It’s 2020, a year that should be a catapult into new ideas and change that has systematically effected our country for so many years. Just imagine, nearly 60 years after the Jim Crow era we’re still fighting for equal rights of the human race when every single one of us piss, shit and bleed the same color.
I grew up in a neighborhood in South Chicago that is considered to be one of the most integrated communities in the city. The steel mills that once reigned the area brought people of all colors and creeds for one simple goal, the “American Dream.” It didn’t matter where you came from or what your background was, as long as you were dependable, hardworking & willing to get the job done you were able to provide for your family with the support of the union behind you. The industrial revolution kept communities a community, offering jobs and security to those who would have otherwise been poor in their foreign homelands. Neighborhoods thrived with industry and commerce. A life that I have been reminded of since I was a child but never had the chance to experience myself.
By the end of the 1970’s the 17 steel mills that occupied the 10th ward had started to fade into the slag waste it produced. Families flocked to new areas of commerce and South Chicago started its downfall, filled with crime and poverty. The once vibrant, family-oriented, and wealthy place my parents called home became desolate, desperate for rejuvenation and life. One thing that can not be broken, was the soul and pride that continues to thrive to this day. Our steel helped build this country to what it is today, providing a foundation for the beautiful skylines America has created over the years.
By the time I was born the industrial revolution was dead and South Chicago was too. The community started to change dramatically, families that owned properties in the area for decades started flocking to nearby Indiana and South Suburbs searching for tranquility and lower property taxes. I, however, didn’t see the change that my parents did. I still had a chance to experience a life that provided me with the knowledge I needed to stay aware of my surroundings yet still hold the innocence a child should keep. I wasn’t raised to see the color of a persons skin but the content of their character. My parents instilled in us that there are good and bad people of all races and that we cannot judge a person based on how they look.
In 3rd grade my mother transferred my sister and I to a magnate school on 103rd and Charles in which I was one of three Mexicans in my class. At that point of my life I had never experienced being the minority in any situation, let alone being a minority in an all black institution. This experience at such a young age taught me to see and love all people of color, opened my eyes and ears to the experiences of the black community and how racism effected these kids still innocent of any crime or statistic. Till this day I remember the comments of others to my parents about why they’d allow their kids to attend an all black school & how detrimental it would be to our education. Little did they know, this school was one of the first in the city to integrate the International Baccalaureate program in which I was learning 9th grade Algebra and French by the time I was in 6th grade. I’ve developed some of the strongest relationships of my life at that school, my brothers and sisters that have helped teach me more than school can. Men and women that have grown up to be scholars, lawyers, psychiatrists, and real estate agents. Relationships that taught me at an early age that the color of our skin was significant, but it does not determine our future. I felt indebted to these stories of prejudice and how my parents helped to break the cycle of ill knowledge by allowing their kids to participate in a world unlike what some others will ever know. A part of me that is key to my existence and the morals I will pass on to my children and their generations to come. I never knew a household in which my parents would deny a friend to come over because of the color of their skin, so I was blinded by the actions of others who did their own kids the injustice of building fear and hate in their hearts against people of color.
It wasn’t until I got to high school that I realized how different my life had been. I’d been bias against prejudice being accepted as a minority in a school full of black adolescent minors that when I stepped foot in Washington High School I realized that the same way Chicago segregated its communities is the same way this school had a natural segregation against colors. We didn’t have clicks, we had races. I found myself in the middle of conflict within my own mind that had no idea of racial segregation. I flocked to those who I felt had great character but realized early on that others did not. The lack of knowledge and understanding for the black community by others created a disconnect. My years spent loving those around me with darker skin gave me compassion for the injustice that these teenagers felt against those around them. Realizing that this community that I thought was integrated, had created a divide within their kids ability to connect with those who looked different. Going to friends homes where their parents openly used the N word anytime they saw a black kid walking down the block. Meeting kids who never connected with someone who was darker them. Finding myself defending the black community due to the lack of compassion that was instilled in my own community. Realizing that racism exists and that it is taught by those who are meant to raise us right.
My sophomore year of high school on a bright sunny day that I could never forget, I walked along Avenue O with a friend as two teenage boys argued with a young black kid at the bus stop. We didn’t realize that these kids were walking to the alley to get a pistol that killed young Greg Washington on the bus stop that day. A day that sparked race wars in our local high schools against Mexicans and Blacks, causing riots and havoc on CTA bus rides and fights inside the schools. Greg’s twin siblings were my age and I knew them since we were younger. To feel the pain of a brother and sister who lost their sibling on the bus stop of a school that was meant to protect them pained me. I realized then that I was no longer at a school of harmony and peace. My school was at war, a war that continued for years to come.
