One Brick at a Time....

I have been reflecting on the effects of having a strong familial foundation and a never ending safety net.  I have encountered several recent experiences which have exemplified the profound and life long impact, the presence or absence of these factors can have in shaping our lives.  I have grown up knowing, undoubtedly, that my family is always available if I need them.  If I experience heartache, financial difficulties, health problems, etc. I know I will always have a home to go to and people who will take care of me, regardless of my circumstance.  I am loved, supported, and accepted unequivocally by my family, which allows me to freely embrace who I am without feeling shame about my ever-changing self. 

Throughout my life I have done many things people describe as brave.  While in college I studied abroad in Ecuador for a semester. Since then I have travelled to many countries throughout the world, sometimes solo, despite not speaking the language.  I have moved to various states, without knowing anyone.  After being married for 5 years to my high school sweetheart, I came out as lesbian and dated women exclusively for many years.  I then, unexpectedly fell in love with a man, and once again came out as a queer woman who is now happily partnered with a straight man.  I realize these are courageous decisions; overtime I have come to recognize feeling safe, loved, and accepted affords me the confidence to be courageous.  My parents so freely offer praise and encouragement, it wasn’t until adulthood that I understood the value of their selflessness and the rarity of this kind of love and its longstanding impact.

I have been reminded how fortunate I am to have grown up feeling safe in this world. I implicitly trust I will be fine, and usually a better person with each new experience.  I do not fear the unknown, rather I seek it out, all the while, knowing I always have a place where I can return.  This is yet another one of my privileges which has come to light in my unfolding awareness.  This sense of safety also brings a willingness to be vulnerable.  

I am grateful to know the depth of ever-growing love that comes from being vulnerable and authentic.  I believe it is only when we feel self-worth and acceptance that we take the risk to love with our whole hearts. If these qualities are not woven into the fabric of our being, we can spend a lifetime searching for them, while simultaneously trying to protect themselves from being hurt.  Without feeling safe, people are afraid to reveal themselves, fearing they are inadequate and believing this inadequacy will inevitably lead to heartache.  Sadly, they do not protect themselves from being hurt.  Rather, in many cases, they eventually push people away causing the very pain they attempt to avoid and deny themselves the opportunity to know real, true, and unconditional love.  

Our lives are shaped by the foundations upon which we stand. Whether we view the world from a place of fear or embrace the wonder if offers depends so much on if our feet are planted firmly on solid ground or if we are balancing on disintegrating bricks. This awareness inspires me to find compassion for others who are paralyzed and cannot move from their crumbling foundation, patience for those who have the courage to rebuild their foundation one brick at a time, and reminds me to feel gratitude for the confidence to love wholeheartedly and to live each day fully.  I am hopeful I pass on the gift of unconditional love and acceptance my parents so generously give to me so others may know such infinite beauty.

Reconsidering Definitions

When people ask me what I do for work I typically say  “I work for a small non profit that provides outdoor, experiential, education, and leadership development for middle and high school students.”  People often respond by asking me if I “work with “troubled youth?”  This question perplexes me.  I wonder what I say to give others the impression I work with troubled youth.  In fact, I work with tremendously talented, thoughtful, compassionate, and kind young people, who  inspire me daily.  The population of teens with whom I work are usually described as “at-risk youth.” However, I actively reject this term.  I believe the term, “at-risk youth” has become a euphemism for urban youth, conjuring up images of youth of color who listen to rap music, where baggy clothes ,and flash gang colors. A tired, overused stereotype many white people rely upon to perpetuate the racist concept that all youth of color are monochromatic, “troubled,” “at-risk,” and  dangerous.  Additionally, much like I believe describing a person who has a mental illness, as a mentally ill person, defines them by the singular characteristic of mental illness; I believe describing a young person as an “at-risk” youth does the same.  When youth are described as “at risk” it implies that young people are the problem instead of recognizing the institutional deficits that consistently fail young people, particularly marginalized youth....youth of color, LGBTQ youth, poor youth, and immigrant youth.  

I don’t believe this was the original intent of the term “at-risk,” however I think the evolution of this phrase has resulted in a watered-down version of yet another way to stereotype youth of color.  It also redirects our attention from the systemic barriers that prevent youth from flourishing to the “troubled youth” themselves.  By focusing attention on the problems of youth, people with privilege are able to avoid taking responsibility for the many ways our country fails young people of color and scapegoat the “at risk” youth as the problem.  

The students with whom I work aspire to be pediatric surgeons, take college classes, get straight A’s, stay clean and sober, read books, write poetry, go on trips to the backcountry for up to a month at a time, participate in service learning, earn scholarships, graduate from college, work as raft guides, go snow boarding, rock climbing, and mountain biking, mentor younger students, do their homework, take responsibility for their actions, care about each other, engage in activism, work towards change, work to support their families, speak more than one language, play sports,  play instruments, watch the news, and are community leaders.  These students accomplish these things while staying up late to care for younger siblings as their parents work two jobs, while coping with the loss of a parent to a drug overdose, while living in fear that immigration will raid their homes,  while watching a parent be deported, while knowing they may never go to college, be able to work, or travel, because they don’t have proper documentation, while witnessing shootings on their front lawns, while seeing their cousins fall prey to gangs, while encountering racism, while attending schools with minimal resources, while living in neighborhoods without grocery stores, while getting jumped and robbed at the light rail station, and while waking up every morning surrounded by the smell of the dog food and rendering plants polluting the air.  

