Daniel Burgess knows the easiest way to get through to kids is through their phones. Which is why he created an app that also serves as a resource for young people.

Like many Baltimoreans, Burgess found his calling after witnessing the Freddie Gray Uprising in 2015. He quit his corporate job to become a community activist. For Burgess, the mission was obvious: He needed to do something to support the city’s youth.

But creating programming to support young people in the city requires a lot of time, energy, and funding. And that’s when the idea for the app hit him.

So, with the support of the Mark Pappas Foundation, Burgess created PAPP, the Parenting, Academic, and Public Service Partnership app, which offers resources for families in need of mentoring, public safety, counseling, and other community programs.

The app also provides incentives and rewards for students who complete certain tasks and challenges. A student could receive enough points to buy a burger from Burger King or even a video game.

While the app is still in the pilot phase, it has over 225 active users. And Burgess is determined to get it into the hands of more young people in the city

William Freeman III graduated from Goucher College in 2020 with a degree in sociology and anthropology. He earned 73 of those credits through the Goucher Prison Education Partnership while incarcerated for murder. Released from prison in 2018 after serving 20 years of his life-plus-20-years sentence, Freeman, 43, is currently a Bloomberg Fellow and master’s candidate at the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health. He also works at The Education Trust, a national nonprofit that works to close opportunity gaps that disproportionately affect students of color and those from low-income families.

What was the path that led you to prison?
I was kicked out of the house at age 15. My mom couldn’t do much with me, and I was dismantling the structure of the household. I was shot at 16, and still not allowed to come home. Somehow, I graduated from high school, I was pushed through.

Substance abuse was part of my existence. I was using and espousing street life—I wouldn’t call it a life because you don’t do very much living inside of those parameters. You’re just existing and surviving at a very basic level. Your animal instinct is primarily what guides you. I was arrested in 1998, four days after my son was born.

What about being in prison changed you?
It was in prison that I read my first book from front to back: As a Man Thinketh, by James Allen. That’s a book I have in my library and reread from time to time. One of my favorite passages is: “Circumstances don’t make a man, they show him to himself.”

When I talk to young people, I talk about two kinds of education: the kind I got from Goucher, and the kind I got from the elders in prison—that’s home-grown, what you need to know to be firm in being who you are.

So, the prison elders were the father figures you hadn’t had growing up?
Absolutely. A father figure is important for young males because who do you emulate, who do you want to be like? Where I had lived a young life of wanting to fit in, in prison I was starting to get on this course of understanding my own purpose, my own self. It is truly pivotal.

Education has clearly changed your life. Can you describe how?
At one point I realized I was being blamed: “It’s 100 percent your fault, you made the decision.” But when I got involved in higher ed in prison, I learned that at age 25, the brain fully develops, the frontal part of the brain where you make your decisions. I was 19 when I was incarcerated. Those things were therapeutic for me, to allow me to forgive myself, and to be honest about being able to seek forgiveness from others.

Folks are not empty, just because we’re incarcerated, or low-income, or didn’t have a quality education. College equipped me with some tools. Sharp tools. Name-brand tools, where I could measure things that I thought. Where I could observe, put together a method to track the idea that I had, and then use those tools to get to an outcome.

Education gave me the tools to undo the idea that I had become something stagnant and unchangeable. It gave me a sense of pride, that I could come back from this thing that I had done.

Do you have thoughts about the root causes of violence in our society?
What’s not talked about enough is that it’s too easy for people who we know don’t have access to therapy to deal with their rage and their anger to get guns versus to get sustainable employment. Violence is not high because people feel like they’re being listened to, and they have a process to vent their grievances, and have solutions meted out to them that fix the trajectories of their lives. You get a suicide bomber out of a sense of hopelessness and a lack of resources. Like, I’m going to inflict as much pain as I can, on everyone around me, to make them see me.

How is the work you’re doing impacting the criminal legal system and those who are part of it?
I believe that if the U.S. criminal legal system was more oriented toward evidence-based reforms like education, instead of toward punishment, we would focus less on recidivism and more on creating space at the table for returning citizens. We must create opportunities for people to use their past experience to inform more humanitarian prison reform practices, like higher education.

Education Trust is building and empowering students who were formerly incarcerated to help them apply their personal experience to policy advocacy. We know that some so-called second chances are, in fact, people’s first chances. Creating space at the decision-making table for people who involuntarily forfeited their citizenship is imperative to deconstructing racism, reducing crime, and rebuilding marginalized communities.

Nonagenarian Stephen Tabeling spent most of his life in policing. Now he gives back to youth as a substitute teacher. Here, in his own words, he speaks about going from school delinquent to inspirational educator.

I get a kick out of the fact that I started out in life as a bad kid, and now I’m trying to help young people stay in school.

I was suspended from two Catholic schools for playing hooky, and here I am at 93 years old, substitute teaching in a Catholic school and telling kids, “Don’t be like me.”

I hated school so much, I often refused to go. My dad threatened to send me to St. Mary’s Industrial School for incorrigible boys—the same place where Babe Ruth lived as a child. After quitting school at 14, I knocked around the streets. Then I met a girl and fell in love. Finally, I was motivated to make something of myself.

I found out I could do things I didn’t think I could do. In 1954, while working as a streetcar driver, I went to City Hall and applied for many jobs, including the Baltimore Police Department. I had never thought about being a policeman. But I went through the police academy, and after about two months on the street I told my wife, “This is what I should have been doing all along.”

I became a lieutenant, working in narcotics and homicide, and retired after 25 years. Of course, I didn’t really retire, because I worked for a time at Johns Hopkins and became chief of police in Salisbury for three years. After a Johns Hopkins medical student was murdered near the hospital, I came back to overhaul their security protocols. I stayed about seven years, then I became director of public safety at Loyola University.

Along the way, I completed my GED, then earned my associate degree in criminal justice, and then a bachelor’s from Loyola in political science in 1973. In 2000, the Baltimore Police Department brought me back to conduct an assessment of the homicide department and teach practical law in the academy. Policing today is definitely challenging; the secret is proper training. In my career I locked up eight policemen. I’m dead against dirty cops.

 

When I go into the classroom to teach a class, I tell students, “I’m here because I want to be here. I don’t need the money.”

 

I’ve always had a lot of energy. I got it from my great-grandparents, both of whom lived to be over 100 years old. About six years ago, I was looking for a change from private detective work. I’ve always had something in me that made me want to teach, and I enjoyed teaching in the police academy. My daughter, who is the attorney for the Baltimore County Board of Education, suggested I apply to substitute teach. The kids call me Mr. Steve, and it’s a good feeling to know that I’m helping somebody.

I have four children, 11 grandchildren, and 13 great-grandchildren. I’m concerned about the generation coming up. I’m concerned about the curriculum in schools. You don’t have that teacher-student relationship that I like. Too much classwork takes place on computers. I like to get them to make little presentations to the class, but nowadays the curriculum is not set up in that fashion.

When I go into the classroom to teach a class, I tell students, “I’m here because I want to be here. I don’t need the money.”

I try to instill in the kids that you have to do things to feel good about yourself. That’s why I teach…because I figured I had a message for kids.

Meleny Thomas has always found herself in mentoring and leadership roles. Maybe it has something to do with growing up in the church, where she often taught Sunday school. In 2011, she was working with an after-school program at a local high school when the students learned an incinerator might be coming to the community. She helped them research the detrimental environmental effects it would have on the Curtis Bay neighborhood and, through their hard work, they were able to beat the proposed incinerator. Inspired, Thomas decided to create the South Baltimore Community Land Trust, a nonprofit organization dedicated to environmental justice, permanently affordable housing development, and zero waste.

What is the South Baltimore Community Land Trust (SBCLT)?
Through the outreach we did to defeat the proposed incinerator we learned of other communities that were displaced in the South Baltimore area because of industry. We learned that it’s not an accident and it isn’t something that happened overnight. This is something that has historically evolved in this community. We thought of the land trust model as a tool to be able to get ownership of land to help prevent further displacement of residents who want to stay in the community, and also a way to look at how we address environmental injustice and racism and the role that it plays in communities.

What is environmental racism and how does it play out in Baltimore neighborhoods?
When you think about the placement of environmental hazards—chemical companies, landfills, and companies that emit toxins into the air that harm human health—it’s historically neighborhoods like the 21225 ZIP Code in South Baltimore that have borne the burden of the polluting industry.

If you look at a map, there’s a concentration of chemical companies in this neighborhood versus affluent neighborhoods. What we’re hoping through the land trust model and being one of five community land trusts in Baltimore is to reclaim our community and also bring light to the environmental injustice and oppression that a lot of communities, especially communities of color, have endured.

