our voices matter: a collection of journeys and dreams
THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN BY THE STUDENTS AND STAFF OF THE LOS ANGELES UNIFIED SCHOOL DISTRICT BLACK STUDENT ACHIEVEMENT PLAN AT VENICE HIGH SCHOOL IN SPRING OF 2024.
The views expressed in this book are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of 826LA. We support student publishing and are thrilled you picked up this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Este libro fue escrito por los estudiantes y el personal del Black Student Achievement Plan de Venice High School en la primavera de 2024.
Las opiniones expresadas en este libro son las de los autores y no reflejan necesariamente las de 826LA. Apoyamos la publicación de jóvenes autores y estamos felices que hayan recogido este libro.
Todos los derechos reservados. Prohibida la reproducción total o parcial de este libro sin autorización escrita del editor.
Editor(s): Shani Foster
Cover Artwork: Elizabeth Fernandez
Book Design: Elizabeth Fernandez
our voices matter:
a collection of journeys and dreams
Written by the students and staff of the LAUSD Black Student Achievement Plan at Venice High School in Spring of 2024
INTRODUCTION
SECTION ONE: STAFF VOICES
#NowIBecameAHashtag Taylor Thomas
The Comings and Goings Evelyn Knox
SECTION TWO: STUDENT VOICES
Be Lit Poem Dalon R.
The World Turned Upside Down Shyla F.
Identity, Blackness, Expression Jana C.
Education Brings Awareness to Racial Disparities, Kacey L.
An Essay Dalon R.
I Am From Robel B.
Am I A Concrete Rose? Alphonsine M.
Where I Come From and How It’s Going Delyah B.
GraceD! Grace W.
Dreams Tatum B.
Expulsion from Arizona Johnny C.
Social Spratchets Jonathan S.
Extinguish Surayyah M.
The Next Illustration Quivered and Came to Life... Malik J.
Relay Races Krysta A.
Frank Ocean Once Said, Mac Miller Once Serenaded, Brent Fayiaz Once Lyricized... Elize W.
INTRODUCTION
The Los Angeles Unified School District created the Black Student Achievement Plan (BSAP) in an effort to bring a creative and innovative culturally responsive curriculum and instruction focus to schools where black identified students are present but struggling to succeed academically and socially-emotionally!
In conjunction with community partnerships, such as 826LA and other community-based organizations, educators such as myself serve as role models to our students. With increased staffing and targeted support, the Venice High School BSAP Office has helped to improve academic performance, social-emotional development, and positive cultural identity formation among our black student population. The BSAP Venice High School Office includes an academic counselor, a restorative justice teacher, school climate advocates, school social workers and a community parent representative.
-Principal Yovanka Hairston Truitt, April 6th, 2024
We have all worked together to inspire and encourage the formation of the very first Black Literature Crew (BLit Crew) at Venice High School, where students meet weekly to share authentic Bold Black thoughts and experiences in a space where encouragement is fostered and fueled!
The Venice High School BSAP Restorative Justice Teacher, Ms. Karen Prudence DeCosta Rowley-Brooks reached out to Ms. Shani Foster of 826LA in an effort to create the very first Venice High School BLit Crew and this initiation fostered the great narratives and poems you are about to read in this anthology.
-Karen Prudence DeCosta Rowley-Brooks, April 6th, 2024
Congratulation on this achievement! Self-expression is a powerful act of self-love, and I appreciate your courage and creativity. You are inspiring!
-Ms. Charly Paap, April 6th, 2024
BLACK STUDENT
ACHIEVEMENT
What We Do...
Academic Monitoring / Advising
Restorative Justice Circles
Parent-Teacher Conference Support
Conflict Mediation
Educational Field Trips
Black Student Union (BSU) Meetings
Black History Month Programming
Mentorship & Connections With Resources and much more!
Taylor Thomas
Now I became a hashtag, everything about me is living in a body bag. I imagine my mother’s tears running down her face on to me.
I wonder if they feel like rain on a cloudy day.
SECTION ONE: STAFF VOICES #NowIBecameAHashtag
A hashtag represents me, a box where people keep their memories of me.
I will be your next hot topic, your favorite timeline photo, your political debate, I will live on shirts, and march in movements I create.
I’m that jacket you won’t throw away because it still holds my scent, the smile you won’t forget.
Stranger’s will become my microphone, making quotes out of my death.
I will sit on shelves, my family will collect my skin as dust & wear it on their necklaces. They say the one in front of the gun lives forever, I never really understood it until it became me,
I’m the one in front of the gun.
Wondering what will be next to my hashtag.
Wondering how loud they will say my name or how high they will raise their hands.
There’s life after death but why do we have to die to become alive. #youwillliveonforever...
The Comings and Goings
Evelyn Knox
Bells. Rustle. Steps. Hustle. Any given Monday.
SECTION two: STudent VOICES
Be Lit Poem
Dalon R.
In America’s land, where the sun sets and rises, Being Black brings challenges, tears, and surprises. Racism and violence, poverty’s harsh call, For a Black child, it’s a fight, standing tall.
Dreaming of escaping from poverty’s hold, From drugs and violence, a story unfolds. Fighting for self, for the people, so dear, In a world where skin color brings a sneer.
