Support foster care youth.

16-year-old Ma'Khia Bryant was killed on April 20th, 2021, outside of her foster home by a police officer called to help (NYTimes). The officer resorted to extreme and fatal force without issuing any clear verbal warnings or commands to the girl who had been in foster care since 2018. Unless you’ve been a child or teen in the foster care system or a foster parent, this situation may be hard to understand. As a product of the foster care system, this case hit home. In light of National Foster Care Month, I’ll be telling my story, one of hundreds of thousands of stories of current and former foster care youth in America.

Happy Monday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. In honor of National Foster Care Month, Jacari joins us today to share his first-hand perspective of the foster care system and its role in the death of Ma'Khia Bryant.

This newsletter is possible because of our gracious supporters! Consider giving $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website or PayPal. You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Donate to Families for All, a non-profit funding programs and services, scholarships, and care packages for foster youth and adoptive youth.
Educate yourself on current and former foster children’s stories. Learn more about my story as a child in foster care in my book, Lost & Found.
Sponsor a child in foster care through the nonprofit, Together We Rise.
If you’re in a position to do so, learn more about becoming a foster parent or adopting a child in foster care.

GET EDUCATED

By Jacari W. Harris (he/him)

My name is Jacari. I’m a Tallahassee, Florida native, a former child of foster care, and an adoptee. I grew up living in low-income, dirty, unkempt conditions with no provisions for care, surrounded by drug dealing, sex, poverty, and high crime rates.

I first met my biological father on his death bed on my thirteen birthday. My biological mother had a long history of crack and alcohol abuse. Before I could even crawl, she left me with a non-relative, informing the keeper that she would return in an hour. She returned days later, spotted walking the streets, appearing drunk or high on crack. This caused me to be in and out of foster homes for two years before I was eventually adopted. Once the termination of parental rights occurred, and there were no other family relatives who wanted to take me in. I had no choice but to remain with this new family.

Growing up in this system, I was depressed and angry with anyone I encountered. I spent much of my early grade-school years in detention, suspension, or expulsion. My adoptive mother put me in sports and sent me to counseling to reduce my anger and behavioral issues. I became angrier and would be triggered often to call the police department on my adoptive parents, thinking that they’d kick me out if I continued getting in trouble.

By high school, I was determined to go in a different direction and worked a full-time job, finished high school a year early, and eventually became the youngest intern at Parks & Crump, the firm that represented Trayvon Martin and George Floyd, in their firm’s history. I later graduated from college and wrote a book called Lost & Found about growing up in foster care and finding my identity as an adoptee. I now work in the racial justice space and advocate for foster care and adopted youth through my non-profit, Families for All.

My story is just one of the hundreds of thousands of children’s in the foster care system. Over 437,000 children are currently in the U.S. foster care system, and the numbers are only increasing (CCAI). “Over 125,000 of these children are eligible for adoption, and they will wait, on average, four years for an adoptive family” (CCAI). The rates are even more shocking for Black youth, who make up 13.71% of the population, yet 22.75% of children in foster care (NCSL, 2018). According to federal data, Black children “receive fewer services, are more likely to be given psychotropic medications to control their behaviors, and increasing numbers are being funneled through the foster-care-to-prison pipeline” (The Grigio).

In President Joe Biden’s recent “Proclamation on National Foster Care Month,” he confessed to some of the racial disparities that exist in the foster care system. “Black and Native American children are far more likely than white children to be removed from their homes, even when the circumstances surrounding the removal are similar. Once removed, Black and Native American children stay in care longer and are less likely to either reunite with their birth parents or be adopted. Too many children are removed from loving homes because poverty is often conflated with neglect, and the enduring effects of systemic racism and economic barriers mean that families of color are disproportionately affected by this as well” (“A Proclamation on National Foster Care Month, 2021”).

For these children, resources are often scarce. The demand for foster parents far exceeds the supply, and children in foster care receive 50% of the investment that the average American child receives (iFoster). During the pandemic, these disparities become increasingly impactful, with only 5% of rural foster youth and 21% of urban foster youth reporting access to a computer at home, limiting these children’s access to education, resources, and jobs (iFoster). Twenty thousand kids age out of the system annually, “leaving them to fend for themselves” in a world where they will have little access to education and be at high risk for unemployment (iFoster).

