Who Killed Detroit’s Public Education System?

Well-meaning Adults!

Detroit’s public education system has faced profound challenges for decades. Those old enough to remember the 1968 Northern High School walkout—led by students Charles Colding, Michael Batchelor, and Judith Walker—recall a pivotal moment in the struggle for educational equity for Black students in the North End. For many, it was an early glimpse into the deep inequities that existed within the system.

Over the years, I have witnessed the gradual decline of public education in Detroit. In 1973, my dear friend, the late Judge Longworth Quinn, Jr., who served on the Detroit Board of Education, lamented, “We just need to blow the system up and start from scratch.” His words reflected not despair, but a desire to rebuild a system worthy of its children. Since that time, enrollment in Detroit’s public schools has fallen dramatically, due in part to the city’s population loss and in part to too many families losing confidence in the schools themselves. I often wonder how many families might have remained in Detroit had the educational system better met their needs.

Public education remains one of America’s noblest ideals. At its best, it opens doors to every child, regardless of race, income, faith, or background. It promotes civic engagement, inclusion, transparency, and accountability, while providing vital services to students with diverse needs. In many ways, it is democracy in action.

Yet somewhere along the way, we lost sight of our true north star: the well-being and flourishing of children. Countless reforms, often advanced by sincere and well-intentioned adults, have produced mixed results. New governance models, charter schools, vouchers, and state interventions have brought innovation in some cases and disappointment in others. Too often, children have borne the burden of experimentation.

Scripture reminds us that we are stewards of the next generation: “Train up a child in the way he should go” (Proverbs 22:6). The measure of any educational system, therefore, is not politics or ideology, but whether it nurtures the intellectual, moral, and social development of its students.

Detroit’s future calls for a comprehensive, community-driven vision for education—one that honors state standards while embracing transformative values rooted in service, accountability, and hope. Such a coalition must draw its authority not from political power, but from the trust of families and citizens who are willing to say, “We entrust you with our children.”

Perhaps the time has come to convene a citizens’ council dedicated to returning the focus of public education from systems and institutions to families, children, and youth. Its authority would rest not in elected office, but in the collective voice of the people, united by a single purpose: to help every child reach his or her fullest potential. In many ways, it would serve as a modern expression of the PTA or PTO. For this vision to succeed, however, the council must remain independent—accountable neither to foundations, government agencies, nor corporations, but solely to the families and communities it exists to serve.

Maybe this is an ambitious dream. Yet I remain convinced that public education can still embody the very best of democracy and become a beacon of opportunity for generations to come.

I’m just saying—what say you?

A Story of Redemption Detroit Needs to See

Several years ago, God blessed me with the privilege of meeting Dr. Yusef Bunchy Shakur—a phenomenal brother whose life is dedicated to transforming communities and empowering people. What I did not realize at the time was that our paths had actually crossed many years earlier under very different circumstances.

Long before he became a respected community leader, Yusef was a leader in the Zone 8 gang on Detroit’s west side. In the late 1980s, his gang entered a Christian youth gathering seeking to harm a young man from their neighborhood who had attended our meeting. During that difficult season, I was able to provide refuge for the young man in my home and walk alongside him through a challenging chapter of his life.

Fast forward more than two decades. In 2012, Yusef and I became acquaintances and eventually developed a friendship. Neither of us initially understood that our stories had been intertwined years before. Yet, as so often happens, God was already writing a larger story than either of us could see.

Today, I want to encourage you to attend a free community screening of Yusef’s documentary, Redemption, on Friday, June 26, at 5:00 p.m. at the Charles H. Wright Museum in Detroit.

Redemption tells the remarkable true story of a Detroit man who, by every sociological measure, seemed destined for a life of hopelessness and destruction. Raised amid poverty, violence, negative influences, and the absence of many of the supports young people need, Yusef’s future appeared predictable to many observers. Yet God had another plan.

Through the unwavering love of his mother and the grace of God, Yusef began a journey that transformed him from a troubled young man into a respected community leader, educator, scholar, and advocate for justice. Today, he dedicates his life to reaching young people who find themselves trapped in cycles of violence, despair, and cultural confusion, helping them discover a different path.

For me, Redemption is more than a documentary. It is a modern-day testimony of hope. It serves as a powerful reminder to educators, youth workers, mentors, pastors, and community leaders that transformation is possible. It confirms what many of us who work with young people have believed for years: no one is beyond redemption.

