Notes From the Field

by Anna Deavere Smith

  One of the parents told me that [my kids] used to go to their homes? And change. Then I became very good friends with their parents. And we all used to communicate. And I think that was the key. One of the mothers [is] the one who told me [that my kids were wearing baggy pants]. And that’s when I went to the school and say—I say, “What are you doing with those pants?” Or “How are you doing to those pants?” They say, “Oh, Mom, these are my friends.” Say, “Come on, don’t make me embarrassing here at school.” Say, “Okay, we gonna talk when we get home.” And we talking, I tell him, I say, “Okay, I’m gonna meet you halfway. Not that baggy. A little bit loose. But I don’t want you to be going to nobody’s house and change.”

  I feel that I was a very strict mother. And I was very involved in their school. And their—anything that it was involving my kids, I was very involved. Very involved.

  At nighttime, I used to go and smell them, and—yes. To see if they were not smoking or drinking. Oh, yes. I did so many things to keep my kids outta trouble. And thanks to the Lord, I think I did a good job.

  We moved to Vallejo, and from Vallejo, that’s when I started having problems. ’Cause they were in that age, at thirteen, fourteen years old? That—that the um—the…the school [was] calling me, that they didn’t come to school. And that’s when I used to communicate with the teachers all the time. All the time. At least once a week. I used to call. And they knew. They knew that Mommy was gonna come.

  Uh, with my daughter? Gah, was worse with her. My concern was for my daughter not to become pregnant. She was very beautiful, yeah. What I did is that I start take her to model—modeling? Modeling. Yeah. From there I used to—uh, she compete from San Joaquin. Miss San Joaquin here? She didn’t win, but that open the doors for…She went to uh Miami, Cancún. She, uh, won in Cancún? Miss Cancún? And—and the reason why I did that was the requirement was to be in school. And not to be pregnant, not to have kids.

  I used to even—we were having some goose? Goose? I think it’s what you call goose, they’re worse than dogs? The kids used to, you know, they used to get up at nighttime? Take the cars out?

  The goose? The goose? The geese? The geese? The goose or the geese? Geese, yes.

  The dog—they knew the dogs, they didn’t bark or anything, but the geese? Oh no! That’s when I find out they were taking the car, too. And you could hear—the geese, they don’t stop. When they see a stranger, they go, “Voo, voo-voo, voo.” And one time I woke up. I say, “Wow, what is that noise?’ And heard the garage door. And I came downstairs, and…I call the police on my own kid. And his friend was begging me and, “Mrs. De Santiago. Please don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t call my parents. Don’t call the police.” I say, “I have to do it.”

  It was a gift, that someone gave me? And I did not know that they were that [good]—they worse than dogs. They are so good. They died. But I, uh—they did so good on me that when—how do you say, when you stuff it? [They did so good on me, that when they died] I sent for them to be stuffed. And I have them in my house. And they know, my kids know. They say, “This is Rosita and this is Frankie.” They know, because they have memories.

  I had to move from Vallejo. I say, “I have to move from here.” ’Cause I—I didn’t want none of my kids to go to jail. You know, you start seeing a lot of things, in the news, I don’t want none of my kids…none of my family. Who wants that? Nobody.

  [Slide]

  TONY EADY

  STUDENT CONCERNS SPECIALIST, NORTH CHARLESTON HIGH SCHOOL

  NORTH CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  “All Because of Your Mouth”

  “All Because of Your Mouth”

  (African American. In his fifties. Mild South Carolina accent. With a walkie-talkie, which is on. ID on a lanyard. Conference room at the school, or hallway or cafeteria. Deep, resonant voice.)

  * * *

  These kids are very, very defiant. Very defiant. I am a student concerns specialist here at North Charleston High School in Charleston, South Carolina. I am the eyes and ears of the campus for the principal.

  I used to work in a penitentiary, and I used to work a—in Florida. Maximum security penitentiary. (He chuckles.) I had the privilege of meeting Ted Bundy—Theodore Bundy—when he was down there.

