In St. Louis’ most vulnerable neighborhoods, the work of justice does not always arrive with a bullhorn or a banner. Sometimes it comes quietly — a cup of coffee in a warm room where people are allowed to rest. Sometimes it grows from the soil, passed hand to hand as collard greens over a garden fence. Sometimes it shows up in a classroom, where a child opens a first bank account after learning how to code.
More than a half-century after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. articulated his vision of a more just society, that dream continues to take root in places where access, dignity and opportunity remain elusive.
For self-love advocate LeLe Nolan, urban farmer Dail Chambers and nonprofit founder Keithen Stallings, King’s legacy is not symbolic — it is practical. Through mental health advocacy, food sovereignty and youth leadership development, their work confronts the same inequities King challenged, often in neighborhoods long overlooked by systems of power.
Inside Healing She Got Faith, Nolan’s Puerto Rican-led community mental wellness space in St. John, justice begins with something many marginalized communities have historically been denied: rest.
Healing She Got Faith offers accessible mental health resources to Black and brown residents navigating economic stress, trauma and systemic neglect. The space is intentionally home-like — welcoming people not only for structured programming, but simply to be.
“Providing mental health services in underserved Black and Brown communities opens doors,” Nolan said. “It’s healing generational curses and habits.”
For Nolan, the work is deeply personal. She grew up watching her parents carry depression and grief without the language or resources to address it.
“They were the original community center,” Nolan said. “But I wish they had access to services that would have helped them when they were tired.”
After moving from New York to St. Louis in the early 1990s, Nolan found a similar culture of care among Black women in the city.
“I saw how hard they worked,” she said. “And I saw the tears. They loved deeply, but they felt like failures if they stopped.”
Healing She Got Faith was created in honor of those women. Beyond therapy referrals or workshops, Nolan’s space affirms a radical idea she believes aligns with King’s moral vision: that rest is not laziness, but liberation.
“Sometimes people don’t need curriculum,” she said. “They need a safe place to drink coffee, read a book or just breathe.”
For Nolan, the kind of moral leadership King championed means prioritizing people over profit.
“Moral leadership is doing the right thing whether you’re recognized or not,” she said.
In North St. Louis, Chambers practices justice with her hands in the dirt.
A Black woman urban farmer whose work serves residents facing food insecurity, Chambers grows more than produce. Her farm functions as a community resource and learning space in a neighborhood with few full-service grocery options.
“We think economic stability is about how much money we can accrue,” Chambers said. “But for me, economic freedom is having my needs met.”
Chambers learned to grow food from her elders, continuing a tradition passed down through five generations of family connected to North St. Louis.
Reclaiming land in a historically neglected area has not come without obstacles. Chambers has faced denied funding, stolen tools and difficulty accessing land.
“Racism is visible in all aspects of this city,” she said.
Still, Chambers’ farm is a space of healing. She hosts homeschool groups, educational tours and restorative justice circles, including gatherings held after the May 16 tornado. Community members meet among trees, pollinators and produce — learning, grieving and rebuilding together.
“We’re not just feeding people,” she said. “We’re learning how to live together. That’s the Beloved Community.”
Stallings, founder and CEO of The Access Foundation, says King’s legacy is carried forward by preparing young people not only to navigate existing systems, but to transform them.
The Access Foundation focuses on STEM education, leadership development, mentorship and economic empowerment. Its programs serve children and teens across the region, particularly those in under-resourced schools.
“Dr. King believed injustice was about denied access,” Stallings said. “Access to education, to opportunity, to full participation.”
Programs such as Black Boys Matter and TRAP Coding expose youth ages 8 to 17 to technology and leadership training.
“Talent is universal, even when opportunity is not,” Stallings said.
For many students, he said, the exposure is transformative.
“That moment when a young person sees themselves in a space they never imagined — that exposure changes everything,” Stallings said. “It tells them, ‘You belong here.’”
From a quiet mental wellness space to an urban farm to classrooms filled with possibility, King’s dream remains alive in St. Louis — not frozen in history, but evolving through people committed to care, access and service.
As Nolan put it, “Mental health advocacy shows everyone is worthy.”
And as Chambers nurtures land shaped by generations and Stallings equips youth to shape the future, their work echoes a shared belief: The Beloved Community is still being built — one healed body, one shared harvest and one empowered young person at a time.