When we’re talking about the environment, what are some of the biggest issues impacting minority communities in Baltimore today?
In Curtis Bay, there’s an open-air coal pile that’s right across from a recreational center. There are just different things that would not be allowed in an affluent community like Roland Park or the Inner Harbor. And when you compare communities, our ZIP Code should not determine or lessen our life expectancy. And unfortunately, with the overconcentration of chemicals, statistics and data say that the life span is shortened when you live in this community versus living in one like Roland Park, by 15 years. That is directly attributed to being in close proximity to pollutants.

The Chesapeake Bay Foundation published a study in 2017 where they investigated pollutants from the Wheelabrator incinerator that’s in Westport in South Baltimore and they said that pollution alone contributes to $55 million a year in health costs for people who have respiratory illness and need asthma treatment. That’s the first time that we’ve been able to put a number to it.

One of the big things that the SBCLT advocates for is affordable housing around Baltimore. What is the issue around affordable housing and how is SBCLT addressing it?
A lot of times what happens is developers come in or these investors come in and buy homes and then turn around and rent them at the max capacity to where it’s unaffordable. Through the land trust model, we are acquiring vacant homes and land in the community and redeveloping them using subsidized public grant dollars to build and reconstruct these homes and then sell them to income-qualified persons, persons who are earning 50 percent of the area median income and below.

It’s important to have mixed income communities because you have some people that are higher than 50 percent. But it’s also important to give people an opportunity to be able to own and own with dignity. Right now, we are developing 10 homes in the Curtis Bay neighborhood. We are also partnering with the Cherry Hill Development Corporation, and they are developing five homes in Cherry Hill, and we also have another additional five homes that we’ll be adding to the pipeline.

What does “development without displacement” mean?
Development without displacement really means that we want good development in our community. We want the people who have had to endure all the hardships, the blight, and injustices to be able to embrace and experience that. So people who have lived in the community who may have been renting for 10, 15 years and never thought they would get an opportunity for homeownership. If they’re ready, we want to make sure that those lifetime residents are able to experience and enjoy the beauty of the development that is taking place

Former Baltimore City police detective Deborah B. Ramsey has been on a mission to help people for a long time. “I’ve been a public servant all of my professional career,” she says. “That is where I feel my love of community.”

For the past seven years, Ramsey, 71, a Baltimore native, has nurtured more than 150 young people in West Baltimore’s Penn North neighborhood, providing academic support and recreational opportunities at no cost to their parents, through Unified Efforts, a program she founded in 2012.

After 12 years on the force, Ramsey left the police department in 1994 and held various jobs before developing a series of bullying prevention and violence prevention programs that led to the founding of Unified Efforts. The nonprofit organization offers out-of-school activities at summer camps, back-to-school sessions, and during breaks or whenever the kids are out of school for any extended period.

The group has no one home base, but has met at various churches in the area and at Coppin State University, where the students can take swimming lessons. But Unified Efforts’ nomadic days are about to end. Through the city’s Vacants to Value Booster program, Ramsey was able to purchase a property on Woodbrook Avenue in West Baltimore. Plans are now underway to build a new youth center. “It’s a miracle,” Ramsey says.

To date, the organization’s attendees have had access to music lessons, cooking classes, and creative writing workshops at Goucher College, among other educational endeavors. They also take field trips to various locations around the city and beyond, including Baltimore Blast games and Martin State Airport, where they can experience a flight simulator.

Cencere Echols (pictured, next to Ramsey), a 21-year-old computer science major at UMBC, remembers the flight simulation from his days at Unified Efforts. “That opened my eyes to potentially being a pilot,” he says. “That is one of my backpocket plans.”

Even though Echols is in college, Ramsey is still part of his life. “I call her my mentor, but she calls it a ‘life adviser,’” he says. “Miss Debbie comes into a child’s life and makes an impact, whether it’s a listening ear or helping to introduce different experiences.”

“We expose our children to experiences and spaces they may not normally intersect with,” Ramsey says. “When we expose our young  people to the possibilities, something goes off inside them.”

When Briauna Wills watched a fight between female students and a cafeteria worker on the local news, the expectant mother saw a need and knew she had to do something immediately.

“After seeing that fight on the news, I knew there were missing links to accessibility and resources for students,” she recalls.

That’s when the now-28-year-old mother created Young Queens in Training, an after-school program that provides life skills and mentorship to girls ages 8 to 18.  For Wills, it’s important for young girls to have a safe space with resources to complement what may be missing at home.

“This program was birthed from necessity,” she says. “I thought about my daughter having to be exposed to the same kind of barriers that I had to go through as a student in Baltimore City.”

Wills grew up in Northeast Baltimore and attended the Baltimore Freedom Academy for high school, which gave her firsthand knowledge of the many social barriers that she addresses with her programming.

Since 2018, Young Queens in Training has served hundreds of young girls from across the city. Through a partnership with Baltimore City Department of Recreation and Parks, the program is currently in Herring Run, Woodholme, and Roosevelt Recreation Centers.
Each week, Wills works with dozens of young women to address self-esteem, health and wellness, and financial management, among other vital things youth need to be successful.

The work isn’t without its challenges. Like so many other nonprofit organizations, the COVID-19 pandemic caused the program to pivot to a virtual model that became quite challenging for participants, who relied on the in-person sessions to maintain stability and support.

Many of the girls come from low- to no-income homes without access to adequate supermarkets or the necessary in-home support that the program provides for them weekly.

“Schools are resources. Recreation centers are resources. It’s where they get additional love that they don’t get at home,” she explains.

Although some fundraising initiatives had to be halted, she did whatever was necessary to keep the girls in her program engaged. As things return to normal, Wills plans to introduce a vocational training course over the summer, where girls will be mentored or apprenticed by a local woman entrepreneur.

In the future, she hopes to raise enough funds to get a space of her own.

“Our goal is to be a vocational training resource. I hope that will open a door to partner with other programs in the city.”

Amie Ward came up with the concept of becoming “The Healthtender” when she realized that people in the hospitality industry, especially bartenders, were under an enormous amount of physical and mental stress. Both alcoholism and even suicide were alarmingly prevalent in her industry. She decided to combine her background as a bartender with her 20 years of training in the physical fitness and wellness arena to create a program specifically tailored to those folks behind the bar.

Why did you see a need for mental health and wellness resources in the hospitality industry?
I started my programming back in 2015 because I had been seeing this disconnect between the amount of labor that we put in each day as bartenders, but how little we were taking care of ourselves. We’ve lost people in the industry as a result of suicide or because of complications from alcoholism, and that kind of took it to the next step of teaching people about trying to be a little bit more mindful about the way that they’re drinking and what’s actually happening to your body on a physical level when you’re drinking.

Was there a pivotal experience that made you realize you wanted to start improving the industry?
The Baltimore Bartenders Guild would do a monthly education event, and in December of 2015, I got up to talk about how to give yourself proper nutrition when you’re on a marathon shift. This woman named Lindsey Johnson, who runs a company called Lush Life Productions, was there. And she’s like, “You have to do this,” and that kind of inspired me to start putting together my business plan for The Healthtender.

How did it feel to be recognized as someone who could supply a need for not just your community, but the global bartender community?
There was definitely validation. I want people to feel good in their skin, I want people to feel good with their bodies and just be able to listen to their bodies and really understand that better. It’s been wild and it’s been awesome and I’m so happy that I do this.

What are some of the services that you offer to bartenders?
Lots of movement classes, stretching classes, mobility classes, boxing, because I love boxing. But my biggest thing and the thing I’m most proud of is being able to make classes that are adapted to every type of body. So making people who would never find themselves in any kind of gym setting or whatever feel really comfortable about it. I’m not a nutritionist, but I can teach people how to meal-plan. I am a Mental Health First Aid instructor as well.

What do you recommend as a good first step for bartenders if they are interested in improving their overall wellness?
Would you like to eat a little bit better? Would you like to move your body better? Would you like to feel less pain? I think taking a mental inventory of what’s going on in your world is a good start. I love when people just come to talk to me first because I always will talk to people for free without any reservation to find out what their needs are and kind of send them in the right direction.

How would you describe the community you’ve built?
This is just a group of humans that genuinely care, support, and want to see each other survive, thrive, and grow in their own journeys. It’s just so supportive, and it’s really the way that I want to see the industry going when it comes to mental health and being able to create that community literacy on the topic of de-stigmatizing sobriety, addiction, and the pursuit of mental health.

What are your hopes for the restaurant and hospitality industry in the future?
I really want a shape-shifting of the entire culture and the landscape of hospitality. I want health insurance to be a normal thing. I want five-day workweeks or 40-hour workweeks to be a normal thing. I want owners to pay their bartenders appropriate equitable wages. I want people who are generally more vulnerable as a population or in a marginalized identity put to the forefront so they can actually be the leaders that they were designed to be. I want the hospitality industry to prioritize people rather than profits.

DENZEL MITCHELL JR. 