  I often tell some of my colleagues that it is similar. [The kids] just get to go home. But the control piece is: never let the kids [in the school] or the inmates [in a prison] get you out of your character. You have to be ready. You have to prepare yourself. When you come into these places. When you come into these places because (slight pause) the inmates or the students have their own agenda. This job can cause you to step out of [your] character. It means you can get unprofessional sometimes. You know, because the kids challenge you. Every day. So you gotta be ready.

  I do what they—we call ISS here. And that’s in-school suspension. I do that in the mornings, uh, every other week. And, um, when I get a group of [kids] in there, I talk to them about— ’Cause I tell the kids, “You guys comin’ into ISS here…” And then we have we call Twilight also—that’s worse than ISS. That’s on the third floor. So I tell the kids, “This is just a rehearsal! When you—when you always comin’ into ISS, that means you can’t deal with the public, the society in school. So they always send you here!”

  I say, “That’s a rehearsal! When you out in society, if—if you can’t deal with authority figures and people tellin’ you what to do, they gonna—to send you to jail.” This is—I call it school jail. (As one of the kids:) “I’m not in no school jail!” (As himself:) “Yes, you are. ’Cause you incarcerated here for this hour. You can’t leave. And then if you act up in here, then they send you to Twilight.” And I call that “penitentiary.” That’s worse than ISS ’cause you in there all day, every day. For months. So I say, “If you don’t learn how to deal with authority figures, when you finish high school or drop out or quit or whatever…it’s gonna—same thing’s gonna happen in the real world. This is just a rehearsal!”

  I tell the kids this—when you get on that bus. You get sentenced. You get on that bus and you are heading to one of these institutions. You have to change. You can’t be the same person that you [were when you] walked into the courtroom. You have to be— You have to change. You can’t be the same person because they are not normal people back there. Everybody is trying to get after you, or get over on you or— (Abrupt stop, brief pause.) It’s different. It’s just different. You have to step out of your character. There’s animals back there. That’s a different world. People get raped, people get beat on, people get murdered people get stabbed, there’s nowhere to run nowhere to hide. This is real. And they buildin’ a lot of ’em. They buildin’ more of those than they buildin’ schools. So I tell ’em yeah, it’s real.

  And I heard a police officer, one of my good friends, say that most people get incarcerated because of their mouth. They— What they say, when they approached by authority figures, you know. “Get out the car.” “Why do I have to get out the car for?” When they do get out the car, and questioning. This is some of the things that they say, so. “Why you stopping me?” “Wh—what’s up, man?” And the officer goes from that to, “Get out of the car.” Now, “Wh—what do you want me to get out of the car for?” Then they call for backup. And more coming.

  [I been here] twenty-three years. Sometimes I ask God, “Why—why am I still here?” It’s a constant fight, every day, with the kids and disrespect, and just trying to get them to do the right thing; it’s just wearing on me so. I’ve stood between kids and the principal, Mr. Grimm, and I could see when it’s going a wrong way, and I gotta intercept.

  And let me give you an example: Well, a—a kid got put outta his class for a cell phone. Kids? Cell phones? They would rather go to jail then give up their cell phones! And I’m standin’ outside with the kid, and Mr. Grimm walks up, ’cause he hears the call
. “What’s the problem?” “Well, Mr. Grimm, he’s…refused to give the cell phone out, but I—I have it now.” And then the kid’ll say, “Yeah, you might have it now, but I’m gonna get my phone back!” Mr. Grimm says, “Excuse me?” (As the student:) “You heard what I s—” And I try to intercept. Cause I see: now you challenging the authority figure—the bigger top-authority figure. I know where it’s going! Because Mr. Grimm’s not gonna let him talk to him like that. So he’s gonna respond with something like, “Oh, well I’mma get your phone and I’mma keep your phone.” Then [the kid] may say something like, “No!” Probably reach for the phone, or step for the phone, “Gimme my phone!” And they try to get it.

  And that went from: you just giving up your phone; you getting it back next period. Now you not getting you phone. And you bein’ arrested. Being suspended. Maybe up for expulsion. All because of your mouth.

