I am a Black woman, blessed with the gift of motherhood. I am sometimes shy though I am always emboldened to speak up for my children.
And lately, I find myself wrestling with a painful question. Does my voice not matter because it does not align with someone else’s strategy for supporting Black children? Am I somehow not enough … ?
I have sat in rooms filled with discussions about what is best for students, especially Black students. I have listened to passionate arguments about equity and justice. Yet when I speak about the needs of my children, the air shifts. The tone changes. The assumptions quietly roll in.
She must not understand.
She must be misled.
Her intentions are good, she’s a good person, but she doesn’t know …
She’s being used.
But I do understand. I am not misled. I am a good person and I try hard to be a phenomenal mother. However, I am not being used by anyone other than my Lord and Savior.
Unfortunately, people will try to poke holes in this aspect of my shared voice, too. Sadly, some will suggest that because parts of my perspective echo concerns raised by other parents, these cannot truly be my thoughts. But shared experience does not erase individual decision-making or thoughtfulness. It’s actually the opposite.
When multiple families describe similar challenges, it signals reality and a truth that many families are experienceing.
I am an intelligent woman and I have a deeply personal story about why I advocate for the education of my children in the ways that I do. It is rooted in specific needs. Specific gaps. Specific moments when I realized that what works for one child does not automatically work for mine.
Those experiences shaped me. They sharpened my advocacy. They required courage I did not know I had.
It is a strange thing to have your lived experience debated as if it is theoretical. It is exhausting to have your advocacy interpreted as ignorance. No one is in my shoes. No one sits at my kitchen table. No one sees the tears, the triumphs, the quiet breakthroughs that shape the decisions I make for my children.
I do.
That is why I proudly send one of my children to a charter school. Not because it was trendy. Not because it made a political statement. Not because I wanted to prove anything to anyone. I chose that school because it is what my child needed (while my other child needed something different). Period.
As a Black mother, I refuse to keep my children in any system to prove loyalty to a cause. My children are not talking points, strategies or symbols. They are human beings. And they are my responsibility.
This love and responsibility guide how I engage in broader conversations about education policy in Indianapolis. I do not want to see Indianapolis Public Schools fail. That is not my intention. I believe in public education. I believe in the children inside those buildings. I believe in the educators who show up every day with limited resources and limitless heart.
But I am not solely responsible for holding up a system for the sake of tradition or optics. That is too heavy a burden for one mother, and an unfair one to place on any one community. There must be accountability and a balance between honoring legacy and demanding progress.
During Black History Month, we reflect on courage. We celebrate those who challenged systems when those systems were not serving them. Their journey of change was not easy because change has never been comfortable. It unsettles. It disrupts. It forces hard conversations.
We cannot move in fear, worried that forward movement might become something else. Fear has never been the fuel of progress. Courage has. I know what my children need right now in this moment, and I have an understanding of what type of learning environment they will need in the future to continue thriving. That is what I have been advocating for.
“In addition to reliable transportation across our city, all public schools should work under the same type of measurement.”
For me, courage also means advocating for structural clarity. In addition to reliable transportation across our city, all public schools should work under the same type of measurement. Families like mine deserve consistent, transparent standards that allow us to compare growth, performance, and opportunity in a meaningful way. That is not an attack on any district. It is a call for coherence.
When schools are measured by different yardsticks, families are left deciphering fragmented information. Having a common way of measurement helps families clearly understand if a school is successful. It ensures excellence is recognized consistently and that resources are directed where they are most needed.
I also support collaborative structures that can work alongside Indianapolis school networks to strengthen that consistency and promote fair distribution of resources across networks. Not taking from one to give to another. That is an important distinction. Sharing in ways that raise the floor for all children.
Fairness can feel uncomfortable, too. We learned that lesson as children. When one student grew accustomed to more than their share and the teacher insisted on equitable distribution, frustration often followed. Not because fairness was wrong, but because it disrupted familiarity. Equity can challenge comfort. That does not make it unjust.
In this landscape, organizations like The Mind Trust have helped expand access to quality schools in neighborhoods where families once had few options. In places where opportunity felt scarce, doors were opened. That does not mean every critique disappears. It does mean the full picture of progress and impact should be acknowledged. That’s a fact.
Creative public school options exist in our city because The Mind Trust helped expand access to new school models, giving families like mine real choices where options once felt limited.
“Today, my child who attends a charter school is also thriving, as is their sibling.”
Today, my child who attends a charter school is also thriving, as is their sibling. They look forward to going to school. They are surrounded by a village of educators who are committed to understanding their unique needs while also giving them space to grow and express themselves fully.
The school communicates and shares academic updates often, provides hands-on guidance, creates opportunities to celebrate culture, and more. This is my child’s reality after I removed them from their previous school in search for something better. This is what works for our family.
It took a great deal for me to speak publicly about these issues. It still does. Every time I share parts of my story or my child’s story, I open myself up to judgment. I brace for the whispers. I prepare for the sly suggestions that I am not smart or being used. I am strong, but I am human, so it ripples my heart.
The voice I am using right now did not appear out of thin air. It was strengthened through my journey, community, information, and honest conversation. I am not a puppet. I am a mother who listened, learned, and made decisions.
When I think about preparing my children for the future, my heart is heavy. I want the best for them. I want the best for all children, especially children whose complexions are the many shades of chocolate that make up our community.
Yet not all of us have a high-performing school in our neighborhoods. Not all of us have schools that meet our children’s specific needs within walking distance. And the schools that remain often operate with different measures of success and uneven access to resources. This is complex. It truly is.
Still, I know where I stand why I stand there.
Thank God for the legacy of those who came before us. Their bravery moves me forward, even when my heart quietly aches at the judgment I receive. Though my name may not be spoken, supporters of policies that could help my child and others are sometimes characterized as uninformed or unintelligent. How is that helpful?
If we are serious about equity, how can we assume that someone who disagrees with us lacks intelligence or is not smart? Those before us fought against systems that forced them to prove, again and again, that their voices were worthy. That they were capable of thought. That they were more than caricatures. We cannot repeat that dismissal anywhere, including within our own community, simply because opinions are different.
We are in a season of change. In Indianapolis. Across this nation. Education is shifting. Communities are debating. Systems are being questioned. Some tension is necessary. But we cannot afford to lose kindness. We cannot afford to lose respect. And we certainly cannot afford to silence ourselves out of fear. I also think we cannot lose sight of our babies and trying to find common goodness.
If our children watch adults question one another’s intelligence instead of engaging ideas, what hope are we modeling? What unity are we demonstrating? What courage are we teaching?
My children are watching how I move. I actually just helped one of them practice for a class assignment. And it’s their first speech. This is a reminder that my children are learning how to use their voice from me. They are studying how to advocate and disagree. They are noticing whether I shrink when challenged in these moments or if I will stand calmly in truth.
So I will stand.
“I will stand as a mother who knows her children better than any public debate ever could.”
I will stand as a Black woman who thinks critically. I will stand as a mother who knows her children better than any public debate ever could. I will stand in the belief that supporting Black students means trusting Black parents to make informed decisions, even when those decisions are not the same.
My voice is not a betrayal of my community. It is an expression of my decisions within it and my deep love for it.
We can fight for all children while honoring individual choice. We can talk about systems changing without diminishing or attacking one another. We can demand better outcomes without demanding everyone have the same thought.
I am a Black mother. I am informed. I am thoughtful. I am steady. And my voice, indeed, matters.
Chaklan Lacy is an unapologetic education advocate, a mother of two and the CEO of Beyond the Brush, a creative guided art experience.
