The False Promise of the American Dream My grandfather James Thomas Scott was born on December 24, 1920. My son, Charm Scott, was born 103 years later, on December 6, 2023—and despite being just two years old, he has already lived through the erasure of his fundamental civil rights and freedoms, attacks on Black workers and the rise of Black unemployment, and the destruction of the Voting Rights Act.
The hard truth is my grandfather had more rights in his lifetime than his great-grandson has today. We are witnessing the steady, calculated erosion of progress that our ancestors fought and died for, leaving Black Americans in the worst position since Reconstruction. We have to recognize the urgency of this moment before it is too late.
As we mark the 250th anniversary of the United States, we have to be clear that for Black people, the American Dream has always been a false promise. There is no “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” if the systems around you are designed to pull you down.
I saw this firsthand growing up in Park Heights in Northwest Baltimore. One of my earliest memories is being eight years old, playing basketball in the church parking lot near my house, when someone started shooting. I dove in the bushes (praying a bullet wouldn't dive in with me) and hid, able to see my house but unable to get there. The next day, we were expected to go back to normal. My dad told me and my brothers to clean up the blood, and that was that.
I remember pestering my family members, asking why nobody cared about the violence that was happening in our neighborhood on a daily basis. My mother was clear: “Nobody is coming to save us. If you want it to change, you have to do it yourself.”
Park Heights in the ‘80s and ‘90s didn’t just happen. It was the result of redlining, Zero Tolerance policing, the so-called War on Drugs, and mass incarceration: policies intentionally crafted to keep Black Americans impoverished, incarcerated, and struggling with substance use.
When I took office, I knew we had to be just as intentional with the way we create opportunity in our city. Today, we’re finally getting at the root of generational challenges, including the gun violence that surrounded me growing up. Instead of trying to arrest our way out of the problem, we’re treating gun violence as the public health crisis it is, focusing on the less than 5% of the population responsible for the vast majority of violence, and doing targeted outreach to individuals most likely to be a victim or perpetrator.
These individuals receive a letter directly from me, offering them real alternatives to change their lives, but promising swift consequences if they continue to engage in violence. Those who choose to change receive any resources they may need, including life coaching, job training, housing, relocation, and education. Of the hundreds of people who have accepted this support, over 94% have not been revictimized.
This strategy goes hand in hand with investments in constitutional policing, and partnership between the Baltimore Police Department, prosecutors, state and federal partners, community leaders, and residents. In total, homicides and nonfatal shootings have fallen by 60% since we began this work in 2022. The share of residents who say they feel safer in their neighborhoods has nearly doubled. And new research shows our city’s progress is roughly 25% larger than national trends, without a corresponding increase in arrests. At the same time, we’re taking on our greatest housing challenge, eliminating more than 1 in 4 vacant properties citywide (with a plan to end the crisis for good within 13 years). We’ve opened parks, playgrounds, 7 new or renovated rec centers, 13 new schools, and the first new public library in decades. These projects are intentionally located in neighborhoods like Park Heights, reversing the trajectory of disinvestment and disenfranchisement that was the norm in our communities for so long.
Countless young Black leaders across the country have similar stories, and are delivering similar results for the cities that raised them. Even as the federal government doubles down on racist, restrictive policies designed to take us backward, local leaders continue to do the hard work of governing.
As president of the African American Mayors Association, I see it every day. In Cleveland, Mayor Justin Bibb is addressing blight, repairing homes, and investing in communities that have been ignored for decades. In Birmingham, under Mayor Randall Woodfin, 1,600 public school graduates have gone to college for free through Birmingham Promise. In Chicago, Mayor Brandon Johnson has overseen historic public safety progress. In Philadelphia, Mayor Cherelle Parker is delivering on a plan to build and preserve 30,000 homes. Real leadership, and real results.
The American Dream has always been a false promise for our communities, designed to keep us placated and hopeful that if we kept our heads down, played along, and didn’t disrupt broken systems, opportunity would come our way.
But the rights and freedoms at risk in this moment were not given to us. They were hard fought, won through blood, sweat, and tears over generations—and protecting them will require blood, sweat, and tears from us today. Our ancestors built this country for free, and it is on us to continue pushing closer to its founding ideals: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all—not just those who look like you or think like you. We did not pay the price of disinvestment and false promises for generations just to accept the same for our children and grandchildren.
Across this country, Black leaders are delivering investments to create jobs, expand affordable housing, support our young people, prevent violence, and save lives. We are breaking cycles of poverty and disenfranchisement, and building the stronger, safer, more just future that Charm and his generation deserve. We’ve learned the hard way that no one is coming to save us. If we want it to change, we have to do it ourselves.