Poetry: Seen and Unseen

Seen + Unseen by Zion

Zion with Dani preparing to hit the pinata at Azeb's unbirthday party

You see a canvas and you see a mirror

With one thing you'll be able to see what you've created with your ability, and the other, you'll see a reflection of the outside

Yes you can change things, but you can only change so much

You can't hide what you really want, what you need, what you crave

Welcome to Veracruz, México where you'll find an amazing aquarium, gorgeous beaches and nice locals

You won't expect to see graffiti, Sewer leaks, and mosquitos

You'll find the people to look slightly different but the true colors and cultures go deeper than the skin

Tales of Sun gods, warriors, indigenous and afro-descendent Mexicans are slowly disintegrating


Veracruz wants to be set free. That's what's unseen.

Statue of El Negro Yanga in Yanga, Veracruz

Yanga's sonnet by Jordan Chaney

There are no black people in paradise.
The sun shines on everything all the same.
Papayas, all people, palm trees, beans and rice. 
Curls are welcomed here as heavenly mane.

The history books are void of slave meat.
The town's mouths are ripe fields of sugar cane.
Street vendor has a story to tell me;
All chains were broken free in Yanga's name.

TVs, heavy books have erased my line
It is nice, no good or bad references
My home paints me with big lips and no spine
This bold land 'least lends a lil reverence

Machete tongues have chopped me all to shreds.
...the thick of me can't be conquered by death.

Las Raices Invisibles (The Invisible Roots) by Reagan Jackson

Statue of a woman at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Here I am

seen and unseen

take my picture, but not my name

brown skin, white teeth but disembodied

not a shadow

   but an icon

      an idea

         a postcard

smile and wave,

but do you see me

beyond la negra

you think describes me...

morena, chaparra

am I so simply defined

by the shape of my hips,

the rythm you assume resides there.

Am I a line from a song

a half eaten melody

que te tiene tumbado

Africana, Cubana, Dominicana, Colombiana...

Would it matter if I too were Americana

If I too were Mexicana, prieta pero paisana?

Why am I foreign to your eyes

when family lies between us

in blood ties

more than skin

the shape of your nose and eyes

your pyramids and mine

our ancestors intertwined

etched into the faces of rock

carved before the time when we forgot 

that there is so much more than 

skin deep.

So sure, take my picture

its yours to keep,

un recuerdo

of what is left 

unsaid and unseen

and yet is so very

visible, tangible, indelible, undeniably 

your DNA in mine. 

Eyerusalem

The Fifth Sense by Eyerusalem
I am on foreign land.
My senses are out of control.
Touch: my phone, held in my hands, or easy access in case I need to snap a picture
and the thick blanket of humid muffling me over my layer of sweat
Taste: the burst of flavor in my tacos dorados,
dipped in red sauce
Green if I am feeling a bit brave.
Hear: the beautiful language of Espanol.
The honks and beeps of the drivers on the street,
the words Buenos dias trails behind me
 as I walk past a group of Mexicans
every new word I hear, becomes a new word I've learned
and an opportunity for it to roll of my own tongue
Smell:
The intoxicating scent of sewage overcomes my nose
Fortunately, I have crossed the street and am now
inhaling the drool-worthy aroma of fresh enchiladas con pollo.
These four senses are working hard.
But there was something about the fifth sense,
sight.
Sight is helping me put two and two together
It helps me embrace and appreciate
the beauty of Veracruz.
I see a random man
helping an old woman bag her fruits.
I see color.
Everywhere.
Colors.
Patterns.
Everywhere.
My eyes are moving around. Trying to take everything in. All the faces,
all the colors,
all the statues,
buildings, architectures
everything.
But...
Where is everything else?
Where is everyone else?
Where is El Chapo and all the drug cartels
that CNN warns us about?
Where are the dangerous people?
Where are the burritos?
Where are all the Afro-Mexicans
 that my world history textbook told me about?
Are they not here?
Has El Chapo and the cartels been replaced by
love and care?
Are the dangerous people hiding away due to inferiority?
Have the Afro-Mexicans disintegrated due to hostility?
Maybe they don't exist
here in
Veracruz

Pyramids

By: Jordan Chaney

Jordan at the Pyramids

The buses’ seats are filled with half-sleeping travelers. Everyone has a liter and a half water bottle clutched in their lap. To get from Puerto de Veracruz to El Tajin you have to go on a wobbly 4 hour bus ride passing various small towns, murky rivers, rolling yellow hills, shrubbery, and greenery of all sorts. My neck is stiff, my legs are cramping and it would be an incredibly exhausting ride if it weren't for the AC being on full blast and if it weren't for the fact that we are heading to see ancient ruins! This is a life-long dream of mine and it’s finally coming true!!

