Anchor 202
April 27 2017
Social Advocacy & Social Justice
Social justice is as the basic valuing of fair and equitable distribution of resources,
rights, and treatment for marginalized individuals and groups of people who do not
possess equal power in society (Constantine, Hage, Kindaichi, & Bryan., 2007; Lee,
2007).
It involves the empowerment of individuals, in terms of working for and with
individuals to challenge institutional barriers and societal injustices (Crethar,
Torres Rivera, & Nash, 2008; Lee, 2007).
Advocacy, specifically refers to action that is directed toward changing or
transforming the process by which public decisions are made, and thereby affecting
the political, social, and economic contexts that impact peoples’ lives (Cohen, 2001).
University of Missouri
Concerned student 1950
Mizzou Homecoming 2015: A turning
point
Hunger strike & Football boycott
Social Advocacy & Social Justice
https://youtu.be/fxJLvMxVFdQ
Reactions to the clip
Small group discussion
- what did you learn?
Who gets involved social justice
Type of person?
Attributes?
Experiences?
Current Data
Responses from a study of several thousand college juniors across the United States
revealed a positive relationship between spirituality and social activism (Higher
Education Research Institute, 2003).
Exposure to injustice is ranked as one if the most influential factor in the
development of their social justice orientation (Vera & Speght, 2003; Nilsson, Schale
& Khamphakdy-Brown (2011)
Multicultural empathy, that is concerns associated with discriminatory and
prejudiced attitudes and empathic responses to the experiences of individuals from
different ethnic groups than the individual’s own, are associated with social justice
advocacy (Nilsson et al., 2011)
Current Data
The less the students believe the world to be a just/fair place where people get what
they deserve, the more they presented with interest in and commitment for social
justice work (Inman et al., 2015).
Self-efficacy in one’s ability to carry out social justice advocacy as essential for such
change work (Inman, Luu, Pendse & Caskie, 2015; Miller & Sendrowitz, 2011).
Involvment and interest in politics are associated with social justice activities (e.g.,
DeLeon, Loftis, Ball & Sullivan, 2006; Hage et al., 2007a; Rivera-Mosquera et al., 2007;
Smith 2006).
2nd reflection paper
4-5 Points
2-3 Points
1-2 Points
Be able to identify 2 class materials
(film and/or reading) that helped you
understand your relationship with
others.
Be able to identify 1 class material
Vague statement about class
(film and/or reading) that helped you material that helped you understand
understand your relationship with
your relationship with others.
others.
Class
Participation
Reflection
Emotion and
Thought
Reflection
Identify 2 significant class events that
helped you reflect on your relationship
with others.
Be able to state different emotions and
thoughts related to your relationship
with others.
Identify 1 significant class event that
helped you reflect on your
relationship with others.
Be able to state one emotion and
thought related to your relationship
with others.
Summary
and Next
Steps
Be able to summarize what you have
learned when thinking about others
and self, and address several areas of
what else you need to learn about self
and others (next steps)
Be able to summarize what you have Vague summary of what you have
learned when thinking about other
learned when thinking about others
and self, and address one thing you
and self and no next steps addressed
need to learn about self and others
(next steps).
Class
Material
Reflection
Vague statement about class event
that helped you reflect on your
relationship with others.
Vague statement about your
emotions and thoughts related to
your relationship with others.
And What Will Become of Children
Like Miguel Fernandez?
“Y Que Pasara Con Jovenes Como Miguel Fernandez?”
Education, Immigration and the Future
of Latinos in the United States
by Pedro A. Noguera
New York, New York
It is a common cliché to say that the youth are our future, but if this is the case for Latinos in the
US then we have good reason to be worried. Latinos have the highest dropout rates and the lowest
college attendance rates (Garcia 2001). On most measures of academic performance we are
overrepresented in the negative categories (i.e. enrollment in special education and remedial
programs, and the number of students who are suspended or expelled, etc.) and we are
underrepresented in the positive categories (Honors and advanced placement courses, gifted and
talented programs) (Meier, et. al. 1991). In higher education, we are not at the bottom of the
achievement hierarchy, but since the advent of high stakes testing in several states across the
country, more and more Latino students are leaving high school without diplomas, and are unable
to matriculate to college (Haney 2003).
