Bridging Divides: Mansfield’s fight against systemic inequity starts with conversation and connection

MANSFIELD — Most etiquette rules say there are three topics you never discuss at the dinner table: Race, religion and politics. 

But there are no rules on discussing those things at the barbershop. Few know that better than Damien Beauford. 

In 2020, Mansfield was swept into the national racial reckoning. Protests marched downtown, a county task force was created, and a resolution to declare racism a public health crisis failed at city council — punctuated by one member’s remark: “Not my Mansfield.”

In the midst of that tension, Beauford launched “Shop Talk” — a series of community dialogues held in his barbershop.

“I can remember it like it was yesterday,” he said. “I had a 10-year-old daughter crying, scared for her dad and her brothers as Black men.”

Barbershops have long been safe spaces for men to talk freely. Beauford wanted to expand that safety to include conversations across race, class, and politics.

“When people come together with willing hearts to listen, the walls come down,” he said. “The power wasn’t in debating perspectives, but in seeing each other as human and valuing their voices and their hearts.”

Shop Talk was one attempt at bridging divides in Mansfield. But at the institutional level, the results were far less encouraging.

Dr. Arianna Howard, a 2001 Mansfield Senior graduate and “compassion influencer,” remembers the energy of 2020 when the task force on racism first convened.

“There were lots and lots of people on that first call,” she said. “The energy was very much: this is wrong, we need to fix it, and there are multiple solutions to the problem.”

But as interest waned, she and one other member found themselves leading a shrinking group. Plans for an in-person event fizzled, and the effort eventually “just kind of disappeared.”

The reality is, momentum can’t be sustained by passion alone. Equity work — that confronts bias and dismantles stereotypes — is the slow, difficult bridge-building required if Mansfield is to move forward.

“It behooves us all to do the work of understanding how we contribute to systems of inequity, things that we need to learn about our own biases and the ways we perpetuate certain stereotypes, and how we can collectively come together to dismantle those systems of inequity,” Howard said. 

“We all do harm, so let’s figure out how we can not do harm.”

For Howard, she believes the “not my Mansfield” remark that defined the public health crisis resolution is a perspective that has been passed down along generations in Richland County.  

“There’s a concept called interest convergence,” she said. “People won’t pay attention until it benefits them or harms them. Until then, it’s easy for people to say it doesn’t exist.”

Howard ties that mindset to deeper systems — in housing, healthcare, schools, and the justice system — where inequities are perpetuated across generations.

“It’s definitely very systemic. It’s also multigenerational,” she said. “Certain families act, behave, and pass that down to their children, who then grow up and pass it down again.”

However, she still sees resilience alongside the trauma of systemic racism. 

“We still see people of color getting into institutions of higher education, establishing careers, having healthy relationships, having healthy families,” she said. 

“We see these examples of people surviving and thriving within and amongst the racism, the inequity, the stress that is both systemic and intergenerational.” 

The future for young people

For Pastor Mark Cobb, the key to bridging divides in Mansfield lies with its young people.

He should know: For 25 years, Cobb was the youth pastor at Shiloh Baptist Church before transitioning to lead pastor at Providence Baptist Church in 2018. 

After decades mentoring kids and teenagers, especially young Black men, he sees that the stakes could not be higher. 

“I’ve been very transparent that if the youth leave (the church), I’m leaving,” he said. “Because I think they’re so relevant…but I think they’re so misguided, so hurt, so confused.” 

According to the CDC’s National Violent Death Reporting System, homicide was the leading cause of death for Ohioans aged 10-24 in 2022. Of the 260 reported homicide deaths, 66% were young Black men. 

For Cobb, the urgency is not theoretical. He estimates that since 2020, he has presided over 218 funerals of young people in Richland County.

“If we don’t fit youth in the scope of our community, and don’t get them involved, and allow them to know that they’re relevant…we’re gonna have murder after murder after murder,” he said.

“They have to feel wanted, and they have to feel needed.” 

The danger Cobb warns about is not abstract. This summer, it became heartbreakingly real.

On Aug. 22, a 25-year-old and a 15-year-old were arrested and charged with first-degree murder in connection with the Aug. 17 shooting death of 18-year-old Ja’Myrion Hobbs. It was the first recorded homicide for the city of Mansfield in 2025. 

Eight days prior to the shooting, Cobb had met with the 15-year-old boy who was eventually arrested. 

“His mom brought him to me because his dad’s in prison and she saw me as a positive reinforcement,” Cobb said. “I told him life is about choices.”

Studies show that prolonged exposure to violence and stress can affect a young person’s resilience and lead to uncertainty about their future. Cobb said the challenge is helping kids see past the limits of their immediate circumstances. 

“They have to see their future,” he said. “If they don’t see themselves beyond their environmental circumstances, it’s tough.”

For Cobb, bridging divides is not optional — it is the only way forward. 

“It takes church, community, parents, and law enforcement,” Cobb said. “And if the kids see us agreeing, then real accountability is going to happen.”