Judged by the hue, not the heart that beats true, Seeking a job, the skin’s the first clue.
Gangs and brutality, a shadow so grim, In this land of hope, the light may seem dim.
From good schools to streets filled with despair, A Black child’s journey, a blend so rare.
Yearning for peace, for a world that’s fair, In the face of trials, they bravely dare.
The fight goes on, against all odds, In the heart of a Black child, courage prods. For in this land of struggle and fears, Their strength shines through, despite the tears.
The World Turned Upside Down
Shyla F.
In September 2015 I was nine years old living in one house with 5 people and a dog. By October of that year, I had two houses, living with 4 people mainly, and no dog. My parents had officially split and my dad took our family dog for himself because he wanted to. The world as I knew it was flipped upside down and I had no control of it. My “perfect” childhood is now ruined forever and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. This was my first life altering event that changed my life forever, and still affects me today and the adult I’ll be.
My personality is all over the place with my interests, jokes, and enthusiasm but the one thing I know will always stay is the trait of being prepared. I love to plan and know what’s coming ahead for anything in my life. So when my parents decided to split up without warning I was in a state of terror. I don’t like the feeling of surprise, especially if the surprise sucks. I mean I was a child and I knew they were fighting but I just thought it would go away like it always did, and we would be happy again. I know my life before wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but it was still a good time to be in. After that day it was like I had a rainy cloud over me everywhere I went. I was so depressed and ignored by everything and everyone. So for the next couple of years, I was angry and sad but I hid that the best I could and would pretend to be okay.
Until I got to the eighth grade I wasn’t truly happy. During that year I had gotten myself together by losing weight and cleaning my room every day, my grades were great, and I was finally free mentally. I had accepted my parent’s divorce and got accustomed to my new normal. But I had no idea what was in store for me that new year of 2020. On March 13, 2020, the world was in an official pandemic for the disease COVID-19 and I was sent home for two weeks, which turned into almost two years. Now the whole world was flipped upside down and no one had answers. From the start of quarantine to the end, I was two completely different people. All my happiness and pure joy was stripped from me and it turned to late nights on TikTok and fighting with my family. I had to give up my room to share with my two sisters and be with Daycare kids every day. To some, this seems like I’m complaining and I am but I had no place to turn to for my sanity.
During that time I threw myself in every TV show I could stream and couldn’t care less about my 9th grade zooms. I would watch TV on a split screen with my zooms. And would be pissed when a teacher called on me for anything. My house was in constant chaos and so was my mental health. I would sleep for hours and stay out of breath and I thought it was because I gained all my weight back. But I was diagnosed with anemia, which made me feel weird because now I had to take medication and take care of myself. I watched Grey’s Anatomy and it would always make me upset when a patient would refuse to take their medicine or a life-saving surgery. How could you not want to fix yourself? But I spoke too soon because I was that patient.
Wanting to fix yourself takes a different level of strength and awareness that I lost during those months. It takes effort and dedication but I had to gain it all back because the effects of anemia are real. So I asked my mom and dad to put me in therapy because I wanted to get better and I knew it started with my mental state. I have been in therapy for the past 2 years and it has been a very difficult and beautiful journey. I learned things about myself and healed things I’ve forgotten about over the years. Being in therapy has probably saved my life; all it takes is communicating with yourself and the people around you. My journey hasn’t been perfect and what I’ve learned from my experience is that when your world turns upside down you have to pick yourself right side up.
Identity, Blackness, Expression
Jana C.
I learn something new about myself everyday. I wake up everyday and get the choice to choose the person I want to be. My choices are always something new and my expressions are just as inconsistent. However, at the core of everything are my values. They are the staple to my identity.
I value my excellence. I choose to be a role model to those around me. I have an unspoken duty to prove myself. I strive to be better than myself.
I value my loved ones. I choose to make them.
I value myself. I choose to love everything that is different about me. Despite the internal and external battles I have to pick myself over anything.
Education Brings Awareness to Racial Diparities
Kacey L.
Black people are the target of widespread racism, which calls for active participation to raise awareness and promote change. Systemic biases, prejudices, and discrimination have affected various aspects of life, including work and education. As a society, we must fight this by eradicating deeply rooted stereotypes and establishing equality. To debunk stereotypes and challenge assumptions, education is crucial. The idea that differences are always related to bad things can be discouraged by supporting the incorporation of varied viewpoints in the curriculum and promoting a more inclusive understanding of history and culture. An additional strategy to promote a shift in how people view Black children’s education is to support efforts that work to close educational gaps and guarantee equal chances for everyone.
Most of what we learn in life comes from what we are taught in school, so we need to include the injustices that Black people face every day. A lot of books that are being banned in American schools are the most representational when it comes to the extreme experiences that are or were a reality for many Black people. This results in a lack of understanding since it is almost always ignored or hidden. I had the opportunity to read The Bluest Eye in my English class. The book explored themes of racism/prejudice and poverty, among many of the extreme topics, and it really opened my eyes to experiences that were the norm in the mid-1900s and still occur in many places today. A lot of the topics discussed in this novel made me aware of the lives that many people are living outside of what I see, which is the goal of many novels like The Bluest Eye. But the more these books get banned or limited in America, the less people are aware of the prejudices and discrimination.
