everyday life​. New York: Anchor Books.

Levinson, M. (2012). ​No citizen left behind.​ Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Nakkula, M. J., & Toshalis, E. (2006). ​Understanding youth: adolescent development for

educators.​ Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press.

Simon, K. G. (2011). ​Moral questions in the classroom how to get kids to think deeply about real

life and their schoolwork.​ Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press.

Slote, M. (2015). ​Education and human values: reconciling talent with an ethics of care.​ New

York, NY: Routledge.