Miguel Hernandez is one such student. Miguel is from the South Bronx, a community once
described by a presidential candidate as a “hell hole”, and by yet another as the poorest census
tract in the United States (Kozol 1995). Despite these negative characterizations of his
community, for Miguel the South Bronx is home. He doesn’t think much about the fact his
neighborhood has some of the highest rates for asthma, teen pregnancy or juvenile homicide in
the nation, or for that matter, the highest unemployment rates in the City (Gonzalez 2004). The
litter on the streets, the deteriorated and dilapidated buildings, or the long walk he must take to
the subway to get to and from school doesn’t bother him either. For Miguel, the South Bronx is
where his abuelita, his familia, his many, many primos all live, as does his novia Sonja and
Wilson, his best friend. In fact, Miguel has a sense of pride about being from the Bronx, and he’ll
be the first to tell you that it is home to Jennifer Lopez, the world famous New York Yankees,
and a long list of notable Latinos.
Although I was born in Manhattan and raised in Brooklyn, I have a connection to the South
Bronx too. Unlike Miguel my thoughts of the South Bronx aren’t so pleasant. When I think of
South the Bronx, the image that comes most quickly to my mind is one of violence and danger. I
remember when the South Bronx was burning in the 1970s as a result of fires set by arsonists
working for absentee landlords who would rather burn down beat up old buildings to collect
insurance than improve them for the people who lived there ((Wallace and Wallace 1998,
Wunsch 2001) My Grandmother lived in the Mitchell Houses on Willis Avenue and 138th Street
for over twenty years. The projects are still there, but they are no longer regarded as such a rough
or dangerous place to live as they once were. The South Bronx is in the midst of a revival now
(Jonnes 1986, Wunsch 2001) and gentrification has brought with it a change in residents. Of
course as property values rise and old buildings are torn down those who cannot afford to pay
market rate rents - people like Miguel’s family - will be pushed out.
When I used to visit my grandmother as a boy we were not allowed to go outside to play on the
swings or monkey bars. My father told us that dangerous hoodlums controlled the play areas, and
perverts lurked in the stairways and alleys. My cousin, who also lived in the South Bronx, served
as a proof that my father’s dire warnings were no joke. He was murdered at the age of fourteen;
stabbed to death because he made the mistake of refusing to give up his hard-earned leather jacket
to a couple of young thieves. There used to be a community center named after him off of Gunhill
Road, but that too has become a victim of gentrification and has since been torn down.
Times have changed since the bad old days in the 1960’s and ‘70s, and the gentrification that
prompted the makeover of Manhattan in the 1990s has finally hit even this neighborhood. Many
of the worse projects, and many run down tenements have been torn down and replaced by
single-family homes. The changes are striking and despite the obvious improvement, they are
somewhat disturbing. For someone like me who has been away from the South Bronx for many
years, it’s easy to get a strange and eerie feeling when walking through the neighborhood. As you
observe all of the new construction and the new homes that have been built, you get a clear sense
that the neighborhood is being improved for people who do not live there yet, and while there are
many sites from the past that are familiar, there is also a lot that is new and strange and that seems
out of place. The elevated train still runs along Jerome Avenue, and many of the bodegas and
White Castles I once frequented are still on Fordham Road. But things look different to me. The
neighborhood is still home to some of the poorest people in New York City (Wunsch 2001,
Jonnes 2002), and still has a reputation for crime, violence, drug dealing and gangs. But the
Bronx, like the rest of New York City is changing as property values rise and the middle class
moves back to reclaim once blighted areas.