Putting the “farmer” in Farm Alliance.

Every single Friday, the extremely hard-working Denzel Mitchell Jr., co-executive director of the Farm Alliance of Baltimore, walks the land—all 6.7 acres—of the new teaching farm near the Farring-Baybrook Recreation Center, tucked between Curtis Bay and Brooklyn.

Mitchell, who has a strawberry tattoo on his right hand, is pointing out the sweet yellow onions and garlic growing in neat rows, just past the apiary, where the greenhouse and fruit orchard will eventually reside, on the Baltimore City Recreation and Parks land the alliance hopes to lease. The nonprofit, now in its 11th year, currently has 17 farm members all within city limits with one exception—Catonsville’s Great Kids Farm, owned and operated by Baltimore City Public Schools. The Farm Alliance’s mission is simple but impressive—to support urban farms in Charm City through resource sharing, soil testing, marketing, technical assistance, plant giveaways, networking, and a co-op booth at the Waverly Farmers Market.

When Mariya Strauss tapped Mitchell to share her executive director duties this past January—she focuses on development and advocacy; Mitchell on education and operations—it was because she wanted the organization to finally be led by a farmer.

“She also wanted it led by a person of color, preferably Black, to represent the population of the city,” says Mitchell, who previously owned farms in Baltimore City and County with his wife. “It was the most beautiful and most stressful time of our life.”

That deep understanding of the literal blood, sweat, and tears that goes into cultivating land helps him better “serve farmers and address their needs.” The Farm Alliance’s newest program—The Black Butterfly Urban Farmer Academy—is a nine-month training program focused on sustainable agriculture methods and the business of owning a farm through classroom sessions and on farm work and field days.

“We’re teaching the business and practice of small-scale farming,” says Mitchell. The idea behind the intensive program is to produce a new batch of innovative and creative farmers, who will (hopefully) be Farm Alliance members, too.

ATIYA WELLS

Building a basecamp for young nature lovers.

Atiya “Tia” Wells is instantly likeable. The former pediatric nurse has an easy laugh and a foul mouth. She can always be found somewhere at BLISS Meadows—BLISS stands for Baltimore Living in Sustainable Simplicity—where she is the founder of Backyard Basecamp, an initiative to connect city kids with nature through exploration, play, and other educational programming.

Wells, who grew up “in the hood of Newark, New Jersey,” was not always a nature lover. The first time her now-husband, Kieron, took her on a walk in the woods she thought, “He’s gonna kill me.” But soon those hikes became a weekly ritual. It also helped Wells realize, “You don’t really need to travel far to experience nature or to be immersed in the outdoors.”

That eventually morphed into outdoor time with their children and then Wells starting the Baltimore chapter of the Free Forest School, a nonprofit that promotes unstructured outdoor play. Other parents would ask her questions and Wells realized, “If I’m going to be leading people outside, I should probably know what poison ivy actually looks like.”

She signed up for nature classes and workshops and observed time and time again, “I was almost always the only Black woman.” She couldn’t believe it since most of the classes were “in and around Baltimore—a Black-ass city.”

Wells started researching the why. “I learned a lot about environmental justice, food apartheid, and ancestral wounding or generational trauma,” she says. For many Black people it simply boils down to the belief that “the outside is no place for us,” says
Wells.

Around that time, Wells was exploring her own Frankford neighborhood and found what seemed to be a greenspace not far from her home on Moravia Road. It turned out the lot—which had been initially intended as a tiny homes’ community for the unhoused—was just sitting empty after permitting woes.

In the three years since, thanks to the generosity of the park’s owner, who donated the land to Backyard Basecamp, Wells has turned the 10-acre property into a city oasis that includes a pond full of loud frogs and trails where foxes and deer explore. There are also chickens, sheep, and goats, a garden full of leafy greens and potatoes, an eight-week summer camp, and after-school programs that have served over 800 kids.

A house that sits next-door to the property (and serendipitously happened to be empty) is now being turned into their headquarters thanks to a robust GoFundMe. The hope is the space will house an ample kitchen where Wells and her tireless staff will be able to show families how to prepare the vegetables they grow.

“Once I made the decision to fully commit to this project so many things just fell into place, almost like it was meant to happen,” says Wells. The land, the generosity of the park’s owner, the vacant house. “For everything to happen the way that it did—you can’t make it up.”

KATE JOYCE

Building resilience and job skills through farming at TALMAR Horticulture Therapy Center.

There’s something magical about TALMAR Horticulture Therapy Center, nestled in Cromwell Valley Park, just a few miles from I-695. The nonprofit, helmed by Kate Joyce, is a beautiful, 10-acre farm that provides a safe space for vocational and therapeutic programming in agriculture and horticulture.

On a bright Tuesday morning, some adults with autism are readying an area for loofah and mushroom growing. “Last week they did more than we expected,” says Joyce, who is the kind of person you’d want to share a beer with. (But be warned: By the end of the night, you’ll likely be her biggest donor.) “No more baby chores. Today we gave them real farm work.”

On another field is a group of veterans that are part of a 15-week Veterans Affairs (VA) Farming and Recovery Mental Health Services program.

“Those veterans are putting tomatoes in,” explains Joyce. “In two months, they are going to be harvesting tomatoes that they grew from seeds in a greenhouse—that’s spectacular.”

When the program is over, they’ll have spent 150 hours learning the basics of farming and that includes fieldwork, classroom time, and weekly group therapy that meets under the big oak tree.

“Everyone has their own reason for being here,” explains Joyce. The only criteria are they must be eligible for services within the VA Maryland Healthcare System and be physically fit enough to partake in farm chores. There’s also a gentleman who is in recovery from a stroke and uses TALMAR’s adaptive tools to work the land. (There’s a full-time occupational therapist on staff.)

“We have this brace he can put on over his arm so he can use the hoe and rebuild the conversation from his brain to his hand.” It’s often the same movements that would happen inside a rehabilitation facility but “being outside is different,” says Joyce, as sunshine bounces off the picnic tables and a flock of chickens strut around nearby.

“We want to be the go-to place for accessible farming,” explains Joyce, adding that no matter what someone’s limitations are they can be engaged in farming. For example, the greenhouse—which is being turned into a 12-month edible food forest with banana trees, strawberry plants hanging from the ceiling, fruiting tomatoes, and vining squash—is entirely wheelchair accessible with rolling tables to make for wide passageways.

There’s a quiet amazement here, says Joyce, whether you’re clipping peonies to sell, weeding, tending to the bees, or drying marigolds for a natural dye.

“We use the farm as a tool and a toolbox for therapeutic programs and the crops are just an output of all of those programs,” says Joyce. “Everyone is here hoping for the best for everyone else.”

In 2012, Litsa Williams and Eleanor Haley created the website What’s Your Grief?, designed to provide resources for people experiencing loss. Since then, it has grown into a supportive online community, where the founders write articles, host online courses and a podcast, and interact with people on social media. Williams and Haley released their first book, What’s Your Grief? Lists to Help You Through Any Loss, in September. Here they talk about grief, COVID-19, and better understanding the universal experience of loss.

Why did you start this organization together?
Eleanor Haley: We met while working for an organization in Baltimore that supported people going through sudden and unexpected loss. We were meeting people in hospitals at probably the worst moment in many of their lives. As anybody who has been through grief and loss knows, how it looks is different for everybody. We both experienced parental loss in early adulthood. My background is in counseling psychology, and Litsa’s is in social work, so we were trying to meet people’s needs because we weren’t finding the resources we wanted in terms of online support. So, we said, “Let’s create the content that we want as professionals, and as people who have been through grief ourselves.”

What was your initial goal when you started the organization?
EH: We started very humbly. It was almost just a little “hobby.” We didn’t have a lot of resources, but we were confident in the way we talked about grief. I don’t think we ever imagined it would grow to what it is today.

Litsa Williams: When we first started, we used the tagline, “Grief support for the rest of us,” because we felt like the grief support that was out there was created for a really different type of person. Neither of us, when we went through our own grief, were traditional therapy support group types of people. Grief support doesn’t have to be therapy or support groups. We saw a gap and wanted to try to fill that gap in a way that feels more natural and normal. So, we said, “How can we create spaces and creative initiatives online and on social media that fill that space?”

Why is grief education important?
EH: Everybody experiences loss at some point. There are so many myths and misconceptions out there about what grief looks like, how to grieve, what’s healthy and what’s not healthy. Once we realize that there is no right way to grieve, there is no timeline for grief, there is no “normal” because it’s all unique to the person and the loss they’ve experienced, it makes it easier to navigate.

LW: It’s not just the general public, but also professionals who enforce these misconceptions. Just the other day on our Instagram, something came up where people were going back and forth, saying, “My doctor basically told me that I would go through the five stages of grief and that it had been two years, so the fact that I was still grieving was an indication that something was wrong with me.” So, it’s unfortunately also professionals who didn’t get a good education, and they’re still reinforcing myths about things like “grieving stages.” If someone thinks they’re grieving “wrong,” it takes their grief and makes it so much worse.

