lil' juan and the messy truth

lil' juan and the messy truth

finding the space to exercise my truth and my voice

two nights ago i spoke about "our" work, introducing the work of LIP to a new group of people, hoping to "engage" them, to "perk their interests.".. basically to get money. There was no hard ask. No out and out hey give us money, just good wine, great people and my presentation. this presentation is not unlike other i have done. this one was vetted by my board, words like; "crisp" "efficient" "clear" "concise" boiled down a slide show to statistics and stories, because basically, that's what people want. when i was done, lot's of love came my way/ our way, the typical niceties and kudos for great work. there were others who gave good critical feedback--shorter, more stories, more success stories. all ended with a powerful multicultural conversation late into the night with more awesome wine.  when i left, i felt quiet, i felt sad, i felt small. i hadn't been able to dig out where this was coming from. until this morning.

i woke up to my two dogs staring me down, one on top of my chest, the other eye to eye from a big dog and a sleepy head on the pillow.  the morning routine of breakfast (for them), coffee (for me) and a walk for the three of us had been delayed because i refused a 7:00 am sunday. i rolled out, still feeling quite, feeling small, my sadness was turning to rage or at least anger, still not understanding why.

as i walked down the street full of trash, to the bay lands that separate my city from one of the wealthiest cities in the world i saw a boy on a bike and what looked like his older brother. as i got closer i saw lil' juan's big smile and friendly "hi sundance". lil' juan, i had known at least 25years, had always been little --he was born to into a world of chaos. a crackhead mom and crazy alcoholic dad, were the weavers of his dna, his start, his choices, his protection, his direction, his education, his vision. juan has been in and out of jail, i have seen him standing on the sidelines of numerous friends funerals, once i turned the corner and his hands covered his face as he wept without control. no doubt in the height of violence juan was a shooter; a protector of his set/friends, and always greeted me with a warm hug, a sincere hello, and lot's love. today, he was out walking with his son, 5-year-old josiah,  named after a king in the bible. josiah was just as sweet as his father, ( he'll be bigger than his dad for sure) learning how to ride his bike with training wheels on the rocky bay-lands between these two cities. lil' juan was holding his breath and a blunt. he (like all the kids in the community) had spent years hiding stuff like that from me, in fear of a lecture, a disappointed look, or a reminder of how much they had to offer the world. as we talked, he exhaled and introduced me to josiah and bragged about how smart he was, what a great athlete he was turning about to be. lil juan asked if lip had anything for kids like josiah, or what school i think would be best for him. we talked about options, i told him to call me on monday or come by green street and we'll connect him to the people we know at the charter schools, at the FB school, at tinsely. lil juan smiled and said "thanks auntie".  we went on our way, him with his son, me with my dogs.

as i kept walking tears began to fall down my face. my littleness, my smallness, my quite voice began to explode. 

this conversation with lil' juan got to the question of what was bothering me about the presentation, about the 11% national college students dropout rate and the audacity i have to  talk about 6x that national average of LIP we have 34 college graduate...fucking 34 college graduations. who the fuck cares...

i know- each of those 34 care. but there are so many things wrong with that number.

first- there is nothing "clean", "concise", "efficient", "crips" about these students or their journey.

to pile these young people into a bucket statistics strips them of their heroic effort--and the journey that still continues.

shot four times in the stomach, lost three brothers from gun violence (and nearly his entire peer-group from death or incarceration) raised by his grandparents who have both died-left with his on and off crack addicted mother, and several nieces and nephews-- he is still lost and trying to find his way. all these "successes" are  young people who have been deeply impacted by addiction, loss, trauma, undereducated, racism, classism, prison industrial complex, fatherless,  bright, shinny, strong, broken, and they are sometime awesome--sometime assholes. 

additionally, 

i know why my voice feels little. why i left feeling small. 

because i wanted to say 

i know you'd like

crisp" "efficient" "clear" "concise" boiled down a slide show to statistics and stories, because basically that's you get,--that's what makes sense to invest your money in.

but let's be real.

this shit is messy. 

it's complicated. even this presentation makes me part of the problem. our collective whiteness our, collective class, is a problem. the fact that these communities are side by side and so different is a problem. redlining, racism and longterm policies created our separate communities-weather you know or not, we bought into this. we might not know what to do, but doing nothing, is another fucking problem. drugs being dropped into our community, school funding tied to taxes, profitable prisons. 

half the crowd were educators, the other half innovators --  34 fucking graduates should ENRAGE you. i should be weeping that the number is so low, and our "successes" are deeply wounded and fragile like houses made of straws.

i didn't mention the chaos, the angst, the demoralizing efforts of trying to bend systems to talk to each other, so our community is included in the regions success, so that wrongs may be corrected, so our youth might be built up rather than torn down, ...

that conversation too, is messy-but shit the county belongs to us if you knew maybe you would help.

on that note i stopped short to talk about how tech is not just over stepping our community but the final touch to destroy. was i afraid to call out the problem, less i hurt your feeling, less i miss out on 1000 gift to pay people less then they are worth. i think i must know something of how a pimp feels.

you see, i am invited into your houses, maybe becuase i have the middle class dna, maybe because i'm white. i hear your fears, about your kids futures, i know how carefully you vet preschool, grammer school, high school, college, friends of your children, coaches of your children, how you go the extra mile to make sure...things are aligned for the well begin of you your children. i don't blame you. i know you feel stuck.. or i think you do. but you don't need another presentation... to shame you into giving money or an hour of time each week.

i think of tupac's the rose that grew from concrete

this ain't the 90's 

it's time to tear up the concrete.

there are 1000's of roses unrealized 

preventing a garden to grow

my voice feels quiet- because it was untruthful. 

my person feels small because a complicated era with systemic racism, ignorance, personal choice, blind eyes and helplessness was stuffed into presentation in attempts to glorify the work and the workers rather than expose the depth of the problem.

at least a dialogue.

at least something more than clean, crips, efficient.

yes our work is good. 

but that is not the point.