My son entered his new Vancouver middle school in 8th grade, in the first year that in-person classes returned after the COVID lockdowns. And that’s when our troubles began.
One day in August, JN came home and told me a group of students had been chanting the N-word as he got off the school bus. No adults were around – no teachers, no one. JN* was one of a handful of Black students in the school.
Standing in our kitchen, I told him, “You don’t let that go. You need to tell the teacher, go to the office. Talk to the principal. You don’t let people say that to you.”
I thought that was the end of it. I didn’t hear anything else. Looking back, I wish I had paid more attention. I’ve learned the hard way that school is not always a safe place.
A few weeks later, I received a call from the vice principal. His tone was offensive as he told me that I should teach my son about personal space. When he came home, JN insisted he hadn’t touched anyone. I sent the vice principal an email, saying I wanted to speak to him. I never got a response.
That terrible day
Then came that terrible day in November. I was getting ready for a doctor’s appointment when my son called on Facetime, his head leaning against an office wall as if he was feeling unwell. Not realizing the seriousness of the situation, I asked my mom to pick him up by herself.
When they got home, JN was barely able to walk. His leg was so swollen we had to cut his pants off. His lips were swollen, the whole right side of his face was bruised and cut. There were cuts on his legs.
At urgent care, we learned his ankle was broken in two places and he needed surgery. The principal texted me, asking about JN’s well-being. When I told him about the broken ankle, all he said was that there was an ongoing investigation and they’d be back in touch. Hospital staff splinted my son’s ankle and sent us home until surgery could be scheduled.
That night, I filed a police report. I also discovered videos of the attack all over social media. I couldn’t understand—where were the teachers and administrators? Students broke it up, they pulled the assailant off my son. I screen-recorded everything I could find, which was lucky because by the next morning, it had all been taken down.
The school’s response
The school responded the next day – by suspending my son for fighting. How could they punish him for defending himself? He was attacked from behind!
When I met with the vice principal, instead of addressing the attack, he focused on some text messages between my son and a girl. They even put “sexual misconduct” on his record. I was furious. They were trying to justify a violent, racially motivated attack by bringing up some texts.
After his suspension, they expelled him. JN finished 8th grade through home studies.
He changed after that. My once outgoing, carefree boy became reserved and cautious. For more than a year he barely left the house. He didn’t want to run into people from his school.
Meetings with the school continued. I brought in my brother and the NAACP. But no progress was made. I tried to find a lawyer. Everyone I talked to said I had a case—and no one wanted to go up against the school district.
NJP notches up the legal fight
Finally, I connected with Northwest Justice Project (NJP). My lawyers, Caitlin and Megan, were relentless in pursuing the truth of what happened.
It took years of insisting that the district hand over transcripts and reports before NJP could gather all the evidence they needed. The district held things up at every turn. But NJP’s research made the situation crystal clear.
The school had known that JN was going to be attacked—students had warned the administration. They did nothing to prevent it. They just moved my son to eat lunch in the office, away from other students. They never once informed me, his mother.
It turned out the boy who attacked JN was one of the same ones who had been chanting the N-word months earlier.
More than three years after the attack, we finally had a hearing. NJP, the school, and the school district were present. NJP presented all the evidence they’d gathered, and within 24 hours, the district offered to settle.
The settlement removed “sexual misconduct” from JN’s record – I insisted on that, knowing it could follow him throughout his academic career.
I know my child and he did nothing wrong. I was willing to sue them, and they knew it.
There was also a financial settlement and commitments for staff training. The school sent JN an “apology” letter. But they took no responsibility and admitted no guilt. It was more of: “We’re sorry you feel that way.”
Fighting for our children’s future
Today, JN is in his junior year in high school. He is in the running-start program taking college courses and just started a new job. He’s become more social but is still more cautious than before being attacked.
I’m much more involved in his schooling. At JN’s school, I am the President of the Families of African Descent committee, which we helped organize. We meet monthly for dinner and share information about the school and community activities. I am also the Vice President of the Parent Booster Club. JN is President of the Black Student Union.
This experience has shown me how crucial it is to advocate for your child. Resources are available to help. I’m so grateful for NJP. Without them, the school would have gotten away with this. They helped me go from feeling defeated and guilty to feeling heard.
Parents — pay attention to the signs. Be involved. And if something happens, don’t let anyone get away with abuse or mistreatment. Our children’s safety and future are worth fighting for.