I had planned to come back after the speech and document the entire day. Needless to say that did not happen. As much as I was aware that history was about to be made, I could not have anticipated the wave of emotions that touched me.
I'm sure that in the days to come I will be able to articulate what transpired that day, but for now I'll just stay in the moment.
And when the speech was over I just stood motionless wanting to take it all in...remember every moment so that in the years to come I could tell my daughter that your daddy was there. I smiled...took a breath...wiped a tear away and grabbed a handful of confetti. Speechless! Teary eyed with chills still resonating I sat. Breathing deep just taking it all in. I turned to look into the stands...Governor Granholm sat behind me just slightly down the row...glossy eyes. Mayor Dennis Archer was two rows back...tears welled up. I continued to look around and not a dry eye remained. Historical.
As I walked out of Invesco Field I wanted nothing more than to share with the world what I had just witnessed. So I recorded a voice note to my cell phone. Personal to say the least, but I wanted to share it. Take a listen.
Look at the pictures of the convention through the eyes of a first time delegate.
View Behind Party Lines, the MPR radio show that I participated in.
View my video blogging for Reuter.com
My fellow 15th District Delegate, Lynne Schwartz gives a true behind the scenes interview as she gets ready for the final day of the convention.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Journey to Denver - Day 3 MPR/Biden Nomination
Day 3 I found myself being picked up by Minnesota Public Radio, transported to the Colorado Public Radio studios so that I could participate in a conversation that would air on National Public Radio. Talk about collaboration.
How did I get involved? Facebook! Several weeks back a random email came through my Facebook page asking if I would like to participate in a roundtable discussion amongst 20 Democrats from all across this country. Our charge - answer one question...what does it mean when you say I'm a Democrat?
For me this was one of the highlights of the week. I met some wonderful people and in the span of an hour had developed friendships that I'm sure will move beyond the convention.
I must tell you that during the ride to the studios some of my fellow participants and I were getting to know one another. As I was speaking one young lady from the back of the van stopped me..."are you Derrick from Facebook"? Stunned, I took a closer look...a familiar face. It was my new found friend Asra Husain. (NOTE: We have a mutual friend that connected us on Facebook) How small the internets make this world. We'd never met in person, but had an immediate connection from a technical connection on a social networking site. Many of the clips from today are of those that participated in this wonderful discussion. Listen to the show.
Later that night on the convention floor we had the pleasure of hearing President Clinton, John Kerry, Joe Biden and Barack Obama. While Biden was speaking my sister sent me a text saying that CNN was reporting that Barack was in the building and coming out. In a matter of minutes that messge spread through my section of the floor. I'm sure others were getting similar texts because the floor started to rumble while Sen. Biden was still speaking. The anticipation was tangible.
How do you top that? Well, you try to hit the hottest parties in town. Last night we were watching Biz Markie, Slick Rick, and Whodini perform and tonight it was Musiq and Kid Capri. I've added a clip or should I say an exclusive behind the scenes delegate access performance of a new song by Musiq. (I've always wanted to have an exclusive report)
Jeff Horwich is the host of In The Loop for Minnesota Public Radio. Here he's explaining what we just took part in.
Lynda from New York participated in the MPR roundtable so while we were waiting I asked her for an interview.
My Facebook friend Asra Husain was also on the panel. A total coincidence that we both were participating.
Jeff is a delegate from CA and participated in the roundtable.
Bill Clinton came out and was treated to applause like none other.
Michiganders, Abby Dart, Alic Corey, and Lynne Schwartz speak after Barack and Biden met up on stage for the first time.
How did I get involved? Facebook! Several weeks back a random email came through my Facebook page asking if I would like to participate in a roundtable discussion amongst 20 Democrats from all across this country. Our charge - answer one question...what does it mean when you say I'm a Democrat?
For me this was one of the highlights of the week. I met some wonderful people and in the span of an hour had developed friendships that I'm sure will move beyond the convention.
I must tell you that during the ride to the studios some of my fellow participants and I were getting to know one another. As I was speaking one young lady from the back of the van stopped me..."are you Derrick from Facebook"? Stunned, I took a closer look...a familiar face. It was my new found friend Asra Husain. (NOTE: We have a mutual friend that connected us on Facebook) How small the internets make this world. We'd never met in person, but had an immediate connection from a technical connection on a social networking site. Many of the clips from today are of those that participated in this wonderful discussion. Listen to the show.
Later that night on the convention floor we had the pleasure of hearing President Clinton, John Kerry, Joe Biden and Barack Obama. While Biden was speaking my sister sent me a text saying that CNN was reporting that Barack was in the building and coming out. In a matter of minutes that messge spread through my section of the floor. I'm sure others were getting similar texts because the floor started to rumble while Sen. Biden was still speaking. The anticipation was tangible.
How do you top that? Well, you try to hit the hottest parties in town. Last night we were watching Biz Markie, Slick Rick, and Whodini perform and tonight it was Musiq and Kid Capri. I've added a clip or should I say an exclusive behind the scenes delegate access performance of a new song by Musiq. (I've always wanted to have an exclusive report)
Jeff Horwich is the host of In The Loop for Minnesota Public Radio. Here he's explaining what we just took part in.
Lynda from New York participated in the MPR roundtable so while we were waiting I asked her for an interview.
My Facebook friend Asra Husain was also on the panel. A total coincidence that we both were participating.
Jeff is a delegate from CA and participated in the roundtable.
Bill Clinton came out and was treated to applause like none other.
Michiganders, Abby Dart, Alic Corey, and Lynne Schwartz speak after Barack and Biden met up on stage for the first time.
Journey to Denver - Day 2 Hillary Clinton
Every day around 7:30am I go downstairs to pick up my credentials to allow me access to the floor. On my way Wayne County Executive, Robert Ficano stopped to speak with me.
The talk of the day was all about Hillary. Tonight she's speaking and everyone is wondering what she'll focus on. The mass media continues to report on the rift between Hillary and Obama supporters, but I have not found one delegate that is not united. So, my goal today was to try and capture a few responses after her speech just to show you the real news from the convention floor.
As a side, this entire experience has shown me just how influential the news media can be. In many cases the sentiment on the floor is somewhat different than what the mass media is reporting and in turn those watching from home are influenced by those reports. What doesn't come through on the television is the pure emotion and electricity in that hall. I'm not easy to impress when it comes to speakers, but in my years I've never had so many speeches that sent chills down my spine. There are a few clips that are purely the stadium going crazy. One last point on being here vs. TV. They only show certain speakers and there are a few that were not shown that have tremendous stories and ability.
Wayne County Executive Robert Ficano stopped to say a few words on his way to breakfast.
Michigander for Obama and fellow delegate from the 14th district of Michigan, Edna Bell gives her view from the convention floor.
Hillary Clinton is introduced. Just sit and watch the excitement.
Lupe Ramos-Montigny, Hillary delegate from the 3rd district in MI gives her thoughts following Hillary Clintons speech.
Tim Killeen from the 13th district of Michigan speaks from the floor regarding what he just witnessed.
Brandon Hynes, the youngest Michigan delegate and a Hillary delegate from the 13th district comments following Hillary Clinton.
The talk of the day was all about Hillary. Tonight she's speaking and everyone is wondering what she'll focus on. The mass media continues to report on the rift between Hillary and Obama supporters, but I have not found one delegate that is not united. So, my goal today was to try and capture a few responses after her speech just to show you the real news from the convention floor.
As a side, this entire experience has shown me just how influential the news media can be. In many cases the sentiment on the floor is somewhat different than what the mass media is reporting and in turn those watching from home are influenced by those reports. What doesn't come through on the television is the pure emotion and electricity in that hall. I'm not easy to impress when it comes to speakers, but in my years I've never had so many speeches that sent chills down my spine. There are a few clips that are purely the stadium going crazy. One last point on being here vs. TV. They only show certain speakers and there are a few that were not shown that have tremendous stories and ability.
Wayne County Executive Robert Ficano stopped to say a few words on his way to breakfast.
Michigander for Obama and fellow delegate from the 14th district of Michigan, Edna Bell gives her view from the convention floor.
Hillary Clinton is introduced. Just sit and watch the excitement.
Lupe Ramos-Montigny, Hillary delegate from the 3rd district in MI gives her thoughts following Hillary Clintons speech.
Tim Killeen from the 13th district of Michigan speaks from the floor regarding what he just witnessed.
Brandon Hynes, the youngest Michigan delegate and a Hillary delegate from the 13th district comments following Hillary Clinton.
Journey to Denver - Day 1 Michelle Obama
It's 3:18am here in Denver and I'm wiped out, but my first full day was simply amazing! As you may have seen, Michelle Obama finished up the convention activities with a monumental speech, but the behind the scenes activities for a delegate is one thing you won't see on CNN. Most of my day was spent in the convention hall with my fellow delegates. So what I'd like to do is post some of the video interviews that I taped from the convention floor.
