For years, I have been that parent.
You know the one—I joined the parent council at both my child’s elementary and high school, led committees, and joined community groups. I was twice recognized as the school board’s volunteer of the year. I have sat through meetings that aged me five years in two hours and poured my energy into “constructive dialogue” (emphasis on the air quotes). I’ve worked behind the scenes, in front of the scenes, and at one point, I think I was the scene.
In some ways, I fell into this role. Well… more like I was lured in with the oldest trick in the book—free wine. A friend bribed me with a few glasses of red and somehow, before I knew What the Parent Council Does I was on it, sitting at a meeting, nodding like I knew what a motion to adjourn was.
But I anyways – I stayed because I saw what it meant for Black students when I showed up. I saw the way Black students lit up when I walked into the school—because even if I wasn’t their teacher, I was there. Their faces showed me I filled a gap they couldn’t always name, but they felt. I stayed so my son’s teacher would think twice before singling him out. So that another Black child might have someone in the building who truly saw them, who understood, who would stand up when it mattered most.
Because I grew up in the Canadian school system, I knew firsthand how some things had changed—but how too many things hadn’t.
Experiences of black children have changed… but not enough
Beyond the statistics and reports on anti-Black racism in schools consistently confirming my observations — I understood, deep in my bones, that the experiences of Black children hadn’t shifted nearly enough since I walked those same hallways.
And I remembered, back when I was a student, how easy it was to believe that the way things were was the way they had to be.
I believed that if we worked with the system — volunteered, showed up, and used our “inside voices” (as requested)—things would change. Even if it was just one school, one meeting, or one Black student at a time, the system could move differently.
And don’t get me wrong – me and my little community of parents of black children have had some big wins.
We helped to get our board’s only Black trustees in the province elected (and yes, in this year of our Lord, they shouldn’t be the only ones, but here we are).
I pushed for a course on Deconstructing Anti-Black Racism and Oppression to be offered in high schools in our board (and kept pushing long after anyone with a shred of self-preservation would’ve stopped).
The board created an advisory group to give voice to Black parents.
Parent volunteers launched a Black-led leadership program in a school where Black students make up the majority of the student population – yet somehow, the teaching and leadership staff included zero Black faces. (Seriously. Zero. Not one.)
But then, I watched those same wins get quietly undermined. I asked more questions, looked for statistics and requested measurable signs of positive impact. I went from being that parent to being labelled as ‘oh, that parent.’
Inside Voices Aren’t Enough when it comes to Anti-Black racism
Here’s how it plays out – tell me if you recognize some of the moves.
The two Black trustees are alone—not just at the trustee table, but as the only Black leadership in the entire board. It’s like electing them gave the system a free pass to not reflect the communities it serves.
The anti-Black racism course? It’s treated like a side dish, not a staple. It’s only offered if enough students sign up, and the school environment sees teachers who promote the course quietly undermined for their efforts.
The parent-led education advisory group? Dwindling. The focus has shifted to band-aid events no one asked for while Black kids are being over-disciplined and even tased by police in its schools. Parents are hanging on by a thread, some opting out entirely, while others get scolded for every misstep.
And the Black-led leadership program? Constant battles—from scheduling issues and quiet indifference to outright pushback.
The only thing worse than not getting a seat at the table is thinking you have one, only to realize they’re still serving the same old unseasoned nonsense.
The education system can want to do better, and there can be more work to do.
I used to think if we followed the process, showed up, and played by the rules, the school system would do the right thing. Call it wildly misplaced optimism, but I truly believed the system wanted to do better. Mainly because those in it keep saying so.
Years of reports relied on by the Ministry of Education have outlined systemic racism in Ontario Schools. The Ontario Human Rights Commission has said “Systemic anti-Black racism in Ontario’s publicly-funded education system is a crisis”.
The lives of dedicated educators in the black community as well as allied advocates have been spent working to encourage the system to not just identify problems but create solutions. From professional development to data collection, educational institutions hold up the efforts they are making or the academic achievement of a few students as success stories.
But after a few years in these parenting streets, I’ve learned more than one thing can be true.
The education system can want to do better, and there can be more work to do. Particularly it seems when you live in any number of school boards outside of the greater Toronto area.
The trouble is when the system confuses “better” with “enough”.
Some Ontario school boards can get better at dealing with limiting racial stereotypes in the learning environment, or hire a few more Black teachers while still struggling to meet the diverse needs of Black communities it serves. The system can be better while parents acknowledge that Black student achievement, discipline statistics and everyday schooling experiences tell us that the school system’s efforts are not enough.
It’s like asking for a glass of water and being handed an empty cup. Then, when you ask where the water is, everyone looks at you like you’re the problem for still being thirsty.
And as a parent, it’s tough in these streets.