How has grief changed since the COVID-19 pandemic?
EH: When we first started this, I assumed we would mostly write about the death of a loved one. But once the pandemic started, we realized there was a greater urgency to address all types of loss. We know that people are trying to rebuild their world after going through such a wide range of loss. There are so many dominoes that fall after what we call a secondary loss that are related to things that are not necessarily death losses.

LW: I think COVID created this space where people were experiencing non-death loss and are getting a deeper understanding that reactions to non-death losses can feel like grief. Even though death losses shaped What’s Your Grief?, there are also a lot of non-death losses, such as divorce, having family members with addiction, and so on. I think that’s been the main thing amplified by the pandemic.

What are your goals now?
LW: One thing that we have started to focus on more has been education for professionals [like school counselors and therapists]. Over time, we realized that professionals kept coming to us, saying that our resources were helpful. They were using the resources we were creating for people who are grieving, for themselves. We do believe a lot in the online space, but ultimately you can’t reach everyone. When you find ways to reach out to professionals though, and educate professionals, you start to feel like it’s going to have a more indirect response, but maybe impact even more people.

How can we help each other navigate grief and understand it better?
LW: One of the things that as a society we can do better is to just understand and normalize, that in some ways we grieve forever and that we keep connections to people who have died forever. Getting rid of the idea that people are going to move on or get over it is important. We should check in on days that are hard, like birthdays and anniversaries, forever.

By Michelle Wojciechowski

Photography by Christopher Myers

GameChangers 2022

ack when she was in high school at Baltimore City College, a college prep school in northeast Baltimore, Unique Robinson remembers that each year, guidance counselors would ask students what they wanted to be in life. When she wrote “poet” every time, they would respond, “You can’t make money from that.” Robinson’s retort was, “It doesn’t matter. This is what I want to do.”

Robinson, 34, officially chose her vocation at age 10 when she was attending Arlington Elementary School. “That’s where I discovered I wanted to be a poet, because we had a funny-titled standardized test called ‘You’re a Poet and You Don’t Know It.’ I can’t make this up,” she says with a laugh. “That’s literally when I started writing poetry, from that point on.”

Luckily for the Pride Center of Maryland, the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), and the local LGBTQ+ community, Robinson was stubborn and determined to not only be a poet, but to teach poetry to others.

Born in Baltimore City, Robinson lived her first few years at Lexington Terrace, the public housing project that has since been demolished. When she was 3 years old, Robinson moved with her mother, Carla Singletary, to Park Heights.

“I loved growing up going to the corner store and getting frozen cups and eating the local food—cheesesteaks, seafood. I had a really fun childhood overall,” she recalls. But her working-class family also often dealt with a lot of the systemic racism going on at the time. “I wasn’t really a child who opened up about a lot of my emotions. So writing became my outlet to do so,” says Robinson.

At 14, she began doing spoken-word poetry. “I performed my first poem, and I haven’t stopped performing since.” After graduating from Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts, where she studied creative writing and African-American studies, Robinson lived in Brooklyn, New York, where she worked as a community organizer. That work has informed her art as well as her approach to teaching.

Robinson then headed to Oakland, California, to earn her M.F.A. in creative writing and poetry at Mills College. Upon graduation, Robinson returned to Baltimore in 2015. Home, and her life’s work, had come calling.

Teaching was a way for Robinson to give back to the community. She taught poetry at DewMore Baltimore, a nonprofit started by her longtime friend, Kenneth Something. This led to her teaching at MICA for the last six years, where she’s been on the faculty in Humanistic Studies, “essentially all the courses that aren’t studio courses,” she says. “Critical theory, creative writing, academic writing workshops.”

Besides teaching at MICA, Robinson is a teaching artist with Arts Every Day. Teachers in Baltimore City Schools can contact her, and she will do writing workshops with their students—from third to 12th grades. Robinson also conducts arts integration workshops, where she merges poetry with history and visual art. At the nonprofit arts collective Motor House, she teaches a free writing workshop. In the past, Robinson has taught at Towson University, Wide Angle Youth Media, and Leaders of Tomorrow Youth Center.

“I honestly can’t picture my life not being an artist and teacher,” she says.

While she is passionate about her career, Robinson didn’t expect to be a teacher. She was inspired by her grandmother, Virginia Whitehead, who taught for 40 years in Baltimore City Public Schools. Her mother also encouraged her by saying, “Dare to be different,” giving her the name Unique to remind her of that, and supporting her decision to pursue poetry and education.

oday, Robinson pays that inspiration forward through her work with students of all ages. Being encouraging is crucial in teaching, Robinson says. “I remember what it was like when people put my fire out, and I didn’t like that feeling,” she recalls. “This is a time to inspire people to do the things that scare them, but not scare them away from it. Critique is a natural part of being an artist, but there’s a way to do it that’s empowering. I always do the sandwich method: You start off with something that’s positive, then move to something they might need to work on, and then continue with something that’s positive again.”

Through this work, she’s sometimes saved lives. “There are students I worked with that I met at a particular junction of their lives, when they were thinking, ‘I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live. I’m done.’ Through writing, I’ve essentially helped talk people off their own cliffs,” says Robinson. “I don’t take that lightly. I think of that as the power of what that work can do. It opens them up to another side of themselves, and it can spark and inspire someone else to continue on. I can’t believe that I get to have that kind of influence on people. It’s still mind-blowing to me.”

That kind of power and influence doesn’t end in the classroom or during a workshop. Robinson continues to be an inspiration for the LGBTQ+ community at large, as an unapologetically and openly gay woman of color.

“As a Black queer person, I think that we spend a lot of time in hiding. As someone who has been out since I was about 16 years old, once I was out, that was it,” says Robinson.

Robinson’s combined background in advocacy, arts, and education made her the perfect pick when, in 2016, her friend Something was co-executive director at the Pride Center of Maryland (PCOM) and needed a host for an open-mic night called Giovanni’s Room. (The name comes from the James Baldwin novel that reflects on homosexuality and bisexuality.) Lasting for two years, it was the longest-running LGBTQ+ open-mic series.

Something, who is now the director of programs with the Black Arts District and the director of partnerships and special events for PCOM, says that he likes Robinson most because of “her brilliance, while at the same time her humility.” She never loses sight of the purpose behind her work.

“It’s never about her,” he says. “It’s always about doing phenomenal work in the community. She’s just genuinely, authentically humble.”

As part of the other programs PCOM started, Robinson ran a writing workshop for LGBTQ+ folks in the community. Also called Giovanni’s Room, the group gave people a space to write and workshop their writing that they would otherwise have lacked. “Writing workshops are few and far between unless you’re in a school program,” says Robinson.

In June 2021, Robinson was asked to chair Baltimore Black Pride, which was held in October of that year and sponsored by the Black Arts District and Black Equity Baltimore. “Baltimore has a huge population of Black LGBTQ+ folks. We just wanted a space for them to celebrate,” she says.

Robinson and her team had events, workshops, a karaoke night, and concerts, featuring local acts such as Kotic Couture, DDm, and RoVo Monty. They even were able to connect with Stonewall International Poetry Slam, the world-renowned poetry festival that was coming to Baltimore during the same week as Baltimore Black Pride.

“I felt a personal sense of pride in bringing amazing and high-quality events to Baltimore, as well as to the folks who were visiting Baltimore—to give them a different side of what Baltimore is and what they could expect out of the city,” Robinson says. “We highlighted and showcased how Baltimore is an arts and cultural beacon around the world.”

After folks at PCOM saw what she had done, Robinson was hired part-time as assistant Pride coordinator for Baltimore’s celebration of Pride Month held each June. This year’s theme was “Together Again for Pride.” Robinson says that she especially enjoyed discovering all the ins and outs that go into creating a festival for more than 60,000 people, gathering the expertise of LGBTQ+ folks citywide, and for being back in person. Most in-person Pride events, such as the parade, have not been held since 2019 due to the pandemic.

“Pride is all about giving people space to celebrate who they truly are, and Unique creates that same experience for everyone that she encounters on a daily basis,” says Mary Miles, a friend and volunteer on the Pride committee. “Pride is not simply a day or weekend recognition—she lives those values every day.”

“Pride has always represented a time for LGBTQ+ folks to be their freest, most authentic selves, and even still, carries a legacy of resistance to silencing of our voices, our bodies, and our expressions,” says Robinson. “It was intentional for me to be openly queer, but it just sort of came together to be an inspiration that way, not just for myself, but for other young people who might come up behind me. As a person, as a professional, it is a huge part of my identity. So to be able to utilize it for the greater good of other LGBTQ+ folks in the city is, I think, the biggest part of Pride for me.”