After pitching and rolling through hills and waving good-bye to all of the doubts that this would ever truly happen we arrive in Papantla, the small town closest to the home of the Pyramids.

There are stray dogs limping through the streets, garbage piled up on street corners, and the stench of sewage in the air. It’s dirty, it’s grimy, the taxi drivers are seedy but kind, the town is humid; everything has a bead of sweat rolling from its brow. It’s absolutely beautiful and everything I wanted it to be!

Our driver is waving at every car we pass and honking his horn while letting out an emphatic “mi amigo!”. He’s proud of his town, his home, and his friends. His enthusiasm is contagious. I turn my head to the road in front of us; glossy-eyed and anxious like a kid in line at the fair.

Me and a few of the Many Voices One Tribe youth have been playing the dirty dozens with one another the whole trip, one of the many ways we have been entertaining ourselves and bonding throughout this experience. But as we approached Tajin, the dirty dozens subsided and curiosity and wonder set in…

We arrive.

My face is lit up like the north star. I hand the driver 70 pesos and mumble gracias with my eyes entranced on the path that leads to the ruins.

I can't feel my body intact, I am probably levitating. I feel that good! We find the rest of our group and begin swimming against the strongest current of street vendors known to man: women selling dresses, kids selling water, men selling hats, families selling almost anything you need or imagine! But it doesn't matter, adrenaline surges through my fins, my gills flare, and swim through it all.

When myself, Reagan, and the MVOT youth began our workshops 2 weeks prior to arriving to Veracruz I eluded to an epic spiritual story several times that I promised to only tell once we finally arrived at the pyramids. Over the span of that 2 weeks I would hint at it and the youth would sigh and roll their eyes and say things like “c’mon man just spill it already” or “shut up about the story already” playfully of course…

We successfully make it past the tidal wave of vendors and tourists and then the path opens up into ruin upon ruin, pyramid upon pyramid. The view pickpockets my lungs for its breath. I can't blink, I can't close my mouth. It had come true. The dream I had been dreaming my whole life grew arms and legs, walked up and bear hugged me.

Eyerusalem, my little buddy on this trip, that just so happens to be the smartest and most gentle 17 year old I have ever had the pleasure of meeting tugs on my shirt sleeve, bulges her eyes out at me and says “Your epic story? Are you gonna tell us now or what?”

I scanned the terrain, nodded my head towards a patch of trees, exhaled deeply and replied “yes”.

Reagan, Eyerusalem, Azeb, and Zion

Pics from Week 1 in Veracruz

Eyerusalem, Reagan, Jordan, Zion, Angelica, Azeb, and Dani

Dani showing us the quebradas at Villa Rica

Dani (one of our language teachers) and Eyerusalem, lunch at Villa Rica

The Library in Xalapa

Mojarra encebollada

Jordan and Azeb with the President of the State Human Right's Commision

Us with the President of the Human Right's Commission in his office

Eyerusalem and her new best friend Javier

Our friends at the Human Rights Commission

At the language school after class 

Zion and Eyerusalem in la Guaca (traditional neighborhood of Afro-Mexicans)

One of the Olmec heads at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Our new friend Karma

Zion hiking down the ruins of Quiahuitlan

Azeb's first dance at the Zocalo

A Chill Day

By: Reagan Jackson

Zion, Azeb, Jordan, Eyerusalem, and Reagan at El Tajin

It's quiet today, no raucous laughter from the ongoing stream of jokes and shade throwing, nor Spanglish chatter with whomever might be downstairs. For the moment its just me alone in my white stucco room with its long green curtains, light streaming in through the opaque glass of the balcony door. After huffing my way through zumba by the waterfront with David and Gabriel, I dragged myself home through the dense salty air to find everyone else taking advantage of the morning off to sleep in.

Today we will write. Having been here a full week, the youth have selected the focus of the articles they will be putting together and even conducted some preliminary interviews. Now they will craft pitches to be sent to their editor at the Seattle Globalist. Then we'll have lunch together. Paola, one of our instructors is making cheese empanadas. So far the best recipes I've gotten this trip have been from Angelica, another one of our instructors, who makes a blackberry pudding to die for.

