Play is A Right: How Systemic Neglect Steals Joy from Black and Brown Children

The Cost of Searching for Play

In Lincoln Park, where I live, the idea of a neighborhood playground was, for at least a decade, just that—an idea. If we wanted our children to play, to run freely, to experience what should be a fundamental part of childhood, we had to leave. We had to pack up our kids and travel outside our own community because the city had not deemed it necessary to provide us with the most basic of resources.

This is the reality for Black and Brown children in under-resourced communities—not just here in San Diego, but across the country. Where others have swing sets, climbing structures, safe open spaces, we have fences, neglected lots, and schools where “play” is confined to whatever space is left between policies of control.

So when our community finally opened its first full playground park in decades, it was more than just a playground. It was a statement: that our children deserve to play. That their laughter, their movement, their joy matter.

But the truth is, one playground does not undo decades of disinvestment.

When Play is Treated as a Problem

When my partner and I enrolled our children in a Visual and Performing Arts (VAPA) school outside of our community, we thought we were giving them something better. Our son, Niko, was a kindergartner at the time—curious, energetic, eager to learn. But almost immediately, his excitement for school began to fade.

He was being bullied. His teacher called frequently, telling us she was trying to redirect the behavior of his classmates, but nothing changed. Soon, the calls weren’t about the bullying anymore—they were about Niko’s reactions to it. The school wasn’t addressing the harm being done to him, only how he was responding to it.

Then one day, we got a call: Niko had poured milk on another student. When he got home, he told us the real story—the student, who was older than him, had stolen the ball he was playing with at recess and refused to give it back.

I was confused. Why was my kindergartner having recess with older kids?

I asked the school staff, and their response left me stunned: They had removed Niko from recess with his own classmates because he was being bullied too much. Instead of addressing the bullying, they had taken recess away from him. They placed him in a play environment with FIFTH graders—where he was bullied even more. And when he finally retaliated, he was the one punished.

The absurdity of it was enraging. A Black kindergartner, isolated from his peers, pushed into an unsafe environment, and then disciplined for trying to stand up for himself.

This is what happens when institutions see Black children’s play as a disruption rather than a right.

What the Parents of Lincoln Park Know

When I sent out a survey to parents in my neighborhood, they confirmed what I already knew: Play is still not guaranteed.

Their responses showed:

• Many still have to leave the neighborhood just so their kids can play safely.
• Concerns about safety, limited play spaces, and lack of community investment are constant barriers.
• Play deprivation isn’t just about kids—it affects entire families. Parents are forced to rearrange their schedules, plan extra trips, and bear the emotional weight of knowing their children are being denied something so essential.

Decades of systemic neglect have conditioned us to expect less—to accept that our kids will have fewer resources, fewer safe spaces, fewer chances to just be kids. But we shouldn’t have to fight this hard for something that should be fundamental.

(See neighborhood survey results here)

Who Gets to Experience Joy Without Consequence?

Play isn’t just play. It’s about freedom, access, and who is allowed to experience joy without punishment.

In predominantly white, affluent communities, children’s play is seen as necessary, natural, and valuable. Parents advocate for more parks, better equipment, increased funding for arts and recreation programs. Schools encourage curiosity, movement, and creative expression.

But when Black and Brown children play, it is too often seen as a liability, a problem to be managed, a behavior to be corrected.

• They are policed for playing too loudly.
• They are disciplined more harshly for the same behaviors as white children.
• Their creativity and movement are treated as disruptions rather than development.

Niko’s experience at the VAPA school was not just about bullying. It was about a system that viewed his very presence—his energy, his need to move and express himself—as a problem rather than a child’s natural way of learning and growing.

Toward a Future Where Play is a Right, Not a Privilege

Pulling Niko out of that school was one of the best decisions we made. At his new school—just blocks from our home—he plays freely, he has a solid friend group, and his teachers work with him rather than against him.

But the reality remains: One playground doesn’t fix systemic exclusion. One positive school experience doesn’t erase a history of harm.

If we truly believe in equity, justice, and childhood as a right, then we must:

• Invest in more play spaces for under-resourced communities.
• Ensure that Black and Brown children’s play is protected, not punished.
• Push schools to see play as a critical part of learning—not something to be taken away.

Because at the end of the day, when we talk about play, we are really talking about something deeper:

We are talking about who gets to experience joy.
We are talking about who is allowed to be a child.
We are talking about whose humanity is recognized—and whose is denied.

Our children deserve more than survival. They deserve to play.