A Call to become
who we say we are
Community, we ask:
How are the children?
The honest answer for Winston-Salem calls us to take action.
A moment of profound loss has unmistakably refocused what many already knew: our systems are not keeping all children well. This is our time: to step forward together, to resource what our children have long needed, and to build the conditions of safety, belonging, and opportunity that every child deserves.
This campaign is a call to rise - to grieve honestly, to act boldly, and to invest in the people and conditions that make flourishing possible. This is our work. This is our moment. This is the moment to become the community we imagine ourselves to be.
This Is Who We Are Now
On December 9, 2025, two children were involved in an incident at North Forsyth High School that resulted in a loss of life.
Both children are ours. Our system failed them both.
But there are more children we must hold: the children who witnessed—who stood in that hallway, who saw what no child should see, who carry images that will not leave them. The children who will hear—in classrooms tomorrow, on buses, at dinner tables, on phones tonight—processing fear and grief and questions no adult can fully answer.
All of these children are ours. Every one of them needed something from us before t
In Maasai culture, warriors returning home are met with one question: "Kasserian Ingera?" How are the children? The only acceptable answer: "All the children are well."
This is not small talk. It's a measure of community character. A people's identity is revealed in a single question.
Today, we cannot answer. And that tells us who we have become.
Winston-Salem tells a story about itself. City of Arts and Innovation. Compassionate community. A place where neighbors look out for each other.
That story collided with reality this week.
The question is not whether we feel sad. Everyone feels sad. The question is whether we will do what people like us do—or keep doing what we've actually been doing.
Because here's what we've actually been doing, according to the NC Department of Instruction:
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Sixteen of our schools are in crisis, having received an F grade. We knew.
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Students in those schools are performing 20 points behind district averages. We knew.
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Black children are suspended at three to five times the rate of white children. We knew.
The district’s financial crisis has led to cuts in mental health services and the elimination of wellness surveys. We knew.
Our community partners working directly with students and families have made clear for years:
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Children are arriving at school hungry, housing-insecure, traumatized. We knew.
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Community organizations that are working to reach young people are chronically under-resourced, and are running on fumes. We knew.
We knew, and we did not act like a community that knows its children belong to all of us.
That's who we've been. The question is who we will become.
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Listen to what our children have said. Not today. Before today. When there was still time.
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"I'm hungry and tired. We don't have food right now."
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"He brought a knife to school because he said he was scared of getting jumped."
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"I'm stressed because my mom got a letter saying we got 30 days to move."
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"When she gets mad, she has suicidal thoughts."
These are our children. Speaking to us. Telling us they don't feel safe. Telling us they don't feel held. Telling us the conditions of their lives are not conditions where thriving is possible.
They told us. We didn't listen with resources. We didn't listen with action. We didn't listen like people who believe these children are ours.
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The predictable response is already forming. Find the villain. Name the monster. Punish the bad actor. Move on.
We refuse.
We refuse to make a pariah of the child who caused harm—as if that child arrived at this moment from nowhere, shaped by nothing we created or allowed.
We refuse to treat the children who witnessed it as collateral damage—acceptable losses in a tragedy that will be forgotten by next month's news cycle.
We refuse to let the children who will hear absorb this trauma alone, while adults debate policy and point fingers and do nothing different.
We refuse to pretend this is about one school, one incident, one bad day.
This is about conditions. Conditions we created. Conditions we can change.
Between August and September, over 200 of us gathered to create our Justice for Every Child Manifesto. Parents. Students. Educators. Faith leaders. Organizers. Not to be told what to think. To discover what we already knew.
What emerged was not chaos. It was clarity. Despite different zip codes, different backgrounds, different experiences—we found ourselves saying the same things.
Four pillars. Four dimensions of what thriving looks like. Not handed down by experts. Surfaced from us.
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Student Experience & Well-Being: Mental health support. Trauma-informed care. Safety through relationships, not punishment. Restorative justice. Educator wellness. Because children cannot learn when they are not well. And neither can the adults who serve them.
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Access & Resources: Full Leandro funding. Equitable distribution. Basic needs met—food, supplies, technology. Enrichment for all, not just those who can pay. Because potential means nothing without opportunity.
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Equity & Belonging: Culturally responsive practice. Family engagement as a partnership. Strength-based approaches. Environments where every child sees themselves, knows they matter, feels they belong. Because belonging is not a program. It's a condition for life.
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Governance & Accountability Co-governance with real community voice. Youth leadership with real authority. Transparency. Trust is rebuilt through consistent action. Because nothing about us without us is for us.
This is who we are: a community that knows what our children need.
The only question is whether we will act like it.
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We are not asking for charity. We are not proposing a program. We are calling for collective investment in the conditions that make life possible.
$100 million over five years. $20 million annually. 1000 stakeholders who are willing to put their names, their resources, and their reputations behind a different answer to the question: How are the children?
Where the money goes:
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Community Power — 70%: Multi-year, flexible funding to community organizations already doing the work. Not new programs. Existing infrastructure. The people who show up when systems fail.
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Coordination & Capacity — 20%: Infrastructure to connect efforts, build power, move from isolated programs to coordinated campaigns that change systems.
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Community Governance — 10%: A Community Grantmaking Council with real authority over resources. Not advisory. Decisive. Because the people closest to the problem are closest to the solution.
This is not philanthropy as usual. This is a community moving resources to the community. This is trust. This is what people like us do.
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Police Chief Penn said it: "As a community, we're going to have to work together to stop senseless violence."
He's right. And "work together" means something specific. It means everyone at the table. Everyone willing to be accountable to the question. Everyone because everyone has skin in the game.
We need:
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Elected Officials — Mayor, Council, Commissioners, School Board, Legislators. Policies created these conditions. Your leadership can change them.
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Institutional Leaders — WS/FCS Superintendent and School Board, Police Chief, Sheriff, Health Directors. You cannot solve this alone. You've said so. Now partner like you mean it.
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Business Community — CEOs, employers, Chamber. Your workforce comes from these families. Your customers live in these neighborhoods. This is your community too.
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Philanthropic Partners — Foundations, donors. You exist to improve community well-being. This is the moment. This is the investment. This is what it's for.
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Faith Community — Congregations, denominations. You preach that every child is sacred. Now resource it.
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Community Organizations — The ones already doing the work, often invisible, always under-resourced. You don't need to prove your value. You need partners who see it.
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One day, a child in Winston-Salem will ask: "How are the children?"
And we will answer: "All the children are well."
We will answer because we became the community that made it true. Not because we wished it. Not because we grieved. Because we acted like every child belongs to all of us.
That day is not today. Today we mourn. Today we hold families in unimaginable pain. Today we sit with what we allowed to happen.
And tomorrow, we will decide. Tomorrow, we will become.
The children are watching.
Who will we be?
Make the Commitment - What Signing Means
Signing this document is not symbolic. It is identity. It says: This is who I am. This is what people like me do. This is the community I am building.
By signing, you commit to:
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Naming truth: This tragedy is evidence of community conditions—not individual failing. We got here together. We leave together.
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Moving resources: Contributing money, influence, and voice toward the $100 million goal. Not thoughts and prayers. Treasure.
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Trusting community: Supporting solutions led by those closest to the challenges. Not saviorism. Partnership.
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Staying accountable: Showing up. Following through. Being answerable to the question until we can answer it: All the children are well.
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Transforming grief into power: Ensuring this tragedy catalyzes change—not just a news cycle, not just a memorial, but a fundamentally different set of conditions for our children.