On a Saturday morning in mid-July, about seventy-five recent high school graduates and college underclassmen—all young black men—crowded into the Laney College student center in downtown Oakland, California. Some were accompanied by parents, mostly their mothers. Some wore red button-up shirts and black ties that marked them as members of the Striving Black Brothers Coalition, a group that provides mentorship to young African-American men attending a nearby community college. One wore a letterman-style jacket issued by another college-prep program geared toward black youth. Embroidered on the back was a question: What if the prince dared to be king?
The princes in question had been convened by the College Bound Brotherhood, an organization that connects black boys and young men in the Bay Area to scholarships and peer support. They spent the day hearing from a former college-football star as well as admissions officers from the University of California—all men of color. Meanwhile, their parents attended sessions on financial aid and traded tips on dorm move-ins and care packages. The young men learned how much time to spend on homework (two hours for every one spent in class), the best place to sit in a classroom (never farther back than the third row), and how many community-college credits are required before a student is eligible to transfer to the UC system (sixty). Monique Johnson, whose 17-year-old son recently graduated from nearby San Rafael High School and will be attending the California Maritime Academy, considered all of this a godsend.
“Where else are you going to have a room full of African-American men of this age who are not in trouble, who are doing the right thing?” she asked me. “And their parents are here,” she added, “so this debunks every myth that you’ve heard.”
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Debunking “every myth that you’ve heard” about black and Latino boys and young men is a goal of the Obama administration’s My Brother’s Keeper (MBK) initiative, which seeks to close the “opportunity gaps” faced by boys and young men of color. Not since Bill Clinton tried—and failed—to launch an initiative on race during his second term has a president called attention to the persistent racial disparities in health, wealth, education, incarceration and more. This time around, the effort involves more than holding town halls and issuing reports: My Brother’s Keeper has partnered with foundations, which will allocate $200 million for the initiative, as well as corporations like AT&T, UBS and JPMorgan Chase, which have pledged $100 million in additional financial support.
Many racial-justice advocates have welcomed President Obama’s attention, and the funding that comes with it. But since it was launched in February, My Brother’s Keeper has met with a firestorm of criticism in opinion pieces, on cable news shows and in two highly publicized open letters. On Twitter, opponents have adopted the hashtag #WhyWeCantWait—referring to the 1964 book by Martin Luther King Jr. that grew out of his “Letter From a Birmingham Jail”—as their rallying cry. The crux of these critics’ argument: if the Obama administration’s sole racial-justice initiative focuses exclusively on boys and men, then girls and women of color—who are part of the same disadvantaged families, classrooms and communities—find themselves ignored.
The African American Policy Forum (AAPF), a think tank led by legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw, has taken the lead in harnessing a response. It organized the two open letters—one signed by more than 200 black men, and the other by more than 1,000 women of color—and hosted public conference calls. On one such call in early July, Kristie Dotson, a signer and philosophy professor at Michigan State University, put the question succinctly: “Are black girls genuinely part of the black community?”