If God can transform the life of Yusef Bunchy Shakur, He can transform the lives of countless other young people in Detroit and cities across America. His story is proof that grace is greater than circumstance and that purpose can emerge from even the most difficult beginnings.

Since 2012, I have had a front-row seat to Yusef’s journey. I have watched him pursue higher education through community college, undergraduate studies, a master’s degree, and ultimately a Ph.D. Today, Dr. Shakur serves as Executive Director of the Michigan Roundtable for Just Communities, one of Michigan’s oldest community-based organizations, with more than 70 years of promoting peace, justice, reconciliation, and community transformation.

I have said enough. Now it is your turn to experience this remarkable story.

Join us on Friday, June 26, at 5:00 p.m. at the Charles H. Wright Museum for this free screening of Redemption. Registration is required. Please call 313-870-1500 or visit www.miroundtable.org, the Michigan Roundtable for Just Communities, to reserve your seat. If you are able, please also consider donating to support the organization’s important work.

In full disclosure, I proudly serve on the Board of Directors of the Michigan Roundtable for Just Communities. My involvement reflects my personal mission: to empower and invest in the next generation of African and African American leaders—and to have fun doing it.

Watching Dr. Yusef Bunchy Shakur grow, lead, and impact lives has been one of the great joys of my journey. His story reminds us all that redemption is real, transformation is possible, and hope is always worth investing in.

I hope to see you there.

We Can Not Live in Our Ancesters Dreams

Dear Educators, Pastors, Influencers, Leaders, and Everyone with an Audience,

As African Americans, many of us are beneficiaries of the dreams, sacrifices, prayers, and perseverance of our ancestors. They endured slavery, segregation, disenfranchisement, violence, and systemic injustice with the hope that future generations would not merely survive—but thrive. They believed we would take the baton and continue building stronger families, stronger communities, greater economic power, and deeper civic engagement.

But today, we stand at a critical crossroads.

We face challenges that threaten not only our present but the future of generations yet unborn. Silence is not an option. “If you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise from another place…” (Esther 4:14). The question is: Will we rise to the moment?

Many of us have grown comfortable with personal freedom, convenience, entertainment, and individual success. While these blessings are not inherently wrong, comfort can sometimes become the enemy of responsibility.

The Bible warns us: “To whom much is given, much will be required.” — Luke 12:48

The freedoms previous generations fought for were never intended to lead us into disengagement. Freedom was meant to empower responsibility, stewardship, and collective advancement.

Across the nation, debates surrounding voting rights, electoral districts, and representation continue to shape the future of communities of color. In several states, legal and political battles are underway over congressional district boundaries and how minority communities are represented in government. Recent redistricting disputes in states such as Louisiana and Tennessee have reignited concerns among many Black leaders and civil rights advocates about political influence and representation. 

Representation matters because policies matter. Who sits at the table impacts conversations around education, healthcare, housing, economic development, criminal justice, and international policy affecting communities throughout the African diaspora. Scripture reminds us: “When the righteous thrive, the people rejoice; when the wicked rule, the people groan.” — Proverbs 29:2 Regardless of political affiliation, communities must remain civically informed, engaged, and intentional about leadership.

There is another issue demanding our immediate attention: the health and wellness of our children and youth. Across urban America, educators and emergency personnel are increasingly dealing with incidents involving cannabis-infused edibles in schools. National public health agencies report that cannabis-related emergency department visits among children and youth have risen in recent years, especially involving edible products that often resemble candy or snacks. Recently, HHS legalized hallucinogenic drugs with flavors that resemble candy. This is not simply a political issue. It is a parenting issue, a public health issue, and a community issue. We need honest conversations—not condemnation. We need researchers, pastors, physicians, educators, and policymakers sitting at the same table to ask difficult questions:

  • How do we better protect children?
  • How do we educate families?
  • How do we balance personal liberty with community responsibility?
  • How do we ensure profit never outweighs public health?

“Where there is no guidance, a people falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety.” — Proverbs 11:14 We need a serious think tank focused on urban public health and prevention strategies.

