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Tough conversations and missed opportunities: implementing district policies for racial equity

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Tough conversations and missed opportunities: implementing district policies for racial equity

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Content Running head: TOUGH CONVERSATIONS
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS AND MISSED OPPORTUNITIES:
IMPLEMENTING DISTRICT POLICIES FOR RACIAL EQUITY
by
Taylor N. Allbright
______________________________________________________________________________
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(URBAN EDUCATION POLICY)
December 2019
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am sincerely grateful to the many individuals that made this dissertation possible. First,
thank you to the educators, families, and students of Marigold and Juniper School Districts for
welcoming me into your communities and sharing your experiences. This project would not exist
without the gift of your time, vulnerability, and insight. Thank you also to the Rossier School of
Education for the internal research funds that supported this work.
Julie Marsh, your guidance has been invaluable. I have learned so much from your
extraordinary mentorship and brilliance. Thank you for your kindness, your patience, and the
many, many hours that you dedicated to supporting my personal and professional growth. You
always saw me as a scholar even when I could not see it in myself, and for that I am eternally
grateful.
To the members of my committee, Shaun Harper, Julie Posselt, and Lanita Jacobs, I am
so appreciative of your support. Your questions and feedback have transformed my initial
passion into a scholarly endeavor. Thank you for the gift of your time and expertise.
There are many scholars at USC Rossier and beyond who have contributed to the
development of this project. I particularly wish to appreciate the faculty and researchers who met
with me to discuss my ideas for this study, including John Diamond, Erica Turner, Ann
Ishimaru, Estela Bensimon, and Laura Hernández. A special thank you to the mentors and
scholars of the 2019 Clark Seminar, especially my faculty mentors Gerardo López and Lance
Fusarelli. I am grateful, too, to the infallible staff of the PhD program office, especially Laura
Romero, Patrick Patterson, and Evan Williams, for taking such good care of us doctoral students.
Thank you to the brilliant colleagues and friends who are walking with me on this
scholarly path, including Tasminda Dhaliwal, Marissiko Wheaton, Cynthia Villareal, Tom
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS iii
DePaola, Sarah Rabovsky, Neha Miglani, Kacy Martin, Kate Kennedy, Eupha Jeanne Daramola,
Shira Korn, Laura Tobben, Elise Castillo, and Rachel Perera. It is a true pleasure to share this
journey with you. I am also deeply appreciative of those early career scholars—including Cheryl
Ching, Ayesha Hashim, Mel Bertrand, Michelle Hall, Stephani Wrabel, and Brad Marianno—
who have so generously helped me to follow in their footsteps. In particular, I owe a tremendous
debt to Alice Huguet and Andrea Bingham, whose exemplary dissertations guided me
throughout this process. Ann Kim, thank you for being an extraordinary friend and role model.
Finally, I am grateful for the boundless support I have received from family and friends.
Thank you especially to my father for guiding me to pursue the career of my dreams, and to my
mother for encouraging my intellectual curiosity. Landry, thank you for the adventure, laughter,
and love of our sisterhood. I am deeply grateful to my beloved friends, especially Ashley
Thomas, Tavae Samuelu, Michelle Wong, Mariclare Dasigenis, and McKee Floyd, for sharing
with me the all the joy, pain, and wonder of life. And, of course, this project would not be what it
is without the contributions of my cat Othello, who could always discern the most inopportune
moments to walk across the keyboard, and who kept me company throughout this dissertation
journey.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS iv
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements ii

List of Tables vi

List of Figures vii

Abstract vii

Chapter One: Introduction 1
Racial Inequity in K-12 Education 3
District Policies with Racial Equity Goals 7
Overview of Theoretical Framework 12
Significance 14
Outline of the Manuscript 16
Positionality 19
A Note on Language 20

Chapter Two: Review of Relevant Literature 24
Measuring Impact of Equity Policies 24
Presentation of Frameworks and Exemplary Cases 25
Political Pushback Against Equity Policies 27
Barriers to Equity in Implementation 28
Conditions Shaping District Change 30
Summary 32

Chapter Three: Theoretical Framework 33
Theory as a Sensitizing Concept 34
Dialectics in CHAT and Institutional Theory 34
Institutional Theory 35
Cultural-Historical Activity Theory 39
Summary 49

Chapter Four: Research Methods 50
Research Design 50
Data Collection 59
Data Analysis 65
Trustworthiness 69
Limitations 70
Summary 72

Chapter Five: Implementation of District Policies With Racial Equity Goals 73
Summary of Racial Equity Policies 74
Patterns in Implementation of Racial Equity Policies 88
Summary 125
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS v
Chapter Six: Factors Shaping Racial Equity Policy Implementation 126
Rules of Racial Inequity 127
Division of Labor 141
Objects of Activity 146
Community and Context 149
Summary 158

Chapter Seven: Conclusions and Implications For Policy, Practice, and Research 159
Empirical and Theoretical Contributions 160
Implications for Policy and Practice 164
Implications for Theory and Research 169
Summary 172

Bibliography 174

Appendices
Appendix A: Pilot Study 208
Appendix B: Linking Literature, Theory, and Data Collection 214
Appendix C: Example Interview Protocol 222
Appendix D: List of Codes 225
Appendix E: Screenshots of Data Analysis Matrix 227
Appendix F: Photograph of Hand Drawn Network Display 229

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS vi

LIST OF TABLES
Table 4.1: Case District Student Demographics, 2018-19 54

Table 4.2: Contrasting Organizational Conditions in Case Districts 55

Table 4.3: Preliminary and Final Case Policies 59

Table 4.4: Number of Interviewees by Role and District 62

Table 4.5: Number of Interviewees by Race and Gender 63

Table 4.6 Observations by Case Policy 65

Table 5.1 Summary of Case Policies 77

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LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 2.1. Model of the CHAT-IT activity system 46

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS viii
ABSTRACT
Racial inequity is widely regarded as a pressing problem in U.S. education, and numerous
district policies feature equity goals. Yet much existing literature on implementation of district-
level policy does not place a central focus on equity, and, in those studies that do, researchers
often consider equity broadly, without foregrounding issues of race. This project responds to this
gap by examining the implementation of eight policies in two districts that leaders associated
with racial equity goals.
To guide this inquiry, I used an integrated framework of cultural-historical activity theory
and institutional theory (CHAT-IT), which I extended by drawing on literature on racial
conceptions and discourses. CHAT-IT offers a useful lens for understanding how engrained
cultural patterns shape and are shaped by organizational actors’ efforts to promote change. By
adding insights regarding racial conceptions and discourses, I highlight how racism in particular
can constrain and be constructed through organizational activity.
This theoretical grounding informed a multiple case study of efforts to further racial
equity in two southern California school districts in the 2018-19 year. Focusing on eight case
policies, four in each district, I investigated the questions 1) What patterns characterize the
implementation of district policies with racial equity goals?, and 2) What factors influenced
these implementation processes, and how so? I conducted interviews (n=33) with district and
school leaders, external consultants, teachers, and parents; and I also observed district and school
activities associated with the implementation of case policies (44 hours). Analysis included
iterative cycles of memos, coding, matrices, and network displays.
In the end, I found that policies that aimed to reduce educator bias (e.g., culturally
responsive pedagogy workshops, implicit bias trainings) were characterized by widespread
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS ix
resistance among educators and reports of limited influence on practice. Policies targeting school
climate and instructional improvement (e.g., relationship-building programs, professional
development for school leadership teams), in contrast, were mostly well-received, and evidence
suggested their prescribed practices were enacted across schools. Yet the implementation of
climate and instruction efforts featured patterns that appeared to reinforce racial inequity,
including expressions of low expectations of racially minoritized students, missed opportunities
to challenge racialized messages or advance cultural relevance, and restrictive constructions of
student groups. Engrained cultural rules regarding racial inequity appeared to be important
factors shaping and constraining policy implementation. Other key factors included
institutionalized scripts regarding teacher roles, leadership structures, policy goals, availability of
resources, political context, and state/federal policy.
This study contributes empirical and theoretical insights regarding how the cultural-
cognitive foundations of institutionalized racism function as constraints for districts’ equity
efforts. In addition, these findings shed light on how factors known to influence implementation
broadly (e.g., leadership, resources, policy context) matter for racial equity policies in particular.
For policymakers and practitioners, this project illuminates needs to advance educators’
understanding of systemic racism, to bridge theory and practice through avenues such as action
research, and to increase racial awareness and cultural relevance in efforts to improve school
climate and instruction. This study also lays a foundation for continued research regarding the
implementation of district policies with racial equity goals.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 1
CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTION
Racial inequity is a long-standing, intractable problem in American K-12 education (A.
E. Lewis & Diamond, 2015). Despite decades of reform efforts, White students continue to have
access to greater and higher quality educational inputs, including funding (Morgan &
Amerikaner, 2018) and teacher quality (Goldhaber, Lavery, & Theobald, 2015), than their peers
of color. Disparities in educational inputs are mirrored in inequitable outcomes: extensive
literature identifies gaps in academic achievement and college attainment between racially
minoritized and White students (Ng, Lee, & Pak, 2007; Welner & Carter, 2013). For example, on
California’s 2017 eighth grade math assessment, 18 percent of Black students, 23 percent of
Latinx students, and 29 percent of Pacific Islander students met or exceeded proficiency
standards, compared to 51 percent of White students (California Department of Education,
2017).
Racial inequity is also a feature of educational processes, including course placement
(Oakes & Guiton, 1995), school discipline (Gregory, Skiba, & Noguera, 2010), and students’
interactions with educators and peers (Cherng, 2017; van den Bergh, Denessen, Hornstra,
Voeten, & Holland, 2010; Warikoo, Sinclair, Fei, & Jacoby-Senghor, 2016). For instance, in a
nationally representative survey of tenth graders, about one in five Black respondents reported
being suspended from school, compared to fewer than one in ten White students (KewelRamani,
2007). While some have focused on socioeconomic status (SES) as an explanation for racial
disparities in education (Duncan & Magnuson, 2005), SES alone does not fully explain racial
achievement gaps (J. Lee, 2002), and racial inequities persist even in affluent communities (A. E.
Lewis & Diamond, 2015; Noguera, 2001).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 2
For decades, policymakers at national, state, and local levels have pursued numerous
policies with implicit or explicit racial equity goals. At the district level, such efforts have
included desegregation plans (Pride & Woodward, 1995); requirements regarding curriculum,
instruction, and data use (Cho & Wayman, 2014); disciplinary reform programs (Ritter, 2018);
and racial bias trainings (Schwartz, 2019). Yet, despite such efforts, racial inequity remains
endemic in U.S. schooling. To understand this persistence, and to discern possibilities for
advancing racial justice in education, we must examine how these well-intentioned district
policies are implemented in practice. In particular, we must investigate the dynamics that
constrain these efforts and undermine stated racial equity goals.
Researchers have explored the factors that shape district change processes generally (e.g.,
Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Honig, Venkateswaran, & McNeil, 2017; Spillane, 2000), and some
have studied efforts to further equity, broadly defined (e.g., Allbright et al., 2019; Booher-
Jennings, 2005; Roegman, Allen, & Hatch, 2017). However, researchers have rarely focused on
issues of racial equity in the implementation of district policies, and there is reason to believe
that policies with explicit racial equity goals have unique challenges in implementation. Such
policies may require implementers to confront deep-seated racial biases (Warikoo et al., 2016)
and violate strongly-held social norms regarding the avoidance of race in conversation (Gordon,
2005). Additionally, White educators may experience shame and defensiveness when asked to
consider how racism provides them with unearned societal advantages (DiAngelo, 2018). There
is therefore a need for research that considers the particular obstacles that arise in the
implementation of district policies intended to further racial justice. This study aims to respond
to this need by examining the implementation of district policies that leaders associate with racial
equity goals. I address the following questions: 1) What patterns characterize the
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 3
implementation of district policies with racial equity goals?, and 2) What factors influenced
these implementation processes, and how so?
In the remainder of this chapter, I describe the problem of racial inequity in education,
summarizing evidence along the lines of historical context, inputs, outcomes, and processes. I
then identify common district policies that either implicitly or explicitly seek to advance racial
equity. Next, I provide an overview of the theoretical framework used to ground this study, and I
discuss the contributions of this project to the broader literature. The following section previews
the content of the chapters that follow. I conclude with a brief note regarding my positionality as
a White researcher intending to advance racial justice, and I explain my rationale for the
selection of terms to refer to racial groups in this manuscript.
Racial Inequity in K-12 Education
Race is a social and political construct that emerged in North America in the late 17th and
early 18th centuries as a rationale for European practices of enslaving Africans and displacing
indigenous North Americans (Smedley & Smedley, 2005). This emergent logic established three
racial categories—White, Black, and American Indian—assuming White superiority and
dehumanizing non-White groups; this dehumanization allowed Europeans to resolve
contradictions between ideologies of liberty and democracy and the structures of slavery and
colonization (Allen & Perry, 2012; Frederickson, 2002). In the 19th century, westward expansion
and immigration led to the development of Asian/Pacific Islander (API) and Latinx racial
categories,
1
resulting in five major racial groups in the contemporary United States (Almaguer,
2008; S. J. Lee, Park, & Wong, 2017; Molina, 2010). In the 21
st
century, we are arguably

1
During this period, some European ethnic groups, such as Irish and Jewish immigrants, were also
classified as racial groups inferior to Whites, though these groups were assimilated in the White category
during the late 19th and early 20th centuries (Omi & Winant, 2014; Takaki, 2012).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 4
witnessing the formation of an Arab racial group, categorizing people of Middle Eastern or
North African descent (Jacobs-Huey, 2006; Jamal & Naber, 2008).
During the advent of compulsory K-12 education in the early 20th century, education
research reinforced assumptions of White superiority, falsely attributing racial differences in
intelligence measures to biology rather than social structures (Nasir & Hand, 2006). By
constructing communities of color as dehumanized or foreign groups inferior to Whites,
education leaders justified school segregation and accompanying disparities in education
funding, materials, and facilities (J. C. Gonzalez, 2007; S. R. Harper, Patton, & Wooden, 2009;
Hovenkamp, 1985; Kuo, 1998; S. J. Lee et al., 2017; Molina, 2010). Government-enforced
housing segregation further contributed to these inequities (Darling-Hammond, 2004).
Furthermore, K-12 schools sought to promote assimilation of communities of color to the
expectations of the dominant White culture; students of color were thus exposed to and at risk of
internalizing dehumanizing attitudes about their identities, languages, and backgrounds (del
Carmen Salazar, 2013; L. T. Smith, 2012; Wolfe, 2006).
Racial Inequity in Inputs and Outcomes
Today, White students continue to have access to greater and higher quality educational
inputs than students of color. Though state-level finance reforms have made progress in
furthering equity in education funding (S. P. Corcoran & Evans, 2008; Odden & Picus, 2014),
racialized funding disparities remain (Alemán, 2007; Baker & Green, 2005; Roza, 2006). School
integration strategies in the 1960s and 70s were limited by later court rulings (Orfield,
Frankenberg, & Garces, 2008; Pitre, 2009) and largely discontinued, and today’s schools are
highly racially segregated, fostering inequity in financial and material resources (Gándara &
Aldana, 2014; Orfield & Frankenberg, 2014). Quantitative analyses have indicated that schools
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 5
serving Black and Latinx students have lower-skilled teachers and higher teacher turnover than
predominantly White schools (Goldhaber, Gross, & Player, 2011; Goldhaber et al., 2015;
Hanushek, Kain, & Rivkin, 2004; Ladd, 2011; Peske & Haycock, 2006). Though the majority
(51.5%) of public school students are students of color (NCES, 2017a), the public school
teaching force is 82% White (U. S. Department of Education, 2016); therefore, White students
have greater access to teachers of the same racial identity; a particular concern as teacher-student
racial match is beneficial for students’ learning, especially among students of color (Cherng &
Halpin, 2016; Egalite & Kisida, 2017; Gershenson, Hart, Lindsay, & Papageorge, 2017).
Disparities in educational inputs are mirrored in inequitable outcomes. Extensive
literature identifies gaps in academic achievement and college attainment between Black, Latinx,
and American Indian students and their White peers (CEPA; A. E. Lewis & Diamond, 2015;
NCES, 2017b, 2017c; Posselt, Jaquette, Bielby, & Bastedo, 2012; Welner & Carter, 2013).
While API students’ academic achievement is frequently observed to be similar or greater than
White students’ achievement, researchers have found gaps between White students and some
API groups, such as Southeast Asian students (Ngo & Lee, 2007). Researchers specifically
focusing on affluent and suburban communities has demonstrated that racial inequities in inputs
and outcomes persist even among socioeconomically advantaged students of color, indicating
that SES alone cannot explain racial disparities in educational inputs and outcomes (A. E. Lewis
& Diamond, 2015; Noguera, 2001).
Racial Inequity in Processes
Racial inequity is also a feature of educational processes, including course placement,
school discipline, educators’ behaviors, and students’ interactions with educators and peers.
Compared to White students, Black and Latinx students are more likely to be placed in low-level
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 6
course “tracks” and have limited access to advanced courses, such as Advanced Placement
classes (A. E. Lewis & Diamond, 2015; Oakes & Guiton, 1995; Solórzano & Ornelas, 2002;
Tyson, 2011). In addition, both large-scale quantitative studies and in-depth ethnographic studies
have found evidence of a “discipline gap”: Black, Latinx, and American Indian students,
regardless of SES, are more likely to face disciplinary referrals, suspension, and expulsion than
their White peers (Gregory et al., 2010; A. E. Lewis & Diamond, 2015; Losen, Hodson, Keith,
Michael, & others, 2015; Skiba et al., 2011; Skiba, Michael, Nardo, & Peterson, 2002; Skiba,
Peterson, & Williams, 1997; Wallace, Goodkind, Wallace, & Bachman, 2008; Winn & Winn,
2015). Critical scholars suggest that this discipline gap reflects a broader societal practice of the
criminalization of Black, Latinx, and American Indian communities (Fenning & Rose, 2007) as
well as some API groups (Ngo & Lee, 2007).
Inequitable processes also reflect widespread cultural beliefs regarding White superiority
and racial hierarchies. Survey evidence suggests that educators may lack understanding of
historical and structural causes of racial inequity (Quinn, 2017); in addition, psychologists have
found that individuals possess implicit biases, which we typically are not actively aware of
(Warikoo et al., 2016). Experimental studies using implicit bias performance tasks, such as the
Implicit Association Test (Greenwald, McGhee, & Schwartz, 1998), have found that racial
implicit bias is highly prevalent among Americans generally (Banks, Eberhardt, & Ross, 2006;
Eberhardt, Goff, Purdie, & Davies, 2004; Nosek et al., 2007); thus it is likely to be prevalent
among American teachers. Such biases may explain both quantitative and qualitative evidence
that teachers have lower expectations and lower quality relationships with students of color than
with White students (Cherng, 2017; Diamond, Randolph, & Spillane, 2004; Jussim & Harber,
2005; A. E. Lewis & Diamond, 2015; McKown & Weinstein, 2008; van den Bergh et al., 2010).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 7
Furthermore, case study and ethnographic findings suggest that educators’ racialized
assumptions and limited multicultural awareness may damage the overall school climate,
negatively influencing perceptions of school, academic engagement, and peer relationships
among students of color (S. J. Lee et al., 2017; S. W. Nelson & Guerra, 2013; Ng et al., 2007;
Pollock, 2009; Rosenbloom & Way, 2004; Valenzuela, 1999). Such findings may help explain
why Black and Latinx students report a lower-quality school culture and climate compared to
their White peers (Hough, Kalogrides, & Loeb, 2017).
Educators and peers may commit racial microaggressions—brief interactions that
intentionally or unintentionally communicate racialized insults—that further contribute to a
negative school climate (Doharty, 2018; Suárez-Orozco et al., 2015). Finally, experimental
evidence suggests that nonverbal cues of racial bias leads others to internalize similar bias
(Willard, Isaac, & Carney, 2015); thus students may internalize racial biases communicated by
educators and peers (Warikoo et al., 2016). White students in particular may be socialized to
internalize biased assumptions: as Lewis (2001) found in a case study of a predominantly White
school, White students are encouraged “to see themselves as racially neutral, outside the racial
hierarchy, deserving of their own success and not responsible for the exclusion of others” (p.
803). Therefore, White students’ racial biases are likely to be reinforced through schooling,
perpetuating future inequity.
Overall, racial inequity is a well-documented problem in American education. In the next
section, I identify common district strategies intended to ameliorate these inequities.
District Policies with Racial Equity Goals
As described at the outset, districts play an important role in efforts to mitigate racial
inequity. Districts are influential in shaping the nature of teaching and learning in schools
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 8
(Marsh, 2002), and central office administrators can facilitate the implementation of school-level
reforms (Honig, 2006, 2009). District-level efforts to promote racial equity—which may include
both the implementation of state and federal mandates as well as the design and enactment of
local policy decisions—vary in their implicit assumptions about what “equity” means. This
variance reflects the fact that “equity” is an ambiguous concept that can be defined in multiple
ways (Ching, 2017; Stone, 2011; Unterhalter, 2009). Equity can be broadly understood as
fairness or justice in societal conditions, yet specific definitions vary (see Allbright et al., 2019
for a more detailed discussion of equity definitions). One might suggest that racial equity refers
to equal rules for each person, regardless of race. Alternatively, racial equity could be described
as “leveling the playing field,” with additional supports offered to those who experience
disadvantages resulting from racism. One might also describe racial equity as the elimination of
disparities in outcomes, such as closing racial achievement gaps, or, in yet another perspective,
equity might refer to freedom from racial oppression, requiring dramatic shifts in power
structures and cultural belief systems. The policies described in this section illustrate some of
this variation in approaches to defining racial equity.
Many districts seek to foster racial equity through the implementation of state and local
accountability policies (Firestone, 2014; Hamilton, Stecher, & Yuan, 2008; Mehta, 2013). These
policies use measurement systems to monitor school and teacher performance, and districts may
respond to evidence of inadequate performance with support intended to promote improvement,
such as coaching and professional development (Marsh, Bush-Mecenas, & Hough, 2017).
Districts may also enforce sanctions, such as firing teachers or reconstituting schools (De La
Torre & Gwynne, 2009; Dee & Wyckoff, 2015; Gyurko & Henig, 2010; Malen, Croninger,
Muncey, & Redmond-Jones, 2002; Strunk, Marsh, Hashim, & Bush-Mecenas, 2016).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 9
Accountability policies reflect an assumption that equity means high academic achievement for
all students; furthermore, accountability policies often include the explicit racial equity goal of
mitigating achievement gaps among racial groups.
District efforts to improve the quality of instruction, and thus accelerate academic
achievement, may also reflect racial equity goals. Common approaches to instructional
improvement focus on changing educator practice through the use of data (Marsh, 2012; Marsh
& Farrell, 2015; V. Park & Datnow, 2009). In these reforms, educators analyze data sources such
as formative assessment results, use this analysis to inform future action, and evaluating the
effectiveness of these actions through further data analysis. Districts might mandate or invite
educators to participate in data use practices; they might also offer common curricula and
assessments, coaching, professional development, paid time, and other materials to support
implementation (V. Park & Datnow, 2017). Like accountability policies, data-use initiatives
reflect an understanding of equity as universal high achievement, and, as gaps among racial
groups may be a part of data analysis, racial equity may be understood as closing outcome gaps
between racial groups.
Disciplinary reform represents another common district equity strategy, including the two
prominent efforts of restorative justice (Karp & Breslin, 2001) and positive behavior support
programs (Chin, Dowdy, Jimerson, & Jeremy Rime, 2012). Positive behavior supports train
school staff to view academic behaviors as skills to be learned, to communicate clear behavioral
expectations to students, and, when students do not meet these expectations, to respond with
support rather than punishment (Vincent, Randall, Cartledge, Tobin, & Swain-Bradway, 2011).
In restorative justice interventions, behavioral infractions prompt facilitated community circles,
in which disputants and community members discuss how the community was harmed and what
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 10
could be done to repair the harm (Anyon et al., 2016). Both positive behavior supports and
restorative justice practices seek to reduce disciplinary referrals, suspensions, and expulsions and
to mitigate the disproportionate use of such practices with Black, Latinx, and American Indian
students. Disciplinary reform might also aim to challenge the societal criminalization of youth of
color; in particular, restorative justice counters dominant notions of punishment and retribution
in American society (Anyon et al., 2016; Drewery, 2013). Another argument is that disciplinary
reform would increase the amount of time students of color spend in the classroom, thus leading
to improved academic outcomes and narrowing achievement gaps (Gregory et al., 2010).
Beyond disciplinary reform, district leaders might characterize additional efforts to
support students’ social-emotional development and foster a supportive school climate as
strategies for racial equity. District policies in this area might include social-emotional learning
curricula (e.g., Committee for Children, 2019; Safe & Civil Schools, 2019), educator
professional development, or partnerships with consultants (e.g., National School Climate
Center, n.d.). Such efforts may focus on helping students develop social-emotional competencies
such as self-efficacy, self-control, and growth mindset; they might also encourage relationship-
building among students and teachers (Allbright, Marsh, Kennedy, Hough, & McKibben, 2019).
Advocates have pointed to social-emotional learning and school climate as potential avenues for
advancing racial justice (Aspen Institute, 2018; Californians for Justice, 2017). Some scholars
have argued that these approaches can mitigate psychological effects of racism on students of
color, such as stereotype threat (Aronson et al., 2009; Borman, Grigg, & Hanselman, 2016), and
these approaches might also be thought to address gaps in perceived school climate or quality of
student teacher-relationships between White and racially minoritized students (Aspen Institute,
2018; Californians for Justice, 2017). As many suggest that social-emotional learning and school
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 11
climate are foundational to academic success (e.g., Almlund, Duckworth, Heckman, & Kautz,
2011), these approaches might also be considered avenues to advance racial equity by
accelerating academic performance of racially minoritized students and thus reducing
achievement gaps.
Districts also pursue racial equity through the engagement of non-dominant families and
students in school- and district-decision-making (Ishimaru et al., 2016; Lin & Ishida, 2015;
Marsh & Hall, 2017). This engagement might include surveys or town-hall-style feedback
sessions, parent or student advisory groups, or student and family seats on boards and formal
councils. Some districts do consider race in such engagement approaches; for instance, a district
might establish an African American parent advisory group (as in San Francisco, SFUSD, 2017).
Racially minoritized family and student engagement might reflect a definition of racial equity as
the empowerment of communities of color, resulting from the disruption of traditional decision-
making structures in schools and districts.
Many districts also aim to advance racial equity by offering trainings, often provided by
external consultants, on cultural sensitivity, diversity or implicit racial bias (Schwartz, 2019).
Such trainings might provide information about racism in education, or guide educators in
reflecting on their experiences of privilege and oppression. They may also ask educators to
examine some of the unconscious assumptions and stereotypes that may play a role in their
practices. These programs could illustrate a definition of racial equity as the disruption of
culturally-embedded racist beliefs and assumptions. Some might also suggest that educator bias
is an underlying cause of racial disparities in discipline or academic achievement, associating
implicit bias trainings with equity goals of reducing or eliminating such gaps.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 12
Finally, some districts seek to foster equitable processes through culturally relevant
pedagogy, including the creation of Ethnic Studies courses (Dee & Penner, 2016). Culturally
relevant pedagogy and related approaches (Hammond, 2014; Paris, 2012) suggest that schools
should match the home cultures of students of color, and affirm and build on the cultural wealth
of their communities (N. Gonzalez et al., 1995; Yosso, 2005). Ladson-Billings’ (1995)
framework of culturally relevant pedagogy includes three priorities for student development: 1)
students’ academic skills, such as literacy and problem-solving; 2) students’ cultural
competence, or knowledge and appreciation of their home culture(s); and 3) students’ critical
consciousness, or ability to question and critique societal conditions. Ethnic Studies courses use
these pedagogical approaches to explore issues of race and racism, typically including historical
study of non-dominant racial groups, critical analysis of racial injustice in society, and efforts to
further racial equity (de los Ríos, López, & Morrell, 2015; Dee & Penner, 2016). Possible district
policies in these areas include training administrators and teachers in culturally relevant
pedagogy, or requiring schools to offer Ethnic Studies courses. These approaches suggest that
equity requires understanding and disrupting culturally-engrained assumptions that perpetuate
racism—among students as well as among teachers.
Overview of Theoretical Framework
The goal of this study is to examine the implementation of district policies with racial
equity goals, with particular attention to the factors that shape and constrain these efforts. To
guide this inquiry, I used an integrated framework of cultural-historical activity theory and
institutional theory (CHAT-IT) (Ishimaru & Takahashi, 2017; Ogawa, Crain, Loomis, & Ball,
2008), which I extend by drawing on literature on racial conceptions and discourses (e.g.,
Bonilla-Silva, 2006). CHAT-IT offers a useful lens for understanding how engrained cultural
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 13
patterns shape and are shaped by organizational actors’ efforts to promote change. By adding
insights from racial conceptions and discourses to the CHAT-IT perspective, I highlight how
racism in particular can constrain and be constructed through organizational activity.
CHAT attends to the culturally and historically contextualized activity system, in which
actors work collectively towards a common object. The activity system consists of ongoing
interactions among the actors engaged in this work, the division of labor between actors,
mediating artifacts (such as language and physical materials), a broader community of affected
stakeholders, and cultural rules (assumptions and norms that guide behavior) (Engeström &
Miettinen, 1999). Institutional theory contributes the understanding that the cultural-historical
context that enables and constrains activity includes institutions: durable, deeply engrained
patterns of cultural meaning that shape and are shaped by individual cognition (Jepperson, 1991;
Scott, 2008).
Racism represents an especially powerful institution in U.S. society (Ishimaru &
Takahashi, 2017). Drawing on scholarship on racial conceptions and discourses, I identify five
cultural-cognitive rules
2
that may work to reproduce institutionalized racism in school districts’
activity systems. The first rule, normalizing Whiteness, suggests that qualities associated with the
White racial group should be understood as the universal standard or ideal (Bonilla-Silva, 2012;
Gordon, 2005). The second rule, maintaining colorblindness, refers to the practice of avoiding
explicit acknowledgement of race (Bonilla-Silva, 2006; Pollock, 2009). Third, individualizing
racism refers to the association of racial inequity with individual biases and actions, rather than
systemic or historical dynamics; for example, one might assert that racism is caused by a few