Whether she’s writing poetry or performing it, making a difference with students through teaching, or bringing Pride to Baltimore, Robinson is doing exactly what she’s always wanted to do, and the community reaps the rewards.

The Rev. Calvin Keene (pictured above, right) would often overhear dealers in the street outside selling crack cocaine when he was at work in his office in the Oliver neighborhood of East Baltimore. He’d lived there his entire life and, despite the drug dealers, hadn’t realized how alarmingly unsafe it had become until a 2002 firebombing left community leader Angela Dawson and her five children dead—an act of retribution for Dawson alerting police to drug activity on her street.

Fast forward to today, when the nonprofit ReBUILD, which Keene helped to spearhead, has rebuilt not just the neighborhood but its community ties and spirit, essentially making it a healthier, happier place to call home.

Keene can now say with pride that the neighborhood is not what it used to be, as he’s watched it transform before his eyes.

“When I grew up in Oliver, everyone knew my family and my family knew everybody. Councilman [Robert] Stokes lived three blocks away from me—that sort of thing,” Keene says. “It’s returning to becoming a neighborhood where people know one another again.”

ReBUILD grew out of the effort by several groups to reconstruct the Oliver neighborhood after the firebombing incident. They’ve gone on to redevelop and reduce vacancy in more than 700 East Baltimore properties.

“It starts with going to people in these communities and asking what’s working? What’s broken? Let’s build on what’s working,” says Sean Closkey, the founding president of ReBUILD. “You have to start by not displacing folks, because then you’ve actually made the hole you’re digging bigger. If you just fix these houses, it really works well.”

Closkey says the work they have done has had unbelievable effects. Since ReBUILD initiated its efforts, Oliver’s homicide rate has been cut almost in half, vacancies have gone down, and house prices have gone up—without displacing anyone.

When ReBUILD started, Oliver was considered an area of concentrated racial poverty. Now it’s a mixed-income neighborhood that has attracted coffee shops and grocery stores, as well as new residents.

ReBUILD transforms some lots into green spaces and playgrounds, which have two benefits: green spaces reduce the supply of homes in an area, thereby upping the desirability and value of homes that remain; and the neighborhood becomes more interest- ing and beautiful, which also attracts buyers. They don’t stop there. As they work to rebuild neighborhoods, literally and figuratively, they jump in anywhere they think they can help residents. At the start of the pandemic, Closkey learned of families in East Baltimore who had no food.

“Hunger is not like housing,” he says. “If you don’t get food after a couple days, there’s a real problem.”

He immediately called Keene, and they assembled a team of volunteers. At first, they were just making a couple hundred food deliveries. As the operation grew, they began feeding over 1,000 families each week for two years through the pandemic—124,100 meals over 101 weeks—discontinuing the service in May 2022.

“We are a group of people who simply respond to what’s in front of us,” Closkey says. “We have a motto: There’s nothing wrong with Baltimore that can’t be fixed by what’s right with Baltimore.”

Diana Emerson lives and breathes community service. Now, as the first African-American female executive director of Waverly Main Street, an organization that provides support to local businesses, Emerson, 42, is following the passion for giving back that her parents, George and Amelia Mitchell, inspired in her throughout her life.

Although born in Baltimore, Emerson was a military brat, who lived with her parents and two older brothers outside the U.S. until she was about 13 years old, when they returned to the city of her birth.

“My parents instilled very early on that service is the rent that we pay here,” she says. “It’s important to make sure that we love the city we’re in and that we give back.”

And give back she has—many times over. While still a student at Towson University, Emerson worked at Port Discovery Children’s Museum as a program tour guide. After graduation, she moved to the museum’s education department, matching Baltimore City Public Schools’ curriculum to the exhibits so that field trips made more sense.

When she became the healthy block coordinator for Greater Homewood, Emerson worked with more than 25 neighborhoods in North Central Baltimore. Before coming to Waverly Main Street, she taught youth about entrepreneurship, workplace readiness, and how to connect with the community while employed at Junior Achievement.

Her initial role at Waverly Main Street was as a board member, but she stepped in as the interim executive director when there was a sudden vacancy. “I came in like a tornado,” she admits, laughing. “I said, ‘This needs to be fixed. We need to do this and that.’” Then she was hired for good.

Emerson says all of Baltimore’s “Main Streets” face similar problems, like crime and landlords who are reluctant to lease to new businesses. But what’s affected Waverly Main Street the most is the COVID-19 pandemic.

“A lot of our businesses had to readapt and evolve,” she says. “I’ve taken a different approach in the corridor in that I’ve talked to a lot of businesses.”

Emerson asks what they need and what their large and small dreams are. Next, she connects them with the people and businesses in the community who can help. As the volunteer president of the Abell Improvement Association—yup, she does that, too—Emerson also connects local businesses with the community, especially when they first open, “so they can automatically start building not only their customer base, but their relationship with the community.”

Her vision for a better Baltimore is clear: “We all want the city to be safe, to have walkable neighborhoods, access to resources, and to be able to have fun,” Emerson says. “I think focusing on a safer, cleaner, and greener city gives us all those quality-of-life things that we want. I feel like we can do anything; we just have to have the access—whether it’s funding, resources, or just the ability to think out- side the box.”

Not many people are called to community service at age 2. But Grace Callwood is not just anybody.

As a toddler, she swallowed a foreign object, which led to a stint in the hospital. Her favorite memory of that time was riding around the halls of the pediatric unit in a red wagon. In fact, she enjoyed doing that so much she asked her parents to buy another wagon for the hospital so other pediatric patients could experience the same joy. Then, at age 7, Grace was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma.

“I had no idea what cancer was or what it meant until I had it,” says Callwood. “I just know that it was completely life-changing and very painful.”

And yet, amidst her own challenge, she was once again drawn to help others. When a family in her community, with two little girls, lost everything in a house fire, Grace decided to donate her back-to-school clothes since she would be home-schooled during her cancer treatment.

“When I heard about their happy reaction, I knew that I wanted to continue to do work like that,” she says.

The kernel of the idea to start a nonprofit stemmed from a trip to Disney World granted to Callwood and her family by Make-A-Wish, a foundation serving critically ill children. Every day at Disney a “gift fairy” would bring toys to the children.

“But I already had a bunch of toys, so I decided to donate them to a local homeless shelter,” says Callwood, now cancer-free and a junior in the Global Studies International Baccalaureate Magnet Program at Edgewood High School. “After that, it just kind of clicked for me and my family that this could really be something.”

By forming a nonprofit to formalize and grow her charitable acts, she realized she could help more people.

The 17-year-old Callwood now leads We Cancerve Movement, Inc., a nonprofit she founded in 2012. Four years later, with $5,000 in seed capital, she established the We Cancerve Pediatric Patient Assistance Fund at Sinai Hospital, which raises money for pediatric patients at the Herman and Walter Samuelson Children’s Hospital. To date, she’s served more than 25,000 kids and has donated more than $300,000 in in-kind donations and $26,000 in cash.

The nonprofit is run by volunteers and a board of advisers comprised of students ages 8 to 18. “I knew from the jump that I wanted to have an all-youth board of advisers because I love the way young people think,” says Callwood, who chairs the board. “We typically are very solution-driven and adaptable and are able to work with what we have.”

In addition to sick children, We Cancerve also helps youth experiencing homelessness and in foster care. Callwood felt drawn to help these groups in part because of her own experience with cancer, and because her grandmother grew up in an orphanage. The way Callwood sees it, the children they serve all have something in common: “They are all put in sad situations that are not their fault.”

In 2015, the nonprofit launched Camp Happy, a free, summer enrichment day camp serving children in homeless shelters and group homes, run by youth counselors. In 2020, the camp went virtual in response to COVID-19 though it hopes to get back to in-person. Another initiative is La Magnifique Boutique, housed at Arrow Crossroads in Bel Air, a group home for teen girls in foster care, where residents can “shop” for free clothes, shoes, and accessories to wear to work, church, or special events like prom. To date, more than 300 girls have benefited from the boutique.

“I really think it is her core mission in life to help others,” says Melody Baker, program director for Arrow Child & Family Ministries. “Her desire to give is remarkable.”

Baker notes that this mission is a family affair, since Callwood’s mother, grandmother, and father are just as involved. “It’s inspiring to other youth,” says Baker. “One of the values I try to teach at our group home is these young ladies receive a lot of things because of their situations, but we also want them to learn to give, too.”

One of We Cancerve’s newest projects began in 2021, when Callwood was invited to brainstorm with the homeless liaison for Harford County Public Schools. Together they launched a laundry program, combining donated supplies with laundromat vouchers to give to families in need. With her mother’s help, Callwood set up a fund to match up to $1,500 in donations and, as of April 2022, has secured $858 from the Southern County Chapter of the Rotary Club.