There is also reason for hope. For decades, families in Black communities have watched loved ones suffer from sickle cell disease. Yet science is making remarkable progress, including emerging gene therapies and treatments that many hope could significantly change outcomes. Today, approximately 100,000 Americans live with sickle cell disease, and more than 90% are Black or African American. The disease affects roughly 1 in every 365 Black births in the United States. Globally, over 100 million are impacted, particularly throughout Africa and the African diaspora.  This should matter to us. This is why advocacy matters. This is why representation matters. This is why informed communities matter.

Child holding a handwritten sign about sickle cell with adult sitting beside him

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves…” — Proverbs 31:8 If breakthroughs are on the horizon, our voices should be among the loudest advocating for equitable access, research funding, and healthcare justice.

Public education is under pressure. Mental health concerns are rising. Families are fragmented. Young people are increasingly disconnected from faith, purpose, and meaningful mentorship. Historically, the Black church stood in the gap—not only spiritually, but socially, educationally, politically, and economically. Churches fed families, organized communities, mentored youth, built schools, fought for justice, and challenged systems of oppression. We must ask ourselves honestly: Have we drifted from that mission? The Bible reminds us: “Faith without works is dead.” — James 2:17 We cannot only preach hope. We must organize hope. We cannot only pray for change. We must become instruments of change.

Woman in white suit taking oath with hand on Bible held by a man in dark suit during Detroit mayor inauguration

Pastors. Educators. Parents. Influencers. Community leaders. Business owners. Young adults. It is time to rise. If you’re in Detroit or the metropolitan area, Mayor Mary Sheffield is challenging us to Rise Higher Detroit. But this is not her problem. We need a strategy. We need sacrifice. We need accountability. We need institutions committed to the long-term welfare of our people.

Our ancestors sacrificed too much for us to become comfortable spectators. We cannot continue merely living in their dreams. We must build new dreams worthy of the sacrifices they made. Because if we fail to act, future generations may ask: “What did they do when the warning signs were clear?”

I’m just saying…

Is Anyone Actually Listening to Detroit’s Youth?

This may be my only note to the new leadership in Detroit. I write this not out of cynicism, but out of a desperate hope to encourage our new, energetic Mayor Sheffield and her leadership team to break a cycle that has persisted for decades.

For over thirty years, I have sat in countless youth-centered focus groups. The refrain from our young people has remained hauntingly consistent. They point to two critical pillars of concern: Safety and Mental Health-related issues or wellness.

The Echo Chamber of “Presentation Issues”

A few weeks ago, I attended a focus group hosted by Rise Higher, the Mayor’s new initiative. The students in the room—who are not professionals and may not have the “academic” vocabulary to describe systemic failure—articulated the exact same problems I’ve heard for generations.

They don’t feel safe. They are struggling with mental, social issues, and wellness.

Instead of addressing the root cause of that fear, we often see leadership pivot toward “quick wins.” For example:

  • The Problem: Students explicitly stated they avoid the DDOT bus system and the Transit Centers because of rampant safety concerns and violence. News flash, students don’t ride the bus because they lack funding; it’s a matter of safety. 
  • The “Solution”: The launch of Ride to Rise.

While transit initiatives are flashy, are we actually solving the safety crisis, or are we just trying to put more people into an environment they’ve already told us is dangerous? We are “solving” the presentation of the problem rather than the root of the issue.

The Mental Health Crisis by the Numbers

The data currently circulating regarding our youth is staggering. It is estimated that over 62% of children and youth in Detroit schools would qualify for some form of mental health assistance. ℹ

Yet, at a recent gathering of the city’s largest youth-serving agencies, I listened closely. Not one leader mentioned mental health wellness, clinical assistance, or even structured mentoring. If the people tasked with “serving” the youth aren’t talking about their psychological well-being, who is?  Our kids are facing life-changing mental health matters like autism, ADHD, and ADD, to name a few, along with agonizing family problems. We must create a wellness environment, and wellness must be integrated into academic delivery. Can we scratch where it itches?  How can we expect our students to excel in our outdated academic environment when they struggle with mental health issues?  Over 15 years ago, I assembled a meeting of philanthropic leaders to seek help in building a student-based wellness system. The response from the representatives was, “Who will pay for it?” I quickly realized that no one is really interested in addressing the critical needs of our Black children and youth. Our children are out here on their own, trying to figure it out without help!

Last week, Detroit celebrated the opening day of the Detroit Tigers, and that was marred by a series of violent behavior by mobs of teenagers who were summoned to downtown to engage in destructive activities as if it were a planned event. 

