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| Carol Burris |
Twelve community activists on the south side
of Chicago are capturing national attention by putting their health on the line
to save their school. It is their third week of a hunger strike designed to
force Chicago’s Rahm Emanuel to keep Dyett High School open.
Dyett serves the community of Bronzeville on
Chicago’s south side. Bronzeville was the cultural hub for African Americans
who fled the south during the Great Migration. The school’s significance in the
community runs deep.
The struggle to save
the school is part of the growing pushback against neighborhood school closures
both within and beyond Chicago—closures that slam poor communities who find
beloved institutions shuttered and yanked away. In just one evening, in May of
2014, the Chicago School Board voted to close 50 public schools. A 2014
report by Journey for Justice, entitled Death by a
Thousand Cuts, describes the devastating effects of school
closings and maps the march of school privatization in communities of color
across the United States.
Poor test scores and
low graduation rates are the excuse for closures, but the reasons for academic
failure that lie beyond the schoolhouse are never addressed. NPE Board member,
Jitu Brown, who is part of the hunger strike, summed up the frustration when he said, “We’re tired of our children and our
communities being demonized and being blamed for being underserved.”
The schools that are closed
The story of Dyett is a familiar story in
underserved urban communities across the United States. As far back as 2011,
closures in New York City were criticized for their disparate impact on schools
that served the largest numbers of disadvantaged students and were located in
communities that needed the stability of a school the most.
A 2011 report by
the New York City Independent Budget Office (IBO) recognized that the
demographics of the 14 schools slated for closure served a disproportionate
number of homeless students, black students, special education students, low
income students, and students who were overage for their grade. Ironically, one
third of the schools on the list had replaced another school that had been
closed before it—repeating a cycle of disruption for neighborhood kids. In a 2013 report, the same patterns emerged— schools
on the chopping block served a more disadvantaged student population, and
students entering the school had lower scores.
Even as the identified
schools were set up for failure, the schools that often replaced them were set
up for success. When the schools were reconstituted as smaller schools, they
generally served populations of students with less need and higher entering
test scores. One report issued
by New York City Communities for Change referred to the shutting and opening of
schools as nothing more than “a shell game.”
In a beautiful tribute to
the once great Jamaica High School, alumni Jelani Cobb, tells the history of
the school and how its final demise was brought on by the policies of the
Bloomberg administration. In the end, school choice, which dramatically
disrupted the demographics of the school body, pushed the school over the test
score brink, thus leading to the closing of the school. Cobb writes, “In the
battle over the school’s future, many came to see those changing demographics
not as happenstance but as a purposeful way of insuring that the creation of
small schools in the building would be a fait accompli.”
Although Bloomberg is gone, not much has
changed. NPE board member, Leonie Haimson, has been fighting New York City
closures since 2011. She was hopeful that school closures would stop when
Bloomberg exited, yet now these same schools are being threatened by takeover
from the state. “Every neighborhood school that is closed is a tragedy for that
community. All efforts should be taken to preserve and strengthen them rather
than close them down. Sadly, I’m not sure that even this administration
[DeBlasio] is implementing the right policies to ensure these schools improve
and survive.”
The human impact of school closures
Cobb begins his story of Jamaica High with the
commencement ceremony of its last graduating class, the Class of 2014.
Twenty-four graduates were pushed out of their school auditorium for that
ceremony, as what remained of Jamaica High School competed for space with the
new, co-located school.
Such sad events are
not unique. The New York Times featured photographs from
a Philadelphia art show that captured the raw emotions felt by community,
students, and staff in one of the 31 city schools that were shut down. School
‘closings by the numbers’ exact a human toll when students and teachers lose
their place. Some scramble to find spots in other schools once the decision to
phase out the school is made. Many students become “over the counter”
enrollees in schools where there is space, which is often another school that
is spiraling down. The school slated for closure withers away until only a few
dozen students remain. It begs the question, are school closings worth the
price?
Do school takeovers work?
Reformers will tell
you that school takeovers work miracles, and they will point to New Orleans as
their proof. While it is true that New Orleans’ state test scores are higher,
the complexity of what occurred in that city (including the mass migration out
after Katrina) has added variables that are unique and impact results. Doug
Harris, the Director of the Research Alliance for New Orleans,speaks not only of the complexity
of measuring achievement, but also of the unevenness of improvement.