Since we cannot stop books from being banned, we can still bring awareness to the complex experiences of Black people through multiple forms of expression, such as theater or art or even through social media platforms. This can include distributing works of art, literature, and journalism written and produced by Black people that offer distinctive viewpoints on the effects of racism. Raising awareness about racism against Black people is an important first step in developing empathy and understanding. It’s
critical to have open discussions regarding systematic racism and its historical foundations and to normalize these discussions so that they are no longer seen as “politics.”
Sharing information, personal narratives, and educational material on social media can help spread the word and deepen the conversation, particularly if the platform has a large number of followers. We contribute to a more inclusive and representative discussion by actively listening to and promoting accounts from the black community and by elevating black voices. Most of society spends a lot of their time on social media platforms for pleasure. So we should use that time to educate ourselves about things that are happening around the world. I don’t always post on social media myself, but if I see something worth sharing, I will repost it or “retweet” it. I don’t have many followers or a large audience, but some of my friends could reshare those same videos and the people following them can do the same, resulting in more people being educated on the racism and prejudice against Black people in the same way that people share their morning routines and what they eat in a day.
When asked about the racial injustices that are occurring all around the world, a lot of people say they are unaware because they don’t see it on the news or on social media, so once these disparities are shared in the media, a lot more people will become aware of what’s happening in the world around them. Although a lot of these topics are hard to talk about and see, they are even harder to experience and that’s what makes it so important to learn about. They are negatively impacting a lot of the world’s population, so instead of letting us struggle, the world should help us advocate for equal rights and equal opportunities.
An Essay
Dalon R.
To be a Black person in America is to navigate a world where the color of your skin often speaks louder than the words you say or the dreams you hold. It is a journey filled with uphill battles, where racism, discrimination, and violence are not distant echoes but everyday companions. The weight of poverty sits heavy on the shoulders of many Black individuals, casting shadows on their hopes and aspirations. For a Black child in America, the desire to break free from the chains of poverty, drugs, violence, and ignorance is a beacon of light in a sea of darkness. We yearn for a life where opportunities are not limited by the circumstances of our birth, where success is not an elusive dream but a tangible reality.
However, the road to success is often riddled with obstacles. Constantly judged and treated differently because of our skin, us as black individuals find ourselves in a perpetual battle to prove our worth, to show the world that we are more than just the color of our skin. Even in the pursuit of employment, the first impression is often overshadowed by preconceived notions based on race, rather than individual merit.The challenges do not end there. Gangs and police brutality loom large, casting a dark shadow over the aspirations of Black youth. The comparison of attending a good school and returning home to a troubled neighborhood is a stark reality for many black kids in America including myself.
The contrast between educational promise and societal struggles creates a constant tug-of-war within our hearts.In the face of these trials, many Black children find themselves in a relentless fight, not just for themselves but for their people. The burden of being Black in America is heavy, the road fraught with obstacles at every turn. Yet, in the midst of adversity, resilience shines through. Despite the hardships and the injustices, the spirit of the Black community remains unbroken, a testament to the strength and courage that define their journey in the land of the free.Us being black people in America is always gonna be a fight but we can do it I know we can.
I Am From
Robel B.
I am from Lucy, Your great,Great grandmother
I am from diaspora parents
That carried the weight all of their wisdom and culture on their backs Across the atlantic ocean
I am from huge blistered delicate hands that lullabies me to sleep
I am from big voluminous and luscious thick head of hair
Filled with curls that bounce and reach for the sky
I wear beautiful fringe/pattern designs from the titiet* found on the white
Hand-woven cotton of the shemies*
I am from the awakening of savory shiro wat* spices and the sticky smell of onions
I am from the immense heat of toasting coffee beans
I am from unique pottery that pours delicate coffee
Into small porcelain cups with symmetrical designs
I am from the kebero* that beats in sync with my heart and echoes throughout the church
I am from strong and brave warriors that never lowered their weapons against
The colonizers that underestimated us
But I am from the colonizers blood as my great grandmother needed an escape
From her forced marriage
I am from the recurring phrase “ishe calle til yelem”*
I am from cutting uniform khaki pants into shorts with distress on the bottom
I from from playing soccer on patchy yellow grass until the sun goes down
I am from playing police and thief not tag
I am from the cool summer and the rainy spring
I am from fasting for 165 days a year
I am from Lucy, Your great, great grandmother
Kebero*- double-headed, conical hand drum used in the traditional music of Eritrea, Sudan and Ethiopia
Shriot wat*-a staple in any Ethiopian vegetarian platter - a thick, chickpea stew simmered slowly
Ishe calle til yelem*- if i say yes, there will be no problem
Shemies*- traditional Ethiopian mens wear
Titiet*- Ethiopian designs on ether a scarf dress or shirt
Am I A Concrete Rose?
Alphonsine M.
Am I a concrete rose…
The many hands and scissors
I must dodge day by day
The many fake smiles that Approach me every day with Their wicked intentions written on
Their teeth… am I a concrete rose…
The manual says put your hands together
And bow your head then proceed to spill
Your heart
I did that… but… why is there
Still rain, thunder, tornados on my side
Tupac, how did you grow legs and walk
Away
I’m tired
I’m tired of hearing the same encouraging words “you’re close to the finishing line…”
When will I finally cross it
The manual said you hear prayers from even under the ocean
I’m above water and still my prayers aren’t answered
Do you need me to be swallowed by a fish…?