This kind of change means that for Miguel, his family, and thousands of other recent immigrants,
the South Bronx may be a temporary home. Interestingly, Miguel is not unaware of the changes
being brought about by gentrification and what it may mean for in the long term for his family,
but he doesn’t feel threatened by it either. He and his family regard the South Bronx as a
temporary stop on their journey to progress; a place that served its purpose when they first moved
in, but not a place to become attached to. His family didn’t pick the South Bronx out of a
catalogue when they arrived from the Dominican Republic. They moved there because housing
was cheap and his mother’s cousin was able to help them find a place to live not far from her.
They are well aware of the problems in the neighborhood so for them, the greatest sign of upward
mobility would be to leave the South Bronx for good.
When she arrived, Miguel’s mother was unmarried and raising six children on her own. She knew
she would need family support to get by in this strange new country, so she moved to the South
Bronx without a second thought, despite the warnings about danger that she received from others.
Like most immigrants, she came full of hopes and dreams, with high expectations, and a firm
belief that life in America would be better. Better because that’s what everyone had told her about
America since she was a child, and better because it would allow her and her children to escape
the unhappiness and hardships they knew in the D.R. She didn’t dwell on the fact that when she
left she was leaving behind a whole network of extended familia and community. All she thought
about was that she was trading it in for - the possibility of eventual prosperity in the United States
of America. For her, the South Bronx was merely a starting point on the way to that better life.
Eventually she hoped that she and her children would find a home with a yard in the suburbs of
New Jersey or Long Island. But for now, they like thousands of immigrants before (Tobier 1998)
them would find a way to make it in America by starting in the South Bronx. With faith and
determination they could view the hardships they encountered as temporary obstacles; bumps in
the road that one day they could look back upon just like life in their hard lives in the D.R., as
another part of what they had overcome.
This is the Faustian bargain that many immigrants embrace. They give up a world they know for
one that is completely foreign based on the belief that they can find a way to make the new
country work for them (Portes and Rumbaut 2001). They are overwhelmingly risk takers, brave
enough to settle in a strange land where they do not speak the language or know the customs,
because they hold on to the tenuous belief that with hard work good fortune will eventually come
their way. Latino immigrants and their children are people of the future. They are a people whose
gaze is so firmly affixed on the promise of a better life that it becomes possible for them to
endure a host of hardships and inconveniences that might set others back completely. They are a
people who manage to hang on to their optimism even in miserable ghettoes like the South
Bronx.
Miguel was only eleven when his family arrived from the Dominican Republic. When he first
arrived he spoke no English and he often felt afraid and intimidated at school. On the playground
other Latino kids who barely spoke English themselves, teased him because he spoke only
Spanish. For years, he felt intimidated when riding the subway with bigger kids from other parts
of the city. They were mean and aggressive. They pushed to get a seat, they used foul language,
and they knew how to scare a person with little more than a stare. Those days of being scared are
over now, and Miguel isn’t afraid or intimidated anymore. He’s not a big kid, but he knows how
to carry himself and he knows how to stare back and give the look that lets to others know he’s
not a punk. Because he’s no longer afraid, Miguel is now at ease in the South Bronx. The many
obstacles he has confronted and overcome have made him stronger and have not dampened his
optimism about the future in the slightest.
Miguel attends Walton High School, a school that gained notoriety during the 2003-’04 academic
year because of severe overcrowding. I worked with the school during that academic year and
was amazed to learn that it had an enrollment of 4,200 even though it was built to accommodate
no more than 2,000.(1) The school was in the news on more than one occasion that year because
of rising concerns about school violence. In response, Mayor Michael Bloomberg placed Walton
on his list of unsafe schools and promised to do what ever it would take to make it safe again,
even if it took placing a policeman in every classroom. As a result of the Mayor’s posturing
students at Walton were required to wait on long lines each morning, sometimes in sub zero
temperatures, to pass through metal detectors before entering the school building. Once inside, I
was often struck by the irony that while the officials were fastidious in their security screening,
they paid little attention to whether or not students were actually attending class.