He makes it clear that New Orleans’ lessons “can not be summed up in a
headline.”
Takeovers in 2012 in Indiana have
resulted in little improvement in achievement and steep drops in enrollment in
takeover schools. Of the schools taken over that year, only one had its grade
improve from an F. Meanwhile, Tindley Schools, a charter school organization
that managed one of the schools, pulled out. They wanted more money to
continue.
In 2012, six schools
joined the Tennessee Achievement School District, headed by reformer, Chris
Barbic, who was charged with turning them around. Three were run by the
district; and three were privately run by charter operators using public funds.
For two years scores were stagnant. In the third year, math
scores in the district-run schools improved, but in the charter-run schools
scores declined. Mr. Barbic announced his resignation as
of December of this year.
None of this should
come as a surprise. In 2002, the state of Pennsylvania began what was called “the nation’s largest experiment in
the private management of public schools” in Philadelphia. A 2007
study by the independent, non-profit research organization, the Rand
Corporation, found no increases in achievement from the private management of
Philadelphia schools, but small gains in restructured schools controlled by the
district. Those district-controlled schools that improved were given extra
resources and intensive staff support.
The same failed strategies replayed
And yet, despite the
dismal results of private control of public schools in the state’s largest
city, the same bad playbook was
used in Pennsylvania’s York City School District in 2014. NPE President, Diane
Ravitch, lamented the loss of citizen voice in the community. “There will be no
‘choice’ for the families of York City. Their children will have to attend a
charter school whose headquarters are in Florida. Yes, it is the death of local
control and democracy in York City.”
Since Governor
Corbett’s defeat, the York City model has softened. David Meckley, whose plan
was to turn the district over to charter schools, resigned citing the
new Governor’s hostility to his charter takeover plan. The new chief, Carol Saylor,
is a veteran educator who is taking a public-school friendly approach. But
without adequate resources, improvement will be tough.
NPE board member, Mark
Miller, is the Vice-President of the Pennsylvania School Boards Association. He
sums up the problem faced by Saylor and her counterpart in Chester Upland,
where employees are working without pay,
this way. “York City and Chester Upland receivers, Carol Saylor and Francis
Barnes, are trying to bring about positive change. Unfortunately, nothing can
change without more money or fewer unfunded mandates. The unjust enrichment of
charter/cyber charter operators is at the crux of the problem.”
And so in Chicago the hunger strike
continues—twelve brave souls carry the pain not only for Dyett, but for so many
schools who are blamed for conditions out of their control. They are becoming
physically weaker by the day, but their spirit is strong. And that hunger for
justice will continue until the cycle of shame, shutter, and student
displacement and neglect finally ends.
(Note: The city announced it
would keep Dyett open as an “arts” school to attract students from across the
city. The hunger strike is continuing.)
Please support the Dyett School hunger strike by calling the Rahm Emanuel’s office 
(312) 744-3300 and tell him that you support the Dyett Global Leadership and Green Technology High School. On Twitter, send out support at #fightfordyett. |
| Jeanette Taylor-Ramann |
In Chicago, Hunger Striking To Save a
School
Why are Chicago parents on a hunger strike to save a neighborhood school? Because after five years of fighting, they’ve run out of options...
By Jeanette Taylor-Ramann
LINKWhat’s happening in Bronzeville isn’t just about Dyett High School. There’s an agenda to push out black and brown low income and working families in the city of Chicago. If you look at the big picture, that’s what this is about. You don’t only have police brutality. You don’t have only have a decrease in public housing in the city and the closing of public schools. The neighborhood school is the last stable institution that we have. When you have good neighborhood schools, they service the neighborhood. They keep kids off the street; they help parents when they’re struggling and having issues in the home. That neighborhood school is a support system for the community, and the powers that be know that.
This isn’t the life I chose. It chose me.
I’m a forty year-old mother of five, soon to be a grandmother. I was a teen mom, and I’ve been on the Local School Council (LSC) at Irving C. Mollison Elementary since I was 19. I’ve always had to participate in my children’s education. My mother did it for me, and when I became a mother, she pushed me to be responsible. She said *that’s your child. You’ve got to be a part of the school culture.* My grandmother was one of the first teacher’s assistants at Mollison, DYETT my auntie is a teacher there, my mother was on the PTA. She’s been a clerk at the school for 20 years. This isn’t the life I chose. It chose me.