After lunch everyone will have language lessons in the afternoon during which time I hope to visit our new friend Karma. Karma, once a student at the language school, has returned to Veracruz to live for the year while she is completing her dissertation through the University of Chicago. Her topic, Afro-Mexicans. She is a black woman from the States and in meeting her I saw the kids' eyes light up. This may be their first trip, but I can tell already that these three have a lot of world to see and meeting Karma seemed to make that idea more tangible to them.

After yesterday's arduous bus trip to Papantla to visit the pyramids of El Tajin we are all exhausted, but content. I am delighted for this brief respite of air conditioning and solitude and in general for the way this adventure is turning out so far. For those of you who know me or have been following my column in the Seattle Globalist, you know that this trip is years in the making. Its been my dream to create a study abroad program for young people of color and these young people have made the reality so much better than I had even imagined. In this short time, though it sounds cliche, we've become a family.

I wasn't sure what it would be like to bring a group of black folks to Veracruz, but its been fascinating. One of the things that sometimes irritates me about traveling while black is the picture taking. In Japan, this was especially an issue. Everyone everywhere always wanted to take my picture. I got my first glimpse of what it must be like to be chased by paparazzi. Here in Veracruz, I get the stares, we all do. There are the old women who want to pat my cheek and tell me how much they like my black skin, the catcalls of "morena"or "negra", and yes the random people who want to take my picture, but Zion, the darkest and tallest of us all, is the one everyone wants to take picture of now. "I feel like a low key Kim Kardashian or something" he confessed yesterday after we were mobbed by an entire family of Mexican tourist who wanted to take pictures of all of us, but then individually with only Zion. Rather than getting irritated, he seemed to enjoy his little photo shoot, and the next and the next.

Eyerusalem has been working on an article about comparative standards of beauty. She's snapped photos of every billboard between the here and the Zocolo and decided she wanted to take pictures of girls and women to compare the ads to the real women of Veracruz. Tables turned. I took the group to the Zocolo for their first experience of danzon, an elegant traditional form of ballroom dancing that the older generation is trying to revive. After a few loops around the square, Eyerusalem took out her camera and began approaching people to take their pictures. There were a few odd looks of confusion, not unlike what I usually feel when asked the same, but most people complied and there were lovely conversations started because it. And usually at the end, the subjects pulled out their own camera phones to take pictures with the group, but it didn't feel quite as objectifying because there was reciprocity and human connection.

Human connection. That's really the key to this whole experiment. Having taken over 200 youth abroad when I think about what moments have been the most transformative, what triumphs have stayed with me and lingered with them, its all about the times when we let our guard down and get to know another. There is something healing about our time together that I'm not yet able to articulate adequately, other than to say that I really needed this.

Last week was our week of excursions and frenetic activity. I walked everyone to the point of exhaustion, but it was worth it. In addition to language lessons, we visited the Veracruz Museum of the City, we traveled to the state capitol Xalapa and met with the Human Right's Commision. We visited the Museum of Anthropology, set on several acres of land and complete with indigenous plant life in addition to Olmec heads and an incredible replica of El Tajin. We visited the ruins of Quiahuitlzan and hiked down to the sparsely populated beach at Villa Rica before climbing up to the Quebraduras. We danced in the Zocolo, made friends with a street dancing clown, and made Jordan's wish come true by visiting the pyramids in Papantla.

This week our pace will be a little calmer. We will be spending a bit more time here in el Puerto. There will be beaches and museums, one last long bus ride to Yanga, but mostly it is a time for deeping in the writing and conducting interviews. Its time to explore the questions we have about this culture and to seek answers in the community.

A Series of Firsts

By: Azeb

Azeb and Victor: First experience of danzon at the Zocolo

Lately my life has been a series of first time events. Starting from being the first in my family to graduate from High School to meeting my first Muslim-Mexican in Veracruz. I remember taking a trip to Eastern Washington University and thinking how I could never live in the “middle of nowhere.” I thought I’d feel so secluded and cut off from the rest of the world, and that the loneliness would lead to depression. Veracruz has shown me that the distractions I was holding on to mean nothing, that what matters more than the things I have and the places I want to go, is the quality of the people I interact with everyday.

Azeb and Zion at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Being in Veracruz is the first time since I was in 5th grade that I completely forgot that I was Muslim in a way where I wasn’t constantly aware of uncomfortable and scared looks from others. I’m usually trying to make sure that others know I’m friendly and harmless by smiling and apologizing if I even do the slightest thing that might be taken offensively. I haven’t felt the need to do that in Veracruz. There’s no propaganda that has been constantly fed to them about how Muslims are “terrorists” and a threat to everyone. It’s refreshing to be able to start a conversation with someone without them having all these preconceived ideas of me. I don't feel like I have a badge that repels people from getting to know me. This also makes me want to make sure I interact fully and gracefully with everyone I meet because it’s probably the first and only time they’ll ever meet someone like me who is an African-American Muslim.