  [These kids] really don’t care. They don’t have respect for—for nobody. And then, society tells you, “You can’t touch ’em. You can’t grab them.” And the kids know that. So, I mean, they don’t stop! These kids just get…more power added to them.

  [Then people don’t want police officers in the schools.] A police officer’s gonna take control of the situation! So why put them in school if you don’t want them take control of the situation? I need police officers in the school. I need for me, I need a police officer to take control. I need a kid to see that there is an authority in a school! He’s my—our last line of defense.

  [Slide]

  THE SHAKARA STORY

  A cell phone video of Shakara, a student at Spring Valley High School, being thrown across the room by school resource officer Deputy Ben Fields on October 26, 2015.

  The actor sits in front of a screen. Wearing a hoodie that could pass either in the South Bronx or on Madison Avenue, in that hip-hop fashion way. The hoodie is worn for both Amanda Ripley and Niya Kenny. Next to the chair, a water bottle.

  [Slide]

  AMANDA RIPLEY

  JOURNALIST

  WASHINGTON, DC

  “The Shakara Story”

  “The Shakara Story”

  (Amanda is a very fit woman in her early forties. She plays soccer. You can tell she’s an athlete because of the efficiency of her movements and her posture. She has a very friendly demeanor. She is a journalist and has a bit of an intrepid air about her. An obvious sense of humor. Wearing sandals. The interview was done during the summertime in Washington, DC.)

  * * *

  Niya Kenny. Who was the oldest girl in the class. She was sitting there in this Algebra 1 class that she’d failed as a freshman and needed to pass to graduate. And she was doing well in that class actually! So she’s [an] eighteen-year-old African American girl, and she—she had a good rapport with the teacher, she had an A average, and she’s working on a—each of them working on their laptops. Uh, on…math problems.

  And [Niya] sees the teacher whisper something. She sees the whisp—the teacher, Mr. Long, who’s a veteran math teacher, white man, whisper something to one of the other kids in the class. A girl. Who doesn’t—she doesn’t—Niya doesn’t know her name, but she doesn’t talk much, she’s new to the class, this girl. Shakara. As it turns out. And then Niya sees Mr. Long go back to his desk and pick up the phone and call for someone to escort someone outta the classroom.

  And Niya looks at Shakara and she says (acting this out), “You?” Like, “Is this for you?” Like, she mouths. And Shakara nods, and she [Niya] thought that was strange, ’cause…she hadn’t seen…I guess apparently, you know, Shakara had taken out her phone. We still don’t know exactly why or what happened, but she didn’t…Either she wouldn’t put it away or she wouldn’t give it up. I think it was that she wouldn’t give up her phone. To the teacher. Sometimes, at that school, if you take out your phone, they’ll take it for the day. It’s pretty routine policy.

  So, for whatever reason, that we still don’t know, Shakara got in trouble with this teacher. And um he called the assistant principal, Mr. Webb, who came, and according to Niya, uh, he said [to Shakara], “Come with me.” Or something to that effect. And Shakara declined to come. And then, according to Niya, he said something to the effect of “I ain’t got time to play with y’all today.” And he turned around and he left.

  And Niya saw him return. (As if answering a question.) Black man. And he came back with…uh…Deputy Fields. Who’s sort of a large, hulking, uhh, white, police officer. Who also is uh—football coach at the school. And when Niya saw him, she says—she said to the boy sitting next to her, “Take out your phone.” So she took her phone out, too, because she had a feeling, she heard stories about this guy—she had a feeling he might do something, you know…worthy (an ironic half laugh)…of being videotaped…uhh and so.

  Well you know what’s on the video. When [Deputy Fields] uh, you know, asked [Shakara] to leave. And [Shakara] wouldn’t leave with him. And he removed her laptop to the other desk. And he tried to extract [Shakara] from the chair…um…um…rather violently….And then he did eventually extract her from the chair. And Niya filmed this and was getting more and more distraught.