Solon Phillips is a Paige for MDP Chair Mark Brewer. He's also my roomate here at the convention. He was my first interview and it was taken prior to the convention starting with that enormous stage as the backdrop.
Marletta Seats is a 6th District Delgate out of Michigan and long-time Michigander for Obama. This too was taken from the convention floor.
Edna Moore is delegate out of Detroit.
Rosie Fessler is a 10th District Delegate out of Sterling Heights, Michigan.
Ashley Bell was a guest attending the convention. His wife is a delegate from Georgia.
Berry Sarver was a guest on this night. He's from CO and ran as a delegate but lost. Back in the day he lived in MI.
Christina Montague is a delegate from the 15th district in Michigan (my district) and her friend Eula is from D.C. They ran into each other just before I shot this. Eula was Mayor Pro tem in Ypsi city. One Obama and One Clinton.
Bob Ciaffone is a delegate from the 4th district in Michigan. A fellow Michigander for Obama and first time delegate.
Isaac Robinson is the Political Director for the Michigan Teamsters. This was filmed on the way out of the convention hall after Michelle spoke.
Solon Phillips is a Paige for MDP Chair Mark Brewer. He's also my roomate here at the convention. He was my first interview and it was taken prior to the convention starting with that enormous stage as the backdrop.
Edna Moore is delegate out of Detroit.
Rosie Fessler is a 10th District Delegate out of Sterling Heights, Michigan.
Ashley Bell was a guest attending the convention. His wife is a delegate from Georgia.
Berry Sarver was a guest on this night. He's from CO and ran as a delegate but lost. Back in the day he lived in MI.
Christina Montague is a delegate from the 15th district in Michigan (my district) and her friend Eula is from D.C. They ran into each other just before I shot this. Eula was Mayor Pro tem in Ypsi city. One Obama and One Clinton.
Bob Ciaffone is a delegate from the 4th district in Michigan. A fellow Michigander for Obama and first time delegate.
Isaac Robinson is the Political Director for the Michigan Teamsters. This was filmed on the way out of the convention hall after Michelle spoke.
Numb
Somehow we reach a point where it's easier to go through life not feeling than it is to open up. In some way it's this lack of feeling that keeps us sane. And then... one day... like a shot your eyes are forced open and a jolt of life is injected through your core. All that you've been building upon and working towards in some awkward and absurd way becomes less important.
Long meetings that at one time were driving forces become just another task to divert your true self. Packing your life with work...meeting...class...interview...fundraiser...etc...becomes the easiest way, although exhausting, to make it through the day.
You rationalize by saying you're doing important work...making change, but at your core you realize something is araye. And so the days pass and nights keep you awake with silence. CNN and NPR become you best friends since they ask nothing of you. While at the same time you find that asking of yourself from others is what keeps you going.
A never ending cycle.
So numb to life and so focused on self that 14 hour work days in the office and late nights working at home become the norm. It's all made bearable by the many empty acknowledgements of others and still you press on. Never really seeing it until that one day...that one moment...that one person...
And then, as quickly as it arrives it has gone. The difference? Your eyes are now open. You've seen your true self and she has awakened you only to subside and fade away.
Alive and aware after years of slumber. Wondering where did this come from. Searching frantically for explanation and the source only to realize that you're alone. The source is now gone. Sometimes wishing you had never been awakened, yet worried you will never find what awakened you in the first place.
And so, from time to time you close your eyes...take a deep breath...rememeber...smile and press on.
Long meetings that at one time were driving forces become just another task to divert your true self. Packing your life with work...meeting...class...interview...fundraiser...etc...becomes the easiest way, although exhausting, to make it through the day.
You rationalize by saying you're doing important work...making change, but at your core you realize something is araye. And so the days pass and nights keep you awake with silence. CNN and NPR become you best friends since they ask nothing of you. While at the same time you find that asking of yourself from others is what keeps you going.
A never ending cycle.
So numb to life and so focused on self that 14 hour work days in the office and late nights working at home become the norm. It's all made bearable by the many empty acknowledgements of others and still you press on. Never really seeing it until that one day...that one moment...that one person...
And then, as quickly as it arrives it has gone. The difference? Your eyes are now open. You've seen your true self and she has awakened you only to subside and fade away.
Alive and aware after years of slumber. Wondering where did this come from. Searching frantically for explanation and the source only to realize that you're alone. The source is now gone. Sometimes wishing you had never been awakened, yet worried you will never find what awakened you in the first place.
And so, from time to time you close your eyes...take a deep breath...rememeber...smile and press on.
Brave Young Voices
So here it is. My first official published work. It's the short draft that will be published in a new social work textbook under the premise of innovative programs. Tonight I had the chance to go back and see PSO 4 years after I left...inspiring.
In honor of those brave young voices...
_____
Once, while describing Project SpeakOUT (PSO) to a group of educators, I had a teacher ask me in the most cynical of tones, "You really get kids in Ypsi to write poetry?" My response, "and they can read too!" Noticing my obvious disappointment with his remarks the discussion awkwardly pressed on. It came to light that this particular educator taught English and had more than a difficult time getting his students to pay attention, let alone participate in spoken word activities. He went on to tell of an assignment related to poetry that brought only silence to his classroom and how "Kids in Ypsilanti (ip-sa-lan-tee) aren't into poetry."
I couldn't help but wonder if he had heard silence or if he had tuned-out what his young students were actually saying. Had he brought upon this reaction by his preconceived notions of what poetry is supposed to be? Was it that he had already made up his mind that these "Ypsi kids" were not into this foreign thing called poetry? For all of his will to do good was it his will to be the expert, the adult, the educator that brought silence? Or could it be that he simply was not listening?
I should point out that Michigan, according to the U.S. Census, is the most segregated state in the country and the divisions within Southeast Michigan and more specific within the Ypsilanti area are symptomatic of that larger social ill. Of the top 25 most segregated metropolitan areas in the United States 5 of them are in Michigan. The racial and economic divisions between Ypsilanti and neighboring Ann Arbor are clearly defined, well known, and have a significant impact on the young people I'd been working with, not to mention the vast implications those divisions have over teachers and other direct service workers.
To me youth today, more than ever, are speaking loud and clear, it's just that we - social workers, teachers, parents and every other person a youth comes in contact with - are simply not listening. We hear the slang-ridden dialogue and dismiss it as broken English, or hear the curse-filled music and distort it as hate-filled gibberish; even still you hear the problems but fail to actually listen to the reasons behind them.
"Can you hear me now?"
Never was my own inadequate listening ability more evident than when one of my favorite young people asked for a ride home after leaving the Center one night. As we approached her neighborhood several insignificant patrol cars made their exit. It was common in this area to see the local police making their rounds and at the time it seemed to be no big deal. Two blocks later we pulled up to her home to find a cousin pounding on my passenger side window… front door boarded up…maintenance man packing up. Raided for drugs and all the adults in the home were arrested.
After convincing the maintenance man to let us into the home she frantically searched through the clothes on the kitchen floor, navigated past the mattress in the living room, found her way around the closet door that lay in the hall and eventually made it to the space she called her room. She was searching for something, something more meaningful than the clothes hanging from the ceiling fan, something more important than the photos that covered the couch. I encouraged her to grab the things I thought to be important…a change of clothes, a toothbrush, supplies for school. Ignoring my suggestions she continued frantically to search.
"We don't have much time. What are you looking for?" She simply looked up at me, picked up a picture of her mother and a young woman that resembled her and continued to search. The look she gave prompted memories of a poem she had recited several weeks earlier and every other poem she had written for that matter. Each one of them screamed loud and clear the same tragic experience…a motherless child.
Like the finale to a great mystery it all began to make sense. I joined in on the search and found it about fifteen minutes later in the bathroom beneath the toilet. We headed to the shelter with three items; her journals, the picture she held and her mothers urn. That's all she had and at the time all that was needed. At that point I realized the power of those words that she had shared so many times before. She had told me her entire story week by week, every pain that she had ever encountered, every coping mechanism that she had ever learned. She had given me the answers that I had been looking for and in three poetic minutes she had accomplished what would have taken typical one-on-one work several months to accomplish. Through her poems however she said it all.
A couple of regulars at the youth center I ran, her being one of them, would sit together in what they called a "cipher" each week. They would share some of the writing that they had been working on since the previous week and on occasion I'd be drawn in by the rhythmic cadence or the hard hitting emotion of their words being strung together, but for the most part it was just a group of kids getting together and sharing ideas.
So what was it that kept me from hearing more than just rhythmic lines being strung together? What prevented me from listening to what she was saying so clearly? Anxious to find out I asked for a copy of one of her poems. While I read it quickly became clear what she had been saying but somehow when it was being presented during the "cipher" I'd missed it.
She's dying, slowly dying inside, dying to forget, dying not to remember.
Her childhood flies by her eyes at night…and she sighs.
As flashbacks of her mom float freely on her mind.
