June 2023 - Presidential Leadership Scholars

Please tell us a little bit about yourself and your personal leadership project (PLP).

I serve as Education Counsel at the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, the Nation’s oldest civil rights organization, founded by Thurgood Marshall in 1940 to litigate Brown v. Board of Education. I am a native of Pascagoula, Mississippi; a proud 18-year-and-counting New Orleanian; and a husband and father of two amazing daughters. My PLP was to draft legislation requiring mental health education in Louisiana’s public schools and to advocate for the proposed legislation to become law.

Please give us an update on what you have been working on since completing the Presidential Leadership Scholar Program.

Since completing PLS, I still litigate ongoing school desegregation cases in the Deep South. (Yes, we still have school districts that are under federal desegregation orders!) I also, through PLS, have learned that I have knack for writing legislation for children. I recently wrote a bill in Louisiana that requires all jails and prisons to permit parents who are incarcerated to virtually attend their children’s awards and graduation ceremonies, at the request of the children. A few weeks ago, that bill became a law with zero opposition. So, I am thankful to PLS for helping me to discover this “superpower” of mine as a children’s rights public policy advocate.

What is Louisiana Act 960? What has driven your involvement in this legislation?

Louisiana Act 960 is a law that was enacted during the 2022 legislative session that requires all Louisiana public schools, from grades kindergarten through 12th, to provide mental health education to students. I wrote the bill that later became Act 960 after noticing through my work as a children’s rights attorney that children had a limited to nonexistent understanding of what mental health is and why it is equally as important as physical health. Additionally, I wrote the bill in light of the preliminary research on the adverse impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on the mental health of children and adolescents. I was also inspired to write Act 960 based on my own traumatic childhood experiences and wishing in hindsight that I had an understanding of what mental health was in order to better navigate those experiences.

Which lessons learned during the Presidential Leadership Scholars Program have stayed with you the most, and how have you put those lessons into action, whether in your work with Louisiana Act 960 or elsewhere?

The biggest lesson I’ve learned through PLS is how to identify, message, and advance causes that are rooted in civil rights – such as access to mental health care and education equity – in a manner that will garner bipartisan support. One module that particularly comes to mind is the one in which we had to identify all stakeholders who would potentially support or oppose our PLP, determine which groups would be receptive to speaking with me about my proposed legislation, and develop a message for each one on why the legislation was needed for, in my case, children in Louisiana. I used that very list and the feedback on messaging that I received from my PLS colleagues to reach out to representatives, both Republican and Democrat, from the Louisiana Legislature, to ultimately have the bill become a bipartisan, co-sponsored effort that received ZERO opposition in the state’s House and Senate.

How can we all work to move the needle on mental health education and support?

By normalizing public discourse on mental health, even at the earliest levels of learning. That is why I wrote Act 960 – with the hope that children will take the concepts they learn in school about mental health, not only to educate and empower themselves, but to share with their parents and communities. My heart swelled with immense joy when my 8 year old came home and told me that her health teacher spoke to the class about the importance of “brain health” and expressing your feelings! I proudly told her that her Daddy is the reason why she and other children in Louisiana are having conversations about mental health in their schools.

By Michael Cooper

We call ourselves the United States of America, but we’re anything but united these days.

The divisions aren’t about the issues. Instead, we’re sorting ourselves by culture, education level, negative partisanship, and the choice to associate only with those whom we agree with. That’s not healthy for our democracy or sustainable.

But we can reconnect as a country. It won’t be easy, but I’ve seen it work firsthand through the Presidential Leadership Scholars, a program organized by the George W. Bush Presidential Center, the Clinton Presidential Center, the George & Barbara Bush Foundation, and the LBJ Foundation.

I was selected as a Scholar in 2020 and joined a cohort of midcareer professionals who hone their skills through interactions with former presidents, administration officials, academics, and business and civic leaders.

