This US town was the last to integrate its schools. Now, it is fighting to save them.

Fernando Green sits on a pile of plywood in a new barn on a humid Mississippi Delta afternoon. The barn will be a center for students like his daughter to get a feel for local jobs in agriculture. There’s school swag for the incoming middle schoolers. A petting zoo with a baby alligator is off in one corner while boys throw a pigskin around in the back.

A Mississippi Delta native, Mr. Green hardly breaks a sweat in the nearly 100-degree Fahrenheit heat. “You get used to it,” he says with a friendly chuckle. He looks out with a glint in his eyes on the grounds of a middle school that used to house his revered high school: East Side. That took getting used to too, he admits.

But a recent effort by a parent group looking to heal divides and counteract disinvestment has locals like Mr. Green excited to be back at their alma mater. Using donated lumber and dollars, the parents are fighting not only for their children’s future but for their town’s as well. And, they say, they are showing that progress is possible, even in a place where tourists come to see the past captured in amber. 

“When you’re backed into the corner, sometimes you’ve got to fight,” says Todd Davis, a professor at the town’s own Delta State University in an interview with The Monitor. “I’m not fighting for some grand mission … I just want my kids to go to a nice school. ... Every kid should have that option … And if no one else is going to do something, then I will.” 

Dr. Davis joined with Kierre Rimmer, a Cleveland native and coordinator at the Family Treatment court, to fight disinvestment in Cleveland public schools. The duo, along with community partners, LaKenya Evans, Clare Adams Moore, and Rori Eddie Herbison, helped found the group, Friends of Cleveland School District (FOCSD).

In a 2016 high-profile court-ordered integration, Cleveland School District’s two middle schools and high schools were ordered to merge. Some 63 years after Brown v. the Board of Education, Cleveland became the last district in the United States to desegregate in 2017. The historically white high school became the consolidated high school, and the historically Black high school became the site of the consolidated middle school. The district’s football team was rechristened the Wolves in purple and white. 

The following autumn, over 100 white parents pulled their children out of public school – as locals of all races had predicted.

That, locals interviewed say, is why residents both Black and white sought to block integration, to the consternation of mainstream media outlets and policy watchdogs. Many in town feared that court-ordered desegregation would inspire a massive white flight in the last town in the Delta to have a sizable white population still enrolled in the public schools.

And, those interviewed say, the reality on the ground was different than in the headlines. By the time of consolidation in 2017, enrollment at Cleveland High and Margaret Green Junior High, the historically white schools, were roughly 50-50 when it came to race. In 2013, parents were granted the freedom to choose which high school to send their children to.

With students arriving for their first day Aug. 5, administrators are still waiting on a final head count for the 2024-2025 academic year. Last year, 243 more students joined Cleveland public schools, the first time the district wasn’t losing students since consolidation.

Resegregation in public schools has surged not just in Mississippi, coinciding with the popularity of charter schools and voucher programs. The number of schools categorized as intensely segregated – with over 90% nonwhite student bodies – nearly tripled from 1998 to 2021, leading to poor funding and teacher shortages.

Fundraising for public schools 

Friends of Cleveland School District has secured $30,000 worth of paint, timber, and appliances from the likes of Fleming Lumber Company and other regional and local businesses. They’ve raised roughly $250,000 for the school from grants and fundraising efforts.

This is a little less than the roughly $300,000 that leaves the district each year with the 300 or so students that depart for private school or other towns, after the neighborhood-zoned and magnet elementary schools cut off at sixth grade.

It helps that Cleveland has a middle class. Quality Steel, Baxter Healthcare, a luxury hotel, a local university, and a downtown with boutiques and coffee shops offer families comforts unknown in the rest of the Delta. 

“The narrative is that the kids are good on it, but the adults are still figuring things out, finding a common definition of equality and fairness,” remarks Mr. Rimmer from his home in the heart of Cleveland. “It’s nice to have traditions, but we need to think outside the box, not to focus on personal beliefs or politics and just do what’s best for our kids.”

