In 2001, Clayvon C. Harris returned to her hometown of Philadelphia. There, Harris began substitute teaching in public schools to get her feet wet while obtaining certifications to become a full-time teacher. From Day 1, Harris found violence, disruptive behavior, exasperated educators, and abominable student-success-rate statistics that she has now described in detail in her memoir, Sub. “I was so stunned by what I was witnessing,” Harris says. “And when I first saw the numbers, it was just staggering. I couldn’t believe it. I was sobbing.” 

Harris was no stranger to the fact that the School District of Philadelphia had problems, but she herself had attended parochial schools before getting a degree in English and then studying screenwriting at University of Southern California’s School of Cinematic Arts. While she had always felt strongly about education and seriously considered becoming a teacher, “I was more drawn to writing,” she explains. 

That affinity led Harris to write for several half-hour TV shows in Los Angeles, but she encountered resistance in trying to transition to one-hour programs. She would take meetings where those interested in her work were surprised to discover she was a woman of color. “One time,” Harris says, “I was told, ‘Oh, I thought your name was Clay Von Harris. I was expecting a tall Nordic guy’….I didn’t really know what to say.” After one too many similar, awkward encounters or feedback that there were not any “Black dramas” available for her, Harris returned home and to the idea of teaching. 

But as soon as she stepped foot in Philadelphia Public School No. 1, she realized the enormity of the challenge she had set for herself. That first year, Harris saw fights, heard stories about teachers getting hurt (or even raped), and found herself desperately managing a constant hum of disruptive behavior and talking. At night, she would write about her experiences in an effort to better cope. But in the end, an exhausted Harris abandoned her teaching ambitions and pursued work at creative marketing agencies.

Harris’ writings from 2001, when she worked at more than 25 schools, sat on a shelf for years. “But it was always there in the background,” she explains. “I have nieces that were going to public school. And so I was still concerned.” Harris started to pay particular attention to school report cards published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, which clearly showed the large number of underperforming schools and students, most of whom were predominantly students of color. 

For Harris, the combination of hard facts and her personal experience told a clear story of wasted human potential. She couldn’t stop thinking about what the kids she’d encountered might achieve if they’d had the same opportunities as she had. “I would have dreams. I would dream about kids….Or I would be at the beach and a big wave would come in and there would be tons and tons of bodies of young Black kids washing up on the shore.” 

In 2017, Harris decided to confront those ghostly figures—and to give teaching one last chance. She went back to subbing and found that, while some things had improved, the myriad problems were still very present. In response, Harris wrote Sub, which Kirkus Reivews dubs “a persuasive case for education reform” for its blend of hard evidence and sharp personal observations. In Sub, Harris covers three distinct angles: her personal experiences in 2001, an overview of her extensive research into the school performance data throughout Philadelphia, and, lastly, her return to and reflections on the intersectional social issues keeping these students from succeeding.

For Harris, the two primary issues are unfair funding (she lays out clear evidence of enormous discrepancies between majority-White schools and schools with a majority of poorer students of color) and constant disruptions in the classroom. By the end of Sub, Harris argues that the latter, less quantifiable issue stems from a lack of support for students with disabilities, like ADHD, who are integrated into standard classes. Among her many examples is the bright but disruptive kindergartener Micah, to whom she dedicates hours of her time:

Pulling him aside, I tried to encourage him to have a good day. He glared at me as though we’d never met. He also screamed, refused to listen, fought, fell out on the floor….I asked him why a smart boy like him would behave like this. 

“I’m not smart. I’m stupid,” he responded.

For Harris, the amount of time that stretched-thin teachers everywhere dedicate to students like Micah leads to a depreciation in the learning and success of everyone, leaving all students behind, no matter how hard they or the teachers are working. For those underfunded schools and students of color in particular, a vicious cycle begins in which students then drop out or never finish college, leading to negative impacts on their community as a whole. “I want people to understand that I’m not anti-inclusion,” Harris explains. “But we’re not giving [disabled students] the support they need, so they’re being excluded later on.”

Since publishing Sub,Harris has spoken in front of the Philadelphia Board of Education and shared her experiences with various figures who have influence on the school system. Harris does believe that things are improving. (There are especially clear paths forward to equalize funding among the schools.) However, as her book shows, much more needs to be done to ensure that the children she met, and the communities they live in, are not left behind. “I’m just a concerned citizen,” Harris says. “I’m concerned about the education children receive and how that affects not just those children, but [also] their families and their futures.”

Rhett Morgan is a writer and translator based in Paris.