We are told to get involved and be part of the solution, but it’s harder than it should be.
There’s the Quiet Disappear: That shiny new program everyone hyped last year? Poof. Gone this budget cycle. “Oh, we couldn’t fund it this year… we had to buy pom-poms.”
Then there’s We’ll Look Into It: A move as dizzying as a spinning top that sends you department to department, union lead to superintendent—until you’re too exhausted to keep asking.
And let’s not forget the Shiny Distraction: “Look! A new Diversity Coordinator!” Sure, they have zero power, zero experience, and a to-do list that could sink a ship, but… it’s something.
Finally, the classic You’re Never Satisfied: The system responds to legitimate concerns with the energy of a toddler mid-tantrum. “We’ve done so much, but it’s never enough for parents like you!”
It’s like asking for a glass of water and being handed an empty cup. Then, when you ask where the water is, everyone looks at you like you’re the problem for still being thirsty.
Black Parents are the System.
So many parents get frustrated with Ontario’s education system and move on. I get it. I’ve come close. I am close.
Or we get outlasted by the school system when our kids grow up and age out. Because when things work out the way we hope, our kids do move on.
The expectation is that we’ll take our small wins, pack up, and disappear.
But what if we didn’t?
What if, instead of fading into the background, we came back with more questions, more persistence, and more people?
I’m not saying it’s easy. Advocacy can feel like yelling into the void while the void emails you back with “we’ll look into it.”
Working with Black youth, seeing the experiences of Black students and connecting with Black families has shown me our kids need our collective efforts. And even when it feels like the work to address anti-black racism and systemic barriers in our school is a lot… It also occurs to me that parents already have what it takes.
But Black parents are part of the system. Some of the same tools we use to raise our kids are the ones we can use to advocate for them — and for ourselves.
What if we Parent the School System Like It’s One of Our Kids?
Advocating for our kids isn’t about fighting—it’s about playing an important role in making sure Black students get what they need to thrive. Yet somehow, we still find ourselves double-checking our emails for “tone” and wondering if respectfully is just code for please don’t ignore me.
What if we made advocacy about what we do best? Parenting.
Black parents have been raising leaders, problem-solvers, and world-changers for generations. We know how to guide, correct, and demand better—because we do it every day. So why not take that same wisdom, that same no-nonsense, full-of-love, no-time-for-foolishness energy, and apply it to the school system?
That’s exactly what this series is about. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be pulling from the greatest hits of Black parenting wisdom—the phrases, lessons, and unshakable truths that have shaped us—to build a real, practical action plan for improving everyday school life and outcomes for our kids.
And we’re kicking it off with a classic: If You Keep Making That Face, It’ll Stay That Way.
This one’s for every parent who’s ever worried about coming off as “too demanding” or being labelled the angry Black parent just for asking for what their child needs. Spoiler alert: The “angry Black parent” trope? It’s just another way to make us feel like we’re the problem—instead of acknowledging that the problem is the problem.
Advocacy can feel overwhelming, but it doesn’t have to be. We already have what it takes. Sometimes, we need to take our own best advice.
We know what our kids need. We have generations of experience asking for it.
We shouldn’t have to fight for the basics. We shouldn’t have to strategize every email, prepare for every meeting like it’s a courtroom trial, or wonder if speaking up will make things worse instead of better.
And yet, here we are.
So if you’ve ever thought, What’s the point? The system doesn’t actually want to change, you’re not alone. And you’re not wrong.
But here’s the thing: we don’t have to fight the system to change it. We just have to refuse to let it wear us down.
Advocacy doesn’t have to be exhausting. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Sometimes, it’s just about knowing when and how to push—so that when it counts, you’re ready.
Because we know what our kids need. We have generations of experience asking for it. And honestly? We’re tired of asking.
We shouldn’t have to fight for the basics. We shouldn’t have to strategize every email, prepare for every meeting like it’s a courtroom trial, or wonder if speaking up will make things worse instead of better.
And yet, here we are.
Let’s make advocacy about what we do best. Parenting.
So if you’ve ever thought, What’s the point? The system doesn’t actually want to change, you’re not alone. And you may not be wrong.
But here’s the thing: for the system to keep failing Black kids, it relies on Black parents feeling like it’s too big, too broken, too exhausting to take on. It banks on us believing nothing will change—and not realizing the power of our voices.
The truth? Moving the system forward doesn’t have to be exhausting. Advocacy doesn’t have to be all or nothing. This system is ours, too.
Sometimes, it’s just about knowing when and how to push—so that when it counts, you’re ready.
That’s what this series is about. If you believe the system can and should do better by Black children—and you just need to know you’re not alone in saying so—this is for you.
Join the conversation and get the support you need. Download our Parent Advocacy Toolkit and stay tuned.