We Cancerve regularly hosts “do good drop-in” events where Scout troops, church groups, and other volunteers put together bagged meals, craft kits, Easter baskets, and more to donate to children in need. The nonprofit also maintains several children’s libraries in pediatric emergency rooms and centers serving vulnerable youth.

Basically, the organization’s mission is to do whatever it can to put a smile on a child’s face.

“Happiness shouldn’t have to wait,” says Callwood. “As an individual, I can’t solve or stop homelessness, sickness, or children going through the foster care system, but at the very least I can bring them happiness, even if only for a short while.”

Callwood attributes her ability to do everything she does to good time management, a love for school and learning, and help from her family and board of advisers. She manages to find time for extracurricular activities like lacrosse and mock trials, hanging out with friends, and occasionally binge-watching shows.

Says Callwood, “Remembering why I do this community work, the impact it has, and the impact I hope to make in the future is what pushes me to keep going.”

Chloe McGeehan

Grade 12 | River Hill High School
Founder, Light the Night 5K for Suicide Prevention

Suicide has been the leading cause of death for youth in Howard County since 2014. Chloe McGeehan has personally felt the effects of this sad statistic, having lost a running teammate to suicide. Last April, she created Light the Night 5K for Suicide Prevention, raising $4,000 for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Maryland Chapter and Howard County’s Grassroots Crisis Intervention Center, which operates a 24/7 hotline.

“I strongly believe that you do not need to wait for obvious signs to get help,” says McGeehan. “This 5K was to encourage students and adults to reach out before someone’s life is at stake.”

Harris Morgan

Grade 11 | Calvert Hall
Chef, Semper-Q BBQ

Gifted a smoker for his 15th birthday, cooking aficionado Harris Morgan decided to set up a sandwich stand in his front yard. When he sold out of 17 pounds of pork in 30 minutes, he knew he was on to something. Now Morgan has four smokers and gets up at 3 a.m. to prep and cook for his pop-up BBQ stands. From the beginning, Morgan wanted to give back to a local charity helping veterans. His dad, a Marine, suggested Catch A Lift Fund (CAL), which helps post-9/11, combat-injured veterans regain their mental and physical health through fitness. To date, Semper-Q BBQ has donated about $2,000 to CAL. Follow him on Instagram @semperq.bbq.

On the morning of his last day as senior pastor of the Pleasant Hope Baptist Church in North Baltimore, the Rev. Dr. Heber Brown III gave a rousing sermon, and then followed his congregation to the market set up outside called “Soil to Sanctuary,” which he considers part of his ongoing ministry.

After 14 years, Brown, 42, stepped down in May to work full time for the Black Church Food Security Network (BCFSN), a nonprofit he founded in 2015 after the Freddie Gray Uprising that works to connect Black churches and their gardens with Black farmers to create local, Black-owned food systems. Nearby is the church garden where the first seeds, literal and metaphorical, of the BCFSN were sown, now filled with fruit trees and raised beds in the shape of a cross.

“It started here, in this garden—paying attention to how the church gravitated toward the garden, and the ways that we weren’t addressing people’s needs,” says Brown, a Baltimore native and Morgan State, Virginia Union University, and Wesley Theological Seminary alum who is the third generation of pastors in his family. “Not just the need for food, but the need to have a sense of agency in addressing their own challenges around food insecurity.”

In 2010, Brown and his congregation started growing strawberries, corn, herbs, tomatoes, kale, broccoli, asparagus, and more in the garden, putting in peach and pear trees, and adding a greenhouse behind the church. He began working with other community gardens and noticed that Black congregations weren’t part of that network.

“I found that African-American churches weren’t even thought about when it came to addressing issues of food, faith, and health—in a majority African-American city.”

Brown began making connections between congregations and farmers, sending trucks and bringing food from farms to urban church communities. As of early May, he expanded his ministry beyond Baltimore, bringing 125 churches across the country into the network.

“God has positioned me as a budding farmer, as a pastor, as an organizer, as a systems-thinker, to do something,” he says. “We’ve been so disconnected from a more agrarian, land-based community for so long, Scriptures are going over our head, truth is going over our head,” he adds, some of the passion that lifts his sermons filtering into his voice.

Now that he’s no longer a full-time pastor, Brown has more time to continue visiting other communities, doing farm-raisings, launching and relaunching church gardens, hiring more folks at BCFSN, and building infrastructure—or identifying and reifying the infrastructure that’s already there.

“Churches are everywhere, they become outposts instantly. I have offices all over the country, kitchens and land and classrooms. You bring energy and activity—and produce. It’s already there,” continues Brown, who stresses he has no intention of leaving the community that he and his wife and two sons have been a part of for the last 14 years. “It is a leap of faith for me; pastors don’t do what I’m about to do. I’m leaving this one pulpit—my pulpit just got so big.”

Krish O’Mara Vignarajah doesn’t remember coming to the United States. After all, she was just 9 months old when she arrived with her parents and brother, seeking refuge after escaping tensions in Sri Lanka that escalated into a bloody civil war. Yet Vignarajah’s experience growing up as an immigrant in Baltimore forever altered and molded her life. Today, she serves as the president and CEO of Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service (LIRS), a national organization headquartered in Baltimore that is redefining what it means to resettle refugees.

We caught up with Vignarajah to discuss how her own immigrant experience shapes her work, the goals of LIRS, and the organization’s response to the Ukrainian refugee crisis.

Your own immigrant experience is a real success story, taking you from Woodlawn High School in Baltimore to Yale Law School, positions at the State Department and White House, and a run for Maryland governor. Tell us about your experience.
In Sri Lanka, my family was part of the ethnic and religious minority being discriminated against and persecuted in the years leading up to the civil war. My parents applied for visas and, fortunately, were able to move our family to a basement apartment in Edmondson, in southwest Baltimore. They arrived with no jobs, two small children, and only $200. Over time, they found jobs as public school teachers and built a life for us that I’ve always felt lucky to have.

In high school, one of the first times I looked something up on the internet, I typed in my first name, Krishanti, and found a scrolling list of articles about a girl the same age as me, from the same area where my family left, who attended the same school I would have attended had we stayed, and who was from the same ethnic and religious background. She was stopped at a military checkpoint, gang raped, and dismembered. To me, that was the rude awakening of what life could have been if my family had stayed in Sri Lanka and, in part, why I decided to pay it forward with LIRS.

Under your leadership, LIRS is re-envisioning refugee resettlement. How so?
Our approach to the refugee crisis is not just humane and empathetic but also self-interested. Refugees make our communities economically stronger, physically safer, and culturally richer. But resettlement can’t happen overnight and needs a long-term strategy.

That’s why we focus the first months of resettlement on basic needs like securing a place to live, putting food on the table, and navigating systems like public transportation. Then the strategy shifts to mentorship, career counseling, and helping individuals reach their potential. Studies show, in fact, that refugees become business owners at nearly double the rate of native-born Americans. Data shows, too, that they pay employees higher wages. LIRS recently opened new Welcome Centers nationwide.

 

“Refugees make our communities economically stronger, physically safer, and culturally richer.”

 

How do these contribute to your goals?
Part of a privately funded pilot program, our Welcome Centers streamline services for refugees, asylum seekers, and unaccompanied minors. Right now, the federal government has a complicated infrastructure in which three different agencies operate services for individuals and families. This leads to rigid programs that can create duplicative, wasted resources.

To solve the problem, our new centers integrate services for everyone into a one-stop shop. Just as we have embassies or consulates for foreigners abroad, these centers can serve as embassies or consulates for foreigners who are in the United States—and will likely build lives here.

When Russia invaded Ukraine, LIRS reacted quickly to set up refugee relief programs. Tell us about your efforts.
In the past decade, LIRS has resettled a quarter of the Ukrainian refugees who’ve come to the U.S., while making the case, even before Putin formerly invaded Ukraine, that much more needs to be done. Tragically, war produces humanitarian crises not just as a byproduct but also quite intentionally—which, I think, is what we are seeing here.

We greatly appreciate President Biden’s plan to resettle 100,000 refugees, but Ukrainian refugees cannot access permanent legal residence and have no formal safety net, in contrast to other refugees. They are not entering the U.S. through the refugee resettlement system as refugees but rather are coming through a newly created humanitarian program called Uniting for Ukraine. As we push for solutions, we’re using our Welcome Centers to serve Ukrainians in the interim. We’ve also launched an action hub online, where people can find ways to help.

How do you think the U.S. is handling the refugee crisis in general?
Right now, we’re stuck in the rut of what I describe as a “scarcity mentality,” due to political leaders pitting one side against another, as part of their strategy. But historically, resettlement has had strong bipartisan support. Yet few people know that.