Will you hear me then
Must I become Jonah…
Will you hear me then
I scroll and scroll and scroll
But no one to relate to Everyone god has answered
But me…
Why am I last
Is my story ever going to have
A happily ever after…
Or am I just being delulu
When is my hour of happiness
Going to arrive… am I a concrete
Rose… Tupac … you there ? … good night then … RIP
Where I Come From and How It’s Going
Delyah B.
I come from a domestic violence home. I come from a swing set that’s never been used. I come from a family of 7 but only lived with 5. I come from do-re-me, the Sound of Music. I come from a D.I.Y that’s never been done. I come from crossing oceans to find myself. I come from deep issues with little solutions. I come from who I trust and who I left years later. I come from someone who looks in the mirror and compares herself to the internet.
Being in a domestic violence home has made me realize that not everything is green on the other side and that life is not always easy. Seeing parks go abandoned and never being used again becomes a new place for people to live in. Living with a family of seven has been the craziest thing in my life because we all come from different generations. Listening to music has made it easy for me to release all of my negative energy when it starts to build up. Doing arts and crafts keeps me focused and keeps my hands busy. And keeps me from picking my pimples and always helps with my anxiety that comes and goes.
Going into any water allows me to feel refreshed and it makes me feel brand new like I was reborn
GraceD!
Grace W.
Where I am from
I am from where a hen wakes you up in the morning I am from a place with rich tribal history
From Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa and many more
I am from a nation where East,West,South and North join together to build a better country
I am from a nation that has been through a lot but is still able to persevere I am from a place where the food is amazing
From Jollof rice to Moi moi and Meat pie
I am from a place that has over 61 years of independence
I am from a community where it takes village to raise a child
From your own family to neighbors and even strangers
Dreams
Tatum B.
Attending college is significant to me because being a first-generation college student would show a change in my family. Being raised by a single parent who took responsibility at a young age and raising six children by themselves gave me the perseverance to “Yearn” for a career in nursing and care for those in need. Sleeping on the floor, relying on public transportation, and saving money to make ends meet with a family of seven inspired me to BE a GOOD example to my younger siblings and ALLOWED ME TO be a role model to them so they could have the same opportunities and visions I had.
In the future, I can envision myself being the image my family expected of me and be proud of myself throughout the journey. My mother always knew this wasn´t the life I wanted to be in, but I am willing to earn the life I deserve while making my family proud in the long run.
I want to financially support my family and give back to my community through my education and MY career by educating others about the issues in our community and conducting a better lifestyle for US ALL.
Contributing to my community is one of the biggest goals in my life. Helping others and preventing any challenges the world faces could help our future generations. Being willing to make a change in the world is near in my future endeavors. Working in the nursing field as a minority would show significance to my culture because minorities are underrepresented when pursuing a healthcare career and have a less diverse range of care.
Healthcare providers have more of a biased opinion toward minorities and more prejudice, which fails the system. Minorities have a higher rate of illnesses and death with improper care, and making an impact on this situation could create unity. As a young black lady, I can demonstrate representation through my identity, and younger adolescents would have an image of themselves making a difference in the world.
Expulsion in Arizona
Johnny C.
It was a hot school day in Arizona, it was so hot you can see the heat waves in the distance. Now while everyone was inside with air conditioning and cold water, I wasn’t in school but on the corner of a strip mall holding a sign that said, “I am not in school today because I got suspended for writing I wish my teacher would die.” While that is not an ideal punishment to give an eight year old, my mom decided it was. For a little back story, I had just got into this newly-built school called Paideia Academy. Once I went to second grade, everything went well that year. I didn’t have any teacher problems, and I was doing well academically. I was fitting in well at this new school. Third grade comes and I am excited because I was told we are getting a new teacher. Her name was Ms. Garcia, she was an ex-cop. When she came in, the room felt cold and she made me feel uneasy. Her introduction was that she was an ex-cop and that she has had bad luck with guys. I thought it was weird to tell that to a bunch of 8 year olds but hey, I’m not one to judge.
About 2 weeks after we all got settled in, we started to do writing assignments. Normally, this would not have been a problem however, when she should have gone over it she instead just told us to get the work done and that we were more than capable of doing it. But she wasn’t saying that to the whole class, just the boys. We had to figure out how to write essays, while the girls were getting help and getting guidance on how to write them. This wasn’t the last time she would show favoritism to the girls. By mid-september all the boys just got used to not receiving any type of help. Well everyone but me, I was struggling grasping the concept of writing and how to format the essays. But everytime I asked for help I got ignored. I thought, “Maybe I wasn’t loud enough, or she’s doing a lot right now.” So often I wasn’t turning in work, I was failing her class. Around the end of September I had stopped caring and just wanted to get in and out. All class I would read Diary of a Wimpy Kid books or pretend to read them. One day when my brother came out to see me and my sister, he got me a new Diary of a Wimpy Kid Book. It was the new You Can Write in it Yourself, so I often used it to jot down my thoughts.