Visiting the Museo De Antropología in Xalapa reminded me of why exactly I'm so attracted to studying film making and Anthropology. If I got paid to film, blog, and take photos of people and places from around the world I’d truly be happy in life. I’m so glad that I'm getting to experience Mexico first hand. It's the kind of experience I want to give people through my films. I want all the bullshit the media feeds us, in order to separate us, to deteriorate. For us to genuinely feel each other's presence. I can honestly say that this trip so far has been cleansing and just what I needed before I start the next foreign chapter in my life!

Travelers

By: Eyerusalem

In the morning, I woke up to the sound of laughter and Spanish words intermingling with English. As I was trying to get ready, I experienced an epiphany: We've only been here for two days. However, downstairs, in the dining area, it seemed as though we've been here forever. It is amazing how quickly people who have been living completely different lives could become so close to one another within the span of two days. It blows my mind that just a few days ago, we were thousands of miles away and living our own lives. Now, we have been summoned to an intersection in our paths, and here we are, eating pan dulce y huevos and drinking freshly squeezed jugo de naranja.

After breakfast, we embarked on our journey to Villa Rica, a "virgin beach" located an hour and a half away from our home base. On the bus ride there, I looked out the window only to be surprisingly greeted by an abundance of verdant plants. In fact, if it wasn't for all of the spiny cacti scattered throughout the land, I would have thought that we were back in the Pacific Northwest. Before we got to Villa Rica, we headed to Quiahuitzlan to see some ruins. The scenery was surreal. Tombs lying everywhere. Pyramid remains lying perfectly still on the same land they were on hundreds of years ago. To make the scene even more magical, butterflies of different colors were gracefully floating through the graves, as though they were carrying a bit of the souls of the people buried.

After a long walk from the ruins, we finally reached the beach. Although it was an extremely long walk, once we saw the waves crashing into the sandy land, we immediately knew it was worth it. It was my first time swimming in open water so I was a bit apprehensive. Once I got in, the huge salty wave completely buried me beneath itself. It was as if the Poseidon, the God of Water, himself, was excitedly playing along with us in the water. Just when I thought that this was the craziest thing I'd do during this trip, I had the opportunity to go cliff jumping into the rapidly moving waves. If you personally knew me, you would also know that I am not one to participate in such wild and spontaneous events. But, I felt like it was something I needed to do. So I not-so-gracefully swam to the rocks, and I not-so-gracefully climbed up the cliff, and despite my fears, I jumped. As I resurfaced, I felt very different and proud of myself. I did it and the adrenaline was rushing through my veins. This will definitely be one of the memories I will look back on and cherish.

I later found out that the ruins we had earlier toured were not a in a place that many people visit. Instead of just sticking to the popular area we hiked down towards the back of the site that contained the graves of the poor people. The beach we went to did not have any colorful beach umbrellas or people holding huge expensive cameras. It was secluded. This reminded me of the conversation we had back in Seattle during our workshops. We talked about the difference between a traveler and a tourist. A traveler does not only go to the flashy and mainstream places. A traveler looks for authenticity, and a real experience, and that is exactly what we, travelers of Many Voices One Tribe are doing.

Las Quebradas

La mordedura/ The Bite

By: Zion

Zion

Something big just happened to me. I got a lump in my throat. My heart started beating faster and the more I thought about it tears started to form in my eyes. I even trembled a bit. I realized that I have fallen heavy in love with Mexico, Veracruz specifically. I've realized that even though I think I know so much, at the end of the day I don't know anything at all. Veracruz has taught me to be happy with absolutely nothing. I remember seeing a family that didn't really have much...a father and a group of girls that looked like his daughters, and I could tell they were poor, but also that they had more than enough. What they lacked in money they made up for in love. And I realized I have Many Voices One Tribe and I have this support and that is more than enough for what I need. Even though I'll always be yours as well as you guys are mine and have me forever I am grateful for your love as well as the love Mexico is giving me.

