Midge Hazelbrow, the indomitable co-head of Wayward St. Etheldreda’s Academy, took herself for a brisk constitutional down Riverside Drive to the Eleanor Roosevelt statue. By the time she stepped back into the St. Etheldreda’s building that had been her professional home for almost thirty years, her mind was clear. 

Of course, she’d already apologized to Tim Endibel for her injudicious outburst, and, naturally, she had apologized to the senior leadership team. Endibel was a bureaucratic popinjay, but that was no reason to have called him a chocolate teapot. And in front of the entire team to boot. 

She had explained that she had gotten all steamed up and let her feelings boil over, and she deeply regretted the outpouring. But she was not going to stew over it any longer. Onwards!

Losing her temper didn’t sit well with Midge. She fancied herself a wise, shrewd old bird who’d been around the block a few times and knew a thing or two.

She knew that Tim Endibel considered her an interfering nuisance, a drag on progress, a dead weight he couldn’t wait to shake off. But her retirement wasn’t until June, and Midge Hazelbrow was far from finished.

She was not going gently into that good night and would not be shuffling off the educational coil just yet. There was too much at stake. She would leave her mark. Her legacy would be her beloved St Etheldreda’s indelible imprint on the school merger.

The Science of Reading

The reading curriculum was the immediate case in point. She had been heartened to hear Endibel say he had canceled the Science of Reading training for faculty. The science of reading! Whatever next? Grades, tests, worksheets, and best practices for playtime would make just as much sense. 

Midge had already teamed up with her old friend Beryl, recently retired head of The Fallow School, to establish Hazelbrow and Green Strategic Solutions, a firm with enough clout to shake up the crowded New York education consultancy scene.

Both were survivors in the cut-throat world of New York independent schools and had emerged with their reputations unscathed. So far at least. 

She strode confidently toward her office only to see her administrative assistant Dilly Spoonweather nervously hovering at the door. “Two teachers are waiting for you,” she said. “They said it was urgent. I said you might not be back for a while, but they said they would wait.” 

And there they were on the bench outside her office. Midge had always had an open-door policy except when she didn’t, and she ushered the two into her office with the view through the trees to the Hudson. 

“We Are From The FASDIAC”

“Thank you for seeing us.” It was the young man Gurdeep Guzundah who spoke first. “We’re here as representatives of the FASDIAC. The Faulty and Staff Diversity and Inclusion Affairs Council,” he explained as if Midge didn’t know all too well what the acronym stood for. She had intended to share with Tim her thoughts about the group’s role and prominence in the school, none of which were positive. 

“We’re here to discuss the incident.” Midge had met Gurdeep at the opening of the school year party and recalled a most pleasant conversation in which they had exchanged ideas on how best to cook vegetable biryani and where to buy curry leaves in Manhattan. He was a nice polite young man, in Midge’s opinion, and looked very smart in his fawn suit and black polo neck. The same could not be said of his companion who was showing far too much cleavage and had several gold studs attached to her face. She made a private note to speak to Tim about a dress code for faculty and staff. 

“So, Midge, we’re here to…” 

“I don’t believe we have been introduced.” 

“Oh, sorry, I’m Jules Felix and I use she, them, they pronouns.” 

“So do I,” said Midge, then added, “as appropriate.” 

Jules did not respond. She had met people like this before, including a professor at Vassar. Dinosaurs. 

“Do sit down,’ said Midge. 

The Microaggression

Gurdeep and Jules sank onto the couch. Midge sat behind her desk which gave her a slight height advantage and a distance that she always found helpful when dealing with difficult parents. 

Midge prided herself on knowing the faculty and staff. She had always noted their birthdays and sent personal notes. But she hadn’t fully caught up with this expanded crew since the merger. There seemed to be so many of them.

“And what is it you do, Ms Felix?” she asked, and then when she saw a slight look of alarm cross the young woman’s face she added, “At the school I mean. What department are you in?” 

“Oh. I‘m in ADST – Art, Design, STEAM, Tech. I’m the assistant technical director in digivid production.”

Midge imagined the role as the person who wheeled the equipment around and spent the rest of the time huddled behind a console somewhere in the tech booth at the back of the school auditorium – a shadowy creature who you blamed when the mic failed or when it emitted those ear-piercing feedback shrieks that students always found so entertaining. 

“And we are here to discuss the racist remark you  made in a school meeting.” 

“My what?” Midge was genuinely taken aback. “

“Your racist remark,” said Jules rushing forward. “In the hierarchy meeting. The microaggression created a hostile working environment for indigenous and people of color like me feel unsafe.”

Midge could not have been more surprised if the young woman had announced she was a gender-fluid orangutan. Nevertheless, she was well-practiced at keeping her expression neutral. After all, she hadn’t spent many years teaching middle school without learning a thing or two. She often said that the hardest part of teaching that age group was maintaining a straight face. Drawing on that experience, she managed to keep her features composed, though she did raise an eyebrow. 

