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She also remembers watching Sweet Valley High on TV as a teenager, marveling at the differences between the fictional school and the one she attended, Hyde Park Career Academy (now Hyde Park Academy). At the time, Jackson was in fifth grade on the South Side, where she and her parents and four siblings shared a two-bedroom apartment in Auburn Gresham, and she remembers the moment. He deemed them unsalvageable and urged parents to send their kids to private schools so that the entire system could be shut down. Thirty-two years ago, Ronald Reagan’s education secretary, William Bennett, famously called Chicago’s public schools the worst in the nation. I talk to aspiring women leaders all the time, and I tell them, ‘You better get comfortable with being called a bitch.’ ”Īs a 10th grader at Hyde Park Career Academy Photo: Courtesy of Janice Jackson But if name-calling bothers you, this isn’t the job for you. No one believed a state-of-the-art facility would be built here or that it would be for them. “Just know I was called every name under the sun. When I press her further, she fans herself and chuckles dryly. It’s a typically shrewd seeing-both-sides response from a public figure managing a fracas.
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“They had legitimate concerns and we needed to discuss them with the community.” “We don’t have to relive that time,” says Jackson when I ask about the pushback against the closings and the new school. Others questioned why the $85 million couldn’t have been poured into the existing schools or why three years of students being displaced couldn’t have been avoided by consolidating the kids in one of the older schools. They treat our children like cattle.” “This hasn’t been a honeymoon,” says Jackson, here at Phillips Academy.īrown’s comments echo those of many residents who suspect the new school will be a magnet or special-track school for outsiders, despite Jackson’s assurances to the contrary. “You think they’re putting all this new stuff in here for us?” says Bobbie Brown, the local school council chair for one of Englewood’s high schools, Harper, which has been allowed to remain open only until its remaining students graduate. Having taken the CEO job in December 2017 in the wake of a string of scandals and the announcement of school closings - including four CPS high schools in Englewood - Jackson soon had to weather new setbacks, as well as a seismic shakeup in City Hall, while also facing down angry residents so accustomed to loss that many had given up on the district completely.
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“I have to convince people, especially marginalized people, that this is for them, too,” she says. In Jackson’s eyes, achieving that goal starts with restoring trust in a broken system. It’s a gleaming emblem of what she believes to be the singular goal of her tenure: bringing equity to a school district where the best educational opportunities have long been concentrated in white neighborhoods. But for Jackson - a former CPS student and teacher who by her own account was born to the CEO job - it’s more than that. Her eyes panning the room, Jackson says, “I’m thinking of what this could mean to a student from this neighborhood.”Įnglewood STEM High School, which welcomes its inaugural freshman class in September, is an $85 million investment in a neighborhood where nearly half the residents live below the poverty line and more than 90 percent of students commute to schools outside the area. Sleek circular pendant light fixtures hover above us at varying heights. Half of the room is soaringly open, thanks to two-story windows framing the sky the other half, with a lower ceiling and dark blue walls, has a Zen retreat vibe.
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Though still empty, with cardboard covering the floor, the space feels full of possibilities. At first, it’s hard to read her reaction, but it quickly becomes apparent it’s one of wonder. “Oh,” Jackson says, drawing a sharp breath as we enter the room. Down the hall, she shows me the room slated to house a health center that can be used by both students and community residents. As we walk past a double staircase inside the main entrance, the 42-year-old Chicago Public Schools chief explains that the foyer will be decorated with art that references the history of the neighborhood. The sound of beeping forklifts drifts in from outside. In white Adidas sneakers with black stripes instead of her usual three-and-a-half-inch heels, Janice Jackson strides purposefully through the unfinished school’s empty hallways, stepping deftly over extension cords and around banks of soon-to-be-installed orange and blue lockers. Above:Scenes from a July day in Jackson's life - in her downtown office and at a freshman orientation at Wendell Phillips Academy in Bronzeville.