2
I employ the term “rules” in alignment with the language of CHAT (see Engeström & Miettinen, 1999). However,
it is important to note that these “rules” are not fixed or rigid structures, but ongoing and dynamic social processes. I
discuss this point further in Chapter Seven.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 14
extreme White individuals (Hill, 2009). Fourth, focusing on diversity describes the pattern of
preventing conversation about racial injustice by substituting conversations about the value of
diversity (Pollock, 2009; Turner, 2015). Finally, according to the rule of attributing inequity to
non-racial factors, evidence of racial inequity is acknowledged, but is explained entirely by non-
racial factors such as culture, language, socioeconomic status, or biology (Hill, 2009; Morning,
2009; Turner, 2015).
CHAT-IT offers insights on how activity systems not only are constrained by cultural
institutions, but also how they might promote change. Change is prompted by contradictions
within the activity system; for example, actors may encounter a contradiction between the
institutionalized cultural rule of maintaining colorblindness and the mediating artifact of a
presenter speaking about race. Actors may respond to contradictions through internalization, the
reproduction of the status quo, or externalization, the generation of change in the activity system.
Ultimately, CHAT-IT, complemented by a framework of five rules of racial inequity, provides a
useful lens for analyzing how actors implement district policies with racial equity goals. This
approach attends to ways that implementation processes are shaped by institutionalized racism
and other cultural patterns, and also highlights opportunities for educators to advance cultural
change.
Significance
Though scholars have examined processes of district policy implementation (e.g., Coburn
& Talbert, 2006; Honig, Venkateswaran, & McNeil, 2017; Spillane, 2000), limited research
examines district efforts to advance racial equity goals. This study responds to this gap, shedding
light on the role of institutionalized racism in orienting and constraining district policy
implementation. As these findings show, district policies that challenge deeply engrained cultural
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 15
beliefs about race can trigger uncomfortable contradictions, which manifest as resistance from
educators and may result in minimal change in school and classroom practice. In contrast,
policies that take a colorblind approach towards implicit racial equity goals—such as efforts to
improve the quality of instruction or school climate—avoid triggering such contradictions and
thus may receive a more positive reception among educators. However, failing to acknowledge
race may miss opportunities for advancing racial justice. Specifically, data suggest that
colorblind implementation processes can perpetuate problematic constructions of student racial
groups, as well as deficit-oriented views of students and families of color.
Furthermore, this project extends existing scholarship on factors that influence district
policy implementation. Previous work has explored how leadership structures, communication of
policy goals, resource constraints, political context, and state/federal policy can inform district
change efforts (e.g., Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Coburn, Touré, & Yamashita, 2009; Farrell, 2015;
Honig, 2009; Honig & Ikemoto, 2008; Honig et al., 2017). This study illustrates the importance
of these factors for racial equity policies in particular. For instance, policies that explicitly
address racial bias seem to rely on external consultants, without forming the types of distributed
leadership teams found to facilitate success in other policy efforts. In addition, my findings
indicate that policies with the stated goals of racial bias work—reducing bias and discussing
abstract, macro-level social forces—may prompt pushback and limit changes in practice when
compared to policies that emphasize goals of relationship-building and emphasize tangible,
concrete practices. Resource constraints may be particularly important for policies aimed at
countering racism, as such efforts may be the first ones cut in times of limited finances. Finally,
state and federal policies not only motivate the adoption of racial equity policies, they also
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 16
communicate implicit social constructions of student groups, which shape and constrain districts’
equity efforts.
Beyond these empirical contributions, I also provide a theoretical approach for examining
how institutionalized racism orients and constrains education policy implementation at the local
level. This study demonstrates the utility of CHAT-IT for exploring how cultural institutions
influence and are perpetuated through educators’ efforts to implement district policies. This
theoretical stance also attends to how these efforts might challenge the influence of institutions
and promote change. By extending CHAT-IT with a framework of five cultural-cognitive rules
that reproduce racial inequity, I offer a lens for understanding how racism—an especially potent
and harmful cultural force—shapes and is shaped by policy implementation processes.
Ultimately, this study contributes both empirical and theoretical insights regarding the role of
institutionalized racism in district policy implementation, and provides implications for
practitioners, policymakers, and researchers seeking to advance racial justice in U.S. schools.
Outline of the Manuscript
In the next chapter, I give an overview of the empirical research base regarding equity-
oriented change in school districts. Five patterns characterize this literature: 1) studies of policy
impact, with overall mixed findings; 2) presentation of frameworks and exemplars; 3) research
on political pushback against equity efforts; 4) studies of the challenges in the implementation of
policies with equity goals; and 5) work on the factors that influence district change, broadly
understood. This body of work offers limited insight into the factors shaping the implementation
of district policies with racial equity goals in particular, a gap that this manuscript aims to
address.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 17
In Chapter Three, I detail the theoretical framework used to guide this study. I explain the
shared foundational assumptions of CHAT and institutional theory regarding the dialectical,
mutually constituting relationship between individuals and societal structures. These assumptions
allow for an understanding of race as a social construct, which manifests simultaneously as
individual-level, subjective beliefs and as objective, material reality. I then summarize the key
concepts within both institutional theory and CHAT, and I extend the integrated framework of
CHAT-IT by offering a set of five cultural-cognitive rules that can reproduce racial inequity in
district policy implementation processes.
Chapter Four presents the study methodology. To examine district efforts to implement
racial equity policies, I used a qualitative, multiple case study design (Yin, 2013). I selected two
districts that appeared to be pursuing several efforts featuring racial equity goals, and, in each
district, I identified four policies that leaders described as advancing racial equity. To investigate
the implementation of these eight policy cases in the 2018-19 year, I conducted interviews
(n=32) with district leaders, consultants working with the district, school leaders, teachers,
school support staff, and parents. I also conducted observations (totaling 44 hours) of district and
school efforts to implement racial equity policies, including professional development sessions,
teacher and administrator meetings, and classroom instruction. Data were initially analyzed using
a provisional set of codes developed from the theoretical framework and empirical literature.
Subsequently, I wrote detailed memos describing the implementation processes for each policy
case. I then created a series of matrix and network displays (Miles, Huberman, & Saldaña, 2014)
to identify patterns within and across policy cases, which evolved into the findings presented in
Chapters Five and Six.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 18
Chapter Five discusses the findings in response to the first research question, 1) What
patterns characterize the implementation of district policies with racial equity goals? The
policies that district leaders saw as furthering racial equity fell into three categories based on
their central aims: challenging bias, strengthening school climate, or improving instructional
quality. Anti-bias policies were the only efforts to directly address racism. These efforts
appeared to encounter widespread resistance from educators, and interviews and observations
both suggested there was minimal impact on practice. Climate and instruction policies, in
contrast, generally had greater buy-in, and evidence suggested they may also have impacted
practice. However, the implementation of climate and instruction policies was characterized by
patterns that may have reinforced racial inequity, including low expectations of students of color,
missed opportunities to counter racialized messages or advance culturally relevant pedagogy, and
limiting constructions of student groups.
Chapter Six builds on these findings, addressing the second research question, 2) What
factors influenced the implementation of these policies, and how so? I delve into the ways that
the five cultural-cognitive rules of racial inequity (normalizing Whiteness, maintaining
colorblindness, individualizing racism, focusing on diversity, and attributing inequity to non-
racial factors) help explain pushback against anti-bias policies, as well as the construction of
racial groups, the prevalence of colorblind approaches, and expressions of deficit-based views of
people of color. Assumptions regarding the division of labor within schools also help explain
pushback against some case policies, and leadership structures emerged as another possibly
important factor influencing implementation. The nature of the policy’s object, or goal, also
appeared to inform policy enactment, with policies focused on relationship-building and concrete
practice shifts encountering a more positive reception, and greater reported shifts in practice,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 19
than other policy efforts. Teachers’ unions, school boards, resource availability, and state/federal
policy emerged as additional contextual factors informing district policy implementation.
Finally, in Chapter Seven, I reflect on the contributions and implications offered by these
findings. I detail how these findings fill a gap in the existing literature regarding the enactment of
district policies with racial equity goals, and I also explain how this study builds on the insights
from previous scholarship on district policy implementation. I conclude with implications for
policymakers, practitioners, and researchers seeking to advance racial equity in education.
Positionality
This study examines educators’ efforts to disrupt racial inequity, with the hope of
illuminating strategies for furthering racial justice. Considering this research focus, it is
important to acknowledge my own racial positionality at the outset of this manuscript. As a
White person, I experience numerous advantages of Whiteness each day, many of which I am
not even aware of, and these advantages are derived from the oppression of people of color. I
believe that benefitting from the harm of others is fundamentally immoral, and, in my
perspective, the advantages of Whiteness come at an immeasurable cost to my integrity, spirit,
and connection to humanity. I am not saying that this moral cost is anything like the harm
experienced by people of color in a White supremacist society—there is absolutely no
comparison—but rather to explain why I consider the dismantling of systemic racism to be in my
own interest. It is my personal belief that racial justice is in the shared interest of all humanity,
including White people. This conviction underlies my approach to conducting research on race
and education.
As a White researcher seeking to advance racial equity, I am guided by four interrelated
core principles. First, I assume that I am influenced by intersecting dynamics of privilege and
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 20
oppression. I cannot remove myself from racism or other social systems, and my context and
positionality inevitably shape my perceptions of reality. Second, I recognize that I have
internalized logics that falsely justify White privilege, such as the belief that I have earned the
advantages I experience due to my personal merit or hard work (Gordon, 2005). Third, I believe
that, as a person who benefits from this unjust system, I have a moral imperative to challenge
institutionalized racism. Fourth, I am committed to ongoing, critical self-reflection in alignment
with the first three principles. In this self-reflection, I aim to interrogate how racialized
assumptions influence my scholarship, and I seek to uncover and disrupt ways that I might be
unintentionally perpetuating racial injustice.
A Note on Language
As discussed earlier in this chapter, racial categories are social constructs originating
from slavery and colonization. It is thus not surprising that the language we use to describe racial
groups is imperfect. Preferred terms vary across time and place: words that were considered non-
controversial just a few decades ago may now be considered inappropriate, or even offensive (P.
B. Harper, 1996). Moreover, racial group names fail to capture the nuances of individual
identity, and focusing on singular racial categories ignores the complexity of multiracial
identities. Yet, as social psychologist Beverly Tatum (2017) writes, “It is difficult to talk about
what is essentially a flawed and problematic social construct without using language that is itself
problematic” (p. 97).
Throughout this manuscript, I use the phrases “people of color” and “racially minoritized
people” interchangeably to refer to people associated with racialized social groups that are not
ascribed the advantages of Whiteness in American society (Harris, 1993). I avoid the term “non-
White,” as it defines people in terms of what they are not, and positions people of color as
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 21
deviants from a standard of Whiteness. I also refrain from the term “minorities,” as people of
color are the quantitative majority in California, where I reside and where this study was
conducted, as well as in the world. In my experience, the term “people of color” is widely used
and can connote empowerment and solidarity. “Racially minoritized,” which has been frequently
used in educational research literature in recent years (e.g., Khalifa, Gooden, & Davis, 2016),
calls attention to the fact that race is not an inherent characteristic of humans, but the ongoing
social construction of a racial hierarchy.
For specific racial categories, I use the terms “White,” “Black,” “Latinx, “Asian,”
“Pacific Islander,” “American Indian,” and “Arab” to refer to commonly understood categories
in the contemporary United States. I have elected to capitalize “White” and “Black” to illustrate
their parallel with other capitalized racial group names, and to distinguish racial terms from the
names of colors. It is my view that capitalizing the names of all racial groups helps to
communicate the enormous power of these categories in U.S. society. Some also suggest that
capitalizing “Black” can also connote respect for the Black community (Tharps, 2014). Many
explicitly anti-racist writers elect to capitalize “Black” and use a lowercase “white” in order to
elevate Black people and refrain from reinforcing the power and privilege of Whiteness
(Diversity Style Guide, 2016). I see great value in this perspective, and I contemplated taking
this approach. However, as the theoretical foundation for this study emphasizes that Whiteness is
often rendered an invisible and unstated norm, I ultimately chose to capitalize “White” in order
to call attention to the often-ignored dynamics of Whiteness, and to communicate that White
people are in fact racialized.
I primarily use “Black” rather than “African American” in order to distinguish race from
nationality, and because there are people in the United States who are not African American yet
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 22
are racialized as Black, including African and Afro-Caribbean people. I do, however, use
“African American” when describing policies and practices regarding disaggregating data for the
“African American subgroup,” as this is the language used by participants and policy documents.
I choose the term “Latinx” because it is a gender-inclusive term, encompassing trans and non-
binary gender identities that may be excluded by “Latino” or “Latina.” Critics of “Latinx” have
noted that “Latino” is already gender inclusive in Spanish, and have argued that the imposition
U.S. ideas of gender and language on Latinx people is imperialistic (Education Trust-West,
2017). However, one might also argue that “Latino” does in fact imply cis-masculinity, at least in
an English-speaking context, and that use of the Spanish language on the American continents is
itself a legacy of European imperialism. My personal interactions with trans and non-binary
Latinx people, as well as the growing popularity of the term among education researchers (e.g.,
Garcia, 2017), have informed my decision to select “Latinx” for this manuscript. I also describe
“Latinx” as a racial category, though some indicate that the Latinx social group should be
considered an ethnically rather than racially defined group (Gonzalez-Barrera & Lopez, 2015).
I use “Asian” and “Arab” rather than “Asian American” and “Arab American” because,
again, I aim to separate racial categorization from nationality (I avoid the term “European
American” for similar reasons). At times, I combine Asian and Pacific Islander into “API,”
reflecting a broader cultural pattern of combining these groups, though I acknowledge that doing
so can erase the unique experiences of Pacific Islanders. I use “American Indian” because,
according some reports, it is currently the most commonly used term (Tatum, 2017). Finally, I
use “White” rather than “Caucasian” because of the latter term’s origins in eugenic
classifications (Mukhopadhyay, 2008), and to highlight the relationship between Whiteness as a
racial category and White supremacy.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 23
Race is an oppressive social construct, and the language we use for racial categories is
inherently flawed. While I have selected the language for this manuscript intentionally, I
acknowledge that these terms are not ideal, and that they do not reflect the preferences and
identities of all people associated with those categories. Yet, in order to discuss the problem of
racial inequity in education, we must use the language that is available to us, despite its
inadequacy.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 24
CHAPTER TWO
REVIEW OF RELEVANT LITERATURE
In what follows, I review the literature relevant to district efforts to enact policies with
racial equity goals. I find that this research base can be characterized in five patterns: 1)
measurements of the impact of equity policies on desired outcomes; 2) examination of
exemplary cases; 3) examinations of political pushback against change efforts; 4) analysis of
barriers to equity in implementation; and 5) identification of conditions shaping district change.
While scholarship in each of these categories has shed some light on how districts might foster
racial equity, unanswered questions still remain.
Measuring Impact of Equity Policies
A sizable body of literature has focused on measuring the impact of district equity efforts.
Policies evaluated in this literature include teacher and school accountability (Alexander, Jang, &
Kankane, 2017; Dee & Wyckoff, 2015; Lauen & Gaddis, 2012; Strunk, Marsh, Hashim, & Bush-
Mecenas, 2016; Strunk, Marsh, Hashim, Bush-Mecenas, & Weinstein, 2016) and disciplinary
reform (Anyon et al., 2016; Skiba, Artiles, Kozleski, Losen, & Harry, 2016; Vincent, Swain-
Bradway, Tobin, & May, 2011; Vincent, Tobin, Hawken, & Frank, 2012). This literature
primarily uses quasi-experimental and randomized controlled trial designs; common data
analysis approaches include OLS regression and multi-level modeling.
For most of these policies, the findings are mixed, and evidence of positive outcomes is
typically modest: taken collectively, it is not clear whether or not these policies consistently
accomplish desired outcomes. For example, in the area of disciplinary reform, researchers
consistently find some evidence of declines in suspensions and expulsions, yet a persistence of
racial disparities. In one study, Vincent and Tobin (2010) used descriptive statistics and multiple
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 25
regression analyses to examine disciplinary data from 77 schools implementing positive behavior
supports (PBS), finding that, though overall suspensions and expulsions decreased after PBS
implementation, this benefitted White students most, and Black students remained
overrepresented in suspensions and expulsions. Other studies have had similar findings, further
supporting the conclusion that disciplinary reform has not adequately addressed racial equity
(Anyon et al., 2016; Payne & Welch, 2017; Skiba et al., 2011; Vincent, Swain-Bradway, et al.,
2011; Vincent et al., 2012).
Overall, literature on the impact of equity-oriented policies is helpful in analyzing the
extent to which such policies affect the material conditions of students. However, quantitative
methods give limited insight into the reasons why such policies are associated with particular
outcomes, or the factors that enable or constrain their implementation. Moreover, much of this
research focuses on the state or national level, raising questions about how these findings might
inform district-level policy. The largely mixed findings in this research base suggest that local
context and implementation are highly influential in determining the extent to which such
policies accomplish equity goals.
Presentation of Frameworks and Exemplary Cases
Many scholars, responding to the compelling consensus regarding racial inequity in
education, have developed frameworks to guide change, particularly in the areas of culturally
relevant pedagogy (Ladson-Billings, 1995; Paris, 2012) and stakeholder engagement (Barajas-
López & Ishimaru, 2016; Jiménez-Castellanos, Ochoa, & Olivos, 2016). This literature has
presented guiding visions for future programs and policies grounded in extant literature on racial
inequity and theoretical perspectives such as critical theory (del Carmen Salazar, 2013) or
cultural-historical activity theory (Ishimaru & Takahashi, 2017). Researchers have also
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 26
conducted qualitative case studies of efforts to implement such approaches; frequently, these
cases are exemplary illustrations of the recommended approach at the school or classroom level
(e.g., Brown, 2004; Curry, 2016; de los Ríos et al., 2015; Duncan-Andrade, 2007; Ladson-
Billings, 2009; Milner, 2011; Ware, 2006). For example, Chin and colleagues (2012) described
the rationale for a positive behavior supports program using behaviorist and social-ecological
theories of learning, and then presented the details of a PBS program implemented in one
elementary school, including procedures and materials. They also presented a brief summary of
the experience of one student who developed strategies to calm herself down and avoid fighting
through PBS interventions. This paper demonstrates a pattern in this literature: detailing a theory
of action for change accompanied by illustrative examples.
A body of literature on educators’ data use and continuous improvement, primarily
directed at practitioners, reflects a similar approach of proposed frameworks and exemplary
cases (Ancess, Barnett, & Allen, 2007; Bryk, 2015; Bryk, Gomez, Grunow, & LeMahieu, 2015;
T. Corcoran & Lawrence, 2003; C. Lewis, 2015; Moody & Dede, 2008; S. Park, Hironaka,
Carver, & Nordstrum, 2013). For instance, C. Lewis (2015) explained how the “improvement
science” paradigm of continuous improvement initiatives, which advocates for the adaptation of
programs based on local needs and the cycles of action and reflection, differs from an
“experimental paradigm” that privileges randomized controlled trials and uniform fidelity in
local implementation. Lewis then described the use of lesson study in Japanese education as an
exemplar of an improvement science approach. Though efforts to close racial achievement gaps
are sometimes mentioned in this literature (e.g., Bryk, 2017), scholars in this area typically avoid
explicit discussions of race.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 27
Collectively, such literature suggests that there are indeed strategies that can further
equity goals generally and racial equity goals in particular. Scholars in this area have imagined
alternate possibilities to existing policies, advanced our understanding of what racial equity
efforts could look like, and offered specific recommendations to practitioners and policymakers.
However, as this work largely focuses on envisioning new approaches and highlighting ideal
examples, it offers little insights into the forces that may constrain the implementation of these
strategies in a broader context. Furthermore, many of the exemplary case studies mentioned are
in individual classrooms or schools, offering limited understanding of how such approaches
might be implemented at the district level.
Political Pushback Against Equity Policies
Several scholars have used qualitative case studies of districts engaged in equity-oriented
reform to explore the political dynamics of these efforts (Noguera, 2001; Rorrer, 2006; Trujillo,
2013; Turner, 2015; Turner & Spain, 2016; Zirkel & Pollack, 2016). Drawing on theoretical
approaches from political science and institutional theory, collectively this literature suggests
that that powerful political actors—including elite parents, school board members, principals,
teachers, and unions—resist, block, or modify district efforts for equity-oriented change. In these
cases, elite actors’ resistance often reflects a Libertarian conception of equity; for example, in a
multiple case study of two school districts pursuing equity-oriented reforms, Turner and Spain
(2016) found that, in response to a proposed policy to eliminate course tracking, educators and
privileged parents advocated for greater resources for gifted and advanced students, leading
district leaders to compromise by increasing AP/gifted enrollment but maintaining tracking
overall. In a case study of a single district, Trujillo (2013) similarly found that political pressure
from teachers and unions prevented the district from enacting equity-oriented policies. Taken
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 28
together, this literature suggests that district leaders are constrained in their ability to pursue
equity-oriented approaches due to their political context. This may have particularly important
implications for racial equity goals, as district leaders may experience political pressure to
prioritize “colorblind” policies that align with dominant race-neutral discourses (López, 2003).
These scholars have demonstrated that district efforts to advance equity are embedded in
a social and political context, and the power dynamics within this context can serve as barriers to
change. Researchers in this area have provided insight into some of the challenges of enacting
policies aligned with equity goals, and their findings have offered possible explanations for both
the mixed results observed in quantitative literature and the barriers to implementing strategies
proposed in the frameworks/exemplars literature. However, researchers typically define equity
broadly and do not specifically focus on race (for an exception, see Turner, 2015). While this
approach does allow for consideration of intersecting identities, it provides limited insights on
how districts might enact policies with a race-conscious equity focus. Similarly, the broad
definitions of equity in this literature prevent an exploration of how multiple and contrasting
equity conceptions may shape policy enactment. Finally, while this work sheds light on political
barriers to policy efforts, it offers few suggestions about how district leaders can navigate such
barriers in order to effectively promote change.
Barriers to Equity in Implementation
A fourth body of research has examined ways in which, through implementation, district
policies’ equity goals may be only partially realized or undermined altogether (Allbright, Marsh,
Hall, et al., 2019; Bertrand, 2014; Booher-Jennings, 2005; Holme, 2002; Ishimaru et al., 2016;
Luet, 2015; Malen, Dayhoff, Egan, & Croninger, 2015). Most of these studies used qualitative
case study methods; some also have also used survey or administrative data (e.g., Hollingworth,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 29
Dude, & Shepherd, 2010; Sattin-Bajaj, Jennings, Corcoran, Baker-Smith, & Hailey, 2017).
Researchers in this area have drawn on a wide variety of theoretical frameworks, including
critical theory (Kaomea, 2003), neoinstitutional theory (Booher-Jennings, 2005), democratic
theory (Marsh, Strunk, Bush-Mecenas, & Huguet, 2015), organizational learning (Ishimaru et al.,
2016), and cognitive theory (Hollingworth et al., 2010). Such research echoes a consensus in
policy implementation literature: that the will and capacity of local implementers, or “street-level
bureaucrats” (Weatherley & Lipsky, 1977), shapes the nature of enacted policy (McLaughlin,
1987). For example, in an ethnographic multiple case study of three restorative justice programs
in predominantly Black and Latinx high schools in New York City, Lustick (2017) found that the
programs did not change previous organizational norms regarding punitive discipline. Rather
than permeating the school culture, restorative justice was isolated to the work of program
coordinators, all young adults of color in contrast to the older, predominantly White teaching
staff. The school staff expected these coordinators to control or regulate student behavior rather
than engage in restorative practices, resulting in a lack of meaningful transformation in the
schools’ disciplinary processes. In another example, Roegman, Allen, and Hatch (2017)
conducted a longitudinal case study of superintendents engaged in instructional rounds,
observing three patterns that undermined equity goals: 1) understating the influence of race; 2)
engaging in a “culture of niceness” that avoided difficult conversations; and 3) rigidly adhering
to the observation protocol even when additional conversations may have been beneficial. These
papers illustrate how the beliefs and actions of street-level bureaucrats, enabled and constrained
by their local context, shape the extent to which a policy realizes its equity goals.
Like the scholars describing political challenges, researchers addressing policy
implementation have identified ways in which local context and actors’ pre-existing beliefs may
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 30
function as obstacles to equity-oriented change. As Roegman and colleagues (2017) observed,
these findings may have particular relevance for policies with racial equity goals. However,
much of this work considers equity generally without specifically focusing on race. Moreover,
researchers in this area typically examine a single policy in their studies without examining how
institutionalized racism and other factors influence the simultaneous implementation of multiple
initiatives within a district.
Conditions Shaping District Change
Finally, a sizable body of literature, primarily in the form of qualitative case studies, has
explored the individual, organizational, and environmental conditions shaping district change
efforts (Coburn, 2005; Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Coburn et al., 2009; Durand, Lawson, Wilcox,
& Schiller, 2015; Honig, 2006, 2009, 2012; Honig et al., 2017; Marsh et al., 2017; V. Park &
Datnow, 2009; Spillane, 2000). Researchers in this area have rarely foregrounded issues of
equity; however, they have primarily studied instructional improvement initiatives, which
include goals of raising achievement or closing outcome gaps and are in line with Democratic
Liberal equity conceptions (with the notable exception of Turner, 2015, who uses a race-
conscious lens to examine both political and organizational factors shaping district equity
efforts). Key frameworks used include organizational learning (Honig, 2009), sociocultural
learning theory (Honig et al., 2017), distributed and social cognition (Spillane, 2000),
institutional theory (Coburn & Talbert, 2006), and sensemaking (Coburn, 2005).
Collectively, this literature has identified numerous factors at the individual,
interpersonal/organizational, and inter-organizational/environmental levels that influence district
change efforts. Key individual factors include values, beliefs, knowledge, prior experiences,
schemas (mental models of relationships among concepts) and skills (Coburn & Talbert, 2006;
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 31
Honig, 2009; Spillane, 2000). Important interpersonal/organizational factors include
organizational culture, norms, and routines; interpersonal trust, leadership stability and
commitment to change processes; organizational structure and size; and the organization’s
history with prior reform efforts (Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Coburn et al., 2009; Farrell, 2015;
Honig, 2009; Honig & Ikemoto, 2008; Honig et al., 2017). Major inter-organizational and
environmental factors include resources (such as time, space, finances, and materials) (Coburn et
al., 2009; Farrell, 2015; Honig & Ikemoto, 2008); the balance of autonomy and centralization
(between the district and the state, or between the district and schools) (Farrell, 2015; Honig &
Ikemoto, 2008; Marsh, 2002); partnerships with intermediary organizations (Honig & Ikemoto,
2008; Honig et al., 2017); and broader institutions such as academic disciplines (Spillane &
Burch, 2006).
Researchers in this area have advanced helpful theoretical frameworks for understanding
district change, such as organizational learning, institutional theory, and sociocultural learning
theory. They have also provided insight into the specific nature of the micro-, meso-, and macro-
level conditions that shape district policy implementation. Overall, this body of work helps us to
understand key elements, both internal and external to districts, that influence change processes.
As noted earlier, though, this literature largely lacks an explicit equity focus and thus may not
address conditions specific to equity-oriented change. Trujillo (2013) critiqued these researchers
for focusing only on the technical, rather than the normative or political, aspects of district policy
(see also Oakes, 1992). To build on Trujillo’s observation, this literature also omits discussion of
how racial identities, beliefs, and power structures may influence policy implementation. To
further racial equity in education, researchers should consider the conditions that shape race-
conscious approaches to district change.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 32
Summary
Researchers have presented extensive evidence of racial inequity in educational inputs,
outcomes, processes, and historical context. Districts have engaged in a number of policies
intended to address these concerns and further equity, and these efforts reflect varying and
contrasting understandings of what equity might mean. The research on equity-oriented change
in school districts can be characterized through five patterns: research measuring impact;
frameworks and exemplary cases; research on political pushback; research on challenges in
implementation; and research on conditions shaping change. Each of these bodies of literature
offer some insights to help us understand how we might further racial equity in education, yet
gaps remain. What challenges arise when districts seek to enact strategies detailed in the
framework and exemplary case literature? What political dynamics and conditions influence
district efforts to promote racial equity in particular? What are the patterns in implementation
challenges across multiple types of district policies with racial equity goals? This study aims to
address these gaps, advancing our understanding of how educational leaders can pursue racial
justice.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 33
CHAPTER THREE
THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK
As discussed in the previous literature review, research on equity-oriented district
policies has yet to explain the conditions that shape race-conscious efforts to promote equity; the
role of contrasting assumptions about what equity means; or strategies for shifting organizational
culture and individual beliefs regarding racial equity. In response to this gap, I conducted a
multiple case study of districts’ implementation of policies with explicit racial equity goals. To
guide this inquiry, I used a theoretical framework that draws on institutional theory and cultural-
historical activity theory (CHAT), echoing approaches taken by Ogawa and colleagues (2008),
Ishimaru and Takahashi (2017), and Bingham (2017).
The social construct of race represents a dialectical, or mutually constituted, relationship
between individuals’ subjective beliefs regarding race and the external structures that reproduce
objective racial injustice (Omi & Winant, 2014; Smedley & Smedley, 2005). These inequities
have become long-standing, intractable problems in K-12 education; thus, this project warranted
a theoretical framework that sheds light on why racial inequities are entrenched and difficult to
disrupt. Furthermore, as the focus of this study is on district implementation of policies with
racial equity goals, theory was needed to understand how actors at multiple organizational levels
work together on such policies, the factors that shape these efforts, and the extent to which these
processes change over time. The integrated CHAT and institutional theory framework (CHAT-
IT) provides such a theoretical lens. Both CHAT and institutional theory assume a socially
constructed reality and a dialectical relationship between individual subjects and an external,
material world. In addition, institutional theory sheds light on how racial inequity is embedded in
society and in educational systems, while CHAT presents a framework for understanding how
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 34
actors engage with their environment in efforts to produce change, and how this work develops
over time. However, compared to alternate theoretical approaches, CHAT-IT does not explicitly
foreground race and places relatively little emphasis on power. I aim to mitigate these limitations
by supplementing CHAT-IT with the understandings of equity, race, and power offered in the
previous literature review, as well as scholarship on racialized norms and assumptions (Bonilla-
Silva, 2012; Gordon, 2005; Hill, 2009; Morning, 2009; Pollock, 2009).
In the following sections, I first discuss my approach to using theory in qualitative
research. Next, I describe the congruent foundation of dialectics in both CHAT and institutional
theory. I then detail the key concepts of each theoretical perspective, and extend the CHAT-IT
framework by presenting five cultural-cognitive rules that may perpetuate racial equity in district
policy implementation.
Theory as a Sensitizing Concept
In this study, I used the CHAT-IT theoretical framework as a set of sensitizing concepts
(Blumer, 1954; Patton, 1990) to inform qualitative research design and analysis (Yin, 2013).
Sensitizing concepts “offer ways of seeing, organizing, and understanding experience”
(Charmaz, 2003, p. 259); they serve as a “starting point” for research design and as “interpretive
devices” to make sense of data (Bowen, 2006, p. 14). This approach contrasts with the “scientific
view” that emphasizes verifying relationships among variables (Kezar, 2006, p. 295). I did not
seek to test the propositions of CHAT-IT in this manuscript; instead, I used this framework to
guide my understanding of districts’ equity efforts.
Dialectics in CHAT and Institutional Theory
CHAT and institutional theory share common foundational assumptions which support
their use as an integrated framework. Both theories trace their ideological roots to the work of
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 35
Karl Marx, particularly his concept of dialectics (Engeström & Miettinen, 1999; Scott, 2008). In
a dialectical relationship, opposites are not mutually exclusive; instead, they are understood as
expressions of the same category (Engeström & Sannino, 2011; Roth & Lee, 2007). Each entity
in a dialectic presupposes the existence of the other entities. Both CHAT and institutional theory
assume a dialectical relationship between the agentic subject and an objective, structural reality.
Individual actors subjectively interpret experience and have agency in making choices;
collectively, these interpretations and choices form social structures, which then function as
objective realities that constrain individual actors. The dialectical perspective is foundational for
understanding the social construction of reality, a key assumption in both CHAT and institutional
theory (Engeström & Miettinen, 1999; Scott, 2008); furthermore, a dialectical approach explains
how race is constructed through subjective beliefs and behaviors, yet race also functions as an
objective social condition limiting individual actors and shaping material inequities.
Institutional Theory
Institutional theory encompasses a broad body of work across the social sciences (Scott,
2008). In this manuscript, I use the term “institutional theory” to refer to the neoinstitutionalist
tradition in sociology and organizational studies (e.g., Powell & DiMaggio, 1991). Institutional
analysis in organizational studies builds on core concepts of social structures, symbolic systems,
and the relationship between self and society developed by 19th and early 20th century American
and European sociologists, including Spencer, Marx, Weber, Durkheim, and Schutz (Scott,
2008). While earlier institutional theorists in organizational studies focused on the role of values,
norms, and social obligations in shaping organizational actors’ behavior (e.g., Parsons, 1956;
Selznick, 1949, 1957), neoinstitutional theory assumes a dialectical relationship between
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 36
cognition and culture (see Scott, 2008, pp. 36-44, for a discussion of neoinstitutionalism’s
theoretical underpinnings).
In cognition, humans construct symbolic representations of the external world, building
mental models, or schemas, that represent collections of beliefs based on prior experiences
(Brewer & Nakamura, 1984), including beliefs about race and racial hierarchies. These internal
representations shape how we interpret and assign meaning to external objects, which in turn
shapes our actions. Culture describes collectively shared symbolic representations, providing
social patterns that we then internalize as symbolic representations and cognitive schemas (Scott,
2008). Institutions are those social patterns that become deeply embedded in culture and
reproduced almost automatically through “self-activating social processes” (Jepperson, 1991).
Thus, while institutions are socially constructed, subjective systems of meaning, dialectically
speaking, they are also objective sets of external conditions that guide and limit human action. In
the words of Berger and Kellner (1981): “Every human institution is, as it were, a sedimentation
of meanings, or, to vary the image, a crystallization of meanings in objective form” (p. 31).
Institutions are conveyed and reproduced by carriers, including symbolic systems (such as
language or images that transmit cognitive schemas), material artifacts (such as technology), and
routines (structured patterns of behavior) (Scott, 2008).
Race and racism can be understood as an institution (Ishimaru & Takahashi, 2017;
Jepperson, 1991): the social pattern of a racial hierarchy, originating in the late 17th and early
18th centuries, has become crystallized and embedded in American culture, and is reproduced
almost automatically through processes such as microaggressions and implicit bias (Suárez-
Orozco et al., 2015; Warikoo et al., 2016). Similarly, K-12 education can be understood as an
institution, with culturally embedded, repetitively reproduced patterns of school and district
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 37
structure (Tyack, 1974). These institutions are communicated through symbolic systems (such as
the language we use to talk about race and about school, or images portrayed in media), material
artifacts (such as the physical structure of schools, and disparities in the quality of facilities in
racially segregated schools), and routines (such as structured patterns of behavior in the
classroom, or the structured behaviors of a disciplinary referral).
In organizations, such as schools and districts, taken-for-granted institutionalized
frameworks enable, orient, and constrain action (Cardinale, 2018; Scott, 2008). Institutions
provide scripts for organizational actors’ behavior and templates for organizational structures
and identities (Greenwood & Hinings, 1996; Jepperson, 1991), establishing power dynamics that
shape interactions among actors. Organizations conform to institutional scripts and templates
because these frameworks are taken-for-granted assumptions about “the way things are”;
institutional patterns are rarely questioned and alternate behaviors may not even occur to actors
as possibilities. Conforming to institutional frameworks also gives organizations legitimacy
(Meyer & Rowan, 1977; Scott, 2008), supporting their continued survival in their social
environment.
In education, institutionalized, taken-for-granted assumptions might include the belief
that academic English is a superior language for classroom conversation (Delpit & Dowdy, 2008;
Flores & Rosa, 2015), that Black and Latinx students are “troublemakers” (Su, 2010), and that
educators possess more valuable knowledge than families of color (Ishimaru & Takahashi,
2017). These institutionalized frameworks inform templates for organizational structures and
identities. Such structures might include classroom requirements to speak only in academic
English or disciplinary practices that maintain disproportionate punishment directed at Black and
Latinx students. An organization might have a collective identity as a “struggling” school that
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 38
serves low-performing students of color (Finnigan & Gross, 2007) or as a racially neutral
organization serving primarily White students (A. E. Lewis, 2001). These institutionalized
assumptions are also part of scripts that guide actors’ behavior and roles: for example,
institutionalized scripts may dictate that district administrators present information to families of
color rather than listen to families’ input or engage in reciprocal decision-making conversations
(Ishimaru & Takahashi, 2017).
Institutional theory offers a useful lens for understanding why deeply entrenched social
patterns, such as racial inequity, are highly stable and resistant to change (Buckho, 1994;
DiMaggio & Powell, 1983). However, some scholars have employed institutional theory to
examine change processes. For instance, institutional theorists have proposed that functional,
political, and social pressures can prompt deinstitutionalization, or the weakening and
replacement of social institutions (Oliver, 1992; Scott, 2008). Furthermore, powerful political
actors, including elites within the nation-state, professions, and corporations, as well as collective
social movements, can serve as institutional agents or entrepreneurs, prompting the emergence of
new institutions and replacement of existing ones (Battilana, 2006; DiMaggio, 1988; Scott,
2008). Relatedly, institutional scholars have used structuration theory to emphasize the agency of
individual actors in their decisions to adhere to or challenge established social structures
(Giddens, 1984; Scott, 2008).
While these examples demonstrate that institutional theory has some potential for
understanding change, this lens provides limited information about how district actors might
promote racial equity through the day-to-day work of policy implementation. For this reason, I
propose integrating institutional theory with CHAT, described in the following section.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 39
Cultural-Historical Activity Theory
Grounded in German philosophy and Marxist dialectics, activity theory was initially
developed in the early 20th century by the cultural-historical school of Russian psychologists:
first by Vygotsky, and later by his students Leont’ev and Luria (Engeström & Miettinen, 1999;
Roth & Lee, 2007). CHAT focuses on the culturally and historically contextualized activity
system, a unit of analysis that transcends boundaries between micro and macro levels. Activity
refers to collective, culturally mediated practices directed towards a societally important object
(Engeström, 1987). The activity system can be understood as the ongoing, mutually constitutive
interactions of subjects, an object, mediating artifacts, rules, community, and division of labor,
which together generate outcomes. Activity systems are connected to one another in networks
(Roth & Lee, 2007), with exchanges of elements (subjects, artifacts, rules, etc.) occurring across
systems. District efforts to promote racial equity can be described as networked activity systems;
this unit of analysis is advantageous as it offers a holistic understanding of the interactions of
individuals, organizations, and societal forces. In what follows, I present the definitions of each
of these elements of activity, touching on their correspondence with institutional theory, and I
illustrate these elements through a hypothetical example of a district implementing a culturally
relevant pedagogy (CRP) program. Figure 2.1 shows a visual representation of this example
activity system.
The object of an activity system is, dialectically, both the objective reality that currently
exists and an imagined future reality that motivates the activity (Engeström & Sannino, 2010;
Ogawa et al., 2008). The object carries the motive or purpose of the activity; it is the “‘raw
material’ or ‘problem space’ at which the activity is directed” (Engeström & Sannino, 2010). In
the case of our hypothetical district program, the object is both the current state of racial inequity
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 40
in the district, and a desired future state of racial equity. The subjects are humans working
towards this object, whose point of view guides our analysis (Engeström & Sannino, 2010). An
institutional perspective notes that the subjects possess cognitive representations and schemas,
shaped by culture and individual experience, which influence their interpretations of reality. In
our example, let us say that the subjects are a team of consultants contracted by the district, mid-
level central office administrators, and school principals. In pursuing the object, subjects
generate outcomes, the products or impacts of the activity. In this case, an outcome might be
principals’ practice of formal classroom observations and teacher coaching conferences informed
by elements of CRP.
Subjects engage with the object and produce outcomes through artifacts, which mediate
the relationship between internal psychological processes and the external material world
(Engeström, 1999). Artifacts reflect their cultural context, and they include both material
(physical) and symbolic (representative) instruments (Ogawa et al., 2008); they are analogous to
the concept of institutional carriers—symbolic systems, material artifacts, and behavioral
routines that convey institutions. For instance, our team may employ the material artifacts of a
projector, computers, pens, papers, and clipboards. Symbolic artifacts include language and
gestures, such as the verbal instructions, comments, and questions posed by team members
during a meeting. Documents and images embody both material and symbolic aspects, such as a
book on CRP, a slide deck with illustrative graphics, and a formal observation protocol. Subjects
are situated in community, the network of other stakeholder groups in the activity system
(Engeström & Sannino, 2010). For our district team, the community they interact with includes
organizations such as schools, unions, parent advocacy groups, community-based organizations,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 41
the school board, and local civic groups. This community also includes individual actors such as
teachers, students, families, community members, and political leaders.
Division of labor describes the roles and power structure that informs subjects’ positions
and actions. Division of labor reflects institutional templates and scripts for organizational
structure and behavior. For instance, the CRP consultants might take on the task of planning and
leading team meetings; principals then follow consultants’ instructions and use consultants’
artifacts to conduct observations and coaching meetings with teachers; and district administrators
monitor principals’ efforts, intervene if principals do not follow consultants’ instructions, and
report to consultants about principals’ progress. Each of these roles follow institutional scripts
that dictate the responsibilities and behaviors of each actor, placing consultants in the role of
teaching and leading, principals in the role of following instructions, and district administrators
in the role of supervising and monitoring.
Finally, rules are the explicit and implicit assumptions and expectations which guide
actions in the activity system. From an integrated CHAT-IT perspective, these rules reflect the
collection of taken-for-granted representations, schemas, templates, and scripts that compose the
cultural-cognitive foundations of institutions. To elucidate “rules” that may influence activity
associated with race, I turn to literature on racial conceptions and discourses (e.g., Bonilla-Silva,
2006; Morning, 2009; Pollock, 2009), identifying five key cultural-cognitive processes that may
reproduce racial inequity in the activity system.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 42
Rules
3
of Racial Inequity
The CHAT-IT concept of institutionalized rules aligns with literature describing the
cultural dynamics upholding a racial hierarchy in American society (Ishimaru & Takahashi,
2017). For example, Bonilla-Silva (2012) suggested that cultural and linguistic practices
normalizing White supremacy could be understood as a “racial grammar” that reproduces
inequity. Bonilla-Silva explained that this grammar functions like air pollution—invisible yet
dangerous—a metaphor that can also illustrate the nature of rules in an activity system.
Relatedly, Hill (2009) described a “White racial frame” supported by a “folk theory” of race and
racism (p. 4), and Gordon (2005) presented the framework of “logics” of White privilege.
Collectively, literature on the taken-for-granted assumptions and practices supporting racial
inequity suggest five inter-related cultural-cognitive rules that may be at play in an activity
system implementing a race-conscious district policy: 1) normalizing Whiteness; 2) maintaining
colorblindness; 3) individualizing racism; 4) focusing on diversity; and 5) attributing inequity to
non-racial factors.
According to the rule of normalizing Whiteness, qualities associated with the White racial
group are understood as the universal standard or ideal, while alternate qualities are viewed as
deviant, deficient, or abnormal. Bonilla-Silva (2012) provided several examples of “stories about
whites become stories about all of us” (p. 177), such as medical standards for normal weight
based on measurements of White bodies, or media coverage of missing White children inviting
viewers to identify with the parents (“that could be my child”). Normalizing Whiteness supports
a deficit perspective of communities of color (Turner, 2015), in which racially minoritized

3
As noted previously, I chose the term “rules” to maintain congruence with the CHAT framework (see Engeström
& Miettinen, 1999). I note, however, that these “rules” are not static, but are continually reproduced cultural-
cognitive processes. See Chapter Seven for further discussion of this point.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 43
people are viewed as lacking the positive characteristics of Whites. For example, as described
above, educators may perceive students or families of color as ignorant and decline to involve
them in meaningful conversations about school or district decisions (Ishimaru & Takahashi,
2017; Su, 2010), or they may view linguistic practices of racially minoritized communities (for
example, Spanglish or African American Vernacular English) as deviant or inferior to
“Standard” English (Flores & Rosa, 2015). The rule of normalizing Whiteness may be upheld
through the practice of selective attribution (Gordon, 2005), in which speakers ascribe race to
some bodies and not others, typically assigning race to people of color but not to Whites.
The second rule, maintaining colorblindness, refers to the practice of avoiding explicit
acknowledgement of race or racism (Bonilla-Silva, 2006). This rule implies that invoking race in
conversation is impolite or socially inappropriate, as such mentions are thought to create
discomfort, violating a “culture of niceness” (Roegman et al., 2017) or even exacerbating racial
inequity. Educators might maintain colorblindness by “re-aggregating” or “hyper-aggregating”
groups of students in conversation, shifting discussions about specific racial groups to
conversations about “all” students’ needs (Pollock, 2009, p. 88). This rule may also be
manifested through claims of not noticing race, the dismissal of concerns regarding racism, or
the use of indirect or euphemistic allusions to race, such as referring to students of color as
“inner city” or “high needs” youth (Gordon, 2005). Relatedly, speakers might allow for only
limited mentions of race, quickly changing the conversation topic or containing race talk by
issuing warnings (“this is heavy stuff”) (Gordon, 2005). Jackson (2008) notes that maintaining
colorblindness can engender “racial paranoia,” concerns about racist intentions hidden behind
polite, ostensibly colorblind behaviors.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 44
Individualizing racism refers to the association of racial inequity with individual biases
and actions, rather than systemic or historical dynamics. For example, one might assert that
racism is caused by a few extreme White individuals, such as neo-Nazis or KKK members (Hill,
2009). In education, actors might ascribe racial inequity to individual teacher biases, obscuring
the role of broader societal forces (Turner, 2015). Individualizing racism also allows actors,
particularly Whites, to blame others for racial inequity, evading responsibility for their own role
in perpetuating racism. Next, focusing on diversity describes the pattern of preventing
conversation about racial injustice by substituting conversations about the value of diversity and
inclusion (Pollock, 2009; Turner, 2015). This rule suggests that the explicit acknowledgement of
race should be confined to the celebration of difference, limiting opportunities for addressing
racial inequity.
Finally, according to the rule of attributing inequity to non-racial factors, evidence of
racial inequity is acknowledged, but is explained by factors such as culture, language,
socioeconomic status, or biology (Hill, 2009; Morning, 2009; Turner, 2015). For example, a gap
in test scores between White students and Latinx students might be attributed to differences in
cultural values regarding education, linguistic backgrounds, or genetic traits. This rule obscures
the role of systemic racism in fostering inequity, and like the rule of normalizing Whiteness,
above, promotes a deficit perspective in which racially minoritized people are presented as
lacking cultural or linguistic strengths. Additionally, false claims of a biological basis for race
perpetuate the arguments of eugenics and scientific racism, suggesting that Whites are
genetically superior to other racial groups (Smedley & Smedley, 2005).
In sum, these five cultural-cognitive rules of racial inequity may be at play in a district’s
activity system, orienting and constraining efforts to implement race-conscious policies.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 45
Members of the hypothetical CRP team might normalize Whiteness by only racializing students
of color and declining to acknowledge the racial identities of Whites, or they might maintain
colorblindness by redirecting the conversation to refer to “all” students rather than particular
racial groups. They may individualize racism by assuming that racial inequity is the fault of a
few biased teachers, or they could focus on diversity by pursuing multicultural celebrations rather
than engaging in discussions about injustice. Finally, CRP team members may attribute inequity
to non-racial factors by suggesting that inequitable outcomes can be explained solely by
students’ English learner status or cultural backgrounds. While this list of rules is not
exhaustive—there are numerous other mechanisms that can reproduce racial inequity—it offers a
useful lens for understanding several key cultural-cognitive processes that can constrain well-
intentioned efforts to promote racial equity in education.
Cultural-Historical Context
As depicted in Figure 2.1, CHAT asserts that activity systems are embedded in cultural
and historical context, and this context shapes and is shaped by the elements of the activity
system. Institutional theory suggests that this context includes the cultural-cognitive frameworks
of institutions, and the social-environmental pressure to maintain organizational legitimacy
through consonance with recognizable institutional patterns. For example, the rules of racial
inequity listed above are a reflection of institutional racism. District choices to use colorblind
language and attribute inequity to socioeconomic status may support organizational legitimacy,
as these choices align with taken-for-granted assumptions in the broader social environment.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 46

Figure 2.1. Model of the CHAT-IT activity system. Text in bold represents elements from CHAT; text in italics
represents elements from institutional theory; regularly formatted text refers to potential examples in district efforts
for racial equity. Adapted from Learning by Expanding: An Activity-Theoretical Approach to Developmental
Research (p. 78), by Y. Engeström, 1987, Helsinki: Orienta-Konsultit. Copyright 1987 by Yrjö Engeström.