The foster care system failed Ma'Khia long before the day she was murdered by a state official. The system’s failure directly led to her death right outside of the home she was sent to keep her safe. She had no reason to trust the officer because adults had let her down, time and time again. Ma'Khia was not protected. We must do more to protect the hundreds of thousands of children in her position.

This month, as a former child of the foster care system, I ask that you share our stories, amplify our voices, and support organizations dedicated to meeting the needs of children and families touched by the foster care system.

Jacari W. Harris, a native of Tallahassee, Florida, is an author, life coach, social justice activist, and inspirational speaker. He also serves as the Executive Director of The George Floyd Memorial Foundation.

Key Takeaways

437,000+ children are currently in the U.S. foster care system and the numbers are only increasing. 125,000 of these children are eligible for adoption (CCAI).
Black children are overrepresented in foster care, making up 22.75% of the foster care population, but only 13.71% of all children in the U.S. (NCSL, Our foster care system failed Ma’Khia Bryant system. We must do more to protect children like her.

12/9/2020 | Rethink transracial adoption.

10/28/2020 | Unpack the history of social work.

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Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.

Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza

Nicole Cardoza 3/1/21 Nicole Cardoza 3/1/21

Support unaccompanied minors.

One category of immigrants that is often overlooked in the larger conversation about immigration is unaccompanied minors. The term refers to youth who are under eighteen years old, undocumented, and have no parents or legal guardians in the United States (National Immigrant Justice Center). They also are the students who don’t get to join the high school soccer team because they have to work a full-time job. They are the hard workers who have to choose between earning a diploma and paying their rent. Every day, they are faced with making decisions about whether to go to school and reach their academic potential or go to work to provide for themselves and their families back in their home countries.

Happy Monday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. It's a new month and I'm excited for the possibilities it holds. Today, Sergio joins us with his personal narrative, urging us all to do more to support unaccompanied minors in our communities.

This newsletter is a free resource and that's made possible by our paying subscribers. Consider giving $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Volunteer at your local high school to mentor unaccompanied minors through high school and into college.
Donate to organizations that provide free legal assistance to unaccompanied minors like Kids in Need of Defense.
Write letters to your local representatives to provide more funding and resources at majority Latino high schools.

GET EDUCATED

By Sergio Rodriguez (he/him/el)

Most unaccompanied minors are from Central America, particularly El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. In 2018, 49,100 unaccompanied minors arrived in the United States. In May 2019, 11,500 more crossed the U.S.-Mexico border (Migration Policy Institute). Most of them leave their home countries to escape political violence, gang violence, and extreme poverty. Because of U.S.-driven instability in Central America, it can be hard to disentangle one of these reasons from another. For me, it was a mixture of all three.

I came to the United States from El Salvador at the age of seventeen. The decision to leave my home country was incredibly difficult and complex. In El Salvador, my parents supported five children on poverty-level wages. When I was five, I spent early morning hours under that never-ending blue sky farming volcanic soil with my dad for five dollars a day. That money went right to my mom to try and satisfy our always hungry stomachs.

As I got older, it became more and more difficult for my parents to support us all. In El Salvador, due to a compounding mix of violence, unemployment, and job scarcity, it is increasingly difficult for young people to stay motivated to get through school and into the workforce (OECD). I knew that if I wanted a better future for myself, one where I could realize my full potential and meet my most basic needs, I would have to leave my country.

I decided to come to the United States alone. I left with nothing more than my wallet, three shirts, a pair of jeans, a pair of shoes, and a water bottle. The wallet contained my high school ID card, my passport, letters from friends and family, and memories; no money.

I traveled through Guatemala with a small group of people. We hitched rides and took buses to get to Mexico. We crossed the U.S.-Mexico border and immediately got arrested and put into a youth detention center. After being released and connecting with my long-distant aunt, I got my first job. My first paycheck was a hundred dollars. I had never had so much money in my entire life; I was excited. Then the bills started piling up.