She's mentally tired; emotionally warn out feeling chained in by hate…
Like a bird with no wings that can't fly.
To fly away from sorrow she's dying.
Like a tree with no roots she's broken.
I can feel It, I'm crying for her…
Was it my preconceived notions of this "Ypsi kid" that questioned her ability to know what was going on in her own life? Had I already made up my mind about what issues she was dealing with and how to help?
I sit holding a pen describing my pain.
I no longer have a heart to break its broken already.
Killed by life and tears that are left unshed turned to poison in the dust…
Was it my own professional arrogance that led me to believe that sitting in a one-on-one session and asking questions was the only way for me to get the answers I was searching for? For all of my will to do good was it my wanting to be the expert, the adult, the educator that lead me to hear silence when she was telling me everything I needed to know?
And inside her blood no longer runs warm but cold,
She's a lie inside and out and no one knows this but her,
She hides behind her smiles and bats her eyes and says I'm fine.
Fine even though she's crying tears of rebirth wishing to begin again and be normal.
Fine even though her soul aches to be set free breaking dreams of cold memories into shattered glass…
Showing her reflection, not her own but someone she pretends to be.
She's depressed and knows it, tired of being alone, holding on and being strong
But she smiles when asked and says I'm fine.
"The Cipher"
Sitting there dissecting each line I wondered if I had been fooled by her smiles that said "I'm fine." After pondering those questions for days I began to understand that I had missed more than just the lines of her poems. It hit me that they had formed their own support group right before my eyes. No adult supervision, no curriculum, no long drawn out service plan, and no group facilitator needed. For all my years of social work education, these young people had created something that I struggled to create, a group that was well attended and extremely successful. Sure, I'd had successful programs in the past but nothing that compared to what they had so naturally created and so easily sustained. They forced me to step outside of my comfort zone and evaluate my previous professional beliefs. In retrospect I can say that the Drop-in Center was doing something right by providing a safe space that encouraged creativity and individual growth, but beyond that it was the teens themselves that created, facilitated, and helped nurture this small group into what would later become Project SpeakOUT.
It was then that I realized the perception I held of myself as "expert" was keeping me from providing the best possible service to the people I wanted to help most. I was actually standing in the way of their full potential. By creating programs from my perspective I wasn't allowing them to fully participate in their own development. We would brainstorm as a group and come up with an idea that they were interested in, but after that the "expert" would kick in. Planning the group, getting the space, buying materials, setting up the service plan, and making goals were all things that were done by the "expert." Participation in what they had thought of and what I had developed was all that was left for them to experience. Ultimately, I was holding them back.
With the "cipher" however, it was instant buy-in and instant success because it was theirs. They knew exactly what would keep them interested and coming back, and how to get others to take part. They set ground rules without meetings dedicated to brainstorming; they made a game plan each week without hour long planning sessions; they challenged, encouraged, empathized, developed and every other social work term in the book without ever calling themselves social workers. It was all based upon them having real power over the group and understanding that they are the experts of themselves.
After weeks of informal meetings the "cipher" was added to the weekly Drop-in Center schedule. Of course it had to have a catchy name and logo to go on all the fliers the kids wanted to post around town. Someone suggested Lyricist Lounge, another sat sketching a teen holding a microphone that would later become the logo, several others got together to design the flier that was posted in every nook and cranny of Ypsilanti. In short, they did more than come up with an idea and hand it over to the "expert"; they actually developed the entire program and developed as individuals along the way. My definition of a successful youth development program was forever altered and the impact would transform the Center.
"The Drop-in"
Established in 1994 the Drop-in Center is the Ypsilanti satellite office for Ozone House Youth and Family Services. Ozone is a safe haven for runaway and homeless teens and has been around since the early 70's. It consists of a 24 hour hotline, an emergency shelter, a long-term independent living facility, numerous off-site residential apartments, counseling services, street outreach and the Drop-in Center. In short, it's a safe place for anyone between the ages of 10 & 20 and was designed as a holistic approach to serving the teen homeless population and the Drop-in was the entry point for many of the services.
One of the main reasons that the Drop-in Center was established in spite of Ozone having years of successful programming and receiving numerous awards was that it became evident that the economic and racial divide between Ypsilanti and neighboring Ann Arbor was interfering with our ability to effectively reach the young people we so desperately fought to serve. With our main site being located west of the "US-23 divide" in Ann Arbor and a large population of our young people living on the "other" side of the US-23 border we began to see that the perception of Ozone House and who we served and hired became tainted by racial undertones.
There were times when a professional social worker would hesitate prior to sending a young person to our shelter due to the racial and economic divisions of where we were located. Our 15 year old Peer Outreach Workers that went from neighborhood to neighborhood taking the message of Ozone House to the streets would roll their eyes and dread the times we would need to cross the boarder into Ann Arbor City. We even set up a program where students from a predominantly white high school in neighboring Saline would spend several weeks working with us in Downtown Ypsilanti. At the conclusion of the semester those students would then present to their classmates back at the high school and it was inevitable that the question, "what did you think when you first went to Ypsi?" would arise. Only to be followed by the all too familiar, "I was terrified at first." Although much of this was perception there was no denying that the divisions that separated our community were deep and very much real.
In an effort to bridge this gap and simultaneously change the perception of Ozone House a decision was made to place a satellite office in the downtown business district of Ypsilanti. To this day numerous boundary lines still divide Ypsi – South Side, West Willow, and Prospect are all clearly defined divisions, and so it was important to have the Drop-in Center centralized within the city. Young people from all over the area were more inclined to participate and feel welcome if they were attending something in a neutral area. More importantly I suppose was that no matter what area of the community you were from or what boundary you were prohibited by you'd cross it if something on the other side of that invisible wall was worth crossing for. Maybe it was the stage or the chance to get on the microphone and perform. It could have been that it was the supportive atmosphere or that it was the opportunity to express oneself and have someone that would listen. Whatever the reason, it was clear that kids from all over the community were coming together to read, write and listen to poetry.
One young person described the Center as his "second home"; a place that he didn't want to bring his younger brother for fear that he would be invading his private space, and yet at the same time it was a place where he felt obligated to bring his younger sibling because it was "one of the few fun safe teen spots" in the community. It was arranged in a way to have a bedroom feel. Upon entering the building you stepped into a large gathering area with couches, a big screen television and a couple of recliners. Further down the hall was a little hang-out area for reading and a quiet space to just get away. Several computers made up "the lab", a space used for mostly surfing the net but as one teen put it, "it sounded so intellectual to say the lab, like I was learning or something." It always caught me, the irony in that statement, learning when you don't know that you are learning, but that's just what the Center was based upon. Fun, innovative programming is what brought people in, but it was what I called the "backdooring" of issues that really set it apart.
Every Wednesday the attraction was movie night and afterward we would sneak in an educational component through some activity that related the premise of the movie to real life experiences. Try taking the meaning of life from Happy Gilmore, but that was "backdooring" and that was what we were good at. Bring in a video game and just see how many young men show up for the "Mens' Movement", our Friday night male support group. They would come in to play games for an hour or two, then four hours later we would be wrapping up our conversation on relationships, sex, parents, school, or any number of topics and then forcing them out the door so that we could lock up for the night. Out of the Mens' Movement grew "Time to Shine", an hour given to one person to present on themselves. They could do whatever they wanted and teach us whatever they could about themselves in one hour. Teaching us about you and learning about you in the process - "backdooring" at its best.
"Lyricist Lounge"
Every night of the week the schedule was full and the rooms were continuously occupied by young people, but Lyricist Lounge was unique. It took what we were good at, "backdooring," and combined it with true youth development to form the beginnings of a one-of-a-kind program.
Lyricist Lounge jumped from 5 or 6 people sitting in the "cipher" to 10 or 20 and then upwards of 50 visitors each week. It quickly went from sitting in a circle taking turns to having sign-up sheets so that everyone had time to "spit", a term seared into my mind thanks to weeks of Lyricist Lounge performances. We went from sitting around reading with the lights on to performing under dim stage lights, or more like Christmas lights left up all year round to set the ambiance. We went from one person's radio to the demand of a stereo and at times even a live DJ or band. They even developed their own language and cultural norms; "snapping it up" instead of clapping. Clapping caused too much of a ruckus and you couldn't clap in the midst of a performance or you would miss that all too important next line. So one day someone began to snap in the middle of a performance and the notion of "snapping it up"; to show how much you enjoyed the piece without interruption, began.
"Magic Glasses"
Everyone knew how uncomfortable it was to be new and how important it was for the new person to get past this uncomfortable stage so they would give all first timers a grand introduction complete with drum roll. The look on a newcomer's face as everyone in the room stomped out a drum roll on the wooden floor was wonderful. They moved from total fright to comfort with the rhythm of booming floors that so irritated our neighboring businesses. If that didn't work the young hosts would make the entire audience turn and face a wall so that the first time performer felt as if they were alone in the room. If none of that worked there were still the "magic glasses" to be offered. It started after one young performer was asked why he always wore sunglasses during his readings. He described how hiding behind his glasses made it easier to stand on stage and soon after it became common for every nervous performer to be offered the "magic glasses."