The empirical literature reviewed previously (e.g., Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Honig et al.,
2017; Marsh, 2002; Trujillo, 2013) offers additional insights on some of the key contextual
factors that may be at play in the activity of district efforts for racial equity. These factors include
political context (i.e., relationships with unions, parent advocacy groups, and the school board),
organizational culture and interpersonal trust, leadership stability and commitment to change
processes, organizational structure and size, history with prior reform efforts, resource
constraints, extent of autonomy (between school and district, as well as district and state), and
partnerships with intermediary organizations. One can imagine each of these contextual factors
influencing the elements of a district’s activity system. For example, limited financial resources
could lead to layoffs, changing the subjects of the system, could prevent access to expensive
material artifacts such as technology, and could prompt rules related to efficiency and doing
more with less. A partnership with an intermediary organization could introduce new subjects
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 47
and artifacts, shift the division of labor, and perhaps introduce new rules or challenge existing
ones. Political pressures could alter the object of a system, as illustrated by Turner and Spain
(2016) in their observation of a district’s shift from a detracking policy to a policy of increased
access to high-level tracks.
Contradictions, Internalization, and Externalization
The activity system generates contradictions; if addressed, these contradictions can
prompt transformation (Engeström & Miettinen, 1999; Engeström & Sannino, 2011). In CHAT,
contradictions are dialectical in that the contradicting opposites both exist within the system.
They are historically rooted and socially significant, and cannot be easily resolved through
compromise (Engeström & Sannino, 2011).
As a theory rooted in Marxist dialectical materialism, CHAT scholars contend that the
primary contradiction of capitalism, inherent in all activity systems embedded in capitalist
societies, is the tension between use-value and exchange-value (Engeström & Sannino, 2011). In
education, this may manifest as a contradiction between a use-value of schooling for purposes of
democracy, equity, and human fulfillment, and an exchange-value of schooling for skills and
credentials that can translate into economic productivity (Labaree, 1997). Within an activity
system, four levels of contradictions may emerge within elements, between elements, over time,
or between activity systems (Engeström & Sannino, 2010; Roth & Lee, 2007). For example,
actors may face tension between the rule of normalizing Whiteness and an observation protocol
(artifact) that asks for consideration of assets and strengths among students of color.
Contradictions manifest in discourse as dilemmas, conflicts, critical conflicts, and double
binds (Engeström & Sannino, 2011). Dilemmas are the expression of opposite conclusions: a
district administrator might say, “On the one hand, we want our students to think critically about
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 48
society, but, on the other hand, we don’t want to offend parents by talking about controversial
topics.” Conflicts include arguments, resistance, and criticism: a principal might resist a
consultant’s instructions and criticize their approach. A critical conflict is an emotionally
charged experience, often characterized by guilt, in which an actor must face contradictory
motives: for example, a principal might feel guilt after critiquing a teacher for racial
microaggressions, torn between the motive of avoiding uncomfortable conflict and the motive of
disrupting racial inequity. In a double bind, an actor feels they have only undesirable options for
action; for instance, an administrator may feel that the team needs more professional
development meetings to implement CRP, but this administrator also knows that team members
are overwhelmed and overburdened, without any time for additional meetings.
Contradictions can be resolved through “thirdness,” the creation of an entirely new
pattern that pushes the activity system “into a new phase of development” (Engeström &
Sannino, 2011). This process of analyzing and resolving contradictions reflects individual and
collective learning and development. Thirdness can be achieved or prevented through
externalization and internalization respectively. In externalization, subjects transform culture by
creating new artifacts and opening the possibility for transformative thirdness. Internalization
refers to the process of accepting and reproducing existing culture. To illustrate externalization,
consider the hypothetical CRP team’s response to a tension between the taken-for-granted rule of
preferring academic English (associated with normalizing Whiteness) and an observation
protocol (artifact) that asks for evidence regarding the affirmation of minoritized linguistic
practices. This contradiction could manifest in various discursive forms, such as a double bind
between affirming students’ identities and providing them with academic skills. As the CRP
team recognizes the contradiction, they might then question and analyze existing practices,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 49
learning about the relationship between language, race, and power (Delpit & Dowdy, 2008;
Flores & Rosa, 2015). They could develop and acquire new artifacts that represent and
communicate their new understandings, such as articles, poetry, verbal explanations, visual
illustrations, and sample lesson plans. The team then could circulate these artifacts within the
broader community, through professional development sessions with teachers, conversations
with students, meetings with parents, and other venues. Ultimately, this could lead to thirdness: a
new developmental stage of the activity system that features new rules, artifacts, and outcomes,
and reflects participants’ learning.
Summary
An integrated framework of cultural-historical activity theory and institutional theory
(CHAT-IT), extended with attention to cultural-cognitive assumptions regarding race, is well
suited to the study of district efforts to implement policies with racial equity goals. Institutional
theory offers an understanding of how racial inequity is reproduced and maintained in American
education, providing insights into the reasons why inequity is persistent despite extensive efforts
to challenge it. CHAT provides insight into how educators seek to promote change, presenting a
framework for understanding how cultural-historical context shapes and is shaped by collective
activity. The integrated framework assumes a dialectical relationship between individuals and
society, which helps us to understand how district actors both are constrained by existing
structures and have potential to change them. To apply the CHAT-IT framework to the particular
issue of district policies for racial equity, I draw on literature on racial concepts and discourses to
elaborate on five cultural-cognitive rules that may reinforce racial inequity in an activity system,
and I refer back to the empirical literature review to highlight the role of political dynamics and
organizational conditions in the activity system’s cultural-historical context. I employ use this
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 50
framework as a sensitizing concept (Bowen, 2006) to guide my research design and
methodology, which I detail in the next chapter.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 51
CHAPTER FOUR
RESEARCH METHODS
This study aims to investigate the social processes of implementing district policies with
racial equity goals, with particular attention to ways that the social construct of race shapes and
is shaped by these efforts. This focus lends itself to qualitative research methods, which allow for
detailed examination of the intricacies of individual experience and social processes (Creswell,
2014). I used a multiple case study (Yin, 2013) to investigate the questions, 1) What patterns
characterize the implementation of district policies with racial equity goals?, and 2) What
factors influenced these implementation processes, and how so?
Below, I note the advantages of using qualitative case study methodology to explore
these research questions. I then describe my approach to purposively selecting two districts, and,
within them, eight policy cases. I then detail the methods I used for data collection and analysis,
and the strategies I employed to ensure the trustworthiness of my findings. I end with a note
regarding the limitations of this research design.
Research Design
While quantitative methods are preferable for examining relationships among variables,
particularly causal relationships, qualitative methods are advantageous for investigating the
complex and co-constructed dynamics of lived experience (Creswell, 2014; Eisner, 1991; Hatch,
2002). A qualitative approach thus allows for a close examination of nuanced social processes of
implementing policies with racial equity goals. Moreover, qualitative methods are congruent
with the dialectical assumptions of the CHAT-IT theoretical framework: qualitative approaches
are suited to studies assuming a social construction of reality, in which objective structures
constrain and are constituted by subjective interpretations (Alford, 1998; Crotty, 1998).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 52
Specifically, I used a multiple case study design, with embedded units of analysis (Yin,
2013). I selected two contrasting school districts implementing policies with racial equity goals,
identifying four policies within each district as embedded cases. Case studies examine a problem
or issue through the intensive investigation of one or more bounded cases (Merriam, 1998; Stake,
1995). This suits the aforementioned questions, which focus on the issue of district-level efforts
to promote racial equity; in addition, the CHAT-IT framework directs the researcher to consider
the activity system, encompassing actors’ culturally mediated practices towards an object, as a
bounded case. In a multiple, or collective, case study, the researcher selects more than one case
and explores not only the individual cases, but cross-cutting patterns and tensions (Stake, 1995).
Yin (2013) has noted that multiple case designs are often preferable to single cases, as the former
offer more compelling and robust findings based on themes across multiple contexts. Finally, an
embedded design calls for the consideration of cases within cases, allowing for the focus on
individual policy implementation processes as embedded units of analysis within selected
districts. Next, I discuss my rationale for the purposive selection of two districts and eight
embedded case policies.
Purposive Selection of Two Districts
In case study methodology, extant literature is used to inform purposive selection and
bounding of cases (Merriam, 1998). Yin (2013) has suggested that cases may be selected using a
“theoretical replication logic” (p. 57), in which cases are expected to both illustrate the
phenomenon of focus, and to offer contrasting findings for reasons suggested by theory and prior
research. The use of the theoretical replication logic then facilitates the development of findings
that affirm, challenge, or extend previous theoretical and empirical literature. In this study, I used
a theoretical replication logic, informed by the empirical and theoretical literatures described in
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 53
Chapters Two and Three, to support the selection of two case districts. These decisions were
informed by my previous experiences conducting research in school districts, including a pilot
study conducted in one of the participating districts in this study (for details on the pilot study,
see Appendix A), as well as publicly available information (i.e., district websites, California
Department of Education descriptive statistics) and preliminary conversations with district
leaders in summer 2018. Based on these sources of information, I identified two districts that
were pursuing policies with racial equity goals. Of the roughly two dozen districts that I have
worked with during my doctoral studies, the two selected for this project seemed to have the
most fully developed racial equity strategies, with multiple policies associated with equity goals
and district leaders who explicitly discussed how these policies related to race and racism.
However, it appeared that these districts differed in the depth of their reported equity-oriented
policy implementation. Additionally, these districts featured several key differences in their
cultural-historical contexts that, according to the empirical and theoretical grounding of this
project, might have been expected to lead to contrasts in policy implementation.
Marigold and Juniper School Districts
4
were both K-8 public school districts located in
suburban cities within large metropolitan areas of California. My access to these districts was
facilitated by previous research experiences in each site. In spring 2018, I co-conducted a study
of practices that supported students’ academic achievement in Marigold, which also functioned
as the pilot study for this project (see Appendix A for further details). In the spring of 2017, I

4
To protect anonymity, all names used in this manuscript to describe research participants—including the
names of districts, schools, cities, and intermediary organizations—are pseudonyms. For the same reason,
descriptive statistics (i.e., district demographics) have been altered slightly, though overall scale and
proportions remain true.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 54
was part of a research team that investigated community engagement efforts in Juniper.
5

As depicted in Table 4.1, both districts served populations with similar demographics:
their student bodies were roughly three-quarters Latinx and one-fifth Black, with relatively small
numbers of White and API students; most students received free or reduced price lunch; and
about a third of students were classified as English learners (ELs), with nearly all ELs reporting
Spanish as their home language. Data from the California Department of Education suggest that
the teaching forces of both districts had a plurality of Whites in 2017-18, in contrast to their
student populations. Forty-five percent of Marigold teachers identified as White, and, while the
California Department of Education only had racial/ethnic identifications for 30 percent of
Juniper teachers, 60 percent of those who responded identified as White.
Table 4.1
Case District Student Demographics, 2018-19
Marigold Juniper
Student race/ethnicity (%)
Hispanic or Latino
70 75
African American
20 15
White 2 5
Asian, Filipino, Pacific Islander
5 2
American Indian or Alaska Native
<1 <1
Two or more races 1 2
Free or reduced-price lunch (%) 90 85
English learners (%) 30 25
% of English learners reporting Spanish as
home language
90 98
Source. —California Department of Education.
Note. —Numbers have been changed to protect anonymity, but basic proportions and scale remain true.

While both cases illustrated the phenomenon of interest (enactment of racial equity-
oriented policies), information available at the time of case selection indicated that they differed

5
As the reports from these two studies identify the districts by name, I do not cite them here, but will make them
available to dissertation committee members upon request.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 55
in the depth of racial equity policy implementation, as well as in key cultural-historical
conditions expected to shape district change efforts. Data from the pilot study (described in
Appendix A) suggested that Marigold may have had limited implementation of some of their
racial equity initiatives at the school level. In contrast, previous research and preliminary
conversations with district leaders suggested that there may have been more extensive efforts to
carry out racial equity policies at Juniper schools. Thus, there seemed to be key difference in the
historical context of racial equity policy implementation in each district. Also, as presented in
Table 4.2, these districts differed in four organizational conditions (key aspects of the activity
system’s cultural-historical context) that empirical literature and the pilot study suggested could
shape policy reform efforts. These conditions included size, financial resources, relationships
with intermediary organizations, and accountability pressures (Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Coburn
et al., 2009; Farrell, 2015; Honig, 2009; Honig & Ikemoto, 2008; Honig et al., 2017; Marsh,
2002). From a CHAT-IT perspective, these organizational conditions were part of the cultural-
historical context of the activity system, influencing its elements such as objects, rules, subjects,
and artifacts.
Table 4.2
Contrasting Organizational Conditions in Case Districts
Marigold Juniper
Total enrollment, 2017-18 8,300 22,800
Total enrollment, 2012-13 9,000 21,200
Number of schools, 2017-18 10 30
Total revenue, 2017-18 97,000,000 228,000,000
Per-pupil revenue, 2017-18* 12,000 12,000
Students meeting or exceeding standard on 2017 state test (%)
Math 30 20
English language arts 40 30
Sources. —California Department of Education, EdData.org, district websites.
Note. —Numbers have been changed to protect anonymity, but basic proportions and scale remain true.
*Per-pupil revenue calculated based on reported average daily attendance, not on total enrollment.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 56
First, Marigold was notably smaller than Juniper. The pilot study suggested that
Marigold’s small size supported an organizational culture characterized by strong interpersonal
trust, which in turn facilitated implementation of policy reforms. Honig and colleagues (2017)
and Farrell (2015) similarly argued that a small size can support districts’ organizational learning
and responsiveness to school needs. A smaller size may have been expected to support cultural
rules related to trust and communication, and could facilitate more frequent interactions between
an activity system’s subjects and broader community. However, Marsh (2002) pointed out that
smaller districts have fewer resources, creating a challenge for reform efforts. Such resource
constraints might limit the subjects who participate in an activity system, enforce cultural rules
associated with efficiency and thrift, and prevent the acquisition of more costly artifacts, such as
technology.
Table 4.2 also illustrates that Marigold was experiencing declining enrollment, which the
pilot study found was associated with gentrification and a rising cost of living in Marigold City.
In contrast, Juniper was experiencing rapidly increasing enrollment, and news reports suggested
that Black and Latinx families were moving in large numbers from gentrifying areas to the more
affordable community of Juniper City. According to interview data from the pilot study
(Appendix A), Marigold’s declining enrollment was leading to financial constraints and budget
cuts for the 2018-19 year, unlike Juniper. The perceived lack of financial resources could have
been expected to impede efforts for policy change in Marigold (Farrell, 2015; Honig & Ikemoto,
2008; Marsh, 2002). While, as Table 4.2 shows, Juniper had roughly the same per-pupil revenue
as Marigold, district leaders did not mention financial concerns, perhaps because their budget
was increasing as a result of growing enrollment. Furthermore, as Juniper was a larger district,
they may have had access to economies of scale that allowed for a more efficient use of
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 57
resources than in smaller Marigold. As noted above, a perception of limited resources might
constrain the number of subjects in an activity system, perpetuate cultural rules of efficiency, and
make it difficult to access expensive artifacts.
These perceived limits on financial resources may also explain while Marigold was
ending relationships with intermediary organizations supporting some of their racial equity
initiatives, while Juniper was continuing their partnerships in 2018-19. Intermediary
organizations have been found to play an important role in fostering policy reform (Honig &
Ikemoto, 2008; Honig et al., 2017), suggesting that these continued partnerships in Juniper may
have been helpful as they pursued racial equity policy initiatives. These intermediary partners
could be considered subjects in an activity system, introducing new rules or challenging existing
ones (such as the rules of racial inequity discussed previously), prompting alternate divisions of
labor, and bringing in mediating artifacts.
Finally, Table 4.2 shows that the case districts have differed in their performance on state
assessments, with Marigold reporting notably higher achievement than Juniper. Juniper thus may
have faced greater pressures to raise achievement scores relative to Marigold. Such
accountability pressures, part of the cultural-historical context of district activity, have been
found to shape policy design and implementation (Farrell, 2015; Spillane & Burch, 2006). A
district facing high accountability pressures might focus on raising test scores in order to
maintain legitimacy, needed for organizational survival (Meyer & Rowan, 1977). This could
affect the object of district activity, perhaps changing an object of addressing implicit bias to one
of closing racial achievement gaps. Accountability pressures could also create or maintain
cultural rules associated with prioritizing achievement, or introduce artifacts related to
monitoring student achievement.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 58
In sum, I purposively selected two case districts, both of which illustrated the
phenomenon of district-level racial equity policy implementation. They contrasted, however, in
the extent to which these efforts have been enacted at the school-level in previous years, and in
several cultural-historical conditions likely to influence policy reform, including organizational
size, financial constraints, partnerships with intermediary organizations, and accountability
pressures. In the next section, I describe my approach to selecting the embedded policy cases
within each district.
Purposive Selection of Embedded Policy Cases
The central units of analysis for this study were the implementation processes of eight
racial equity policies—four in Marigold and four in Juniper—during the 2018-19 school year
(see Table 4.3). These policies are described in detail in Chapter Five. Drawing on my previous
research in Marigold and Juniper, publicly available documents for each district (district
websites and plans), and conversations with district leaders in summer 2018, I first created a
preliminary list of eight case policies (see Table 4.3 for lists of the preliminary and final
selection of case policies). This list included policies that district leaders described as advancing
racial equity generally, and I also specifically sought out policies aimed at the common racial
equity goals of mitigating racial disproportionality in school discipline, accelerating academic
achievement of students of color, reducing educator bias, and engaging families and students of
color in local policy decisions.
During data collection, I shared my working list of case policies with interviewees and
asked them if these represented the district’s key efforts for racial equity. I also used observation
data to further refine this initial list. In Marigold, I added the policy case of Bullying Prevention
because district leaders informed me that they considered this new effort to be an important
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 59
aspect of their racial equity strategy, as it focused on building an inclusive school climate for
students of color and was also thought to help reduce disproportionate suspensions. In addition, I
expanded the bounds of the “teachers’ data use” policy case to include the district’s overall set of
interrelated instructional support practices. This decision was made in response to participants’
explanations that they considered teachers’ data use to be just one small piece of a
comprehensive strategy of instructional support—including ongoing administrator observations,
instructional coaching, and professional development.
Table 4.3
Preliminary and Final Case Policies
Preliminary Final
Marigold

Juniper Marigold Juniper
Discipline and
School Climate

PBIS

PBIS

Restorative
Practices pilot

PBIS

Bullying
Prevention
Caring for Every
Child
Instruction and
Data Use

Teachers’ data
use
-- Instructional
support practices
Education Vision
partnership
Bias and
Cultural
Responsiveness

Lorde Center
partnership
Baldwin Group
partnership

Implicit Bias
trainings

Lorde Center
partnership
Baldwin Group
partnership

Implicit Bias
trainings

Family
Engagement
-- African
American Parent
Advisory
Committees
-- --

In Juniper, I learned that the restorative practices pilot was a school-level initiative taking
place at only one site, so I removed it from my list. Additionally, I did not receive a response to
my requests for an interview with the district leader who oversaw PBIS in Juniper. Of the two
schools I visited in Juniper in February-March 2019, one had not yet implemented PBIS and the
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 60
other was still preparing to roll it out. Thus, due to the lack of data and the early stage of
implementation, I elected not to include PBIS as a Juniper policy case. During initial interviews
and observations in Juniper, I heard from multiple district leaders that the Education Vision
partnership and Caring for Every Child program were important aspects of their racial equity
strategy, addressing the respective goals of instructional improvement (and associated increase in
academic performance of students of color) and strengthening school climates (to ensure that
students of color felt safe and included at school, and to reduce racial disproportionality in
discipline). For this reason, I added Education Vision and Caring for Every Child to the final list
of Juniper policy cases.
Finally, interview and observation data suggested that Juniper’s African American Parent
Advisory Committees were not engaged in decision-making for schools or the district. During
the time of the study, these committees appeared to primarily focus on building relationships
among parents and providing an avenue for district and school leaders to disseminate
information (such as updates about testing). While such efforts might certainly be considered to
promote racial equity goals, they differed from the other policies studied in that they were not
directly connected to practices within schools and classrooms. Upon reflection in written memos
and consultation with my advisor, I chose to narrow my focus to policies with a direct tie to
school and classroom practice, removing African American Parent Advisory Committees from
the list of Juniper cases.
Data Collection
Data sources included interviews (n=33), observations (44 hours), and documents
(Merriam, 1998; Stake, 1995; Yin, 2013). The use of data from all three of these source types
allowed me to triangulate emerging patterns, ensuring the trustworthiness of findings. As case
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 61
study methodology guides the researcher to ground research design in empirical and theoretical
literature, I developed my plan for data collection—including interview protocols and
observation foci—in alignment with insights from the literature reviewed in Chapters Two and
Three (see Appendix B for details on the connections between literature, theory, and data
collection).
Data collection took place from September 2018 through March 2019. From September
2018 through January 2019, I conducted interviews with district leaders and partners responsible
for implementing the case policies, and I observed meetings, instructional walks, and
professional development sessions that were part of implementation efforts. To examine how
district policies were being carried out at the school level, I conducted four school visits (two per
district) during February and March 2019. During these visits, I interviewed school leaders,
support staff, teachers, and parents. I also conducted observations of the enactment of district
policies, including classroom instruction and meetings with teachers. District leaders selected the
participating school sites, and I requested that leaders identify schools that they considered to be
among the more successful implementers of the case policies. My reasoning was that schools
considered to have successful implementation would have relatively extensive ongoing activity
related to the case policies, and thus would provide rich data relevant to this study’s questions. I
also expected that the schools district leaders considered successful might be more likely than
other sites to demonstrate the CHAT concept of externalization (responding to contradictions by
promoting cultural change).
Interviews
I conducted semi-structured interviews with 33 participants, as reported in Table 4.4.
Interviews allowed me to gain insight into participants’ own interpretations of the lived
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 62
experiences of racial equity policy implementation. At the district level, I interviewed central
office administrators responsible for implementing the case policies. In Juniper, I also
interviewed two of the external consultants that were leading the Baldwin Group and Education
Vision partnerships. At each school site, I requested to interview the principal, an assistant
principal or dean, teachers, parents, and any other staff that principals considered to be
instrumental to implementing the focal policies. In the end, I was able to speak with principals
and teachers in every school; however, at two school sites, I was unable to speak with parents
(one principal reported that the parents he had invited declined the invitation, the other principal
declined my request to organize a parent interview). Additionally, at one school site, I spoke with
an additional instructional coach in lieu of a conversation with an assistant principal/dean.
Table 4.4
Number of Interviewees by Role and District
Both Districts Marigold Juniper
Central Office Administrator 10 6 4
Consultant 2 0 2
School Administrator 7 3 4
School Support Staff 4 3 1
Teacher 7 4 3
Parent 3 1 2
All Roles 33 17 16
Note. —The count of central office administrators includes assistant superintendents, directors, coordinators, and
district-level coaches. The count of school administrators includes principals, assistant principals, and deans. School
support staff refers to school-level instructional coaches and counselors.

Thirty-one interviews were conducted one-on-one, with one focus group conducted with
two parents in Juniper. Interview length ranged from 25 to 60 minutes, with most lasting about
45 minutes. Questions were developed in alignment with the empirical and theoretical grounding
of this study (see Appendix C for an example interview protocol). Interviews were audio
recorded and transcribed—with the exception of two interviewees who declined to give
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 63
permission for recording. For those two interviews, I took detailed notes. In Juniper, district
leaders requested that I schedule district-level interviews individually and conduct them over the
phone, as they were unable to schedule a day when I could visit and interview multiple
administrators at the central office. All other interviews (district-level in Marigold and school-
level in both districts) were conducted in person. In each interview, I asked participants to self-
identify their race and gender; these self-identifications are reported in Table 4.5.
Table 4.5
Number of Interviewees by Race and Gender
All Latinx Black White Asian Multi-
racial
Male Female
Central Office
Administrator
10 6 0 2 0 2 3 7
Consultant 2 0 2 0 0 0 1 1
School
Administrator
7 1 3 3 0 0 1 6
School Support
Staff
4 0 2 1 0 0 0 4
Teacher 7 1 0 3 1 2 0 7
Parent 3 2 1 0 0 0 0 3
Marigold Total 17 8 2 4 1 2 2 15
Juniper Total 16 2 6 5 0 3 3 13
Both Districts
Total
33 10 8 9 1 5 5 28
Note. —Participants self-identified their race and gender; however, participants did not necessarily use the names
listed in these categories (for example, some self-identified as “Hispanic” or “Mexican,” which I report here as
“Latinx”). One participant reported being born in Argentina and of European descent; I list this participant as White.
Of the participants who identified as multiracial, two described themselves as White and Asian. The other three self-
identified as Black and Asian, Latinx and Asian, and Latinx and White respectively.

Observations
I conducted approximately 44 hours of observation between September 2018 and March
2019. Observations allowed me to gain a first-hand understanding of the details of implementing
racial equity policies. I also gained experiential insight into the cultural context of policy
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 64
implementation, and, furthermore, I was able to triangulate interviewee claims regarding the
nature of policy enactment. I observed events related to the implementation of case policies,
including staff meetings, professional development sessions, observation of classroom
instruction, and instructional walks (joining administrators for observations of multiple
classrooms and debrief sessions). In addition to the formal activities included in these
observations, there were frequent opportunities for informal interaction and conversation with
district and school leaders, consultants, teachers, and students during meals and breaks. Early on
in the study, when I had planned to include Juniper’s African American Parent Advisory
Committees (AAPAC) as a case, I attended a Saturday AAPAC community cookout organized
by the district. While I ultimately did not include the AAPACs as a focal policy, this observation
offered insight into the district context, and also allowed me to engage in informative
conversations with parents, students, principals, district administrators and school board
members.
As shown in Table 4.6, I observed events related to six of the eight case policies.
Regrettably, I did not observe events regarding the implementation of the Lorde Center
partnership in Marigold nor the Implicit Bias trainings in Juniper. As the Lorde Center
partnership had ended in spring 2018 (with the expectation that teachers would continue
implementing culturally responsive practices without external support), there were no trainings
for me to observe during the time of data collection. For Juniper’s Implicit Bias trainings, the
consultant declined my request for an observation. Thus, for these two policy cases, my analysis
primarily focused on participant reports offered in interviews. Additionally, for PBIS in
Marigold, observations took place during the spring 2018 pilot study (described in Appendix A);
as the PBIS partnership concluded at the end of the spring 2018 year (with the expectation of
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 65
ongoing school-level implementation) there were no activities for me to observe during the
2018-19 year.
Table 4.6
Observations by Case Policy
Meeting Professional
Development
Session
Classroom
Observations/
Instructional Walks
Marigold
Lorde Center -- -- Indirect
PBIS -- Pilot study Pilot study and
indirect
Bullying Prevention X -- X
Instructional
support practices
X Pilot study X
Juniper
Baldwin Group -- X --
Implicit Bias -- -- --
Caring for Every
Child
X X X
Education Vision X X Indirect
Note. —“Pilot study” indicates that I conducted an observation of this activity during the Spring 2018 pilot study,
but not during data collection for this project in 2018-19. “Indirect” means that, while observing classrooms with a
focus on a different policy case, I observed evidence of classroom practice related to this policy case (such as call
and response strategies for the Lorde Center partnership).

Whenever possible, I approached fieldwork as a participant-observer (Yin, 2013). The
participant-observer stance allows the researcher to experience deep immersion in others’
cultural contexts, gaining a rich understanding of participants’ lived experiences (Emerson,
Fretz, & Shaw, 2011). Participant-observation was thus particularly appropriate for this study’s
emphasis on exploring the role of culture in racial equity policy implementation. During
observations, I participated in professional development and meeting activities when appropriate,
and, as mentioned above, I engaged in social conversations during meals and breaks. Of course, I
did not participate in activities that were specific to particular job responsibilities. For instance,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 66
during one meeting, I participated in the opening check-in, but I did not participate in teachers’
discussion about planning their next English language arts unit.
During observations I took rapid notes, or jottings (Emerson, Fretz, & Shaw, 2011). If I
was seated and other participants had laptops open, I took jottings on my laptop; otherwise, I
wrote them by hand or on my phone. After fieldwork, I revised these jottings into fieldnotes,
adding additional details that were fresh in my memory, and clarifying jottings to ensure that
data would be understandable during data analysis.
Documents
In the course of observations and interviews, I collected documents relevant to the
implementation of case policies. For instance, during observations, I took photographs of bulletin
boards, posters, and classroom materials relevant to case policies, such as PBIS vouchers, Caring
for Every Child social contracts, and examples of Education Vision instructional strategies. I also
took photos of meeting and professional development materials, such as pages from a guide to
Bullying Prevention meetings or a workbook created by Education Vision. In some cases, I was
provided with my own copies of such materials, such as a workbook from a Caring for Every
Child training. These documents complemented my field notes, as they represented artifacts that
were part of observations. Interviewees also shared documents that were relevant to topics
discussed during their interviews, such as a slide deck used to discuss Baldwin Group and
Implicit Bias trainings with the Juniper school board, or a schedule of Baldwin Group session
dates and topics. These documents extended interview data by providing additional details
regarding interviewees’ comments.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 67
Data Analysis
As case study primarily focuses on the bounding and purposive sampling of cases, this
methodology lends itself to a variety of analytical strategies (Merriam, 1998). My approach to
data analysis was guided by Miles, Huberman, and Saldaña (2014; see also Saldaña, 2013).
Miles, Huberman, and Saldaña explain that qualitative data analysis is ongoing and iterative,
taking place both during and after data collection. My analytical approach included 1) analytic
memos, or written reflections on data; 2) coding, or assigning “chunks” of data to symbolic
categories and labels; 3) data displays, or visual matrices and images that illustrated patterns in
the data corpus; and 4) developing and verifying patterns and themes, which eventually formed
findings. My analysis included both deductive approaches, analyzing data through the lens of
empirical and theoretical literature, as well as inductive approaches, which facilitated the
emergence of patterns missed in deductive cycles. This approach to data analysis was
advantageous for this study, as it allowed for the systematic investigation of a large data corpus
and the development of theoretically grounded patterns, themes, and findings in response to the
research questions.
Data analysis began concurrently with data collection, in the form of analytic memos
composed at the end of each day of fieldwork. In these memos, I captured my personal
impressions of the experience of data collection, connections between fieldwork and my research
questions, emergent patterns and themes, relationships to the theoretical framework, arising
problems or questions, and implications for continued data collection and analysis (Saldaña,
2013). As described further below, I also used these memos to engage in ongoing reflections on
my positionality and bias.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 68
Interview transcripts and notes, observation fieldnotes, and memos were uploaded to
NVivo to facilitate coding. The codes used are listed in Appendix D. To organize data, I used a
set of attribute codes to organize sources by source type, district, and, if applicable, school and/or
participant. Next, I coded for policy cases, evidence regarding the process (what and how) of
implementation, and evidence regarding factors shaping implementation (why). I began with a
“start list” of provisional codes based on the theoretical and empirical literature grounding the
study (Miles et al., 2014). During the coding process, I organized policy codes into categories,
ultimately landing on the three categories of “anti-bias,” “climate and inclusion,” and
“instruction and achievement.” I also created additional codes for emergent themes I perceived
as possible factors shaping implementation, such as “teacher roles” and “deficit views.” I added
the code “conversations about race” to classify data regarding participants’ perceptions of
discussions that explicitly examined race (regardless of whether these conversations were
associated with particular policies).
After coding, I authored a series of case write-ups—extended, detailed memos that
presented preliminary themes and associated evidence for each case. I prepared a write-up for
each of the eight case policies, with the goal of capturing each policy’s implementation story.
These write-ups, which ranged from 11 to 35 single-spaced pages, each addressed three
questions: 1) What were the activities and goals that comprised this policy?; 2) How was the
policy playing out, and what did participants characterize as its successes and challenges in
implementation?; 3) What factors were influencing implementation (i.e., why did the policy’s
story take the form that it did)? I began these write-ups by drawing on data reports on the codes
used in NVivo. Subsequently, I filled in any gaps in the write-ups by reviewing collected
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 69
documents, original data sources, and pilot study data as needed (for example, I referred to pilot
data to confirm the scheduling and content of Marigold’s PBIS and Lorde Center trainings).
After completing these write-ups, I created a series of matrix displays in Microsoft Excel
(Bush-Mecenas & Marsh, 2018; Miles et al., 2014) in order to facilitate cross-case analysis (see
Appendix E for screenshots of one of these matrices). In the first matrix, I summarized the
content of each write-up, with rows for each policy case and columns for a description of the
policy, its start date, reported successes, reported challenges, and influential factors. In the
second matrix, I listed the policies as columns, and for the rows listed aspects of policy design
(leadership structure, presence of concrete practices), criteria regarding the perceived success of
implementation (buy-in, fidelity to design, reported impact on practice, reported impact on
beliefs) and an expanded list of 32 possible factors shaping implementation (including unions,
school-level leadership, deficit views of students/families, colorblindness, model minority
myths). I color-coded cells by the extent to which factors appeared as enablers or constraints to
implementation, or by the positivity or negativity of reported buy-in and practice change. To
begin the transition to cross-case analysis, I then created a third matrix that collapsed the policies
into three categories based on their central focus; reducing bias, strengthening climate, or
improving instruction. In this matrix, I again identified and color-coded aspects of policy design,
perceived success of implementation, and influential factors.
My next step was to conceptualize relationships among the different elements identified
in my matrices. I crafted handwritten network displays (see Appendix F for a photograph of one
of these network displays) to illustrate my understanding of the connections between concepts. I
created a display for each of the three policy categories (anti-bias, climate, and instruction).
Displays were color-coded with features of policy design in blue; political, organizational, and
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 70
technical factors shaping implementation in pink; cultural-cognitive factors shaping
implementation in green; and connections to the theoretical framework in red. After drafting
each display, I authored an accompanying memo describing the relationships between concepts
in detail.
After reviewing my matrices and displays with my advisor, I concluded that some of the
concepts I had previously categorized as “factors shaping implementation” were, in fact,
characteristics of the implementation process. With this in mind, I created a final matrix that
delineated three key elements of the “implementation story” of each individual policy as well as
each policy category: 1) the extent of reported buy-in; 2) the extent of perceived change in
practice (based on interviewee reports and observations); and 3) dynamics that appeared to
undermine racial equity goals (e.g., expression of deficit views of students and families of color).
I then used my matrices, displays, and memos to craft a detailed outline of themes and associated
evidence in response to the research questions, which became the foundation for Chapters Five
and Six of this manuscript.
Trustworthiness
To ensure trustworthiness, or credibility, of these findings, I triangulated claims across
multiple data sources, engaged in peer debriefing, and practiced ongoing reflection on
positionality and bias (Creswell, 2007; Merriam, 1998). By triangulating my findings across
multiple sources, I sought to confirm that findings represented co-constructed, collective social
experiences rather than simply my own perspective or the views of a single participant (Patton,
1990; Yin, 2013). Peer debriefing, or discussing data and analysis with colleagues, allowed for
the development of findings that resonate across multiple researcher interpretations, rather than
reflecting interpretations of one researcher alone (Lincoln & Guba, 1985; Spall, 1998).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 71
Throughout data collection and analysis, I discussed my insights with my advisor during our
weekly standing meeting. I also discussed emergent themes with fellow students in my
department, and I received additional input from faculty and students at a conference seminar for
doctoral students in April 2019. Through peer debriefing, colleagues often challenged my initial
thinking, pointing out blind spots or inconsistencies in my analytical process, and, consequently,
helped me to improve my analysis and develop more compelling findings.
As discussed in Chapter One, my reflection on positionality and bias was especially
important in this study (Milner, 2007). Guided by CHAT-IT, I assumed that my subjective
interpretations were shaped by external and institutional forces, including institutionalized
patterns of race and racism. I also assumed that I was shaping and shaped by the activity systems
in which I was a part, such as the activity systems associated with my doctoral program and the
field of educational research. As a White person, my racial identity is associated with
institutionalized assumptions of superiority to other racial groups, a “race neutrality” that
informs a view of myself as outside of racialized categories, and meritocratic logics that explain
achievement, including my own, through individual rather than systemic forces (Gordon, 2005;
A. E. Lewis, 2001). Throughout this project, I sought to maintain awareness and disrupt these
assumptions through active, ongoing reflection and the externalization of alternate perspectives
in written memos.
Limitations
Researchers cannot present causal claims based on qualitative case study findings (Yin,
2013). Thus, this project cannot definitively answer the question of whether particular policies or
factors cause particular outcomes. Instead, I aim to offer explanations—grounded in extensive
data, theory, and extant literature—regarding the complexities of implementation processes and
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 72
the factors that may influence them. In particular, while I discuss perceptions of how these
policies impacted practice (e.g., interviewee reports, or my observations of enacted practice), I
am unable to prove that a policy caused certain behaviors among educators.
Relatedly, the findings of this case study are not consistently generalizable to all district
contexts: these conclusions are shaped by the unique context of the selected cases (Stake, 1995).
However, a theoretically and empirically grounded case study allows for “analytic
generalization” (Yin, 2013), or the advancement and development of theoretical concepts that
may apply to other situations. In this study, the use of empirical literature regarding equity and
district policy implementation, as well as the theoretical framework of CHAT-IT, provides a lens
for developing an understanding of relationships among concepts in the case policies, and this
understanding may illuminate similar relationships in other policy implementation processes.
The absence of student and parent perspectives reflects another limitation of this study.
While I interacted informally with students in the context of observations, I did not collect
sufficient data to explore student perspectives regarding the case policies, or around issues of
race and racism in their school more broadly. Similarly, I interviewed only three parents. These
parents were selected by school principals, and all described themselves as actively engaged in
the school. These interviews took place during the school day—one parent participant worked at
the school as a playground supervisor, and the other two were on campus volunteering. I did not
gain the perspectives of parents who were not active participants in school activities, or who
were unable to attend a school campus in the middle of a weekday. Thus, I am unable to offer
findings regarding the perceptions of students—the people racial equity policies are intended to
serve—nor their caregivers. This project instead focuses on the experiences and perceptions of
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 73
the educators implementing these policies. Students’ and families’ views and experiences
regarding local racial equity policies is an important avenue for further research.
It is also important to note that my positionality as a White researcher likely influenced
the data that I collected—interviewees and observation participants may have responded
differently to me, someone they perceived as White, than they would have to a person of color.
One might imagine that White people would have felt more comfortable discussing their
thoughts regarding race with me, assuming White solidarity and a similarity of perspectives
(DiAngelo, 2018; Gordon, 2005). People of color, in contrast, may have been reluctant to share
their views regarding race, perhaps mistrusting my motives (Jackson, 2008) or assuming that I
would be uncomfortable discussing these issues (DiAngelo, 2018).
This study is additionally limited by its reliance on dominant theoretical and
methodological perspectives. My understanding of race as a social construct, and the five rules of
racial inequity included in the theoretical framework, reflect assumptions from a critical
paradigm. However, as detailed in Chapter Three, the overarching theoretical framework of
CHAT-IT derives from the work of European, Russian, and American male scholars who, for the
most part, do not occupy a critical stance. CHAT-IT was not crafted by people who are targeted
by racial oppression, nor was it designed with emancipatory intent. Case study methodology
represents a similarly dominant viewpoint, a contrast to methodologies grounded in critical
theory such as counterstories (Solórzano & Yosso, 2002), critical ethnography (Madison, 2012),
critical discourse analysis (Fairclough, 2013), or participatory action research (Kemmis, 2008). It
is important to recognize that this project might fail to recognize avenues for advancing racial
equity that would be illuminated by critical or explicitly decolonizing approaches.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 74
Summary
This project employed a multiple case study design to examine how district leaders
implemented policies associated with racial equity goals. I drew on an integrated framework of
institutional and cultural-historical activity theories, complemented by literature on race and
racism, to guide analysis of efforts to further racial equity in two southern California school
districts in the 2018-19 year. Focusing on eight case policies, I investigated the questions 1)
What patterns characterize the implementation of district policies with racial equity goals?, and
2) What factors influenced these implementation processes, and how so? I conducted interviews
(n=33) with district and school leaders, external consultants, teachers, and parents; and I also
observed district and school activities associated with the implementation of case policies (44
hours). Analysis included iterative cycles of memos, coding, matrices, and network displays. To
ensure trustworthiness, I triangulated findings across multiple sources, engaged in peer
debriefings, and practiced ongoing critical self-reflection regarding positionality and bias.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 75
CHAPTER FIVE
IMPLEMENTATION OF DISTRICT POLICIES WITH RACIAL EQUITY GOALS
In this chapter, I address the study’s first research question, discussing how leaders
implemented eight policies (four in each district) associated with racial equity goals. Overall,
these policies fell into three general categories: policies aimed at reducing bias (n=3), policies
designed to improve school climate (n=3), and policies intended to improve instruction (n=2). In
what follows, I briefly summarize the design of the policies within each district. I then describe
findings regarding the implementation of these efforts, discussing the extent to which policies
garnered buy-in from educators, along with the ways policies did or did not appear to impact
educator practice. I also describe the implications of these implementation processes for racial
equity goals.
In the end, I find that bias policies—the only policies to explicitly address race and
racism—tended to face notable defensiveness from participants, as well as reported minimal
impact on practice. While such findings might be interpreted as a lack of success, some noted
that the aim of such policies was to engage educators in “tough conversations” and initiate an
uncomfortable, long-term process of belief change. Thus, participant pushback and limited shifts
in practice might arguably be expected outcomes for bias policies, particularly in early
implementation. In contrast, efforts to promote equity by improving school climate and
instruction were generally positively received and their prescribed practices seemed to be
enacted across schools. However, these efforts were characterized by patterns that may have
reinforced racial inequity, including expression of low expectations of students of color, missed
multiple opportunities for challenging racism or advancing cultural relevance, and limiting
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 76
constructions of student groups. In Chapter 5, I will explore factors that might explain these
patterns in implementation.
Summary of Racial Equity Policies
In this section, I briefly summarize the focal policies explored in this study. A snapshot
of these policies can be found in Table 5.1. Each of these policies was identified by district
leaders as an effort to promote racial equity. These initiatives fell into three categories based on
their central goals. First, the four policies targeting educators’ bias aimed to further racial equity
by helping educators reflect on internalized, unconscious beliefs about racial hierarchies,
ultimately leading to subtle changes in practice, such as fewer racial microaggressions or a more
inclusive curriculum. Second, the three policies intended to improve school climate sought to
advance racial equity by making all students (nearly all of whom were students of color) feel safe
and valued at school, and by reducing disciplinary practices (e.g., office referrals, suspension)
that disproportionately targeted Black students. Finally, policies focused on improving
instruction aimed to accelerate academic achievement among the districts’ predominantly Latinx
and Black student populations, challenging racial achievement gaps. Next, I summarize the four
policies implemented in Marigold School District, followed by a description of the four policies
in Juniper School District.
Policies in Marigold School District
Leaders in Marigold School District identified four policies as instrumental in their
efforts to further racial equity (see Table 5.1): a partnership with the Lorde Center, Positive
Behavioral Supports and Interventions (PBIS), the Bullying Prevention program, and
instructional support practices.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 77
Table 5.1
Summary of Case Policies
Policy Category Began Trainings, Meetings, and Support Key Practices
Marigold School District
Lorde Center
partnership
Bias 2015

- ~3 district trainings
- Teacher cohort trainings ~1x/month
- Trainings ended spring 2018; practices expected to continue
- Call and response classroom
strategies
Positive
Behavior
Interventions
and Supports
(PBIS)
Climate 2015 - School PBIS teams (now Bullying Prevention teams) meet 1-
2x/month
- PD and coaching for school deans 2105-2018
- Partnership and staffing cut spring 2018
- Behavior expectations
- Rewards
- Discipline data tracking
- Tiered interventions
Bullying
Prevention
Climate 2018 - Bullying Prevention teams meet 1-2x/month
- -5 deans trained by Bullying Prevention non-profit
- Optional PD day summer 2018

- Student survey
- Morning meetings (2-4x/month)
- Kick-off event and whole-school
messaging
Instructional
Support
Instruction ~2014 - Teacher meetings to analyze data and plan instruction (per
unit)
- Monthly district and school PD
- Instructional walks with administrators, curriculum reps
- Common curriculum & pacing
- Data-informed instruction

Juniper School District
Baldwin Group
partnership
Bias 2015 - 2 trainings per school per year on principal-selected topics
(e.g., race and culture, implicit bias)
- “Equity walks” of classrooms with principal
- No specific practices

Implicit Bias
trainings
Bias 2015 - 2 trainings/year for 30-person cohort
- Only district/school leaders have participated
- No specific practices

Caring for
Every Child
Climate 2014 - 2-day initial training
- School CEC teams meet 1-2x/month
- Consultant visits schools and provides feedback

- Greetings
- Good Things
- Four Questions
- Social Contract
- Affirmations
Education
Vision
partnership
Instruction 2016 - Trainings for school teams 6x/year
- Principal cohort meetings 4x/year
- District team meetings 6x/year
- District and school teams in
ongoing cycles of inquiry
- District/school plans
- Teams select and roll out
instructional strategies
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 78
The Lorde Center and Culturally Responsive Teaching. District leaders initiated a
partnership with a center at university in the western United States, the Lorde Center, to train
educators in culturally responsive teaching (CRT). Leaders explained that this program was
adopted alongside Positive Behavioral Interventions and Supports (PBIS), discussed below, in
order to reduce suspensions overall, and, in particular, address the disproportionate suspension of
Black students. As the focus of this program was to challenge educators’ culturally based
assumptions and affirm non-dominant cultural backgrounds, I categorized this effort as a policy
targeting educator bias.
From 2015-2018, a Lorde Center consultant—a Black woman
6
with classroom and
administrative experience—provided approximately three district-level trainings to district and
school administrators. At schools where staff expressed interest, the consultant facilitated
monthly meetings of teachers interested in CRT. When asked to describe the content of Lorde
Center trainings, most participants described learning about language and communication in
Black communities. Several participants mentioned a related focus on using call and response
strategies in class—a strategy that I observed in multiple classroom observations. A Black
female school coach described,
[The Lorde Center consultant] went through like just what equity looks like and the
African Americans and seeing that they have a different language that maybe they use at
home and that language basically needed to be respected as a language and also the
students need to be heard and they respond to call and response, more so than just the
teacher talking. … They just gave some examples of what that would look like. There
were some videos that the teachers watched and then those who decided to participate in
her cohort actually came up with their own call and responses and they utilize them as
often as possible.