Jules had a complexion that appeared drained of all color as if she hadn’t seen daylight in years, a pallor made more striking by eyes lined with black. 

Midge blinked and wondered whether the gold stud in the side of Jules’ nose made using a handkerchief painful. 

“My grandmother was half Cree,” Jules said. 

“I see,” said Midge, although she didn’t really. She did notice that Gurdeep was looking a little uncomfortable. He said, “You see Miss Hazelbrow – “

 “Oh, call me Midge.” “

“You see – Midge – there has been a complaint that you used a racist expression and it has made people feel unsafe in the community.” 

“Racist? Unsafe?” Midge was genuinely perplexed. How could that be? How could anything she had said be remotely construed as racist and how on earth could her words make anyone feel unsafe? It was mystifying.

 “The chocolate teapot,” Gurdeep explained. “You called a member of the community a chocolate teapot.” 

Jules jumped in, “And that is insulting and hurtful to all people of color. It’s a breach of the community norms where we treat everyone with respect. Calling someone a chocolate teapot is a microaggression that stems from an unconscious bias towards a stigmatized or culturally marginalized group.” 

Jules seemed to be gathering steam. Midge leaned back in her chair. 

“Microaggressions may seem small but they accumulate and create collective trauma and we need to educate ourselves about the histories and struggles of marginalized groups. It’s insensitive and Eurocentric and when people use terms like that as an insult it demeans black people and it means that all marginalized people feel vulnerable and unsafe.” 

Jules paused and Midge noticed that her nail varnish was a quite distinctly different shade of purple to her lipstick. Midge found it most unappealing and she assumed that that was rather the point. 

“We need an apology to the people in this community who are offended and we can help you with training in this area so you can avoid such microaggressions. We need to empower each other to be on the alert for them in our language to avoid giving offense. We need to be a community where we all look out for each other and create a safe and inclusive community. For everyone.”

Jules paused to take a breath, clearly pleased at having explained things so well and spoken truth to power. 

Gurdeep said soothingly, “We have told the community to report any microaggression they experience. In confidence, of course. It’s so important that teachers and staff feel able to share their feelings so that we can all learn to be better allies. We need to normalize the reporting process and no one is above making mistakes.”

Jules again, “It’s crucial for the good of the community that we watch out for each other’s welfare and hold ourselves accountable. We empower employees to speak up and help normalize a culture where everyone watches out for each other.”

The Flashback

Midge thought that Jules was never going to stop. It was as if someone had pressed a button or wound up a clockwork toy. She had a momentary flashback to childhood when she had been given a mechanical tin clown one Christmas. You turned the key, the clown wobbled forward on clumsy clown shoes until unwound, it fell over. Midge had found it rather frightening. 

As Jules stopped to take a breath, Gurdeep interjected smoothly. ”We – that is the committee – feel that it is essential that you attend the next implicit bias session to learn more about how to be more inclusive in your language going forward. Can you make our next training at noon next Friday or would an after-school session be easier? Given your busy schedule.” 

“Are you both quite finished?” Midge said calmly although she was feeling far from calm. “I can assure you that I find your remarks absurd and offensive. And no, I will not be joining any little training session and you can tell the committee that.” 

“So you refuse to accept the invitation to the implicit bias microaggression workshop,” said Jules rather aggressively Midge thought. 

“I certainly do,” responded Midge. “And my dear Ms. Felix,” she said standing up and sliding aside a neat pile of books perched on the corner of her desk. “I have no intention of attending any such meeting now or in the future. I have never heard more ridiculous twaddle in my life. And I’ve taught middle school.” 

She took a breath and continued, “If people are upset about my words then they don’t have enough to worry about. I made an offhand comment that refers to the fact that a teapot made of chocolate is no good for brewing tea.  It was a remark about educational direction and philosophical differences. It has nothing to do with race and your presence here and your representation are absurd and defamatory in equal measure. 

Gurdeep crossed his legs and Jules crossed her arms. Midge was in full flow. 

“ And for your information“, she said with a flourish, ”I bought several of these -” she pointed at an object on her desk – “at Fortnum & Mason on my last trip to London. They are quite delicious and make very nice gifts. But as teapots are quite useless and entirely not fit for purpose. (She could have added like Tim Endibel but of course, she did not.) 

And there – revealed beside the books and next to her notes for her monograph on strategic board management – was a small chocolate teapot. It had a rather clumsy handle and a stubby-looking spout but it was undoubtedly a teapot, and certainly chocolate. And it was entirely white. 

“And now – you must excuse me, I have a meeting with the Board facilities committee to discuss the design for the new dining pavilion. Indeed, a small group of trustees was gathered in the anteroom and could be heard exchanging pleasantries with Dilly Spoonweather.

Midge allowed herself a slight smile. She might be sidelined by Tim Endibel but she knew how to run a tight ship.