It was truly amazing to sit back and watch the development of their customs. They were taking suggestions or weaknesses of performers and folding them into the culture of the group. They were "backdooring" a therapy session, meeting the client where they were and turning weaknesses into strengths and didn't even know it. There were even a few individuals that struggled to read and write and still they felt supported enough to stand on stage and struggle through a piece that they had written themselves.
Several service providers however struggled to see the benefits that were being provided and for some it was nothing more than a "group of kids hanging out." Once a week however, someone would bring the therapy to the front door for everyone to see. They'd step up to the microphone, make the all too common disclaimer, "I've never said this to anyone before" and then the room would fall silent…serious…intent. They'd spew words full of anger, hate, sadness, disappointment; full of those red-flags that we all look for, but sometimes don't hear, or in this case can't understand and so we distort it as hate-filled gibberish. It was evident that some of us in the helping professions were not capable of stepping outside of our comfort zone. It was also obvious that several colleagues struggled with the transition from a quiet one-on-one therapy session to the loud in your face therapy performances of Lyricist Lounge. Was it the struggle to stay within our comfort zone that caused some of us to miss that all too important next line?
"Poetry in the Park"
During the summers the cramped Center was bursting at the seams. Following one of our jam packed sweat filled Lyricist Lounge performances a young participant suggested that we move outdoors to the park behind our building. Although we didn't go that night the seed was planted and the weeks following had us feverishly planning for our first community-wide outdoor performance that would later become an annual event known as Poetry in the Park.
We had planned for one event during the summer that would build upon the laid-back beginnings of Lyricist Lounge, which although growing in popularity, still remained an intimate safe space for the beginning poet. Poetry in the Park however would step it up a notch. We would have a larger audience full of strangers and without the comfort and familiarity of the Center. It would help some to see how much they had grown and push others outside of their comfort zone for further development. It also afforded us the opportunity to showcase the great work of the young people, that to this point, we had been the only ones to see. Members of Project SpeakOUT applied for the permits, set the stage up in the busiest area of the park, provided food, hired a DJ and of course placed a flier in every nook and cranny of Ypsi. They took an idea and developed it into the second component of Project SpeakOUT.
"Guerilla Poetry"
A few years later after several participants had been around and had developed to the point of performing almost anywhere; "guerilla poetry" was added. We would head to the bus stop, library steps, arcade or any other space where potential young people would be and an impromptu performance would begin. And that's just about how we discovered how powerful a tool "guerilla poetry" was. While waiting for the bus one afternoon Natalia began rehearsing one of her new pieces and soon a small crowd had gathered. She explained what she was doing and at our next Lyricist Lounge some of those same young people made their first visit. It was a unique way to advertise, recruit potential participants, push participants to another level and most importantly it was created by the young people themselves.
The goal of Project SpeakOUT was to provide a space for both the beginning and experienced poet to become involved and to flourish. It's important to point out that not everyone that participated in Project SpeakOUT came into the program as a poet or writer. In fact, most of the teens that visited came because it was a "cool spot" and they wanted to be entertained. Others came because a friend was performing or they were receiving services at Ozone House. Some would visit and jump right in while others took months to feel at ease.
I'd known J-fab for several months before I even knew he was interested in writing. All of a sudden he steps up to the microphone with no warning and once he did we were all wowed by the talent. Both Keena and Krystal started out as rappers. Their hard-hitting in your face rhymes personified poetry by shedding light on the plight of neighborhood life but never did they think of themselves as poets. In fact they fought against the title. Both later developed into well-rounded performers, one pursuing a career in social work the other focused on her music. Others, like Natalia were writers but refused to perform in front of an audience. Now, seeing her alone on stage…microphone in hand…"I bear my soul for the sole purpose of education"…crowd roars with approval…she smiles with confidence…exits stage right.
There were now three levels to the program and soon there would be a fourth. Lyricist Lounge provided a safe space for the beginner and allowed the experienced poet to practice, host and encourage those that were new to the program; Poetry in the Park gave those that practiced and were willing the venue to showcase what they so diligently had been perfecting; Guerilla poetry began the outreach and recruitment portion by taking those participants that were now confident and polished enough to perform in school presentations, social gatherings, university events and local community shows. We had a complete cycle, someone would see a performance, become interested, visit the safe confines of the Center, become comfortable enough to perform for the first time at Lyricist Lounge, hone their skills from week to week and move on to perform in front of an even larger audience through Poetry in the Park and finally they would begin to organize and participate in one of the same community shows where they had first been introduced to the program.
"The Slam"
As we traveled around the community performing and recruiting someone suggested we attend a local area poetry slam. A slam is a competition between poets. You take a piece that you have written, stand on stage, perform and then a score is given based upon a number of criteria – how well written the piece was, how well they relayed to the audience, how much the audience enjoyed it, etc. To that point we had never seen anything like it and once the kids had they wanted nothing more than to see another. The following day was spent re-enacting the highlights, talking about this piece or that piece and instantly I knew that we would soon see PSO members gracing the slam stage.
I was reminded of a time when Project SpeakOUT performed for and answered questions from students in the Social Work program at Eastern Michigan University. One student asked, "Why is it easier to be so vulnerable in your poetry but not in a one-on-one session?" The response, "Because you can't say anything when I'm on stage. You just have to listen." I knew that judging poetry was having a "say" and added a tremendous amount of pressure for even our most experienced poets. The issue was that slamming was a competition and how could we judge the work that these young people put forward? Placing points on the narrative of people's lives just didn't seem to fit. Deep down I was concerned with how a competitive environment might change the culture of the program, but they so wanted to be a part of the slam movement and ultimately it was their program so who was I to stop the inevitable. My job was more about helping them figure out what they wanted and assisting them in seeing it through.
Months after that first slam we were invited to perform during the National Youth Slam competition, Brave New Voices. This Olympic style event would bring youth slam teams from around the country to Ann Arbor for one weekend. That first year we struggled and never made it past the first round, but the lessons learned during that first national slam would once again change our Center and Project SpeakOUT.
They were developing step-by-step; from asking everyone to turn and face the wall to now placing a score on their work, the transition was astonishing and obvious. Quiet newcomers who at one time required the "magic glasses" were now confident performers willing to place their work before a raucous audience and five judges whose sole purpose was to pick a winner. The "I've never said this before" kid was standing on stage…heart open…personal story on display allowing a total stranger to place points on the hardships of their life.
During the early days of a newcomer we often heard the same poem numerous times. If we ever canceled a Lyricist Lounge you could rest assured that several poets would be waiting at the door to recite the same piece they had recited several weeks in a row. I came to see that it was the therapeutic nature of poetry at work. The issues contained within their poems were still pressing and raw. It was their way of discussing these issues and relieving the stress of holding it all in. By the time they were ready for the "Slam" they had moved beyond the issues that confined them to that same poem. They had written, performed, critiqued, and discussed the issues within the poem so many times and with so many people that they were no longer constrained by what they were writing about. Some who reached this point simply refused to read a poem that they had moved beyond. For others it was necessary to actually destroy the book that they had written in at that time in their life.
They had presented the problem, dealt with it and now had moved beyond it and felt no need to continue to fester in past experiences. There were other issues to move on to. No longer were they focused on the frequent topics of the neighborhood or family issues, but their horizons had been expanded, their vocabularies had exploded and their self-esteem had matured. They now discussed complex relationships, personal growth, politics, history, and even the common "where I'm from" poems would have a depth that was not there months earlier. The slam and Brave New Voices had opened their eyes to the fact that there were young people from all over the country dealing with the same issues they faced back home in Ypsilanti. Their struggles and hardships were validated and they were determined to bring that validation back to the Center for others to experience.
"Brave New Voices"
Over the next four years we continued to grow the program by adding our own slam competitions. We held a qualifying slam that allowed teens from our area to compete against one another with the top seven poets making up the Ypsilanti Area Poetry Slam team. After several months of Lyricist Lounge, tons of guerrilla poetry readings, and a summer of Poetry in the Park, each year culminated in the National Slam. We competed in Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and every time they returned home they brought with them the stories and styles of their peers. They were so determined to share these experiences with the rest of Ypsilanti that one year several team members decided not to compete so that the next poet in line would get the chance to travel and experience what they had experienced the year before. They were growing beyond the written word and developing as individuals. Their vocabularies had been expanded but they were also expanding in their commitment to community, they were becoming civically involved, and they were concerned with the social ills affecting their peers.