Despite less than ideal conditions at his school, Miguel is a diligent and dedicated student. He
appreciates the importance of getting a good education to achieve his dreams so he studies hard
and strives to do his best. However, as the eldest of six children Miguel also works thirty hours a
week at a local fast food restaurant to help support his family. He works after school, sometimes
till 10:00 pm, and every weekend for eight to ten hours a day, but he never complains. He knows
that his mother needs the money to pay the bills and he likes the fact that he’s able to buy clothes
he likes to wear with what’s left over.
Miguel is well liked by his teachers. They appreciate his positive attitude, honesty, hard work and
the respect he shows to them. These traits along with the excellent grades he earns, have
distinguished him from his peers. On more than one occasion he has been singled out by the
principal as a positive example; a person other students should strive to emulate. He receives
ample helpings of praise and encouragement from his teachers who tell him with great confidence
that if he keeps up the good work his future will be bright.
However, his guidance counselor knows better. After his second attempt, Miguel was still not
able to pass the English portion of the New York State Regents exam. Though he’s lived in this
country eight years and attended schools in New York City, his command of English remains
weak, and without a Regents diploma, Miguel will not be able to attend a public college. To
complicate things even further, Miguel is also an undocumented immigrant. Though his counselor
has told him that there is legislation pending in the U.S. Congress that would allow
undocumented immigrants to receive financial aid and to attend public universities, the
combination of his testing troubles and legal complications has caused him to re-evaluate his
goals.
Instead of college, Miguel plans to stay on at the fast food restaurant. His manager has praised
him for his reliability and work ethic, and promised that he would recommend him for an
assistant manager’s position in six months if he hangs on. This would mean he would be entitled
to health benefits and a salary close to $30,000 a year. For Miguel, the possibility of a stable job
and a position of authority is a reward so alluring that he decides it makes far more sense to hang
in there rather than working to pass the Regents exam at night school.
In my work with schools, (2) I have met many students like Miguel. Though not all are as
studious, as focused, or as disciplined, there’s no shortage of promise and potential among the
students I meet. This is especially true for those who have recently migrated from the Caribbean
and Latin America. In cities like New York, Boston, Oakland, Los Angeles and Newark, the
Latino students I meet, especially those who are recent immigrants, are often ambitious and
respectful toward adults. They are also full of hope about the future. Like their parents, they have
the drive, the work ethic and the persistence to take advantage of opportunities that come their
way, and unlike so many urban youth, they have the will to find a way to improve the
circumstances they find themselves in.
Of course, it is risky to generalize or to overstate the importance of will and work ethic. As the
experiences of young people like Miguel show us, drive and optimism can sometimes take you
only so far. When you live in a community like the South Bronx, sometimes circumstances
beyond your control -- the school you attend, the neighborhood you live in, whether or not any
jobs are available -- are far more powerful in determining how far you’ll go or where you’ll end
up. Attitude and drive certainly count too and the research literature suggests that many
immigrant students are willing to work hard and make sacrifices, particularly when compared to
U.S.-born youth (Suarez-Orozco and Suarez-Orozco 2001).
As part of a study on high schools in Boston (Noguera 2004), I conducted an interview with a
Honduran honors student from English High School in Boston. During the course of our
conversation I asked her about the source of her motivation to succeed in school. With a sense of
clear resolve and a wisdom that seemed extraordinary for a person her age, she informed me. “If I
don’t do well in school my mother told me she will send me back to Honduras to wash clothes.
That’s what she did there, and I know for sure that I don’t want to do that. You can hardly live
there on the money you make from washing clothes. That’s why we had to leave Honduras.
People are barely surviving over there. So I try to do my best in school. If can get into college and
become a nurse or something I’m going to be able to help my family and myself. I definitely
don’t want to end up washing no clothes.”
