Today was beautiful

This evening, I participated in a podcast recording with about 10 young men from one of my communities. 10 young men between the ages of 15-19. 10 young men of colour. Never a dull moment with this group.

Besides me, there were 5 other adults in the room; the podcast host, the youth coordinator from the centre, and three other women. I was the only person in the room who had white skin. This is not unusual for me, but it’s important.

The initial topic was interracial dating. Do you agree with it? Do you do it? What would your parents do if you dated outside of your race? By the time the second youth spoke, we knew we were in for a very interesting evening. The honesty was raw. The stories were real. The insight was refreshing. Everything I would expect from this group.

Youth inspire me. Every. Single. Day.

The topic morphed into “the friend zone” and eventually to whether or not males and females could be friends.

It was the perfect way to round off a perfect day.

Let me take you back for a minute to why what happened tonight meant so much to me. Back about a year and a half ago. Back to one morning in the fall of 2014.

I was sitting on the couch in a living room. The wall behind me and the lamp shade to my left was covered in bullet holes. A mother sat across from me, crying, shaking, terrified. The house had been the target of a drive by shooting just a few hours earlier. The police had just left. The media was knocking on the door and waiting for me to leave. I was the only thing standing in the way of them getting their story.

Her eldest son sat on the other side of me, her younger son had just left the house with his little sister and had gone to school. She rocked back and forth and kept repeating “my sons are good kids, my sons are good kids…” I turned to her son, who was dressed in red from head to toe. “I believe you’re a good guy. It can’t be easy to have to be the man of the house, that’s a big responsibility…”

He had been asleep on the same couch when the shooting occurred, two of the bullets just missing his head and spine. “Look how scared your mother is, imagine how she might feel if she lost you.” He knew that I knew what I knew, but none of that mattered. He WAS a good kid and he believed I believed that. He was also the target of that shooting; both he and his brother.

But the love he had for his family was very clear. The need to protect them from harm was very clear. His next steps were also very clear.

I make no judgements on the life these young men (and women) have chosen. Have been forced into. Have fallen into. And/or have been born into. The path I followed wasn’t very different.

I knew that wouldn’t be the last time I sat on a couch in that community. Sadly, I was right.

This particular community had been historically neglected. Forgotten. Choices were made by various systems that contributed to many of the current concerns. “Problems” were relocated into the community without consideration for the potential consequences. The community existed without any real supports and resources. Service providers feared it.

They became the target of many rival communities across the city and had formed alliances with a few others. Relationships between the community and police was almost non existent and incidents of gun violence was increasing rapidly.

I was told by several people that “engagement didn’t work in this community”.

Bullshit. Unacceptable bullshit.

The safety of the community, police relations and violence prevention/intervention became one of my main priorities for 2015.

I started with the police first; needing to ensure that my relationship was strong enough with the division to support the work that needed to be done in the community. My request was simple, engagement over enforcement.

Incidents continued and I found myself on several couches over the next few months. Then I deployed to Sierra Leone.

Just before I returned to work, another shooting. My supervisor, colleague and friend, was covering the area while I was away. They planned a community garbage clean up; a community engagement initiative we do to help strengthen relationships outside and within communities. I returned in time to help plan it and participate in it. It was well attended by the residents, a couple service providers and several police officers. Everyone did their part to pick up any and all garbage that had been dumped in the area. We cleaned, listened to music, laughed, ate and had a great time together. That night, another shooting.

We had planned a Brighter Nights event there for a few weeks later. A partnership between the city, housing and Toronto hydro that provides free energy efficient light bulbs to all the houses and encourages residents to leave the outside lights on at night to increase visibility and community safety. Police and service providers are also invited to join resident teams in changing the light bulbs. We do this as a community; sharing laughter and food over loud music and fun.

But first, I had to meet with the only local community organization. Their reputation in the community was awful and their relationship with the community was non existent. Police and housing wouldn’t work with them and youth weren’t accessing any of their services. They needed help from me and I needed them to be better for the community.

We had a very honest and real meeting. It was at that meeting that I met the new youth coordinator that had been hired by the organization; this was his first day on the job. He had no idea what he was walking into, and I had no idea how important he would become to me.

The Brighter Nights event included over 20 officers from the division, several service providers and over 50 residents. We blocked off the street so the fully uniformed officers could race the kids. Some of the children and youth started to have very courageous and real conversations with police, many for the first time. We laughed. We shared food. Everything felt like it was coming together.

That night, I got a letter from the inspector at the police division thanking me and telling me that I was proving everyone wrong.

It gave me the extra energy I needed to keep going.

More shootings. More work.

I offered my assistance and support to the new youth coordinator and he trusted me enough to take it. He was amazing and although the odds were against him, he slowly started to earn the trust of some youth. Then more youth. Then he got some programs happening. Then together we got more programs. More youth. More relationships. More participation. More shootings.