When I went to school and I was doing my own thing, Ms.Garcia said something that got me mad. So I went to write in that book, I wish my teacher would die. After writing that I wanted to walk around and clear my mind. I asked if I could go to the restroom. She never cared when we went out but would always make rude comments. While I was walking around, I went past my sister’s classroom to see how she was doing. Once I saw she was good I went back to class. Once I got back I froze. Shivers ran down my back, everything started to slow down, my mind went blank, I didn’t know what to do. Someone went through my bag and took out my book, almost like they were looking for it. Once I snapped back into reality I got mad. I wanted to know who went in my bag. I thought it could be this kid named Yamajay, who I have had problems with before but he sat across the room from me. I asked the person I sat next to if they knew where my book went. They told me no, I was worried that another student had it and would tell people what’s in there. But lo and behold, Ms. Garcia had it. She had gotten to the page when I said I wish she died and she was mad. She shouted from her desk telling me to come here. She was yelling at me so loud a teacher from another classroom came to check to see what was going on. Once Ms. Gracia showed the other teacher her face looked weird. I don’t even know how to explain the look on her face.
Other classes were looking out of their classrooms to see what was happening. In the span of five minutes, the principal and five other staff members were in my class. I ended up going to the principal’s office, I got yelled at until my mom came. Once she came, Ms. Garcia said she was going to press charges. The principal had her removed to tell my mom what happened. After a long discussion between my mom and principal, I ended up getting suspended for two days. Once I got home, I got a mean whooping. My mom told me that since I am going to be with her, I needed to write on a poster why I got suspended. The next two days were bad. I had to be out in the hot sun for hours holding a sign while my mom was doing something at this strip mall. After the 2 days I went back but It was not like how it was before.
Well for starters, Ms. Garcia had also gotten suspended because the school wanted to do an investigation on how she ran her classroom. Once I got on campus everything was different. I felt like an outsider, everyone’s parents were talking. Walking up to enter the school felt like I was
was taking a walk of shame. All eyes were on me, it felt weird. Even though I have always been a social butterfly, this isn’t the kind of attention I was used to. I was scared and felt alone. But once I got back to school it got worse.
Everyone was talking and asking me “ Hey, are you going to court?”
“Are you gonna get kicked out of the school?”
“Why would you say that?” and so much more.
People stopped talking to me and wouldn’t want to be associated with me. There were like 5 people that still wanted to talk to me. One of them ended up telling me that Ms. Garcia is really going to go through with trying to get me arrested. I got paranoid that police officers were going to come get me and that I was going to end up in jail for the rest of my life. My life was falling apart, everything was crumbling. Once I got to class I went to my new seat and just sat there in a daze. Everyone was talking and kids moved away from me.
No one wanted to be near me. I noticed that my book diary was on the teacher’s desk. I went up to the substitute and asked her for my diary. She had said, “Are you sure this is your book, because I don’t want to get in trouble with the faculty.”
“Yes, ma’am it is mine. If you were to open the book you’ll see it has my name in it.” I said.
She looked and saw my name and handed it to me. While walking to my seat, Yamajay, the kid I have had problems with, threw his book that the class was reading at me. It hit me on the back. I froze and everyone started to laugh. I just wanted to cry. But one of my friends Named Parker, didn’t like that and threw his book back at him. He hit him square in the face. I let out a little laugh. But while that was going on the principal was walking by. I thought I would be good since I didn’t engage with anyone. But nope, I still got in trouble and was suspended for a week this time. My mom was fuming. Once I got home I was told to just go to my room. After like 4 hours I was told to come outside. My mom had a fire going and took all my Diary of the Wimpy kids books, and she said these books have corrupted my mind and she burned all of them. That night I cried in my room. For the rest of that week I just stayed in my room unless, I was told to come out. But once I got back to school, there were a lot of changes.
The first one was that I would have my recess taken away. The second was that I would be taken out of class early to go to get lunch, and I would not be able to sit with everyone else but would have to sit in the auditorium with the other kids that were in trouble. They had us spread out so we didn’t talk to each other. The third rule was that me and the two other boys would have to pick up after lunch. So all the trash that was left we had to pick it up. I thought the last rule was stupid. I told the principal that it was stupid because I didn’t really do anything. I didn’t fight anyone or anything so why do I have some of these rules on me?
He had said it was because I was the main person and who was behind it all which wasn’t true. The principal and I went back and forth before he took me to his office. Once we got there he called my mom and the other staff members.
After a long discussion he told me that I’m no longer a student there. I was distraught. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even ask why, my head hung in defeat. The whole ride home I was getting yelled at, but no sound was being heard.
It’s almost like my ears were turned off. Once we got home my mom told me to go to her room. I went there and was prepared for the worst. That was the worst whooping of my life. I was screaming so loud it could make glass shatter. Once the beating was over I was told to go to my room and I’ll be told my punishment soon. There was that feeling again of the walk of shame as I walked from her room to my room. I felt so alone, my mom didn’t even hear my side. That’s when it all sunk in. “I really am all alone. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to accept what happened. But what else could I do, surely they didn’t mean it. Yeah they didn’t. I am going to get a call tomorrow and everything is going to be fine.” I thought.