Of course, not all of the Latino students I meet are so full of drive, determination or clarity about
their goals. Some are angry and sullen, less optimistic about the future, less focused about the
purpose of their education and less inclined to believe in the elusive American Dream. These are
usually the second and third generation Latino students. The ones whose ties to home -- Mexico,
El Salvador, the Dominican Republic -- are more remote. Unlike their immigrant counterparts,
these are children of the present. Children who are so consumed with surviving, with getting by,
with learning how to make it from day to day, that they make no plans for the future, and often
have trouble contemplating life past eighteen. They are also the ones who speak broken Spanish,
if they speak it at all, and who identify as Latino, Chicano, Hispanic, or simply claim ties to the
clique in their hood.
The research literature on the socialization of Latino students has identified this disturbing trend,
one that results in the transformation of hopeful Latino immigrant youth into angry and frustrated
Hispanic Americans (Portes and Rumbaut 2001, Zentella 2002). In a reversal of past patterns,
assimilation no longer serves as the pathway into mainstream American culture and middle class
status for many Latinos as it once did for European immigrants. Instead, the evidence suggests
that the socialization associated with acculturation and assimilation is sometimes harmful to
academic achievement and performance of Latino students (Suarez-Orozco and Suarez-Orozco
2001).(3) Interestingly, the research also suggests a similar pattern with respect to health and
wellbeing. It turns out that recent Latino immigrants are less likely to smoke, contract heart
disease, diabetes, cancer or to have out of wedlock births (Hayes-Bautista 2001).
Berkeley anthropologist John Ogbu tried to explain the difference between Latinos, which he
categorized as “caste-like”, non-voluntary minorities, and earlier European immigrants who were
drawn to the United States voluntarily. According to Ogbu, because the non-voluntary minorities
were incorporated through coercion - conquest, colonization or slavery (Ogbu 1988), they were
more likely to develop oppositional attitudes toward assimilation, and by extension, toward
school. Though Ogbu’s theory has been widely embraced by scholars of immigration (Noguera
2004), try as he might his framework never really worked for Latinos. There is simply too much
diversity among Latinos; while some might be categorized as non-voluntary immigrants (e.g.
Chicanos, Puerto Ricans, and possibly Panamanians), others (especially those from Central and
South America) clearly came to the U.S. voluntarily; at least if fleeing war, repression or hunger
can be considered a voluntary move.
Once they arrive in the U.S., new forces take over in shaping social identities, and Ogbu paid
little attention to how variations in social context influence patterns of social adaptation. A
Mexican arriving in L.A., or a Dominican arriving in Washington Heights in New York, can
function in a monolithic culture for quite some time. However, for Latinos who settle in a
community that is more diverse, new forms of affiliation may emerge and the significance
attached to national identities may melt away, particularly among the youth. For a young person
like Miguel, identifying as a Dominican becomes less important when your friends are not just
from the D.R. but also from Mexico, Puerto Rico and Central America. Hybrid identities forged
through cultural fusion happen naturally. Perceptions of self invariably become even more
complicated when you look Black, at least by U.S. definitions, speak English with an Ebonics
accent, and when the music you listen to is a mix of hip hop, merengue, reggae ton, house and
rock. Even as the steady arrival of new Latino immigrants gradually begins to change the face
and the character of American culture, our presence here also transforms who were are, and most
importantly, who we are becoming.
The patterns evident in education mirror other disturbing trends for Latinos in the United States.
Latinos in the U.S. constitute the youngest, fastest growing, yet poorest sub-group of American
society (Smith 2002). We stand out from other groups because in several states, we are both more
likely to be employed and more likely to be poor (Clark 1998). This is because more often than
not, Latinos are trapped in the lowest paying jobs. We are the laborers, the busboys, maids,
nannies, gardeners, mechanics, and waiters. We specialize in doing the dirty work, the work U.S.born Americans reject. We remove the asbestos from buildings, we handle the toxic waste, and
we take care of the sick and the aged. In cities across America we wait patiently on street corners
for contractors seeking cheap labor, and we take the subways and busses early in the morning to
arrive on time to watch the children of those who earn salaries exponentially greater than our own
(Hondagneu-Sotelo 2001).