Dr. Davis is building planters for a school garden on a warm April afternoon, putting the raised funds to use. Students will get a chance to grow okra, sweet potatoes, and tomatoes – a reflection of the local agricultural economy.

“It’s still the big industry in this area,” remarks Dr. Davis, who at roughly 6 foot, 5 inches tall looms over the burgeoning garden in cargo shorts and a Coast Guard tee.

He leans his shovel against the barn and wipes a glob of sweat off his brow. He lends his green thumb during breaks in between teaching classes at the local university.

Students have joined the garden club by the dozen, learning the power of civic mindedness with hands deep in world famous Delta dirt. The garden “allowed us to make new friends that we otherwise probably would not have made,” says seventh grader Michael Vardaman. With a newfound appreciation for community projects, he looks forward to more afternoons in the outdoor classroom.

“I can take what I learned and use it in my life. Showing the community what I’ve learned is very rewarding work … and [so is] doing something nice for our school,” says Katuri Jackson, a classmate of Michael’s.

“The school is the only thing we all share as a town”

Parent volunteer Stephen Chudy is tall and burly with a firm handshake and a warm smile beaming beneath a trucker hat. He’s here for one reason.

“I gave my daughter the choice, here or the independent school. She chose here. Fine by me. She’ll get to be around all different kinds of kids like there is out there in the world. It’s realistic,” says Mr. Chudy, who is digging an irrigation path with ditches for the school’s many green stretches on a molasses thick morning. 

“There’s an understanding that the school is the only thing we all share as a town,” he adds. “It’s a small place. We all go to the same McDonald’s and Walmart too … but those are massive corporations.” 

Other parents, like Leroy Cotton, a longtime administrator in the district, feels that Cleveland has long been an exception to the Delta. It is known for camaraderie across racial lines unseen in his native Tallahatchie County, he says, where white neighbors put up fences. 

Still, he doesn’t understand why so many of his neighbors choose Bayou Academy, a local independent school, for their kids. That school was founded as a segregation academy in 1964, he says, and has a less than stellar reputation academically. He wonders why people opt for it over the public school. 

Some white parents cite the move because of less opportunities for their kids to play football, and dysfunction that is inevitable to a structural change this large.

“If we build this, they’ll come”

Cathy Sparks, the middle school’s new principal, walks toward the track and bleachers. The district’s annual Special Olympics is underway with athletes competing from the eight schools. It was an action packed day for the intrepid school leader. This was another milestone reached.

Ms. Sparks was a long time teacher at the district’s magnet school. She initially wasn’t sure she’d be up for the challenge of principal. Now, though, she’s determined.

“If we build this, they’ll come,” she says. “That’s always been my approach. I’m of strong stock. It’s just in me. I won’t be defeated.” 

Other teachers steer young boys and girls in wheelchairs toward the red starting line or to the concession stand, where the town’s Junior Auxiliary is passing out cola, chips, and chicken. An off-duty police officer works the grill. Here is a community school in action.

“I was retired. And they called me back,” says Lisa Bramuchi, Cleveland School District’s new superintendent, standing near the stands where she banters with students. “I’m already seeing some progress. Some parents who left are coming back. They see how nice we’re making it. ... And I’m not saying it’s because of me, but I’m saying all the things that they see us doing in the community.”

She had just announced a $4 million dollar lighting upgrade as well as a new A/C system for the school via Facebook, a boon for community organizing. Retirement will have to wait.

Progress is possible in a place two hours from the closest airport, residents of Cleveland say. And they are determined to be loud about it. 

“To change this ... you have to be loud and brash about every accomplishment,” says Dr. Davis. “Why should I be ashamed or embarrassed for being loud and brash? ... By God, we all live here. This is one community. It’s all we’ve got. We can make it nice or rot.”

Editor’s note: This article has been updated to clarify the name of the mascot. It is the Wolves.