By fall of 2015, the community had contributed to putting the division at #3 in the city for most gun related incidents. We didn’t stop.

More youth. More programs. More participation. More collaboration. I worked behind the scenes to leverage some city funds for programming and beautification. Through Take BAC, Toronto youth equity strategy and Toronto strong neighborhood strategy, I was able to ensure that this community got some much needed attention.

More youth. More programming.

We had formed a solid community team and everyone was feeling it. It was the ultimate partnership, and things were changing.

Its been months since we’ve had a incident in the community. Months since I’ve had to sit on a couch with a crying mother.

It may not feel like a long time to many, but for me, a few months brings me a joy that I cannot put into words.

This evening, I participated in a podcast recording with about 10 young men from this community. 10 young men between the ages of 15-19. 10 young men of colour. Never a dull moment with this group.

Three nights ago I sat with the same group, in that same room, having a real conversation about their rights with police.

On both of those nights, I sat next to that youth coordinator and I reflected on this journey that started for me 18 months ago. This journey that he joined me on 8 months later. While I tell him often about how grateful I am that he is there, he will never truly understand just how much it means to me.

Over the next two days, I will be supporting a youth against violence basketball tournament. The tournament brings teams from across the city to play together in memory of the lives lost to gun violence. These young men have formed a team and will be part of that tournament. I will be cheering them on from the sidelines, as I always do. They too, will never know how much watching them means to me.

Today was a beautiful reminder of why I do the work that I do.

Something went very wrong….

Last night, I had the pleasure of celebrating the beginning of Black History Month at a youth organized/led event in one of the communities I work with. It was amazing.

Not that I’m surprised.

I don’t believe there is a limit to what youth are able to accomplish with passion, purpose and the right partnerships/mentors.

I’ve worked with youth for most of my life, in some capacity. Professionally, for the last 14 years.

Before I worked in shelters, I lived in them.
Before I helped people secure housing, I slept on the streets.
Before I told youth the importance of staying in school, I dropped out.
Before I worked for social services, I was dependant on them.
Before I worked with addictions, I went to rehab.
Before I worked with women and children surviving violence, I was a victim.
Before I worked with mental health, I tried to kill myself.
Before I called City Hall my office, I sold drugs outside of it.

Young mother. Eating disorder. Poor. Speaking English as a second language. Child of newcomers to Canada. Single mother. Welfare. Homeless. Drug addict. Street kid. Connected to the street life. Drug dealer. High school dropout. Broken. VICTIM.

I watched my friends die. I watched my friends go to prison. I watched the world, as they watched me, waiting for me to fail again and again. I was everything they told me I would be. Everything and Nothing. Another wasted youth.

But I WAS more than that. I WANTED more than that. I DESERVED more than that. I was BETTER than that!

And so I sought the path that would allow me to accept who I was and what I had done. I wouldn’t allow myself to be defined by others, but I embraced everything I had experienced as part of my journey.

For years, I’ve watched youth workers tell youth that they are better than what the world sees. That they can strive for something greater than what generations before us had. That they can have whatever they want if they put the energy and effort into getting it.

“You’re better than that!”

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve repeated that line myself.

Last night, I stayed to help clean up after the event. It was held at a Recreation Centre and things got pretty messy. There was a large spill on the floor and I quickly ran to get the mop from the custodian. As I was mopping up the spill, a young girl looked at me and said “Why are you mopping? You’re better than that!”

The only thing I could think to say at the time was, “No, I will never be above mopping.”

And then I reflected on that for the rest of the evening.

After all these years of sharing that message, I realized that something went wrong. We focused so much on encouraging youth to believe in themselves and their abilities, and somehow we failed to explain what that really meant.

“You’re better than that!”

That was never meant to minimize the value of others and the roles that they play. I’m not above mopping a floor, scrubbing a toilet, serving food. I’m not better than anyone.

I come from a long line of general labourers and cleaners. My family, my friends, they did what they had to do to survive. How can I think of myself as better than the people that fed me, clothed me, raised me? What does a belief like that do to us?

Instead of teaching youth to strive to be better versions of themselves, we have taught them to perpetuate oppression. To believe that certain roles should only be held by certain people.

Who, then, is not better than mopping floors?

We have taught them to judge people and their worth by the jobs they hold, or don’t hold. By the things they possess or fail to possess. We’ve taught them that they should strive to be better than “those people”, whoever they are.

We didn’t do it intentionally, but we missed a big part of the message.

We missed the piece where we teach the value of everyone.
Everything.
Every role.

We failed to teach them to think critically about how our class systems were created. About who defined what roles were important and who would play those roles in our society.

We failed to explain that life is about working together to clean up our world, literally and figuratively.

We failed and we need to do better.

Youth.
The possibilities are endless.