The previous administration [under President Trump] conducted a study on how much resettlement costs taxpayers. Even accounting for the meager assistance received, refugees are a net positive contributor of $63 billion to federal, state, and local coffers. That’s huge. We need to spread awareness.

We also need to prepare for climate displacement, which will be the biggest driver of migration in the 21st century. But we need to act now—and embrace the help immigrants bring. At a time when we have the lowest birth rate since the census started tracking it, record numbers of older adults retiring, and financial stresses on Medicare and Social Security, we need a younger, bigger workforce. Immigration must be part of the solution

From our inboxes to our social media feeds, we’re bombarded with stories of people in need. Navigating the charitable giving landscape can be daunting.

In Baltimore, there are many organizations working to meet the needs of the city—more than 4,500, according to Maryland Nonprofits, a Baltimore-based group that helps nonprofits across the state to grow, learn, connect, and achieve their missions. And that number doesn’t include state, national, and international charities.

While it’s wonderful to see so many groups aiming to aid, it can be hard to know which to contribute to.

“People may be solicited multiple times from all different causes,” says Amy Coates Madsen, vice president for programs and director of the Standards for Excellence Institute at Maryland Nonprofits. She adds that you can note if the solicitor has the Seal of Excellence. The Seal of Excellence is a national program run by Maryland Nonprofits with a national reach. About 200 organizations around the country are currently recognized for outstanding work by the seal.

Along with looking into an organization’s mission, Madsen suggests researching its values and approach to ensure it aligns with one’s own. A legitimate group will be recognized as a 501(c)(3) charitable nonprofit organization in order to receive tax deductible contributions, a status that can be checked on the Internal Revenue Service’s website. Potential donors also can verify if an organization is registered to solicit contributions via the Secretary of State’s office.

Maggie Gunther Osborn, president and CEO of Maryland Philanthropy Network, recommends guidestar.org. “If they’re on GuideStar, they’ve been vetted,” she says.

A constant discussion is whether it is better to give a lot to one organization, or a little to lots, Madsen says. In her opinion, it’s a personal choice. But if a person isn’t sure where to start, giving a small amount to several organizations could help them become more educated about several nonprofits, she explains. Later they may choose to focus their giving on one or two they’ve found most closely align with their own values. The bigger concern is if people are giving at all.

“People are struggling across the world, and we’re struggling in this country and city,” Osborn says. “Middle-income folks have really dropped in terms of their ability to respond [to donation requests], fewer folks every year are giving to charity and it’s that middle-income area that we’re losing.”

Osborn reasons this is because the world sees mega-everything now, including megadonors.

“We tend to think about philanthropy as being massive—MacKenzie Scott, the Gateses, or whoever is giving large amounts,” she says. “But the reality is the majority of giving is not on that level. The majority happens from the average individual and their charitable instincts to support their neighbors, churches, kids’ schools or athletics, an art museum, whatever it may be.”

 

“We tend to think about philanthropy as being massive—MacKenzie Scott, the Gateses, or whoever is giving large amounts, but the reality is the majority of giving is not on that level.”

 

It might be easy for someone to assume five dollars won’t make a difference but, according to Osborn, it matters to both the giver and receiver. Giving fulfills the human desire and capacity to respond to need with empathy and generosity, and if many people contribute small amounts, it could still result in a substantial amount for the receiver.

There is merit to giving to national and international organizations along with local ones. Some needs are close to home, such as providing food for the many hungry families right here in Baltimore or donating clothes to a place like House of Ruth Maryland, Osborn says. “I can see and feel that right here,” she explains. “But I also care deeply about national issues that can only be affected by national infrastructure,” she continues, “such as voter registration and safe access to the right to vote.”

Supporting local organizations can look different than supporting work done abroad. On some occasions material donations are needed, and sometimes cash really is king. While donating clothes within the city is helpful, it might not be the most productive way to aid the refugees in Ukraine, for example.

“The cost to ship items can outweigh the cost of the items the people are receiving,” Madsen says. “Cash donations are sometimes preferred; we hear that when it comes to big natural disasters, as well.”

Though new needs are ever arising, changes in the local charitable sector offer hope. According to Osborn, leaders from disinvested-in communities that have previously gone unseen are starting to gain deserved attention.

“Some great entrepreneurs are working to elevate the talent and energy in Baltimore that has not been tapped into, that’s been on
the fringes,” she says, adding there are also new models of participatory grantmaking where the community works alongside donors to make funding decisions.

“There is so much to be done in Baltimore alone, it can be overwhelming,” Osborn says. “But then I remember how many great people there are doing work.”

Steps to Give Smart

By Christianna McCausland

Not sure where to start on your philanthropic journey? Charity Navigator, the world’s largest and most-utilized independent nonprofit evaluator, offers the following tips to help you find the nonprofit match you’ve been looking for.

IDENTIFY the causes you care about, then make a list of organizations operating in the sphere.

RESEARCH those organizations. Verify they are a 501(c)(3), understand their financial health, and learn how and where donations are used.

CONTACT the organization by phone. Particularly to avoid scams, call and ask for their Employer Identification Number (EIN).

DECIDE how you want to give. An unrestricted gift? Once a year? Quarterly?

FOLLOW UP in six months or a year after donating to see how your money is being used before you decide on a long-range giving plan.

By Ana Bak

Photography by Benjamin Tankersley

GameChangers 2022

In 2010, Marco Ávila won a quarter million dollars from the Maryland Lottery by playing five winning numbers. Some would call it good luck. Others might call it karma.

You see, when Ávila, who hails from Ecuador, first came to America to go to school in 1981, he had nothing. What’s more, “I didn’t speak a lick of English,” he says.

He immediately enrolled in an ESL school, taking some nine different courses including phonetics, composition, and writing to become fluent before beginning at the New Jersey Institute of Technology (NJIT).

When his mother told him she was going to get a second job to help pay for his education, he told her he wouldn’t take another penny from her. He chose, instead, to work manual labor jobs on construction sites and in factories, despite his aversion to getting dirty.

He routinely went to the school registrar’s office with cash payments in hand from the jobs he was working. He graduated from NJIT in 1993 without student loans.

“My days would start at 7 a.m. and go to 11 p.m.,” he remembers. “Right out of work, I’d go straight to school.”

While studying civil engineering, Ávila applied for—and ultimately got—an entry level position to be a draftsman. He eventually worked his way up the ladder to become a highway engineer. With a steady income and a 9-to-5 job, Ávila soon found he had time on his hands.

Ávila started traveling, including a trip back to his home country. On a trip in 1994, he met some traveling doctors returning from a medical mission. Ávila was soon recruited by the group as a translator. In 1995, he traveled to Puyo, Ecuador, for his first medical mission and spent the next decade translating on missions with the team.

In 2005, work moved Ávila with his family from New Jersey to Maryland where his first project was the Interstate 95 (I-95) Express Toll Lanes in White Marsh. Though his career was humming along as smoothly as he hoped to make I-95’s traffic, those years working in medical missions continued to inform Ávila’s philanthropy.

Ávila had remained close friends with a surgeon, Dr. Jaime Flores, whom he met on his first mission to Puyo. The two continued to go on missions together over the years, Ávila as the translator, photographer, videographer, and logistics coordinator, and Flores, a plastic surgeon performing reconstructive surgeries for children such as cleft palate.

“We had this energy together,” describes Flores. “We had the same mission of helping people purely out of the goodness of our hearts. There was a gleam in our eyes, and out of all the volunteers, he and I [after 10 years] were like, ‘We can make medical missions better.’”

So, in 2007, along with pediatric surgeon Dr. Dylan Stewart, and an NICU nurse, Susan Connolly, Ávila and Flores founded The Healing Hands Foundation. Their mission: to expand medical missions beyond Ecuador, to sustainably provide high-quality surgical procedures, and to build long-term relationships with the local community.

“We wanted to do more than a mission in Ecuador,” Flores says. “We wrote duties, bylaws, and 2007 was the first time we did the missions under The Healing Hands Foundation.”

The same year Ávila founded The Healing Hands Foundation, he brought together the engineering community—he was now a civil engineer and director and program manager at WSP, one of the world’s leading engineering and professional services consulting firms—to support his good works through Golfers for Charity.

This annual event, now in its 15th year, is played at the Greystone Golf Course in White Hall and has raised about $750,000 in support of The Healing Hands Foundation and several other charitable organizations such as Ronald McDonald House of Maryland.

“I always think that everything in your life, whether professionally, personally, humanitarian, volunteering—it’s all connected,” Ávila notes.

And connected it was. It was through The Healing Hands Foundation that Ávila became involved with the Maryland Hispanic Chamber of Commerce (MHCC), whose work is to further promote the growth, prosperity, and retention of Hispanic businesses in the state by providing advocacy, resources, and networking. In April 2019, Ávila was named chair of the board and president of the MHCC.

