In our capitalist society, and through our academic pursuits, schools and workplaces significantly influence how we part with our children from an early age. Children are ushered into educational institutions, marking the start of a series of goodbyes that continue throughout their developmental years. This routine separation is often overlooked as a significant emotional event in our society. The data is startling: by the time our children reach 12, we will have spent 75% of the time we will ever have with them in our lifetimes. This statistic underlines a profound truth about family dynamics in our society – time spent with parents and siblings peaks in childhood and declines after age 20, while time spent with children peaks in our 30s and then sharply decreases. These “magic years” are fleeting, often slipping away unnoticed amidst the grind of daily life.

Our grief upon watching Palestinian parents say goodbye to their children is twofold. It’s an empathetic reaction to the immediate horrors of war but also a reflection of our unacknowledged sorrow over the minimal time we spend with our own children and the ways in which our society treats them. This grief makes us question the depth of our empathy. Reflecting on Gaza compels us to confront uncomfortable truths about our society. The tragedies, such as Sandy Hook and other school shootings, expose glaring vulnerabilities in our commitment to protecting our youth. Our reluctance to enact substantial policy changes for their safety speaks volumes about our societal priorities.

The way our country treats its youth in the criminal justice system further amplifies this concern. Incarcerating children for profit sharply contrasts with our professed values. Witnessing the suffering of families in Gaza, we are forced to question our moral authority. What does it mean to advocate for the wellbeing of children abroad when we have yet to address critical issues affecting our own children?

This realization should serve as a wake-up call. The societal structures we’ve created, including our education systems and work demands, have inadvertently taught us to be comfortable with the idea of parting with our children, accepting it as a necessary part of life. However, we’ve lost sight of the precious, limited time we have with them. The crisis in Gaza and the images of families torn apart starkly bring this reality into focus. They compel us to confront not only the horrors of this war but also to recognize an internal war within our own borders – a war where profit often takes precedence over people. As we advocate for a ceasefire in Gaza and express solidarity with those suffering, we must also confront our internal conflict. We need to challenge societal structures that normalize parting with our children. Witnessing the pain of parents in Gaza, let’s also reflect on our own lives and commit to ways of being that support nurturing and sustaining the precious moments we have with our loved ones.

In the U.S., Black people die earlier because they are Black. We have the ability to disrupt this pattern and it starts with the tools we give Black children in schools. 

I’m a high school educator, college professor and health researcher who has spent some time studying stress and Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) with former California Surgeon General Nadine Burke-Harris. ACEs numerify negative experiences in childhood such as abuse and neglect. Without the care and attention of a loving adult, these experiences can become harmful to the child’s developing body, causing toxic stress. Certain stressors like studying for tests or competitive sports can be advantageous to the body. Negative experiences that lead to toxic stress, however, can cause physical harm.  

Over half of adults have at least one ACE, but Black children experience ACEs at a rate higher than any other group. In our work studying the impacts of ACEs such as racism and social isolation, we learned that these stressors can lead to chronic disease and early death. 

More than 34.8 million U.S. children across all backgrounds are impacted by ACEs. If you are a teacher, you are likely teaching someone who is suffering from toxic stress. Our existing teaching practices may not provide the protection necessary to help them navigate this, especially if they are Black. 

While continuing my studies on stress with my high school students in San Francisco, I studied another biomarker of health called telomeres. Telomeres protect our bodies from deterioration. Toxic stress dramatically shortens our telomeres, leaving us more susceptible to chronic disease. I studied the length of my students’ telomeres via saliva samples from the beginning and end of each academic year. I found that my Black students were on a fast track to early death. Many of them had telomere lengths comparable to breast cancer survivors and adults triple their age. 

Using what I learned in my doctoral program at UC Berkeley and my time with the Center for Youth Wellness, my teaching team and I developed interventions that radically altered our students’ health. By the end of the year, we found that students’ telomeres had regrown.  

Here’s what we did and why this model should be studied in educational institutions across the country: 

Rather than using grades that pit students’ achievement against each other, we provided narrative-based assessments that helped them understand and honor their growth. Students were supported to foster cultural pride and connection by learning to speak the indigenous languages of their ancestors such as Twi and Yoruba. We spent time in nature and traveled the world together. Back home, meditative practice opened our lessons.

The intervention saw results because it was consistent with public health and critical race research, that when young people feel a sense of belonging, cultural pride and connection to the natural world, their bodies are better able to regulate stressors and gain protection from social adversities.

Racism won’t end in my lifetime. So, we need to arm Black youth with the tools to protect themselves against its impacts. If we are serious about the health and wellbeing of Black children, then we must make belonging, knowledge of self and connection to nature central to our school design, curricular models and measurements for success.  

Because if this work isn’t about the health of our students, why are we doing it?