Giving Tuesday (2): Three Great Picks, Post-Ferguson, Post-Partisan

America may be divided over the meaning of the recent events in Ferguson, Missouri–but there can be little doubt that the controversy they've engendered make clear we're not yet in a post-racial society. They remind us, moreover, that, no matter to what one attributes the underlying reason, African-Americans remain poorer, and by many other counts, worse off, on average that other groups–and that efforts to do something about that deserve a high priority, on this Giving Tuesday, for those who would support effective charities.

The choices, for those who would do so, often narrow to support for those organizations which seek legal remedies to discrimination, or those, such as charter schools, which would seek new ways for public institutions to address the most disadvantaged populations. Historically, however, there has been a third way–African-American-founded and directed organizations through which those with the means seek to uplift those with less. This black empowerment tradition dates at least to the 1910 founding of the Urban League (originally the Committee on Urban Conditions Among Negroes), and, with little attention today, continues to be found at the local community level, even as it's arguably atrophied with the growth of the welfare state. It's not at odds with the civil rights tradition—but can be understood to complement it.

I thought I'd devote this Giving Tuesday column to three such organizations, all past winners of the Manhattan Institute's Richard Cornuelle award for social entrepreneurship–all of which I've personally visited and with which I've stayed in touch.

New Jersey Orators, Somerset, New Jersey

In a school auditorium in central New Jersey, one finds an African-American seven-year-old from Newark, in jacket and tie, reciting, from memory, the poetry of James Weldon Johnson, or a high school senior similarly reciting a Shakespeare sonnet. By the time these amateur orators get to the statewide contest, they will have gone to a year's worth of weekly chapter meetings—in the evening or on a Saturday morning—practicing, working on homework, and learning about the significance of the works they present through what the Victorians would have called declamation. Many attend for most or all of their elementary and secondary school years.

It all has the look and feel of the sort of special schools which upwardly mobile American ethnic groups—Jews, Chinese, Koreans—often ask their children to attend. Like “Hebrew school” or “Chinese (language) school,” New Jersey Orators is no government program. It is, rather, the labor of love of a small, core group of Somerset, New Jersey black professionals, who found themselves aghast at the interviewing skills they encountered among black job applicants. What began as a fairly narrow effort to improve public speaking skills has become a much broader, academic support mission, but one which clearly motivates students through its use of contests and prizes. (This alone could account for the good participation rate among boys.)

The results here are, moreover, extremely impressive. There's been no technical study done of the program but it self-reports that 98 percent of last year's graduating seniors went on to four-year colleges. Moreover, there's a notable range of colleges attended (from Harvard and Columbia to the University of Maryland-Eastern Shore and Raritan Valley Community College). There's clearly some preference for historically black universities, including Morgan State, Howard, and Spelman. And there's a range of academic pursuits—from medicine and law to civil engineering, culinary arts, and (hotel) hospitality.

The New Jersey Orators, moreover, is very much interested in expanding its reach. From its origin with a single local chapter in Somerset, New Jersey, it now has chapters in 17 localities in New Jersey and two in Pennsylvania (incorporated as free-standing non-profits under that state's laws, as Pennsylvania Orators). But the Orators core leadership is clearly interested in reaching the major cities on the East Coast, the Southeast and even beyond. It's already established the New York Orators under that state's laws and, significantly, has a well-defined method for assessing where to expand.

The approach, as described by Eloise Samuels, co-founder (with James Hunter) of the Orators, is notably detailed. To screen out those proposing to start new chapters who are “just not serious,” a potential chapter leader must also have identified five others willing to serve as volunteer coaches for the new chapter; indeed, there's a required “student: coach ratio” of five to one. The central office asks for a minimum of a two-year commitment from a new chapter leader, who must agree to a background check and go through three training workshops. To date, Samuels notes, no chapter has had to close. She attributes this to just the sort of qualities for which one looks in an organization, “excellent oversight and commitment on the part of the founders and board of directors.” Another notable part of the Orators' model: student families must pay a modest membership fee and local chapters are asked to look to their own communities for financial support. (Typical chapter costs are just $1,000-$2,000 annually). Such are the sort of requirements that reinforce commitment. Interestingly, the Orators has begun to attract a more diverse student group; today, almost a quarter of the Orators are Asian.

The Orators are among the programs featured in this video about the Manhattan Institute social entrepreneurship initiative I direct.​

Gospel for Teens, Harlem, New York

Gospel for Teens began when founder Vy Higginsen's daughter Noelle was admitted to New York's well-known Professional Performing Arts High School. Higginsen expected Noel would be exposed to the full range of musical styles and history. She was disappointed to learn that some of the core African-American contributions to American music were not well-represented. In particular, this daughter of a Pentecostal minister was disappointed that students were not being introduced to black gospel music, itself an inspiring art form which in many ways lies at the heart of much contemporary American popular music.

Higginsen's inspiration, however, was artistic, not religious. She had already established her own non-profit to support music education and performance—the Mama Foundation for the Arts; now she set out, further, to foster an appreciation and continuation of gospel music as an art form not connected to any one specific religious denomination. A longtime Harlem radio host, musical theater producer, and Ebony magazine advertising sales executive, Higgensen put her entrepreneurial skills to use by starting the program that has become Gospel for Teens. In the years since its establishment in 2005, Gospel for Teens has not only created a structure for passing on the gospel music tradition, it has become a haven and engine of uplift for African-American adolescents throughout the New York area.