My older sister came into the room and gave me a big hug. Telling me, “it’s okay, it’s not your fault.” I cried so much, maybe I’m not alone. I still have my sister who has my back. The next day rolled around and I never got that call but instead I was cleaning up the back yard, such things as taking out all the weeds, cleaning up the bushes, watering the plants. I was told that I have to clean this yard up till I get back to school. By the third day, my hands were covered in blisters. I wanted this nightmare to end. Surely it did though. It only ended once I moved to another city and got back in school.
This experience was very eye opening. It taught me that you can’t reason with adults about an adult as a kid. It’s always, “You’re too young.” or “You’re making this up, they are not like that.” I was overlooked, and no one listened to me. I was just the kid who wished their teacher would die. This moment taught me what kind of adult I want to be, to be one that is just and fair. To listen to both sides, not just old because they are older, but to listen to that little kid asking for help, especially my own kids. I want to show them that they can talk to me and tell me what is going on, because the last thing I want for them is to be alone. I want to show them not tell them that I am on their side no matter what. To show them that their voice matters and that if something is happening to them it is ok to tell adults.
There was also a lot that I took away but aside from listening to everyone’s side of a story if there is a situation. It was to not take personal items with me to school. If I didn’t take that book to school I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble. But I’m glad I took it. This was a learning experience for me. It helped me see that sometimes bad things come from something good happening, and good can come from bad. If I didn’t take that book or gotten that book I would not be where I am today. I would still be in Phoenix, Arizona. What I mean by this is that if I didn’t get suspended I would not have moved, if I didn’t move I would not be here. So I am glad I took the book. That experience has allowed me to meet some amazing people, at different schools and different towns. So that’s one thing I am grateful for, although there was a lot of hardship along the journey, those same hardships made me the person I am today.
Social Spratchets
Jonathan S.
I hate the ideas of spratchets. No, not the ones you find in stores, those help us know what’s almost mine and what’s almost yours. The ones I speak of are more metaphorical. They’re common, they’re social, and a bit allegorical.
These “social” spratchets affect us to no end. They create new enemies rather than new friends. Speaking of friends, how many have your back? How many are Hispanic? How many are Black? Whoops, my bad, I don’t mean to get political, I don’t want to seem the least bit cynical. I just want to introduce you to a social spratchet. Can you tell what it is? Are you able to catch it? I don’t think you need the eyes of a vulture To see what I’m referring to is indeed culture.
Now when you look at me, you probably think I’m just black, But I can assure you, I’m much more than that. (what do you expect?) If you really knew me or any of my kin, You would know that I’m part Salvadorian. ¿Por qué cuando vemos a una persona solo vemos su color? You would think that in 2022 we would have more valor.
We live in a world with so much violence and hate, the number of crimes are growing at an alarming rate. We live in a world where we can’t go on vacations ‘cause we’re constantly bombarded with citizen app notifications. We live in a world where fun requires caution because innocent people get shot way too often.
It shouldn’t matter if you’re from Mexico or Bengal We should be building bridges, not tall walls. It shouldn’t matter if someone’s straight or LGBTQ. Just let people do them, it has nothing to do with you. These social spratchets are everywhere and do us no good. If I had the chance to toss them, I definitely would.
Extinguish
Surayyah M.
At what point do we, as people, lose our sparks? Was it when I was strung up and beaten for the first time?
I remember the first time I was told “be quiet, be silent, stop talking”; The first time we were told, “stop dreaming, stop playing, just listen, focus.”
I remember the first time i was beaten so badly I begged them to kill me; and that was the first time I had that thought. “freedom as death”
It quickly became a bad habit. I remember the first time I was told “good job, you listened, you’re focused.” but I was never able to play again. The spark had been beaten out of me, extinguished. At this point, we, as people, have lost our sparks. They know it’s better for us because, “why?”
Why would they teach them things that they think there is no room for?
The Next Illustration Quivered and Came to Life ...
Malik J.
As Malik approached the atm he was worried that there wasn’t enough money to last him and his family till his next check. Malik needed money now to pay for food for tonight. Malik started to open up his bank account. His heart dropped when he saw his account had only $20 in his name. Malik was a man who was poor from all the debt he was in from this gang that took 90% of his paycheck. It’s all because of Malik’s dad Rony, that he was in this debt. When Malik was little, his dad was a huge thief who took stuff from the wrong people. One day Rony decided to do a big heist on these top G’s that would put him in danger if the top G’s found out. After Malik sees his bank account, he remembers all the pain and suffering he put his family through and to run off to who knows where.
Malik went to the grocery store where he worked so he could buy some bread for dinner. Malik gotta try to make this money last for the week. When Malik got home his daughter Mariella was waiting for him when she felt so much joy from seeing the door open because she knew it was her dad coming through the door. The moment she sees her dad she gives him a huge hug. When Malik’s mom entered the room. Malik said “Go get ready for dinner” to Mariella.
When she left the room Malik talked to his mom about the amount of money they got for the week
Malik’s mom trembled from the shock of money that they had. They get less every month. It’s gonna be harder for them to live off that. As Malik made dinner, she was wondering how he was going to make more money the right way for his family. He doesn’t want to go back to his old ways
Malik was a thief when he was little but when his mom found out what he was doing she cried. It broke her heart to see her son because she didn’t want her son to go out like his dad. The moment Malik saw his mom crying he never wanna see that again so he told himself to never steal again. Malik finally got done with his food he called Mariella to come eat.