To pursue my right to stay in this country, I found and paid for a lawyer. Because I am an unaccompanied minor, I had no parental support. My aunt was living her own life, and while I was able to rent a bedroom from her, that was the extent of our relationship. I paid for my legal fees, rent, food, and sent money back to feed my family by working more than fifty hours a week at a restaurant all through high school. This often meant sacrificing things for myself. I ate a lot of fruit because it was cheaper than buying meat, bread, or beans. I spent my first Boston winter sloshing through snow and ice each night after my shift ended at midnight without a winter coat or boots shivering the whole way home.

My high school grades were far from exemplary. I struggled to pay attention in class because I was always tired, my stomach always rumbling, my thoughts easily drifting to the next impending crisis. It would have been so easy to drop out, to disappear into the background. If you are undocumented, you probably have an immigration story just as harrowing and difficult as mine. Some of it I talk about, more of it, I don’t.

Approximately 125,000 undocumented immigrant students like myself reach high school graduation age each year. However, only ninety-eight thousand actually graduate. The other twenty-seven thousand students exit early from high school and, in my experience, these students are most likely unaccompanied (Migration Policy Institute). (Accurate data about unaccompanied minors is nearly impossible to come by because of our often under-the-radar existence.)

Without the support of mentors, I would be one of those twenty-seven thousand young people who leave high school only to drift into the shadows and operate on the edge of legality to try and chase my dreams. Unaccompanied minors are kids. They deserve everything any child deserves, especially a full-time education where they are not pressured to choose between school and survival.

An unaccompanied student in high school has the same responsibilities as an adult except that the adult doesn’t have to attend school while working full time, paying bills, buying food and clothes, and paying for legal representation. Immigration court is the only court system in the United States where you are not guaranteed a lawyer, even as a minor. Maybe you remember hearing those horror stories about kids going to court alone (The Atlantic). It’s all true; we all do. Being unaccompanied is a full-time adult and adolescent existence that constantly forces children to make hard, grown-up decisions.

We need to overhaul our system to support unaccompanied minors both in the legal system and in the community. We need to reform our immigration court structure to guarantee all defendants a lawyer. We need mental health support in schools, especially bilingual and bicultural counselors who can help students process the trauma of independent migration. We need a social safety net that includes unaccompanied minors to ensure they have safe housing, food, and clothes whether or not they have an income. Finally, we need adults who support us—people who can mentor, tutor, and believe in our capabilities—so that we get the chance to be kids before becoming adults.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Unaccompanied minors are children seeking education, safety, and a future in the U.S.
Unaccompanied minors are not guaranteed legal representation and have to find lawyers and pay legal fees
Unaccompanied minors are often left out of immigration conversations and deserve the same opportunities and paths toward citizenship as DACA and DREAMers

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 2/23/21 Nicole Cardoza 2/23/21

Rally against anti-trans legislation.

Right now, there are over 50 pieces of anti-trans legislation under consideration in states across the U.S. All are designed to strip away the limited rights and protections that currently exist for transgender people (LGBTQ+ Nation). Seventeen states are all considering bills that would ban transgender girls and women from school sports this year, and some of the bills also ban transgender boys and men. These states are Arizona, Connecticut, Iowa, Georgia, Hawaii, Kentucky, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, and Texas.

Happy Tuesday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. This week, hearings are scheduled in South Dakota, Kansas, Tennessee, and South Carolina to act on anti-trans legislation that will disproportionately impact trans women and girls. Amplify the work of state and federal organizers fighting for their rights.

This newsletter is a free resource and that's made possible by our paying subscribers. Consider giving $7/month on Patreon. Or you can give one-time on our website or PayPal. You can also support us by joining our curated digital community. Thank you to all those that support!

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Sign up to phone bank with NEAT, the National Equality Action Team, to defend trans youth in key states.
Review the anti-trans legislation by state on the ACLU’s tracker. Then, contact your local legislators and urge them to block anti-trans bills from passing. Find your state representatives here.

Donate to trans-led organizations in your community. To make a donation that will be distributed to local orgs, donate to the Trans Justice Funding Project.