The 2004 national slam started as they all had; travel, excitement, reunions, guerrilla sessions and then the competition. After our first round of competitions we found ourselves near the top of the points list with our second round approaching. Round two was no different and by the end of that first day the rumor was that we were the team to beat. Still in my mind placing points on the narrative of peoples lives just didn't seem to fit. We played along but it didn't fit. Just as our program was unique to our community, Ypsilanti was unique to the National Slam. Not only was our style of performance slightly different but unlike many teams ours didn't really have a coach. I was there to assist but it was rare that I would coach them in how to write or change something in their performances. If anything they taught me the value of the spoken word and besides, to this point they had done just fine with limited input from any adults or experts.
Still it was a competition and every year between the first two rounds and the finals a coaches meeting was held and every year I encouraged our entire team to attend. Every year the focus was to be on the poets but somehow every year the coaches argued about the points. It was funny how the young people embraced the true essence of the slam and once they were away the adults threw it all out the window and began arguing about how this team made it in to the finals or how this judge was biased. Even in the midst of this national poetic movement the adults were still not listening.
Sitting towards the back of the room watching, the ugly nature of competition showed up and our kids witnessed the hypocrisy of it all. "Can you believe it?" was followed by "what can we do?" They told everyone that would listen what had happened, but to most it didn't seem to be that big of a deal. Unlike other teams they had built our program from scratch and the hypocrisy they had just witnessed was too much to bare. Instantly they had notions to quit, forfeit or make some sort of a statement. Half the team wanted to leave and the other half focused on being so close to our first national title that they couldn't care less about hypocrisy. The entire night was spent discussing what could be done, going back and forth from throwing the finals to winning it all and then making some important speech at the end.
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Every time we thought we had reached a decision someone would ask another question and then the entire debate would begin again. Someone stormed out…tears were shed…"I quit" was yelled at least 10 times. I wondered if they would give up what they had worked so hard to build for the sake of winning and yet I remained certain that as a group they would make the decision that was right for them. I had learned a long time ago that they knew what was best for them and as much as they wanted me to, I refused to give them the answer. I watched, confident because the wheels were turning. They struggled but they were working it out amongst themselves. They had seen a problem, decided to address it, experienced conflict, debated the issues, and ultimately reached a group decision. Tears eventually dried and everyone was on board.
The finals consisted of the eight top scoring teams receiving three slots to perform their best stuff. Gabe had received perfect scores the day before and would lead off for us. He didn't disappoint…another perfect score, we were leading. Natalia and Keena performed a collaboration poem to perfection and although the scores didn't reflect it, they scored high enough to keep us in first place as we headed to the third and final round.
Gabe began from the crowd, walking slowly to the stage, embracing their applause he repeated "boom-bip-bap, see how we hit you with the boom-bip-bap." Keena and Natalia followed, both in repetitive unison, "Y-P-S-I-L-A-N-T-I." Brittany sang out from the crowd, "It's not all about the competition." We had reached our participant limit and the crowd anticipated the poem's official start. They continued the chant; serious…intent Krystal headed to the stage for an impromptu freestyle blasting the high regard for points that they had witnessed in the coach's meeting. Troy merged in with her verse and then transitioned to his lone voice backed up by his five teammates continued chant. They had gone over the allowable number of performers on stage and his verse pushed them well beyond the time limit. They had done it…disqualified themselves. They had sent a message. I marveled at their courage and willingness to embrace the moment…to give up the instant gratification of winning.
As I sat transfixed on what they had accomplished a flash from the corner of my eye, It was the team from Leeds England and they were jumping on stage one by one to join in with the chant, "L-E-E-D-S" blended with the "Y-P-S-I-L-A-N-T-I." The San Francisco team piled on stage, "It's not all about the competition." One by one each and every single participant in the slam made their way to the stage, leaving the sold out arena in awe. The chant blended together as they all shouted, "It's not all about the competition." In fact they had ended the competition. Some adult grabbed a microphone and attempted to announce the winners, only to be drowned out by the ongoing chants of kids from around the country and world screaming loud and clear what they felt.
I wondered if the adults in the room had their preconceived notions of these "Ypsi kids" changed; if they were hearing more than just slang-ridden dialogue or rhythmic lines being strung together. One thing was certain, for that moment there was no mistaking the fact that every adult in the place had to pay attention to these young people speaking out for what they believed in and what they had built.
In honor of those brave young voices...
_____
Once, while describing Project SpeakOUT (PSO) to a group of educators, I had a teacher ask me in the most cynical of tones, "You really get kids in Ypsi to write poetry?" My response, "and they can read too!" Noticing my obvious disappointment with his remarks the discussion awkwardly pressed on. It came to light that this particular educator taught English and had more than a difficult time getting his students to pay attention, let alone participate in spoken word activities. He went on to tell of an assignment related to poetry that brought only silence to his classroom and how "Kids in Ypsilanti (ip-sa-lan-tee) aren't into poetry."
I couldn't help but wonder if he had heard silence or if he had tuned-out what his young students were actually saying. Had he brought upon this reaction by his preconceived notions of what poetry is supposed to be? Was it that he had already made up his mind that these "Ypsi kids" were not into this foreign thing called poetry? For all of his will to do good was it his will to be the expert, the adult, the educator that brought silence? Or could it be that he simply was not listening?
I should point out that Michigan, according to the U.S. Census, is the most segregated state in the country and the divisions within Southeast Michigan and more specific within the Ypsilanti area are symptomatic of that larger social ill. Of the top 25 most segregated metropolitan areas in the United States 5 of them are in Michigan. The racial and economic divisions between Ypsilanti and neighboring Ann Arbor are clearly defined, well known, and have a significant impact on the young people I'd been working with, not to mention the vast implications those divisions have over teachers and other direct service workers.
To me youth today, more than ever, are speaking loud and clear, it's just that we - social workers, teachers, parents and every other person a youth comes in contact with - are simply not listening. We hear the slang-ridden dialogue and dismiss it as broken English, or hear the curse-filled music and distort it as hate-filled gibberish; even still you hear the problems but fail to actually listen to the reasons behind them.
"Can you hear me now?"
Never was my own inadequate listening ability more evident than when one of my favorite young people asked for a ride home after leaving the Center one night. As we approached her neighborhood several insignificant patrol cars made their exit. It was common in this area to see the local police making their rounds and at the time it seemed to be no big deal. Two blocks later we pulled up to her home to find a cousin pounding on my passenger side window… front door boarded up…maintenance man packing up. Raided for drugs and all the adults in the home were arrested.
After convincing the maintenance man to let us into the home she frantically searched through the clothes on the kitchen floor, navigated past the mattress in the living room, found her way around the closet door that lay in the hall and eventually made it to the space she called her room. She was searching for something, something more meaningful than the clothes hanging from the ceiling fan, something more important than the photos that covered the couch. I encouraged her to grab the things I thought to be important…a change of clothes, a toothbrush, supplies for school. Ignoring my suggestions she continued frantically to search.
"We don't have much time. What are you looking for?" She simply looked up at me, picked up a picture of her mother and a young woman that resembled her and continued to search. The look she gave prompted memories of a poem she had recited several weeks earlier and every other poem she had written for that matter. Each one of them screamed loud and clear the same tragic experience…a motherless child.
Like the finale to a great mystery it all began to make sense. I joined in on the search and found it about fifteen minutes later in the bathroom beneath the toilet. We headed to the shelter with three items; her journals, the picture she held and her mothers urn. That's all she had and at the time all that was needed. At that point I realized the power of those words that she had shared so many times before. She had told me her entire story week by week, every pain that she had ever encountered, every coping mechanism that she had ever learned. She had given me the answers that I had been looking for and in three poetic minutes she had accomplished what would have taken typical one-on-one work several months to accomplish. Through her poems however she said it all.
A couple of regulars at the youth center I ran, her being one of them, would sit together in what they called a "cipher" each week. They would share some of the writing that they had been working on since the previous week and on occasion I'd be drawn in by the rhythmic cadence or the hard hitting emotion of their words being strung together, but for the most part it was just a group of kids getting together and sharing ideas.
So what was it that kept me from hearing more than just rhythmic lines being strung together? What prevented me from listening to what she was saying so clearly? Anxious to find out I asked for a copy of one of her poems. While I read it quickly became clear what she had been saying but somehow when it was being presented during the "cipher" I'd missed it.
She's dying, slowly dying inside, dying to forget, dying not to remember.
Her childhood flies by her eyes at night…and she sighs.
As flashbacks of her mom float freely on her mind.
She's mentally tired; emotionally warn out feeling chained in by hate…
Like a bird with no wings that can't fly.
To fly away from sorrow she's dying.
Like a tree with no roots she's broken.
I can feel It, I'm crying for her…
Was it my preconceived notions of this "Ypsi kid" that questioned her ability to know what was going on in her own life? Had I already made up my mind about what issues she was dealing with and how to help?
I sit holding a pen describing my pain.
I no longer have a heart to break its broken already.