When she saw the food she said “More ham and bread” with a sad look on her face.
Malik said, “This is what we all can afford these days baby”.
Mariella’s eyes filled up with water and she ran to her room. Malik ate his food by himself with tears coming down his face praying that stuff would get better. He went to bed in the room and started thinking about stealing again but he thought the consequences would be worse if he got caught- he probably would never see his daughter. Malik woke up the next morning and made up his mind that he was going to rob the house for money and quit his job.
Malik was doing research and found this really rich scientist who was going to be on a business trip for a couple of days and the scientist didn’t have security. Malik thought this house would be perfect. So that night Malik found his house. It was a mansion. Malik jumped the gate through the back window. Malik was surprised that he still remembered how to pick locks. When Malik got inside he saw all the amazing stuff in this scientist’s house.
Malik started to take the stuff that looked expensive. Malik came across this gold ring. Malik was so attracted to this ring, that Malik took it after his bag was filled. Malik escaped from the scientist’s house and decided to go to a pawnshop before he went home. Malik sold everything except the ring, something about that ring made Malik was so in love with.
Malik was so happy the amount of money he got was over $30,000. When Malik got home in the middle of the night he tried not to wake anybody up. As soon as Malik entered his rooms he saw Mariella sleeping in his bed. Malik tried to not make any noise when he stepped on a loud toy. Malik started to sweat when he slowly turned around to make sure Mariella wasn’t there.
She was looking at him and she said: “Where have you been?”
He told her he was at a co-worker’s house and she didn’t believe him.
Mariella noticed the gold ring her dad had on that’s when she said “Where did you get that gold ring from”.
Malik said he found it. Before Malik went to sleep he was wondering where he would be in 10 years. He was scared he would be in jail or homeless. Malik woke up on his bed and his house looked older than usual.
Malik was confused so he decided to look for his mom but he couldn’t find her so he went outside. His environment was different- there were newer buildings and weird cars, he was scared.
So he went to ask someone about the date and they told him it was 3/4/2034.
Malik was shocked he couldn’t believe it so he went to go look for his daughter. First he ran to the middle school his daughter went to and asked the front desk about his daughter but they didn’t know. Malik started to get mad and aggressive, so the school called the police on him and Malik was in jail for a night. Then all of a sudden he was bailed out. It was his daughter. She was 23 years old. He was shocked about it but she was crying because her father died a year ago so she was shocked that she was able to see her dad. Mariella was wondering why her dad was looking a little younger so Malik informed her about him accidentally going in the future. So she told him that he was dead. He couldn’t believe he was dead so he started going crazy again. Malik was wishing he could go back to his time. He ran in the street and there was a truck that hit him. He woke up in the middle of the street…
Relay Races
Krysta A.
Endless thoughts plague my mind. Each one impressively deeper than the last. They race around my brain in competition, the winner– which one will break me down today. The meaning of normality, whether or not the true self exists, what I owe to society, what I owe to myself, transcendentalism, internal struggles, self forgiveness. Winner: Why my mom had to question bringing my baby brother into the world, why black mothers do.
For about 8 years, this thought recurrently troubles me. My ears, young, too curious and wandering, found themselves in a conversation. A conversation between my recently pregnant mother and my older sister. My mom expressed her fears about birthing my little brother. Him growing up to be a black man, his life going to be that much harder than everyone else’s. Him facing dreadful unavoidable challenges by default. My mom wondered if it was all worth it. I was excited to meet the baby, my mom, feared for his life. A life that was yet to begin but was already over, fatal.
At first I wondered how she could think such a thing. It was evil, I couldn’t comprehend. Like a shot, an immense feeling of guilt mixed with hints of understanding washed over me. I felt guilty that she had to think this way, that someday I would think the same, the guilt however was inculpable to me. From this point onward the world I had known shifted a bit. It was tilted, everything a bit off. In the short span of that conversation, I had grown up more than I had grown in the previous 3 years. These sickening words echoed and bounced around my brain constantly for the time to come. Despite me only being 8, I was so aware about the meaning of all this, showing how most black kids are too– subconsciously moving about this world carefully, terrified. Unable to completely express ourselves, what we cant and can touch in the store, hands in our pockets always or we’re stealing, impotent to living as freely as our counterparts.
I think about what If I hadn’t heard it, what if I had been in the next room. I often think about just asking my mom. I could stop it. End this thought that repeatedly racks my brain. But what if I am right? And the answer is too much? What if there was more. Maybe feelings about how she would be treated in the hospital as a black woman. What if I stir up feelings she had already buried, tucked away?
I talk to my brother. My heart shatters every time he learns more and more that the world hates him, him having done nothing wrong. It hurts to explain to him why he can’t do certain things despite his youthful eagerness to do them. Although it hurts, it is worth it, he is worth it. I hug him tight everyday when I drop him off at school. He is only 8 but that’s the same age I was when my world began to shatter.
So when asked about the black experience, it’s more than what we go through. It’s what is carried emotionally, its different ideologies, thought processes, fears. It’s whether I come home that night, or if that morning was my last, it’s being overlooked and turned away, it’s life and death.
Frank Ocean one said, Mac Miller once serenaded, Brent Fayiaz Once Lyricized... Elize W.