Yesterday, I witnessed the launch of the Move Detroit movement. As someone who has spent a lifetime in urban youth development, I know thousands of former Detroiters who would love to come home. But they won’t move back for a new restaurant or a stadium and entertainment venues.. They will move back when we address the three pillars of quality of life:

  1. Education: Schools that prepare children for the global stage.
  2. Transportation: A system that is actually safe, captivating, and environmentally friendly to navigate.
  3. Wellness: A community that heals its trauma rather than ignoring it.

It is wonderful to see downtown Detroit buzzing with entertainment and “fun.” But a “Global Renaissance City” isn’t built on appetizers and music festivals—it’s built on the safety and prosperity of all residents across every zip code, regardless of race, class, or economic standing.

A Challenge to Mayor Sheffield

Mayor Sheffield, I encourage you: Do not fall into the trap. Every administration dating back to Jerome Cavanagh has looked for quick wins—the easy solutions that resonate with a bamboozled public mesmerized by optics and sound bites. In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I participated in and championed such efforts during my short stint in the Coleman Young administration with the Move Detroit Forward initiative and others.

Detroit has the opportunity to chart a course for the world—to create a model of urban reconciliation and prosperity. However, that only happens if we stop looking for the “presentation” fix and start listening to what the youth and others have been screaming for years. We must avoid the “quick fix” or the “pixie dust” approach.

Mayor Sheffield, we are with you regardless of the path you take. We recognize that you are facing some of the most incredible challenges in the history of this office, but the people are with you for the long haul to achieve systemic transformation. I’m just saying…

ℹDetroit Wayne Integrated Health Network

Do We Really Love Black Children?

Last week I received a phone call from a veteran urban youth worker. During our conversation, he spoke from a place of deep pain and honesty. He said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Dennis, I’ve spent more than 50 years serving children and youth. And in the end, I can’t even take care of myself or my family. I had to sell everything and move in with relatives in another state.”

All I could say in that moment was “Wow.”

For the next hour, I did my best to remind him of the truth. I reminded him of how consequential his life had been. I reminded him of the young people whose lives were shaped because he showed up when others would not. I reminded him of how his work influenced my own journey in youth ministry. Because we had worked side by side for so many years, I was able to call names, recall moments, and recount the countless ways he had invested in young lives.

Still, I could hear the weariness in his voice.

Then, just days later, I received another call from another veteran youth worker—someone whose ministry literally changed the trajectory of youth work in Detroit-area Black churches. He happened to be a white man who loved Jesus deeply and was willing to surrender his life to loving Black children into the arms of Christ.

Both of those conversations reminded me of a story I heard years ago.

The story was about a missionary who had spent more than twenty years serving in Africa. Because of declining health, he was returning to the United States on a cruise ship. As the ship docked, he looked out from the deck and saw large crowds gathered on the pier—families cheering, balloons waving, people embracing loved ones who were returning home from vacation.

But no one was there for him. This man had spent decades serving thousands on the mission field, and yet he arrived home to no welcome, no recognition, no support. The story says that for the remainder of his life he lived in isolation, poverty, and loneliness until the Lord finally called him home.

When I first heard that story years ago, I remember praying: “God, please don’t let that be me.”

But the truth is, this is the reality for thousands of urban youth workers in America. I have watched men and women dedicate their lives to serving young people only to lose their families, their homes, and even the communities they once served.

A few years ago, during one of our church’s homeless outreaches, I encountered a former youth pastor living on the streets of Detroit. He eventually began sleeping at our church simply to escape the brutal winter cold. Someone said to me, “He made a series of bad decisions.”

Maybe that’s true. Or maybe, by the standards of the kingdom of God, he was simply living out his calling.

Because the men and women I know who have ended up in situations like that were not lazy. They were not selfish. They were sold out. They gave their lives for the sake of young people. And the fruit of their labor will one day be honored by God. They lived the words of Jesus: “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” — John 15:5

Over the years, I have come to a painful conclusion. We don’t love Black children.

Now, before anyone gets defensive, let me be clear. Many of us love our own children deeply. But as a community, the evidence suggests that we do not truly love Black children and youth the way we claim. Because if we did, there would be overwhelming evidence of that love.

Look at our urban schools.
Look at the lack of sustainable youth development programs.
Look at the messages in the music and media we often celebrate.
Look at how few resources are directed toward nurturing young minds and spirits.