6
Due to this study’s focus on racial equity, I indicate individuals’ racial identities throughout these findings. For
interview data, I list participants’ self-identification, though at times I adjusted terminology (using “Latino” when a
male participant self-identified as “Hispanic,” for example) for consistency of language. For observations, racial and
gender identifications reflect my perceptions and may not align with participants’ personal identities.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 79
A Black female school leader noted that the Lorde Center invited educators to review
their curricula, supplementing lessons in order to bring in material relevant to students’ cultural
and racial backgrounds, such as expanded lessons on African American history. She explained,
[The Lorde Center] worked specifically with those teachers in understanding being a
culturally responsive teacher, and how does that help our students, and in the classroom
and out of the classroom. So they spent months working with a set of teachers that
worked particularly in this area… Instead of just reading stories [in the district-wide
curriculum], you may dig a little bit more in history with a Dred Scott case, and working
on annotation in that Dred Scott case, at the same time you're getting a cultural
component of it.

The partnership with the Lorde Center formally ended in spring 2018, the semester prior
to the year of data collection. However, leaders indicated that, despite the conclusion of the
formal partnership, the practices presented in Lorde Center trainings were expected to continue
in schools and classrooms in the 2018-19 year.
Positive Behavioral Interventions and Supports (PBIS). Marigold School District also
launched PBIS—a policy focused on improving school climate by supporting desired student
behavior and changing educator disciplinary practices—in 2015 as part of their efforts to reduce
overall suspensions and disproportionate suspension of Black students. PBIS was a popular
program focused on addressing student behavior through a system of tiered supports,
emphasizing positive reinforcement for preferred behaviors. The first tier, universal supports for
all students, included adoption of a clear set of school-wide behavior expectations (e.g., “Be safe,
be respectful,”) and explicit instruction on these expectations. The first tier also featured a
system of rewards for students meeting behavior expectations, such as vouchers—handed out by
educators to students exhibiting desired behavior—which students could exchange for prizes
such as school supplies, pizza parties, or skipping the lunch line. Additional tiers of support
focused on students who exhibited continued behavior concerns; these students received
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 80
interventions intended to support behavior improvement, rather than punish infractions. A
commonly used intervention at Marigold was “check in, check out,” in which students met with
a designated educator, such as the dean, at the beginning of each day to review behavior goals,
and at the end of each day for reflection. PBIS also included a practice of monitoring a broad
range of disciplinary data, including data on office referrals (i.e., teachers sending students out of
the classroom)—previously, Marigold educators had only monitored major disciplinary actions
such as suspensions and expulsions.
Each school formed a PBIS team of teachers and school staff to develop tiered supports
and interventions, and to monitor disciplinary data. Teams, which met approximately once per
month, were led by the deans at each school site, who served as the coordinators of PBIS for
each school. To implement the program, deans received quarterly professional development
sessions led by a White female psychology professor based in the western United States. The
district also established a new central office administrator position, the School Climate
Coordinator (held by a White woman with teaching and administrative experience in the district),
to provide ongoing coaching and support to deans and their PBIS teams. In spring 2018, the
partnership with the psychology professor ended, ostensibly due to the end of an initial three-
year commitment—though some participants implied that the partnership might have continued
had there been more funding available. The School Climate Coordinator position was also cut at
the end of the 2017-18 year, reportedly due to budget constraints. In the fall of 2018, school
PBIS teams were repurposed as Bullying Prevention teams, as described below; however, despite
these shifts, district leaders were clear that PBIS was expected to continue at all school sites in
2018-19.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 81
Bullying Prevention. In the 2018-19 year, Marigold launched a new effort to improve
school climate, the Bullying Prevention program. The program was managed by a Midwest-
based non-profit, which had received a large grant to implement Bullying Prevention in about a
dozen school districts. Marigold School District had been invited to participate in the grant, and
district leaders viewed this invitation as a serendipitous opportunity to continue their school
climate efforts despite the conclusion of the PBIS partnership, as well as address a handful of
parent complaints about bullying in schools.
At the heart of the Bullying Prevention program were “morning meetings,” whole-class
discussions held weekly in elementary schools, and every other week in middle schools. The
Bullying Prevention Foundation provided several books of materials to guide morning meetings,
including short activities and discussion questions. The purpose of morning meetings was to help
students understand what bullying was, how to respond to instances of bullying or other harmful
behaviors, and build a safer and more inclusive school culture. For example, in an observed
morning meeting, the teacher read a short narrative about children getting into an argument
during a kickball game. Students discussed what kind of conflict this represented and how they
would approach this situation in their own lives.
The program also included a Bullying Prevention survey, asking students about their
perceptions of bullying on campus, and whole-school messaging on bullying, such as posters and
slogans. These practices were rolled out in a kick-off event at each school site in the fall 2018
semester. A White school leader described inviting parents and local businesses to the kick-off
event:
We had a big kick-off where we invited in the community, you'll see our posters down at
the local market [across the street]…[and] at the 7-Eleven down [a few blocks]. …We
want this to really be a community effort. When we did our kickoff and we had people
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 82
from the community come in, …We had some local groups that perform. And we had
parents come and it was really nice so that the parents could see what's going on.

District leaders explained that Bullying Prevention was integrated into PBIS, describing
the program as part of PBIS’s tier one, or universal, supports. To guide the implementation of the
program, five deans attended Bullying Prevention Foundation trainings in the summer of 2018.
These deans were designated as Bullying Prevention trainers for the district, each supporting
program implementation in two to three schools. The district also offered an optional full-day
professional development session, led by the Bullying Prevention Foundation, prior to the start
of school. The program required each school to have a Bullying Prevention leadership team;
Marigold schools accomplished this by repurposing their PBIS teams as Bullying Prevention
teams. These teams, under the leadership of the school dean, were responsible for reviewing
survey results, selecting the morning meeting topics to be used throughout the school, organizing
kick-off events, and developing whole-school messaging.
Instructional Support Practices. Marigold had instituted a collection of practices
intended to provide rigorous, standards-aligned instruction in all classrooms, and, accordingly,
accelerate academic achievement among their predominantly racially minoritized student
population. While many of these practices, such as systematic analysis of data, had a fairly long
history in the district, the structures observed in this case study had been formalized as part of the
district’s transition to the state-adopted Common Core State Standards (CCSS), which began in
2014. As part of their CCSS transition, the district had adopted curricula in math and English
language arts (ELA), which all teachers were expected to deliver with common pacing and
assessments. These curricula were supported with common, monthly professional development
at school sites; developed at monthly district-level meetings of school instructional leadership
teams (school administrators, school coaches, and teachers from each grade level). To determine
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 83
the content of these professional development sessions, administrators drew on assessment data
as well as classroom observations, which were conducted regularly. For instance, all
administrators were expected to be in classrooms on Thursdays between nine and eleven o’clock.
Additionally, district administrators joined school staff for focused instructional walks each
semester. During the 2018-19 year, these instructional walks focused on ELA curriculum
implementation, and a consultant from the curriculum publisher participated in observations.
Each school in Marigold School District had two full-time coaches, one focused on math
and the other on ELA. Coaches were key players on the instructional leadership teams mentioned
above, and also led instructional walks at school sites. In addition, coaches facilitated teacher
planning and data analysis meetings prior to beginning each new curriculum unit. In these
meetings, coaches guided teachers in analyzing assessment data from the prior unit, and using
this analysis to inform their planning for the next unit. This data analysis included disaggregation
of assessment data for African American and English learner student subgroups. These meetings
were scheduled differently by school site: some schools arranged coverage for teachers, other
schools fit meetings into paid staff meeting time, and others offered stipends for optional after
school meetings. Some used a combination of these practices—for example, at one school
visited, the first half of the meeting was mandatory, and the second half voluntary with an
available stipend. Coaches also provided ongoing support to teachers through individual
meetings and demonstration lessons. To support this work, coaches received quarterly full-day
trainings at the district office, led by district administrators.
In sum, leaders in Marigold School District identified four policies associated with racial
equity goals: The Lorde Center partnership to reduce educator bias and support culturally
responsive teaching, PBIS and Bullying Prevention to improve school climate and change
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 84
inequitable disciplinary practices, and instructional support practices to improve instruction and
accelerate student academic achievement.
Policies in Juniper School District
In Juniper School District, policies that leaders described as furthering racial equity
included professional development from the Baldwin Group, Implicit Bias trainings for district
and school leaders, the Caring for Every Child program, and a partnership with Education Vision
(see Table 5.1).
Baldwin Group partnership. In 2015, Juniper School District initiated a partnership
with the Baldwin Group, a small consulting company in the western U.S., led by a Black male
education professor. District leaders explained that this partnership was intended to support the
district’s predominantly White teaching force in serving their predominantly low-income,
racially minoritized student population. In particular, leaders noted that, as Black and Latinx
families moved from increasingly expensive urban centers to the more affordable community of
Juniper City, the district’s demographics had rapidly changed. A Baldwin Group consultant, a
Black man, explained:
Twenty-five years ago, if you'd come to [Juniper] it was largely a White district…I don't
think that the population really demanded that teachers be more racially literate and
culturally proficient. I think now it requires that… When you look at the makeup of
[Juniper], there's a such a drastic relocation of Black and Latinx families that have moved
from [urban neighborhoods], that have really been priced out of those areas. You see
massive migration of families…to places like [Juniper]. I think that those dramatic shifts
are really warranting that teachers have to think about their teaching in very different
ways.

Each year, the Baldwin Group provided approximately five to ten schools with two after-
school trainings during their usual staff meeting time, led by professors in teacher education (all
of the trainers that I met during this study identified as people of color). The Group served a
different cohort of schools each year. Principals selected trainings based on a menu of options,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 85
which included topics such as “race and culture in schools,” “culturally and linguistically
responsive pedagogy,” “trauma sensitive classroom practices,” and “reflecting on unconscious
bias.” Trainings included a variety of experiential activities, formal presentations, and facilitated
discussion around the central topic. The fieldnotes excerpt below illustrates one activity used
during a Baldwin Group session with an elementary school staff.
“We’re going to play an activity,” announced the trainer (a Black man). Three volunteers
walked around the cavernous multi-purpose room, each holding a paper bag filled with
Starbursts. “Each person is going to pull out three Starbursts. You cannot look in the
bag!” Participants talked and laughed as they got their instructed three Starbursts.

“I’m going to put on the board a key,” said the trainer. “I’m going to explain to you the
value of the Starburst, every Starburst has a value based on its color. When I say go, a
slide that explains the point value will go up. Your goal will be to barter with someone in
the room to try to increase your point value. No matter what happens you still have to end
up with three Starbursts in your hand.”

The trainer called “Go!” The posted rules gave 5 points for yellow Starbursts, 3 points for
pink, and 1 point for red. Most participants did try to barter. A few laughed and stood to
the sidelines.

In the following round, the trainer sorted participants into high-, medium- and low-
scoring groups. He berated the low-scoring group: “Why are you scoring so low? You
need to try harder! You need to work hard!” He then had the high scorers create a new
rule for the game. The high-scorers announced that they don’t have to barter anymore,
and that bartering has to happen between the middle and low scorers.

The trainer called “Go!” again. Most of the low-scoring group avoided participating this
time, looking at the ground or chatting with each other.

After concluding the exercise, the trainer asked people in the low-scoring group how they
felt when they were told to “try harder.”

“Angry,” a White woman called out.

“Angry. Yeah. We’ve done this for 15 minutes,” the trainer said. “Some of our students
have been feeling like this for years.”

At some schools, district administrators requested that the Baldwin Group provide
additional support in the form of an “equity walk,” typically conducted on the same day as a
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 86
training session. The consultant would join the school principal in observing classrooms,
followed by reflections on the equity implications of these observations. A Baldwin Group
consultant, who identified as a Black man, described this practice:
We would typically meet with the principal ahead of time and just kind of ask the
principal some grounding questions, like "Tell us about how the year has been going, tell
us about where you all have really... what are the bright spots in the school?" …After
that…the principal says "Okay, well let's go walk and see some classrooms." … Then
whenever we would see something that would raise red flags, we wouldn't say anything
in the moment, in the classroom. When we would come out, we'd say "Hmm. Did you
happen to notice that there was a student there that had her hand up for a number of
minutes and the teacher never seemed to really call on her? I'm just kind of curious what's
going on there."

Implicit Bias trainings. In 2015, the district also initiated a series of Implicit Bias
trainings, run by a non-profit organization based in the Western U.S. and affiliated with the
national teachers’ association. This program had been suggested by the then-local teachers’
association president, and, like the Baldwin Group partnership, was intended to address
perceived challenges associated with a predominantly White teaching force serving an
increasingly Black and Latinx, low-income student population. Each year, trainers provided an
intensive two-day session to a cohort of 30 participants from across the district, with an
additional follow-up session for the cohort later in the year. While I did not meet the Implicit
Bias trainers during this project, several study participants mentioned a trainer who identified
herself as a Black woman during sessions. Several trainings were offered each year, and, at the
time of data collection, only district and school administrators had participated. District leaders
explained that the plan was to train administrators and support staff first, with plans to eventually
offer trainings to teachers as well.
Interviewees who had participated in Implicit Bias trainings explained that these sessions
included information on the history of education and its relationship to systemic oppression, as
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 87
well as personal reflections on racism and bias. One White male central office administrator
described the sessions:
But we kind of start off by looking at … the educational system and also the system
through history. …we look at the issues of segregation. And prior to that, slaves and
African Americans not being allowed to learn to read. …The point of that really is that ...
we get the results that the system was perfectly designed to get. And so, when we see
these achievement gaps that have persisted … that's the way it was designed.… And then
it starts getting more personal, … people have the opportunity to share [personal
experiences], …And we watch some different video clips of different things. One of the
video clips we watched…was from the movie, The Matrix.... we are conditioned to exist
in a system and not really see what's going on around us.

Caring for Every Child. In 2014, Juniper School District adopted the Caring for Every
Child (CEC) program, led by a consulting company based in the southern United States, that
focuses on improving organizational culture in education and business. Participants explained
that their current superintendent, a Latino man, had seen the program at work in his previous
district, and had brought it with him when he began his superintendency at Juniper. As a Latina
central office administrator explained,
Our superintendent … He brought [CEC] here.…What he told me is ‘This is not
negotiable. We're going to do this.’ Because he found it so valuable and he found that it
really helped his culture in [his previous district], and so it was non-negotiable for him.

CEC includes an introductory two-day training for all district and school staff, including
administrators and teachers as well as office and custodial staff. During this study I met three
CEC trainers, two White men and one White woman. All were former classroom teachers, and
some had school leadership experience. All of the trainers were based in either the Midwest or
the South. At the time of data collection, Juniper was finishing up their final round of
introductory trainings, in which CEC trainers modeled the program’s strategies and facilitated
participant reflection on the importance of relationships and school culture. CEC strategies
included greeting all students at the door, appreciating others in verbal affirmations, beginning
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 88
classes and meetings by celebrating “good things” that have occurred in participants’ lives,
developing a “social contract” that articulates classroom or team norms and values, and using
scripted questions to respond to students who transgress the social contract (“What are you
doing?” “What are you supposed to be doing?”).
Schools also create CEC leadership teams comprised of staff and teachers, who receive
additional training and meet approximately once each month to identify successes and next steps
for the implementation of the program. CEC trainers also provide ongoing consulting to school
sites, visiting to walk classrooms with administrators and offer feedback to leadership teams.
Trainers could nominate schools to apply for CEC Demonstration School designation, a lengthy
application process that included written applications, stakeholder surveys, and visits from CEC
trainers. Schools that received this designation were given a banner to display at their school and
were featured on the CEC website, though they received no tangible rewards beyond this
recognition. At the time of data collection, three of Juniper’s schools had CEC Demonstration
School status, and a number of other campuses had been nominated and were in the process of
applying.
Education Vision partnership. Juniper School District had also formed a partnership
with Education Vision, a consulting company based in the western United States. Juniper had
initially worked with Education Vision consultants to develop their Local Control and
Accountability Plan (LCAP; a state-mandated district plan) in 2014, and, in 2016, the district
established the current partnership, focused on developing leadership teams engaged in data-
based cycles of inquiry with an ultimate goal of improving student achievement. An Education
Vision consultant described the partnership’s goal as:
…a district that is sharing the leadership, there is not somebody who knows everything
and is in charge of imparting that, but really, how do we collaborate around problems of
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practice and next steps, and what's working well, being able to do that. And then bottom
line, student achievement has to be impacted by the work that we do.

Three Education Vision consultants work with Juniper; the consultant that I met during
this study was a former principal and identified as a Black woman. I did not meet the other
consultants assigned to the district. Each school had established an instructional leadership team
consisting of school administrators and teachers, including representatives from each grade level.
Six times each year, instructional leadership teams meet in cohorts of 2-3 school teams for full-
day, consultant-led professional development sessions. The six meetings are organized into three
cycles of inquiry around a specific goal related to student learning and achievement. For
example, at the meeting I observed, the cycle of inquiry was focused on students’ use of
evidence in writing. Instructional leadership teams also meet regularly (once or twice a month)
outside of Education Vision sessions. Education Vision consultants also facilitate sessions for
principals (four times each year) and a district leadership team (six times each year).
The consultants developed the content of sessions in collaboration with the district
leadership team. The school-level training that I observed included an opening activity focused
on social-emotional learning, which the consultant informed me was a result of input from
district leaders and was intended to tie in the district’s work with Caring for Every Child. The
training also included a reflection on the school’s current successes and needs, analysis of
student writing samples, a model writing lesson led by the consultant, and development of plans
for improving writing instruction at school sites. The consultant explained that Education Vision
aims to build district and school leadership capacity so that, in time, external consultants are no
longer needed:
[We want] to build capacity [so educators can] actually lead the work on their own.
People don't keep us forever. A really good plan is about, if you have all their districts
involved, at year three it's time really for us to start thinking about what can we back
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away from that we've built their capacity to now do in a way that will make change? …
Really helping them see the value in cycles of inquiry, and leading from the middle.
Those things have to be in place to shift the culture, … My goal, really, 3-5 years, we
start to do that gradual release with them.

Overall, when asked about policies intended to advance racial equity, Juniper School
District leaders named four efforts: the Baldwin Group and Implicit Bias trainings targeting
educators’ biases; Caring for Every Child focusing on building a warm and positive school
climate; and the Education Vision partnership aiming to improve instruction, and, by extension,
student achievement.
The previous section focused on summarizing the key features of the nine focal policies
in this study. In the next section, I analyze the implementation of each of these policies,
discussing educators’ buy-in for the policy, the extent to which the policy appeared to shift
practice, and the implications of the implementation process for racial equity. Above, I organized
my summary of policies by district in order to illustrate the collection of racial equity efforts
within each organization. However, in what follows, I organize the discussion of implementation
by policy category (i.e., challenging bias, improving climate, and improving instruction) to
facilitate comparison of similar policy types across districts.
Patterns in Implementation of Racial Equity Policies
Broadly speaking, policies aimed at challenging educator bias—notably, the only
initiatives in this study that explicitly addressed race and/or racism—tended to face substantive
pushback from school-level educators, and also appeared to have minimal impact on school and
classroom practice. In contrast, policies that focused on improving school climate or instruction
were, for the most part, positively received by educators and seemed to have impacted practice
(based on interviewee reports and observations of prescribed practices in action). However, these
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policies were characterized by missed opportunities to challenge problematic messages about
race or advance culturally relevant pedagogy.
Anti-Bias Policies: Resistance and Reported Limited Impact
Data suggested that many participants responded to anti-bias policies (Marigold’s Lorde
Center partnership, and Juniper’s Baldwin Group partnership and Implicit Bias trainings) with
defensiveness and discomfort. Furthermore, the Lorde Center partnership appeared to have a
limited impact on classroom practice, largely in the form of call and response strategies among a
few teachers, and, in Juniper, participants reported that anti-bias policies did not lead to
discernible changes in practice. Of course, one might argue that these findings reflect policy
intent, as reflecting on one’s own bias is expected to be uncomfortable, and these policies are
largely aimed at deep-seated belief change rather than immediate behavior shifts. However, these
patterns raise worthwhile questions about these policies’ progress towards racial equity goals.
Participant Pushback. Resistance among participants was a prominent theme in data
regarding anti-bias policy implementation in both districts. Discussing reactions to the Lorde
Center trainings, a biracial White and Asian district leader reported, “some of [the principals]
think it’s BS,” and later added, “I definitely have talked to people, and they're like, ‘You know, I
have a hard time buying that stuff.’ They look at it as an excuse [for bad behavior]. Like, ‘Oh,
I'm supposed to let them act up in my classroom, because that's how act at home.’” Similarly, a
Latino central office administrator described the defensive reactions he observed at a school-
level training:
They [school staff] were uncomfortable. They were uncomfortable. They were
uncomfortable because [the Lorde Center training] really addresses something that people
are not comfortable with, right. I'll tell you that the first presentation that [the consultant]
gave at the school site, [teachers said] ‘Oh, we can’t believe you.’

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Juniper School District’s efforts to address educator bias encountered similar pushback
from educators. A Black male consultant from the Baldwin Group acknowledged this challenge,
stating,
I would say that one of the big barriers is trying to get buy-in from all staff. Not all staff
are oftentimes receptive, and that's fine…but I've had some staff who are like just
outright hostile at times, because they just felt like this was such a non-topic of
conversation.

Some interviewees described feeling attacked during anti-bias trainings. For instance, in
Marigold, a White teacher suggested that the presenter accused teachers of being “racist”:
I think that it [Lorde Center trainings] could be valuable experience. I don't think the way
it was presented was valuable. I think it put teachers off, because it was a lot of, you
shouldn't do this, you're doing this, and I don't think it was a very helpful experience.
Although, it could be valuable. The presenter came in, and the teachers felt attacked by it.
… [The presenter] made teachers feel like they were being racist, or they were doing all
these things, and I don't think the teachers are racist. Whether or not they're doing the
things, I don't think the intentions were there.

Additionally, a few participants argued that anti-bias trainings harmed White educators in
particular. For instance, a Juniper teacher, who identified as Latina and Asian, expressed her
dislike of Baldwin Group trainings:
I feel like this is a bunch of nonsense. Okay, this person, yes this is probably the
information he used when he was getting his doctorate, this is what he used, and I don't
know. I just felt like it was kind of like being put down. And then I felt bad for one of my
fellow teachers who's Caucasian, she said, “It made me feel bad to ask a question because
I'm White.” …I don't know. It just felt, it's offensive.

For both the Lorde Center and Implicit Bias trainings, participants described pushback
related to critiques of the trainers and quality of session content. Regarding Implicit Bias
trainings, a White Juniper administrator explained:
But she is ... the trainer is very ... She just doesn't hold back at all. And she doesn't hold
back her opinions or her thoughts, and she doesn't hesitate to ... she uses profanity, or she
has. And also, she has very personal things that at least one of the groups was offended
by. … sharing some of her own personal stories that people thought, "I didn't want to
know that." And she was ... specifically I'm referring to talking about sexual things in her
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past. But I think, I believe, the reason that she did that was to shock people and to help
people say, "Well, when you know this about me, what do you think of me?"

A White school administrator, who reported that she “really liked the experience” of the Implicit
Bias training, nevertheless suggested that the presenter did not adequately consider the
intersection of race and class, and was “defensive” when participants disagreed with her:
I think what was challenging about the presenter was she was very good at wanting us to
look within ourselves, but when we kinda pushed back a little bit, she got very
defensive.... She had come into the session and was like, “Well, yes, I’m African-
American, but I basically come from a wealthy family. I didn’t have to pay for college.
My kids don’t have to pay for college.” … So, she had a completely different upbringing
and background than I did. And, for me, it was the way in which she presented herself as
if ‘I don’t have any biases.’. Well, you do, because…You’re looking at it from a lens of a
person who’s high-socioeconomic. I’m looking at life from a person with low
socioeconomic, ‘cause that’s how I grew up. …I felt like she didn’t wanna hear anybody
challenging her and [pointing out] what her biases were.

Relatedly, in Marigold, some participants suggested there were concerns regarding the Lorde
Center trainer or the quality of sessions. For example, a White school leader said, “It just, it
wasn't working out with [the Lorde Center]. Is not to say that [culturally responsive teaching] is
not working, but that association ended up not being productive. …I think people were starting
to have some quality issues with the PD [professional development] that was coming out.”
For Baldwin Group trainings specifically, some participants expressed pushback
regarding trainings’ focus on Black students. For example, a biracial Asian and Latina teacher
described her disagreement with the focus on Black students:
People were kind of put off by it because, well for me I know our demographic of kids
are African American and it was more like okay, well we need to focus on African
American students and this is the demographics of how they're performing and they're not
being treated and they're not being given enough opportunity and they're being punished
this way too harshly. And it's like, okay, what about the rest of the kids? Like maybe the
one percent Asian, or the Hispanic, or the Caucasian…I think it focused way too much on
African American students. I'm like, yes I know that's mostly our demographic but
however, for me it's like I teach a curriculum to every kid no matter what and I try to
celebrate whatever heritage, the diversity in my class.

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Additionally, this teacher disputed the trainer’s discussion of “Black and Brown students,” and
critiqued the lack of consideration of Asian communities:
Then I think the last [training] was “Black students and Brown students.” That's what
they called it, Black and Brown. And for me that was kind of like, okay, offensive
because my parents, my mom's Asian, my dad's Hispanic, so I'm like okay so you're
calling me Brown? …And then I have one of the speakers who's like, “well, you know,
when I walk through your classroom I should know what type of students you serve.”
And, to me, I'm like, “I serve all kids, it doesn't matter what color you are.” …I was kind
of put off by that comment. She was like, “you've gotta have more Hispanic authors.” I'm
like, “yeah and Asian too.” She's like, “yeah, well, this training's about Black and Brown
students.” Okay. So to me that was offensive.

In pushing back against Baldwin Group sessions, data suggested that some educators
drew on model minority ideas (Ng et al., 2007), or the concept that Asian Americans are a
“successful” racially minoritized group due to their innate culture and values, thus illustrating
that racial inequity results from group characteristics rather than systemic racism. For example,
in an observed Baldwin Group training in an elementary school, the trainer (a Black man)
projected a bar graph illustrating high school graduation rates by race and gender. He asked
participants what they noticed. The fieldnotes excerpt below capture an excerpt of this
conversation.
The trainer redirected the conversation (which had turned to gender) back to race. “What
do you notice about racial and ethnic differences?”

“Asians do better than everyone else!” a White woman called out.

“Why do you think that is? Why do Asians do better than anyone else?”

The audience called out responses. “They value school more,” one White woman said.
“Culturally.”

“So other groups don’t value school?” the trainer asked.

“Not as much,” the White woman said. “They [Asians] put more value across the board.”

“Compared to Latino students, who have less value for school?” said the trainer.

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“I would agree with that. I would,” the White woman replied.

Another White woman added, “They place shame on their kids. Shame on the family.
They’re trying to cover themselves from being shamed.”

“I know in Latino communities,” a Latino man offered, “There’s a lot of trust that goes
into teachers, it’s hands off, whereas other cultures are more—”

“Hands on?” the trainer finished. “So tiger moms? You’ve read about tiger moms.”

A third White woman raised her hand. “I was thinking in general of students I’ve had in
the past and my own kids as well, when we talk about what different groups value. I
absolutely think it’s value [that explains achievement gaps]. When I was teaching second
grade, I had a little African American boy who was soooo smart but he wouldn’t show it
because his friends. We talked about it. ‘You are soooo smart.’ ‘Mrs. ____, I can’t let
them know I’m smart.’ And, my Latino families, they were always focused on behavior,
not the academics.”

This interaction illustrates the model minority idea, implying that Asians have a culture that
“values education” and “shames” children for low performance. As discussed further in the
following chapter, the use of the model minority concept implied that the relatively low
performance of Latinx and Black communities resulted from their culture and values, rather than
a racist structure.
Baldwin Group consultants did appear to be aware that participants often conveyed
defensive reactions, and they attempted to assure participants that their hard work was valued,
and that they were not being criticized or attacked. In observed Baldwin Group trainings,
consultants began by praising teachers for their dedication, and frequently noted that they
understood how difficult teachers’ jobs were. A Black male consultant explained this approach:
I'm deliberate about [affirming participants] because… as a former classroom teacher,
what I just did not want... One way to turn me off and me and my colleagues off in a PD
session was to come is an outsider and to tell me how awful I was, and to tell me what I
was not doing well and to tell me where I was missing the mark. I just felt like I know
how much time I put into prepping my lessons and units, I know how much time I try to
be the best teacher that I can be. … I'm always very intentional when I'm with teachers to
say "Look, I know this work is difficult, it's demanding, it's challenging, it's physically
taxing, it's emotionally taxing."
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Reports of Limited Impact on Practice. In general, interviewees reported that the three
anti-bias policies had resulted in minimal changes in educator practice, and observation data did
not suggest otherwise. For instance, when asked, “Would you say that [the Lorde Center] has had
any impact on the work happening at [your school]?”, a biracial White and Latina instructional
coach in Marigold shook her head and responded, “I would not imagine so.”
Perhaps, though, tangible impact was not the central goal of these efforts. Observed
Baldwin Group trainings emphasized experiential activities and discussion, with little to no time
on specific school or classroom practices. A White central office administrator suggested that the
success of these two policies was reflected in the fact that challenging conversations about race
were taking place in the district. “From my perspective, [these two initiatives are] going well for
where we're at,” he reflected, “…More people are recognizing the need, and we are having some
of the difficult conversations.” A White school leader, while unable to name specific shifts in
practice, praised Baldwin Group trainings, saying, “I just think it makes teachers more aware. I
think it opens their eyes.” The Baldwin Group consultant suggested that these efforts had
successfully started a much-needed dialogue about race in Juniper:
I think we have started conversations in the district that had not been happening before.
… I hear a lot of teachers who say … “This is the first time we've really had a hard
conversation about racial diversity in this district.” … I think if anything else, we've
started a dialogue… that's long overdue. …People all the time ask me "Can you prove
that the work has led to better outcomes for students?" I will never say… that our work
has made these kinds of outcomes, because I think that there are too many variables that
we can't control. What I will say is that I think our work has started a dialogue, and it's
created an awareness.

However, some participants voiced concern about the absence of perceived impact on
practice. “What is difficult for me to see necessarily though,” said a White district administrator
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in Juniper, “is how is [the work of anti-bias initiatives] really changing practice? And I think it's
something we have to reflect on. But it is making the staff aware and knowledgeable.”
In a few instances, it was unclear if practices had resulted from anti-bias initiatives, or if
they were the result of educators’ prior interests and knowledge. For example, in Juniper, a
White school leader suggested that Baldwin Group trainings might have influenced teachers’
selection of extracurricular materials, such as books for the classroom library, though she was
not sure if this practice was a direct result of the Baldwin Group sessions:
This particular [Baldwin Group training] was using literature, multicultural literature,
across the classrooms and what the importance was of that. So, I have seen, and, again,
because it's my first year here, I don't know if it's a practice that had been going on prior
to, but I do know a lot of our teachers are very intentional when they pick extracurricular
materials, that they have a wide range of different texts to use that support different
cultures. But, I don't know if that is a result of that class, or if that's something that
they've always done.

Similarly in Marigold, a Black female dean described drawing on the Lorde Center’s
approach as she coached teachers on classroom management. She gave an example of guiding a
teacher to consider the cultural background of a Nigerian student:
[This teacher] had not taken into account the cultural aspect of [the student’s] personal
space and proximity, because in a Nigerian culture people touch first and talk second. …I
had her do a reflection sheet on how she dealt with the student, …she was like, wow I…
did a lot of things incorrect with this student. …She started noticing all those things, and
then her plan changed with that student. … She was able to now validate and affirm…the
student's cultural background.

However, this interviewee indicated that she had a strong personal interest in culturally
responsive teaching strategies, and had sought out information from books and other professional
development opportunities. Thus, the extent to which her practices were a result of the Lorde
Center partnership was unclear.
Takeaways from Lorde Center sessions. When participants did mention practice changes
associated with the Lorde Center partnership, they primarily described the use of call and
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response strategies in a small number of classrooms. “I see [call and response] in a few
classrooms,” noted a Black instructional coach. “Not in as many as I did last year.” Some
suggested this focus was superficial relative to potential of culturally responsive teaching. “We
never really got to dive super deep into [culturally responsive teaching],” reported a White
school leader. “We were choosing the more quick-fix model.”
Furthermore, only select teachers had participated in Lorde Center trainings, perhaps
further contributing to the limited influence of the program in Marigold schools. While some
suggested that participating teachers were expected to share culturally responsive teaching
strategies with their colleagues, interviews indicated that this transfer of knowledge did not take
place. For instance, when asked about the Lorde Center partnership, an Asian American teacher
responded,
I was not part of that.… I think I heard about it, but I was not a part of it, so I don’t have
any information on that, that I can relay to you. I’m not part of that leadership team. My
co-worker is, but I am not, so I don’t know anything about that. I’m sorry.…Well, I
remember her relaying information that she would meet with [the Lorde Center], but I
don’t know any specifics. I don’t remember off the top of my head.

When asked to describe takeaways from Lorde Center sessions, participants almost
universally mentioned learning that Black students’ home culture was characterized by high-
volume, fast-paced verbal communication, such as shouting or talking simultaneously with
another person, and that call and response strategies were a way to leverage this communication
style. For example, a Latina instructional coach described the focus of the trainings:
[The Lorde Center] gave us some strategies to work with, mostly African American
students where it is presumed in some classrooms or by some teachers…that African
American students are disrespectful. They're loud. They don't listen. They're just all over
the place. [The Lorde center’s] message…was, “That's not necessarily true. It's just part
of the African American culture, where you have to understand that in the African
American culture, everybody is loud and everybody talks at the same time, that's not
being disrespectful.”

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These insights may have challenged educator assumptions that quietly raising one’s hand
represents good behavior, and perhaps helped to reduce disciplinary action directed at students
who called out in class. However, at times, the repetition of this example seemed to reflect
essentializing stereotypes of Black youth and families, rather than a more nuanced understanding
of socially constructed cultural norms. A Black instructional coach voiced this critique of Lorde
Center trainings, arguing that the sessions presented an essentialized, monolithic construction of
the Black community. She explained:
The culturally responsive program. I do feel like there were parts of it that I did not like.
It was the assumption that every African American has this language that they use and it's
to be expected. …I was told that, “You grew up speaking that way.” You don't know how
I grew up. … To tell the teachers to expect all African Americans to speak a certain way,
I think is not necessarily true. There's a commonality [for some]…But that doesn't mean
that we're all one and the same.