Action items inspired by the work of Chase Strangio, deputy director of transgender justice for the ACLU.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

In addition, 15 pieces of legislation designed to prevent transgender youth from receiving gender-affirming healthcare. Like HB 1/SB 10 in Alabama, these bills seek to impose criminal penalties on medical professionals and parents that offer transgender youth medical care. Arizona’s SB1511 wants to make it a Class 2 felony – punishable with up to 12 years in prison (Human Rights Watch).

Together, this legislation drafted in 2021 is a coordinated attack against trans rights, which activists feared after the Trump administration’s continued attacks on the trans community and growing anti-trans sentiment. Although President Biden signed an executive order to protect LGTBQ+ people in federally funded spaces, including education, it’s insufficient to ban state legislation on this topic (them).

These bills don’t necessarily reflect the sentiment of each state’s voter base. The Human Rights Campaign and Hart Research Group conducted a study across ten swing states on LGBTQ+ rights. They found that 87% of total respondents believe transgender people should have equal access to medical care, with many states breaking 90% support. They were also asked to prioritize banning transgender people from participating in sports against other policy issues. This issue came in dead last, and only 1-3% of respondents prioritized the issue (Los Angeles Blade).

In fact, much of this legislation has been drafted not by legislators, but Alliance Defending Freedom, a conservative Christian nonprofit organization that aims to protect "religious freedom, sanctity of life, and marriage and family" (Southern Poverty Law Center). As Nico Lang reports for them, the ADF has been fighting against equal rights for queer and transgender people for years. The organization has lobbied in favor of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation in Colorado, Idaho, and South Carolina and advocated for the use of “religious freedoms” to justify discrimination against LGBTQ+ people (them).

This is also happening in a time of rampant violence against the trans community, particularly the Black trans community. And many of these deaths were directly caused by police brutality; the criminal justice system disproportionately impacts the Black trans community (Vox). This is exacerbated by the systemic injustices that the Black trans community experiences, including unprecedented unemployment rates, high levels of houselessness, and low household incomes (Harvard Civil Rights). The Human Rights Watch noted a 43% increase in the formation of anti-LGBTQ hate groups in 2019.

This legislation is yet another form of policing the health and safety of trans youth, particularly trans women, for it’s important to emphasize how gender influences these harmful narratives. A common refrain from proponents of this legislation is that it’s necessary to protect women in sport because people assigned male at birth are “inherently” better at sports, purporting the notion that “women are weak and in need of protection.” It also insinuates that trans women athletes have an unfair advantage (this has been proven untrue). Throughout history, women’s protection, particularly white women, has been used to justify unnecessary harm against other marginalized communities (Washington Post). And more generally, the government continuously tries to control women’s bodies (Institute for Women’s Policy Research).

"
These bills cloak transmisogyny in inflammatory language and scare tactics that distract from the policies’ discriminatory intent. Notably, many do not lay out restrictions for transgender boys and men, focusing solely on regulating women’s bodies.
Excerpt from Fair Play: The Importance of Sports Participation for Transgender Youth by the Center for American Progress (CAP), via them.

As hearings unfold this week, I urge you to take direct action on this legislation right now, even if it doesn’t affect your state. And, more broadly, continue to amplify and advocate for the needs of the trans community, particularly trans youth.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

A series of anti-trans legislation is being discussed in state legislators across the U.S. this week.
This legislation is a part of the violence and discrimination that trans communities experience on behalf of our government, particularly trans communities of color and the Black trans community.
This is especially harmful for trans women and girls, who experience added discrimination because of stereotypes about the role of gender in society

RELATED ISSUES

11/20/2020 | Honor Transgender Day of Remembrance.

6/13/2020 | Center Black trans lives.

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Nicole Cardoza 1/26/21 Nicole Cardoza 1/26/21

Support Black poetry.

Amanda Gorman, a 23-year old Black woman, and the nation's first-ever youth poet laureate, read her poem “The Hill We Climb” at the Biden inauguration. Her poem, which you can read here in full, and her delivery of words captivated the nation and thrust her work into the spotlight.

Indeed, all of this alone is a reason to celebrate. But Black poetry has historical significance – living as a written form of protest that has outlasted unbeatable odds. By understanding how Black poetry has shaped our nation, we can appreciate Gorman and her words even more.