And for those of us in the church, the evidence can often be found in something very simple: our budgets.

Jesus said it plainly: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy… but store up treasures in heaven… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” — Matthew 6:19–21

If we truly loved Black children as a community, our resources would prove it. The truth is, the amount of wealth circulating within the Black community could literally change the course of history for our children and youth.

But that requires a shift in mindset. It requires us to move from “me” to “us.” It is a tragic state of affairs when communities are unwilling to support the very men and women who sacrifice their lives to serve in spaces most people would never choose.

And after reflecting on those two phone calls, I found myself hearing the familiar words from Scripture: “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”And I said, “Here I am. Send me.” — Isaiah 6:8

You don’t even have to be a Christian to understand the power of that call when it comes to Black children and youth. I could write volumes about the state of our young people and the lack of support for those who serve them. But the answer, at least in part, is painfully simple:

Invest in the people, programs, and ministries that actually give a damn about our children. That’s it. That’s the work. I’m just saying….

Witnessed History: Remembering Rev. Jesse L. Jackson

On February 17, 2026, the world lost one of the most consequential moral voices of the last half century—Rev. Dr. Jesse L. Jackson. History will ultimately place him among the small group of leaders who not only spoke about justice, but reshaped the possibilities of democracy itself.

For me, his passing is not only a moment of national reflection, but a deeply personal one.

As a young man growing up in the North End of Detroit, God granted me an extraordinary privilege. I was present in Chicago at the earliest gatherings when Rev. Jackson launched Operation PUSH (People United to Save Humanity) in 1971. At the time, I had no idea I was witnessing the birth of a movement that would influence politics, economics, and civil rights across America.

Looking back now, it seems almost unbelievable that Rev. Jackson and the late Abe Cherry would entrust an unproven young communicator to help co-produce parts of the Operation PUSH conference. But that was part of Jackson’s genius—he saw potential in young people before the world did.

As a private citizen with global influence, he often served as an informal diplomat during moments of international crisis. In 1984, he helped secure the release of U.S. Navy pilot Lt. Robert “Bobby” Goodman from Syria and negotiated the release of American prisoners from Cuba. He engaged leaders across Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America, demonstrating that civil rights leadership could also function as a global moral voice.

Operation PUSH grew from Operation Breadbasket, the economic justice initiative Jackson led under Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Through this work, Jackson helped negotiate with major corporations and government institutions to hire millions of Black employees and open doors for minority-owned businesses.

But Rev. Jackson’s vision did not stop with economic justice.

During his 1984 presidential campaign, he created the National Rainbow Coalition, a bold attempt to unite African Americans, Latinos, labor unions, farmers, Native Americans, working-class whites, and peace activists into a powerful political alliance. It was a daring vision of American democracy built around shared struggle and shared hope.

For many of us, the soundtrack of that era was the chant heard in cities across America:

“Run Jesse Run!”

Jackson ran for the Democratic nomination for President in 1984 and 1988, registering millions of new voters and winning several state primaries in 1988. His campaigns proved that a Black candidate could build a national coalition and compete for the presidency. In many ways, those campaigns helped open the door for the election of Barack Obama two decades later.

Yet Jackson’s impact extended beyond American politics.

Like every human being, Rev. Jackson had flaws. But we must never allow those imperfections to overshadow the scale of his contributions.

I was simply a gifted young communicator from Detroit who had been recruited by the legendary Kim Weston and Mickey Stevenson to volunteer with a rising civil rights leader named Jesse Jackson.

For more than five decades, he stood on the front lines advocating for economic equity, voting rights, education access, corporate diversity, and social justice. He spoke out against apartheid in South Africa, economic injustice around the world, and human rights abuses wherever they occurred.

In many ways, his life reflected the mission described in Luke 4:18–19:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor… to proclaim liberty to the captives… to set at liberty those who are oppressed.”

Rev. Jesse L. Jackson lived that scripture.

He lived his purpose.

And for those of us who were fortunate enough to witness his work up close, we know this truth: history did not simply observe Jesse Jackson—he helped bend it toward justice.

Thank you, Rev. Jackson, for a life of courage, conviction, and service to the most marginalized people on this planet.

And thank you to Jacqueline Jackson, who stood faithfully beside him while raising their remarkable children and supporting a life devoted to public service.

The voice that once declared “I am somebody” may now be silent—but the movement it helped inspire will echo for generations, and I’m Just Saying….

