The boys are just finishing up the cleaning chore after dinner, a trio fill a table with a beat, lyrics, and melody, filling the room with their song. Four quad tables and the now-closed kitchen window sit before the 2 layers of of heavy duty doors, these with a small window an alternative opening. The 13 young men assemble to their seat, unclear if assigned, and I hesitate to sit in the seat in front of me with the only two chinese boys in the unit but I'm waved to do so. The woman in boots recites the rules of the beat and has the boys read the topics. Her attempt to prompt discussion and understanding fails when she asks one guy to tell the group about his grandmother - "She's old" turns into "I thought he said she's a hoe."
I introduce myself aloud, responses were "You go to UCLA?" and "Oh, I went to Wallenberg!" I stay quietly at my table and listen to the Chinese boys around me talk about how one could have been more successful in his theft of the Apple Store. I don't respond, but if I were to, I would say, "That's dumb, I got in trouble for just unplugging one of their lap tops!" I do not know if they would care to hear that. I move on to the next table to introduce myself to another facilitators. I kept thinking, these type of kids didn't even want to talk to me in highschool, let alone college, why would they want to talk to me now? What on earth am I going to talk to them about? "This is not what I imagined this place to be like, at all!" I proclaim. The only kid at the table looks up at me, "You was expecting bars huh?" and the girl smiles. As we talk, I catch a glimpse of his bright yellow paper, "So you're writing about the elders topic or the judging topic?" Both, he tells a story about his great grandmother being kicked in the face by her teacher in post integrated Mississippi. The kid attends Lowell High School, hates the harshness of their grading system, and loves math. I'm constantly reminded, "They have some really good kids in here" and this was the moment I realized that.
I find the courage to consider moving to the table I had been afraid of but the laughing kids are covering their noses with their shirt collars - someone farted or smells. "I was gonna come over there but now I'm not so sure," I shout. I move to another table and tell the kid, "You look like a friend of mine, you don't know him - he's a teacher in LA." The facilitator grabs my attention; it's time to move to the girl's unit.
"I was just getting comfortable", I tell her as we return to the hallway that had originally terrified me. She definitely noticed.
The girl's unit is another different fear to conquer. I sit at the table across from the facilitator, aside two young women, for a more personalized introduction before the remaining girls assemble. I learn their names and their court dates - a very important topic in these halls. Since she is expecting to be out of there soon, she wants to make sure we could send her copy of The Beat to her home. She treasures the latest issue so much that she removed a book from her collection (max. 4 books) to make room for The Beat.
I stand so their friend can take a seat. The facilitator begins with the same shpeal as I sign us in and distribute materials. The girls at another table giggle as they shivere from cold. I overhear them ask for the heat to be turn on and the center staff told them that they share a vent with the adjacent boys unit who quickly turns the thermostat back down. I chime in, "That's how me and my sister are. We shared a room for a couple days and I kept waking up to turn the air on, and she kept waking up to turn it back off. It was like that all night!" They giggle and I sit with them as others read the topics aloud.
A girl across the room hands in her work before anyone even starts, "Can I get The Beat now?" I walk over to her table, "Do you mind if I read yours?" The other girl at the table laughs hysterically as I'm reading. She writes about the first time she did pills, went to a party and was nearly taken advantage of by guys. I suppose she has a humorous intention by concluding, "I try to stop because I know I should but I can't." As if I understand that she is trying to be funny, "This sounds like a TV show..." (an episode of the OC actually, but why would I admit that?) The laughing girl insists on reading again for the laugh and pique the interest of the other girls.
I move back to the first table where they are excited to share what they had so far. They express conversations with God, thoughts of their lover, and their hard times in the halls through poetry. One girl has a boyfriend in one of the units there and they are able to communicate through the beat and through mail. One girl's parents came to visit her. I table hop.
The original giggling-shivering-girls is where I spend most of my time there. It was definitely colder at their table. I sit waiting for an opportunity to chime in, as I do at every table. I hear their rave about North Dakota, and stop them right there.
me: North Dakota??? What the hell is there to do in North Dakota?!
girl 1: It's crackin' if you know people out there. I know this one guy with a farm.. well we got them here too but there, we be diggin' out of the manure & lett'm dry. It's gross but you know that's where they grow from.
me: I guess it's fresh...? Ew that's gross, then you eat it?
girl 2: With chocolate!
Here, I'm thinking, what a place to exchange information for illegal activity! I learned about the neighborhood groups and where to by drugs in so short a time. I change the subject back to the project at hand, without being 'one of them, "Can I see what your writing about?" The third topic - a time you got kicked out. My jaw drops at her story. Pregnant at 13! This isn't her first time incarcerated but she defends that she has her life on track as the other girl accused her of otherwise. I encourage her to write what she could and I leave to join the facilitator in our last minutes of the workshop.
She hands me a story written by a girl with beautiful hair. Wearing a particular color in a particular neighborhood, she was nearly shot, beaten, stabbed, and robbed. Luckily friends nearby prevented more damage. The girl next to her wants someone to listen to her story. Jumped by a pregnant woman and an accomplice, she refused to fight against a pregnant woman that took no mercy. One of two best friends jumped in to help, the other deserves repercussions for not helping, she says. "I have many a ex-best friends for the same reasons, thats not enough reason to start more shit." "There's more to it," she says with no time to finish. The facilitator is already holding her things and waving to me to walk out the door. Many girls shout, "What unit are you going to next? Tell so-and-so I said what's up!"
"You're a born natural," she says as we walk out of the hollow halls.
-----
The Beat Within’s mission is to provide incarcerated youth with consistent opportunity to share their ideas and life experiences in a safe space that encourages literacy, self-expression, some critical thinking skills, and healthy, supportive relationships with adults and their community. Outside of the juvenile justice system, The Beat Within partners with community organizations and individuals to bring resources to youth both inside and outside of detention. We are committed to being an effective bridge between youth who are locked up and the community that aims to support their progress towards a healthy, non-violent, and productive life.
The Beat Within is a division of Pacific News Service dbaNew America Media. NAM's youth divisions -- The Beat Within, YO! Youth Outlook, YO! TV, Silicon Valley De-Bug, The Know and Roaddawgz -- create writings, illustrations and multimedia content that provide a window into youth culture.
www.thebeatwithin.org
so glad you're on bloggerville. is this your new gig??!!!
ReplyDelete