Aside from the humor filled Spanish lessons and the common glances from Veracruzanos my personal experience so far is no different than the mango chili lollipop I bought. I bought it because it was highly recommended and it looked interesting. While trying the first lick I was let down by the bitterness of the chili sprinkled on the candied mango. I wondered for a while "Why would anyone want this?!". It didn't reach my high expectations, but I wasn't going to waste anything. So instead of licking, out of frustration I took a bite to get to the center and finish what I believed was a good snack gone wrong. In that moment I realized that once I bit past the bitter spice of the chili that the sweet candied mango actually made an incredible treat. I judged too early and I was wrong...something I struggle with. I later savored every lick, bite, and suck and even added more chili. I had grown accustomed to not just like it, but to fall in love with what I had just consumed.

Me being a city boy, the rawness of Veracruz was quite unappealing. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to like the trip based on how it looked and how Veracruzanos would stare at me and my group, but sometime during the first night I took a bite of Veracruz. I understood that there was the raw energy of the port city and the locals, but I wanted and actually needed to find out where the sweetness was beneath the first bite. The locals all of them may stare because I'm different looking. They are undeniably raw, honest like their city and even their state, but unconditionally accepting of what they have, who they are, and their city. Inclusive in that would be accepting of who and what my group is about and who I am. Their acceptance and glowing pride was that first bite I took. As I continued to savor and enjoy myself Veracruz became not only a place I now hold close and want to experience even more, but Veracruz became mine, as well as I became intertwined with not only the city, but later on the state.

At first the fruit may seem to be full of sin, but close your eyes and bite it. Open your eyes. The fruit you just took a bite of is yourself. It may be that the fruit on the outside is bitter, but the deeper you bite, the more sweet it gets. The bitterness and the sweet inside combine to make something more unique than you could ever imagine. So enjoy yourself.

Veracruz- Te amo sin condicion aunque se ya que me encantaria volver, espero que me amaras para siempre.

MVOT with Angelica and Daniel at Quiahuitzlan

First Reflections

By: Jordan Chaney

View from the plane

 Flying in to Veracruz it is green and lush. As soon as you step off of the plane on to the tarmac the heat sticks to your skin, and the air is thick. This place is hot. I have not had a dry forehead since I’ve been here. The airport is under construction and it looks as if it as been in a constant state of repair for quite sometime. The ceiling is missing panels, the tiles are chipped and broken, and there is a putrid smell in the air; most like sewage. But this says nothing about the typical attitude and demeanor of the Veracruz citizens. They are incredibly kind people, not only to us but to each other. I see a young server handing an elderly customer a cup of coffee and even though I could not hear the little conversation they were having I could see in the body language and laughter that there is an invisible transaction of love taking place between the people here and even with us. 

Walking by the shore

After we checked in to the Veracruz Language School, we went for a walk in sweltering sticky heat down by the beach and then near the Zocolo (town plaza). While on the little excursion we were approached by several different street vendors and hustlers of sorts. And even they were friendly and endearing. Alex sincerely wants us to come and enjoy the food at his restaurant and Ben is willing to sell you the shoes off of his very feet; we bought nothing from either vendor but you could tell that they were satisfied with meeting and maybe even making friends out of 5 strangers. 

Myself, Reagan, Eyerusalem, Azeb, and Zion are all black. I have not seen any other black people here. People stare at us. Living in the United States we are used to being stared at, especially in groups. But what is different about these stares is that they don't have an air of hostility or ‘you don’t belong’ energy in them. It is a child like curiosity and possibly a hint of wonder in their gaze. I like it here. It’s old but it is hanging on to its beauty like an aging queen. All the establishments that are turning a profit have military, police, or security on patrol. And military details patrol the streets in jeeps. Veracruz has very ugly corroded sidewalks with very beautiful colonial houses and buildings on top. Cathedrals on street corners have their large doors wide open, and people wander in, slump themselves over in the pews for prayer or sleep. It’s holy. I was surprised to only see one street musician in the 20 some odd blocks we walked. This is only day 1 though, and we are barely getting are feet wet in the ocean of history and culture that this place possesses. 

After language school

Day 1 from Jordan

By: Jordan Chaney

Flying in to Veracruz it is green and lush. As soon as you step off of the plane on to the tarmac the heat sticks to your skin, and the air is thick. This place is hot. I have not had a dry forehead since I’ve been here. The airport is under construction and it looks as if it as been in a constant state of repair for quite sometime. The ceiling is missing panels, the tiles are chipped and broken, and there is a putrid smell in the air; most like sewage. But this says nothing about the typical attitude and demeanor of the Veracruz citizens. They are incredibly kind people, not only to us but to each other. I see a young server handing an elderly customer a cup of coffee and even though I could not hear the little conversation they were having I could see in the body language and laughter that there is an invisible transaction of love taking place between the people here and even with us. 