Happy Wednesday, and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily! There was so much energy surrounding Amanda Gorman's performance at the inauguration. I hope that we carry that same energy forward to support the arts – particularly poetry – for all youth.

You'll notice that there's a LOT of links in this article, directing you to incredible works from Black poets. I highly recommend reading the content over the course of the next month. You can also explore books featuring the writers below through our (new!) bookstore.

Thank you for all your support. Consider subscribing for $7/month on Patreon. Or, you can give one-time on our website, PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). You can also support us by joining our curated digital community.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Donate to Youth Speaks and First Exposures to safe space for youth, storytelling, and community building in San Francisco’s Mission District.
Learn how you can support local youth poetry initiatives in your community.
Bring poetry into your workplace or classroom. Alternatively, consider attending a poetry workshop by yourself or as a team.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)

Poetry readings during the inauguration aren’t necessarily new: Four presidents—John F. Kennedy in 1961, Bill Clinton in 1993 and 1997, Barack Obama in 2009 and 2013, and Joe Biden in 2021—have had poets read at their inaugurations (Poets.org). Amanda Gorman is by far the youngest, and the third Black poet (following Maya Angelou in 1993 and Elizabeth Alexander in 2009), to participate. She finished writing her poem after the riot at the Capitol, referencing scenes directly in the text (NYTimes).

Black poetry began in the U.S. before it was even founded. In 1773, Phillis Wheatley became the first Black person and second woman to publish a book of poetry. An enslaved woman from The Gambia (she was renamed after the slave ship she arrived on, “the Phillis”) Whatley was taught to read and write English from her captors. Throughout her teenage years, she used poetry as a way to question the political and social injustices of the era. As an enslaved woman, no one in the U.S. was interested in publishing a collection of her work. Ultimately, her “less controversial” works were published in London (National Women’s History Museum). She was 20 years old. Read one of her works, “On Being Brought from Africa to America.”

Ever since, poetry has played a critical role in Black history. During the Civil Rights Movement, poets like Margaret Walker, Nikki Giovanni, and June Jordan used their work to “instill a sense of pride in one’s identity, to praise freedom fighters and honor fallen leaders, to chronicle acts of resistance, and to offer wisdom and strength to fellow activists” (Poetry Foundation). Consider “Ballad of Birmingham” by Dudley Randall in response to the Birmingham Church Bombing by white supremacists in September 1963. Or “Riot” by Gwendolyn Brooks, commissioned by Black magazine Black Expressions in response to the protests sparked after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr (The Stranger). And “Afterimages” by Audre Lorde is a moving narrative of grief and despair after the brutal murder of Emmett Till.

Even today, Black literary leaders offer poignant narratives of the liberation we all strive for. I recommend “Trojan” by Jericho Brown, Lee Mokobe’s “Surviving Blackness,” or "Immigrant” by Nayyirah Waheed. But that doesn’t come without a cost. Black literary leaders were routinely censored and banned. Many people don’t realize that poet Maya Angelou is one of the most banned authors in the U.S. due to the topics in her autobiographical work “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings” (New African). A school board in Alaska just banned this book last year (NBC News).

Furthermore, dozens of prominent African American writers were profiled by the FBI between 1919 and 1972 (The Guardian). One such writer was Claude McKay, a prominent figure in the Harlem Renaissance who wrote poems, like “America,” that protested racial and economic inequities (Poetry Foundation). The FBI would keep accounts of their travels, review their works before publication on the sly, and apparently considered “whether certain African Americans should be allowed government jobs and White House visits, in the cases of the most fortunate,” and “what the leading minds of black America were thinking, and would be thinking” (The Guardian). Surveillance of Black leaders is still happening today, but it is nevertheless encouraging to see Gorman sharing her work in that moment.

I reached out to Natalie Patterson (she/her/Queen), a Poet & Teaching Artist (natalieispoetry.com) who leads workshops for youth. She stresses poetry’s importance in Black history: “Poetry is a tool for liberation. It is access that can not be taken away. The act of writing is an act of manifestation. It is communing with the creator. It is one of our most powerful tools. Perhaps that is why it is not celebrated and elevated as it should be.”

