We are a community in pain. The pain stems from systemic and institutional racism within our schools. There are many of us who would like to believe that we don’t have such an issue in Clayton – but we do. I have the responsibility to all Black and Brown students, staff and families to acknowledge the microaggressions, racism and pain they have experienced. I am truly sorry. What happened was wrong, hurtful and completely unacceptable.
We joined together as neighbors supporting one another in being present at protests for Black Lives this summer, including the two marches held in Clayton both organized by students. We began reflecting on the students’ demands for changes, and a recent alumni petition asking that a racist bullying incident from several years ago be recognized and rectified, and realized that each of us have been involved in equity efforts in the district, but have yet to see the transformational change we need and of which we know our district is capable.
When it comes to racial equity, Clayton wants to do the right thing.
Judy Gladney was among the first to integrate University City schools — and the memories are bittersweet.
Carrying a bag with a pair of pants, three tops, a pair of sneakers and a nightgown, Valerie Nichols left her home for Grand Manor Nursing and Rehabilitation Center not sure what she would find. She had last seen her mother on March 1.
The 63106 Project is a racial equity storytelling venture focusing on families in neighborhoods with a documented history of economic and health disparities. I grew up in one of those families.
The pandemic has all but stolen Jamaica Ray’s livelihood, but he refuses to let it crush his spirit. For two months, Ray had nowhere to play his steel drums as he had been doing for the last several years in front of the iconic century-old Crown Candy Kitchen.
“I’m 63 years old, mon, a senior citizen. That’s who it (the virus) catches. People want to shake my hand, get close to me, play my drums and take pictures. I can’t take chances.”
Squinting to read an ingredients label at the grocery store, Courtnesha Rogers breaks down. Tears stream down her face and blur the print.
She stands there, sniffling it all back, trying to pull herself together as other shoppers, wary in the time of COVID-19, make a wide detour around her.
Her friend’s death would have been easier to take if it were COVID-19, she thinks.
As a kid, Steven Jones was smart and a little nerdy, an only child who secretly wanted to be Bill Nye the Science Guy. Now he’s 33, unemployed, disabled, and facing a global pandemic that none of the scientists can quite explain.
Five-year-old Meegale Hundley can’t wait to race his bike outside. It’s been 60 days since he’s been allowed to venture outdoors.