After we checked in to the Veracruz Language School, we went for a walk in sweltering sticky heat down by the beach and then near the Zocalo (town plaza). While on the little excursion we were approached by several different street vendors and hustlers of sorts. And even they were friendly and endearing. Alex sincerely wants us to come and enjoy the food at his restaurant and Beng is willing to sell you the shoes off of his very feet; we bought nothing from either vendor but you could tell that they were satisfied with meeting and maybe even making friends out of 5 strangers. Myself, Reagan, Eryerusalem, Azeb, and Zion are all black. I have not seen any other black people here. People stare at us. Living in the United States we are used to being stared at, especially in groups. But what is different about these stares is that they dong have an air of hostility or ‘you don’t belong’ energy in them. It is a child like curiosity and possibly a hint of wonder in their gaze. I like it hear. It’s old but it is hanging on to its beauty like an aging queen. All the establishments that are turning a profit have military, police, or security on patrol. And military details patrol the streets in jeeps. Veracruz has very ugly corroded sidewalks with very beautiful colonial houses and buildings on top. Cathedrals on street corners have their large doors wide open, and people wander in, slump themselves over in the pews for prayer or sleep. It’s holy. I was surprised to only see one street musician in the 20 some odd blocks we walked. This is only day 1 though, and we are barely getting are feet wet in the ocean of history and culture that this place possesses. 

A Love Poem to the 80%

By Zion Thomas

#tea Last week Jordan gave us a workshop on how to write sonnets. A sonnet is a poem that has a specific pattern. Each line is 10 syllables and its written in rhyme. This poem is about the day when I found out, thanks to my Gay Straight Alliance that at least 80% of Rainier Beach High School self identified as queer on an anonymous survey. I am one of two openly out male students, so finding this out was a shock. I don't want to out the whole school, but its nice to feel like I'm not alone and I want them to know they're not alone either.

A Love Poem to the 80%
You already understand I got you
yet our lives aren't meant to mesh together
you're alone, but you know I'd help you
you and I, similar to forever

If we were to collide and become one
people would judge, your internal war
why worry, its our victory that's won
boy your own victory with you will come

I'm mercury in the sun, you're unknown
defined by a zodiac that's not mine.
your mystery is compelling although
you're scared. I see the real you you hide

Face it Papi your game is solved
the sun shines high and low, it reveals all.

Tribe Roll Call

Reagan

REAGAN
My voice is the one you've been hearing from for the last few weeks, but that is about to change. From now on we will be dividing up the blogging so you can hear from all of us.

A bit about me: I'm writer, visual artist, international educator, and community organizer. I received my Masters Degree in International Education in 2006 from the SIT Graduate Institute. I've lived on four continents and successfully led eight trips abroad (five to Guatemala and three to Japan),with over 200 youth in tow.Travel and writing have been the two main inspirations and influences on my sense of self and understanding of the world so its no surprise that when designing my own program I would seek to merge the two. My goal is to design and deliver quality youth programming with an emphasis on writing, social justice, exploring global citizenship and cultivating healthy communities of color.  For more about my art, philosophy, and books check out my website: www.rejjarts.com 

JORDAN

Jordan

Jordan (awesome co-facilitator) is a poet and dynamic pubic speaker joining us from eastern Washington’s wine country. He is the author of two published works: Double-Barreled Bible, a collection of urban poems that blend eastern and western philosophies, and Rocket Fuel for Dreamers, a poetry book about love and manifesting one’s dreams.

With helping troubled youth as driving force inside of his work, Jordan created Speaking from the pen, a poetry and public speaking workshop that enhances confidence, creativity and communication skills in today’s aspiring performers and speakers. He teaches this class regularly at the local Juvenile Justice Center, alternative high-schools and at various schools through out the state and nation.

Most recently he created Urban Poets Society, a youth-leadership program that promotes the arts, literacy and leadership in our community. Urban Poets Society has created a network of open-mics throughout the Tri-Cities area. The idea is to create platforms that encourage artists of all types to share their works and build community.

AZEB

Azeb

Hello my name is Azeb. I'm an aspiring filmmaker, and hope to use it as a platform to bring awareness to various social, economic, and environmental issues going on around the world. I was instantly drawn to this program because I've always had a love for traveling and seeing life through different perspectives. After meeting Reagan I felt like I'd be comfortable in MVOT and be with a group of people that respected my cultural and religious background. These last two weeks I've spent with my MVOT family have shown me so much about myself and Mexican cultural. I can't wait to film all the fun adventures we have in Veracruz!