And that is up to us – to celebrate it and elevate it, particularly for the next generation. It doesn’t just connect them to our history but gives them the tools to write their own. Patterson reflects on her work: “I think of the many young people I have taught, particularly the ones who were incarcerated. I think of how giving them a single sheet of paper and a pen allowed them to come to terms with some things, make peace, discover new things about themselves and the world. I think about how that is perhaps the best teaching I've ever done, to give them the tools, permission to be honest, and then get out of their way.

Storytelling is in our DNA. It is our inheritance and legacy.”

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Black poetry in the U.S. has been a revolutionary space throughout history
Black writers have been subject to censorship and harassment for their views
Black youth are a critical component to the future of Black poetry – and it's our responsibility to invest in it

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 12/2/20 Nicole Cardoza 12/2/20

Fight racism within Gen Z.

Last August, I sat on a panel with the other 1.2% of Black students in my school district to discuss our experiences with racism in our community. All of us had stories to share about encountering slurs, facing microaggressions, and being treated as though we were less than due to the color of our skin.

Yet all of us were also members of Gen Z — a generation praised by figures like Senator Bernie Sanders for our tolerance and decency (Teen Vogue). Headlines propose that Gen Z might be the generation to “end systemic racism” (Screen Shot), and celebrities like Oprah Winfrey hope that racism will die away with older generations (MSNBC). As nice as the idea of racism passively dying off sounds, it cannot be a reality without active anti-racism.

Happy Wednesday and welcome back to the Anti-Racism Daily. Although the generation that follows mine is often considered more liberal and active, there are many that support more conservative values and ideals. Lena, a high school senior who's new to the ARD, to share her perspective on addressing racism in the Gen Z community.

Are you a part of Gen Z? Or, are you a parent or teacher? Take our Gen Z survey here.

This free, daily newsletter is made possible by our generous group of contributors. Support our work by making a one-time gift on our website or PayPal, or giving monthly on Patreon. You can also Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). To subscribe, go to antiracismdaily.com. You can share this newsletter and unlock some fun rewards by signing up here.

You can now gift the Anti-Racism Dailyto a friend. It's pay-what-you-wish and I'm happy to send a holiday greetings at no cost too – just reply to this email.

Nicole

TAKE ACTION

Sign the Diversify Our Narrative petition (@diversifyournarrative) to encourage your local school board to implement anti-racist texts in the classroom (U.S. only).
Reflect on the ways you can model anti-racist behavior for the young people in your life.
Follow Gen Z Black activists like @winterbreeanne and @iammarleydias.

GET EDUCATED

By Lena McEachern (she/her)

For starters, let’s take a look at the recent 2020 Presidential Election. Although young people of color overwhelmingly supported Joe Biden, 45% of white youth voted for Trump (Tufts). The candidate who shared a white power message in June (NPR) and incessantly espoused hateful rhetoric was the candidate of choice for nearly half of young white Americans this year.

For more evidence, we can look directly at the case of 17-year-old Kyle Rittenhouse, who killed two people at a protest after police shot Jacob Blake in Kenosha, WI. Instead of facing condemnation, Rittenhouse received praise from conservative figures and left custody after they helped pay for his $2 million bond (NBC News). When people think about Gen Z, they often think about the ‘Yara Shahidi’s and ‘Malala Yousafzai’s of our generation, but our generation also includes people like Rittenhouse.

Racism perpetrated by members of Gen Z is especially dangerous due to the lack of accountability that follows it. Acts of racism committed by young people are often seen as innocent mistakes. These actions aren’t harmless — they negatively impact young people of color and prevent them from feeling accepted in their schools and communities.

Are you a part of Gen Z? Or, are you a parent or teacher? Take our Gen Z survey here.

Historically, young generations of white Americans have effectively used their perceived youthful innocence to cover up their racist acts. In the 1920s, the KKK began “Ku Klux Kiddies,” a branch for children to advocate for white supremacy under the guise of festive and youthful parades. Teenage boys and girls participated in the Junior Ku Klux Klan and Tri-K-Klub, respectively, further perpetuating racist ideas with a youthful image (History).

