From Fatherhood to Fire: A Juneteenth Call to Support Black Men and Boys
On the eve of Juneteenth, with the birth of his first child fresh in memory, the author reflects on the hope of 2020 and the reality of 2025. Despite historic mobilization after George Floyd's murder, progress has stalled. Minnesota must now reignite its commitment to Black men and boys with long-term, systemic strategy — turning the spark of protest into focused, sustained action.
We have grown numb to the alarm
There are many wonders in the world, but few compare to the birth of a child, especially a first child. It’s one of the rare moments when life defies logic and transcends arithmetic: One plus one suddenly equals three. A new life enters the world, and in a moment’s notice, two people lose their individuality and take on a new identity: parents.
On May 9, 2025, I became a father. My son, Nile, is the greatest gift I have ever received. In the moments where I am awake enough to string together two coherent thoughts, I find myself suspended between profound reflection and dreaming about what’s possible for my son.
In many ways, that tension mirrors the moment Black Minnesotans are living in right now. We are at a crossroads: This week we’ll celebrate Juneteenth, while still visible in the rearview mirror sits the five-year anniversary of the murder of George Floyd.
One of the most uncomfortable things to process about the murder of George Floyd is how much more improbable it is for his murder to have garnered the level of attention it did than it is for the murder to have happened in the first place.
No group in America is killed by police more than Black men. Yet most of these deaths unfold in relative silence, drawing little to no attention in the news cycle. George Floyd’s murder broke that pattern, not because it was more horrific than others, but because of a perfect, terrible storm.
It was Memorial Day. There was a video that was agonizingly long and left little to question. Derek Chauvin’s apathy was clear; his face remained calm, unmoved, symbolic of the face of a system that had long stopped seeing our humanity.
All of this took place against the backdrop of the pandemic, which had us locked at home, allowing it to grasp the attention of millions in an era when our collective attention spans have diminished to those of goldfish due to constant media cycles.
What followed was equally improbable — the largest protest in American history, mobilizing an estimated 26 million people and millions more worldwide marching in the streets.
We saw unprecedented resource mobilization. National organizations like Black Lives Matter received $90 million in donations following the murder. Local organizations like the Minnesota Freedom Fund grew from basically a $150,000 organization to a nearly $50 million organization virtually overnight.
Even within my own organization, Black Men Teach, our name, which at one point could have been a limitation, had now become our greatest asset. Suddenly, powerbrokers were seeking coalitions.
Nationally, the CEO Action for Racial Equity fellowship’s influence grew exponentially. And locally, the Minnesota Business Coalition for Diversity and Inclusion brought together some of the most influential leaders from corporate giants in the community. I felt a kind of hope, a kind of faith in humanity, that I had not felt before in my lifetime.
But now, five years later, we have to face a difficult truth: We mistook momentum for a movement.
The largest policy conversations of 2020 narrowed quickly to police reform. But police violence is a symptom, not the root. The real issue is that Black men in America, as Dr. Kunjufu has termed it, have been in a state of emergency, and we have grown numb to the alarm.
When 1 in 5 Black men born in 2001 are projected to go to prison, you are in a state of emergency.
When homicide is the leading cause of death for Black males ages 15-34, you are in a state of emergency.
When 60% of Black boys in fourth grade read below basic proficiency, you are in a state of emergency.
When the median net wealth of Black households is less than one-tenth that of white households, and Black men face the steepest barriers to mobility, you are in a state of emergency.
When Black male college enrollment has dropped by more than 25% over the past decade, you are in a state of emergency.
To combat this, we need a comprehensive, long-term strategy to support Black men and boys in every facet of life: Education. Housing. Employment. Health. Mental wellness. Belonging.
We do not need to start from scratch because a model already exists: the U.S. Commission on the Social Status of Black Men and Boys. Founded in 2020, the commission produces annual reports addressing the current conditions affecting Black men and boys in America and makes policy recommendations.
It was inspired by the Florida Council on the Social Status of Black Men and Boys, which has been operating since 2006. We need something similar here in Minnesota, but it must transcend annual reports and be independent of government.
We need a central space where Black men and others who are currently working on these challenges can collaborate, co-create strategies across a variety of organizations, and commit to executing them over the course of a realistic timeline long enough to chip away at these huge systemic issues.
It’s not too late. 2020 was a spark that lit the world. 2025 must be the year we turn that fire into focus.
Minnesota, let’s finish what we started.
Markus Flynn, a former classroom teacher, is the executive director of Black Men Teach, a Minnesota-based non-profit headquartered in St. Paul. For more information, visit www.blackmenteach.org.
Markus Flynn’s best example to give the movement is to help raise his son to the very best of his ability.