For almost my entire life—34 years—I’ve lived in Bronzeville. I’ve recently been pushed out because of gentrification. I can’t afford the rent in the neighborhood, so for the last three years I’ve resided in Woodlawn. The transformation in Bronzeville started back in the 1990’s when they knocked down the public housing and began to build up the neighborhood. But what I started to notice was that when they put up replacement housing, it wasn’t for the people who’d lived in the neighborhood for years. So you’re pushing out the people who can’t afford to live there. If you’re not making $50,000 a year or more, you’re not able to afford to live in Bronzeville.
A line in the sand
There are currently 12 people on a hunger strike. Every day more people join us from around the city who’ve decided to go on a fast with us. We have a pastor, a Latino brother, we have a white brother whose community said *we don’t want a Noble Street charter in our neighborhood* and they left. He’s joined up despite the fact that this isn’t touching him. School closures haven’t really affected some of these other communities the way have us, but they took the charge to say *if these parents and community members can do it, I’m going to join them.* I have two other of my Local School Council members hunger striking with me, another active parent from my school, and an ex parent who helped me fight off two previous attempts to close Mollison Elementary. You’ve got people who’ve been in the community working and fighting for years who’ve said *enough is enough.* The line in the sand has been drawn and people have to answer for mistreating our young people.
You’ve got people who’ve been in the community working and fighting for years who’ve said *enough is enough.* The line in the sand has been drawn and people have to answer for mistreating our young people.
Part of the problem
Charter schools aren’t the solution, they’re part of the problem. Don’t get me wrong. There are some good charter schools, but most of them aren’t doing any better than neighborhood schools. And they have no accountability. They have no Local School Councils. LSCs at schools are the people who hire and fire the principals and oversee the budgets. Nobody does that at charter or contract schools. These people are able to charge parents $10 or $20 when their kids don’t have a belt or a tie. Then at the end of the year when your grades aren’t good enough to make their profile look good, they get to kick you out and then you’re sent back to the neighborhood school.
We’ve got to look it in the face and call it what it is: racism. It’s only happening to a certain group of people. Period.
No stake in the community
Why should these people be allowed to set up shop? Because that’s what it is. They come. They’re here for four or five years. They have no stake in the community. They do nothing with the community. And then after they’ve made millions and millions of dollars but without educating our children, they leave. Charter schools are a way for bankers and billionaires to make money off of the poor. It’s racism. We’ve got to look it in the face and call it what it is: racism. It’s only happening to a certain group of people. Period. And I don’t care who that’s uncomfortable for, and who thinks I’m going too far by saying that. It’s the truth. I can’t find another reason. I pay my taxes like everyone else, I go to work everyday. I send my kids to school. So what is it? There’s no other factor. This is based on the color of my skin.
Connecting dots
I’m very discouraged that in 2015 parents have to go to this extreme for a neighborhood high school. People have to answer for that. What did Martin die for? What did Malcolm die for? How can we get the next Barack Obama? How can we get any of those folks if our kids can’t even be educated? They want to make everything private. I’m not crazy. I’ve been to New Orleans. I’ve seen the kids still attending schools in trailers while they got billions and billions of dollars. I’ve been to Philadelphia. I’ve been to Detroit. I’ve been to New Jersey to see the parents who are fighting in Camden. The connecting dot is that there is an attack on black and brown low-income working families.
Jeanette Taylor-Ramann is a member of the Local School Council at Mollison Elementary on Chicago’s South Side. She is one of twelve parents and community members on a hunger strike to keep open the last open-enrollment high school in Bronzeville.
Why are Chicago parents on a hunger strike to save a neighborhood school? Because after five years of fighting, they’ve run out of options...
By Jeanette Taylor-Ramann
LINKWhat’s happening in Bronzeville isn’t just about Dyett High School. There’s an agenda to push out black and brown low income and working families in the city of Chicago. If you look at the big picture, that’s what this is about. You don’t only have police brutality. You don’t have only have a decrease in public housing in the city and the closing of public schools. The neighborhood school is the last stable institution that we have. When you have good neighborhood schools, they service the neighborhood. They keep kids off the street; they help parents when they’re struggling and having issues in the home. That neighborhood school is a support system for the community, and the powers that be know that.