In addition to this focus on Black student communication, district-level interviewees in
Marigold described learning that bias is universal and innate; in other words, all humans,
regardless of racial identity, have implicit biases that inform their actions without conscious
intent. “We do all have biases,” stated a Latina district leader, “and again, bias is based on our
previous life experiences with any subgroup or culturally background group. So we're fully
aware of it. And we don't say, ‘Oh it doesn't happen here.’” A Latino district administrator
similarly explained, “When we first initially looked at culturally responsive teaching, we did talk
about biases. … That natural bias is there, right, but understanding that we all, all adults have
natural tendencies, natural biases.” This leader later spoke about how he explained the effects of
these “natural tendencies, natural biases” using the metaphor of a sandwich order:
And the example that I gave to a teacher, I told her look, your best intentions would be to
bring me sandwich for lunch but I'm going to tell you that if you bring me a sandwich
and it has mustard with pickles, I don't care how much that sandwich costs, I don't care, I
might be starving, I'm not going to eat it. You're interpretation is how ungrateful. Here I
am but I just don't like mustard and pickles. … So understand that it's not that I'm being
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 100
ungrateful at the fact that you brought me sandwich…. Everyone has natural tendencies,
natural biases.

This idea—that we all have unconscious biases, and that the conflicts resulting from these biases
are akin to a misunderstanding over a sandwich—perhaps served to strategically address the
defensiveness that many educators exhibited in response to Lorde Center trainings. This
approach seems to emphasize that people acting on the basis of bias are not bad people, but are
instead exhibiting normal human behaviors that might unintentionally lead to misunderstandings
and conflicts. While this framing of bias may indeed have been helpful in lowering participant
defensiveness, it might also be argued that it divorced the idea of cultural bias from the broader
context of systemic racism, failing to place the conversation of cultural responsiveness in the
broader context of racialized power and privilege.
Individual Reports of Learning in Implicit Bias Sessions. Though they could not point
to specific practice shifts, two interviewees—both White— did consider Juniper’s Implicit Bias
trainings to be valuable. A White district leader said he found the trainings “very eye-opening,”
helping him understand how historic racism has shaped our education system. A White school
leader gave an example of a learning moment during the training:
There were several video commercials they showed that had been out for like 10 years,
but there was racial undertones. And, so, that was surprising to me that here I'm watching
this, and I'm not seeing what the racial undertone is, but somebody who is, say, African
American can see what the racial undertone was. And, so, that made me feel bad. I kinda
took a step back. I was like, "Why can I not see that? Why are things happening within
society, things that are on TV, things are happening in the news, and I'm unable to see the
racial undertone that's behind that? What lens am I looking at that from?" And, so, that
was something that was hard for me of just kinda taking a step back and being like,
"Okay, what lens do I need to be seeing this from? And, be more conscious of what lens I
look at things through." It was a challenge.

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However, not all Implicit Bias training participants described these types of learning
experiences. For example, a Black female school leader indicated that Implicit Bias trainings did
not introduce any concepts that she was not already familiar with:
For me, it was, I mean it was, as an African American woman, it was a really good
training, but I'm [already] highly aware of biases. … I'm highly aware of the situation that
goes on in schools with children of color, as well as African American males. I'm highly
aware. I have two boys that are African American. …I have to tell my son, “You don't
just take off running from somewhere because somebody's going to instantly think you've
done something….When you're pulled over by the police I need you to keep your hands
where they can see them, and I need you to answer questions with, ‘Yes sir. No sir.’” …
So the training for me was just an affirmation of what's going on in society. It's like,
"Yeah. Right. That's true."

To sum up, the three anti-bias policies encountered notable participant resistance, and
data suggested that impact on practice may have been limited. These findings contrasted with the
implementation processes of climate and instruction policies, which I turn to next.
Climate and Instruction Policies: Positive Reception and High Reported Impact
All of the climate and instruction policies—with the notable exception of Marigold’s
PBIS—seemed to be viewed somewhat positively by educators. Levels of buy-in ranged from
high enthusiasm regarding Juniper’s Caring for Every Child to a more tepid view of instructional
support practices in Marigold. In all of these policy cases, data suggested that the programs’
mandated practices were being carried out in schools and classrooms.
Mild to Strong Buy-In for Most Climate and Instruction Policies. The climate
policies of Caring for Every Child in Juniper and Bullying Prevention in Marigold both appeared
to be warmly received. CEC in particular was embraced by Juniper participants. According to a
Latina central office administrator, participants called CEC “the best training they’d ever had.”
She remarked that she had not heard one negative comment about the program:
It's a very heartwarming experience.… We haven't had anybody who's complained, and
this is our fourth year doing these training opportunities. We haven't had one negative
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 102
comment. …We ask for a survey after every single training. We have not ever, ever had
one negative comment. We have never had anybody come to the board and complain
about it. ... We keep having people say, … "I really didn't want to leave for two days and
I hate making lesson plans [for substitute teachers], but it was the best training I've ever
had."

When asked what district policy was most valuable on her campus, a Black school leader
immediately named CEC. She later enthused about both high staff buy-in and the feedback she
received from CEC consultants: “[Interviewer: What is going well with CEC?] The buy in from
the staff. Believing that it can work. And then the feedback [from CEC consultants]. The walk
throughs and feedback are huge.”
A Black parent also expressed a positive view of CEC, further illustrating the widespread
support for the program in Juniper:
I don't think all parents are aware of the [Caring for Every Child] program. But I love it.
You make the students feel welcomed.... We had a teacher, the first teacher that was
trained, he would stand at the door with them in the morning. High five or a handshake.
So, that made the students feel, "okay we're walking in to ... whatever I left out there now
I can come into a safer environment, or an environment where I am important." And even
at the end of the day, he would stand there and high five each student walking out. And
so the social contracts, a lot of things that we see around the classrooms now…they came
from the [Caring for Every Child program]. So, I think it's a great program.

Buy-in was also apparent from the enthusiasm participants showed regarding CEC
Demonstration School status, an award that did not include any perks beyond recognition. For
example, at lunch with a group of school principals and assistant principals, the leaders from a
school applying for CEC Demonstration School status zealously quizzed the principal of a
winning school on the application process. Later, when describing their re-application process to
maintain their status, the Demonstration School principal joked that she would fight anyone who
tried to take the Demonstration School banner off the front of her campus.
Support for CEC was evident during an observed Education Vision training, where teams
of teachers and school administrators were asked to create posters that visually illustrated the
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 103
story of improvement at their schools. Both teams highlighted the role of CEC in fostering their
perceptions of school improvement. One team drew an apple tree, with the words “trust,”
“commitment,” and “passion” at the roots, and each apple representing a different strategy they
considered to be effective. The apples included “data-driven intervention,” “technology use,”
“instructional leadership team,” and “CEC.” The other team drew a flower garden, with flowers
labeled “evidence of learning,” “committed teachers,” “sharing good practices,” and “CEC.” On
both posters, participants had listed specific CEC strategies next to the fruit or flower, including
“good things,” “affirmations,” and “social contracts.”
Marigold’s Bullying Prevention program, introduced at the start of the case study year,
was also positively viewed. “[Bullying Prevention] has really been good for our school,” a White
school leader reported. “Fridays we just have these open discussions with kids,” said a White
teacher, referring to morning meetings, “and we talk about difference and it's just open, non-
judgmental conversations that are really great.” A White and Asian central office administrator
was pleased by the warm reception:
I'm pretty encouraged, because we had a lot of people at the [August professional
development day]. …They bought into it and they participated. People see the need for
this. That's what I heard over and over, is there's a huge need for this. The kindness, the
trust, the relationship. They intrinsically understand there is a need for this, it will help,
they see where it will benefit the school.…So the feedback that we've gotten has been
very positive.

While few expressed strong opinions about the Education Vision partnership in Juniper,
the perspectives that were shared were positive. An Education Vision consultant, a Black
woman, reported that the initiative was well-received: “It think that it's going well, I think the
feedback that we're getting from teachers is that they really like the work. They really appreciate
having the voice.” A White school leader noted that Education Vision’s use of Michael Fullan’s
work on coherence (e.g., Fullan, 2007) was beneficial: “With the [Education Vision] consultants
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 104
that they brought in… [It] is all Michael Fullan-based… His big thing is consistency and
leadership. So [Juniper] is starting to see that a little bit.”
At an Education Vision all-day session, the leadership teams of school leaders and
teacher grade-level representatives seemed bought in to the work. Throughout the eight-hour
day, educators participated readily in the consultant’s activities, and, when the consultant was
speaking, demonstrated engagement with eye contact, nodding, and making affirming sounds
(“mm-hmm,” “yeah, yeah”). There were markedly few moments when educators were on their
phones or laptops during the session. The overall mood in the room, at least in my perception,
was one of high energy, enthusiasm, and focus, suggesting a positive view of the Education
Vision efforts.
As for Marigold’s instructional support practices, district leaders expressed strong
support, while school-level participants were less enthusiastic, though still mostly positive.
Central office administrators pointed to their relatively strong student achievement as evidence
of success. A Latina district leader noted:
I think we're moving in the right path. I think we've shown gains in various data points.
…We have shown consistent growth the last couple of years with student achievement as
well as with improving instruction. …I think we're in a great place. I think we're moving
in the right direction.

A Latino central office administrator echoed:
I think [our instructional support practices are] going great and it's evident by our growth
in skill scores. It's evident by our growth in African American student achievement. It's
evident by our multiple years of growth school wide. …If we really look at our data,
we're really bringing the bottom up, we're not looking at the middle and kind of
generating this gap. We're really trying to move the bottom up.

At the school level, instructional coaches and teachers mostly offered mild, but positive
views of Marigold’s efforts to support instruction. For example, one instructional coach, who
identified as White and Latina, described the efforts as “going well,” and that her school’s
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 105
progress on implementing new curricula has “been good.” A White teacher reported that she had
“come a long way as an educator” due to instructional support practices. She also praised the
facilitation and focus of teacher collaboration meetings:
If you need the help [with your instruction], it's out there….We're very lucky to have
actual coaches that run these meetings. … There's a deliberate purpose to every single
meeting that we have, every single professional development meeting that we have.
…They don't just become a free-for-all and a whining session. They're productive.

Counter-Example: Pushback Against PBIS in Marigold. Unlike the rest of the climate
and instruction policy cases, PBIS encountered strong pushback, particularly among teachers.
Much of the criticism of PBIS centered on a perception that the program removed disciplinary
consequences for misbehaving students, suggesting an underlying assumption that punishment
was necessary to ensure that students met behavior expectations. A biracial White and Latina
instructional coach described the pushback she observed among teachers:
There's not been a lot of positivity [towards PBIS]. I feel like the feeling is there are no
consequences, which is not the case. I don't believe that there aren't consequences, I think
there are consequences in other ways that they, or we were used too. It's not a bad thing
to want to make sure that the kids are in class. That's a good thing, we want the kids in
class. But I know as a teacher, it can be frustrating when you have the student who you
feel like is disruptive to the class, and you don't feel like that is being dealt with.

A White teacher voiced concerns along these lines, questioning the absence of punitive
consequences for tardies and other transgressions:
The kids…we overhear them speak like, "Oh we can do whatever we want." … we had
this story. This kid, he's late for school Monday and all he's told, "Don't be late again."
Okay, he's just marked tardy, but there's no consequence. Tuesday he's late again. "Don't
be late again," no consequence. Wednesday he's late again." Don't be late again."
Thursday same thing. Friday he shows up on time. "Oh here's a bunch of candy and
[vouchers]. You came to school." So he goes home and says, “Look I got all this candy
and [vouchers] because I was late.” … There just doesn't seem to be any consequences
and the kids know it.

Another White teacher echoed this perceived need for punitive consequences and
“limits”:
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 106
I think there also need to be some kind of negative consequences as well. Because that's
just human nature I think. It's hard when you have a child that tells you to eff off, and
there are zero consequences….It takes away from us being able to help children
understand that… there are certain places and certain times for certain things. …I've had
a student [say] "You're a bitch." [So should I just say,] "Okay, now let's continue with our
assignment?" And we don't suspend, we don't ... It's hard. …The millennials were tough.
The children of millennials are even more difficult. There's a narcissistic quality about
them. …Kids need limits. Limits are good sometimes.

Some teachers also argued that, by not allowing teachers to send students out of the
classroom, the administration was failing to support teachers regarding student behavior. A
Black instructional coach elaborated on this point:
I just don't believe that everyone is on the same page with PBIS, and it's very difficult
because a lot of teachers feel like they're not supported here at the school. They feel as
though students will behave in a certain way that would warrant them to be sent out of
the classroom, [but the administration is saying that] it's more of a behavior that the
teacher needs to learn how to deal with within the classroom.

Reported Impact on Practice for Climate and Instruction Policies. Evidence
indicated that, despite some variance in buy-in, educators were in fact enacting practices
prescribed by the climate and instruction policies in schools and classrooms. In Marigold, PBIS-
mandated school expectations were visibly posted in schools and classrooms, and teachers and
school administrators were observed distributing vouchers to students for exhibiting desired
behavior. As a result of PBIS, schools had also instituted a system of monitoring office referrals,
which participants explained had not been in place previously. As for Bullying Prevention,
school-level messaging regarding Bullying Prevention was frequently observed during school
visits, with posters featuring anti-bullying slogans on display throughout Marigold schools. A
Latina parent attributed the “nice environment” at her child’s school, in part, to Bullying
Prevention:
They have a very nice environment [at this school], you don't see the kids fighting or
being unrespectful. [Interviewer: Why do you think that is?] First, because the
parents…and because the teachers…teach them how to be polite and respectful with your
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 107
friends in classmates. …In the first week they have the anti-bullying of school, I believe.
All of that information, the kids are like a sponge. They just grab everything and observe
it.

Interviews and observations further suggested that the Bullying Prevention practice of
morning meetings were occurring in most, if not all, classrooms. I observed a morning meeting
enacted in one elementary school classroom, and, in an observed school deans’ meeting,
administrators projected a Google spreadsheet indicating the scheduling and topics for each
school site’s morning meetings. Each school dean reported something along the lines of: “Our
morning meetings occur in all classrooms on Fridays from 9am to 9:30am. Based on the survey,
we chose communication [e.g., reporting bullying to adults] as our focus for February. February
is communicating concerns to adults, and in March we’ll be using the lessons on inclusion.” This
spreadsheet and the resulting conversation suggested that the practice of morning meetings was
indeed occurring in all locations.
The practices delineated in CEC also appeared to be in place across school sites.
7
In all
observed Juniper campuses, teachers were seen greeting students at the door, and this
friendliness was extended to adults on campus as well. (Staff even approached me, a visiting
researcher, with smiles and hellos, introducing themselves and welcoming me to their campus.)
In one observation, a school’s CEC team developed plans to further improve their practices
around greetings. In particular, the team was focused on ensuring that office, custodial, and
cafeteria staff were included, as well as parents. I recorded this conversation in fieldnotes:

7
I believe participating in CEC trainings resulted in shifts in my own behaviors as well. In a memo drafted during
the year of data collection, I wrote: “[CEC] has even affected me…yesterday, I found myself introducing myself to
people on the ninth floor [of the education department] who normally I would have just not spoken to. I said hello to
undergraduates on the elevator, introduced myself to first-year PhD students working in conference rooms, and
finally spoke to a postdoctoral scholar who’d been working on my floor for months—learning not just her name, but
also about her infant daughter and some of her current research projects.”

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 108
“When we’re doing our [parent meeting] last month,” said a Latina assistant principal,
“The parents were really excited about CEC. And then two parents at different times told
me, ‘I’m happy the teachers are [caring for every child], …however, sometimes when I
come to the office teachers are not [caring for us as parents], I say good morning and
teacher walks past me. How are you going to [care for us]?’”

The CEC team then discussed ways to make parents feel more welcome. A White teacher
shared an example of how she had felt cared for by hospital staff during a recent illness
due to their warmth and kindness. A Black teacher commented on the need to be friendly
to parents even when stressed or busy, then noted that some of the concern might relate to
the office staff. “Maybe we should invite the office staff to one of our Thursday socials?”
she suggested.

A White assistant principal replied, “It’s tough because they’re still covering the office.
Maybe we cover the office, while they go grab snacks?... Why couldn’t we say, we got
the phones?”

Another Black teacher nodded, adding, “We could say hey, we want to touch bases, we
know you’re doing a lot, taking care of 900 kids and parents…Also, the cafeteria ladies, I
think it would be nice to spend time fostering relationships with them. We need to [care
for them], know who they are.”

“We could do staff affirmation cards, student affirmation cards,” suggested the Latina
assistant principal.

“Bring affirmation cards and put them on the table during staff meetings?” proposed a
White CEC consultant. “Maybe you model by writing them to the cafeteria ladies, not
just for each other, but also office staff, cafeteria staff.”

Social contracts were also posted in all observed classrooms classroom, as well as staff
social contracts posted in offices and teachers’ lounges. Classrooms had posted the “four
questions” taught in CEC trainings (e.g., “What are you doing?” “What are you supposed to be
doing?”). Participants reported that CEC’s “good things” activity was used weekly in classrooms
and at the beginning of staff meetings, and I observed the “good things” activity enacted in a
transitional kindergarten classroom and in a CEC meeting.
Beyond these observable shifts in practice was a qualitative sense of warmth and
belonging that one felt on Juniper campuses. In memos, I wrote that I could tangibly feel the
positive culture at the Juniper schools I visited, a sentiment echoed by district leaders. “What I
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 109
see when we go to campuses,” said a Latina central office administrator, “is the ones that have
really embraced [CEC], you can really feel it on the campus. You can really see it, you can really
feel it.” During the “good things” activity observed in a CEC team meeting, a Black teacher
shared,
My good thing is that I’m observing a lot of children feeling comfortable with other staff.
They feel so good about walking up to different staff members and hugging them, they
know they’re loved and cared for, that says so much about what we’re doing…So many
things have changed [since we started CEC], it really speaks volumes to who we are and
what we’re about. And that’s caring about everybody, not just the kids.

A Black parent in Juniper also commented on the “sense of belonging” she perceived at her
children’s school:
There are a lot of children [at this school], but I think they build their relationships
between the grade levels or even just in the classroom. If you're in fourth grade, but
you're not in my class it's like, "Oh, I can't be your friend." But they have a sense of
belonging…. Like a community within the classrooms….They build those communities
and relationships, and I think they have a good time at school.

This parent later added that CEC, along with the school’s new principal and other staff changes,
had helped to reduce over-suspension of Black male students on the campus:
[Staff here used to] just suspend. There was a lot of suspension because they didn't know
how to properly deal with [behavior challenges], so the easiest thing was just suspend. …
I think there was a high percentage of African American males, I believe. …So that was
an issue where people ... They don't know how to deal, so the easiest thing is just
suspend. But…I couldn't see it happening too much on this campus anymore.

Data also revealed enactment of practices associated with instructional support in
Marigold and Education Vision in Juniper. For example, I observed evidence that the
instructional strategies selected by Juniper’s school leadership teams were being implemented in
their schools. One team had agreed to roll out the RACE strategy across classrooms to help
students structure paragraphs in response to prompts: Restate the question, Answer the question,
Cite evidence, Explain your answer. (While somewhat confusing given the focus of this study,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 110
the “RACE” mnemonic did not appear to be related to race as a social construct.) Posters
explaining the “RACE” strategy were displayed in every observed classroom and in the
principal’s office, and a teacher referred to the strategy during an observed writing lesson. A
Latina and Asian teacher, who was not on the leadership team, confirmed that team members did
indeed roll out these strategies to the whole staff:
Yeah, [the team members] talk about, okay this is what was discussed at leadership [team
meetings], … Usually it just has to do with academics, like okay well make sure that our
standard of writing, or the procedures we're using, the strategy of the month, and make
sure that we're doing certain things. … The writing strategy they just introduced for
RACE, I think it pretty much works for all of us in third grade.

Marigold’s collection of instructional practices also appeared to have a clear impact on
teaching throughout the district. In instructional walkthroughs of all classrooms at two different
elementary schools, I saw all teachers utilizing district-mandated curricula and adhering to a
common pacing guide. A Latina parent expressed enthusiasm for the challenging content her
daughter was engaging with as a result of district-mandated curricula:
Amazing the vocabulary that my daughter has been growing, or how she explains it. I can
tell you this, yesterday … she said, "Mom, you know what? We learned about the kidney
and the liver." And I said, "What's with the kidney and the liver?" …She explained how
the liver works and I was like, I don't even know. I got surprised. Right now she has a
beautiful teacher and they're doing essays. The teacher inspired my daughter to do more.

There were a handful of instances during instructional walks where district and school
leaders noticed practices that were not ideal enactments of the curriculum—such as the use of an
easier teacher-created worksheet instead of the curriculum’s more challenging open-ended
activity, or a teacher struggling to structure her classroom to support student work in small
groups. For each of these instances, leaders brainstormed next steps to work with teachers to
adjust these practices and bring them into greater alignment with district expectations.
Furthermore, interviewees at multiple school sites reported that data analysis and planning
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 111
meetings were consistently implemented at the conclusion of each unit of instruction, and I saw
these practices carried out at a first-grade teachers’ meeting at one elementary school site.
Collectively, data suggested that teaching throughout the district largely reflected the
expectations communicated through Marigold’s instructional support practices.
Patterns Reinforcing Racial Inequity in Climate and Instruction Policies
Based on the evidence presented above, one might be inclined to characterize that the
climate and instruction policies (with the possible exception of PBIS) as a success. However,
several themes emerged regarding patterns that may have reinforced racial inequity in the
context of implementation. These themes included low expectations of student capabilities
(instruction policies) and missed opportunities to challenge problematic messages or promote
cultural relevance (climate and instruction policies). In addition, data regarding instructional
support practices in Marigold featured limited constructions of student subgroups, which may
have reproduced assumptions of institutionalized racism.
Low Expectations of Student Capabilities in Instruction Policy Implementation.
Though impressions of the two instructional policies were primarily positive, there was some
evidence of criticism, primarily regarding a perception that recommended instruction was too
challenging for the student population. For example, in Marigold, a Latina instructional coach
reported:
Our curriculum assumes a lot. It assumes that the students know a lot so that they have a
lot of background knowledge that they may or may not have…. The curriculum starts by
assuming that all of the students, 100% of all of our kindergarten students know all of
their letters and all of their sounds. That cannot be farther from the truth. They cannot. I
taught kindergarten for seven years. Let me tell you, they do not. …Now, think of that
same scenario in first grade, in second grade, in third grade, in fourth grade. …[The
curriculum assumes] that they are proficient writers, and they're not. They're not
proficient writers.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 112
In an observed teacher data analysis and planning meeting, teachers expressed concern
about curriculum expectations at the start of the year, implying that students’ learning would
regress over the summer as the result of a lack of family support.
Three teachers, the coach, and I sat around a table near a projector screen displaying a
Google document with detailed notes regarding the upcoming English language arts unit.
The instructional coach, a Latina woman, described expectations for the next assessment.
“We need to … have them write on their own using high frequency words. It’s really
really important we don’t have them copy anymore…In second grade they cut them off
cold turkey, there is no support at all.”

A Latina teacher replied, “Do they take into consideration the students have been on
vacation for nine weeks? Some parents don’t do anything. I always tell my parents it
really hurts them to stay home for nine weeks and not pick up a book, but they never do
anything.”

“It’s the curriculum,” replied the coach. “Ready or not, here we go.”

Another Latina teacher, in a light blue sweater, sighed exasperatedly. “Isn’t there a way
of supporting our students better? It has to be that way? That goes against teacher logic.
That’s just common sense that our students are going to need a support…I can’t imagine
second grade, ‘Here you go,’ you know?” She mimes handing a student an exam. “More
than three quarters of the class is going to need that support.”

A White teacher flipped through the teacher’s edition of the textbook, shaking her head
and sighing heavily.

“That’s the second-grade teachers’ main concern,” the coach said.

“Yeah but, it’s a waste of time,” Blue Sweater answered. “Logic will tell you, students
have been out two months, they lose, what’s the research say, they lose so much learning.
The likelihood of the students that we work with that they’re going to be in Kumon [a
private tutoring program] or have somebody reading with them [over the summer], it’s
nothing.”

On the one hand, these concerns arguably reflect a critique of mandated instructional
practices that are not sufficiently tailored to the needs of Marigold’s student population. One
might suggest that educators are voicing realistic expectations of students, and advocating for
greater scaffolding to support their learning. On the other hand, claims that Marigold’s students
are unable to accomplish challenging learning tasks may reflect and perpetuate low expectations
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 113
of students of color, a possible barrier to racial equity that has been documented in other
literature (e.g., Diamond et al., 2004).
Evidence suggested that low expectations of students of color were also voiced by
educators in the Education Vision partnership. The Education Vision consultant described low
expectations of students as an “elephant in the room” that she sought to address during trainings:
And there's some things that just aren't getting said. There may be some elephants in the
room. … I think sometimes honestly, there is some hesitancy as we think about effective
strategies, because it's "Well, the kids can't." … As I'm walking around, I'll hear, "Our
kids can't do this." And I'm like, why can't they?

When asked about performance gaps for Black students and English learners, the consultant
attributed these gaps to low expectations among Juniper educators:
And when we're talking about the sub-groups that really are failing, I really think
expectations have a lot to do with it, … we tend to have all these strategies that we think
are gonna work for kids. But if the people who are supposed to employ those strategies
don't believe in the kids … it's not gonna work. …Expectations are huge…. I don't think
people really can move past some of the hard, hard conversations that are not easy for
humans to have.

A Latina central office administrator in Juniper made a similar point, noting that Education
Vision consultants and district leaders were working to shift school educators away from
blaming students and parents for achievement outcomes:
We've kind of said to [the school leadership teams], you know, "We're going to take the
blame out of the equation." So when we're having these discussions, it's not that [the
students] can't, they can't yet. …Not all schools are there, some schools are still, "This is
their parents’ fault,” “[The students] don't do the homework."

In the observed Education Vision training, teachers did not claim that their students could
not accomplish given tasks, nor the trainer call out “elephants in the room.” However, there were
multiple moments during the observed training when, while analyzing student work samples,
teachers expressed surprise and pride at the accomplishments of their students (who were likely
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 114
students of color). For example, during an analysis of student work, one White teacher showed a
photographs of her students engaged in group work:
She pointed at a Latino student, enthusing, “Look, there’s my [Carlos], he’s actually
participating! He’s leaning over with his book, telling his group, ‘No it’s this one,’ and he
was right! He might not be the best speller, but my GATE [Gifted and Talented
Education] student said, ‘Wow, he’s right.’ You know, he’s ELD [English Language
Development] level 2, but he felt just as valuable on that team as everyone else did.”

While this appeared to be a genuine instance of a teacher celebrating the success of a
student who had struggled in the past, there was also an implication that this success was
surprising. Examples like this suggested that low expectations may have played a role in
educators’ approach to analyzing student work, expectations that were not challenged during the
Education Vision session.
Missed Opportunities to Advance Racial Equity in Climate and Instruction Policies.
In both the climate and instruction policy cases, data revealed missed opportunities to either
challenge problematic messages about race (and sometimes gender) or foster culturally relevant
pedagogy.
Missed Opportunities in Climate Policies. Data on Bullying Prevention implementation
suggested that educators refrained from addressing racialized bullying or promoting racial
inclusion. During an observation of a school deans’ meeting, I reviewed one elementary dean’s
Bullying Prevention survey results, noticing that students on this campus had reported racial
bullying as one of the most common forms at their school. After asking the dean, a Black man,
about this report, I captured his response in my fieldnotes:
I pointed at the bar graph with my pen. “This looks like students are reporting racial
bullying as one of the most common forms?” I asked.

The dean put on his glasses and pulled the survey packet closer, peering at the graph. He
shook his head.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 115
“Oh. Oh, no, no, the students don’t know what that means,” he assured me. “That really
doesn’t happen at all on our campus. It’s not much of a problem…it’s much more who is
being included, who is left out. This is the first year we gave the survey and students
didn’t really understand what bullying means yet. I don’t really see…there’s nothing
racial going on really.”

Furthermore, based on a menu of morning meeting topics provided by the Bullying
Prevention curriculum, many Marigold schools had chosen to focus their morning meetings on
the topic of “inclusion.” Interestingly though, in the Bullying Prevention book used by Marigold
deans, none of the “inclusion” morning meetings directly addressed race. The activity that came
the closest focused on “bias and stereotypes.” The introduction to the lesson stated:
Students develop biases about “good” versus “undesirable” differences from messages
they get form the media, adults, peers and others in their communities. They soon learn
that how people look, how they act, where they live, what they wear, or even what they
represent is “good” or “bad.”

Throughout the lesson, this discussion of bias and stereotypes remained general, without
references to race or other social forces. The accompanying activity focused on a general
discussion of stereotypes about the clothes people wear. Several other lessons, though, did
address gender. For example, one included the objective, “By the end of this lesson, students will
be able to identify problems associated with expectations about ‘acting like a girl’ or ‘acting like
a boy.’”
It is certainly plausible that elementary and middle school students might misunderstand
whether an incident is racially charged, and one might argue that a general discussion of
stereotypes is more age-appropriate for young children than a conversation about racism
specifically. And there likely is value in exploring gender inclusion with young students. That
said, the silence regarding race in these efforts might have led to missed opportunities to
challenge inequity. Why would elementary students claim that racial bullying is a problem in
their school, and why might their perception differ from that of adults? Might activities on racial
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 116
inclusion complement and extend lessons on gender inclusion? These questions went
unanswered in Bullying Prevention implementation.
Similarly, in the implementation of CEC in Juniper, data revealed several instances in
which problematic messages regarding race, as well as gender, went unaddressed. For example,
in introducing the strategy of shaking students’ hands, I observed implicit messages regarding
racial hierarchies. From my fieldnotes:
With a White teacher volunteer, one of the White male trainers demonstrated an
“unprofessional” handshake. The trainer and volunteer walked towards each other with a
swagger, leaning back and exaggerating their movements. Nodding slightly, they greeted
each other. “’Sup.” “’Sup.” his head slightly. They clasped hands and leaned forward,
slapping each other on the back. They slapped their hands together and pounded fists.
“How many of your students do that?” the trainer said. The audience laughed.

“It’s all in good fun. I did that with my students sometimes too. But you know we have to
teach them to be professional, what’s going to be expected in the workplace.”

The trainer and volunteer demonstrated a “professional” handshake this time. They
walked towards each other. “Hey, good to see ya!” the trainer said, gripping the
volunteer’s hand in a firm handshake. “Great to see you too!” answered the volunteer.
Still shaking hands, they rotated around each other as they continued walking. “I’ll catch
you later!” said the trainer, pointing at the volunteer over his shoulder. “Yeah, see you!”
They released hands and walked “off-stage.” The audience applauded.

The trainer then invited the roughly 50 participants to walk around the room, practicing
their most unprofessional handshakes. As I walked through the group, some participants
pounded fists or gave sharp upward nods. “’Sup bro.” “Hey homie.” A Black woman
“dabbed,” her face in the crook of her left elbow with her right arm pointing upwards (a
dance move associated with popular mid-2010s rap and hip hop).

From this observation, it seemed that the language of “professional” and “unprofessional” was
implicitly racialized, with professionalism tied to Whiteness and unprofessionalism associated
with Black and Latinx communities in particular. This implicit racialization was not commented
on by trainers or participants.
Later in the training, CEC presenters screened a clip from the 2003 film Radio in order to
exemplify high-quality leadership. The film Radio, set in South Carolina in the 1960s, tells the
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 117
story of White high school football coach (Ed Harris) who befriends and cares for Radio, a
developmentally delayed Black teenager (Cuba Gooding Jr.). The coach repeatedly rescues
Radio from White males who seek to mock or harm him, including high school football players
and a police officer, and punishes the offenders. The clip screened at the CEC training was from
the film’s climax, when a number of White townspeople have gathered to demand that the coach
end his association with Radio. The coach refuses and resigns his position, an action depicted as
the heroic climax of the film. As others have observed (Schultz, 2014), Radio, like similar sports
films such as 2009’s The Blind Side and 2006’s Glory Road, exemplifies the “white savior”
narrative: a story that celebrates a heroic White figure for saving people of color from a dire
plight. In such narratives, characters of color are depicted as unable to rescue themselves, and are
narratively utilized as devices to illustrate the heroic nature of the White savior figure. This
dynamic of the film Radio went unacknowledged during the CEC session. Indeed, the Ed Harris
character was presented as an exemplar of courageous leadership, with no critical analysis of the
racial dynamics of the film.
8

While data collection efforts foregrounded issues of race, there were a few instances
where problematic gender messages that, like racial messages, went unchecked in CEC
implementation. For instance, fieldnotes from an observation of the “good things” activity in a
Juniper TK classroom illustrated potentially troubling messages about masculinity:
A Black boy, perhaps five years old and wearing an oversized maroon polo shirt, stood
up to share his “good thing.”

“My mom got me a new toy.”

8
The troubling dynamics of this film clip were perhaps compounded when, during the discussion following the
screening, a White male participant repeatedly referred to Black actress Alfre Woodard as “Viola Davis.” No one
corrected him.
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“It wasn’t an Elsa toy, was it?” the Latina teacher laughed. (Two Latina girls had already
told the class they had received toys related to Elsa—a character from the popular Disney
film Frozen—over the weekend.) Other students giggled excitedly.

“No. It was power rangers. My dad…my dad wouldn’t let me buy a pink ranger.”

“You wanted a pink ranger?” the teacher asked.

“Yeah,” the boy replied, fiddling with the arms of the sweatshirt tied around his waist.

“Well, you could get it for your little sister, right?”

“Mmm.”

The class gave their choral response. “Thank you for sharing your good thing with us!”
they sang in unison.

In this example, rather than empathizing with the boy's frustration, the teacher’s response seemed
to reinforce the idea that feminized toys are only acceptable for girls, reinforcing a hierarchical
male-female gender binary.
Missed Opportunities in Instruction Policies. Like these efforts to improve school
climate, instruction policies also featured missed opportunities to challenge racial inequity. In
particular, data suggested an absence of culturally relevant pedagogy as defined by Ladson-
Billings (1995)—both in terms of the affirmation of student of color identities, as well as the
development of critical consciousness. In classroom observations in both districts, race seemed
largely invisible, with no artifacts or activities related to students’ racial identity or efforts to
challenge racism. The few exceptions included occasional Black History and Hispanic Heritage
Month posters, or bulletin boards (almost identical across school sites and districts) featuring
student drawings of Martin Luther King Jr. and César Chávez, accompanied by handwritten
paragraphs using sentence starters like “I have a dream that someday….”
With the profound silence regarding racial identity or racism on these campuses, my ears
pricked when, during a Marigold instructional walk, I heard a White third-grade teacher
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announce she was about to read a story titled, “A Bicycle in Harlem.” It was the title of the story
(from the district-mandated English language arts curriculum) that she was about to read to small
group. I drifted over towards where the teacher sat with a small group of two Black girls and two
Latino boys. I was eager to see how the teacher and students engaged with a story set in a
predominantly Black neighborhood, known for its rich legacy of Black art and literature. As I
approached, the teacher patiently informed her students that the story was set in Haarlem, in the
Netherlands. I looked over a student’s shoulder to glimpse an illustration of the story’s
characters: a group of blonde, blue-eyed White children.
When observing classrooms in both districts, there were several times when I questioned
implicit racial messages communicated through teachers’ practices; yet these moments went
unremarked when leaders debriefed observations. For instance, in one second grade classroom
where students were working on different activities independently, I observed a Latino boy
hunched over a reading and worksheet photocopied on pink paper. The handout was titled, “Who
Really Discovered America?” The answer, according to the reading, was the Vikings. Indigenous
communities were not mentioned anywhere on the document.
In Marigold, observations included two activities in the district-mandated ELA
curriculum that drew on texts of potential racial/cultural relevance to Black students—a poem
about African American folk hero John Henry, and a West African folktale titled “Why
Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears”—yet the racial dynamics and cultural contexts of these texts
were left unexplored. The excerpt below is from fieldnotes of an observed lesson on “The
Ballad of John Henry”:
Students lounged in pairs or trios around the room—some on carpets on the floor, others
on bean bag chairs, some on a sofa. Their workbooks were open and turned to the page
featuring the John Henry poem, with an accompanying illustration of a Black man in a
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tunnel, swinging a pickaxe at a wall of rock, sweat dripping from his brow. Students were
chatting and writing down answers to workbook questions in pencil.

The teacher, a White woman with long red hair hanging down to her waist, walked from
pair to pair, loudly calling out directions to the class and singing lines from the poem. “’A
drink o’ water ‘fore I die!’” she sang brightly, clapping her hands on emphasized
syllables to illustrate the poem’s iambic rhythm. “’A drink o’ water ‘fore I die!’ Can’t
you hear the rhythm? ‘A drink o’ water ‘fore I die!’”

The poem told the story of a legendary Black railroad worker who raced against a
mechanical rock-drilling machine, winning the race but dying from overexertion. The legend is
based on the life of a real John Henry, a prisoner in Virginia who was forced to work on railroads
in the Appalachian mountains, and one of hundreds of Black convict laborers who died due to
brutal working conditions (S. R. Nelson, 2008). In the observation, it appeared that the poem was
used solely as an opportunity for students to identify curriculum-determined literary devices,
such as rhythm. There was no evidence that the story’s roots in the history of racism in the
United States were mentioned in curriculum materials or in the teacher’s instruction. While the
teacher likely intended to foster a friendly and engaging classroom environment with her
enthusiasm and chanting, as an observer, I found the experience of watching a White teacher
cheerfully singing about the death of a Black man to a room of students of color to be jarring.
However, this went unacknowledged by district and school leaders in their discussion of
classroom observations, who merely remarked on the teacher’s skill at maintaining classroom
engagement.
In an observed meeting at a Marigold school, first grade teachers discussed their
upcoming unit, which featured a lesson using the West African folktale “Why Do Mosquitoes
Buzz in People’s Ears?” The story was popularized in the U.S. through a 1975 Caldecott-
winning picture book, authored by White American writer Verna Aardema. The book was
adapted into an animated short film in 1984, narrated by Black American actor James Earl Jones.
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However, these aspects of the story’s history were not acknowledged in the district-provided
curriculum materials. The textbook’s illustrations, which featured animals and people of varied
racial appearances, gave no hint that the story originated or was set in West Africa. In my
observation, described below, the folktale’s West African origins, and its history as a picture
book and short film, were not mentioned by participants. Instead, educators focused on their
frustration that the story did not fit with the unit’s overall focus on Aesop’s fables:
“It’s not a fable!” a Latina instructional coach exclaimed in frustration. “It’s just a story,
there’s no moral to it. No lesson. I hate this one!” The teachers—one White woman and
two Latinas—nodded and made murmurs of agreement.

In an Education Vision training, a White fifth grade teacher shared student work from a
lesson on a story about interactions between an American Indian boy and a White boy in colonial
era New England. The conversation about the lesson raised some questions about how the
teacher addressed the story’s racial dynamics. In my fieldnotes, I documented the teacher’s
explanation of student work samples:
The White fifth grade teacher held up one work sample. There were drawings of the two
characters, and some written bullet points next to each drawing. “Here is, what we would
consider low for fifth grade, kind of sloppy work, very hard to read, you can kinda tell
who’s the Native American, who’s the colonist. Misspelling, things like that, not a lot of
pride in the work.”

She picked up another work sample. “This one, while it looks neat, he put that [the
Native American] is Black.” She laughed. “He’s not Black.”

She passed around a third sample. “This one we would consider high, really descriptive,
they describe his ponytail, a loincloth. [The White character] is described as blond-
haired, longer hair, with three buttons on his coat, really descriptive. For the other
character, the student wrote that ‘He’s Indian, only wears half-clothes, he can’t read, he
doesn’t have a mom, he’s part of a tribe.’”

