In Detroit, they’re building a new prison. Not a new school, not a community center—another facility to house the same children many of us teach today. For educators like me working in middle schools on the east side, this feels like more than a construction project. It feels like a message. A message that some of our students are being prepared not for college or careers, but for confinement.

The school-to-prison pipeline isn’t just a theory—it’s a reality I see playing out in my classroom. My students, many of whom are brilliant, curious, and creative, face overwhelming challenges outside of school. They’ve witnessed violence. They’ve endured trauma. Some navigate life with little to no parental support, while others wrestle with their identities in spaces that don’t always affirm who they are. And on top of that, they’re expected to thrive in a system that often punishes them more than it supports them.

At our school, we start the day with music—something to lighten the mood before the first bell rings. But even that joy is shadowed by heavy realities. We collect students’ phones at the door, and some of them react with withdrawal-like symptoms. Their devices are often more than distractions—they're connections to family, coping mechanisms, or a source of control in a world where they have little. Yet if a student lashes out in frustration or skips class to escape pressure, the response is often punitive. Detentions, suspensions, and referrals pile up—sometimes over issues rooted in unaddressed trauma.

What we need is not more discipline, but more understanding. More counselors instead of cops. More restorative practices instead of zero tolerance. More investment in schools rather than prisons. Every time a child is pushed out of a classroom and into the juvenile system, the pipeline tightens its grip. To understand how this system operates—and how we can disrupt it—resources like Teaching Tolerance’s guide on the school-to-prison pipeline offer valuable insight for educators and advocates alike.

And let’s be real: in cities like Detroit, race and zip code matter. Black and Brown students are overrepresented in disciplinary actions and underrepresented in gifted programs. When systems fail to serve our students with the support they need, they criminalize them instead. But here’s what gives me hope—my students. The same kids that some systems write off are the ones who teach me resilience every single day. They show up, they try, and they care, even when the odds are stacked against them. They deserve better.

So as a teacher, I use my platform—this classroom, this blog, this voice—to advocate for change. Not just change in behavior, but change in policy, in mindset, and in the way we value our youth. If Detroit has the money to build another prison, it also has the resources to invest in the futures of the kids in my classroom.

The question is: which will we choose?