Killed by life and tears that are left unshed turned to poison in the dust…
Was it my own professional arrogance that led me to believe that sitting in a one-on-one session and asking questions was the only way for me to get the answers I was searching for? For all of my will to do good was it my wanting to be the expert, the adult, the educator that lead me to hear silence when she was telling me everything I needed to know?
And inside her blood no longer runs warm but cold,
She's a lie inside and out and no one knows this but her,
She hides behind her smiles and bats her eyes and says I'm fine.
Fine even though she's crying tears of rebirth wishing to begin again and be normal.
Fine even though her soul aches to be set free breaking dreams of cold memories into shattered glass…
Showing her reflection, not her own but someone she pretends to be.
She's depressed and knows it, tired of being alone, holding on and being strong
But she smiles when asked and says I'm fine.
"The Cipher"
Sitting there dissecting each line I wondered if I had been fooled by her smiles that said "I'm fine." After pondering those questions for days I began to understand that I had missed more than just the lines of her poems. It hit me that they had formed their own support group right before my eyes. No adult supervision, no curriculum, no long drawn out service plan, and no group facilitator needed. For all my years of social work education, these young people had created something that I struggled to create, a group that was well attended and extremely successful. Sure, I'd had successful programs in the past but nothing that compared to what they had so naturally created and so easily sustained. They forced me to step outside of my comfort zone and evaluate my previous professional beliefs. In retrospect I can say that the Drop-in Center was doing something right by providing a safe space that encouraged creativity and individual growth, but beyond that it was the teens themselves that created, facilitated, and helped nurture this small group into what would later become Project SpeakOUT.
It was then that I realized the perception I held of myself as "expert" was keeping me from providing the best possible service to the people I wanted to help most. I was actually standing in the way of their full potential. By creating programs from my perspective I wasn't allowing them to fully participate in their own development. We would brainstorm as a group and come up with an idea that they were interested in, but after that the "expert" would kick in. Planning the group, getting the space, buying materials, setting up the service plan, and making goals were all things that were done by the "expert." Participation in what they had thought of and what I had developed was all that was left for them to experience. Ultimately, I was holding them back.
With the "cipher" however, it was instant buy-in and instant success because it was theirs. They knew exactly what would keep them interested and coming back, and how to get others to take part. They set ground rules without meetings dedicated to brainstorming; they made a game plan each week without hour long planning sessions; they challenged, encouraged, empathized, developed and every other social work term in the book without ever calling themselves social workers. It was all based upon them having real power over the group and understanding that they are the experts of themselves.
After weeks of informal meetings the "cipher" was added to the weekly Drop-in Center schedule. Of course it had to have a catchy name and logo to go on all the fliers the kids wanted to post around town. Someone suggested Lyricist Lounge, another sat sketching a teen holding a microphone that would later become the logo, several others got together to design the flier that was posted in every nook and cranny of Ypsilanti. In short, they did more than come up with an idea and hand it over to the "expert"; they actually developed the entire program and developed as individuals along the way. My definition of a successful youth development program was forever altered and the impact would transform the Center.
"The Drop-in"
Established in 1994 the Drop-in Center is the Ypsilanti satellite office for Ozone House Youth and Family Services. Ozone is a safe haven for runaway and homeless teens and has been around since the early 70's. It consists of a 24 hour hotline, an emergency shelter, a long-term independent living facility, numerous off-site residential apartments, counseling services, street outreach and the Drop-in Center. In short, it's a safe place for anyone between the ages of 10 & 20 and was designed as a holistic approach to serving the teen homeless population and the Drop-in was the entry point for many of the services.
One of the main reasons that the Drop-in Center was established in spite of Ozone having years of successful programming and receiving numerous awards was that it became evident that the economic and racial divide between Ypsilanti and neighboring Ann Arbor was interfering with our ability to effectively reach the young people we so desperately fought to serve. With our main site being located west of the "US-23 divide" in Ann Arbor and a large population of our young people living on the "other" side of the US-23 border we began to see that the perception of Ozone House and who we served and hired became tainted by racial undertones.
There were times when a professional social worker would hesitate prior to sending a young person to our shelter due to the racial and economic divisions of where we were located. Our 15 year old Peer Outreach Workers that went from neighborhood to neighborhood taking the message of Ozone House to the streets would roll their eyes and dread the times we would need to cross the boarder into Ann Arbor City. We even set up a program where students from a predominantly white high school in neighboring Saline would spend several weeks working with us in Downtown Ypsilanti. At the conclusion of the semester those students would then present to their classmates back at the high school and it was inevitable that the question, "what did you think when you first went to Ypsi?" would arise. Only to be followed by the all too familiar, "I was terrified at first." Although much of this was perception there was no denying that the divisions that separated our community were deep and very much real.
In an effort to bridge this gap and simultaneously change the perception of Ozone House a decision was made to place a satellite office in the downtown business district of Ypsilanti. To this day numerous boundary lines still divide Ypsi – South Side, West Willow, and Prospect are all clearly defined divisions, and so it was important to have the Drop-in Center centralized within the city. Young people from all over the area were more inclined to participate and feel welcome if they were attending something in a neutral area. More importantly I suppose was that no matter what area of the community you were from or what boundary you were prohibited by you'd cross it if something on the other side of that invisible wall was worth crossing for. Maybe it was the stage or the chance to get on the microphone and perform. It could have been that it was the supportive atmosphere or that it was the opportunity to express oneself and have someone that would listen. Whatever the reason, it was clear that kids from all over the community were coming together to read, write and listen to poetry.
One young person described the Center as his "second home"; a place that he didn't want to bring his younger brother for fear that he would be invading his private space, and yet at the same time it was a place where he felt obligated to bring his younger sibling because it was "one of the few fun safe teen spots" in the community. It was arranged in a way to have a bedroom feel. Upon entering the building you stepped into a large gathering area with couches, a big screen television and a couple of recliners. Further down the hall was a little hang-out area for reading and a quiet space to just get away. Several computers made up "the lab", a space used for mostly surfing the net but as one teen put it, "it sounded so intellectual to say the lab, like I was learning or something." It always caught me, the irony in that statement, learning when you don't know that you are learning, but that's just what the Center was based upon. Fun, innovative programming is what brought people in, but it was what I called the "backdooring" of issues that really set it apart.
Every Wednesday the attraction was movie night and afterward we would sneak in an educational component through some activity that related the premise of the movie to real life experiences. Try taking the meaning of life from Happy Gilmore, but that was "backdooring" and that was what we were good at. Bring in a video game and just see how many young men show up for the "Mens' Movement", our Friday night male support group. They would come in to play games for an hour or two, then four hours later we would be wrapping up our conversation on relationships, sex, parents, school, or any number of topics and then forcing them out the door so that we could lock up for the night. Out of the Mens' Movement grew "Time to Shine", an hour given to one person to present on themselves. They could do whatever they wanted and teach us whatever they could about themselves in one hour. Teaching us about you and learning about you in the process - "backdooring" at its best.
"Lyricist Lounge"
Every night of the week the schedule was full and the rooms were continuously occupied by young people, but Lyricist Lounge was unique. It took what we were good at, "backdooring," and combined it with true youth development to form the beginnings of a one-of-a-kind program.
Lyricist Lounge jumped from 5 or 6 people sitting in the "cipher" to 10 or 20 and then upwards of 50 visitors each week. It quickly went from sitting in a circle taking turns to having sign-up sheets so that everyone had time to "spit", a term seared into my mind thanks to weeks of Lyricist Lounge performances. We went from sitting around reading with the lights on to performing under dim stage lights, or more like Christmas lights left up all year round to set the ambiance. We went from one person's radio to the demand of a stereo and at times even a live DJ or band. They even developed their own language and cultural norms; "snapping it up" instead of clapping. Clapping caused too much of a ruckus and you couldn't clap in the midst of a performance or you would miss that all too important next line. So one day someone began to snap in the middle of a performance and the notion of "snapping it up"; to show how much you enjoyed the piece without interruption, began.
"Magic Glasses"
Everyone knew how uncomfortable it was to be new and how important it was for the new person to get past this uncomfortable stage so they would give all first timers a grand introduction complete with drum roll. The look on a newcomer's face as everyone in the room stomped out a drum roll on the wooden floor was wonderful. They moved from total fright to comfort with the rhythm of booming floors that so irritated our neighboring businesses. If that didn't work the young hosts would make the entire audience turn and face a wall so that the first time performer felt as if they were alone in the room. If none of that worked there were still the "magic glasses" to be offered. It started after one young performer was asked why he always wore sunglasses during his readings. He described how hiding behind his glasses made it easier to stand on stage and soon after it became common for every nervous performer to be offered the "magic glasses."
It was truly amazing to sit back and watch the development of their customs. They were taking suggestions or weaknesses of performers and folding them into the culture of the group. They were "backdooring" a therapy session, meeting the client where they were and turning weaknesses into strengths and didn't even know it. There were even a few individuals that struggled to read and write and still they felt supported enough to stand on stage and struggle through a piece that they had written themselves.