We are the backbone of the U.S. economy, and we are despised because of it. Instead of gratitude
and appreciation for all we do, we are subjected to resentment and scorn, and increasingly overt
hostility and violence. We are accused of taking American jobs, of making neighborhoods unsafe,
of deteriorating the quality of life in affluent areas, and spreading communicable diseases
(Cornelius 2002). Though American society is historically a nation of immigrants, and though
increasingly the U.S. economy is dependent upon the labor of Latino immigrants in particular, we
are treated as a burden, as unwanted parasites, and problems that must be tolerated, or if possible,
removed.
Education should serve as our ladder out of poverty. Just as it has for other groups in the past,
education should be the source of opportunity and the pathway to a better life. Unfortunately,
more often than not, the schools that serve Latinos are not unlike Miguel’s Walton High School.
Such schools have failed to serve as the vehicle through which our collective dreams and
aspirations can be fulfilled. Too many Latino students attend schools that are over-crowded,
under-funded, and woefully inadequate in terms of the quality of education they provide (Garcia
2001). More often than not, Latino students are trapped in the worst schools, and more than other
ethnic groups, Latinos are likely to attend schools that are segregated on the basis of race and
class (Orfield and Eaton 1996). For all of these reasons, Latinos have thus far, had limited success
in using education as a vehicle to fulfill collective dreams and aspirations.
Of course, our hardships are relative. Compared to those we leave behind in our countries of
origin, many of us are far better off. That is why we are able to send money home, to support
those who are still struggling and barely surviving. And that is why so many more continue to
come. The U.S. is the land of opportunity, and though there are always sacrifices and costs
associated with leaving, for those who risk the journey, there are also often rewards. Our home
countries know this too, and increasingly, the governments of Latin America regard us -- Latino
immigrants in the US - as a prized resource. The remittances we send home are a stable source of
foreign exchange, worth more than oil exported from Mexico, the bananas shipped out of Central
America, or the tourists who visit Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic (Orozco and QinHilliard 2004).
Immigration is a complicated issue, one that does not lend itself to simplistic, dichotomous
analysis. In 1996 I participated in a debate over Proposition 187; the first of several wedge issue
measures, used by conservatives in California to mobilize their base (e.g. white voters), against a
vulnerable scapegoat, namely us. I was asked to debate an economist from UC Davis about the
merits and fairness of the proposed law, which if passed would deny undocumented immigrants,
or aliens as they preferred to describe us, access to public services like health care and education.
In response to his assertion that the law was not racist but merely a rational response to the fact
that immigrants were displacing Americans in the labor market and taking unfair advantage of
public services, I pointed out that even if the law was approved by the voters it would not succeed
in curtailing illegal immigration. I suggested that the reason why so many immigrants were
making the dangerous trip across the border was not in pursuit of education, health care or other
social services but because of the tremendous imbalance in wealth between the U.S. and Latin
America. Certainly it was not the attraction of California’s public schools, widely regarded as
some of the most inequitable in the nation (Oakes 2003). Rather, immigration is driven by the
need to escape poverty and suffering, by the hope that success will make it possible to send
money home, and by the often unrealistic belief that by leaving it will be possible to obtain a
small piece of the American Dream that has been so creatively marketed to the rest of the world.