Gen Z is also not the first generation in recent history to fail to live up to its anti-racist reputation. Millennials were also praised for their anti-racist tendencies (Los Angeles Times), but 61% of white people under 30 believe white people are harder-working and more intelligent than African-Americans, compared to 64% of older white people (The Cut). Millennials do differ from older generations; however, in the fact that they are less self-aware of their racist beliefs. Millennials and members of Gen Z alike will not readily proclaim themselves as racists or white supremacists but will demonstrate these beliefs through their words and actions instead. For example, a younger person may argue that because they believe Black people have a victim mentality, this does not mean that they are racist, but simply that they hold a different opinion.

Much of this Gen Z racism occurs on college campuses across America. Some racist young people see themselves as pushing back against a new culture of “sensitive” inclusivity and diversity. When Instagram accounts like @dearpwi emerged to document the racism that students of color face at predominantly white universities – from being called slurs to watching KKK demonstrations outside of campus –conservative college students responded, claiming that young white people are the truly oppressed ones. Many white members of Gen Z believe that initiatives like minority-specific scholarships are examples of anti-white oppression and use these to justify white supremacy.

Many times, this white supremacy appears in the form of microaggressions. Young people harass their classmates of color about affirmative action in the college application process, tell racist jokes, and stick their hands in their Black peers’ hair without consent.

This behavior isn’t something that goes away passively on its own — it’s something that’s normalized and passed down from generation to generation until an outside force works to stop it. Be that outside force.

Acknowledge the prevalence of racism amongst members of Gen Z and actively work to combat it. Encourage anti-racist texts in school classrooms, and expose young people in your life to diverse books, films, museums, and art to show them anti-racist narratives before they adopt racist beliefs. And, of course, model anti-racist behavior in your own life through your words and actions.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

The idea that racism will die out with older generations is naive; white supremacy is still prevalent among members of Gen Z. 45% of white youth voted for Trump in the 2020 Presidential Election, the candidate who shared a white power message in June (NPR).
An American National Election Studies survey showed that 61% of white people under 30 believe whites are harder-working and more intelligent than African-Americans, compared to 64% of older white people (The Cut).
Younger people can be less self-aware about their racist beliefs, and their racist actions are often seen as youthful mistakes.
Historically, young generations of white Americans have effectively used their perceived youthful innocence to cover up their racist acts. In the 1920s, the KKK began “Ku Klux Kiddies,” a branch for children to advocate for white supremacy under the guise of festive and youthful parades.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT

Nicole Cardoza 7/30/20 Nicole Cardoza 7/30/20

Support Black maternal health.

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Happy Thursday!

I have to say, the challenges I know Black women face through the pregnancy process has discouraged me from having kids of my own. I'm incredibly grateful that this work is happening in Congress. Today's newsletter only scratches the surface of the racism people of color experience related to maternal health, and as I wrote this email it morphed into three more! But I do know that if we improve Black maternal health, we'll make maternal health more accessible for everyone.

We will keep reporting on racism until it doesn't exist anymore. And we'd love your support to make that happen. Consider giving one-time on our website, (or Venmo @nicoleacardoza), or pledge $5/month on our Patreon to keep this work growing. Many thanks to all that have supported so far!

Nicole

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TAKE ACTION

Sign the letter to show your support for the reproductive justice movement.

Share the resources from the Birth Justice Toolkit to raise awareness about the importance of reproductive justice.

Contact your senator and urge them to support the Black Maternal Health Momnibus using the letter found here.

GET EDUCATED

By Nicole Cardoza

Amid the racial reckoning of 2020, leaders and allies in the reproductive justice movement are calling for action. Congresswomen Alma Adams and Lauren Underwood launched the Black Maternal Health Caucus in April 2019, which has blossomed into a comprehensive initiative for Black maternal health rights. This includes the Black Maternal Health Momnibus, a compilation of nine bills that aim to address the disparities in access and treatment for Black people. This work calls for “reproductive justice,” a term created by a group of Black women (the Women of African Descent for Reproductive Justice) gathered in 1994 to create change based on not just reproductive rights, but social justice.

