Kingmakers
Of Oakland
An in-depth interview with Christopher Chatmon, founder and CEO of Kingmakers Oakland, exploring how he is reshaping education through radical care for Black boys. Discover his vision for Oakland’s future, the challenges of equity in education, and what it truly means to crown the next generation.
kingmakers of oakland : seed member spotlight Interview by : Adéniké AminPhotography : Sasha KelleyAdéniké: So, Chris, Kingmakers Oakland was born from a very particular need within Black education and leadership. When I think about my time spent in the Oakland school system - it sucked! It felt more like a pipeline to nowhere than a place to learn and grow. When you look back now, do you see the organization as a response to systemic failures or as the planting of something entirely new?
Chris: Kingmakers was born in Oakland by design. This city is a crucible. And our young KINGS, they are the GOLD. For too long, our education systems treated them like liabilities. We saw it. We felt it. And we said: No more.
When I founded Kingmakers of Oakland I heard the necessary truth spoken aloud from one of our National Leaders, Bro Shawn Dove: "The cavalry is not coming to save us, we are the ones we have been waiting for.”
No one was going to save us because we’ve never needed saving. What we needed was remembering and tapping into our true AI: Ancestral Intelligence as a way to draw out what was always within us. Kingmakers bring education, media, healing, culture, and history into alignment. We remind our youth that they are not problems to fix, but legacies to unfold.
I learned that from the lineage that shaped me from Dr. Asa Hilliard’s unapologetic brilliance, Frantz Fanon’s fire, Dr. Wade Nobles’ spiritual grounding, John Uzo Ogbu’s insight, Dr. Zelte Crawford’s compassion, Pedro Noguera’s justice-centered scholarship, Marcus Garvey’s global vision, Ella Baker’s humble power, to Dr. Jawanza Kunjufu’s warrior wisdom.
These are my teachers. And their teachings live in our work.
We’re planting what Dr. Nobles calls “African deep thought” within institutional systems. We are building new systems in the image of our highest selves. That’s something entirely new for Black folks in this country.
C:Truth is, it wasn’t one moment. There were many. From my own childhood experience of growing up in the 70’s, as a third grader when my teacher, unable or unwilling to see my light, stuck my desk in a closet for the first two months of school. That wasn’t discipline. That was erasure. That was racial bias weaponized against a child’s spirit. It told me, “You don’t belong here.” And I carried that message.
I learned early that systems of oppression are designed to sabotage.
Years later, I watched my own son be labeled, boxed in, and removed from the very learning environments where he was thriving. Because of a label. Because of an assumption. Because someone didn’t know how to see Black brilliance when it didn’t come packaged the way the system demanded. It wasn’t just my story; it was his story, too. And far too many others.
I’ve walked school campuses and sat with hundreds of young Black boys who told me the same thing: “The adults on campus don’t see me.” “They treat me like I’m dumb.” “They act like I’m not supposed to be here.” These weren’t isolated experiences. These were patterns from East Oakland to West Oakland, from the Hills to the flats, from Lakeshore to San Antonio districts, the system in that way did not discriminate against ensuring Black boys felt othered, marginalized, not seen, heard, or supported from PreK to 12th grade. I realized I was spending too much time convincing people to care, unlearn, and relearn, and try to see something that actually was not supported by the school system we were working in. Too much time asking permission to serve the very youth I was born to serve.
It was time to move. That’s when Kingmakers was born.
A: Yeah, it is. Do you recall the moment that crystallized the idea that you needed to create Kingmakers Oakland? Was there a moment that you thought, if not me, then who?
A: I’ve watched videos where you speak of cultural re-centering as essential for Black youth. How do you practically embed African Diasporic wisdom and history into an educational model that exists inside Western systems designed without us in mind?
C: You don’t ask for permission to be whole. Because let’s be real, these systems weren’t designed with our genius in mind. They were built to control us, not to liberate us. Kingmakers start by acknowledging that truth. We build models that transform from the inside out. And at the heart of that transformation is cultural re-centering. And then we ask: What would it look like if Black youth were at the center, not the margins of their own learning? We put African Diasporic wisdom through curriculum, media, language, rituals, mentorship, and most importantly, relationships. We draw from the teachings of our ancestors and intellectual warriors: Garvey, Fanon, Nobles, Baker, Hilliard, Kunjufu, and others. We infuse our work with the truth that our children are descendants of innovators, organizers, scientists, artists, and architects of civilization.
We do this inside schools that may never have imagined such possibilities because we believe in transformation over assimilation. Our programs use hip-hop as pedagogy. We create healing circles. We hold rites of passage. We center storytelling and self-definition. We partner with educators who are ready to unlearn and relearn. We build a brotherhood and village inside the buildings we may call the schoolhouse.
A: There are so many Black boys who are yearning for this type of care from men who look like them.
Chris: My board chair, King Romero Wesson, and I met when he was in the 6th grade at Frick Middle School and now as a 24yr old young man he is the Chair of the Board of Directors of Kingmakers of Oakland, a multi million dollar organization. That’s not talking about it, that's being about it
A: Talk about role model! Similarly, Kingmakers Oakland has scaled into a nationally recognized model. How do you balance being both a CEO, with organizational demands and as a cultural steward building toward liberation?
C: Scaling Kingmakers of Oakland into a nationally recognized model has been a blessing and a responsibility that I very much respect. It feels like soul alignment, and so I do my best to manage time.
But the tension is real. On one side, there are grant reports, budgets, board meetings, strategic plans, and the business of the business. On the other hand, there’s the heartbeat of the work: liberation, cultural re-centering, storytelling, healing, transformation.
