The New Foster School: A Symbol of Progress, Nostalgia, and Unresolved Questions
There’s something undeniably captivating about the opening of a new school. It’s a fresh start, a blank slate, a promise of what could be. But in Evanston, the impending launch of the new Foster School feels like more than just a ribbon-cutting ceremony. It’s a moment loaded with history, emotion, and a fair bit of controversy. Personally, I think this isn’t just about bricks and mortar—it’s about identity, community, and the lingering echoes of decisions made decades ago.
A School Rooted in History, but Not Without Scars
The original Foster School closed in 1979, and its story is deeply intertwined with Evanston’s struggle with desegregation. What many people don’t realize is that Foster wasn’t just a school; it was a linchpin in the district’s desegregation plan. By converting it into a magnet school in 1967, the district aimed to integrate its schools. Black students were reassigned to other schools, while white students were drawn to Foster. It was a bold move, but it came at a cost. The closure of Foster as a neighborhood school in 1979 left a void in the historic Black community of Evanston’s Fifth Ward. African American leaders mourned the loss of a cornerstone institution—a place that fostered pride, parental involvement, and neighborhood cohesion.
From my perspective, this history is crucial to understanding the mixed emotions surrounding the new school. The excitement is real, but so is the bittersweet nostalgia. For many, the new Foster School isn’t just a building; it’s an attempt to reclaim something lost. But can it truly fill that void? That’s a question I’m not sure anyone has the answer to yet.
The Thorny Path to Construction
Getting this school built was no small feat. The 2012 referendum to fund a new Fifth Ward school failed spectacularly, with 54.79% of voters saying no. What this really suggests is that the community was deeply divided—not just about the school itself, but about the broader implications of its construction. Would it reduce involuntary busing? Would it restore the sense of community that was lost in 1979? Or would it simply be another bandaid on a much larger wound?
The district’s decision to bypass another referendum in 2022 and finance the school through lease certificates was, in my opinion, a calculated risk. By avoiding taxpayer approval, they ensured the school would get built, but at a cost of $3.2 million annually until 2042. One thing that immediately stands out is the financial gamble here. Transportation costs have skyrocketed, and the school’s enrollment projections are far below capacity. It raises a deeper question: Was this the best use of resources, or are we setting ourselves up for future challenges?
A School That Doesn’t Quite Fit the Mold
Let’s talk about the building itself. From the outside, it’s… underwhelming. The bold red and blue blocks clash with the cream-colored walls, and the maroon and gold sign feels out of place. It’s massive, yet it lacks the charm and openness of the old Foster School. Personally, I think architecture matters more than we often acknowledge. A school should feel inviting, a place where children want to be. This one feels more like a statement of practicality than a labor of love.
Inside, however, there’s a detail that I find especially interesting: the heritage hall. It’s a space dedicated to the history of the school and the community. This feels like a nod to those who’ve been advocating for this school for decades—a way to honor the past while looking to the future. But it also feels symbolic of a larger tension: the new Foster School is not a reincarnation of the old one. It’s something different, something that must carve its own identity in a community still grappling with what was lost.
The Bigger Picture: Desegregation and Beyond
Here’s where things get really fascinating. The new Foster School is projected to be more diverse than the old one, with a student body that reflects Evanston’s changing demographics. But what makes this particularly fascinating is the unintended consequence: the three north Evanston schools left open will likely become less diverse, as students who would have been bused to those schools now attend Foster.
If you take a step back and think about it, this raises questions about the legacy of desegregation efforts. Was busing ever a sustainable solution? Or did it simply paper over deeper issues of housing segregation and inequality? The new Foster School is a step toward neighborhood-based education, but it also highlights the complexities of trying to undo decades of systemic inequities.
What’s Next?
In just a few weeks, 320 children will walk through the doors of Evanston’s newest public school. For them, Foster will be a place of firsts—first friends, first lessons, first steps toward their future. But for the community, it’s more than that. It’s a symbol of resilience, a testament to decades of advocacy, and a reminder that progress is rarely linear.
Personally, I’m cautiously optimistic. The new Foster School isn’t perfect—far from it. But it’s a start. It’s a chance to rebuild, to reimagine, and to learn from the past. What this really suggests is that schools are more than just buildings; they’re reflections of our values, our priorities, and our hopes for the future.
As we watch this chapter unfold, I’ll be thinking about the children who will fill those classrooms, the community that fought so hard for this moment, and the questions that still linger. Because, in the end, the story of Foster School isn’t just about Evanston—it’s about all of us, and the kind of world we want to build for the next generation.
