Hannah Wilson

‘Is she Somali?’ 

This is the question I repeatedly hear in my first term in a new school. I hear it in the corridors, I hear it in their whispers and I hear it when I enter a classroom. This has been my normal for the past decade. 

It is so humbling to witness that moment of anticipation, where I get a glimpse of what my answer might mean to them. The question above may seem like a simple question, one born out of curiosity or just kids being nosy, but it is actually far more profound than that. The real question these students were asking was ‘Is she me?…..because if she is me then I can be her.’ Each time this question is asked it is loaded with hope because we know, they can’t be what they can’t see. The reactions on my students’ faces when I answer ‘YES’ is one of the reasons why I became a teacher. 

This question empowers me. It gives me superpowers to show up and overcome the challenges I face because there is no greater fuel and purpose than empowering a young person and giving them the permission to be themselves. No one gave me that permission during my school years, 11 years old Baar felt like that alien that no one can relate to but tolerated. I was a freshy for some, not black enough or holy enough for others and too foreign for most. I spoke three languages, performed in front of packed out theatres and could banter for days. I am a people’s person but I didn’t belong in that space. Bless my teacher, Ms Gleeson, who created a safe space for a young immigrant girl overwhelmed by her new adopted country. It took me years to be empowered, to be me and to feel like I belonged at school. I owe this to my mum, who fought for me and siblings to be safe and brave in our new home. 

‘Is she Somali?’ 

This question is my why! 

It is why I use my voice and experience to advocate for parents who struggle to navigate the education system and work tirelessly to bridge the gap between school and home. It is why I organise cultural events to instill pride in young people who for far too long have heard only negative narratives about their identity. It is why I donate books written by Somali authors to our school library and use my network to invite Somali professionals to be our guest speakers and mentor our students. I want to empower the next generation to ensure that their experience is different from my generation’s or even my own children who have never been taught by a black teacher (let alone a teacher of Somali heritage) in secondary school in one of the most diverse boroughs in London. 

We often talk about the importance of inclusion and representation and how important it is to have a staff body that is reflective of the students in a school. For me representation is more than whether or not the staff reflect the student they teach. It is about ensuring that students do not feel invisible in their own school. I have found that it is very possible to belong to one of the largest ethnic groups in a school but not see one poster of someone who looks like you. Schools are meant to be where possibilities are planted. Schools are meant to be a conduit for aspirations and inspirations but this is not the case for many BAME students. We really have a very long way to go. 

Many of my students are shocked when I tell them about my friends and networks which consist of Somali writers, doctors, lawyers, creatives, councillors, engineers, lecturers, teachers, film makers, health professionals, athletes and so many other distinguished professionals and leaders. I cannot count the number of times a young adult has told me that they wish they had a teacher like me. I think they mean someone who they can see themselves in. I would like to think they mean someone who is confident with her identity, who is driven by her values, who feels empowered to be authentic and is willing to open the BHM fashion show in her traditional attire in the first half term in a new school. Yes…..I did that! 

So if my representation, my narrative and my journey to self-empowerment helps empower another young person then I look forward to answering….. ‘Is she Somali?’

Teachers often ask how they can approach the learning of pupils who are designated with more than one “label”- for example EAL, SEND and “disadvantaged”.  Looking at how to recognise and create “possibility” with all pupils in the spaces where they learn takes the focus away from within-child deficit views.  Instead, it makes us look at our practice and listen to our pupils about what works for them.  Here I set out how this idea of “possible spaces” can help us address the complexity of diversity.

Firstly, it’s important to interrogate the labels that are being used, challenging negative assumptions around race, gender, class and disability.  On further investigation, we find that pupils’ learner identities are far more complex than “just” EAL, SEND and disadvantaged.  It’s important to understand which black, Asian or other minoritised ethnic background they are from, and which (if any) religion they follow.  Some families may be dealing with the trauma of fleeing from war or persecution.  Their family may be living in a working-class context, but from a different socio-economic status in their home country.   Post-migration, they may be facing significant challenges.  There are also in-depth questions to consider about the aspects of SEND that teachers have identified or are suggesting might be present.  Alongside this we need to understand how academic English language acquisition, multilingual learning and for some the impact of disrupted formal education, both in the UK and prior to arrival, can be supported. 

Then, we need to talk with the children and young people we are teaching.  For my research, I asked a group of Somali young people who had migrated to the UK, and who were considered to need extra support (whether due to EAL, SEND, disadvantage or “underachieving”), where they felt they learnt best, with whom and why.  What came across very powerfully was their frustration and for some their anger about how they were often treated as “behind” or even as “unable”.  Their knowledge and experiences were ignored within a monolingual, mono-cultural curriculum.  Their needs were side-lined or only met partially.  Their hopes for making progress were squashed by systems that held them back.

These young people pushed back forcefully.  They sought out spaces, both formal and informal, where they could learn, with teachers, mentors or peers who recognised their skills and knowledge, who believed in their potential, cared about their wellbeing and could advocate for them.  Often this was about building confidence. Teachers asked the pupils what they knew rather than assuming they didn’t.  They used talk, not reading as a way into learning.  They drew on their strengths whilst supporting specific aspects.  They challenged them and expected them to aim high.

Where these possible spaces existed was not clear cut, however.  A lesson could be successful one week and not the next, or a session could shift moment by moment.  This could be due to the teaching strategies being used. It could be that the topic was seen as especially difficult or irrelevant, or the pressure to get through the curriculum felt overwhelming.  The pupil might be sitting next to a supportive peer one lesson and moved the next.  

Acceptance was also a vital aspect of possible spaces.  Managing to study and gain the help they wanted without being seen as a “neek”, whilst resisting being seen as unable, was complex.  Bending the class rules, but just enough to get a small warning from their supportive teacher.  Being the class joker to cover over difficulties with written literacy (but at the same time giving their peers great ideas for their story).  “Forgetting” homework when they couldn’t access it.  Copying surreptitiously from a neighbour.  Arriving late for a lesson which they felt even before they began was going to be a failure due to lack of appropriate support.  All tactics which could be interpreted as the pupil being disruptive or disinterested in learning, when in fact they were anything but.   Asking “why” in these situations was key to unlocking possibility.

The idea of possible spaces is that it cuts across the anxiety that many of us have as teachers that there are strategies “out there” where pupils are labelled in more than one “category” that no one has told us about that, if we knew them, would solve the problem.  It focuses on deepening our relationship with the pupil, looking at what works for them and replicating this across the curriculum.  It draws on their knowledge, skills and interests and puts them at the centre not the margins of our planning.  It reminds us that when they or we have an unsuccessful lesson, we can look outward at what was happening in the learning space, not inward at deficit or failure.  And usefully, given the turn to tuition in the government’s “catch up” strategy, it emphasizes the importance of all mainstream lessons being “possible” spaces.