“This is another high [quality] example. The student wrote, ‘[The Native American
character] wants to give a present to his squaw. I think his squaw will feel happy.’” The
teacher smiled. Other teachers murmured, sounding impressed.

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The teacher’s comments suggested that problematic understandings of American Indian
identity may have been communicated through her lesson. In particular, her pride at a student’s
description of a White character as blonde with a three-buttoned coat, and of the American
Indian character as a collection of deficits, expressed a perpetuation of negative views of
American Indians and normalization of White superiority. Furthermore, repeating the student’s
use of the word “squaw”—widely considered a racialized and gendered slur—raised questions
about her understanding of the cultural context of the American Indian character in the story.
Limited Constructions of Student Subgroups. In the implementation of instructional
support practices in Marigold, a prominent theme emerged regarding the construction of student
subgroups. Interviewees consistently reported that a focus on two targeted subgroups—African
American students and English learners (ELs)—was a key aspect of instructional support
practices districtwide. In particular, teachers’ data analysis and planning meetings included
review of assessment data disaggregated by subgroup at school and classroom levels. (Notably,
while use of disaggregated data did not emerge as a theme in Juniper, all participants identified
the same two groups—African Americans and ELs—when I directly asked about focus
subgroups in the district).
Across Marigold data sources, discussion of meeting the needs of English learners
focused on supplementing or adjusting the use of language in academic curricula, such as adding
visual diagrams, Spanish-language materials, or simplified English vocabulary. For instance,
when I asked about how teacher teams strategized in response to disaggregated subgroup data, a
Black instructional coach replied:
An example of next step, for example for our EL learners… … We will create an anchor
chart with the step-by-step breakdown, and then the students will then work on solving
the equations or the problems, and then they will create their own anchor chart …Then
they will need to be able to explain it to another group. … It's a visual tool for them, and
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it's also engaging because you can add different markers, and colors, and graphics, and
pictures. …Then once they create their own, they have actually seen it, and they can
create their own, and they will have the opportunity to actually speak as well.

As in the above example, the bulk of conversation about addressing subgroup needs
focused on ELs. When I asked about their response to disaggregated data, interviewees
invariably named their approach to serving English learners first, sometimes adding that EL-
focused strategies were beneficial for all students, including African Americans. Strategies
targeted towards the African American subgroup were rarely mentioned, and typically only after
specific probing. In one illustrative example, when I asked a White and Latina instructional
coach about how teachers responded to data for the African American student subgroup, she
replied by discussing ELs:
[Interviewer: If if you have a difference in performance between your African American
students and your overall ... what do you do about that?] Just talk about how we can meet
their needs. … We come to the EL conversation a lot …because you may have a student
that came in really that has just come to this country, and you are asking them to take a
test in English, and there's no English at all. So the conversation is a lot what supports
can that teacher give that student?

When participants did name strategies specifically targeting African American students,
they exclusively focused on student engagement and behavior, often referencing concepts
communicated by the Lorde Center. A Black instructional coach observed, “I guess I can say that
there hasn't been an activity geared just primarily for African Americans other than just
classroom engagement strategies with the repeat and response and all of those different types of
things.” A Latino central office administrator elaborated that the purpose of analyzing Black
student performance was to support teachers in developing culturally responsive classroom
management:
The disaggregation of data [for African American students], the conversations that we
have at lesson unit studies, lesson planning, data analysis, is more specifically not
intended for the African American student, but for the teacher to be able to facilitate
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learning for the student. When you ask that kid to raise their hand and they don’t raise
their hand. So what are you going to do now? You could either make it a problem
or…reaffirm their need to speak up because in their household if they don't speak up,
they don't get heard or they don't get their point across… Well, he's spent more time at
home than he has in your classroom so what are you going to do? …As a classroom
teacher you're always going to get an upset student but how are you going to deescalate
that, instead of escalating that.

Cumulatively, comments regarding English learner and African American subgroups
revealed implicit constructions of who these students were and what they needed, shaping how
educators carried out instructional support efforts in Marigold. English learners were described
as in need of instructional support and scaffolding, while Black students were presented as
primarily in need of strategies to accommodate or change their behavior. Arguably, these
constructions were based on educators’ personal knowledge of their students, and well-
intentioned efforts to meet what they understood as each subgroup’s needs. However, the
repeated implication that Black students presented a behavior problem—in contrast to ELs as an
instructional problem—may have reflected institutionalized assumptions—rooted in the U.S.
history of racism and slavery—regarding the need to control and regulate Black bodies (Irby,
2014). This singular focus may also have obscured more complex and nuanced needs among
Black students in the district, and, furthermore, there was no evidence that the historical and
systemic factors influencing Black student achievement were acknowledged in these
conversations. This finding echoes previous research regarding the potential of teachers’ data use
to reinforce stereotypes and deficit thinking regarding particular subgroups (e.g., Brown,
Benkovitz, Muttillo, & Urban, 2011; Datnow et al., 2018).
In addition to the two subgroups that were named, the silence regarding certain social
identity groups also played a role in the implementation of instructional support in Marigold.
African American students were the only racialized group named in these practices. The racial
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identity of Latinx students went unacknowledged, though participants may have used the phrase
“English learner” as a proxy for Latinx students (over 90 percent of Marigold’s ELs reported
Spanish as their primary home language). The sole focus on EL designation may have fostered a
sole focus on those students’ language development without considering other aspects of
students’ identities and backgrounds, a concern noted by other scholars (Gándara & Contreras,
2009; Turner, 2015). There were no data to suggest a consideration of affirming Latinx students’
cultural backgrounds or racial identities, nor to address Latinx students’ experiences of systemic
racism. It is important to note, however, that over two-thirds of students in Marigold were
Latinx; thus, educators may have not felt a need to discuss Latinx students separately from the
overall student population.
Both of the districts in this study primarily served Black and Latinx students, but with
small populations of White, Asian, and Pacific Islander students as well. Data revealed no
acknowledgement of White students as a racial group in either district. Asian students were
rarely mentioned in the discussion of instructional support practices in Marigold, but when this
group was named, it was to advance a participant’s claims regarding issues of diversity. When
asked if all of the English learners in the district were Latino, for example, several respondents
disagreed, naming Asians and Pacific Islanders as evidence of the diversity of the EL group.
“[Parents are] just amazed at, oh, so it's just not Spanish speakers that are in our area. We have
close to, I think, 30 languages that are being spoken in our district,” said a Latina administrator,
later adding, “We have Vietnamese ... Filipino, we have a lot of Tongan.”
In addition to comments about EL diversity, two teachers mentioned a need for curricular
content on diversity and multiculturalism, specifically regarding Asian cultures. For instance, in
an informal conversation during a school visit, a White teacher told me that she thought her
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Black and Latinx students lacked access to information about diverse cultures. After the
conversation, I captured her comments in my fieldnotes:
“They [the students] don’t know anything about other cultures,” she declared. “They’ve
never left their neighborhoods! Every year I do a Chinese New Year’s celebration, we
make decorations, eat food. They’ve never heard of Chinese New Year. They don’t know
any Chinese people. And with the testing I’m not supposed to do it, there’s no time, but I
think it’s important to teach kids about diversity.”

Such references to Asian racial groups in the context of multiculturalism in curriculum arguably
reflected a desire among teachers to build a more inclusive school and increase students’
multicultural competence. However, the utilization of Asian racial groups to further these
arguments may have also evoked an Orientalist view of Asians as innately exotic and foreign
(Ng et al., 2007).
Finally, few participants mentioned the small Pacific Islander student population in
Marigold. A Black instructional coach noted that her school was currently debating whether they
should consider Pacific Islander students part of the African American subgroup. Perhaps this
was motivated by a well-intentioned desire to make PI students’ needs more visible by including
them in subgroup analyses, but such an approach does not seem to reflect a clear understanding
of either Black or Pacific Islander racial identity.
To sum up, while instruction and climate policies generally featured positive buy-in and
enactment of prescribed practices, they also appeared to miss opportunities to advance racial
justice. In instruction policies, participants expressed low expectations of the abilities of racially
minoritized students. In both climate and instruction policies, problematic messages about race
went unaddressed, and possibilities for advancing cultural relevance went unexplored. Finally, in
the disaggregation of assessment data for student subgroups in Marigold, educators reiterated
limiting constructions of racial groups and of English learners.
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Summary
In this chapter, I addressed the first of the two research questions in this dissertation
study, examining the implementation of eight district policies with racial equity goals. There
were three main types of policies that leaders linked to racial equity goals: policies to challenge
educator bias, policies to improve school climate, and policies to improve instruction. In the first
category, policies targeting bias (the only policies that placed an explicit focus on race and/or
racism), there was evidence of substantive pushback among participants, as well as limited
impact on school and classroom practice. These findings might not necessarily reflect a failure of
implementation, however, as the goal of these efforts was often to prompt uncomfortable and
challenging conversations, without necessarily offering actionable practice strategies. Climate
and instruction policies were received with varying degrees of enthusiasm, though the overall
perception was positive (with the sole exception of PBIS in Marigold), and all were associated
with tangible practices in schools and classrooms. However, data revealed themes in
implementation that have reinforced racial inequity, including low expectations of students of
color, missed opportunities to counter racialized messages or advance culturally relevant
pedagogy, and limited constructions of student groups.
This chapter focused primarily on the what and how of district efforts to further racial
equity. In the next chapter, I turn to the why, exploring factors that might explain the patterns
described here.

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CHAPTER SIX
FACTORS SHAPING RACIAL EQUITY POLICY IMPLEMENTATION
In the previous chapter, I explored how leaders in Marigold and Juniper School Districts
enacted three types of policies associated with racial equity goals: policies aimed at reducing
educator bias, strengthening school climate, and improving instruction. Bias policies were the
only efforts to explicitly acknowledge race and racism (beyond the disaggregation of data), and
these policies were generally met with widespread educator pushback and were perceived to
have had limited impact on practice. Climate and instruction policies, in contrast, tended to be
positively received, and their mandated practices appeared to be enacted across schools.
However, the implementation of climate and instruction policies was characterized by patterns
that may have reinforced racial inequity, including low expectations of students of color, missed
opportunities to counter racialized messages or advance culturally relevant pedagogy, and
limited constructions of student groups.
In this chapter, I seek to understand why these patterns emerged in the implementation of
racial equity policies, addressing my second research question, What factors influenced these
implementation processes, and how so? I draw on the theoretical framework described in
Chapter 2, using concepts from cultural-historical activity theory (CHAT) (Engeström &
Miettinen, 1999), institutional theory (Scott, 2008), and literature on race and racism (e.g., Hill,
2009) to help explain why district efforts played out as they did. First, I discuss how cultural-
cognitive “rules” (beliefs and assumptions) reflecting racial inequity may have shaped
implementation. I then examine how division of labor, objects of activity, and
community/context may also have influenced the enactment of case policies.
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Rules of Racial Inequity
In Chapter Three, I presented a framework of five “rules” that may reinforce racial
inequity in the context of district policy implementation. These rules included normalizing
Whiteness, maintaining colorblindness, individualizing racism, focusing on diversity, and
attributing inequity to non-racial factors. CHAT asserts that when an activity, such as the work
of policy implementation, contradicts embedded cultural-cognitive rules, actors may respond
through internalization (reinforcement of existing culture) or externalization (transformation of
culture). These cultural-cognitive rules, as well as the CHAT perspective on contradictions, may
shed light on the findings detailed in the previous chapter. Below, I first discuss how these rules
(maintaining colorblindness, individualizing racism, and attributing inequity to non-racial
factors) might explain observed pushback against anti-bias policies. I then turn to how these
rules may have informed the patterns that may have perpetuated racial inequity in climate and
instruction policies.
Rules of Racial Inequity and Pushback Against Anti-Bias Policies
These rules of racial inequity help explain the evidence of widespread pushback against
the bias-targeting policies of the Lorde Center partnership, Baldwin Group partnership, and
Implicit Bias trainings. CHAT suggests that contradictions in the activity system can manifest in
several discursive forms, including dilemmas, conflicts, critical conflicts, and double binds
(Engeström & Sannino, 2011). The findings presented in Chapter Four demonstrated that
conflicts—defined as the expression of arguments, criticism, or resistance—were ubiquitous in
the implementation of the three district-level bias policies. These conflicts may have represented
contradictions between the content of consultants’ sessions and cultural-cognitive rules regarding
racial inequity. Three rules emerged as particularly influential in shaping resistance to anti-bias
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policies: maintaining colorblindness, individualizing racism, and attributing inequity to non-
racial factors.
In anti-bias sessions, presenters explicitly spoke about, and often asked participants to
speak about, race and racism—directly challenging expectations of colorblindness, or avoiding
explicit acknowledgement of race. In response, participants often re-asserted colorblindness,
such as when a biracial Asian and Latina teacher in Juniper declared, “I serve all kids, it doesn't
matter what color you are.” Relatedly, a White teacher expressed resistance to acknowledging
racism with students, arguing that instead of focusing on the “negative things” regarding the
history of slavery in the U.S., teachers should emphasize how society has progressed:
That was another thing they brought up in the [Baldwin Group], was teaching our kids
about slavery, but really pointing it out to them, that these African American people were
not treated correctly, and we need to bring it up to them constantly…. I feel like it should
be like, okay, they were treated this way, but now things are different. Showing [students]
how things can change over time…nowadays, people are not treated like this…. Looking
at the positive things [instead of] only looking at the negative things that have happened.

During observed Baldwin Group trainings, several White teachers made comments
suggesting that violating colorblindness was harmful. One White teacher expressed concern that
focusing on race or English learner status was fostering division, asking a Baldwin Group trainer,
“Do you think education is starting to separate the groups even more? …We have
programs for only certain ethnics, ethnicity groups, do you feel that education is still
dividing them further because we’re not including all kids, we’re only including certain
categories of kids?”

In a Baldwin Group session, White teachers critiqued what they described as “reverse racism”
regarding disciplinary practices, suggesting that teachers were “allowing bad behavior” among
students of color and being unfair to Whites:
A White female teacher raised her hand. “You were talking about expectations,” she says
to the trainer (a Black man). “In the twenty years that I’ve been teaching, with race and
socioeconomics, it’s not that the expectations of those students are lower, it’s that we
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allow them more leeway. Students who are misbehaving--low socioeconomic, foster
kids--we allow their bad behavior and make more excuses. It’s like reverse racism.”

Several White teachers in the room nodded. One White woman muttered, “yes, yes,
exactly.”

“It’s a sliding scale,” the White teacher continued. “African American kids, foster
kids…they get more breaks.”

Another White teacher spoke up. “Before, when I was at [a nearby district], the hot topic
was suspensions, high suspension rate of African American boys.” She adopted a nasal-
sounding bureaucrat voice: “You’re not going to suspend any more African American
boys!

“Well,” she continued, her tone defiant. “I saw five African American boys beat the snot
out of a White sixth-grader. The White kid ended up in the hospital, he was suspended.
The other boys were not.”

Data further suggested that anti-bias trainings challenged the individualization of racism,
and, again, participants responded by doubling down on these rules. For example, when a White
instructional coach in Marigold stated that Lorde Center trainings “made teachers feel like they
were being racist,” she reiterated the rule that racism was situated within individuals rather than
social systems. Similarly, a White Juniper teacher described her discomfort with Baldwin Group
trainings in an interview,
Pretty much they said all White teachers are almost racist. I think that was the one thing
that really got to me. It's like, dude, no. All White teachers are not racist. They're like, it's
all African American kids that are being [suspended]…. There are a lot of boys that get in
trouble, yes some of them are African Americans, but it's not all African Americans that
are getting in trouble.

By emphasizing the role of systemic racism in fostering inequity, anti-bias trainings also
contradicted the rule of attributing evidence of inequity to non-racial factors. Many participants
responded to this contradiction by re-asserting the role of poverty or culture in prompting
inequity. In a Baldwin Group session, the Black male trainer projected a pie chart showing the
racial distribution of suspensions and expulsions in Juniper. The following comments, excerpted
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 132
from fieldnotes, were made by three different White female teachers in the conversation that
followed.
“I think there are different expectations a lot of time based on poverty levels. So we have
White kids in poverty, all kinds of kids. I’ve felt this way because a little kid is so
impoverished, I’m not going to say their parents don’t care, I’m going to say their parents
are working so hard they can’t show up to the conferences. I don’t know how much is
necessarily racial.”

“Parents can’t teach what they don’t know, so their children come in when they’re young
and they’re screaming. You try to socialize them, teach them how to act with other
children. But, when you call their house, the music’s blaring, and the parents come in,
and they’re screaming.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t think it’s race. I don’t think it’s because of race. Not when the
students are exposed to some of the things at home with their parents. The structure, they
don’t have that structure. I don’t think it’s race.”

The rule of attributing inequity to non-racial factors may also have been reflected in
participant expressions of model minority myths regarding Asian student achievement, as
described in Chapter Five. The model minority construct suggests that, since Asians have
demonstrated strong outcomes, then the explanation for poor outcomes among other
communities of color must not lie with systemic racism, but perhaps with characteristics innate
to those groups, such as culture or biology. The Baldwin Group consultant elaborated on this
idea,
One way to sort of be politically correct but still make some backhanded comments about
certain folks is to talk about Asian Americans. Because the argument goes, … "Well,
Asian-Americans, they do well, and they do well because they have a culture that values
education. Their parents stress schooling, their parents are involved in their children's
educational pursuits." … Veiled in that response is that if the Latino children and the
Black children just did more and acted more like the Asian children and the Asian
families, they would do just as well.

The preponderance of evidence regarding the implementation of anti-bias policies
suggested that, when policies contradicted the rules of racial inequity, participants responded
with resistance and reinforced the existing rules. However, as discussed in the previous chapter,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 133
two White participants described developing deeper understandings of racism as a result of
Implicit Bias trainings. Both characterized this experience as uncomfortable, reflecting the
CHAT concept of the critical conflict (Engeström & Sannino, 2011), in which contradiction
manifests as an emotionally charged experience, often associated with guilt. A White school
leader in Juniper reported feeling like an “awful person” after Implicit Bias trainings, afraid that
she was “behaving racist”:
What it [Implicit Bias] allowed me to do is it allowed me to look with inside myself and
acknowledge what my thought process was and what my biases are. So, I think if you
went in there with an open mind and being able to accept, maybe, those things about
yourself that you don't like, which can be really challenging…It's really hard. … That
first day I left there feeling exhausted. I'm like, "Oh, my gosh, I'm such an awful
person.", and everything.

And, I went home and talked to my husband about my experience and he said, "Just take
it as a growth." … I think, just personally, my husband is African-American and so we
talk all the time about racial things within society. And, I just felt like it was a place of
comfort to start those conversations with him, because there's always that fear. I don't
want someone to think I'm racist. Or, am I behaving racist, or saying something in a
racial way? … There [is] always that internal fear that somebody will assume that I'm
racist when I'm not. It's not a situation of racism, it's a situation of ignorance, because I
don't know … I did not like that feeling of not knowing. So, for me, I just tried to look at
it more as a learning opportunity than a “gotcha” kind of thing.

In this instance, the interviewee described her relationship with her husband, a Black
man, as an important factor in allowing her to resolve her critical conflict and move towards
change, or, in the language of CHAT, externalization. This was not the only case of a White
individual attributing their learning about racism to a partner of color: during an observed
Baldwin Group training at a different elementary school, two other White participants made
similar comments regarding their Latino and Black spouses respectively. The fieldnotes below
show how one White woman challenged the rule of attributing inequity to non-racial factors and
expressed an understanding of racism as systemic:
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A White woman—who appeared notably younger than most of the staff, perhaps in her
mid-twenties—raised her hand. “I have a comment.” The trainer made eye contact with
her, and she stood up.

“I am married to a Hispanic man who grew up in poverty and got in trouble a lot,” she
said. “He was angry. The kids who are suspended, they probably are actually hitting
somebody, or being disrespectful. But I think it comes from the anger, maybe the way we
treat them, their families, society. I can see this is true, it is true for our school, they’re
angry. Just like we were during the activity with the Starbursts.” A Latino male teacher
clapped and nodded in agreement.

These examples illustrate how, for some White participants, a close relationship to a
person of color may have facilitated disruption of the rules of racial inequity.
9
Yet this was not
the case for all White participants. For example, one White teacher mentioned her Black husband
and child in order to justify her resistance to Baldwin Group trainings and reassert her
commitment to colorblindness. When asked why she disagreed with the content of Baldwin
Group sessions, she replied “I don't look at the kids based off of their color. I never have, I pretty
much never will. My husband is African American, so I just don't have that mindset at all, in any
way.” She later added, “I don't treat people differently based off of those things [race] because
my husband, my child.”
Finally, data regarding anti-bias policies suggested that anti-bias trainers were aware of
the prevalence of educator defensiveness, and many took steps to mitigate the types of conflicts
observed. For instance, a Baldwin Group consultant described his efforts to challenge the rule of
individualizing racism by distinguishing “Whiteness” from White racial identity:
I make the distinction and say that this is driven by Whiteness and not White people. I
make that distinction because White people oftentimes think "You're beating up on me
and you've never been on my classroom, you've never seen me interact with students, so

9
My aim here is to offer a description of how a few White participants attributed learning about racism to a
relationship with a person of color. It is not, however, my suggestion that the responsibility of White anti-racist
education should be placed on the shoulders of racially minoritized people. Such an expectation creates an unjust
demand on the intellectual and emotional labor of people of color, while no such demand is placed upon Whites. See
DiAngelo, 2018, for further discussion of this issue.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 135
you don't know what I'm doing." … Whiteness is sort of tied to this idea of White
supremacy…. I always make the distinction that there are people of color who subscribe
wholeheartedly to the tenets of Whiteness. There are White people who may not
subscribe to the tenets of Whiteness. This is about an ideology.

However, despite this evidence that Baldwin Group consultants may have sought to mitigate the
influence of rules of racial inequity, data suggested that they continued to be powerful influences
in shaping pushback against bias policies.
Rules of Racial Inequity and Climate and Instruction Policies
In addition to fueling resistance against anti-bias policies, the rules of racial inequity may
have acted as constraints in the implementation of climate and instruction policies, helping
explain dynamics regarding low expectations of students of color, missed opportunities to
advance racial justice, and limited constructions of student groups. Specifically, data suggested
that four of the rules—normalizing Whiteness, maintaining colorblindness, focusing on diversity,
and attributing inequity to non-racial factors—may have shaped climate and instruction policy
enactment. Below, I discuss how each of these four rules may have played a role in shaping these
implementation processes.
Normalizing Whiteness. Normalizing Whiteness—implying that Whiteness is the ideal
and the norm, and that racially minoritized groups deviate from this norm—may explain
evidence of low expectations of students of color, a theme in the implementation of instruction
policies in both districts. In the previous chapter, I described how Marigold educators criticized a
district-mandated curriculum that they viewed as too challenging for their students, and Juniper
educators expressed surprise at the achievements of students of color during Education Vision
trainings. An Education Vision consultant, a Black woman, spoke at length about hearing these
sorts of low expectations. “As I'm walking around,” she said, “I'll hear, ‘Our kids can't do this.’”
A Latina central office administrator in Marigold made a similar observation, “[Teachers will]
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say, ‘Our students can't do this. My kids can't do that.’” Such comments beg the question, if our
kids can’t do this, then whose kids can? Drawing on the theoretical grounding for this study, one
might infer that articulations of low expectations of students of color in Marigold and Juniper
were predicated on an unstated norm of higher-achieving White students in more privileged
districts.
In both climate and instruction policies, data suggested that implicit messages that
communities of color were inferior to Whites went unaddressed. This was evident in the
professional handshake exercise in CEC implementation, and in the conversation about an
American Indian character in a short story during an Education Vision training (both detailed in
Chapter Five). Challenging these messages would have violated the rule of normalizing
Whiteness, perhaps explaining why they went unchecked in policy implementation.
Depictions of students of color as victims of difficult circumstances, or of educators as
savior figures, were also consistent with the rule of normalizing Whiteness. For instance, in
explaining the need for the Bullying Prevention program, a White and Asian district leader in
Marigold suggested that the district’s students lacked conflict resolution skills due to their
parents’ demanding work schedules:
[Parents] are just stretched thin. When you think about the families that we serve,
oftentimes they're out working a bunch of different jobs, and they're doing the best that
they can. But sitting a child down and having an intentional conversation with him or her
about the way to handle something or the way to treat something takes time. …And they
don't have time. They don't necessarily have patience. So sometimes it's just easier to say,
"Sit down and shut up. Stop fighting," than to teach [their children that] conflict is
normal, it happens. …And we need to learn how to handle the conflict in ways besides
punching somebody in the face.

It is likely that this administrator’s comments were motivated by genuine care and understanding
of students’ home circumstances. And yet, these comments may also represent the normalization
of Whiteness, suggesting that Marigold families, who are nearly all families of color, lack the
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capacity to effectively parent or resolve conflict. By pointedly noting that she is referring “to the
families that we serve,” this district leader marked Marigold families as distinct, different from
the norm. One might conclude that the unstated implication here is that, in contrast to the low-
income families of color in Marigold, “normal” White and affluent families do have the time and
patience needed to teach their children about conflict resolution.
In another example, discussed in greater detail in the previous chapter, Caring for Every
Child trainers (both White men) used a clip from the film Radio as an example of strong
leadership. In the film, a White high school football coach is presented as a heroic “White
savior” figure (Schultz, 2014), who rescues a developmentally delayed Black teenager from the
malicious actions of other White people. Such White savior narratives center the White
protagonist, depicting people of color as non-agentic victims of dire circumstances, and,
moreover, as narrative devices by which the central White actor demonstrates heroism. These
narratives reflect and reiterate the normalization of Whiteness, with Whites presented as the ideal
that the audience is invited to identify with—which CEC trainers emphasized explicitly as they
asked training participants to name the leadership behaviors that the White football coach
character exhibited.
Finally, the rule of normalizing Whiteness may help explain the limited construction of
student subgroups in Marigold. First, as described in Chapter Five, African Americans were the
only acknowledged racial subgroup, with Latinx, White, Asian, and Pacific Islander racial
groups largely unmentioned. While this decision was arguably based on a desire to address long-
standing opportunity and outcome gaps among Black youth, it may also perpetuate the idea of
Whiteness as an assumed and unstated norm, with Black students positioned as deviant or
“other.” Relatedly, the lack of acknowledgement of White students could certainly attributed to
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the group’s small size, history of higher performance, or racial privilege; however, the absence
of White students from the conversation could also contribute to the invisibility and assumed
normality of Whiteness. Furthermore, the African American subgroup was primarily viewed
through the lens of behavior needs, with the implication that Black students exhibited “bad”
behavior. But if Black students are “bad,” then who is “good”? The theoretical stance of this
study would suggest that the construction of Black students as behavior problems was implicitly
predicated upon an unstated standard of “good behavior” associated with Whiteness.
Maintaining Colorblindness. Colorblindness may have been an important factor
explaining the missed opportunities to challenge racialized messages or advance culturally
relevant pedagogy in climate and instruction policies. Other than the use of African American
subgroup data in Marigold, the of climate and instruction policies refrained from explicit
consideration or race or racism. The rule of maintaining colorblindness may help explain why
racialized bullying and racial inclusion were excluded from the Bullying Prevention program in
Marigold, or why topics of race were completely absent from observed classrooms in both
districts. Avoiding the fraught topic race arguably supports a “culture of niceness” (Alemán,
2009; Roegman et al., 2017)—which may have been particularly important for climate policies
that emphasized caring relationships, such as Bullying Prevention and CEC. Illustrating this
focus on colorblindness, a White male trainer declared in a CEC session, “We don’t care how
students come to us. Two parents, no parents, ESL, ELL, white, purple, or polka-dotted!” A
similar example emerged at at the end of the CEC training. From fieldnotes:
Participants sat in a circle of about 20 people and each shared a meaningful object from
their lives. A Latina woman spoke about a necklace from a grandmother who had passed,
and wept as she talked about how much she missed her. A White man shared hand-drawn
birthday card, the first gift he had received from his wife, and described how he fell in
love with her. A White woman shared piece of artwork created by her daughter, and
described her daughter’s unconditional love and support during a recent divorce.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 139

After sharing, participants hugged one another. Many had tears in their eyes. I heard
people murmuring “thank you,” and “I’m so grateful you shared that” with one another.

Several participants then stood up and shared gratitude with the group. “Thank you so
much everyone for sharing,” a White woman said. “Thank you for being so open, so
vulnerable. I know there are some tears. Such powerful affirmations.”

A Black woman stood up. “It just goes to show,” she said, “We’re all human. We all
bleed the same color. We’re all connected.”

This fieldnotes excerpt illustrates the sense of warmth, caring, and connection expressed by
participants at the CEC training. The final comment invoked the idea of colorblindness as an
important aspect of this sense of connection. One might imagine that bringing up racism would
have been considered an obstacle to closeness between participants. Violating the rule of
colorblindness could suggest, though we all “bleed the same color,” we experience very different
dynamics of power and privilege due to our racial identities.
The central office administrators leading CEC and Bullying Prevention argued that these
efforts, while colorblind, would in fact advance racial equity by strengthening student-teacher
relationships. By helping educators get to know their students, these administrators argued, CEC
and Bullying Prevention would lead educators to recognize students’ strengths and understand
the reasons for behavior challenges. A White and Asian district leader in Marigold explained this
idea in regard to Bullying Prevention:
[Bullying Prevention] is about building relationships. It's about feeling valued. It's turn-
taking. It's all of those expectations, in that conversation. So all of a sudden the kids feel
like "I matter," … It's all about relationships. I know that, and I've heard that from the
kids, and that's what all the research says. But when you talk to the teachers, they don't
see- "I'm here to teach, it's not my job to get to know the kids." … So my hope with
[Bullying Prevention] is that it will really start to shift to where people are starting to look
at not what's wrong with that child, but what's happened to that child, through these
conversations, and really start to see students in a different light, of a person rather than
just my student or "that kid."

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Similarly, Juniper leaders asserted that CEC was helping teachers develop a more asset-
based view of the racially minoritized students they served, ultimately advancing racial equity. A
Latina central office administrator explained that the relationship-building aspect of CEC guided
teachers to examine their biases:
You start your days with good news, so you have celebrations, affirmations, good news
that the kids can share… It gives the kids a chance to have that two-way reciprocal
relationship with the adult in the room... And then everything is valued, so it's an assets-
based type of experience. It helps you to reflect on the strengths that kids come with, as
opposed to seeing their deficits. [CEC staff] don't call it assets-based or strengths, but it's
all about seeing the kids for what they bring and who they are. For us, the implication for
equity is huge, because that's where we have those biases, right? It kind of helps reflect in
that way. We've had teachers that have cried, that have broken down during the [CEC]
trainings and have said “I know I treated this kid wrong. I stereotyped.”

However, it was unclear whether this theory of action—that a colorblind approach to
relationship building would lead to a more asset-based view of students of color— had
successfully played out in either district, at least at the time of this study. Drawing on a CHAT
lens, this line of thinking might be interpreted as the resolution of a contradiction between
evidence of racial inequity in education and the cultural rule of colorblindness. One might
imagine that, torn between the intent to advance racial justice and powerful norms regarding the
avoidance of race talk, these administrators resolved this conflict by emphasizing the colorblind
strategy of teacher-student relationship-building. The alignment of these approaches with a
colorblind “culture of niceness” arguably enhanced their positive reception among staff, further
reinforcing this approach.
Focusing on Diversity. The rule of focusing on diversity might shed light on the rare
exceptions to the rule of maintaining colorblindness. For instance, the rule of focusing on
diversity could illuminate why—while race was generally unacknowledged on visited school
campuses—each school had a bulletin board featuring student drawings of Martin Luther King
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 141
Jr. and César Chávez, and a few classrooms had posters for Black History and Hispanic Heritage
months. These examples likely fell within the “safe zone” of appreciating diversity, without
venturing into more challenging content around institutionalized racial inequity.
Focusing on diversity might also explain patterns regarding the construction of Asians as
a racial group in Marigold’s instructional support practices. As described in Chapter Five, the
few references to Asian students in the data were in the context of claims regarding diversity.
Some participants named Asian groups to illustrate the diversity of the EL population, and others
pointed to a need for multiculturalism in the curriculum, using Asian cultures as an example.
Thus the rule of focusing on diversity may constrain the construction of the Asian racial group,
and obscure the ways that systemic racism influences Asian student experiences.
Attributing Inequity to Non-Racial Factors. The rule of attributing inequity to non-
racial factors may also have played an important role in policy implementation, particularly for
Marigold instructional support practices. For instance, in an observed first-grade teacher meeting
(described in the previous chapter), two teachers implied that students’ summer learning loss was
the fault of parents not reading to them. Based on these comments, one might infer that teachers
blamed parents for disparities in students’ achievement outcomes, rather than recognizing issues
of systemic oppression.
Furthermore, in constructing the African American subgroup with a focus on behavior, it
seemed that educators were pointing to students’ behaviors, shaped by their home environments,
as causes of inequitable outcomes. For example, when discussing how to respond to
disaggregated data for African American students, a Latino administrator in Marigold explained,
When you ask that [African American] kid to raise their hand and they don’t raise their
hand. So what are you going to do now? You could either make it a problem or…reaffirm
their need to speak up because in their household if they don't speak up, they don't get
heard or they don't get their point across.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 142

Here, the administrator pointed to Black students’ home environments as the cause of racial
inequity, arguing that teachers need to support students in navigating the differences between
home and school cultures. While such cultural differences may certainly be a factor behind racial
disparities in discipline or achievement, this line of thinking may also reflect an institutionalized
norm of shifting towards the non-racial factors of culture and family, rather than systemic
racism, as explanations for inequity.
The rule of attributing inequity to non-racial factors might also shed light on discussion
of English learners in Marigold. As described in Chapter Five, conversation about analysis and
response to disaggregated data focused on the district’s English learners and their needs vis-à-vis
English language development. Relatedly, while analysis of student subgroups was not a
prominent theme in Juniper, English learners, and to a lesser extent, students with disabilities,
were the only student subgroups named during observed Education Vision activities. It is, of
course, important to recognize that English learners have long been underserved in California
and nationally (Rumberger & Gándara, 2004), and attention to ELs’ language development needs
is laudable. Yet the rule of attributing inequity to non-racial factors may illuminate why the
conversation focused solely on language-oriented strategies, such as multilingual materials and
visual diagrams, without any evidence of reflection on the role of race and racism in shaping the
experiences of the student of color within the English learner subgroup. From the theoretical
standpoint of this project, attending to language needs would be expected to align with the
prevailing cultural rule of attributing inequity to non-racial factors; thus staying in the language
conversation might be a safer experience, with fewer uncomfortable contradictions, compared to
a conversation about the racialized experiences of the predominantly Latinx English learner
subgroup (Gándara & Contreras, 2009).
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 143
In sum, evidence suggests that the rules of racial inequity can help explain some of the
findings described in the previous chapter. Pushback against anti-bias policies reflected
participant experiences of contradictions between the rules of racial inequity and the demands
these policies presented. The influence of these rules also sheds light on why the implementation
of climate and instruction policies appeared, at times, to reinforce racial inequity. Next, I turn to
another aspect of the activity system that may have influenced implementation of the case
policies, division of labor.
Division of Labor
In addition to cultural-cognitive rules, division of labor was another aspect of districts’ activity
system that seemed to play an important role in shaping the implementation of case policies.
Contradictions regarding institutionalized assumptions about division of labor in schools may
help explain resistance to anti-bias policies, as well as pushback against Marigold’s PBIS.
Leadership structures might also shed light on differences in buy-in and practice enactment
among policy cases.
Contradictions Regarding Division of Labor
Complementing the CHAT idea of division of labor, institutional theory contributes the
concept of institutionally-derived scripts, collections of taken-for-granted assumptions about the
roles of various actors in organizations, as well as templates, similar assumptions regarding
organizational structure. Observed pushback against anti-bias policies, as well as the climate
policy of PBIS in Marigold, may have been informed by a contradiction between the proposed
division of labor suggested by these policies, and the institutional scripts and templates that
previously defined responsibilities for teachers and leaders within schools.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 144
This tension was illustrated when teachers pushed back against policies that they
described as removing administrative disciplinary support. This resistance illustrated the CHAT
concept of conflict, a discursive manifestation of contradiction in the activity system. From an
integrated CHAT-institutional theory perspective, when anti-bias trainings and PBIS asserted
that teachers should handle unwanted behaviors within the classroom, they created a
contradiction with institutional scripts stating that teachers can send students they deem as
misbehaving to an administrator for disciplinary consequence. Describing teachers’ reactions to
this contradiction, a White district leader in Juniper reported:
The way the message has been translated then to the classroom level is, many of our
teachers feel like they'll send somebody out of the classroom and nobody does anything,
and the kid just gets sent back. …Our teachers view it as they're not being supported by
school administrators.

In Marigold, several instructional coaches expressed their reactions to contradictions
regarding discipline with what Engeström and Sannino (2011) term a discursive “double bind”:
being torn between opposing conclusions. For instance, a Black instructional coach described
seeing “both sides”: one side being teachers who feel they are not support in addressing problem
behaviors, and the other side being administrators who say that teachers should learn to manage
these behaviors in class. In her own words:
I think it goes both ways. I do believe that there are some difficult behaviors that are not
necessarily addressed in a way that supports the teacher. But I also believe that the
teachers have not learned how to manage a class, some of them, in [order to] eliminate
some of those [difficult] behaviors. I see both sides of it, both parts of it.

Other instructional coaches in Marigold echoed this sentiment. From a CHAT standpoint, this
double bind may be interpreted as evidence of an underlying contradiction regarding division of
labor. A previous instructional script may have administrators responsible for responding to
behavior concerns, with teachers sending students to the office. Yet the Lorde Center and PBIS
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 145
seemed to offer a new, contradictory script, with teachers redesigning their instructional practices
and handling behavior issues in the classroom.
Contradictions regarding division of labor also played a role in participant reactions to a
Baldwin Group training focused on family engagement. In this training, consultants challenged
existing scripts about the extent to which working with families should be part of teachers’ jobs.
It also seemed that consultants were proposing a new division of labor that would place
additional demands on teachers’ time. A Latino presenter described several time-intensive
strategies for engaging families, including organizing weekend barbecues at the park, calling all
students’ families regularly, studying Spanish, and conducting home visits. From my fieldnotes:
As the Latino presenter continued speaking about family engagement strategies, several
teachers seemed to “check out,” opening up laptops or getting on their phones.

“…yo, at minimum, copy and paste that sh--, uh, stuff, into Google translate!” the Latino
trainer exclaimed. A few people chuckled.

The other presenter, an Asian man, spoke. “I just want to pause for a minute, do a check-
in. Can I get a pulse check? How are folks doing?”

The room was quiet for a moment. Maybe a third of the 30 or so teachers in the room
were on laptops or phones. After a lengthy pause, one White woman shrugged. “No news
is good news.”

Another White woman raised her hand. “Look, I appreciate what you’re saying,” she
said. “But, I just don’t know if we have the life energy for it. Our classes are
overcrowded, we’ve got 33, 35 students. All the standards, the curriculum, the testing, it
saps the emotional energy that we could bring to getting to know students, parents.”

Many teachers nodded vigorously. There was a chorus of affirming murmurs:
“Mmmhmm,” “Yes!” “That’s right.”

In the above example, a teacher described the demands of large class sizes and standards-based
accountability as precluding greater family engagement efforts. This comment may have
illustrated unrealistic demands being placed on teachers’ time. However, it may have also
exemplified resistance resulting from a contradiction between the presenters’ description of a
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 146
teacher’s job (spending a great deal of time engaging families) and previous institutionalized
scripts regarding a teacher’s job (focusing on classroom instruction, with limited family
engagement).
In contrast, for Bullying Prevention and CEC, participants repeatedly noted that the new
demands placed on teachers—and thus the disruption of division of labor in schools—was
minimal. This was observed in a CEC training:
“Goooooood mooooooorning Juniper!” A White male trainer, wearing a gray suit, jogged
to the front of the room. “Today…we…are…NOT going to be talking about a new
program! Can I get a yay?”