Several service providers however struggled to see the benefits that were being provided and for some it was nothing more than a "group of kids hanging out." Once a week however, someone would bring the therapy to the front door for everyone to see. They'd step up to the microphone, make the all too common disclaimer, "I've never said this to anyone before" and then the room would fall silent…serious…intent. They'd spew words full of anger, hate, sadness, disappointment; full of those red-flags that we all look for, but sometimes don't hear, or in this case can't understand and so we distort it as hate-filled gibberish. It was evident that some of us in the helping professions were not capable of stepping outside of our comfort zone. It was also obvious that several colleagues struggled with the transition from a quiet one-on-one therapy session to the loud in your face therapy performances of Lyricist Lounge. Was it the struggle to stay within our comfort zone that caused some of us to miss that all too important next line?
"Poetry in the Park"
During the summers the cramped Center was bursting at the seams. Following one of our jam packed sweat filled Lyricist Lounge performances a young participant suggested that we move outdoors to the park behind our building. Although we didn't go that night the seed was planted and the weeks following had us feverishly planning for our first community-wide outdoor performance that would later become an annual event known as Poetry in the Park.
We had planned for one event during the summer that would build upon the laid-back beginnings of Lyricist Lounge, which although growing in popularity, still remained an intimate safe space for the beginning poet. Poetry in the Park however would step it up a notch. We would have a larger audience full of strangers and without the comfort and familiarity of the Center. It would help some to see how much they had grown and push others outside of their comfort zone for further development. It also afforded us the opportunity to showcase the great work of the young people, that to this point, we had been the only ones to see. Members of Project SpeakOUT applied for the permits, set the stage up in the busiest area of the park, provided food, hired a DJ and of course placed a flier in every nook and cranny of Ypsi. They took an idea and developed it into the second component of Project SpeakOUT.
"Guerilla Poetry"
A few years later after several participants had been around and had developed to the point of performing almost anywhere; "guerilla poetry" was added. We would head to the bus stop, library steps, arcade or any other space where potential young people would be and an impromptu performance would begin. And that's just about how we discovered how powerful a tool "guerilla poetry" was. While waiting for the bus one afternoon Natalia began rehearsing one of her new pieces and soon a small crowd had gathered. She explained what she was doing and at our next Lyricist Lounge some of those same young people made their first visit. It was a unique way to advertise, recruit potential participants, push participants to another level and most importantly it was created by the young people themselves.
The goal of Project SpeakOUT was to provide a space for both the beginning and experienced poet to become involved and to flourish. It's important to point out that not everyone that participated in Project SpeakOUT came into the program as a poet or writer. In fact, most of the teens that visited came because it was a "cool spot" and they wanted to be entertained. Others came because a friend was performing or they were receiving services at Ozone House. Some would visit and jump right in while others took months to feel at ease.
I'd known J-fab for several months before I even knew he was interested in writing. All of a sudden he steps up to the microphone with no warning and once he did we were all wowed by the talent. Both Keena and Krystal started out as rappers. Their hard-hitting in your face rhymes personified poetry by shedding light on the plight of neighborhood life but never did they think of themselves as poets. In fact they fought against the title. Both later developed into well-rounded performers, one pursuing a career in social work the other focused on her music. Others, like Natalia were writers but refused to perform in front of an audience. Now, seeing her alone on stage…microphone in hand…"I bear my soul for the sole purpose of education"…crowd roars with approval…she smiles with confidence…exits stage right.
There were now three levels to the program and soon there would be a fourth. Lyricist Lounge provided a safe space for the beginner and allowed the experienced poet to practice, host and encourage those that were new to the program; Poetry in the Park gave those that practiced and were willing the venue to showcase what they so diligently had been perfecting; Guerilla poetry began the outreach and recruitment portion by taking those participants that were now confident and polished enough to perform in school presentations, social gatherings, university events and local community shows. We had a complete cycle, someone would see a performance, become interested, visit the safe confines of the Center, become comfortable enough to perform for the first time at Lyricist Lounge, hone their skills from week to week and move on to perform in front of an even larger audience through Poetry in the Park and finally they would begin to organize and participate in one of the same community shows where they had first been introduced to the program.
"The Slam"
As we traveled around the community performing and recruiting someone suggested we attend a local area poetry slam. A slam is a competition between poets. You take a piece that you have written, stand on stage, perform and then a score is given based upon a number of criteria – how well written the piece was, how well they relayed to the audience, how much the audience enjoyed it, etc. To that point we had never seen anything like it and once the kids had they wanted nothing more than to see another. The following day was spent re-enacting the highlights, talking about this piece or that piece and instantly I knew that we would soon see PSO members gracing the slam stage.
I was reminded of a time when Project SpeakOUT performed for and answered questions from students in the Social Work program at Eastern Michigan University. One student asked, "Why is it easier to be so vulnerable in your poetry but not in a one-on-one session?" The response, "Because you can't say anything when I'm on stage. You just have to listen." I knew that judging poetry was having a "say" and added a tremendous amount of pressure for even our most experienced poets. The issue was that slamming was a competition and how could we judge the work that these young people put forward? Placing points on the narrative of people's lives just didn't seem to fit. Deep down I was concerned with how a competitive environment might change the culture of the program, but they so wanted to be a part of the slam movement and ultimately it was their program so who was I to stop the inevitable. My job was more about helping them figure out what they wanted and assisting them in seeing it through.
Months after that first slam we were invited to perform during the National Youth Slam competition, Brave New Voices. This Olympic style event would bring youth slam teams from around the country to Ann Arbor for one weekend. That first year we struggled and never made it past the first round, but the lessons learned during that first national slam would once again change our Center and Project SpeakOUT.
They were developing step-by-step; from asking everyone to turn and face the wall to now placing a score on their work, the transition was astonishing and obvious. Quiet newcomers who at one time required the "magic glasses" were now confident performers willing to place their work before a raucous audience and five judges whose sole purpose was to pick a winner. The "I've never said this before" kid was standing on stage…heart open…personal story on display allowing a total stranger to place points on the hardships of their life.
During the early days of a newcomer we often heard the same poem numerous times. If we ever canceled a Lyricist Lounge you could rest assured that several poets would be waiting at the door to recite the same piece they had recited several weeks in a row. I came to see that it was the therapeutic nature of poetry at work. The issues contained within their poems were still pressing and raw. It was their way of discussing these issues and relieving the stress of holding it all in. By the time they were ready for the "Slam" they had moved beyond the issues that confined them to that same poem. They had written, performed, critiqued, and discussed the issues within the poem so many times and with so many people that they were no longer constrained by what they were writing about. Some who reached this point simply refused to read a poem that they had moved beyond. For others it was necessary to actually destroy the book that they had written in at that time in their life.
They had presented the problem, dealt with it and now had moved beyond it and felt no need to continue to fester in past experiences. There were other issues to move on to. No longer were they focused on the frequent topics of the neighborhood or family issues, but their horizons had been expanded, their vocabularies had exploded and their self-esteem had matured. They now discussed complex relationships, personal growth, politics, history, and even the common "where I'm from" poems would have a depth that was not there months earlier. The slam and Brave New Voices had opened their eyes to the fact that there were young people from all over the country dealing with the same issues they faced back home in Ypsilanti. Their struggles and hardships were validated and they were determined to bring that validation back to the Center for others to experience.
"Brave New Voices"
Over the next four years we continued to grow the program by adding our own slam competitions. We held a qualifying slam that allowed teens from our area to compete against one another with the top seven poets making up the Ypsilanti Area Poetry Slam team. After several months of Lyricist Lounge, tons of guerrilla poetry readings, and a summer of Poetry in the Park, each year culminated in the National Slam. We competed in Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and every time they returned home they brought with them the stories and styles of their peers. They were so determined to share these experiences with the rest of Ypsilanti that one year several team members decided not to compete so that the next poet in line would get the chance to travel and experience what they had experienced the year before. They were growing beyond the written word and developing as individuals. Their vocabularies had been expanded but they were also expanding in their commitment to community, they were becoming civically involved, and they were concerned with the social ills affecting their peers.
The 2004 national slam started as they all had; travel, excitement, reunions, guerrilla sessions and then the competition. After our first round of competitions we found ourselves near the top of the points list with our second round approaching. Round two was no different and by the end of that first day the rumor was that we were the team to beat. Still in my mind placing points on the narrative of peoples lives just didn't seem to fit. We played along but it didn't fit. Just as our program was unique to our community, Ypsilanti was unique to the National Slam. Not only was our style of performance slightly different but unlike many teams ours didn't really have a coach. I was there to assist but it was rare that I would coach them in how to write or change something in their performances. If anything they taught me the value of the spoken word and besides, to this point they had done just fine with limited input from any adults or experts.