This isn’t the life I chose. It chose me.
I’m a forty year-old mother of five, soon to be a grandmother. I was a teen mom, and I’ve been on the Local School Council (LSC) at Irving C. Mollison Elementary since I was 19. I’ve always had to participate in my children’s education. My mother did it for me, and when I became a mother, she pushed me to be responsible. She said *that’s your child. You’ve got to be a part of the school culture.* My grandmother was one of the first teacher’s assistants at Mollison, DYETT my auntie is a teacher there, my mother was on the PTA. She’s been a clerk at the school for 20 years. This isn’t the life I chose. It chose me.
For almost my entire life—34 years—I’ve lived in Bronzeville. I’ve recently been pushed out because of gentrification. I can’t afford the rent in the neighborhood, so for the last three years I’ve resided in Woodlawn. The transformation in Bronzeville started back in the 1990’s when they knocked down the public housing and began to build up the neighborhood. But what I started to notice was that when they put up replacement housing, it wasn’t for the people who’d lived in the neighborhood for years. So you’re pushing out the people who can’t afford to live there. If you’re not making $50,000 a year or more, you’re not able to afford to live in Bronzeville.
A line in the sand
There are currently 12 people on a hunger strike. Every day more people join us from around the city who’ve decided to go on a fast with us. We have a pastor, a Latino brother, we have a white brother whose community said *we don’t want a Noble Street charter in our neighborhood* and they left. He’s joined up despite the fact that this isn’t touching him. School closures haven’t really affected some of these other communities the way have us, but they took the charge to say *if these parents and community members can do it, I’m going to join them.* I have two other of my Local School Council members hunger striking with me, another active parent from my school, and an ex parent who helped me fight off two previous attempts to close Mollison Elementary. You’ve got people who’ve been in the community working and fighting for years who’ve said *enough is enough.* The line in the sand has been drawn and people have to answer for mistreating our young people.
You’ve got people who’ve been in the community working and fighting for years who’ve said *enough is enough.* The line in the sand has been drawn and people have to answer for mistreating our young people.
Part of the problem
Charter schools aren’t the solution, they’re part of the problem. Don’t get me wrong. There are some good charter schools, but most of them aren’t doing any better than neighborhood schools. And they have no accountability. They have no Local School Councils. LSCs at schools are the people who hire and fire the principals and oversee the budgets. Nobody does that at charter or contract schools. These people are able to charge parents $10 or $20 when their kids don’t have a belt or a tie. Then at the end of the year when your grades aren’t good enough to make their profile look good, they get to kick you out and then you’re sent back to the neighborhood school.
We’ve got to look it in the face and call it what it is: racism. It’s only happening to a certain group of people. Period.
No stake in the community
Why should these people be allowed to set up shop? Because that’s what it is. They come. They’re here for four or five years. They have no stake in the community. They do nothing with the community. And then after they’ve made millions and millions of dollars but without educating our children, they leave. Charter schools are a way for bankers and billionaires to make money off of the poor. It’s racism. We’ve got to look it in the face and call it what it is: racism. It’s only happening to a certain group of people. Period. And I don’t care who that’s uncomfortable for, and who thinks I’m going too far by saying that. It’s the truth. I can’t find another reason. I pay my taxes like everyone else, I go to work everyday. I send my kids to school. So what is it? There’s no other factor. This is based on the color of my skin.
Connecting dots
I’m very discouraged that in 2015 parents have to go to this extreme for a neighborhood high school. People have to answer for that. What did Martin die for? What did Malcolm die for? How can we get the next Barack Obama? How can we get any of those folks if our kids can’t even be educated? They want to make everything private. I’m not crazy. I’ve been to New Orleans. I’ve seen the kids still attending schools in trailers while they got billions and billions of dollars. I’ve been to Philadelphia. I’ve been to Detroit. I’ve been to New Jersey to see the parents who are fighting in Camden. The connecting dot is that there is an attack on black and brown low-income working families.
Jeanette Taylor-Ramann is a member of the Local School Council at Mollison Elementary on Chicago’s South Side. She is one of twelve parents and community members on a hunger strike to keep open the last open-enrollment high school in Bronzeville.