A few people in the 50-person audience cheered softly. “Woo!”

“We…are…NOT going to be talking about a new curriculum!”

The audience cheered louder this time, and several people clapped. “Woohoo!”

A White and Asian Marigold district leader made a similar “not a curriculum” comment
regarding Bullying Prevention:
The beauty of the [Bullying Prevention] program is, it's not a curriculum. It's based on
having a classroom meeting once a week at elementary, or once every other week at
middle and high school, about something that's relevant.

These examples suggest that emphasizing the lack of change in division of labor may have
played a role in the positive reception of these two climate policies.
Leadership Structures
The leadership structures reflected in districts’ division of labor also emerged as a notable
factor in the implementation of focal policies. School climate and instruction policies, which
were generally positively received and had tangible impact on practice, were also characterized
by distributed leadership structures (Spillane, Halverson, & Diamond, 2004), with central office
leaders, school leaders, teachers, and external partners all involved in leadership roles. All of the
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 147
school climate and instruction policies featured school-level leadership teams, with teacher
representation, responsible for supporting and monitoring site-level implementation. District
leaders were also actively involved in these efforts and visible to school-level educators. For
instance, an Education Vision consultant, a Black woman, praised Juniper for engaging leaders at
multiple levels:
The way [Juniper] committed to having their principals involved, and to having a district
representative at [Education Vision] sessions, it's huge, it says a lot. And even the
assistant superintendent, she spends all day there. So she actually is in one of my
sessions, and she actually is in one of the cohorts. All day. And for an assistant supe,
that's not easy. …But most of our [other partnerships], district people aren't in the room
the whole time. …Having someone [from the central office] there is huge. I think that's
big. And people [in other districts] can learn from that.

In contrast, in the three district-level anti-bias policies, external consultants were the sole
leaders, and no school-level teams were established. (The Lorde Center, which provided
trainings to teacher cohorts, might be considered an exception here; however, data indicated that
these cohorts functioned more as small trainings run by an external facilitator, rather than as
leadership teams.) District leaders had more limited involvement in anti-bias work; for example,
a White Juniper administrator explained that he was not always able to be present at Baldwin
Group activities.
So, with the [Baldwin group], we don't necessarily have a district administrator at every
one [session]. But I go when I can, and I'm not able to go to all of them. . One of the
things that I have not done is participated in the equity walk…with the principal. And
that's one of my next things that I need to do is get out and walk with them.

Of course, this study cannot make causal claims regarding the relationship of leadership
structures to policy type or to the nature of implementation. For instance, while it is possible that
distributed leadership structures led to increased participant buy-in, one might also imagine that,
with limited participant support for anti-bias work, it would be difficult to get educators to be
willing to devote time to serve on a leadership team. Similarly, distributed leadership structures
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 148
could prompt a sense of ownership over the work among participants, facilitating shifts in
practice. Yet this might work in the reverse direction as well, with a lack of shared commitment
preventing the establishment of leadership teams.
While the extent of distributed leadership may have varied among policies, all of these
efforts were characterized by an absence of parent or student involvement in leadership
structures. A few Juniper participants briefly mentioned of occasional trainings offered to parents
from the Baldwin Group or Caring for Every Child, but these were not a central focus of the
policy efforts, and none of the interviewed parents reported having attended. A Latina central
office administrator explained, “[A school’s] parent community liaison can bring back some
pieces [of Caring for Every Child] for parents, but it's not really parent-based, it's really more site
personnel-based.” The absence of parent or student leadership suggest that the policies in this
study did not challenge institutionalized scripts regarding parent and student involvement in
educational decision-making (Ishimaru & Takahashi, 2017), perhaps missing opportunities to
empower students and families of color and leverage their funds of knowledge to advance racial
equity.
Objects of Activity
Another factor that seemed influential in the implementation of focal policies was the
characterization of the policy goal, or, in the language of CHAT, the object of activity. Two sets
of contrasting objects emerged from the data. First, policies that emphasized relationship-
building (Bullying Prevention, Caring for Every Child) were marked by greater buy-in than other
policies in the study. “[Bullying Prevention is] about building relationships,” reported a White
and Asian Marigold administrator. “It's about feeling valued.” In Juniper, a Latina district leader
noted that the relationship-building object, due to its alignment with broader cultural values, was
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 149
difficult to criticize: “There’s not much you can say [to criticize CEC] where you don't look like
a pariah. You know, speaking like, ‘I don't want to [care for every child.]’” CEC’s relationship-
building object contrasted with the bias-reducing object reflected in this comment from a
Baldwin Group consultant:
Many of the teachers in the district aren't very racially aware and culturally competent in
my opinion. [So we designed a set of trainings] about … How do we deal with first,
concepts such as race and culture, how do we start dealing with issues around implicit
bias, because a lot of the teachers [in Juniper] would say "I treat all children the same, I'm
not racist towards any child."

One might imagine that the object of building caring relationships aligned with broad cultural
values of love and kindness, helping to facilitate the particularly high buy-in for policies
featuring this object.
Furthermore, a contrast emerged between policies with objects of enacting concrete
practices (climate and instruction policies) and policies with objects of engaging with complex,
abstract ideas about race and culture (anti-bias policies). As described in Chapter Five, concrete-
focused policies were positively received, and, not surprisingly, linked to observable practices,
while abstract-focused policies encountered resistance and were reported to have little influence
on practice. Each of the climate and instruction policies offered clear steps for educators to carry
out, such as PBIS’s systems of expectations and rewards, Bullying Prevention’s morning
meetings, and Education Vision’s instructional strategies. A Latina district leader in Juniper
described the tangible and easy-to-implement practices in Caring for Every Child: “[At the CEC
trainings, teachers] get some very quick things they can use tomorrow in the classroom, you start
your days with good news, so you have celebrations, affirmations, good news that the kids can
share.”
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 150
In contrast, participants described more abstract goals for anti-bias policies. The Baldwin
Group consultant, a Black man, often described the goals of the partnership in the form of a
question, such as “How do we begin to delve into attitudes and ideas and beliefs about what it
means to work in a diverse school district, to teach a diverse student population?” A few
participants expressed a dilemma, or a tension between two ideas, when discussing the abstract
objects of bias policies. These participants shared that, on the one hand, they valued discussions
about these topics, but, on the other hand, they questioned whether a discussion without tangible
action items was a good use of educators’ time. For example, a biracial White and Latina
instructional coach in Marigold said that the trainings were “good information,” but she also
expressed concern at the lack of strategies to “do tomorrow”:
These ideas [from the Lorde Center] are great, but how are we going to ... I'm a very
much like, "Okay, give me an idea, and then how are we going to implement this." What
is this going to look like in a classroom? It's great to have this conversation with this
group of teachers, but if I don't have any, "What do I go in and do tomorrow?" Then, I'm
going to go in tomorrow and do the exact same thing that I did yesterday, and that's not
going to change anything.

Similarly, a White Juniper administrator praised the Baldwin Group and Implicit Bias
trainings for prompting “difficult conversations,” but also expressed concern about the lack of
measurable impact. For instance, regarding the Baldwin Group, he stated,
This can't be a one and done type of thing. It has to be an ongoing conversation and
reflection on our professional practices, and specifically how is it impacting our kids in
the classroom? And I think that is the biggest struggle that we have because right now, I
feel like it's great that he's coming and we're doing this. And so, we have a start. But we
need to learn how to sustain.

Such comments may have reflected a contradiction between the abstract objects of anti-bias
policies and a need to demonstrate measurable improvement—the latter of which might reflect
institutional pressures related to the broader context of test-based accountability policy.
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For anti-bias policies, abstract goals, and the absence of concrete strategies, may also
have contributed to a sense of powerlessness in the face of overwhelming structural forces.
When talking about a macro-level concept such as systemic racism, one might imagine that
participants would feel unable to substantively affect such a broad societal issue. For example,
during an observed Baldwin Group training, a White man addressed the Black male trainer, “So,
I feel for them [Black and Latinx students]. I do. But, this problem is so beyond both you and
myself. It’s just beyond us. What are we supposed to do about it? I don’t know what to say.”
Community and Context
Aspects of the community and context elements of districts’ activity systems also
emerged as influential factors regarding the implementation of racial equity policies. In
particular, the political actors of school boards and teachers’ unions, the availability of resources,
and state and federal policies appeared to play a role in shaping the implementation findings
described in Chapter Five.
School Boards and Teachers’ Unions. Participants noted that the school board was
influential in determining the adoption and continuation of focal policies. In Marigold,
participants noted that Bullying Prevention was adopted, at least in part, as a result of board
demand as a response to parent advocacy. A White and Asian district leader recalled: “Some
folks who were coming to the board members, and saying, "My child's being bullied." None of
[these claims of bullying] were founded, but still, when you get into a board member's ear, then
it's important, for many different reasons.” Marigold participants also noted that the board
closely monitored academic performance and held district leaders accountable for the
implementation of instructional support practices. As one Latino district leader reported:
[The board gets] constant reports on school initiatives. I know that I did as [a school-
level] administrator had to come and do presentations [to the board] …how's data being
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used and what is student achievement? How do I define student achievement? What's a
definition and how are we providing a rich educational experience? …[The board has]
been critical when it needs to be critical but also supportive, right. So they won't skirt
around the elephant in the room. They'll ask the difficult questions, [such as] So why is
student achievement not where it needs to be?

In Juniper, participants described intentionally cultivating board support for racial equity
initiatives. The White district administrator who oversaw anti-bias programs noted that board
support for this work was tepid, and was largely based on a sense of broader institutional
pressure to address bias:
[The board is] supportive [of implicit bias trainings and Baldwin Group]. And I don't
think there's anybody who doesn't think it's necessary. I'm going to say, but, I don't think
they fully ... I don't think most of the board members have fully embraced it. I think some
of the board members know that politically we have to address this. … I think some of
them would rather not, but know that we have to. …And so, I think that they have signed
on, but not bought in.

This administrator later added that educator pushback against anti-bias initiatives presented
another challenge for garnering board support:
There are times when employees go through something like [a Baldwin Group or Implicit
Bias training] and they're not necessarily really pleased, and board members hear about
that. … Our board members, for the most part have a very open door policy with the
employees, and so they kind of have a direct line of communication. So, if an employee
is not happy about something, then they'll let a board member know. And then we hear
about it.

In response to this limited board investment, Juniper leaders continually worked to communicate
the need for anti-bias work through regular presentations at board meetings. “We really need to
keep our board in the loop and make sure they're supportive of the [anti-bias] work we're doing,
and understand why we're doing it,” this administrator explained.
School and district leaders primarily described teachers’ unions as a constraint to racial
equity policies, particularly anti-bias and climate programs. For example, when debriefing
instructional walks, Marigold leaders expressed frustration that the union would not allow them
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to increase required professional development hours. In Juniper, the Baldwin Group consultant
described needing to narrow the scope of equity walks in order to avoid interfering with
collective bargaining agreements around teacher evaluation:
So, with the equity walks, we had to be very careful because there are union issues
around teacher evaluations and you can't come in in any way, shape or form that appears
as if you're evaluating the teacher. We couldn't really come in, I meant these were short
walks. We're in the classrooms, maybe five, 10, 15 minutes and then we're walking off to
another classroom.

Several Juniper leaders described their union, and the union-friendly school board, as
barriers to change in the district. Leaders suggested that the union expressed an “us versus them”
mindset that placed teachers in opposition to administrators, and thus encouraged resistance
against district-initiated programs. A White school leader explained:
[In Juniper, we] have a very strong teacher union. And they were successful several years
ago in getting an almost all teacher-supportive school board. And so that kinda
empowered them a lot. So that's a big part of it, like it's still kind of this us versus them.
Where [teachers are] afraid of administration. …You have to work so hard to overcome
that, if you're gonna try to do any type of change with kids.

A Latina central office leader in Juniper echoed this sentiment, arguing that the strength of the
union allowed teachers to be able to express deficit-based views of students and families:
We [have] a very labor friendly board and the teachers feel very able to say things [about
students and families] that… you know, just make you cringe, kind of. It's been a real
challenge, because I think that because it's such a pro-union type of feeling, that kind of
propagates [an us versus them mindset]. I'm not saying that unions are bad, I'm not
implying anything like that. [They] serve the purpose to counter bad administrators,
which exist. But I think that it's been a real challenge.

In Marigold, leaders cited union pressure—in combination with resource constraints,
discussed further below—as a reason for the conclusion of partnerships with the Lorde Center
and a PBIS consultant. The White and Asian district leader who oversaw climate and anti-bias
work explained, “A lot of [the reasons why the Lorde Center and PBIS partnerships ended are]
just budgetary. A lot of questions coming out about, well, why are you using this consultant and
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why are you doing this?... [The union is] starting to really question everything, because there's no
money for raises.”
There were, however, two instances where the union was cited as a facilitator of case
policies. In Marigold, leaders noted that the union agreed to an optional paid professional
development day, a key support for the Bullying Prevention program. In Juniper, a former
teachers’ union president proposed the Implicit Bias trainings, and these trainings were managed
by a partnership between the district and collective bargaining units. Thus, while the union was
typically described as a policy constraint, there was some evidence that the union could also
function as a support for programs with racial equity goals.
Resources
As discussed in Chapter Four, Marigold was experiencing declining enrollment at the
time of this study, which participants attributed to a rising cost of living resulting from
gentrification. Juniper, a commuter town located dozens of miles from an urban center, was
experiencing increasing enrollment, likely due to families leaving prohibitively expensive areas
and seeking affordable housing. Accordingly, participants in Marigold described decreasing
resources and budget cuts, while no such concerns were expressed in Juniper. The districts’
contrasting financial situations were reflected in their investment in anti-bias and climate
policies. Cash-strapped Marigold ended their Lorde Center and PBIS consultant partnerships in
spring 2018, and the district laid off a central office administrator who had been responsible for
supporting PBIS implementation. While practices from the Lorde Center and PBIS were
expected to continue during the 2018-19 year, no support was offered regarding these programs.
Several participants suggested that, without these partnerships, the practices would begin to
disappear, particularly for the Lorde Center. “We started with [the Lorde Center],” said one
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White teacher in Marigold, “and it just kind of fizzled. I'm not sure what happened. …[The
trainer] was supposed to come back. I don't know what's happened at the district level with that.”
There was financial support offered for the Bullying Prevention program, but this was a
result of external grant funding and was not paid for by the district. The Marigold administrator
who oversaw Bullying Prevention, a White and Asian woman, described the process of funding
this effort through grants from the non-profit managing the program and a professional golf
tournament:
I got a lot of praise for bringing [Bullying Prevention] to the district, but it was really
handed to me. [A Bullying Prevention representative told us,] "We want you guys to do
this, and we have space for your…schools." …So what they pay for is three years of
[materials and surveys], and technical consulting and the training for the [deans]. And
then we had to come up with funding for the actual [school-level] trainings. …So we
came up with the additional funds. We got creative. We've done this … [professional]
golf tournament….It was like, "You know what? This is perfect. So let's write [the
funding proposal for the golf tournament] for 40 grand, so we can get people trained."

However, in spite of these grants, this administrator noted the challenges of being the only
central office staff person supporting anti-bias and climate work. She noted that, with the lay-off
of the central office administrator who had supported PBIS, her department was now a “one-
woman show.” She added that, while in the past there had been a greater effort to visit school
sites and provide one-on-one support to school leaders regarding climate and anti-bias efforts,
this year she was relying on deans’ meetings at the central office:
This year, I'm honestly going to do more [support for school sites] through the meetings
[with all of the deans at the central office]. Because in the past, that was part of [the other
administrator’s] role, is we would collaborate, we would have the conversation, and then
she was my boots on the ground. So [this year], I don't know that I'll have the time to be
boots on the ground. And when I have time to be boots on the ground, are the [school
leaders] gonna have time to meet with me?

In contrast, ample resources enabled Juniper to maintain multiple long-term
partnerships—with the Baldwin Group, Implicit Bias trainings, and Caring for Every Child—
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aimed at reducing bias and improving school climate. Overall, the availability of resources
seemed to be an important factor in determining the longevity of anti-bias and climate
partnerships.
State and Federal Policy
Finally, state and federal policies regarding funding, test-based accountability, and school
discipline appeared to be important factors shaping the implementation of the studied policies.
Test-based accountability systems, which monitor student achievement and offer supports or
sanctions to low-performing schools, have been a key aspect of state and federal education
policy for decades (Mehta, 2013). The most recent reauthorization of the federal Elementary and
Secondary Education Act, 2015’s Every Student Succeeds Act (ESSA), requires states to
implement accountability systems that monitor and publicly report achievement on state
assessments in math, English language arts, and science; English learner reclassification rates;
high school graduation rates; and at least one non-academic measure (Ascd, 2016). ESSA further
mandates that states disaggregate achievement data by racial/ethnic identity groups, English
learners, students with disabilities, and low-income students. ESSA also offers federal grants
regarding services for English learners, which states can apply for and distribute to local districts
(California Department of Education, 2018). Title III grant recipients are required to disclose on
how these funds are used to support English learners. At the state level, California’s current
school finance law provides districts with additional funding based on their enrollment of
English learners, low-income students, and foster youth, and requires districts to report on how
these funds are spent in service of these groups (Humphrey & Koppich, 2014).
Regarding school discipline, in 2014, the U.S. Departments of Justice and Education
released a joint letter (Lhamon & Samuels, 2018) regarding problems of racial discrimination in
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school discipline, noting that discriminatory practices resulting in over-suspension of Black
students violated federal civil rights law. Around this time, the California legislature passed
several laws intended to address the disproportionate suspension of Black students, including
2013’s AB 1729, which required school leaders to pursue disciplinary alternatives (such as PBIS
or restorative justice) prior to resorting to suspension (Pupil Rights, 2012), and 2014’s AB 420,
which prohibited suspensions for “disruption” or “defiance,” and banned suspensions altogether
in grades K-3 (Pupil Discipline, 2014). A White and Asian district leader specifically pointed to
AB 1729 as the reason for adopting PBIS in Marigold and in other California districts: “It really
was about, ‘Oh, [AB 1729] came into effect. We've got to look at alternatives to suspension.’ So
I think in the beginning stages everybody was jumping onto the PBIS bandwagon.” California
has also selected suspension rates as one of the ESSA-mandated “non-academic” measures in
their state accountability system (California Department of Education, n.d.).
Collectively, these state and federal policies likely created pressure on Marigold and
Juniper leaders regarding academic performance and suspension rates, both overall and by
English learner and racial subgroups. Districts may also have experienced pressure regarding
English learner reclassification rates. Both districts had funding streams dedicated to ELs, and
were required to report on how these funds were used to support EL students. One can imagine
that these policies were influential in shaping districts’ decisions to adopt the initiatives
described in this study. Instruction policies were directly tied to goals of improving achievement
and English learner reclassification, while anti-bias and climate policies were linked to goals of
reducing suspension rates and also—indirectly—to achievement. Indeed, the interviewed
Baldwin Group consultant suggested that state and federal policies informed Juniper’s decision
to establish their partnership:
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I think that because there's been such a big focus on suspensions and expulsions, schools
have had to think about plans of what they are doing to reduce suspensions and
expulsions. I think a lot of districts are also faced with a looming sort of outcome gaps
that they face, and I think they have to be able to explain what they're doing to ameliorate
those gaps. I do think that there are state, federal and even regional district level kinds of
realities, that says "You need to do something. You know you have discrepancies in
terms of outcomes, you know you've got really troubling data in certain areas. What are
you doing?” I think that part of what many districts are doing is saying "Look, we will do
some internal work, but we'll also reach out to folks who have the expertise to see how
they can help us as well."

Furthermore, data suggested that these policies helped explain the selection and
construction of student subgroups, a prominent theme in Marigold. Central office leaders
attributed their subgroup selection to federal and state reporting requirements. A Latina district
leader explained that the focus on ELs was tied to funding and associated requirements to report
how funds were used. She also noted that the focus on African American students was due to the
group’s low academic performance:
[Interviewer: Why do you focus on African American and EL subgroups?] A lot of our
supplemental resources and funding comes tied to those groups. And so we need to
provide evidence that we are supporting. …For these babies, they need supplementary
resources. And we need to provide evidence that we're providing that, in addition to the
core instructional path, that [students in targeted subgroups are] receiving supplementary
targeted interventions or supports. [Interviewer: I know there are funds for English
learners, but are there also funds targeted to African American students?] No, but…we do
have a high population here. …I do need to be strategic on supporting my African
Americans, because sometimes they have needs. … They're not performing as [well as]
non-African Americans…So we need to find out why are they not performing? And what
can we do to provide supports? … I know that PBIS has been looking specifically to
[African Americans] in regards to behavior, and in regards to instruction.

At the school level in Marigold, though there was less clarity regarding the reasons for
subgroup selection, interviewees did share a vague sense that subgroup selection was determined
by state or federal policy. For example, an Asian American teacher had trouble explaining why
English learners and African American students were the two important subgroups in Marigold,
but ultimately suggested that it was probably a state requirement:
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Well, we focus on all students, but I think we focus on African American students
because they ... I don't ... We want to track scores, right? So, technically, they want to
make sure that we're targeting every ... they're looking at scores to see, like, why is the
African American population not doing well, or doing better, than the EL population?
So, I think it's just comparison. …Why they look at it? They're comparing AA to EL, I'm
assuming, because that's something we're required to do by the state. I'm not really sure.
Not entirely sure.

Consistent with extant literature on teachers’ data use (e.g., Garner, Thorne, & Horn,
2017), the influence of state and federal policies may help explain the way that student groups
were constructed in instruction policy implementation in Marigold. The numerous funding
streams and accountability requirements for English learners likely influenced the singular focus
on those students’ language needs, without consideration of racial identity or cultural
background. Additionally, in disaggregating performance and suspension data, California’s
accountability system focuses on within-district outcome gaps between subgroups, guiding
educators to attend to the lowest-performing group in order to reduce the size of these gaps. For
racially disaggregated data, this would guide Marigold leaders to focus attention on Black
students, supporting the selective racialization of this group. As Latinx students made up over
two-thirds of the district, their performance was not notably different from the overall average,
thus eliminating the need to consider Latinxs as a racial group. Similarly, White and Asian
students outperformed the district average, making it unnecessary to attend to those racial
groups. Furthermore, the collection of federal and state policies on suspension emphasized the
need to address the over-suspension of Black students, perhaps inadvertently constructing this
racial group as in need of support around discipline and behavior.
These state and federal policies arguably provide helpful resources and information to
support educators in advancing educational equity. Data regarding achievement and suspension
rates provide tangible evidence of educational disparities, and state and federal requirements
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guide educators to pay particular attention to addressing the needs of student groups that have
long been poorly served by the U.S. education system. However, this study provides evidence
that these state and federal policies may also communicate implicit constructions of student
racial groups, constraining the implementation of local initiatives featuring racial equity goals.
Summary
In this chapter, I described my findings in response to my second research question, What
factors influenced these implementation processes, and how so? I draw on the theoretical
framework described in Chapter Three to help explain observed patterns in implementation
processes. The cultural-cognitive rules of racial inequity (normalizing Whiteness, maintaining
colorblindness, individualizing racism, focusing on diversity, and attributing inequity to non-
racial factors) may help explain pushback against anti-bias policies. These rules may also
illuminate why climate and instruction policy implementation was characterized by patterns that
seemed to reinforce racial inequity. Taken-for-granted institutionalized scripts might also explain
pushback in the cases of anti-bias policies and PBIS, which challenged norms around the
division of labor of behavior management in schools. Leadership structures may have been
another important factor shaping implementation, with distributed leadership structures
potentially facilitating educator buy-in and changes in practice. The nature of the policy’s goal
may have also informed the implementation process: policies aimed at building relationships
were more positively received than others studied, and policies focused on concrete practices had
a warmer reception and greater reported impact on educator behavior than policies with abstract
goals. Finally, aspects of the district context emerged as notable factors shaping the
implementation of policies with racial equity goals, particularly teachers’ unions, school boards,
availability of resources, and state and federal policy.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
CONCLUSIONS AND IMPLICATIONS FOR POLICY, PRACTICE, AND RESEARCH
Racial inequity is widely regarded as a pressing problem in U.S. education (Noguera,
2009), and numerous local-level policies feature equity goals. Yet much existing literature on
implementation of district-level policy does not place a central focus on efforts featuring equity
goals (e.g., Coburn & Talbert, 2006; Honig et al., 2017; Spillane, 2000). In those studies that do
focus on equity-oriented district policies, researchers often consider the concept of equity
broadly, without foregrounding issues of race (e.g., Allbright, Marsh, Hall, et al., 2019; Booher-
Jennings, 2005; Lustick, 2017; Roegman et al., 2017). This project responds to this gap by
examining the implementation of eight district policies that leaders associated with racial equity
goals. Using a multiple embedded case study design (Yin, 2013), I investigated the enactment of
these policies in two southern California K-8 school districts in the 2018-19 year. Grounded in
institutional theory, cultural-historical activity theory (CHAT), and literature on racial
conceptions and discourses, this project explored how these policies were implemented and
identified factors shaping these implementation processes.
The policies that district leaders associated with racial equity goals fell into three
categories: policies targeting educator bias, policies aimed at strengthening school climate (e.g.,
relationships among students and teachers, sense of belonging and inclusion), and policies to
support classroom instruction. Policies targeting bias were the only efforts to include explicit
conversations about racial inequity, and were also characterized by widespread resistance among
educators and reports of limited influence on practice. Policies targeting climate and instruction,
in contrast, were mostly well-received, and evidence suggested their prescribed practices were
enacted across schools. Yet the implementation of climate and instruction efforts featured
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patterns that appeared to reinforce racial inequity, including expressions of low expectations of
racially minoritized students, missed opportunities to challenge racialized messages or advance
cultural relevance, and restrictive constructions of student groups. Cultural-cognitive rules
regarding racial inequity (normalizing Whiteness, maintaining colorblindness, individualizing
racism, focusing on diversity, and attributing inequity to non-racial factors) appeared to be
important factors shaping and constraining policy implementation. Other key factors shaping
policy enactment included institutionalized scripts regarding teacher roles, leadership structures,
policy goals, availability of resources, political context, and state/federal policy.
In this chapter, I discuss conclusions from this study. First, I describe the empirical and
theoretical contributions that this project offers to the broader literature. I then identify key
implications of these findings for policymakers and practitioners, and end with recommendations
for future research and theory development.
Empirical and Theoretical Contributions
This study addresses a gap in the literature regarding the implementation of district-level
educational policy featuring racial equity goals. In particular, this study contributes an
understanding of how the cultural-cognitive foundations of institutionalized racism function as
constraints for districts’ equity efforts. These findings shed light on the multiple types of policies
(e.g., bias, climate, and instruction) that leaders might link to racial equity goals, and how these
policies vary in the extent to which they acknowledge race or racism. Those policies that directly
address racism, this study suggests, challenge institutionalized beliefs and behaviors, and, thus,
are likely to be met with widespread resistance. Such resistance may be similarly triggered when
policies challenge institutionalized scripts regarding teachers’ roles and responsibilities (e.g.,
asking teachers to handle behavior concerns in the classroom rather than sending a student to the
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office). In contrast, policy efforts that avoid challenging these institutionalized assumptions—by
maintaining colorblindness and limiting new demands on teachers—may enjoy a warm reception
and minimal resistance. However, without considering racialized dynamics, educators may miss
key opportunities to advance racial equity in policy implementation. These opportunities can
include the challenging of deficit views of students and families of color, which, as this project
demonstrated, can manifest in subtle ways: as savior narratives that depict students as non-
agentic victims of circumstance, or as expressions of surprise at student accomplishment. This
study’s findings also reveal that colorblind approaches may fail to address problematic
constructions of student racial groups in educator discourse. The potentially problematic
constructions observed in this project include the exclusive racialization of African American
students and emphasis on behavior challenges; English learner status as a possible proxy
descriptor for Latinx students; minimal acknowledgement of Asian students beyond model
minority and perpetual foreigner conceptions; and complete invisibility of White racial identity.
As these patterns reflect broader institutional and policy pressures, one can imagine that similar
problematic constructions might be found in other school districts.
Furthermore, while there is a longstanding tradition of considering implementers’ “will,”
or support, for policy initiatives as a crucial prerequisite for successful implementation (e.g.,
McLaughlin, 1987), this project complicates the notion of “buy-in” as a criterion for success.
Scholars have noted that reforms challenging institutionalized assumptions are likely to
encounter teacher pushback (Bridwell-Mitchell, 2012), and, as these findings show, policies that
directly challenge institutionalized racism would in fact be expected to provoke resistance.
Indeed, pushback could illustrate that these policies are in fact “working” by challenging deeply
held beliefs, and a lack of pushback might suggest that participants are avoiding meaningful
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engagement with fraught topics. Relatedly, the climate and instruction policy cases reveal how
policies with strong buy-in, by refraining from consideration of race, can inadvertently reinforce
racism in implementation processes. This manuscript thus contributes a nuanced understanding
of the role of buy-in in policy implementation processes, illustrating how, in the case of racial
equity policies, participant support does not necessarily indicate that initiatives are successfully
mitigating racial inequity in schools.
In addition to these contributions regarding the role of institutionalized racism in
constraining district policy, this study’s findings extend existing research on district-led change,
shedding light on how important factors for implementation broadly can influence racial equity
policies in particular. Aligning with existing literature on distributed leadership (e.g., Spillane et
al., 2004), these findings provide some evidence that leadership structures involving school-level
teams with teacher representation may support positive buy-in and changes in school practice, as
contrasted with approaches that concentrate leadership in the hands of a few individuals. The
cases analyzed herein suggest that policies aimed at reducing racial bias may tend to emphasize
trainings led by an external consultant, rather than employ distributed leadership structures.
Perhaps the absence of distributed leadership in anti-bias policies undermines buy-in and impact,
or perhaps a lack of support for controversial policies prevents the establishment of distributed
leadership structures. One might also imagine that both are true, with a reflexive relationship
between leadership structure and buy-in for anti-bias work.
This study’s findings also affirm existing literature regarding the importance of how
leaders communicate policy goals. Previous research has found that disconnects between leaders’
intended goals and educators’ prior understandings create obstacles for implementation (e.g.,
Bridwell-Mitchell & Sherer; Coburn, 2006). This study adds the understanding that defining a
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policy’s objective as subtractive (reducing bias or suspensions) and as abstract or macro-level (a
dialogue about racial equity) could contribute to pushback and minimal impact on school and
classroom practice. This finding illuminates the unique challenges facing leaders who are
enacting policies aimed at disrupting racism and social oppression, as such efforts are frequently
focused on reducing oppressive beliefs and behaviors, and on discussion of macro-level social
forces that are deeply entrenched and difficult to change.
Extant literature has found that resource constraints and opposition from powerful
political actors (such as unions) can undermine district policy enactment (Coburn et al., 2009;
Farrell, 2015; Honig & Ikemoto, 2008; Trujillo, 2013) . Echoing these conclusions, this project
illustrates the particular importance of resources and political context for racial equity policies.
Juniper’s investment in numerous partnerships was facilitated by an abundance of resources and
intentionally cultivated support from the board and union. In contrast, in Marigold, a decline in
resources, and related union concerns over a lack of salary increases, were cited as reasons for
ending partnerships that challenged institutionalized norms around racism (the Lorde Center) and
school discipline (PBIS). These findings suggest that, in resource-strained contexts, policies
countering racism and other institutionalized patterns may be especially vulnerable to budget
cuts. This may be a particular issue for urban districts, like Marigold, that are facing declining
enrollment associated with gentrification.
Finally, this project affirms extant research linking state and federal policy context to
district-level policy implementation (e.g., Spillane, 1998). These findings reiterate that fairly
long-standing state and federal policy mandates around accountability, as well as newer
mandates regarding school discipline, are influential in orienting and constraining district level
work. I also add the insight that the broader state and federal policy context communicates
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implicit constructions of student groups, with powerful implications for district efforts to
advance racial equity. For instance, federal and state mandates to reduce the over-suspension of
African American students might reinforce a construction of Black students as behavior
problems, with needs primarily in the areas of discipline and student engagement. Similar
reinforcing relationships might also be observed in the singular focus on language needs of
English learners, and in the minimal acknowledgement of Latinx, Asian, White, and other racial
identity groups.
In addition to these empirical contributions, this dissertation offers a theoretical
framework for examining institutionalized racism in education policy implementation. I build on
existing work (e.g., CHAT-IT ed researcher article) that highlights the congruence of CHAT and
institutional theory, demonstrating the usefulness of an integrated CHAT-IT framework for
examining both stability and opportunities for change within institutionally-embedded
educational organizations. I also respond to the call from Ishimaru and Takahashi (2017) to
employ CHAT-IT in the study of racism in education, using literature on racial conceptions and
discourses to propose five cultural-cognitive processes that can maintain institutionalized racial
inequity. While CHAT and institutional theory offer general insights on how cultural forces
shape and are shaped by educators’ actions, adding these mechanisms of racial inequity helps to
illuminate the role of institutionalized racism, arguably one of the most powerful and oppressive
forces in U.S. culture, in orienting and constraining educators’ actions.
Implications for Policy and Practice
This project offers several implications for policymakers and practitioners aiming to
disrupt racial inequity in education, discussed below.
Implications Regarding Anti-Bias Policies
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The observed pushback against anti-bias policies suggests that there is great need to
advance practitioners’ understanding of the systemic nature and history of racism and education.
There is a general consensus in the social sciences that racism is a socially constructed institution
(Morning, 2009), reinforced through education and other societal structures. However, in
resistance against anti-bias policies, many participants expressed a conception of racism as an
individual-level, rather than societal-level issue, and attributed racial disparities to factors such as
culture and poverty. Teacher and leader preparation programs, as well as ongoing professional
development, might consider incorporating explicit instruction regarding the development and
history of race in the United States., particularly as it pertains to K-12 education. The overview
of racial inequity in the first chapter of this manuscript might be a starting point for identifying
key content to include in professional development. Such an approach could challenge the
limited construction of racial groups by calling attention to White privilege, and examining how
Black, Latinx, Asian, Pacific Islander, American Indian, and other groups have been targeted
by—and have resisted—systemic racism.
As part of this effort, it might also be useful to share theoretical frameworks on racism,
such as the rules of racial inequity presented in this project, to help educators gain insight into
some of the widespread cultural patterns that maintain racial injustice. Such theoretical
frameworks could also be useful in assuring educators that experiences of discomfort are normal
and to be expected when confronting institutionalized beliefs. To ground theory in educational
practice, educators could review vignettes or videos of ways that racial inequity is subtly
perpetuated, reflecting on the implicit messages and discussing alternative practices. The
examples presented in this manuscript—such as the description of “professional” and
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 168
“unprofessional” handshakes in Juniper’s CEC, or the lesson on the John Henry poem in
Marigold—could serve as useful material for such an exercise.
Relatedly, these findings illustrate the challenges presented by anti-bias efforts that focus
on abstract discussion of macro-level social forces, without offering tangible practices.
Approaches that emphasize practitioner inquiry might be useful in helping educators link
concrete daily practice to broad racial equity goals. Action research (Zambo, 2011), a cyclical
process including investigation of a problem, action to address the problem, analysis of data to
examine the consequences of this action, and determination of next steps, is one such approach
that practitioners might employ. Initially proposed by social psychologist Kurt Lewin, action
research focuses on helping practitioners bridge the gap between abstract social theory and
concrete action (Peters & Robinson, 1984), and a number of critical scholars have argued that
action research can be used to further liberation from oppression (e.g., Dowd & Liera, 2018; Fine
et al., 2003; Kemmis, 2008). Other approaches utilizing cycles of action and reflection include
design thinking (originating from the fields of engineering and architecture) (Romme, 2004) and
improvement science (originating in manufacturing and influential in healthcare) (C. Lewis,
2015), both of which have gained popularity in education in the past decade (Bryk, 2015; Wise,
2016). Such strategies, if pursued in conjunction with awareness of race and racism, might help
practitioners translate the big ideas of racial inequity to their experiences of daily practice.
Implications for Climate and Instruction Policies
The cases of Juniper and Marigold illustrate how efforts to explicitly address racism tend
to be siloed from colorblind approaches to improve instruction and school climate. Educational
leaders may wish to find ways to integrate anti-bias efforts within their climate and instruction
strategies. Such integration might bring awareness of racial dynamics to previously colorblind
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 169
approaches, and might also mitigate some of the resistance observed in efforts solely focused on
reducing bias. Similarly, leaders might also consider utilizing distributed leadership structures as
part of anti-bias initiatives, as such structures, which seem to be absent from anti-bias policies,
appear to play an important role in instruction and climate-focused work. These implications
may be of particular importance to the consultants and professional development providers who
partner with districts to initiate racial equity programs. Anti-bias consultants might work to build
equity-minded leadership capacity within schools and districts in order to deepen and sustain
racial equity initiatives. Additionally, consultants focused on instruction or climate support could
revise their programs to include greater awareness of systemic racism in education.
This study also illuminates troubling patterns regarding low expectations of students of
color, which often communicate the assumption that families of color are to blame for students’
low performance. To address these issues, it may be helpful to consider ways to affirm that
racially minoritized students and families are “holders and creators of knowledge” (Bernal, 2002,
p. 105). Engaging students and families as leaders and collaborators in educational decision-
making might be a useful strategy in this regard (Bertrand & Rodela, 2017). Similarly, rather
than using White savior narratives as exemplars for educational leadership (as in Caring for
Every Child’s use of the film Radio), practitioners might seek out examples of racially
minoritized student and family leadership. Programs focused on climate and instruction might
also invite educators to identify “funds of knowledge” (N. Gonzalez et al., 1995, p. 443) among
students of color, perhaps by conducting and analyzing student interviews, and plan to
incorporate these assets in instructional design. Such approaches could help challenge engrained,
deficit-oriented views.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 170
To advance racial equity, practitioners might also wish to challenge the invisibility of
race in efforts to improve school climate. For instance, Marigold’s Bullying Prevention program
focused on “inclusion,” but did not consider racial inclusion. Educators might benefit from
curricular materials and professional development that support them in engaging in
conversations about race with their students. For instance, the Bullying Prevention program
could be expanded with facilitator guidelines and morning meeting activities related to issues of
race. Associated professional development could offer educators an opportunity to observe
others leading conversations about race with students, and practice facilitating them themselves.
Furthermore, this study presents evidence of missed opportunities to advance culturally
relevant pedagogy among Marigold and Juniper educators, and one might imagine that this is a
concern in other districts beyond these two cases. Data suggested that schools and classrooms
were generally characterized by an absence of texts by and about people of color. In the few
counter-examples (the “Ballad of John Henry,” “Why Do Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears,”
and a story about friendship between American Indian and White boys), the relationship of these
texts to a broader historical, cultural and societal context was disregarded. Curricular materials
and professional development might aim to mitigate these issues by 1) incorporating more texts
by and about people of color; 2) providing background information and resources to illuminate
the texts’ cultural and historical context; and 3) guiding educators to facilitate conversations
about this broader context with their students. Such materials may help practitioners incorporate
education and celebration regarding multiple racially minoritized groups represented in the
school community, and promote critical consciousness development among all students.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 171
Implications for Local, State, and Federal Policymakers
To ensure ongoing support of district-level racial equity policy efforts, this study
underlines the need to strategically cultivate buy-in from important political actors, such as the
school board and the teachers’ union. In Juniper, central office leaders made an ongoing effort to
justify their anti-bias initiatives to the board, and leaders worked with their teachers’ union to
establish Implicit Bias trainings. State and national associations supporting local unions and
boards might consider how to communicate with their membership regarding the need to
advance racial equity work.
It also seems to be important for leaders to manage expectations regarding the reception
and impact of anti-bias policies. This study illustrates that policies challenging institutionalized
racism or norms regarding the division of labor in schools are likely to encounter substantial
resistance. Indeed, pushback appears to be a fairly normal manifestation of the contradictions
generated by efforts to disrupt deeply engrained cultural norms. Leaders may wish to inform
stakeholders about the expected dynamics of cultural change work, and prepare them for the
likely possibility of resistance. Similarly, leaders may wish to inform stakeholders that the
absence of resistance does not necessarily mean that a policy has succeeded in advancing racial
equity goals; indeed, a lack of resistance might be evidence that educators are avoiding
challenging conversations about race and racism.
At the state and federal level, I echo numerous scholars and advocates (e.g., Imazeki,
2018; Levin et al., 2018) in calling for greater resources to support school districts. In particular,
I highlight the challenges facing districts, like Marigold, that are experiencing declining
enrollment as a result of a rapidly rising cost of living in California’s urban centers. Anti-bias
initiatives appear likely to be among the first programs cut in periods of resource constraints,
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 172
raising questions about whether such efforts can be sustained in gentrifying and cash-strapped
districts. State and federal policymakers might also recognize the potentially unintended
implications of how target groups are framed. Accountability policies that emphasize increased
reclassification rates for English learners or reduced suspension rates for Black students place an
arguably much-needed focus on addressing inequitable outcomes. However, such policies may
inadvertently narrow educators’ constructions of these student groups, and also mark these
groups as “other” relative to an unstated, invisible norm. State and federal policymakers may
wish to consider how to support local educators in developing more nuanced understandings of
diverse and intersecting social identity groups.
Implications for Theory and Research
In addition to the policy and practice implications listed above, this project offers several
important takeaways for the research community. As this project focused on two K-8 southern
California districts with fairly similar racial demographics, future research might explore what
factors influence districts’ racial equity work in other contexts. What factors influence the
implementation of racial equity policies in districts with predominantly White and affluent
student populations? In geographic contexts beyond the Los Angeles metropolitan region? In
districts that include high schools, rather than just K-8? Studies of districts that notably differ
from Juniper and Marigold could examine these questions. Relatedly, researchers might
investigate the implementation of different types of racial equity policies not represented in this
project, such as democratic engagement of families and/or students, or enactment of Ethnic
Studies course requirements.
While this study shed some light on educators’ perceptions of enacted practice, future
research might pursue more robust findings regarding the impact of racial equity policies on
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 173
school and classroom practices. An ethnographic approach, with extended observations and
immersion in a single school site, could provide a more nuanced picture regarding the depth of
policy enactment. Alternatively, extensive observations of a large sample of schools and
classrooms, guided by a common protocol, could be employed to formally evaluate
implementation at scale. Quasi-experimental designs might also be used to more definitively
determine the impact of particular policy interventions. Furthermore, since this study was
bounded to single school year, I was unable to explore long-term effects of some of the policies
initiated in this study. Longitudinal projects could investigate if resistance to anti-bias policies
change over time, or if colorblind relationship-building strategies eventually facilitate asset-
based views of students of color. To explore the generalizability of the findings presented here,
scholars might use mixed method or quantitative research. Large-scale surveys of educators and
leaders could paint a broader picture of buy-in and perceived changes in practice regarding
different types of racial equity policies. Scholars could also analyze patterns in survey responses
related to respondent demographics, district context, types of equity policies, and other factors.
An important limitation of this study was the absence of student and family
perspectives—particularly among communities of color. Future research could dive more deeply
into student and families’ perspectives of how educators are seeking, or failing, to promote racial
equity in schools. Participatory action research represents a promising avenue for exploring
youth perspectives in policy reform (e.g., Kirshner & Pozzoboni, 2011). Further research could
also extend the nascent body of literature (e.g., Freelon, 2018; Su, 2010) regarding the leadership
of students and families of color in decision-making. Research is needed both in terms of student
and parent organizing, as well as educator-initiated efforts to engage student and parent voice.
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 174
Finally, research in communities with sizable White populations might more deeply interrogate
the role of White students and families in shaping and constraining racial equity efforts.
In the previous section, I offered several suggestions for leaders aiming to disrupt racial
inequity in schools. Further research could examine these recommended practices, identifying
potential pitfalls and refining implications for practitioners. For instance, scholars might examine
efforts to integrate awareness of racism within broader climate and/or instruction policies, the
use of inquiry-based approaches with an explicit racial equity lens, or strategies to support
students’ critical consciousness development. These studies might investigate ways that leaders
seek to disrupt institutionalized rules of racial inequity, and identify some of the pitfalls that can
characterize these pursuits. Researchers might consider utilizing a research-practice partnership
model (Coburn & Penuel, 2016) to conduct this research in collaboration with practitioners in
order to effect change. Finally, work on measurement of constructs related to racial inequity,
such as implicit bias, could be useful in helping leaders to justify and evaluate anti-bias policies
that tend to be associated with abstract goals.
The theoretical framework presented in this project could be strengthened through further
applications in different contexts. In particular, continued use could refine our understanding of
the institutionalized processes that reinforce racial inequity. To explore efforts to advance
additional dimensions of social justice, scholars might also employ CHAT-IT alongside literature
addressing other forms of institutionalized oppression beyond racism, such as misogyny,
heterosexism, and ableism. Drawing on the concept of intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991),
researchers could also attend to the simultaneous interplay of multiple forms of institutionalized
oppression in activity systems. In addition, this framework might be utilized in conjunction with
critical race theory (Crenshaw, 1995), as it offers insight into the cultural-cognitive processes
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 175
that might underlie critical race theory tenets. CHAT-IT could be used to help explain how, for
instance, the property attributions of Whiteness (Harris, 1993) are continually reproduced in U.S.
culture and constrain individual and organizational action. Scholars might also seek to further
develop the dimensions of CHAT-IT that focus on cultural transformation, such as
contradictions, externalization, and expansive learning (Engeström & Sannino, 2010).
There are some caveats to keep in mind regarding the theoretical framework used in this
study. First, in this manuscript, I have used the term “rules” to describe a set of cultural-cognitive
processes reinforcing racial inequity, in congruence with the language of CHAT (Engeström &
Miettinen, 1999). However, the term “rules” may connote rigid, externally mandated
requirements. As the findings presented here have illustrated, processes such as “normalizing
Whiteness” are dynamic and ongoing, and they are constantly reproduced or disrupted through
language and actions. Going forward, it may be useful for scholars utilizing this framework to
avoid the term “rules” and instead employ terms that connote dynamic qualities, such as
“processes” or “mechanisms.” This may be particularly helpful when communicating with
practitioners, policymakers, and other audiences who are less familiar with the specific language
of CHAT.
In addition, it is important to note that the list of five “rules” described herein is not
exhaustive. There are countless additional processes, not included in these five rules, that support
White supremacy in U.S. society. Systemic violence towards Black and Brown bodies (Bakare-
Yusuf, 1999; Razack, 2005), hyper-sexualization of people of color (Brooks, 2010), “urban
jungle” imaginaries (Leonardo & Hunter, 2009), and the erasure of indigenous peoples (A.
Smith, 2012) represent just a few of the numerous social mechanisms that serve as the
foundation for institutionalized racism in the United States. While the findings presented here
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 176
illustrate the utility of the five focal processes for understanding constraints to the
implementation of racial equity policies, they should not be interpreted as an all-encompassing
framework for the social processes of racism.
Finally, it is important to note that neither CHAT nor institutional theory were developed
as theories to understand or challenge oppression, and both derive from the thinking of
nineteenth and twentieth century male European and Russian thinkers such as Marx, Vygostky,
and Weber (Roth & Lee, 2007; Scott, 2008) . Theoretical and methodological approaches rooted
in racially minoritized and indigenous perspectives (e.g., Delgado Bernal, Burciaga, & Flores
Carmona, 2012; Paris & Winn, 2013; L. T. Smith, 2012) may offer insights that are missed by
the dominant research paradigm reflected in CHAT and institutional theory. Therefore, there is a
need for scholarship on district racial equity policies that draws on explicitly decolonizing,
participatory and critical approaches.
Summary
Many local educational leaders are committed to disrupting racial inequity in schools, yet
little research investigates how school districts enact policies featuring racial equity goals. I
respond to this gap with a multiple embedded case study of racial equity policies within two
southern California districts. These policies included efforts to challenge educator bias, which
explicitly addressed issues of race and racism, as well as more colorblind strategies for
improving school climate and instructional quality. Anti-bias policies prompted notable
pushback among educators and seemed to have little effect on practice, though this might be
expected in policies focused on prompting uncomfortable conversations. Climate and instruction
policies were, for the most part, positively received and linked to observable practice changes,
yet there was evidence that problematic racial dynamics went unchecked in the implementation
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 177
of these efforts. Across policies, the construction of student racial groups and communication of
deficit-oriented views of racially minoritized students and families raised concerns about the
implications of these policies for their espoused racial equity goals. Institutionalized cultural
rules regarding racial inequity seemed to play an important role in constraining the
implementation of racial equity policies. Other important factors shaping implementation
included institutionalized scripts regarding teacher roles, extent of distributed leadership,
communication of policy goals, resource availability, political context, and state/federal policy.
Ultimately, these findings offer crucial insights for policymakers, practitioners, and researchers
who wish to advance racial justice in U.S. education.