I can’t lead Kingmakers like it’s a traditional nonprofit. Because this work isn’t traditional. It’s sacred and it’s ancestral. It’s revolutionary. So I lead with both a strategic mind and a spiritual compass. I’ve built a leadership team that allows me to remain rooted in vision. I surround myself with people who are brilliant and values-aligned. That allows me to be in the rooms I need to be in, with funders, with policymakers, with systems leaders, while still making time to be in schools, in circles, in conversation with our youth and families. It also helps that my family also works with me.
A: Which family members work with you?
C: My sons, Jordon and Khalil Chatmon.
A: Working with your sons and passing down this knowledge of Self must give you a sense of pride. Education, especially for Black boys, is often framed through a deficit lens. How does Kingmakers Oakland reframe the narrative, and what does true belonging look like inside a classroom?
C: I am, and it does! Education systems have long framed Black boys through a deficit lens, viewing our boys through gaps, scores, and suspensions. But Black boys are not broken. The system is. That shift in narrative begins with how we show up in classrooms. Through the Crown's Curriculum, our young Kings are immersed in themes that reflect their history, culture, resilience, and genius from Ma’at to Afrofuturism. Again, this is cultural re-centering. It’s about putting Black identity at the center of learning.
True belonging in the classroom looks like feeling seen, heard, valued, and loved. You know, warm demanders, educators who believe in Black boys’ greatness, holding them to high expectations, and providing the relational trust that allows them to soar.
A: That kind of leadership carries both responsibility and scrutiny. How do you navigate accountability: to the community you serve, to your staff, to the youth, and to yourself?
C: Leadership, especially for Black leaders, is layered. It's never neutral. It’s a spotlight and a magnifier. For me, carrying power means carrying history. It means knowing that I’m not just leading an organization, I’m holding the dreams of elders, the expectations of community, the potential of our youth, and the heart of a movement. So when it comes to accountability, I start with this: I’m not above the mission. I’m inside of it.
I hold myself accountable in four directions:to the community, this work is not mine to own; it’s ours to steward. To my staff: I hold space for my team to grow, challenge me, and hold the vision with me. I’ve learned that accountability lives in the organization’s culture.Our Kings don’t need perfection from me; they need honesty, consistency, presence, transparency, vulnerability, and love. They need to know that I see them, hear them, and will fight for them even when they’re not in the room. They are the North Star. Their truth is the measuring stick. If we’re not meeting their needs, then no amount of metrics can justify our path. And finally, to myself: this one took the longest to learn –s a Black leader in spaces where expectations are sky-high and grace is often scarce, I’ve had to learn to hold myself accountable without drowning in guilt. I check in with my values, my intentions, and my impact. I practice what Dr. Nobles calls self-reclamation, that is, staying grounded in who I am, not what I do. And I lean into Ubuntu: I am because we are..
A: What’s been the hardest pushback you’ve encountered: from institutions, funders, or even from within the community? And what did those moments teach you about persistence and strategy?
C: The hardest pushback I’ve encountered hasn’t come from a single institution or funder. It’s come from the system itself, that quiet, well-oiled machinery that corrects itself when we get too close to real change.
When we started to shift the narrative to center Black boys, build unapologetically culturally responsive curriculum, push for policy shifts, reimagine accountability, and demand that schools see Black boys as scholars, leaders, and Kings, the resistance came fast. Not always loud. Sometimes polite. Often disguised as concern, process, or capacity. But make no mistake, it was pushback.
Institutions pushed back when we asked them to name white supremacy in their policies. In some cases, they may have been willing to name it, but weren't willing to actually change it! Funders questioned our scale when we stayed rooted in culture. Community partners, sometimes even those with the best intentions, hesitated when our work asked them to examine their own bias or shift their power dynamics.
And even internally, we’ve faced friction.This work challenges systems, and it challenges mindsets, and mindsets are hard to move, especially when people have learned to survive inside broken structures. But the pushback is the proof.
The moment you start receiving institutional resistance is the moment you know you’ve touched something vital. Something the system isn’t ready to let go of. That’s when I lean in because I recognize the stakes.
A: If you could reimagine the blueprint of public education in America tomorrow, what three pillars would be non-negotiable?
C: I wouldn’t start with standards or testing frameworks. I’d start with truth, healing, and liberation. So here are my three non-negotiable pillars: 1. No more treating culture as an elective. In my vision, Black history, Indigenous knowledge systems, Latinx resistance movements, Asian Diasporic narratives, and the brilliance of all marginalized peoples would not be extra; THEY WOULD BE FOUNDATIONAL! 2. Every school would be a sanctuary. Every classroom is a space of joy, safety, and affirmation. Mental health wouldn’t be an add-on; it would be integrated into the school day. Restorative practices wouldn’t be programs; they would be principles. 3. The education system would belong to the village. Schools would be co-led by students, families, educators, and communities. Young people would be seen as co-creators. Their voice would shape curriculum, policy, design, and culture.
A: Chris, when the workday is done and the weight of leadership lifts, what restores you, the man beyond the CEO title?
C: When the meetings end and the weight of carrying the vision and community loosens just enough to exhale, I return to me. Not the CEO. Just Chris. My greatest grounding is my life partner, Mama LaShawn, aka L Boogie. She is my rhythm and my rest. Whether we’re walking in silence or dancing in the kitchen, cooking together or simply being still, her presence returns me to myself. Loving her and being loved by her is sacred to me. Time with our children and our circle, our sons, our people, our village, fills my well. Nature restores me. Give me a trail, a mountain, a lake, give me stillness that’s alive. Music feeds my soul. I’ll sip something smooth, put on a record, and let it minister to me.
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