I am a mother of six, grandmother of 25, and great-grandmother of two. In addition to my biological children and grandchildren, I am “mama” and “grandma” to dozens of children and young adults across this city. Chicago Public Schools run deep in me.
I remember being in eighth grade in Chicago’s Cabrini-Green neighborhood and feeling excited about going to high school. CPS had just built a new high school, Near North High School, right down the street from my house.
But what I didn’t know was that Near North was a selective-enrollment school. When I was not accepted into the school, I felt like a failure. While my friends attended Near North, I was sent to Lincoln Park High School. I was unfamiliar with the neighborhood and this new community rejected me. My mother feared for my safety and pulled me out. I was heartbroken.
When I became a parent, my children attended Overton Elementary in Bronzeville. The school became our second home. The students, parents and school staff at Overton were more than just a community. We were family. But in 2013, Overton was closed along with dozens of schools that served Black children and families. Again, I was devastated.
My devastation turned to grief and anger as I attended more and more funerals after the massive school closings. So many Black children were “lost” as they traveled across neighborhoods to attend schools — some were killed and others were lost to the streets. The sense of community we developed at schools like Overton was destroyed.
This disruption and disinvestment in Black neighborhood schools has resulted in increased violence. And it’s why closing schools is a hate crime.
When Overton was closed, I turned my grief and righteous anger into activism and organizing. I have gone to jail twice for engaging in protests to save schools from closing. I have organized with hundreds of parents to fight for the schools our children deserve.
In 2015, I went on a hunger strike for 34 days to save Dyett High School from being closed. In the fight for Dyett, parents got to dream about what we wanted from our schools. We got to envision a school that was a place of love and joy for students and parents — right in their neighborhood. Our vision for Dyett was a vision for Sustainable Community Schools.
Stop hand-picking students for success
With the Board of Education’s resolution to prioritize neighborhood schools, we have an opportunity to stop the policies that hand-pick certain students for success and disregard the majority. I have heard some people complain that the board’s decision to invest in neighborhood schools robs Black and Brown families of “choice.”
I wonder if these people know that Black students in CPS travel the farthest of any racial group to go to school. I wonder how many tears they have wiped from the faces of children who felt hopeless because they didn’t get into a selective-enrollment school. I wonder how many mothers they have comforted at funerals of children who became victims of the streets after they were pushed out of their schools.
Families should have the right to send their children to selective-enrollment schools if they choose. No one is taking away that choice. But every family should also have the option to send their children to a high-quality, fully funded school in their neighborhood. If this option doesn’t exist, then there is no real “school choice.”
For years I have fought against CPS policies that have destroyed Black communities and harmed Black children. But in that time, I have also experienced glimpses of what our schools could be. With Sustainable Community Schools, we can rebuild our communities. We can reconstruct public education so that every child can receive a world-class education in their neighborhood. With Sustainable Community Schools, we can create the schools that all our children need and deserve.
Irene Robinson is a parent organizer and founder of the nonprofit Women and Mothers of Multiple Colors.
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