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APPENDIX A
PILOT STUDY
A pilot study was conducted in spring 2018 in Marigold School District,
10
a small K-8
district in a major California metropolitan area, enrolling approximately 8,300 students (further
details presented in the section on case selection, below). This pilot study was part of a larger
project to investigate the practices of districts where low-income, Black, and Latinx students
were outperforming expectations on state assessments. Though the pilot study did not focus on
racial equity policies per se, it offered useful implications for the proposed research design, and
also allowed me to build relationships that supported continued research access. In this appendix,
I summarize the pilot study methods and overall findings, and I briefly describe how the pilot
study informed the design of this project.
Pilot Study Methods
I led a team of researchers, including my advisor and two other doctoral students, in
collecting and analyzing interviews (n=36), observations (approximately 8 hours), and
documents. We conducted semi-structured interviews, lasting 20-60 minutes in length, with
central office administrators, a district-level literacy coach, teachers’ union leadership, a school
board member, parent leaders, and external consultants (including the leader of a non-profit
supporting Common Core implementation, math and science specialists, and a culturally
sustaining pedagogy specialist). For school-level interviews, we visited a middle and an
elementary school selected by district leaders. At each school, we interviewed site
administrators, teachers, coaches, intervention and English learner specialists, and counselors.

10
Pseudonym.
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We also observed three meetings at the district office: an instructional leadership team meeting
(in which team members prepared to deliver professional development at school sites), an
administrators’ professional development meeting (focused on supporting principals’
instructional leadership regarding Common Core-aligned curricula), and a school deans’ meeting
(a professional development session on implementing positive behavior supports, including
videos of observed classroom practices). Finally, we collected a number of documents relevant
to the district’s practices, including the district’s website, PowerPoint presentations from
professional development and family engagement meetings, administrative calendars and plans,
classroom observation protocols, and coaching materials.
Our team used a series of memos (Miles, Huberman, & Saldaña, 2014) to facilitate data
analysis. After each day of field work, individual researchers authored memos to capture
emerging thoughts on common themes repeated across multiple sources, the district’s approach
to serving historically marginalized students (i.e., students of color, low-income students,
English learners, and students with disabilities), and key challenges facing the district. We used
these memos to inductively develop a list of themes, and we then reviewed data for evidence to
support, refute, or refine our initial list. We drafted detailed memos to organize relevant excerpts
of data, which allowed us to craft a final set of six overarching themes to constitute our findings.
Pilot Study Findings
Our data suggested four key themes that appeared to support instructional improvement
and facilitate Marigold students’ relatively high performance on state assessments. First, we
heard that Marigold featured a climate of respect and trust, shaped by the district’s small size and
the longevity of staff. Second, strong, stable, and collaborative district leadership, including
partnerships with external leaders, seemed to be a key factor promoting improvement in teaching
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and learning. Third, Marigold pursued a slow and intentional strategy to roll out the Common
Core State Standards, taking several years to build capacity and buy-in for instructional shifts.
Fourth, the district emphasized a consistent, centralized approach to instructional support,
including common curricula, pacing, assessments, and professional development district-wide.
Our team also uncovered two additional themes regarding ongoing challenges in the district.
Marigold had recently begun to implement two initiatives intended to improve school climate
and mitigate the disproportionate suspension of Black students: Positive Behavioral Interventions
and Supports (PBIS; a disciplinary reform) and a partnership with a center at a nearby university,
the Lorde Center, to provide professional development on culturally responsive teaching
practices. We heard mixed reports on the success of these initiatives, including fairly extensive
pushback from teachers and site administrators. Finally, we learned that the district was facing
serious budget challenges in upcoming years due to declining enrollment, which interviewees
attributed to the rising cost of living associated with gentrification, as well as competition from
charter schools in neighboring districts.
Role of Pilot Study in Informing Research Design
The pilot study offered implications for three aspects of the proposed research design: 1)
selection of a comparative case; 2) bounding cases; and 3) data collection and analysis.
Regarding case selection, the pilot study identified several conditions that may play a role in
shaping policy implementation, raising questions about what patterns could be observed when
comparing this case to a district with contrasting conditions. The pilot study echoed the findings
of the “conditions shaping district change” literature base summarized in Chapter Two (Coburn
& Talbert, 2006; Coburn et al., 2009; Farrell, 2015; Honig, 2009; Honig & Ikemoto, 2008;
Honig et al., 2017; Marsh, 2002), highlighting the role of organizational culture, interpersonal
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trust, leadership, resources, balance of autonomy and centralization, and partnerships with
intermediary organizations in orienting change efforts. This informed my decision to select
Juniper as a comparative case that differed on some of these conditions, including a larger size
and fewer resource constraints. Such contrasts could help illuminate how different factors may
influence racial equity policy implementation.
The pilot study also shed light on some of the limitations regarding efforts for racial
equity in Marigold. While central office leaders expressed a strong commitment to furthering
racial justice through data use, Positive Behavioral Interventions and Supports (PBIS), and the
Lorde Center partnership, this commitment did not seem to be shared at all levels, and we heard
reports of minimal implementation and pushback from teachers and other school staff. Moreover,
we heard that staff that supported implementation of these initiatives, such as school-level
coaches, a PBIS consultant, and a Lorde Center consultant, might not be continuing their work in
the 2018-19 year, either due to budget cuts associated with declining enrollment, or because
multi-year contracts with intermediary organizations had reached their conclusion. Though
district leaders expressed confidence that these three racial equity policies would continue in
school-level practice, I anticipated that the loss of these staff and partners could exacerbate the
limited nature of implementation. With this in mind, I sought out a comparative case district with
potentially deeper implementation of racial equity policies, as well as continued relationships
with related intermediary organizations. My hope was that such a comparative case might offer
greater clarity on both barriers and potentially successful strategies in pursuing racial justice.
However, findings indicated that, while resources and partnerships certainly seemed helpful,
Juniper still experienced implementation challenges that seemed to result from policies’
contradictions with institutionalized beliefs.
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Implications for Bounding Cases
In initially conceiving this dissertation project, I intended to propose bounding my cases to the
activity system of a single district policy. However, the pilot study of Marigold highlighted the
inter-relationships between simultaneously implemented policies. For instance, district leaders
explained that they adopted PBIS and CRTL together in 2015, expecting that the two policies in
tandem could mitigate the disproportionate suspension of Black youth relative to students of
other racial groups. Bounding the case to just one of these policies would prevent the
consideration of how these two policies inform, or fail to inform, one another in implementation.
We also saw relationships between educators’ implementation of data use and CRTL: when we
asked teachers and coaches to describe their responses to relatively low test scores among Black
students, several suggested that they gave Black students more opportunities to talk or call out in
class, an example they attributed to their CRTL trainings. For example, when asked to describe
how she responded to evidence of lower performance among Black students, a math coach
replied: “I think primarily many more of our African-American students are more verbal. They
are more verbal, they want to talk, they want to be active, they need that interaction.” These
findings suggest that an activity system centered on the object of racial equity includes not just
one policy, but several policies that relate to one another in design and/or implementation. With
this in mind, I propose to bound my cases by the policies that district leaders identify as central
to their racial equity goals, and, in Marigold, this bounding would include the three interacting
policies of data use, PBIS, and CRTL.
Implications for Data Collection and Analysis
Data from this pilot study offered some preliminary insights regarding the rules, or taken-
for-granted assumptions, shaping the implementation of policies in Marigold. These insights
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 218
informed the development of interview protocols and influenced my attention when taking
observation field notes. Additionally, I continued to build on these ideas through analytic memos
and when coding data for the dissertation study.
Regarding the implementation of data use, we heard that Marigold teachers and coaches
analyzed and planned instruction based on data for all students, for Black students
(approximately 20% of the student body), and for English learners (approximately 30% of the
student body). I wondered if this example might illustrate the rules of normalizing Whiteness,
maintaining colorblindness, and attributing inequity to non-racial factors. This led me to attend
to the possible selective racialization of Black students, the singular focus on language needs for
English learners, and the relative invisibility of Latinx, White, Asian, and Pacific Islander racial
identities.
We also heard claims that teachers perceived accusations of racism in Lorde Center
trainings. These data suggest the influence of individualizing racism, or the taken-for-granted
assumption that racism is the fault of ignorant or malevolent individuals rather than a condition
of societal structures. This insight prompted my initial thinking regarding educator resistance to
anti-bias policies.
Finally, our data on PBIS provided evidence of maintaining colorblindness. While central
office leaders were clear that reducing suspensions among Black students was a key priority of
the policy, school-level actors did not mention race when discussing PBIS implementation.
These data made me aware of the possibility of colorblind approaches towards racial equity
goals, influencing my approach to data collection and analysis in this regard.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 219
APPENDIX B
LINKING LITERATURE, THEORY, AND DATA COLLECTION
Interview questions with a * were asked during the pilot study in Marigold. Abbreviations:
Interviews (I), Documents (D), Observations (O).

Insights from Empirical and
Theoretical Literature

Data Collection
Activity System. District efforts to
promote racial equity can be
described as networked activity
systems. The activity system can
be understood as the ongoing,
mutually constitutive interactions
of subjects, an object, mediating
artifacts, rules, community, and
division of labor, which together
generate outcomes. Institutional
theory contributes the
understanding that subjects carry
cognitive representations shaped
by culture and prior experience,
and that artifacts are carriers of
institutional frameworks.

Object
• I: From your perspective, what is the goal of [policy]?
What is the problem that [policy] is intended to
address?*
• I: Have you seen changes in [schools/the district] as a
result of [policy]? What changes have you seen? How did
[policy] lead to these changes?
• D: discussion of policy goals in LCAP, websites, PD
materials, other administrative documents
• O: How do participants describe the policy problem and
goals during observed implementation efforts?

Activity and Outcomes
• I: Could you give me an overview of the (planned)
implementation of [policy] during this school year? What
does the work look like?
• I: What are the different activities that currently comprise
[policy]? How are individuals trained and supported in
implementing these activities?
• I: What have you accomplished (what do you plan to
accomplish) in this work?
• I: Do you have any documents, such as slides,
newsletters, or handouts, that could help me better
understand this process?
• O: What actions are participants engaged in during
observed events? What are they producing or generating
through these actions?
• D: description of activity and outcomes in PD materials
or other documents

Subjects and Division of Labor
• I: What is your role in implementing [policy] this year?
Why were you selected for this role?
• I: Who is involved in implementing [policy] during this
school year? Why were these people selected?
• I: What are the responsibilities of [different roles]? Why
were responsibilities assigned that way? (i.e., Why was
the school-level team put in charge of writing PBIS
expectations, instead of the district?)*
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 220
• O: Who is present, and what role do they play?

Mediating Artifacts
• I: Do you have any documents, such as slides,
newsletters, or handouts, that could help me better
understand this process?
• O: What language and other symbolic artifacts (gestures,
body language, images) are used during observed events,
and how so?
• O: What material artifacts (physical objects) are used
during observed events, and how so?
• D: examples of mediating artifacts (PD materials,
meeting agendas, etc.)

Community
• I: How have (parents, students, union leaders, school
board) responded to [policy]? (Or how do you expect
community stakeholders to respond to [policy]?) Why
have they responded in this way? How has the district
addressed this?

Rules
• I: probe “Why?” or “Can you give me an example of
that” as appropriate to elicit and clarify underlying
assumptions.
• O: What are some of the patterns in the types of language
and actions observed? What types of language and
actions are not present in observations?
• More below under RQ2, assumptions.

Cultural and Historical Context
(General). CHAT asserts that
activity systems are embedded in
cultural and historical context, and
this context shapes and is shaped
by the elements of the activity
system.

General Cultural-Historical Context
• I: How would you describe this [district/school]? If I
were applying for a job to work here, what would you
want me to know?*
• I: Would you say anything is different or new about this
[district/school] in 2018-19? Any important changes
since I last visited?
• I: How long have you worked in/with [district/school]?*
• I: What would you say are the greatest challenges facing
this district?
• D: documents that give general information about the
district’s history, including the district website, past
LCAPs, and news media

Historical Context of Specific Policies
• I: When did [policy] start? Why at that time?*
• I: How has [policy] changed since it was first
implemented?*
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 221
• D: documents describing historical context of policies,
such as newsletters, past LCAPs, or old PD or
administrative materials

Cultural-Historical Context
(Political Dynamics and
Organizational Conditions).
Empirical literature suggests that
key contextual factors for district
policy reform implementation
include political context (i.e.,
relationships with unions, parent
advocacy groups, and the school
board), organizational culture and
interpersonal trust, leadership
stability and commitment to
change processes, organizational
structure and size, history with
prior reform efforts, resource
constraints, extent of autonomy
(between school and district, as
well as district and state), and
partnerships with intermediary
organizations.

General Enabling & Constraining Conditions
• I: Generally, how is the work of [this policy] going?
What is going well, and why? What are some of the
challenges, and why are these challenges arising? How
are you responding to challenges?
• I: Would you say [policy] is accomplishing its goals?
Why or why not? What would it take to accomplish these
goals?
• O: What factors appear to be supporting or creating
impediments for policy implementation during observed
activities?
• D: documents that can triangulate the presence of
conditions from observations and interviews (e.g., a
budget showing evidence of financial constraints)

Political Dynamics
• I: How would you describe the district’s relationship with
[the school board, the teachers’ union, the DAC,
DELAC, PTA]? Can you give an example?
• I: How have (parents, students, union leaders, school
board) responded to [policy]? (Or how do you expect
community stakeholders to respond to [policy]?) Why
have they responded in this way? How has the district
addressed this?
• O: Is there any evidence of political support or pushback
in observed events? How are different political actors
(board, unions, parent groups) described or included, if at
all?

Culture & Trust
• I: How would you describe this [district/school]? If I
were applying for a job to work here, what would you
want me to know?* [Probe: how would you characterize
the culture of district/school?]
• O: How do participants interact with and relate to one
another?
• D: documents naming district values (district websites
and strategic plans)

Leadership Stability & Commitment
• I: What role has the superintendent played in [policy]?
Other high-level administrators?
• I: How supportive has the superintendent been of
[policy]? Can you give an example? What about other
high-level administrators?
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 222
• [District A] I: The superintendent has been in this district
for a remarkably long time. How do you think that
leadership stability affects your equity work? Can you
give an example?
• [District B] I: The superintendent came here from outside
the district four years ago. How has that change in
leadership affected equity work in the district? Can you
give an example?
• O: What role does the superintendent and high-level
central office leadership play in observed implementation
efforts? How, if at all, do the superintendent and other
high-level leaders communicate their perspectives on the
policy efforts?

District Size
• I: We know your district is [pretty small/a mid-sized
district]. Do you think that this size makes it harder or
easier to implement [policy]? How so? How might this
look different in a [smaller/larger] district?
• O: How does the district’s size appear as a salient issue
in observed events, if at all? (For example, are they
struggling to find a room large enough to fit all of the
principals in the district?)

Autonomy & Centralization
• How would you describe the role of the (state, county) in
this work? Are there any expectations coming from the
county or state around this work (i.e., is there pressure to
lower suspensions)? Tell me more about that.
• What are consistent structures and practices that you
have throughout the district? Why do you keep these
consistent?*
• I: What are the responsibilities of [different roles]? Why
were responsibilities assigned that way? (i.e., Why was
the school-level team put in charge of writing PBIS
expectations, instead of the district?)*
• O: Are there references to pressures or requirements from
the state/county in observed events?
• O: What do observed events suggest about the extent of
centralized decision-making in the district? What
evidence is there of school-level autonomy in decision-
making?

Partnerships with Intermediary Organizations
• I: Are any outside partners involved in implementing
these efforts? Who are they? How did those partnerships
begin? What role does the partner play?
• O: What evidence is there of partner organizations? Are
any partners present during observed events, and what
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 223
actions are they engaged in? How are others responding
to these partners?

Rules. Rules are the explicit and
implicit assumptions and
expectations which guide actions
in the activity system. From an
integrated CHAT-IT perspective,
these rules reflect the collection of
taken-for-granted representations,
schemas, templates, and scripts
that compose institutions.

Rules in General
• I: probe “Why?” or “Can you give me an example of
that” as appropriate to elicit and clarify underlying
assumptions.
• Throughout interviews, listen for examples of
interviewees being surprised or confused by the framing
of a question (“We don’t really think about it that way.”
Or “That hasn’t really come up.”), as these moments may
speak to implicit rules.
• O: What are some of the patterns in the types of language
and actions observed? What types of language and
actions are not present in observations?

Rules of Racial Inequity.
Collectively, literature on the
taken-for-granted assumptions and
practices supporting racial inequity
suggest five inter-related cultural
rules that may be at play in an
activity system implementing a
race-conscious district policy: 1)
normalizing Whiteness; 2)
maintaining colorblindness; 3)
individualizing racism; 4) focusing
on diversity; and 5) attributing
inequity to non-racial factors.

Normalizing Whiteness
• I: How would you describe this [district/school]? If I
were applying for a job to work here, what would you
want me to know?*
• I: How would you describe the student population that
you serve in this district/school? What do you want to see
from your teachers to best serve this student population?
• I: What are the greatest challenges you face at this
district/school?
• I: Do issues of race come up in conversations in this
district/school? How so? Can you give an example?
• I: I notice that you have focused on serving African
American youth through [efforts]. Why were African
American youth/families selected as the focus of these
efforts? Are there any efforts targeted towards Latino
students? You also have a small API population—how is
the district thinking about serving API students? You
have a small population of White students, how do they
fit in to your equity work? How so/why not? (Ask this
near the end of interviews.)
• Throughout interviews, listen for (counter)examples of
normalizing Whiteness.
• O: What (counter-)examples of normalizing Whiteness
occur in observed events? Are there (counter)examples of
presenting Whiteness as a standard/ideal, of deficit
perspectives, or of selectively ascribing race only to
certain bodies (POC, students/families, etc.)?
D: What (counter-)examples of normalizing Whiteness
appear in collected documents?

Maintaining Colorblindness
• I: How would you describe the student population that
you serve in this district/school? What do you want to see
from your teachers to best serve this student population?
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 224
• I: Do issues of race come up at this district/school? How
so?
• I: Are issues of race discussed in conversation in this
district/school? How so? Can you give an example? How
do you think people feel during these conversations?
How did you feel?
• I: From your perspective, what is the goal of [policy]?
What is the problem that [policy] is intended to
address?*
• Throughout interviews, listen for (counter)examples of
maintaining colorblindness.
• O: What (counter)examples of maintaining
colorblindness occur in observed events? Are there
efforts to maintain a culture of niceness, re or hyper-
aggregating groups, claiming not to notice race,
dismissing concerns of racism, indirect/euphemistic
allusions to race, or efforts to limit race talk? Is there
evidence of “racial paranoia”?
• D: Are there (counter)examples of maintaining
colorblindness in collected documents? Is race mentioned
in collected documents, and if so, how?

Individualizing Racism and
Attributing Inequity to Non-Racial Factors
• I: From your perspective, what is the goal of [policy]?
What is the problem that [policy] is intended to
address?*
• I: In your opinion, what are the causes of the problem
that [policy] is intended to address?
• I: We have heard that [policy] is also expected to address
[the racial achievement gap/disproportionality in
suspensions/etc.]. Would you say that this is a problem in
the district? In your opinion, what are the causes of this
problem?
• I: Do you think [policy] is an effective approach to
solving this problem, and how so/why not? What do you
think it will take to solve this problem?
• Throughout interviews, listen for (counter)examples of
individualizing racism and attributing inequity to non-
racial factors.
• O: What (counter)examples of individualizing racism
occur in observed events? Are there suggestions that
racism is (not) the sole fault of a few extremists? Do
people ascribe racism to individual biases?
• O: What (counter)examples of attributing inequity to
non-racial factors occur in observed events? Are there
suggestions that racial inequity results from language,
class, biology, culture, and not from racism?
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 225
• D: Are there (counter)examples of individualizing racism
or attributing inequity to non-racial factors in collected
documents?

Focusing on Diversity
• I: Do issues of race come up at this district/school? How
so?
• I: Are issues of race discussed in conversation in this
district/school? How so? Can you give an example? How
do you think people feel during these conversations?
How did you feel?
• Throughout interviews, listen for (counter)examples of
focusing on diversity.
• O: What (counter)examples of focusing on diversity
occur in observed events? Do any participants substitute
conversations about the value of diversity for
conversations about racial equity?
• D: Are there (counter)examples of focusing on diversity
in collected documents?

Assumptions Regarding
Intersectionality. Scholars have
emphasized the role of
intersectionality in understanding
equity, pointing out that
individuals simultaneously possess
multiple social identities that
interact in lived experience. The
pilot study found evidence that
implementation of disciplinary
reforms was shaped by educators’
perceptions of Black male
adolescents, illuminating the need
to consider intersectionality,
particularly regarding race and
gender, in this study.

• I: In this district, are there policy efforts targeted by
gender? Anything specifically serving boys or girls?
• Throughout interviews, listen for constructions of student
groups that reflect intersections of multiple social
identities (for example, discussion of Black male
students), and ask probing questions in response.
• O: To what extent and in what ways is gender
acknowledged in observed events?
• O: What social identities are mentioned during observed
events, and how so?
• D: Are there references to gender and other intersecting
social identities in collected documents?
Contradictions. The activity
system generates contradictions; if
addressed, these contradictions can
prompt transformation. In CHAT,
contradictions are dialectical in
that the contradicting opposites
both exist within the system. They
are historically rooted and socially
significant, and cannot be easily
resolved through compromise.
Within an activity system, four
levels of contradictions may
• I: Generally, how is the work of [this policy] going?
What is going well, and why? What are some of the
challenges, and why are these challenges arising?
• I: Can you give me a specific example of a time you felt
challenged during this work? How did you feel during
[this challenge of policy implementation]? [Probe: How
so? Tell me more.]
• I: Has there been any pushback or criticism of [this
policy]? What has that looked like? Can you give me an
example?
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 226
emerge within elements, between
elements, over time, or between
activity systems. Contradictions
manifest in discourse as dilemmas,
conflicts, critical conflicts, and
double binds.

• I: Have you ever felt stuck, or like you had no good
options, while working on [this policy]? Tell me about
that experience.
• I: What advice would you give to other districts who
want to implement [this policy]? What kinds of
challenges should they be prepared to address?
• O: Is there any evidence of dilemmas, conflicts, critical
conflicts, or double binds in observed conversations?

Internalization, Externalization,
and Thirdness. Contradictions
can be resolved through
“thirdness,” the creation of an
entirely new pattern that pushes
the activity system “into a new
phase of development.” Thirdness
can be achieved or prevented
through externalization and
internalization respectively. In
externalization, subjects transform
culture by creating new artifacts
and opening the possibility for
transformative thirdness.
Internalization refers to the process
of accepting and reproducing
existing culture.
• I: [When a challenge is mentioned] how did you respond
to this challenge? Why did you respond that way?
• I: How have you responded to [pushback/criticism] of
[policy]?
• I: Have you seen changes in [schools/the district] as a
result of [policy]? What changes have you seen? How did
[policy] lead to these changes?
• I: What do you feel you have learned in the process of
implementing [policy]? How did you learn this?
• I: How has the process of implementing [policy] changed
over the course of the year? Why do you think these
changes took place?
• O: How do participants respond to dilemmas, conflicts,
critical conflicts, or double binds?
• O: What changes happen in observations over the course
of the year?
• D: Are there any documents (material artifacts) that
capture changes or responses to conflicts over the course
of the year?

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 227
APPENDIX C
EXAMPLE INTERVIEW PROTOCOL
Introduction: Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I am conducting a study about how this district
implements policies with equity goals, particularly in regard to race, during the 2018-19 school year. I
am interested in seeing what successes and challenges you encounter in this work, and what lessons you
might be able to offer others who are hoping to further equity in education. This interview is completely
voluntary, and you may decline to answer questions or stop the conversation at any time. This is also
confidential. I will not use your name or the name of the district in anything that I write. With your
permission, I would like to record this interview to help with my notes. I will not share the recording
with anyone.

Invite interviewee to sign consent form and request permission to audio record.

*High priority questions.

Background & District Context
1. Could you briefly tell me about your professional background and what led you to this position?
a. How long have you been in this district?

2. What are the responsibilities in your current role?
a. What is your involvement in the equity work in this district [ask about the 2-4 focus policies]?
b. Why were you selected for this role in implementing these equity policies?

3. How would you describe this district? If I were applying for a job here, what would you want me to
know?*
a. How would you describe the student population that you serve in this district?
i. What do you want to see from your teachers to best serve this student population?
b. What are consistent structures and practices that you have throughout the district? Why do you
keep these consistent?
c. What would you say are the greatest challenges facing this district at the moment?

Description of Equity-Oriented Policy Implementation
Ask questions for the equity-oriented policies that the interviewee is working on (e.g., family
engagement, data use, culturally relevant teaching, implicit bias training, etc.).

4. Could you give me an overview of the implementation of this policy during this school year? What
does the work look like?*
a. What are the different activities that currently comprise this work?
b. Who is involved in implementing this policy during this school year?
i. Why were these people selected?
ii. What are the responsibilities of different roles on the team? Why were responsibilities
assigned that way?
iii. What role has the superintendent played in this policy? Other high-level leaders?
c. Are any outside partners involved in implementing these efforts? Who are they?
i. How did those partnerships begin?
ii. What role does the partner play?
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 228
d. How are individuals trained and supported in implementing these activities?
e. How has this policy changed since it was first implemented?
f. By the end of this school year, what do you hope you will have accomplished in this work?
g. Do you have any documents, such as slides, newsletters, or handouts, that could help me better
understand this process?

5. When did this work start?
a. Why at that time?

6. From your perspective, what is the goal of this work?*
a. What is the problem that this work is intended to address?
b. In your opinion, what do you think are the causes of this problem?
c. It is our understanding that this work is also intended to address XX. Do you think XX is a
problem in this district?
i. Do you think this work addresses this problem?

7. Generally, how is this work going?*
a. What is going well, and why?
b. What are some of the challenges, and why are these challenges arising?
i. Has there been any pushback or criticism of this policy? What has that looked like? Can you
give me an example?
1. How have you responded to this pushback?
c. Can you give me a specific example of a time you felt challenged during this work?*
i. How did you feel when you experienced this challenge?*
d. Have you ever felt stuck, or like you had no good options, while engaged in this work? Tell me
about that experience.
e. How is the district responding to these challenges?
f. Would you say this policy is accomplishing its goals? Why or why not?
i. What would it take to accomplish these goals?

8. Have you seen changes in the district as a result of this policy?
a. What changes have you seen?
b. How did this work lead to these changes?
c. What do you feel you have learned in the process of implementing this policy? How did you
learn this?

9. The superintendent has been in this district for XX years. How has this [relatively new/very stable]
leadership tenure affected equity work on the district?

10. We know your district is [pretty small/a mid-sized district]. Do you think that this size makes it
harder or easier to implement this policy? How so?
a. How might this look different in a [smaller/larger] district?

11. How have different community stakeholders (school board, collective bargaining units, parent
groups) responded to this policy?
a. Why have they responded in this way?
b. How has the district addressed this?
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 229
c. How would you characterize the district’s overall relationship with these stakeholders?

12. How would you describe the role of the state or county in this work?
a. Are there any expectations coming from the county or state around this work (i.e., is there
pressure to lower suspensions)? Tell me more about that.

Overall Thoughts on Race and Equity
13. Do issues of race come up in conversations in this district? How so? Can you give an example?*
a. How do you think people feel during these conversations?
b. How did you feel when you were engaged in one of these conversations?

14. This is a very diverse district. Overall, how does your district approach serving students of different
racial groups?
a. Are there efforts targeted towards particular groups? [Probe: how does the district approach
serving Black, Latinx, API, and White student groups.]
b. Are there efforts targeted by gender? Anything specifically serving boys or girls?

Closing
15. What advice would you give to other districts who want to implement these types of policies?
a. What kinds of challenges should they be prepared to address?

16. Is there anything else you’d like to share?

17. I don’t want to make any assumptions about you. For research purposes, could you tell me your
race, gender, and age?*

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APPENDIX D
LIST OF CODES

Source Classifications
• Interview
• Observation
• Document

Case Classifications
• Person
o Attributes: Role (Central Office, School Administrator, Teacher, Parent, etc.),
Race, Gender
• District
• School

Case Nodes
• Marigold School District
o Interviewees
o Foxglove Elementary
§ Interviewees
o Lupine Elementary
§ Interviewees
• Juniper School District
o Interviewees
o Madrone Elementary
§ Interviewees
o Sycamore Elementary
§ Interviewees

Codes
• Policy (Data regarding specific policy cases)
o Anti-Bias*
§ Baldwin Group
§ Lorde Center
§ Implicit Bias
o Climate and Inclusion*
§ Bullying Prevention
§ Caring for Every Child
§ PBIS
o Instruction and Achievement*
§ Instructional support practices
§ Education Vision
• Implementation Process (Data on the process of implementing racial equity policies—
what are they doing.)
TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 231
• Cultural-Cognitive Factors (Data on institutional assumptions and other cultural
dynamics influencing implementation)
o Colorblindness
o Diversity
o Individualizing racism
o Non-racial factors
o Normalizing Whiteness
o Teacher roles*
o Trusting relationships*
o Punitive discipline*
o Deficit views*
o Construction of students and families*
o Bias is universal*
• Political Factors (Data on political factors influencing implementation—influence of
unions, school boards, parents, and other political actors.)
• Technical and Organizational Factors (Data on organizational conditions and technical
factors influencing implementation.)
o Federal/state policy
o Leadership
o Organizational history
• Other Factors (Data on factors influencing implementation that do not seem to fit in the
categories listed above.)
• Conversations about race (Data on participant perceptions regarding conversations
about race in their school or district, not necessarily tied to the implementation of a
particular policy.)*

Codes without *s were on the initial start list. Codes with a * were developed during the analysis
process.

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 232
APPENDIX E
SCREENSHOTS OF DATA ANALYSIS MATRIX
Screenshot #1:

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Screenshot #2:

TOUGH CONVERSATIONS 234
APPENDIX F
PHOTOGRAPH OF HANDDRAWN NETWORK DISPLAY

Abstract (if available)

Linked assets

University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

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Asset Metadata

Creator Allbright, Taylor Nicole (author)

Core Title Tough conversations and missed opportunities: implementing district policies for racial equity

School Rossier School of Education

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Urban Education Policy

Publication Date 10/10/2019

Defense Date 07/31/2019

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag case study,cultural-historical activity theory,educational equity,educational policy,institutional theory,OAI-PMH Harvest,qualitative methods,Race,school districts

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Marsh, Julie (committee chair), Harper, Shaun (committee member), Jacobs, Lanita (committee member), Posselt, Julie (committee member)

Creator Email taylor.allbright@gmail.com,tnallbright@cpp.edu

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c89-224683

Unique identifier UC11675000

Identifier etd-AllbrightT-7858.pdf (filename),usctheses-c89-224683 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-AllbrightT-7858.pdf

Dmrecord 224683

Document Type Dissertation

Rights Allbright, Taylor Nicole

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the a...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus MC 2810, 3434 South Grand Avenue, 2nd Floor, Los Angeles, California 90089-2810, USA