  [Slide]

  NIYA KENNY

  FORMER STUDENT, SPRING VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL

  COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

  “The Shakara Story”

  “The Shakara Story”

  (Niya was eighteen at the time of the first interview. Calm, self-possessed, open. Wearing simple clothing. There were two interviews. One took place in a small conference room at a public library in Columbia, South Carolina. The other took place in a rehearsal hall in New York City nine months later. She was more glamorous at that time, having moved to New York.)

  * * *

  He’s—he’s like, wrestling, trying to get her arms behind her back at this time. On the floor. And they were wrestling for, like, a minute, too. It took Deputy Bradley to come in and get her in handcuffs.

  That’s what I was thinking, too! This man is, like, three hundred pounds, body builder, and you couldn’t get her…I don’t know. She was like, kinda—her arms were may—in some kind of way. Maybe he thought, you know, “I would break her arm if I just go like this.” (She gestures.) So maybe he wasn’t trying to do that. But I—I don’t—I really don’t know what was going through his head, her head, or anything. I know he couldn’t get her in those handcuffs. That’s all.

  I was like, “Is nobody gonna help her?” I’m like: “Somebody record this! Put it on Snapchat!” And then I’m askin’ Mr. Webb and Mr. Long, I’m just like: “Look,” like, what I— “Nobody’s gonna help her?” I turn to Mr. Long, I’m just like: “You did this! You didn’t even have to call the administrator!” I was just…(Breathes out, long and heavy.)

  AMANDA RIPLEY: And then she says, “What the fuck! What the fuck!” And then the teacher—the assistant principal says, “Niya…Niya…” and tries to—to calm her down. And she won’t be calmed down, and then the cop turns to her and says—and—and says—and—and says something, we don’t know what, but according to [Niya], something like, “You got so much to say? ’Cause you’re coming next.”

  And then he [Deputy Fields] comes back, after he takes Shakara, and he comes back. He…um…Niya at that point becomes passive, because she realizes he’s not joking, and she stands up and puts her hands behind her back and he handcuffs her and—and then he takes [Niya] to another room, where Shakara is.

  Shakara’s kind of leaning down, she’s still handcuffed. She’s got her braids falling in her face. And he flips the braids out of Shakara’s face? And he says to her, according to Niya, “Did you take your meds today?” And this is the one thing Shakara says. She finally says something. She says: “Yes. Did you?”

  Which I thought was great! That was great, that was a great teenage response right there. And uh…just perfect.

  And
then he leaves again. And then Shakara’s apparently released into the care of a guardian. She’s in foster care. I don’t know which guardian.

  And then Niya Kenny is eighteen, so she’s considered an adult. So she’s sittin’ there waiting. Still handcuffed. And she hears over Fields’s walkie-talkie that the uh the transport is here. And she starts crying. ’Cause she knows that’s for her and he’s not joking. Like she keeps thinking, “Maybe he’s gonna release me. Maybe it’s just to scare me.” And she goes outside, and there’s a paddy wagon—police paddy wagon, right? They drive Niya to the detention center. It was an adult jail.

  NIYA KENNY: The whole time I was thinking about, “I’m embarrassing my mom. My mom’s gonna be mad. She’s gonna kill me.” Like, “Mom, Mom, Mom.” That’s the only person I’m thinking about. I was like, “Oh God, I’m gonna get outta this jail and she’s gonna beat me right in the yard.”

  But everybody in the jail was like normal people to me. Everybody was nice, y’know. When they saw the video on the TV news, they was like, “Whaaa…” Everybody. Everybody was like, “Whaaaaa…He threw that little girl like that? And you was in there? Oh, girl you goin’ home, you goin’ home.”

  And then when I saw [the video] on the news, when I saw the video, I was like, “I know she saw it!” The first thing that—that, uh, went through my mind was like, “My mom saw it! I know she did! I’m not in trouble anymore! I’m not in trouble!” So I call my mom, and she was like, “Niya, you don’t even know. The news is out here. They wanna interview you. Good Morning America is coming to the house tonight—”