Graduation Time
Graduation time in Detroit is filled with joy. It is a time of personal accomplishment and public celebration. High school and college grads walk around sporting their new robes, flat hats at jaunty angles. Yard signs offer individual congratulations, often picturing the grad and naming the school and year. Families, friends and neighbors gather to celebrate. This is the first time since the beginning of the pandemic that people have been able to come together.
Graduation, especially from high school, is an accomplishment. COVID has taken a terrible toll. After slow but steady increases statewide in high school graduation rates, the state average for 4 year graduations dipped to 80.4% in 2021, and as always, decreases were greatest in urban areas. Detroit rates tumbled to only 64.5% for the 2020-21 school year. This year it is closer to only 50%. Michigan is not alone in this, as people struggled with virtual non learning and unpredictable class schedules. At least 20 other states reported falling graduation rates. So, the Class of 2022 has cause to celebrate.
On my street a young woman who I have watched walk to school every day since third grade will be graduating from Cass Tech. Her grandmother, who accompanied her in those early years on the daily journey to elementary school, proudly told me her granddaughter is off to a university to study medicine.
Just a few doors up, another young woman is graduating. Her sign joins that of her brother. But she is the only one to have survived to see this day. Her brother was killed nearly a decade ago by gun violence. The family continues to mark what would have been the milestones in his life not lived. It is a reminder that the violence in our communities takes away more than a single life. It leaves an emptiness that will never be filled.
Last year I was passing by the Gateway to Freedom at Hart Plaza honoring the Underground Railroad and the long struggle for Black liberation. The “Gateway to Freedom” statue depicts eight people escaping slavery by taking refuge in Canada. Its central figure is George DeBaptiste, a courageous, visionary African American freedom fighter. I watched as a young man carefully climbed up into the middle of the group. An older woman, probably his grandmother, handed him a bundle. Within minutes he donned his cap and gown. The young man put one arm around DeBaptiste, and held the hand of the man next to him, claiming his own place in the group as his grandmother snapped photos to capture the moment.
I like to think about this young man, his grandmother, and the city that shaped them. With all of the tragedy and triumph of this time, to decide to place yourself in the long line of struggles for freedom is a powerful statement to us all. It is a reminder that we owe a debt to those who came before us, that none of us achieves anything alone, and that even in the darkest times people can choose to act for freedom and justice.