Learn more about the Black Maternal Health Caucus with Rep. Lauren Underwood in this podcast with the American Hospital Association >

And this level of action is long overdue. In the United States, women are more likely to die from complications of pregnancy and birth than in any other high-resource country. Black and Indigenous women are 2x to 3x more likely than white women to die (Every Mom Counts). And although Black women make up about 13% of the female population, they account for nearly 40% of maternal deaths (NYTimes). The campaign behind Black maternal health, organized by Every Mom Counts, puts it simply: “racism, not race, is killing Black, Brown, and Indigenous people in our maternity care system” (Every Mom Counts).

This insight is not new. The gross disparity of mortality rates between white and Black communities has existed since the U.S. started collecting data in 1850 (NYTimes). Prominent sociologist W.E.B. Du Bois wrote about this in his book “The Philadelphia Negro” in 1899 and mourned the death of his baby son in “The Soul of Black Folk” a couple of years later (NYTimes). But the collision of COVID-19 and the protests exacerbated decades of searing inequalities, highlighting the limited access and poor care that Black people receive from hospitals (NYTimes).

There have also been more documented stories of Black women experiencing discrimination – and worse – through their maternal health journey. Kira Johnson went to the hospital for a routine C-section. She suffered from internal bleeding for ten hours before the medical staff at Cedars Sinai took action, and ultimately lost her life (4Kira4Moms). Serena Williams publicly shared her horrifying experience giving birth in Vogue Magazine, and Olympian Allyson Felix testified in Congress about a traumatic birthing experience of her own (Washington Post).

It’s clear, as we covered in one of our earliest newsletters, that our society has a long way to go to respect Black women. We saw that with the coverage of the death of Breonna Taylor and other cis and trans women murdered during the protests (Anti-Racism Daily), and watching that unfold with the violence against Megan Thee Stallion, a prominent Black female artist (Jezebel).

As a result, Black, Ingenious, and other cisgender, transgender and gender non-binary people of color are left unheard in the conversation on reproductive justice. A recent article in the NYTimes garnered controversy when young activists expressed how their focus on reproductive rights is different than the feminist movement of the 1970s, which centered the needs of more affluent white women. Instead, they feel more compelled to address immediate, ‘life or death” situations that endanger the rights to access and opportunity for those services (NYTimes).

“A lot of the language I heard was about protecting Roe v. Wade. It felt grounded in the ’70s feminist movement. And it felt like, I can’t focus on abortion access if my people are dying. The narrative around abortion access wasn’t made for people from the hood”.

Brea Baker, an activist and organizer in Atlanta, for the NYTimes

But here’s the thing: data suggests that the majority of maternal deaths are preventable. Expanding Medicaid coverage before delivery and post-partum can prevent two-thirds of maternal mortality (NYTimes). Data from the CDC shows that this coverage is critical, particularly after childbirth. Lower-income mothers are eligible for Medicaid, which supports 40% of all pregnancies in the U.S. Still, coverage expires shortly after their child is born – although the coverage varies widely by state. Women of color are more likely than white women to be covered by Medicaid, so this disparity contributes to the high mortality rates for Black women (KFF). Studies prove that consistent support throughout the pregnancy decrease mortality rates and increase the health of mother and child (NYTimes).

Increasing health insurance coverage is part of the movement (and is one of the nine bills included in the Momnibus). But so is addressing the broader, systemic aspects of racism that affect Black maternal health long before someone decides to have a child. Everything from the environment to the stress of racial microaggressions, housing insecurity, unequal pay, access to transportation and healthy food, and many other factors influence one’s opportunity to have a healthy pregnancy and birth.

So as we do this work, we must remember that reproductive justice extends beyond the hospital. Reproductive justice is means solving environmental racism (New Security Beat) and dismantling the harmful practices at immigration detention, including the forced separation of families and barring access to necessary medical support (American Progress). It means abolishing the over-policing of Black, Indigenous, and people of color (Every Mother Counts). And most importantly, it means listening to Black women and centering their needs, especially when transforming maternal care.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

Congresswomen are passing a series of bills to support Black mental health, supported by dozens of leaders, allies, and activists in the reproductive justice movement
Black women are disproportionately more likely to experience poor maternal health
Although lack of coverage plays a major role, the systemic impact of racism – from treatment at hospitals, to police brutality, unsafe environments and more – affects Black maternal health
We need to listen to Black women and center their needs, in this movement and all others

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