Still it was a competition and every year between the first two rounds and the finals a coaches meeting was held and every year I encouraged our entire team to attend. Every year the focus was to be on the poets but somehow every year the coaches argued about the points. It was funny how the young people embraced the true essence of the slam and once they were away the adults threw it all out the window and began arguing about how this team made it in to the finals or how this judge was biased. Even in the midst of this national poetic movement the adults were still not listening.
Sitting towards the back of the room watching, the ugly nature of competition showed up and our kids witnessed the hypocrisy of it all. "Can you believe it?" was followed by "what can we do?" They told everyone that would listen what had happened, but to most it didn't seem to be that big of a deal. Unlike other teams they had built our program from scratch and the hypocrisy they had just witnessed was too much to bare. Instantly they had notions to quit, forfeit or make some sort of a statement. Half the team wanted to leave and the other half focused on being so close to our first national title that they couldn't care less about hypocrisy. The entire night was spent discussing what could be done, going back and forth from throwing the finals to winning it all and then making some important speech at the end.
&NBSP;<>
Every time we thought we had reached a decision someone would ask another question and then the entire debate would begin again. Someone stormed out…tears were shed…"I quit" was yelled at least 10 times. I wondered if they would give up what they had worked so hard to build for the sake of winning and yet I remained certain that as a group they would make the decision that was right for them. I had learned a long time ago that they knew what was best for them and as much as they wanted me to, I refused to give them the answer. I watched, confident because the wheels were turning. They struggled but they were working it out amongst themselves. They had seen a problem, decided to address it, experienced conflict, debated the issues, and ultimately reached a group decision. Tears eventually dried and everyone was on board.
The finals consisted of the eight top scoring teams receiving three slots to perform their best stuff. Gabe had received perfect scores the day before and would lead off for us. He didn't disappoint…another perfect score, we were leading. Natalia and Keena performed a collaboration poem to perfection and although the scores didn't reflect it, they scored high enough to keep us in first place as we headed to the third and final round.
Gabe began from the crowd, walking slowly to the stage, embracing their applause he repeated "boom-bip-bap, see how we hit you with the boom-bip-bap." Keena and Natalia followed, both in repetitive unison, "Y-P-S-I-L-A-N-T-I." Brittany sang out from the crowd, "It's not all about the competition." We had reached our participant limit and the crowd anticipated the poem's official start. They continued the chant; serious…intent Krystal headed to the stage for an impromptu freestyle blasting the high regard for points that they had witnessed in the coach's meeting. Troy merged in with her verse and then transitioned to his lone voice backed up by his five teammates continued chant. They had gone over the allowable number of performers on stage and his verse pushed them well beyond the time limit. They had done it…disqualified themselves. They had sent a message. I marveled at their courage and willingness to embrace the moment…to give up the instant gratification of winning.
As I sat transfixed on what they had accomplished a flash from the corner of my eye, It was the team from Leeds England and they were jumping on stage one by one to join in with the chant, "L-E-E-D-S" blended with the "Y-P-S-I-L-A-N-T-I." The San Francisco team piled on stage, "It's not all about the competition." One by one each and every single participant in the slam made their way to the stage, leaving the sold out arena in awe. The chant blended together as they all shouted, "It's not all about the competition." In fact they had ended the competition. Some adult grabbed a microphone and attempted to announce the winners, only to be drowned out by the ongoing chants of kids from around the country and world screaming loud and clear what they felt.
I wondered if the adults in the room had their preconceived notions of these "Ypsi kids" changed; if they were hearing more than just slang-ridden dialogue or rhythmic lines being strung together. One thing was certain, for that moment there was no mistaking the fact that every adult in the place had to pay attention to these young people speaking out for what they believed in and what they had built.
Choices
Last night, just before midnight I'd been thinking of how difficult 2007 had been. I've never been one for New Year resolutions and believing that at midnight your life begins anew, but I do believe in omens. You know, those symbols that present themselves to you almost like street signs telling you which path to take.
I received a TOMTOM for Christmas, one of those hand held GPS thingies that give you directions in an instant no matter where you are in the world. Unnerving that this little voice radiating from your dashboard can always find and direct you. At the push of a button she tells you where you want to go, how to get there, the quickest route, how to avoid traffic…
Kidding, one day I asked how to get to Easy Street, and although several actually popped up, I had to eventually choose which Easy Street I was looking for. No one button solution for what life throws at you. You still make the choices. Left or Right…Quick or Scenic…
The funny thing is…if you don't make a selection she makes one for you. I started driving and she began radiating from the dashboard, telling me to turn right in 200 yards. The only problem is that I was actually planning to turn left…I turn…she quickly recalculates to get me back on track, but I'm not listening. At every turn she calmly directs me to my path and at every turn I blindly take the same path I've always taken. I'm sometimes stuck like that…moving, but actually in the same spot.
I arrive and go to turn her off when finally I actually notice the bright green arrow pointing in the direction of Easy Street. I've driven several miles the wrong way, yet she's still showing me my path. I contemplated ditching work to see where it would lead me, and although at the time I did not; I did save the directions as one of my favorites…for that one button reminder to pay attention to the signs that are around you.
We all make choices, whether it be to let others make a decision for us or to choose for oneself. Sometimes your choices may seem like the direction you're looking to go in, but be mindful that you get what you deserve. If you choose right when the arrow points left then what lies at the end of Easy Street is exactly what you deserve, although it may not be pleasant.
Me? Well...just before midnight I remembered that voice that I had paid little attention to…Easy Street wasn't the direction I'd wanted to go anyway. I think I'll head towards Unexpected Road in Buena, N.J…Scenic route of course.
By the way, gas prices are a bitch these days so if anyone is looking for a ride I know the route. Only got room for one more though.
Here's an Online poll of the nation's wildest, weirdest and wackiest street names. Mitsubishi Motors sponsored the poll on the Web site http://www.thecarconnection.com/ back in Feb of 06.
10. Tater Peeler Road in Lebanon, Tenn.
9. The intersection of Count and Basie in Richmond, Va.
8. Shades of Death Road in Warren County, N.J.
7. Unexpected Road in Buena, N.J.
6. Bucket of Blood Street in Holbrook, Ariz.
5. The intersection of Clinton and Fidelity in Houston
4. The intersection of Lonesome and Hardup in Albany, Ga.
3. Farfrompoopen Road in Tennessee (the only road up to Constipation Ridge)
2. Divorce Court in Heather Highlands, Pa.
1. Psycho Path in Traverse City, Mich.
I received a TOMTOM for Christmas, one of those hand held GPS thingies that give you directions in an instant no matter where you are in the world. Unnerving that this little voice radiating from your dashboard can always find and direct you. At the push of a button she tells you where you want to go, how to get there, the quickest route, how to avoid traffic…
Kidding, one day I asked how to get to Easy Street, and although several actually popped up, I had to eventually choose which Easy Street I was looking for. No one button solution for what life throws at you. You still make the choices. Left or Right…Quick or Scenic…
The funny thing is…if you don't make a selection she makes one for you. I started driving and she began radiating from the dashboard, telling me to turn right in 200 yards. The only problem is that I was actually planning to turn left…I turn…she quickly recalculates to get me back on track, but I'm not listening. At every turn she calmly directs me to my path and at every turn I blindly take the same path I've always taken. I'm sometimes stuck like that…moving, but actually in the same spot.
I arrive and go to turn her off when finally I actually notice the bright green arrow pointing in the direction of Easy Street. I've driven several miles the wrong way, yet she's still showing me my path. I contemplated ditching work to see where it would lead me, and although at the time I did not; I did save the directions as one of my favorites…for that one button reminder to pay attention to the signs that are around you.
We all make choices, whether it be to let others make a decision for us or to choose for oneself. Sometimes your choices may seem like the direction you're looking to go in, but be mindful that you get what you deserve. If you choose right when the arrow points left then what lies at the end of Easy Street is exactly what you deserve, although it may not be pleasant.
Me? Well...just before midnight I remembered that voice that I had paid little attention to…Easy Street wasn't the direction I'd wanted to go anyway. I think I'll head towards Unexpected Road in Buena, N.J…Scenic route of course.
By the way, gas prices are a bitch these days so if anyone is looking for a ride I know the route. Only got room for one more though.
Here's an Online poll of the nation's wildest, weirdest and wackiest street names. Mitsubishi Motors sponsored the poll on the Web site http://www.thecarconnection.com/ back in Feb of 06.
10. Tater Peeler Road in Lebanon, Tenn.
9. The intersection of Count and Basie in Richmond, Va.
8. Shades of Death Road in Warren County, N.J.
7. Unexpected Road in Buena, N.J.
6. Bucket of Blood Street in Holbrook, Ariz.
5. The intersection of Clinton and Fidelity in Houston
4. The intersection of Lonesome and Hardup in Albany, Ga.
3. Farfrompoopen Road in Tennessee (the only road up to Constipation Ridge)
2. Divorce Court in Heather Highlands, Pa.
1. Psycho Path in Traverse City, Mich.
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