I propose these young people are in fact not “at risk youth,” but rather, they are “exceptional youth,” who are succeeding in spite of the fact they are perceived as trouble youth, in spite of the fact they do not have access to the many resources flooding privileged communities, in spite of the fact the oppressive system within which they are living is designed for their failure.  Perhaps it is time to reconsider how young people are defined.

Missed Opportunities

On two occasions I’ve been gifted with the opportunity to attend The White Privilege Conference.  Yes, you read that correctly, THE WHITE PRIVILEGE CONFERENCE (www.whiteprivilegeconference.com.)  People who are not familiar with this conference often mistake it for a gathering of people who support white power, when in fact, it is the exact opposite.  The White Privilege Conference was founded by Dr. Eddie Moore, Jr. to create a forum where people can learn about white privilege, the intersection of all forms of oppression, and how these forms of oppression perpetuate white power.  These concepts are dismantled and attendees begin to learn how to become allies and anti-racists.  Without question, this conference is one of the most enlightening and challenging learning opportunities I’ve experienced. I encourage anyone who is willing to examine their own privilege and racism to attend.

The theme of this year’s conference was: This Land is Whose Land?  This topic is of particular interest  to me. I work with many families who have emigrated from Mexico. I am very sensitive to debates around citizenship and monolingual Spanish speakers.  Not only do I work with people whose lives are directly impacted by the restrictive policies of the U.S. government, but I am also mindful that I live on land, taken by force from the very people oppressed by institutional racism and prejudice.  Regardless of my opinions on immigration, I understand immigration and citizenship are complex issues within the context of our governmental policies. However, for me it’s simple, it’s about owning a history of violence, oppression, and injustice.  It’s about the willingness to admit, as a country, we are forbidding people access to land we forcefully took from them.  It’s about looking into the eyes of individuals and acknowledging their humanity rather than vilifying them in order to remain detached from the idea that undocumented immigrants are soulful, hardworking, and loving people.  They are people who long for the ability to care for themselves and their loved ones, just like you and me. I often wonder, if everyone could bear witness, as I have, to the diminishing light in a young person as he transitions from a bright, engaged, teen, devouring knowledge, and hungry to be challenged to an ambivalent high school senior, overwhelmed by the burden of hopelessness, facing adulthood in the only country he has ever known, realizing there is no place for his dreams and still remain steadfast against the concept rights for all people.

During this year’s conference I attended a workshop that became the catalyst for my return to Costa Rica.  The workshop was titled: Dialogue through Shared Text: Al Amanacer.  The workshop explored citizenship, access, and taking action through the use of poetry and music, while being simultaneously translated in both Spanish and English.  For me, the experience was powerful beyond measure. It moved me to tears.... it also inspired me to continue improving my own Spanish language skills.  

The poem: Al Manacer (or The Awakening, for those who do not speak Spanish,) was the foundation of our discussion.

Al Amanacer

Soy historia de conciencia,

palabras, canciones, poemas,

sufrimiento confrontado,

injusticia destrizada

anunciando en voz alta

el derecho de ser.

Soy historia de violencia,

puños, insultos, rechazos;

alma herida,

corazón partido,

espejo de mis sueños

estrellado.

Soy historia de tristeza,

cariños, sonrisas, besos,

jamás cumplidos,

jamás lucidos,

ilusiones perdidas

al anochercer.

Soy historia de esperanza,

resistencia, lucha, entrega,

amor retamado, 

tenura liberada,

mujer resucitada

al amanecer.

__ Antonia Darder

Awakening

I am the history of conscience,

words, songs, poems,

confronted suffering,

torn injustice,

announcing in a loud voice

the right to be.

I am the history of violence,

punches, insults, rejections,

wounded soul,

broken heart,

mirror of my dreams

shattered.

I am the history of sadness

affections, smiles, kisses,

unfulfilled,

never shone,

lost illusions

at nightfall.

I am the history of hope,

resistance, struggle, surrender,

reclaimed love,

liberated tenderness,

resurrected woman

awakening.

___ Antonia Darder

As we discussed the meaning of the poem, participants were invited to speak in whichever language, (Spanish or English) they preferred.  Many of the people, whose first language is Spanish AND were fluent in English stated when they expressed themselves in Spanish they were more fully able to capture their heart and their passion.  For them, this poem, originally written in Spanish, was far more powerful in Spanish when compared to its English translation.  This resonated with me. As a proficient Spanish speaker, when I want to convey the depth of what I feel I speak in English.  

