See Curtys Taylor’s Op-Ed On Social-Emotional Learning In Schools

We are thrilled to announce that Curtys Taylor, one of our Back to the Start participants who is now a facilitator and co-lead, authored an Op-Ed that was just published in the San Diego Union Tribune!

In this piece, Taylor walks readers through a typical morning for him as a struggling child in order to bring to light what many students labelled “problem children” face at home.

With this, he hopes to uplift why the rejection of AB 1851, Pupil health: social-emotional, behavioral, and mental health supports, was a mistake.

See the original article in the San Diego Union Tribune.

Teach emotional intelligence in schools, not prisons

By: Curtys Taylor

I’ve been incarcerated for 10 years, and I know firsthand what happens when children grow up without the tools to manage their emotions, resolve conflict and process trauma. That is why a team of men incarcerated in the California prison system wrote AB 1851, a bill that would have made social-emotional skills and restorative practices part of the standard curriculum in California schools. As Frederick Douglass put it, “It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken adults.”

This bill initially sailed through the Legislature until it was rejected at the finish line in the Senate Appropriations Committee. This was a costly mistake, one that we can correct in the next legislative cycle. I realize that there are a lot of competing priorities and that most people may not understand the significance of what AB 1851 aims to do. To do so, I will tell you part of my story about a typical morning for me as a struggling kid, which is emblematic of what so many “problem children” face beneath the surface.

My struggle with learning did not start at school. It started at home. Verbal and physical abuse were so normal in my household that I could endure the abuse and knock off a bowl of cereal at the same time. As a child, when I got to school in the morning, the first thing my teacher would notice was that I was late. Rather than asking why, my teacher would write my name on the whiteboard, letting me know that I had lost my privileges for the day and was one step closer to detention. 

What my teachers did not know was that I practically cried on my entire walk to school and was in an extremely sensitive state. In order to walk into class, I first had to splash water on my face at the sink in the bathroom so that the other kids would not know I had been crying. I felt terribly unsafe and wanted to walk into class and disappear. Instead, my teacher would ask me to solve an equation on the board. Just like the day before, I had too much on my young mind to slow it down long enough to even begin to comprehend the weird assortment of numbers on the board.

In response to Mr. Miller’s ill-intended invitation to the front of the classroom, I remember not saying anything and not making eye contact with anyone, fighting to keep any liquid from leaking out of my eyes. Now that all of the attention was on me, Mr. Miller asked me why my eyes were so red and if I had been smoking weed. I did not respond. Then, with a smile on his face, Mr. Miller asked, “Something stronger than weed?” This question was met with an eruption of laughter from the other kids. A boy sitting in front of me named Ricky turned in his chair and said, “‘Kunta’ is a crackhead just like his auntie.”

At this point, I lost my cool. The sadness and embarrassment I was feeling showed up as a blinding, uncontrollable rage. Before I knew what was happening, a security guard was pulling me off Ricky. I was marched to the principal’s office, yet again, this time getting expelled for good.

Now, 25 years later, I serve as a peer literacy mentor at San Quentin Rehabilitation Center. I also am a facilitator and co-lead for Back to the Start, a narrative and advocacy program that promotes healing and education on the lifelong impact of childhood trauma and toxic stress. It took many years of work, not just in learning to read and write, but in finally learning coping skills and how to process my emotions thanks to community-based rehabilitative programs. The tragic irony is that I, and so many of my peers behind bars, had to wait until we were incarcerated to gain access to the trauma-informed programs that taught us these essential skills.

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs tells us that before self-actualization can take place, to reach one’s full potential, we first need to feel safe, supported and connected. For vulnerable youth, that sense of safety can be undermined by the constant need to protect themselves from the realities around them. When a child is living in survival mode, it is difficult to focus on learning, manage emotions or imagine a different future. AB 1851 was designed to give children and educators tools to do exactly that.

That is why AB 1851 was needed — not just for people like me who I believe would have had a different outcome if we had learned these skills as children — but to provide a trauma-informed framework for the benefit of all California children and the educators who support them. We are disappointed that the bill was rejected in Appropriations, particularly given the modest investment required compared with the enormous costs associated with school dropouts and adverse health impacts due to unprocessed trauma, delinquency and incarceration. For instance, California spends approximately $140,000 a year to incarcerate one person. Investing in children before they enter the school-to-prison pipeline is not only the compassionate thing to do, but it also makes economic sense.

Although we are disappointed that AB 1851 did not pass, we hope this setback becomes an opportunity to redouble our efforts and show legislators and the public the incredible potential that bills like these have in changing children’s lives. In the next legislative cycle, we hope to see an even stronger bill introduced with broader support behind it. It may be too late for me and the incarcerated men who wrote AB 1851, but it is not too late for the millions of California children whose life trajectory could be changed by acquiring these critical skills and supports.

Taylor, from Oakland, is currently incarcerated at San Quentin Rehabilitation Center in Marin County where he serves as a facilitator for Back to the Start, a writing and advocacy program that highlights the need for upstream investments in children and families.