EYERUSALEM
¡Hola! Me llamo Eyerusalem.

Eyerusalem

I am one of the three youth that will be travelling abroad to Veracruz, Mexico. I was immediately attracted to Many Voices One Tribe when Reagan came to my high school to give a presentation on her program. Writing has always been my passion and travelling is something I greatly enjoy and want to do more of, so of course, I just had to be a part of this fabulous program. Within the first two weeks, we were not only provided a solid foundation of the culture of Mexico, but we also did some self-examination, and of course, a lot of writing. I am looking forward to the upcoming weeks and I cannot wait to share what I have learned!

ZION

Zion (and his mom)

I wanted to be a part of MVOT because it was a way for me to build upon my writing skills and an amazing travel experience in one package. (like duh :) ) It also seemed like a good way to work on myself. I am constantly working on myself, my favorite work in progress, so these workshops on self care plus writing skills have really given me some awesome tools. For me to take the time out to help myself has been life changing. When we go to Mexico I look forward to changing my outlook on how I see things. I know that everything will go well.

Self Care is Essential

By: Reagan Jackson

It took me a long time to understand on a soul level what Audre Lorde meant when she described self care as an act of self preservation. This year has brought me a level of grief that is almost unbearable. At times simply getting out of bed to face the world has seemed like an impossible task. And yet I must get up, get it together and get on with my life, because that is what it's for...living. These youth, even before I really had a sense of them, gave me a purpose that has grounded me. They have been a mirror reminding me of the best parts of who I am and encouraging me to reclaim my power. 

In keeping with my non-traditional approach to social justice, I decided to dedicate an entire day to the exploration of self care, both in preparation for our journey together and for their journey into life. These are the youth that are going to shape our world. They are bright, funny, insightful, and truly gifted. My hope is that in introducing them early on to their own importance that they will be able to avoid the burnout and heartbreak I've had to navigate. 

We took a field trip to Kubota Garden, a 20 acre Japanese garden set in Rainier Beach. Though with the exception of Jordan we are southenders, only Eyerusalem had been there before. We wandered along the paths, cracking jokes, playing the question game and enjoying the sun. When we came across a grove of trees planted in symmetrical rows we discovered a wooden bench just long enough for all of us to sit comfortably. There we began to talk about what self care actually is. It was a new concept for them. Some confessed not wanting to feel selfish. So we talked about the difference between selfishness and self love. We unpacked the people and situations that drain us, then took a few minutes to spread out in the garden and write our happy lists. 

A happy list is just what you might imagine, a list of what feeds your soul and puts a smile on your face when you are down. For me it's going to the beach by myself, meditating, reading a good book, getting a massage, eating lavender chocolates from Chocopolis, or singing with my friends at choir practice or karaoke. Each year as I try new things, I discover other experiences to add to this list. We talked about our plans for communicating our needs as this trip unfolds. Travel, for as awesome and exciting as it can be, is stressful. Our brains and bodies sometimes have difficulty adjusting to new languages, foreign food, and the sensory overload of being surrounded by unfamiliar sights. Now we know a little about what each other's preferences are we will be in a better position to support one another.

After sharing our lists, we found a sun patch by a coy pond and completed our first group meditation. My goal for today and really throughout this program is to plant as many seeds as I can for these youth to gain the skills, practices, and attitudes to support them in a positive and empowering life as change agents.

Zion zenned out

Eyerusalem in meditation

Eyerusalem, Azeb and Jordan exploring Kubota Gardens

Azeb and Eyerusalem doing their Cover Girl pose while Zion cross the bridge

Social Justice is for White People

By: Reagan Jackson

Reagan and Jordan at Eyes to Dream Exhibit

Kicking off week two of Many Voices One Tribe's pre-departure orientation our conversations are getting juicy. We began our exploration of values, identity, oppression, empowerment and social justice. In preparation for this part of the curriculum I reviewed my grad school text books and did some soul searching on how to proceed. I have long struggled with the way social justice is taught.

This morning when I came across a video on the Huffington Post I was reminded of why. The video showed the privilege walk, a core experiential exercise used to provide a visual example of privilege. Participants begin lined up shoulder to shoulder and then a facilitator reads a series of questions requiring participants to step back or forward depending on their answers. Each question forces you to either stand in your privilege or to stand in the absence of it. By the end of the exercise the people with the most privilege are in the front of the room and those with the least are in the back.