There were 60 of us from all across the country: San Francisco; Boston; Milwaukee; Atlanta; Pittsburgh; Eugene, Oregon; Berea, Ohio; North Bay Village, Florida; North Wilkesboro, North Carolina; Cut Off, Louisiana. We were Black, White, gay, straight, Republicans, Democrats, doctors, scientists, educators, entrepreneurs, Navy officers, and Marines. Each of us loved our country and wanted to make it better, but we saw America in different ways. That was the challenge.

Getting to know the other Scholars was truly a lifechanging experience.

On one of the first nights of the program, a group of us gathered in the hotel restaurant for dinner. Someone posed the question, “Are you optimistic or pessimistic about the country?” Since it was an election year, the answers got political. Voices were raised. Things got tense. I worried that some Scholars might quit the program. In the end, things calmed down, and the dinner ended in hugs. But I wondered, in this environment, could 60 strangers still become friends?

We did.

The program’s structure helped. During each session our name cards were moved to a different table, forcing us to speak to someone new. One of the icebreakers required us to greet one of the other Scholars like a long-lost friend at the airport. These kinds of conversations cleared the air and eventually led to trust. In a way, COVID-19 helped too.

Like everything else, PLS was put on hold. Fearing that it would get cancelled, we went out of our way to stay in touch. We had happy hours on Zoom, plus a murder mystery game and a virtual baking session to make caramel cake using the recipe from one Scholar’s mother.

When things opened up, we visited each other. There were trips to Hollywood, Nashville, and Yellowstone. Once, I joined a line dance at a block party in Pine Bluff, Arkansas. As a small-town defense attorney, I’d seen little of the country before PLS. The experience brought the country to life. It led to lifelong friendships with Scholars like Adam Gilbertson, an Army veteran from Montana, and Sameer Vohra, a doctor from Illinois. And it helped me to see the country through their eyes.

To this day our cohort has a running text thread of life updates, family photos, and reunion plans. But I’ve noticed something about it. On the worst days in America, when there’s something controversial in the news, the thread goes silent. Because we pause to reflect.

Because we’re all so different, we can’t assume to know how others will react. So instead of rushing to respond, we take a moment to think about what to say and how our words may be received.

It’s the opposite of social media, and it leads to a more thoughtful and constructive dialogue. We’re a diverse group, but by appreciating those differences, we can have conversations that build each other up, instead of tearing each other down.

At the same time, conversations I’ve had with Scholars have led me to question some of my own views in recent years – and that’s a good thing, far better than the echo chambers we’re creating for ourselves. That wouldn’t have happened without these connections. And there are lessons to be learned from this experience.

By surrounding ourselves with people who are different, our own stories become unique and more interesting. By listening to people who aren’t like us, we begin to understand where they’re coming from.

By getting out and seeing the country, we discovered that America is bigger than our neighborhoods and political tribes, and we realized that we share this national story. That led to cooperation and social trust.

Former Secretary of Defense Robert Gates said recently that polarization is the greatest threat facing the United States. That should be a wakeup call.

If anything, the American experiment is a test of whether a multiracial, multiethnic democracy can survive, endure, and thrive. To do that, we’re going to have to learn to live together. In a Nation of over 330 million, it won’t be easy. But I’m hopeful.

I’ve been thinking about that question posed at that dinner back in 2020. My answer now is that I’m optimistic about America because I’ve seen it work myself.

Our fellowship concluded with one epic night of karaoke at the Clinton Presidential Library in May 2022. There we were, in a room that looked like America, in a giant circle singing the words to the ’90s pop song “Closing Time.” Arms around each other’s shoulders, we came together, the embodiment of America’s motto, E pluribus unum. Out of many, we were one.

Michael Cooper is a journalist, attorney, Senior Director of Advocacy at NC Child, and a 2020 Presidential Leadership Scholar.

Month: June 2023

Presidential Leadership Scholar spotlight: Victor Jones

How to become e pluribus unum