Malcolm Rivers

It wasn’t a perfect evening for a demonstration. The night was cold and damp. On the rain-slick concrete stairs of Harvard’s University Hall, thirty-five undergraduates crowded together, hoping for news coverage and bantering nervously. After weeks of planning, finally the day had come, and we . . . . Continue Reading »

As we gathered for another meeting to tell stories, share feelings, and take guidance, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the griping began. I had made the trek from my apartment in Northeast Washington, D.C., to Teach For America’s office on K Street. Bright posters beamed positive messages, . . . . Continue Reading »