The first time I did this my face burned with shame. I knew after the first few questions what the outcome would be and I felt exposed and betrayed by my teacher for using my life and my experiences as a learning tool for others. No one in the back of the room, mostly women of color and a few queer economically disadvantaged white women, learned anything from this exercise. We knew precisely what privileges we had and which we had been denied. This wasn't news. Those left standing in the front of the room, simply turned around to have whole new worlds exposed to them.

From there I spent another semester "learning" about social identity, except really all I learned was that I was expected to be the spokesperson for my race, something I learned in elementary school in Wisconsin. I was responsible for educating the white people in my class. And my classmates, barely acquaintances, felt like they could ask me any and everything. They felt entitled to my experiences because how else were they going to learn...regardless of what it cost me to re-injure myself for their benefit. I was also responsible for proving that racism or any other ism they might not have experienced did exist. They were responsible only for judging whether I had been victimized enough to complain or if it was time for me to "get over it". This took up a lot of time and space, so much so that we never really got to the justice part of social justice.

Fast forward a few years to when I finally became a study abroad program leader and I lead my first pre-departure retreat before our trip to Guatemala. As a part of our social justice curriculum we did the privilege walk. Predictable I found myself at the back of the room. As I looked to the youth standing nearest to me, a collection of black and brown faces, some U.S. born, some first generation immigrants, my heart broke for the rage and shame that played across their features. When the processing discussion began, not one youth of color said a word.

After a long and painful silence I took a deep breath and said: "I'm angry," I was careful to keep my voice calm though I had already broken the cardinal rule. Admitting to my anger in the past has been akin to granting permission for anyone who might not understand my feelings to completely invalidate my opinion. I took the risk of being type cast as angry black woman because in that moment my anger became more important than my silence.

"I'm angry that I'm standing at the back of this room again. I'm angry that after my parents and their parents and their parents have worked their asses off to provide me with a better life, an education and more opportunity than any of them combined have had that I am still so far behind. I'm angry that those standing in the front of the room have the choice never to see how being complicit in these systems and reaping the benefits damages me."

After my confession we proceeded to have a very different conversation than the one the followed the last privilege walk I'd participated in. In granting myself the permission to be angry, the young people of color found voices to discuss their experiences. I still left with mixed feelings. When my boss pulled me aside later to say how great my comments were, rather than feeling the solidarity of two educators co-facilitating a powerful experience, I once again felt used as a tool. The way I was taught social justice was an exploration of oppression that seemed to have little to do with justice, liberation, or change. It was simply an outline of the systems in place.

It made me wonder what was in it for me? What was I supposed to learn? There were other questions I wanted to explore: What can we do with the privileges we have? How can we cultivate allyship and solidarity across identities? How can we begin to bridge the gaps between people of color, deconstructing the internalized oppression that keep us from getting to know one another? How can we truly affect lasting systemic change? How can social justice be taught in a way that people of color get to learn something new too?

Spoiler alert: I don't have all the answers to these questions yet. Sorry. I really wish I did, but in designing my curriculum for these workshops these questions guided me to a different place to start. We began our exploration of our identities with an exercise I adapted from the House of Power activity created by Powerful Voices. I drew a set of circles across the board with a line running through them. Beneath each circle I placed an identity category: race, nationality, gender, sexual orientation, body size, etc. Then I marked my first initial in the circle either above or below the line depending on whether I was dominant or non-dominant in that category. I asked the youth to do the same.We went through each circle and people explained their choices.

Then with a different colored marker I went through each category a second time to indicate what I experienced during my visit to Senegal. Though I was the same person, how I was seen changed dramatically. In some categories where I had been non-dominant, I became dominant, and some of my dominant identities took on new meaning. Being a U.S. citizen in the U.S. gives me privilege, though it is tempered by the intersecting identity of being black. However, being a U.S. citizen in Senegal afforded me a status I had never experienced before. By nature of my citizenship, my perceived social class was elevated as well.

All of these identities, these check boxes, these parts of who we are that are supposed to make up a whole are like constellations. They seem constant and unchanging, but the truth is that they are alive and evolving in every moment. If getting on a plane can fundamentally change how I am perceived, who is to say that we are powerless to create a change in perception that might grant us the equal footing we all deserve. We had some excellent conversations after that. And it gave me hope that social justice might be for everyone after all.

Identity Island

Zion

Jordan, Eyerusalem, and Zion