Speaking in front of liberal and idealistic undergraduates at UC Berkeley, it was easy to win the
debate against a conservative economist, but I knew even then that we would lose the larger
battle. Not only was Proposition 187 approved by over two thirds of California voters, it set the
stage for a string of other “grassroots” initiatives aimed at rolling back gains in civil rights that
had been made in previous years. The end to race-based affirmative action policies in higher
education, the end to bi-lingual education under the so-called English only initiative, the get
tough three strikes law, and the juvenile crime initiative which lowered the age at which
adolescents could be prosecuted as adults, all had harmful effects on the status and well being of
Latinos in California.(4) In yet another public debate, this time against Ward Connelly, the
African American member of the University of California Board of Regents who has spearheaded
the effort to eliminate affirmative action in higher education, I pointed out that if we had to rely
on a referendum to bring an end to slavery forced servitude might still be around. As noted legal
philosopher, John Rawls, has pointed out, democracy in the form of majority rule, can be the
worst form of tyranny (Rawls). Ironically, but perhaps not surprisingly, this series of race-based
initiatives were adopted at just the time that California was becoming a non-white majority state
(Clark 1998), and while the new laws have not deterred the growth of the Latino population in
California or throughout the nation, they have made the path to progress much more difficult.
I saw the effects of crushed dreams and vanquished aspirations vividly during a recently visit to
New Bedford, MA, an old industrial town on the south eastern coast of Massachusetts. I was
asked to assist the city in a planning effort designed to reduce the number of juvenile homicides.
Over the last year, there had been a startling rise in the number of adolescents who had been
murdered in the city, startling because none of the community leaders could understand why.
They had a hunch that maybe the high unemployment in New Bedford might be a factor (the
official estimate was 25% at the time of my visit in May 2004), or similarly that the high school
drop-out rate which officially was listed at 12%, but unofficially was presumed to be closer to
50%, might also have something to do with the problem. But these were factors and not causes,
and with no way to link these factors to a strategy that might aid the city in preventing more
violence, there was no reason to believe that the carnage would be abated on its own.
I was asked to conduct a workshop on youth violence prevention with community leaders to help
them to gain a better understanding of how various factors were linked to this social phenomenon,
and hopefully to begin to devise a strategy for prevention. With all of the key stake holders from
the city present, including: school district officials, members of the City Council, churches, nonprofits, the police and probation departments, etc., an interesting discussion unfolded about the
lack of opportunity for youth in New Bedford. Though no concrete solutions emerged from the
meeting, we did leave with an agreement to do two things: 1) to include young people in the
process of formulating solutions to the problem; and 2) to keep this group of stakeholders
meeting and planning together until there were clear signs that progress was being made.
All of us, myself included, left the meeting hopeful that we had started a process that would have
a meaningful impact on this pressing problem. Later that evening, I was asked to speak at a
community cultural celebration in a large high school auditorium. I generally don’t like being
asked to give lectures between performances by local hip hop artists and Cape Verdean folk
dancers, but I obliged with the understanding that I would keep my remarks very short. I knew
before I spoke that the juvenile homicides was a big issue for the community because earlier in
the day I had passed by homes where large banners were hung carrying pictures of young people
who had recently been killed. Many of the banners and posters carried a simple message,
imploring all who would take time to read to “STOP THE VIOLENCE”. Aware of how salient
the issue was I tried to speak directly to the problem of youth violence that the community was
grappling with, but to do so with a sense of hope about what might be done to address the
problem. After my remarks, I was surprised to learn that the MC wanted to take questions from
the floor rather than returning immediately to the entertainment. I was even more surprised to see
a young Latino male raise his hand immediately without any prodding from the MC or myself.