The Digital Divide Deepens: How Michigan’s New Phone Ban Hurts Black Students

Once again, government officials have dug a hole for Black children that will be nearly impossible to climb out of—and the fault lies with adults, not students.

To the legislators who supported Michigan House Bill 4141 and Senate Bill 495, and to Governor Gretchen Whitmer for signing them into law: be ashamed. Your decision to restrict the use of cell phones in K–12 public schools during instructional time has not helped our children—it has harmed them.

You may have created a barrier so deep that too many Black students will never recover.

A Divide That Already Exists

Before this law, our students were already behind. Michigan’s own data shows that more than 70% of Black school-age children lack reliable access to the internet or a computer at home. Without broadband access, without devices, without digital resources, Black students in Detroit and across the state are cut off from 21st-century learning. Now you have widened that gap even further.

This is the digital divide—not some abstract concept but a lived reality that shapes educational opportunity, economic mobility, and life outcomes for thousands of children.

You Have Deepened the Opportunity Gap

Let’s be clear: the issue with cell phones in the classroom isn’t inherently about discipline or distraction. It’s about access to tools and the lack of instruction on how to use them effectively. Banning technology that students already use, that they carry everywhere, is not a solution. It is a regression.

In true American fashion, when we don’t master something, we shun it. We demonize it. But our children live in a world defined by digital connectivity—whether educators like it or not. Until our pedagogical methods evolve, Black students will continue to be educated by a system rooted in the past.

Education Must Catch Up With the Times

Education in many classrooms today remains didactic—unchanged since ancient Greek academies. But students today are not passive learners; they are active, digitally connected, and they thrive in environments that are hands-on, interactive, and technology-enabled.

There are proven tools—Learning Management Systems like Google Classroom, Schoology, Canvas, and others—that integrate cell phones and digital devices into teaching. Teachers can use students’ phones as instructional tools for research, collaboration, and real-time learning. Yet rather than harnessing technology, we choose to restrict it.

The New Educational Underclass

By banning phones without addressing access and digital literacy, we are creating a new educational underclass—led not by malicious actors, but by well-intentioned adults who are afraid to embrace innovation.

But responsibility doesn’t stop with legislators.

Other culprits include:

  • Academic schools of education (colleges and universities) that train teachers in outdated methods.
  • A public education system driven by middle-class professionals disconnected from the realities of urban Black children.
  • Community influencers and parents who aren’t grounded in the neighborhoods they claim to serve.
  • And most troubling, a system that ignores the voice of the very people it is supposed to uplift: Black children in Detroit.

A Call to Action

Governor Whitmer. Michigan state legislators. Suburban educators.

We can be intimidated by change — or we can lead it.

Let’s reverse this curse.

While children in suburban districts walk into classrooms equipped with tablets, laptops, iPads, and an ecosystem of technological support, more than 70% of Black children in Detroit come with nothing to augment or fully participate in this technological era. That is not a discipline issue. That is an equity issue.

We have a powerful opportunity before us: to reformulate classroom experiences into environments that are engaging, interactive, and relevant to the way today’s students actually learn.

Two years ago, we implemented Learning Management Systems (LMS) into our core curriculum. The results have been nothing short of transformational. Each day begins with a dynamic, interactive module reviewing the previous day’s lesson. Students are not passive listeners — they are active participants.

While we have not conducted a formal academic study, I am confident enough to suggest that student retention is at or above 90–95%. Students are not only recalling content — they are internalizing it. They talk about it. They apply it. They retain it.

Can you imagine a classroom environment where over 90% retention becomes the norm rather than the exception?

Instead of banning tools, let’s study how to effectively integrate innovative technology into classroom settings. Let’s listen to our children. Let’s collaborate with educators on the front lines. Let’s empower teachers with the training, resources, and tools required for the digital era. And most importantly, let’s address device access and connectivity not as luxuries — but as educational equity issues.

The future is not waiting for us to get comfortable. The future is demanding, now is the time, and I’m just saying.

Are Our Children Better Off? A Call to Unity and Action in Urban Youth Development: Time to Scale Up!

I have dedicated more than forty years of my life to the work of urban youth development. I walked away from a fairly successful career in communications because I believed—deeply and sincerely—that my life’s work should contribute to building a world where Black and Brown children could thrive, compete globally, and live with dignity, purpose, and hope.

