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Founded by a collaborative including �鶹��Ѱ�����Boulder scholars, the Lyripeutics Storytelling Project aims to empower Black and Brown youth through the medium of hip-hop

A Manual High School student sits behind a microphone, headphones on. Their world outside—which sometimes holds uncertainty, systemic barriers and institutional indifference but also encompasses the rich musical and cultural heritage of Denver’s Five Points neighborhood—fades away for a moment as a beat drops. As the student leans in, the cadence of hip-hop becomes an outlet to speak their truth.

For many Black and Brown youth in the greater Denver area, the is more than a way to express their creativity. It’s survival.

That’s why the artists and educators behind the project are battling to keep the space alive.

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Shawn O'Neal (left), an assistant teaching professor of ethnic studies, and Kalonji Nzinga (right), an assistant professor of education, are co-directors of Lyripeutics.

“We’re trying to provide these platforms of learning that we think Black and Brown students in particular really resonate with,” says Kalonji Nzinga, a �鶹��Ѱ����� assistant professor of education and Lyripeutics co-director. “In a way, we’re just building upon the history of creating learning environments based in a cultural reference point, based in our ways of knowing.”

Through storytelling and music production, young people in the Lyripeutics program gain an opportunity to share stories of their unique cultural wealth. But while the program has been a source of empowerment for many, it also faces funding struggles and systemic resistance.

What is Lyripeutics?

Founded by a collective of �鶹��Ѱ�����Boulder scholars, artists, educators and community organizers, Lyripeutics’ mission is to empower Black and Brown youth through a medium many connect with—hip-hop. The program is embedded in schools in the greater Denver area and aims to offer alternative learning environments for students who find themselves overlooked in traditional education systems.

“We don’t all learn the same, yet we have this system of education that’s been around for hundreds of years and is really geared for only one very particular type of student,” says Shawn O’Neal, an assistant teaching professor in the �鶹��Ѱ�����Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies and Lyripeutics’ founding member and co-director.

“It’s just not working for us. For many students. It hasn’t worked,” he adds.

Rather than using the traditional education system’s philosophy of rigid structure and standardization, the Lyripeutics program operates through collaboration and an evolving process in which students, teachers and artists co-create learning spaces.

“A typical day can look quite different depending on whether we have a producer leading the session or a lecturer on hip-hop history, or an actual MC helping create space for youth to do storytelling,” O’Neal says.

Students can also create and produce their own music in the state-of-the-art hip-hop studio adjacent to the Manual High School library in Denver.

“We collaborate with other hip-hop artists across the Denver area to develop the programming and to do the instruction,” Nzinga says.

At its heart, the program is about creative expression.

“We’re even working with students on exercises like field recordings of their environments and recording their neighborhoods and creating tracks and experiences out of those,” O’Neal adds.

Building confidence, one verse at a time

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Through storytelling and music production, young people in the Lyripeutics program gain an opportunity to share stories of their unique cultural wealth. (Photo: iStock)

Those behind the Lyripeutics program know education isn’t just about what happens in the classroom, but what happens when students see their own voices amplified in the real world.

Recently, one group of high school students visited the �鶹��Ѱ�����Boulder campus to play original tracks on the university’s radio station.

“The folks who run the radio station were just blown away,” says O’Neal. “It was an enriching experience for everyone involved.”

“We believe that doing work related to the social context, the cultural movement that is hip-hop, allows young people to really express their story from their perspective,” adds Nzinga.

For many of the youth involved, the program is much more than an extracurricular activity; for some, it’s the first time they’ve been given tools, encouragement and a platform to tell their stories, O’Neal says.

“When we get to engage with the students, it’s normally within a place of creativity and joy. We aren’t there for a lot of the day-to-day things I know they’re going through, but we see and hear the expression of their frustrations and the various roadblocks they’re up against through their music and their performance,” O’Neal says.

Fighting to keep the mic on

For all its successes, Lyripeutics faces a current reality: Programs focused on BIPOC youth, particularly those challenging traditional educational models, are under an intense microscope.

“We are at this moment receiving so much resistance from multiple levels,” Nzinga says. “From previous and future funding situations to different regulations at the state and district level—it’s extremely frustrating.”

Despite widespread recognition of the program’s impact, Nzinga and his colleagues cite an uphill battle to secure funding. While institutions like �鶹��Ѱ�����Boulder’s Renée Crown Wellness Institute have provided crucial support, securing consistent financial backing remains a struggle.

But the pushback isn’t just about money. Nzinga and O’Neal attribute much of the resistance to a larger national trend of rolling back diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) initiatives, making it harder for programs like Lyripeutics to operate freely.

“We claim we want this type of programming for students that they need, yet we have to fight tooth and nail just to get a dollar, when we see so much money funneled into things that seem to be the antithesis of community building,” O’Neal observes.

The most devastating consequence? Students who should be at the center of the conversation lose access to much-needed programming, and their voices are silenced—sometimes literally. Despite receiving parental consent, Lyripeutics has faced institutional roadblocks when trying to bring student voices into larger discussions about the program’s success.

“We would really prefer to have those students speaking for themselves,” O’Neal says, “But we’re not even at liberty to say many of the things we want to say.”

O’Neal and Nzinga also know Lyripeutics isn’t the only program fighting this battle. It’s part of a system of community-led education that refuses to be erased.

Nzinga says, “Our program isn’t the only one facing these types of pushback.”

“A lot of times these resistance movements try to separate us. They make us feel like we’re alone in doing this work, but we aren’t,” he adds.

When asked how outsiders can support the Lyripeutics program, Nzinga and O’Neal didn’t point to a single solution. They emphasized the importance of solidarity, awareness and amplifying voices.

“I think parents and community leaders voicing their opinions about any of the positive effects our programming has had would help,” O’Neal says.

The road ahead isn’t easy. Yet, despite the challenges, Lyripeutics will be there to keep a beat playing and a mic on for its students, ensuring the next generation of storytellers and leaders will have their voices heard.��

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