SALA: Leading To Better Understandings

It was fall of 1995 and I was just a few years out of college, living with friends in Washington, D.C., slowly growing into adulthood. 

If you lived in D.C. back then, there were a few common understandings: summers were hot as hell, virtually everyone rooted for the recently renamed Washington Football Team and softball was the sport of choice.  It was also well known that if you were scheduled for a night game in the Anacostia neighborhood of Southeast, D.C., you went as a group and came straight back given the perceived dangers of the area.  What was less understood is what led to the deterioration of the neighborhood.

With a lack of historical perspective and surface-level perceptions, I was somewhat surprised when Darell Hammond, a friend, suggested we build a playground in the Congress Heights area of Southeast, D.C.  Other than for softball, I never had reason to cross the bridge into the area.  Yet what Darell explained motivated me and others.  We would be there to build the playground as a tribute to 4-year-old Iesha Elmore and her 2-year-old brother, Clendon -- children who had suffocated and died only weeks earlier while playing in an abandoned car outside the Stoddert Terrace Housing Projects.  Darell wanted to help honor the kids and also give back to the community.

A piece entitled "No Place To Play" written in the Washington Post (August 4th, 1995) explained: "There are no swings, no slides, no playgrounds at the Stoddert Terrace housing complex.  Some children cool themselves in plastic swimming pools next to streets where cars career up and down. Others ride bicycles across desert lawns that haven't known grass in years. Still others take turns pushing one another in rusty shopping carts over ground so covered by broken blue and green glass it almost looks decorated, like the floor of a fish aquarium.  Danger feels imminent, expected, sanctioned."

While likely an accurate description of despair in what was the most racially isolated part of D.C., few of us took time to understand the historical context: white flight to the suburbs decades earlier, racist lending practices from the banks, unequal educational offerings and a national recession in the early 90s resulting in federal job cuts that kept D.C. struggling.  Those who had the option fled the city at record rates (over 9% of total employment and 12% of the population lost between 1990 and 1997)*.  Others remained behind, further impacted by fiscal mismanagement that ultimately led to the federal government taking over operations of the city.

And yet there we were trying to help make a positive impact in the community.  Knowing little about how to build a playground, I tried to make myself useful -- tackling work assignments I could handle: shoveling dirt, raking wood chips and helping move various pieces of equipment.  But the most indelible memory was playing makeshift games of catch and tag with the neighborhood kids; teenagers and younger who were thrilled with the exciting atmosphere of anticipation; awaiting improvements to a neighborhood neglected for far too long.  And sure enough, a remarkable playground was indeed built and the kids in this neighborhood of D.C. were provided with access to a safe place to experience some of the joys of childhood; offerings that are taken for granted in thousands of neighborhoods across the country.

What I couldn't have known (and I'd be surprised if Darell envisioned) was that those two days of building sparked a larger movement.  Darell would go on to build a national nonprofit called KABOOM! that works with communities to build kid-designed playspaces, with the ultimate goal of ending playspace inequity.  As KABOOM!'s mission states: "We envision a world where every kid can get the play they need to thrive, regardless of race, zip code and family income." Amazingly, due to Darell's vision and leadership and carried on by its current leaders, thousands of safe playspaces have been built -- from the ground up, by and for the communities and families who will ultimately be using them.

While the invitation over two decades ago was about volunteering to build a playground, it was an 'invitation to service' more generally.  What I didn't recognize at the time is that it was also an invitation to better understand.  The unimaginable deaths of two innocent children playing in an abandoned car was what happened.  But why it happened and what to do about deeper conditions that allowed for it, was far more complicated.  Today, COVID and the devastation it has unequally wrought, prompts many to pause and try to better understand long-standing inequities.  How deep will we go to better reconcile surface-level misunderstandings?  To what degree will we try and understand through the perspective of others?  And what changes will we be willing to make in order to help drive long-term change?

Our SALA platform brings together accomplished leaders from different sectors of society, understandings and backgrounds.  It's a cross-section of motivated leaders who dig in together to gain a deeper understanding of numerous current realities -- we're committed to advancing the work of nonprofits like KABOOM! and many others.  Helping sustain us during the past twelve months of devastation, collective participation facilitates a deeper appreciation of Darell's invitation to serve -- namely, that it was much more complicated than we realized at the time.

So whether it's faith-based leaders in Detroit and Chicago, corporate executives in Baltimore, famous athletes in Philadelphia and Los Angeles, or professors and administrators from leading colleges across the country, our SALA community continues to grow and evolve, engaging around key topics of societal importance: the future of education, disproportionate impact of COVID, criminal justice reform, the racial and economic wealth gap, to name a few.  We're heeding the words of leaders like General Martin Dempsey, former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who reminded us that in life there is "No Time for Spectators".

*according to a report by the D.C. Policy Center on behalf of the D.C. Chamber of Commerce.