My junior and senior year was no different, Cabrini Green was tore down and thousands of Chicago residents were placed throughout the city. All of a sudden my Latin King, Latin Count, Latin Dragon and Spanish Vice Lord area was the home to new GD residents. Chaos was inflicted to our youth and the very intricate lessons of these racist parents had shown face within their kids. During this war I lost a number of friends, including my boy Julio, a king who was ran over by a young GD after a basketball game turned sour. At 18 years old I had already been to too many funerals to count and lost numerous friends to incarceration. We’re talking about kids burying kids. A time that I’ll always think about in my journey with race and how it effected me personally. Being torn between friendships yet having the ability to give compassion to all those involved. I seen early on how the act of racism was so blatantly obvious because I saw what effect it had on those around me. The lack of education CPS gave on systematic racism, taught racism and blatant racism created a divide within my neighborhood. Everyone knew who Dr. King was but why wasn’t his word taught within our school system? Why was the only reason I knew about Medgar Evers because I went to grammar school with his great niece and nephew? Why weren’t we taught about slavery and how Christopher Columbus slaughtered and killed millions of Native Americans? Why weren’t we introduced to the real history of America and how people of color were treated like animals? Why are we not considering the pain that millions have had to endure to establish this country for the benefit of the 1%? Why are we not teaching our youth to live against hate and to hate the system not each other?
17 years after the race wars of George Washington High School I can still remember the pain that was left in the aftermath of this tragedy. A world in which our kids are taught about liberty but given none. Where a 17 year old child is being shot 16 times in the back by a trained officer without recourse. Where a man is killed screaming “I can’t breathe” and crying for his dead mother as a man kneels on his neck as he’s already detained. Where a 21 year old single mother who’s been made a victim in her own home, with no criminal background, is being treated like a villain because of her past.
My sons father was a criminal, so I must’ve been too. I got tied up, pistol whipped and robbed, because I must’ve had something in my house. I had 5 men invade my home and was nearly raped on my own bed just to have the police grill and interrogate me for hours afterwards. I was illegally manipulated and coerced to try and wrongfully commit men who “fit the description,” for double homicide. The same police department that went down for working with the Latin Kings, yet still on the beat today. A department who was meant to protect and serve me on a night that haunts me to this day.
That day could’ve made me angry. My past could’ve put me in a place that made me into a statistic. I could’ve let my personal experience give me reason to turn me into a criminal but I didn’t. I was raised to live above my trauma and learn from my past. But in today’s society we seem to forget that there are inner city residents of color that have so many similar stories to mine. Stories of trauma and corruption that make people weary of police. Stories of hatred and violence that has gotten no remorse from others who don’t understand it. Stories that could make any human being lose hope in the system, regardless of the color of their skin.
We live in a world today where race is at the forefront of everyday life. This country has once again divided us into thinking it’s black versus white when it should be us against the system. We have a man in office that promotes hatred and violence yet denounces equality and justice. A man that would also give 21 year old me no compassion but wants 33 year old suburban wife me to vote for him. A man that says he wants to “Make America Great Again” but doesn’t acknowledge who made it great in the first place. It was the immigrants that traveled here from all over the world to make steel, drill oil holes, and dig coal on our soil. It’s those who picked cotton and provided labor after being brought here in chains. It’s the migrant workers today who work on our fields for little to no money in 120 degree weather. It’s the men and women who work day in and day out to provide services to Fortune 500 companies that get paid minimum wage of $7.25 an hour. It’s the brilliant minds who have dodged, detected and treated disease in the medical industry. It’s the men and women in arms who have fought for our right to have freedom regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation or creed. Our melting pot of hard working and intelligent individuals is what makes our country so unique. We all come from different backgrounds and have different experiences, so during this time of uncertainty, let’s remember to give compassion to each other. To not only speak against injustice but listen to each other’s opinions. Let’s be the leaders of change and promote equality for all people, not just those who look like you.
We all have the ability to change the world in the smallest forms. Creating spaces of conversation that have never seen the light of day, to educate and inform people who aren’t like you. We all have a responsibility to be vulnerable with our trauma and the trauma of those before us, those who do not know will never understand until we reveal our stories.
My story is one that I’ve tried to own over the years. I cannot speak on anything I haven’t been able to experience but I am willing to be vulnerable to give others insight to reality. The beauty of this country is the ability to have the freedom of individuality, something that millions around the world would die for. I may not be proud of our past but I am proud to be an American. I am not proud of my past but I am proud to be me. Together, we have the ability to recreate the norm and stand behind our foundation. “With liberty and justice for all.”
Make sure you extend your right to vote and educate yourself on the policies of government that reign in your area. Listen to those who are different from you and have different opinions. Stay vigilant in the government that is working to divide us into race when it is all about social class. Most of all, give compassion to all opinions as racism and prejudice is built over time, just like trauma can manifest into anger and a lack of authority.
May God Bless America & Let Peace Reign Wild.
God loves you and so do I,
-XO