On Saturday mornings. during the school year, teenagers (many with their parents) from the Bronx, Brooklyn, New Jersey, and even eastern Pennsylvania, come to the small brownstone on the block where Higginsen's family has lived for 100 years. They come first to audition for a freshman beginners' choir: there is room for 75 but twice as many, most from low-income families. may apply. Veterans of the program continue in the Advanced and Performing choirs. The goal, as described by the program itself, transcends music: The program is “ meant to help foster self-discipline, the ability to collaborate and cooperate with others, and the focus needed to compete academically.”

A two-part feature about the organization on 60 Minutes led to national acclaim (the segments themselves won an Emmy award for CBS) and interest from cities around the country. Gospel for Teens has become a way for teenagers, including some from troubled families, to find both encouragement for their talent and a family-style group of peers and mentors. What's more, Gospel for Teens requires members to agree to its “terms of engagement,” to which those who get through the audition program about one in two) must agree, at the risk of expulsion or suspension. One girl, a student at LaGuardia High School, says Gospel for Teens “helps me get through my days. Without it, I don't know what I would be doing.” She now dreams of Broadway. Another credits the program with helping her to become an honor student thanks to its offering “a safe haven and a home away from home.”

None of this is to say that there are not a good many participants from strong middle-class families here. Parents attend rehearsals and performances, and, like suburban soccer moms and dads, plan who'll bring the drinks and snacks next week. These parents appreciate that there's more than music in all of this. A Columbia University representative meets with students to assist, says Higginsen, “in directing them to appropriate colleges and universities and helping them understand how to finance their education.” Still, the music is the key. The quality of the vocal and performance instruction here is of the highest caliber, with rehearsals aiming at teaching choir members such techniques as how to project their voices effectively and present themselves publicly. As a result, Gospel for Teens choirs have toured the U.S. and Europe—earning pocket money and gaining invaluable experience. Some of the best singers get to perform at the famed Sunday gospel brunch offered by Harlem's Red Rooster restaurant, where community residents and tourists alike line up and help finance Gospel for Teens.

This is not a program where one looks narrowly to measurement of specific results—whether the number of paid performances or the number of college admissions. It has, already, clearly accomplished the goal Vy Higginsen set out to reach—the preservation of gospel music within the black community itself, not just as an aspect of religious worship in a specific church but as an art form that engages and inspire.

Reclaim a Youth, Glenwood, Illinois

The south suburbs of Chicago are, at least in some parts, not dissimilar from Ferguson, Missouri. They are part both of the path of middle-class African-American upward mobility but also caught up in the diaspora of poor blacks from the city, many displaced by the demolition of once-infamous public housing projects there. There, in the suburbs of Glenwood and Chicago Heights, an all-volunteer group called Reclaim a Youth. Founded by two women who both lost sons to violence, it uses a combination of everything from college scholarships to after-school classes on manners, financial literacy, and, potential careers, to help middle-and high school students toward the goal which RAY founder Addie Mix describes this way: “a middle-class job that allows you to make an honest living and support a family.”

It's not a big-budget program; all the funds are raised locally, mostly through an annual banquet fundraiser, held this in early November—400 tickets sold, $30,000 raised. Much of it will help pay tuition and expenses for students in and around Chicago, at the University of Illinois, DePaul, Northwestern and the University of Missouri. The group has raised more than $200,000 since its formation in 2005. But it's an amount more than matched by the value of the time of more than 100 volunteers, almost all African-American professionals: realtors and accountants, educators and salesmen.

They are the heart of this organization, teaching after-school classes aimed at helping middle and high-school students deal with what RAY volunteer calls “obstacles at school or home—negative peer pressure, dysfunctional homes, drugs, sexual experiences.” Among the highlights career day meant to deliver the message that there are many jobs that don't involve sports or entertainment: accounting, law, sales, nursing, medicine and more. But there are blue-collar volunteers—painters, construction workers, roofers, mechanics—who talk to kids, as well. “Career day in Glenwood,” says Addie Mix, “is a big deal”.

Notably, RAY not only provides college scholarship—it requires a 3.0 grade point average for students once in college in order to continue to receive support. Many education reformers have lately come to realize what RAY has long understood as a key goal: not just a college acceptance but a diploma. RAY volunteers organize college orientations and stay in touch with their scholarship recipients—some of whom have themselves become RAY volunteers after graduation.

RAY's target population is that of children, often from one-parent families, who need attention and guidance from other adults. They find a hunger to learn more about topics that might seem surprising. A class on financial literacy was developed at the request of kids. “They were more interested in that,” says one RAY volunteer, “than glamour or football.” The after-school class on manners, taught by an 86-year-old volunteer, has attracted more boys than girls. It's well worth noting that the median income in one of the two cities in which RAY is active—Chicago Heights—is, at around $35,000 a year, almost exactly that of Ferguson. RAY is lately getting requests from other communities as to “how to duplicate oursevles,” as founder Addie Mix puts it. Maybe Ferguson should give her a call.

This piece originally appeared in Forbes

This piece originally appeared in Forbes.com