Now, after four decades, I am forced to ask the most uncomfortable but necessary question: Are Black and Brown children and youth actually better off? Because in the end, that was my only objective.

Over the years, I have watched billions of dollars flow into systems, programs, institutions, and initiatives designed to “serve,” “fix,” and “support” Black children. I’ve also had to confront a sobering reality: while some progress has been made, in many ways our children are not better off—and in some cases, they may be worse off. This blog is not an exercise in rehearsing statistics or highlighting deficits; that story has been told repeatedly. My concern is deeper, more existential, and more moral.

As a believer, I was deeply troubled years ago while attending a conference hosted by the Association of American Colleges and Universities. During a keynote address, Peter McPherson, then President of Michigan State University, stated—paraphrased—that we are raising the first generation in American history that will do less with more than any generation before it. Sitting next to me was the legendary Dr. Grace Lee Boggs. We were the only people of color in the room. We looked at one another, stunned. In her unmistakably direct and prophetic voice, Dr. Boggs leaned over and said, “He’s not talking about us.”

I walked away from that conference determined to prove that statement wrong as it related to Black children in Detroit and across the nation. I knew what we were doing on the ground was working—often without gimmicks, without excessive resources, and without national attention. As my former pastor used to say, we were making bricks with leftover straw. And yet, here we are. The community reality remains what it is. We must be honest enough to say that we have failed Black children.

Let me be clear: adults in many sectors have done better. Careers have flourished. Institutions have grown. Professional classes have expanded. I am not asserting that the struggles of Black children are caused by adult success—but the contrast is real and undeniable. Resources did not trickle down in any meaningful or sustained way, even as theory suggested they would. In urban youth development, far too little attention has been given to the true cost of professionalization, infrastructure, administrative overhead, and fragmented systems of service. Too often, the work became about sustaining organizations rather than transforming outcomes.

And yet, I am not without hope.

Across this country—and throughout the African diaspora—there are outstanding programs doing incredible work. Dedicated educators, mentors, faith leaders, coaches, artists, and advocates are showing up daily. The problem is not passion or talent. The problem is scale, coherence, and unity.

The question we must now ask is this: how do we take what works and scale it in ways that are replicable, adaptable, and sustainable across diverse Black communities?

I want to suggest that the time has come for the development of national mentoring models, workforce development frameworks, educational pathways, and character-based youth development systems that can be implemented in local contexts without losing fidelity to core principles. This cannot remain a collection of isolated best practices. It must become a shared architecture.

To that end, I believe it is time—past time—for a true national, and ultimately global, urban youth development convening. A gathering funded not just by institutions, but by Black philanthropists and what I’ll boldly call our modern-day Black superheroes: athletes, entertainers, executives, entrepreneurs, and cultural leaders who have benefited enormously from the sacrifices of earlier generations. Men and women willing to say, for the next ten years, we will focus a significant portion of our attention, influence, and resources on Black children and youth.

Not for branding. Not for ego. Not for temporary impact.

But for the sole purpose of moving the needle toward excellence, achievement, character formation, spiritual grounding, and educational rigor.

This convening must do more than inspire. It must produce agreement around clear community values—values that can be affirmed by the majority and lived out consistently in streets, schools, hallways, homes, and faith institutions across the globe. Values that transcend ideology, denomination, class, and geography. Values that say, plainly: our children matter, and mediocrity is not an option.

Some may say this is naïve. Others may argue that consensus is impossible. I reject both claims.

I am crazy enough to believe that we have the intellectual capital, cultural wisdom, theological grounding, and lived experience to develop a comprehensive and inclusive strategy—one that honors every valuable entity in our communities while calling all of us to something higher. I believe we can set aside unchecked individualism and even lawful, well-meaning self-interest when the stakes are this high.

This is not a call to erase differences. It is a call to prioritize what matters most.

It is time to call the meeting.

A meeting that asks hard questions, names hard truths, and demands courageous commitments. A meeting that centers children rather than institutions, outcomes rather than optics, and unity rather than competition. A meeting grounded in love for our people and responsibility to future generations.

If we cannot unify around wanting more for our children—then we must be honest enough to admit that the problem is not a lack of resources, but a lack of will.

Are Our Children Better Off? A Call to Unity and Action in Urban Youth Development:

Time to Scale Up!

