Justice by Geography and the Lived Stories of the School-to-Prison Pipeline

Professor Andrea Hagan

Welcome back, everyone—this is Professor A, and today’s episode is taking us right into the deep end: how race, labels, and geography create those unmistakable patterns in discipline that push some students into the juvenile justice system—and leave others relatively untouched. If you’ve been with me for earlier episodes, you’ll know we’ve talked about how poverty and “place” set the stage, but let’s be real—place is only the backdrop. On the front of the stage, race and disability loom large.

Professor Andrea Hagan

Let’s put some numbers up front: as Morgan highlighted in 2021 and Butler in 2022, Black students are suspended at rates that are, honestly, staggering compared to their white peers. Out-of-school suspensions? That dynamic starts as early as pre-K. The Department of Education’s data says Black kids K-12 are almost four times as likely to be suspended. And if you’re a Black student with a disability, those numbers get even heavier—higher rates of suspension, expulsion, and, yes, even arrest. And, y’all, it’s not just an “urban” thing. Geography changes the flavor but not the recipe. When I taught in Newark, the metal detectors, police, and surveillance were everywhere. It made the school feel different—less like a place for growth, more like you were always being watched. It was pretty different from the small town where I grew up, not far from New Orleans —no metal detectors. Still, everyone knew everyone else, and punishments felt more personal and also more influenced by who your family was.

Professor Andrea Hagan

Feld’s classic study from 1991 nails it: urban schools use more formal discipline—more police, more paperwork, more bureaucracy. And harsher outcomes. Rural schools? Fewer official rules, but sometimes the judgment is even more colored by personal bias. Not always more just, just different. And suburban courts—well, they filter, reserving the harshest punishments for big offenses, but that filtering comes with its own layers of bias, too. Selective leniency, as I once heard it called.

Professor Andrea Hagan

What’s really wild is how early these patterns emerge. I think about the Yale Child Study Center’s research: as early as preschool, Black boys are being watched more closely by teachers. The suspicion starts early and follows them. Is it just bias? Implicit bias plays a huge role. Teachers, administrators, even people who think they’re “colorblind”—they’re still more likely to see Black kids as troublemakers for the kind of behavior a White or wealthier kid would just get a warning for. And it’s worse when there aren’t many Black teachers to advocate for kids, or explain that maybe what you’re reading as “defiant” is just a kid being a kid. This is the labeling process, and the geography determines the tools—metal detector or hallway gossip, corporal punishment or quiet meetings in the principal’s office—but the patterns shape lives.

Professor Andrea Hagan

Now, if you want to know what these policies and patterns feel like on the ground, I've come to learn over the years that you have to listen to the kids themselves. Butler's 2022 study is like holding up a mirror—tough but necessary. She talked to Black students with disabilities who'd bounced between schools, alternative programs, and the justice system. The first thing a lot of those students said? “I didn’t even really know what my IEP meant.” That confusion led to them internalizing school failure as their own fault. One young man—I’ll call him Brenton, as in Butler’s study—was labeled “a threat” in middle school just because of his size and color. He said, straight up, teachers saw him as an adult when he was just a kid. That label stuck, and the consequences punch well above their weight.

Professor Andrea Hagan

What hit me in Butler’s work, honestly, was the self-blame. Most of these kids believed they “deserved” the discipline, even when it was clearly out of line for the behavior. False consciousness, if you want to get theory-heavy about it, is internalizing society's negative expectations and blaming yourself when institutions fail you. Add to that a nearly universal distrust of school police and even counselors. They didn’t feel seen as people needing support, or even as learners—just as threats or problems to be managed. The outcome? Interrupted education, lost years, delayed graduation. It’s not just about missing a few days—it’s a new trajectory that sometimes leads straight to the justice system and, statistically, makes it harder to avoid future incarceration or even finish high school.

Professor Andrea Hagan

But amidst the heaviness, there’s something sort of heartbreaking and hopeful: the profound impact of just one caring adult. There’s this story of Derrick—again, Butler’s study—who was homeless and struggling, and his teacher would call him after hours just to check in, ask if he’d eaten, what he needed. That relationship, that refusal to give up, made all the difference. Sometimes the antidote to an exclusionary system is a bit of radical care. Everyone deserves that, right? Yet for most of these kids, exclusion, labeling, and misunderstanding were the daily reality—and the pipeline just kept rolling.

Professor Andrea Hagan

So what do we do about all this? It’s easy to feel overwhelmed. But the research doesn’t leave us empty-handed. Enter restorative justice. We’re not talking about pie-in-the-sky kumbaya stuff—when restorative justice is resourced well and woven into the culture, results can be dramatic. In Texas, when some schools deeply invested in restorative practices—meaning circles, repairing harm, building community, not just one-off workshops—they saw suspensions drop 70%, even more for out-of-school. That’s massive.

Professor Andrea Hagan

But here's the thing—restorative justice doesn’t work as a quick fix if it’s treated as a checklist. Morgan’s review pointed out how top-down or “colorblind” RJ programs can actually reproduce the same biases we’re trying to undo. It only works with real community buy-in, plus training, resources, and reflection on why those disparities exist in the first place.

Professor Andrea Hagan

Another piece: cross-sector collaboration. Kim and colleagues (2020) make a strong case that fighting the pipeline takes data: schools, courts, mental health providers, and communities need to share disaggregated data on race, disability, geography, and gender. It's not just about knowing who gets disciplined, but understanding what supports work—diversion, wraparound services, teacher development. We need teacher training that targets bias, not just classroom management, and provides support for youth re-entering after an arrest or placement. In my own school, we brought music and restorative circles into the classroom. I remember running open forum sessions in my classes where kids could not only reflect on the content taught, but speak on how it connected to them personally, how it related to their neighborhood, community, culture. I believe it made a profound impact on the students whom I taught in Newark and the kids at the private IB School in Baton Rouge. At each school, the culture started to shift. That's actual progress. The little things that teachers and school leaders take for granted really go a long way in connecting with students.

Professor Andrea Hagan

So, whether we’re talking dismantling zero-tolerance policies, tracking disparities at every decision point, investing in real wraparound supports, or creating genuinely restorative classrooms, the message rings clear: only sustained, equity-driven, and collaborative change will move us closer to justice. We didn’t get into this pipeline overnight, and climbing out isn’t going to be quick or simple, either. But I’ll leave you with this—keep pushing for the nuanced, not the easy answer. Keep asking, “Who does this serve?” and “Who does it leave behind?” If you’re in the classroom, the courtroom, or just out in the community, your work matters. Until next time, keep the questions coming. Blessings!