I began wondering how many opportunities I have missed to truly know someone, to foster confidence among students to speak up,  (both at cityWILD and Metro State, where I also teach, )  How many voices have I excluded, by the limitations of my Spanish?  When I am speaking with only Spanish speakers, I always offer the option to converse in Spanish. However, when I am in the company of both English and Spanish speakers, we always speak English.  I am less confident in my ability to translate Spanish, than I am in my ability to speak and understand it.  This is where my journey begins.

I am committed to improving my Spanish skills so I will take the risk of translating when I am with non-Spanish speakers. I want to invite my Spanish-speaking brothers and sisters to speak in whichever language most captures their sentiment, I want the students in my classes at Metro State to have the option to speak in their first language when they want to convey their passions, and I want students to feel like cityWILD is a second home, where they can speak up in whichever language they prefer, rather than feeling relegated to only speak their first language with their Spanish speaking peers or when they are in my office, talking one on one.  I want to push the boundaries of my own inclusive practices.

Trails, Rocks, and Race

I think a lot about race. I think about how I exercise my white privilege, I think about what I do to confront my privilege.  I think about how my whiteness impacts my relationships with the students and families I work with, who are primarily youth of color.  I think about the socialized, racial stereotypes that creep into my consciouness, despite nearly a lifetime of trying to combat them.  I think about how race affects my relationship with my Asian-American partner.  Most recently, I’ve been thinking about how race relates to where I choose to live.

About a year ago my partner and I began considering a move from Denver to Boulder, CO.  There are many reasons this idea made sense.  We are both climbers and ultra runners. Living in Boulder would give us almost immediate access to amazing trail running and climbing.  As a result, we were already spending the majority of our free time in Boulder.  My partner works in Boulder and was growing weary of the daily commute.  Many world class athletes train in Boulder, so there is no shortage of inspiration.  I find more peace in the culture and atmosphere of a smaller, college town as compared to living in an urban area.  Boulder is beautiful.

Yet, I was struggling to reconcile moving to a town with such little racial and economic diversity.  About 5 1/2 years ago I moved from New York City to Denver, CO.  Despite my upbringing in white suburban Detroit, I celebrated the rich diversity of New York.  The rainbow of skin tones, languages, cultures, religions, sexual orientations/gender identities, and economic status made it easy to develop friendships with people very different from me.  Although I value and maintain these friendships from hundreds of miles away, these people are no longer a part of my  daily life.

Living in Denver I had to work hard to build a community of people who were not all white.  Overtime I found pockets of diversity and sought these out to enrich my life.  Yet truthfully, with the exception of my partner, the majority of my close friends in Colorado are white.

When the topic of moving to Boulder came up, I began wondering what it means about my values to move to an “even whiter” community.  I questioned whether I should prioritize diversity and inclusiveness over things such as trails, rocks, and simplicity.  In the end, the pull to move to Boulder won. I have now been living here for 6 weeks and I love it.  I live in a small neighborhood surrounded with trees and flowers. It’s blissfully quiet.  It takes 30 seconds from my front door to reach a trailhead.  Each morning I start my day running through the rugged flatirons, surrounded by green valleys, cows, and the possibility of running into the bear who lives nearby.  There are hundreds of boulders I can climb within 10 minutes of my house. I am happy and content.

I have yet to reconcile what it means to be living in a homogenous town.  I am committed to intentionally seeking out cultural experiences in order to build relationships with people different from me.  Yet I worry that I will grow complacent and do what’s easy, befriend the climbers and runners I spend time with, who are also white.  


I also wonder about the potential of having a family and what it would mean to raise children in Boulder. In many ways, Boulder is an idyllic place to raise children.  The violent crime rate is low, children are more likely to spend their time in the mountains rather than camped out in front the the television.  In school students learn about topics ranging from global citizenship to sustainable, local farming.  However, I would also want my children to develop friendships with kids who speak Spanish, with kids whose families cultural practices are different from their own. I wouldn’t want my children’s primary experience with people of color to be the stereotypes of poverty and violence portrayed in the media.  

Unfortunately, I don’t have the answers to any of these dilemmas. In the meantime I will continue to contemplate them during the many hours I spend putting one foot in front of the other on the trails of Boulder with the hope I will eventually feel enlightened.  

Invitation

I have contemplated writing a blog for a while now.  Those people who know me, understand as an activist, I engage in anti-racism and anti-oppression work both personally and professionally.  It runs so deep, to me, it feels cellular.  As a result, I can get stuck in emotional and intellectual turmoil while finding my path in a world rich with privilege. 

 My biggest reservation in starting this blog is whether I will create the time to write, when I already struggle to create simplicity in my life.  I am hopeful I can share my experiences and thoughts to inspire conversations that will lead to personal growth. I invite those of you who value social justice to join me on this journey.

I selected a quote from a poem written by Alix Olson to use as the title of my blog. The full line states: 

“ i believe people are see through 

  if you hold em up to the light

  i believe people are enlightening 

  if you plug em in right.”

This line resonates with me; It perfectly captures my overall philosophy and my vision for the world.