I still believe. I still hope. And I still believe that together, we can do better—because our children deserve nothing less.  I’m Just Saying…

Re-Examining Christian Brotherhood and Sisterhood

A unique Biblical Perspective

Last Sunday, my pastor made a striking statement: “The church is a mess.” He was not referring to any one congregation, but to the Body of Christ as a whole. Later that day, in a conversation with one of my favorite sons in the faith, that statement resurfaced as we began talking about Christian brotherhood. As often happens, he was surprised by my perspective. That conversation compelled me to put my thoughts in writing—to re‑examine, biblically and honestly, what it truly means to call someone a Christian brother or sister. 

Within the Black community, the terms brother and sister have long been used beyond the boundaries of biological family. For me, this practice goes back to the late 1960s and the rise of the Afrocentric movement, when greeting one another as “brother” or “sister” became an expression of shared identity and collective dignity. It signaled a common ethnic bond and, more deeply, a shared struggle for justice, liberation, and unity.

Even today, I maintain deep and meaningful relationships where this language remains natural and sincere. In those spaces, brother and sister function as markers of solidarity—an acknowledgment that our lives are, in some meaningful way, bound together. Yet over the years, I have found myself wrestling with a troubling question: What is truly being communicated when these words are spoken?

I have had individuals—people who actively sought to harm my reputation, undermine my work, or act as adversaries—address me as “brother.” Social etiquette often required that I return the greeting, even when internally I rejected the notion that such a person was, in any meaningful sense, my brother. This tension exposes a deeper problem: when brotherhood is reduced to a greeting, it loses its moral and spiritual substance.

From the perspective of a believer—an ambassador of Christ—we must ask harder questions. What does Scripture mean when it asks, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9). What does it demand when it proclaims, “How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity” (Psalm 133:1)? The Bible is filled with rich and challenging portrayals of brotherhood and sisterhood—portrayals that go far beyond familiarity or shared identity.

One often-overlooked example appears in Judges 11:37, in the story of Jephthah’s unnamed daughter and the sisters who mourned with her. These women ministered with and to her until her death. In my view, this narrative offers one of the most profound models of biblical sisterhood and brotherhood in all of Scripture, rivaled only by the relationship between Jesus and His disciples. It reveals companionship rooted in presence, faithfulness, and shared suffering.

So the central question remains: Is there a distinction between cultural brotherhood and Christian brotherhood? I believe the answer is yes—unequivocally.

Jesus presents a model of brotherhood forged in suffering, sustained by communal survival, and grounded in dignity and covenant responsibility. Scripture defines Christian brotherhood and sisterhood as spiritual kinship in Christ. This means we do not simply recognize one another—we belong to one another. We are commanded to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), reminded that if one member suffers, all suffer together (1 Corinthians 12:26). In Christ, your pain is no longer yours alone. I would argue that true biblical friendship demands selflessness—placing the call to honor Christ and nurture the growth of another above one’s own priorities (Galatians 4:19). This, my friends, is just one of the characteristics that make us different. 

This spiritual interconnectedness echoes Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assertion that “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Writing from a Birmingham jail, King articulated a truth that resonates deeply with Christian theology: when one part of the body is wounded, the entire body is compromised. Christian brotherhood cannot coexist with indifference to inequality, oppression, or suffering—especially within the household of faith.

True manhood, then, is not measured by dominance, physical strength, or cultural posturing. It is measured by the strength to love—to care for a brother or sister in their darkest hour and to stand faithfully in their moment of victory. Jesus defines this love clearly: “Love the Lord your God… and love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:30–31). Yet we have often allowed the world to distort manhood, shaping it from the brain—the spiritual and emotional core—to the bronze—the muscular, authoritarian image celebrated by culture.

Christian friendship, when rightly understood, mirrors the work of a shepherd. It is sacrificial, sacred, prophetic, and liberating. It guards dignity, tells the truth in love, and refuses abandonment. In this sense, brotherhood is not a label—it is a covenant.

This is the vision Jesus prayed the world would see: “That they may all be one… so that the world may believe” (John 17:20–23). When our relationships lack this depth, we are not living in Christian brotherhood—we are merely participating in an ambiguous membership model that demands little and offers less.

My prayer is that we would learn to shepherd our friendships as Christians—to cultivate relationships that are unmistakably shaped by Christ rather than convenience or culture. When Christian brotherhood is lived authentically, it does more than affirm identity; it draws others to Jesus.

I’m just saying.