In 2016, when my son was 2 years old, my childhood friend and her partner came to visit him. They still lived in St. Petersburg, Russia, where I grew up, and coming to San Francisco was an exciting pilgrimage for them as a lesbian couple. Together, we went for a stroll in the Castro, and they were delighted to see baby strollers pushed by queer couples. At the time, despite Russia's increasingly homophobic laws, my friend and her partner had not yet lost hope in having a child of their own one day.
In 2019, when my husband and I were looking for schools for our son, I considered it a source of pride that we might send him to a public school called the Harvey Milk Civil Rights Academy. It was named after the San Francisco supervisor who became the first openly gay person elected to public office in California in 1977 and who was slain a year later along with then-mayor George Moscone. While most people in San Francisco celebrated recently won marriage equality rights, I was watching how in my home country, civil protections for lesbian, gay, and trans people were crumbling. I wanted my son to grow up in a society that believed all forms of love and identities were to be celebrated.
My husband and I put the Harvey Milk school at the top of our lottery list. We tried and tried again through all rounds of lottery to get in due to high demand for the school. Ultimately, our persistence paid off, and we were offered a spot — a week after school started.
In part, our luck was due to a calamity. It was 2020, the middle of the COVID pandemic, and a number of parents had left the district. My son started kindergarten on Zoom.
Though my husband and I struggled with the logistics of Zoom school, we were secretly happy about it for our son. At 6 years old, he was not yet ready for kindergarten. He struggled with independent tasks; he had terrible separation anxiety; and when faced with new people he froze up. Later, we would learn that he was on the autism spectrum; at the time, we were just happy that he had a chance to meet his new teacher and classmates online before he was expected at bell time in person.
To get acquainted with the school building, I took up our librarian's offer to pick up books and drove my son to Harvey Milk school. Suspecting that I was about to leave him, my son refused to climb the rainbow stairs to the library, and instead watched from below as I exchanged books through the door at the top. He internalized one thing: the stairs were rainbow, and the school had a lot of rainbow flags on it.
"Rainbow is my favorite color," he declared. And now, every time we drive to Harvey Milk, he counts the rainbow flags that we pass on the way — until he loses count.
Still, when the school reopened in April 2021, dropping him off was not easy. He clung to his dad at the school's gate, and it took extra care and attention from his teacher and paraprofessional to get him to go through the doors. But go through the doors he did and, just one year later, we saw him standing in front of a large classroom full of people, participating in the Oratorical Contest organized by the San Francisco Alliance of Black School Educators and his first-grade teachers. "Don't wallow in the mire! / Treating all people fairly should be your desire," he recited as emphatically as he could.
The poetry that he learned to recite is a part of the unique civil rights curriculum that the Harvey Milk school has developed over decades. Kids learn about the historical injustices that have formed this country, and they learn about systemic racism today. Through this foundational experience and through Harvey Milk's message of love and acceptance, kids learn not only academic subjects but also to relate to the experiences of others and to use their bodies and their voices for the betterment of their community.
They showed off their skills just last month, making signs and giving speeches to save their school that had been threatened with closure by the San Francisco Unified School District. The students, parents, educators, and community members all came together to demonstrate how unique and necessary this school is. As a result of our campaign, the district reversed its decision to close schools in the coming year, yet Harvey Milk Civil Rights Academy is far from secure. To thrive, we need continued support from the district, from the community, and from the families of prospective students, who I hope will be encouraged to send their kids to our school.
Witnessing my son's growth, I have seen how a kid on the autism spectrum can thrive in a small school by internalizing a civil rights curriculum and, through it, learning to see past his own personal experience to appreciate the struggles and lived experiences of others.
My friends in Russia have been forced to give up their dream of getting married and raising a child together, as new Russian homophobic and transphobic laws defined the "LGBT movement" as "terrorist and extremist." Here in the U.S., protecting civil rights must include raising kids who are aware of the past and ongoing injustices, and are prepared to do their part to improve life for everyone. This is what Harvey Milk Civil Rights Academy does. When our community is in trouble, we organize and we march.
Olga Zilberbourg, a straight ally, is the mom of two kids at Harvey Milk Civil Rights Academy. She's also a fiction writer, editor, and translator.
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