Speaking loudly and with no apparent apprehension, the young man declared: “Maybe if there
was something for young people to do in New Bedford we wouldn’t be killing each other. It’s
boring like hell here. No jobs, no colleges, no places to hang out. I think people are killing each
other because they’re bored to death.” It was an interesting thesis, one that hadn’t been
considered by the group of community leaders earlier in the day, and a comment that left me at a
loss for a response. Having teenagers of my own who often complain of boredom, I responded by
saying that boredom generally emanates from within, and that the only remedy for boredom was
imagination. I encouraged him not to sit back and wait for someone to offer him a job but to be
creative and think of ways that he might create opportunities on his own. Even as I made my
suggestion I knew that if pressed I might not be able to come up with any creative examples for
self-employment, but I still felt that the young man needed a sense of empowerment instead of
seeing himself as a helpless victim.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to offer any concrete suggestions. The next hand up was that of a
middle-aged Mexican immigrant. Though he struggled with English, he readily shared his own
story with the audience, directing his remarks to the young man who had spoken first. He
explained that he had moved to New Bedford from Mexico five years ago. When he arrived he
knew no one, so he took a job cleaning fish and earning minimum wage. After two years of dirty,
backbreaking work, he said he was able to save enough to open a restaurant. He said he now
owns two Mexican restaurants in New Bedford and employees twenty people. He then said that
the only thing keeping him from doing more to help the community were the young hoodlums
who have robbed him several times, and most recently forced one of his employees to be
hospitalized as a result of a beating during a hold up. Sounding not unlike a conservative
Republican, the man challenged the young people present not to be afraid of hard work, but to get
off their butts, and to stop waiting for someone to give them something.
Again, I was taken aback by the direction our conversation had taken. Stumbling to figure out
what I might say in response to the immigrants challenge, I was bailed out by a young Latina who
was so eager to speak that she jumped out of her seat and demanded the microphone. Speaking
with passion and defiance, she blurted out “I’m sick of hearing people in New Bedford put young
people down. I ain’t going to clean no fish for minimum wage and I shouldn’t have to. I went to
school right here at this high school (the meeting actually took place at New Bedford High
School), and I had plans to go to college after graduation. But I got into problems with the law,
and now I have a criminal record. A lot of businesses won’t hire you if you have a record. I’m
willing to work hard, but I need to get a chance.”
Her remarks and the passion with which they were delivered prompted several people in the
audience to applaud, and now it was up to me to make sense of the exchange. How would I
acknowledge the truths inherent in both perspectives: the hopefulness of the new immigrant, the
frustration and resignation of the second generation? Given the late hour and the bad set up for an
extended conversation, I punted. I encouraged the young woman, and the young man who’d
spoken earlier to get together with the restaurateur after the meeting to find out about a job and to
learn how he managed to do what he had accomplished.
Reflecting on my visit to New Bedford I was compelled to recognize that the clash in
perspectives symbolized a larger division among Latinos -- the newly arrived full of hope and
expectation, and the fully settled, who understand the reality of dead end jobs and racial
discrimination. Both perspectives are rooted in “truth” and an understanding of reality, but neither
perspective provides a clear way for Latinos as a group to move forward. Can hard work alone
help students like Miguel whose educational opportunities are limited by the kind of school he
attends, and whose chances for mobility through employment are constrained by the labor market
in his community? Will anger and resentment for those who object to their second-class status
help? How do we harness the energy and drive of the newcomers but at the same time refuse to
accept a permanent place on the lower rungs of American society?
These are the big questions that face Latinos in America, but who’s providing the answers? We
are at a moment of incredible possibility. Latinos are being courted by both major parties as
swing voters with the ability to decide state and even national elections. Media moguls, baseball
team owners, and fast food restaurants now recognize us as an important consumer market, but to
recognize that we can vote and spend money says very little about our potential to alter our status
in this country. If we are to move from the lower tiers of society and not become a permanent
underclass, and if our communities, schools and social institutions are to provide the support and
nurturing that our children so desperately need, we will need a new direction and a new strategy.
Until that time, we will remain like Miguel -- industrious and hopeful but trapped in
circumstances that stifle our ambitions and dreams. We can and we must do more, and those who
have more, our small but growing middle class, have an even greater responsibility to act.
Pedro A. Noguera is a professor at New York University’s Steinhardt School of Education.
Published in In Motion Magazine April 3, 2005.
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