“You aint a kid no more
We’ll never be those kids again”
Meaning we evolve, we learn adapt and grow
Meaning we grow apart
And us becomes just you
And we become just me.
We used to wonder and explore and get into all types of mischief
Breaking porcelain vases and saying it was the cat
But as we got older into more transitional phases
Your inhaler went from soothing your lung to destroying them
And there isn’t a single day where I see you and you aren’t
On cloud nine
Come back to earth!
I cant reach you
36 messages 16 Calls Sonder or brent faiyaz or Christopher
Whatever you go by now cause i don’t Know you no more
You used to hold my hand and tell me it was us against the world
But as the world caved in you’d rather lie to yourself
I want for you to be mischievous like you were; not reckless to paint silly faces on each other while we pretend to sleep on the floor I want for you to wonder; sonder. Ask random questions
And give detailed answers
I want for you to go back to us
I don’t want to be me if there is no we i want for you to want to live
But we’ll never be those kids again
acknowledgments
826LA would like to thank to following for their support in making this chapbook possible:
Yavonka Hairston-Truitt, Venice High School Principal
Taylor Thomas, BSAP School Climate Advocate
Evelyn Knox, BSAP Academic School Counselor
Candice Flournoy, BSAP Community Parent Representative
Asjia Hasberry, BSAP School Climate Advocate
Eva Carpenter, BSAP Administrator of Instruction
Charly Paap, BSAP Psychiatric Social Worker
Eli Davidow, Venice High School English Teacher
Mary Greene, Venice High School English Teacher
Jennifer Lisowski, Venice High School English Teacher
Gloria Gonzales, Venice High School English Teacher
Samantha Cline, Venice High School English Teacher
Marcos Sandoval, Venice High School English Teacher
Mark Gudani, Venice High School English Teacher
Helen Cook, Venice High School English Teacher
Vision:
826LA envisions a Los Angeles where every child has access to quality writing education and is empowered to express themselves creatively through writing. We envision a Los Angeles where every teacher is supported in their writing-based educational objectives.
Mission:
826LA is dedicated to unlocking and cultivating the creative power of writing for students ages 6 to 18, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.
How we advance our mission: A nonprofit organization, our services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success.
about 826la
With this in mind, we provide after-school tutoring in all subjects, evening and weekend workshops, in-school programs, field trips, college access, help for English language learners, and assistance with student publications.
All of our programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s ability to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in their own voice.
Core Values:
826LA values joy in the service of achieving educational goals. Our community norms value diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. We therefore prioritize partnerships with Title 1 Schools, engagement with historically marginalized populations, and training and deploying community-based volunteers in support of our mission. As a teaching approach, we value creativity, authenticity, empathy, and lively, rigorous, and student-centered writing education. As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.
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After-School Writing Programs
Mondays through Thursdays, students attend 826LA for after-school writing programs. Students participate in community building activities, work on homework or reading with trained tutors, and of course, write! Students submit their writing for inclusion in chapbooks, which 826LA publishes twice a year. To celebrate students’ hard work, 826LA unveils these chapbooks at book release parties, where students read their work to thunderous applause from their volunteers, families, and peers.
Field Trips
During the week, 826LA invites teachers and their students to our writing labs to participate in a morning of collaboration, creativity, and writing. Whether Storytelling & Bookmaking, Well-Wishing & Poetry, Choose Your Own Adventure, or Memoir, field trips at 826LA support teacher curriculum and student learning by offering a safe space for students to be their most imaginative and to work on their writing skills. In a few short hours, students brainstorm, write, edit their work, and leave with something tangible—a bound book—as well as a renewed confidence in their ability to tell their stories.
In-Schools Programs & Writers Rooms
Because not all students can come to us, 826LA brings specially trained volunteer tutors into classrooms throughout Los Angeles. There, volunteers provide one-on-one or small group assistance with writing projects. 826LA works with teachers to craft all projects, which are designed to engage students while targeting curricular needs. In addition to visiting twenty schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District each year, 826LA has additional sites within Manual Arts High School, Roosevelt High School, and Venice High School called The 826LA Writers’ Rooms.
Workshops
826LA’s workshops bring students together with artists, writers, and professionals for creative collaboration. Whether the subject is journalism or preparing for the zombie apocalypse, our workshops foster student creativity while strengthening writing skills. This program includes two long running partnerships with Paramount Pictures and the Hammer Museum.
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Jaime Balboa
Executive Director
Diego Quevedo
Chief of Staff
Shani Foster
Director of Education
Christie Thomas
Director of Development
Pedro Estrada
Programs & Operations Manager, Echo Park
Mike Dunbar
Programs & Operations Manager, Mar Vista
Mateo Acosta
Associate Director of Community Engagement
Carinne Mangold
Store and General Operations Manager
Time Travel Marts in Echo Park & Mar Vista
Alma Carrillo
Development and Communications Manager
staff advisory board
Trevor Crown
Senior Manager of Volunteer Innovation & Assessment
Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo
Senior Volunteer Coordinator
Maddie Silva Manager of Special Initiatives
Arisdeysi Cruz Tutoring Program Coordinator
Marco Beltran
Writers’ Room Program Coordinator Manual Arts High School
Wendy Beltran
Writers’ Room Program Coordinator Roosevelt High School