“Marco is well-recognized, connected,” says María Pílar Rodríguez, a longtime member of the MHCC and now the executive director under Ávila’s leadership. “He is the community leader and has their best interest [at heart], unselfishly helping people.”

When Ávila started in his leadership role at the MHCC, membership had dwindled to just 89 members and the organization was near bankruptcy. His first goal as chairman and president was to raise the membership number to 1,000.

“Marco always reinforces this goal to the board—to become the biggest chamber—and we’re working toward that,” says Pílar Rodríguez. “Because of his leadership, we have gotten some great sponsorships from the University of Maryland Medical System and Verizon. They are now repeat sponsors. Before we ask, they’re coming back to us to help fund programs.”

One out of 15 jobs in the region is created by Hispanic businesses. Having a solid chamber supporting those businesses is essential to cultivating positive economic development for this growing demographic.

For example, one of the goals of the MHCC is to educate small businesses on how to obtain certification as a Minority Business Enterprise and bid on government contracts.

“Right now, I have the best of both worlds,” Ávila says. “I work for a big global company, but at the same time, I’m helping the small businesses that typically are trying to be a subcontractor under a big global company, and I can help through this volunteer work [at the MHCC].”

Under Ávila’s leadership, the MHCC set a goal to grow to nearly 800 members in 2022. Ávila notes that when it hits that mark, the MHCC will, indeed, become the biggest chamber in Maryland.

During his term, which the MHCC has already extended for at least another year, he established a scholarship fund to support Hispanic students in high school, college, and trade school. He’s committed to ensuring that the MHCC runs with continuity even when he steps down.

“I want to make sure we finish what we started, to keep it going,” he says. “The greatest gift you can give to others is the example of your own life. I’m excited to continue to grow the next generation of leaders to make a difference in our state.”

Unsurprisingly, when Ávila won that quarter of a million dollars from the Maryland Lottery, he gave away a portion of his winnings to his Healing Hands Foundation.

Catrece Ann Tipon is a true Renaissance woman.

Growing up in the Severna Park area, she studied dance for 16 years, played the clarinet, and rowed crew. She currently boasts a thriving side-hustle as a talented self-taught photographer. Somehow, she still finds time to work as a nurse at University of Maryland’s R Adams Cowley Shock Trauma Center.

Still, Tipon recalls feeling like an outsider throughout her younger years. As a second-generation Filipino American, she grew up in a majority-white community and often tried to hide her heritage by downplaying the ways she felt different.

“I was always singled out,” she recalls. “I was the brown kid. As a child of immigrants, you’re always, unfortunately, trying to just assimilate and try to be part of the majority. It wasn’t until I went to high school in [Baltimore] City and I met all these different cultures [that] all of a sudden, I realized, ‘I’m in a safe space to be who I am.’”

After high school, Tipon studied at Catholic University, where she had the opportunity to learn even more about her culture through their Filipino Club. Following graduation, Tipon eventually migrated back to Baltimore where she met her business partner, Cori Dioquino, a Filipino-American actor, director, and producer.

Dioquino was frustrated by the lack of Asian American and Pacific Indigenous (AAPI) representation in Baltimore’s theater scene. She wrote a passionate blog post on the topic that went viral. The ensuing activism planted the initial seeds of what would eventually become the Asian Pasifika Arts Collective (APAC), a Baltimore-based nonprofit that uses art to advocate for AAPI representation in everyday life while building cross-community relationships.

“We created the organization out of literally nothing,” says Tipon. “There were basically 12 angry people who felt the need for change in the Baltimore theater community.”

Tipon and Dioquino helped APAC broaden its mission and grow into a powerful advocate and platform for amplifying AAPI voices. Today, APAC lives out that mission by hosting in-person and virtual storytelling events, art exhibits, theater productions, and storytelling workshops.

A good example of APAC’s programs includes the AAPI Women’s Voices Theater Festival produced in May 2022, in partnership with the Strand Theater Company. The festival featured six original short plays by AAPI women-identifying playwrights and aimed to bring awareness to the stories and experiences of AAPI women, as well as transgender, nonbinary, and gender-fluid individuals.

“We’re giving [artists] the platform to tell their story in a safe space, to allow them to be proud of their heritage and to even get to know more,” says Tipon.

Tipon is proud that APAC has given so many AAPI artists a platform to share their stories, including herself.

“APAC gave me a voice that I didn’t know was needed,” she says. “For a long time, I was okay with being in the background. APAC has helped me find the power to say, ‘I am here and you are going to listen to me!’ We wanted to give other artists the platform to share their voice.”

10/29: Port to Fort 6K
Run into Fort McHenry for one of the only races with access to this historic landmark. The Believe in Tomorrow Children’s Foundation is hosting the race for the 26th year, and proceeds will help them provide hospital and re- spite housing to critically ill children and their families. The event also includes a DJ, trick or treating, pumpkin painting, and a flower giveaway for the runners. $15-30, 1215 E. Fort Ave., Baltimore

10/3: 10th Annual Men’s College Basketball Tip-Off
At this event, baseball meets basketball in a big way. After lunch, guests can listen in on a panel discussion moderated by ESPN basketball analyst Jay Bilas. And Maryland sports fans rejoice, because the panel features Cal Ripken Jr. and University of Maryland head coach Kevin Willard. Proceeds from the fundraiser support the Cal Ripken Sr. Foundation’s efforts to serve at-risk youth and communities. Price TBD, 700 Aliceanna St., Baltimore

10/8: Toys for Tots Charity Car & Bike Show
Drive down to the Pikesville Armory grounds in your best ride, and donate some toys, because the Pikesville Armory’s Toys for Tots program is hosting a car show for a good cause. Place your car in one of the many categories to be judged and have your chance at a trophy. Choose to list your wheels under hot rod, 1930, stock, race car, custom, truck, racing bike, chopper, and many more. $5 with a toy, $10 without, 610 Reisterstown Road, Pikesville

10/8: Sunset Stroll by the Sea with CLP
Take a walk by the beach at Sandy Point State Park with the Chesapeake Language Project (CLP). Guests will journey with a park ranger as they explore the park’s paths and finish the day with a sunset on the beach. Proceeds from the event will help CLP expand educational opportunities to Maryland’s immigrant students. Free, 1100 E. College Parkway, Annapolis

10/22: Rock ‘N’ Roll Bash
If you ever wanted to help people through head-banging, this could be your chance. Join the Casey Cares Foundation at Rams Head Live. Proceeds will help the foundation arrange fun and uplifting programs for critically ill children and their families. The legendary lineup features the AC/DC tribute band, High Voltage, as well as the genre-defying 19th Street Band and returning guest Christine Ohlman from the Saturday Night Live Band. Price TBD, 20 Market Place.

10/22: Walk to End Alzheimer’s
Walk with a purpose at the Hunt Valley Towne Centre with the Alzheimer’s Association, an organization that fundraises for Alzheimer’s care, support, and research. Participants can carry one of their signature pinwheel flowers to show support for those struggling with the dis- ease. Don’t just walk, but fundraise too, because participants who raise $100 through the End Alzheimer’s mobile app can win a T-shirt. Free, 118 Shawan Road, Hunt Valley

10/29: Night at the Grove
Celebrate with the 29th Street Community Center at the Peabody Heights Brewery as part of its annual fundraiser. 29th Street Youth Performers will entertain with visual and dance performances, and you can perform yourself with some karaoke. The event also features a live and silent auction, so bid blissfully knowing that the proceeds will help fund the center’s community building efforts. $50, 401 E. 30th St., Baltimore

11/12: Le Diner Bleu
For this black-tie (optional) event everyone must wear something ‘bleu.’ Shhh…It’s in a secret location. But don’t let the mystery fool you, the winter gala is for a good cause. The Tinina Q. Cade Foundation is hosting this fundraiser to help families overcome infertility. Enjoy your dinner with a DJ, dancing, and silent auction. And attendees, fear not. You will learn of its location six hours before it starts. $100-210, Secret Location, Baltimore

11/18: Taste of SUCCESS
Come bash with The SUCCESS Project, Inc. for its annual banquet. As an organization that’s dedicated to helping low-to-moderate income families achieve independence through free resources, all proceeds from the dinner will benefit their programs. Dance to the DJ and dine on food from local vendors. Bid on the silent auction or place your bets in the Thrill of Possibility Casino Room. $75-700, 501 E. Churchville Road, Bel Air

POSTPONED: Hebda Foundation Gala
A night of food, music and more awaits you at the Zachary Hebda Foundation’s Gala at Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium. Enjoy some hors d’oeuvres while you bid on live and silent auctions or try your luck in the raffle. The proceeds will go to support pediatric cancer research at Johns Hopkins Kimmel Cancer Center and Camp Sunrise, a summer camp for children with cancer. $100, 550 Taylor Ave., Annapolis