Removing Law Enforcement From Youth Services

DEC.17TH, 2019 • 6PM

REMOVING

LAW ENFORCEMENT FROM YOUTH SERVICES X

REMOVING

LAW ENFORCEMENT FROM YOUTH SERVICES While violence and homicides have decreased in the city, San José has doubled down on attempts to incarcerate Black and Brown youth through its Mayor’s Gang Prevention Task Force – a machinery that continues historical racism and leads us further away from national efforts to decarcerate.

Overall, the Mayor’s Gang Prevention Task Force provides resources for youth services and Gang Suppression in Gang Hotspots.

Community organizations handle the youth services side and law enforcement handles suppression. But the entanglement of the two “sides” leaves youth who deserve services exposed and targeted.

The stories here are a short collection of reflections about growing up in San Jose neighborhoods we love and are proud of – the same neighborhoods SJPD has labeled as hotspots.

by J.M. Valle In San José, there’s a challenge to the role of law enforcement in youth services and a push back against a a further criminalization of Black and Raza youth.

The city has a nationally acclaimed Mayor’s Gang Task Force that provides resources for youth services through community organizations, and gang suppression in gang hotspots through law enforcement.

The direction comes from law enforcement and the entanglement of the two “sides” leaves youth who deserve services exposed and targeted.

Youth are classified through “risk measures” based on where they live, their contact with law enforcement and impact of being incarcerated. None are measures of how to lift the opportunity and equality of the communities the youth live in, nor do they measure decarceration. These risk measures are defined and driven by law enforcement and the juvenile justice system.

What do police captains, the District Attorney and the Gang Investigation Unit have to do with youth services when their sole purpose is prosecution, gang intelligence, monitoring and arresting suspected gang members and associates?

According to a recent report by the Center for Juvenile and Criminal Justice, the Department of Juvenile Justice’s population has declined by 93% since 1996. Between 1980 and 2016, the arrest rate dropped 84 percent for juveniles according to a recent Public Policy Institute of California report. Yet despite the decrease, some cities and counties have committed tremendous amounts of resources to “lock ‘em up” approaches. According to a recent review by the San Francisco Chronicle, in Santa Clara County, the annual cost to hold a young person at juvenile hall rose from $187,000 in 2011 to $514,000 last year.

Gang Hotspots are synonymous with

our barrios that have been historically impacted by poverty and inequality. Crime is only a result of poverty and inequality. Gang Hotspots are also synonymous with gang locations. While youth in these impoverished areas need services, the conflict lies with the City’s youth services being driven by the same entities who are waiting in line to prosecute and incarcerate them.

Police document youth and adults as suspected gang members and associates who live in these gang locations, which do not have to result in an arrest. Police can also document youth and adults simply for associating with other suspected gang members and associates. Cultural, and regional identifiers such as fashion and tattoos are also documented. Remove “gang” from the picture and these police stops are synonymous with racial profiling Santa Clara County prosecutors abuse gang “documentation” retrieved to convince juries to find our youth and adults guilty of gang enhancements even when gang documentation never resulted in an arrest or had anything to do with the alleged charges.

Prosecutors often do this by abusing services that youth and adults may be receiving from the Task Force. For example, late night gyms are intended to provide a safe space for Gang-Impacted youth to participate in recreational activities while receiving services from community organizations. But instead, the District Attorney’s office uses participation in these centers to build their gang enhancement cases.

The City needs a model which can explore and invest in alternatives to incarceration directed by community organizations.

To be true youth justice national leaders we need to believe in rehabilitation, and we must remove law enforcement and prosecutors from youth services entirely.

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by Rich

I

grew up off North Fifteenth St. about a stone’s throw from San Jose High Academy and whistle distance from downtown.

The house my family owned for generations was lost to the bank. My grandma died in a soulless apartment, neighboring a freeway miles from where she cultivated her life. Our impact on those streets might be lost to the world outside of the memories, photos, and the lemon trees I carved my initials into. But still, they exist in the in-between through storytelling.

I often visit the neighborhood, and when I do, I pass by my cousin J’s old house, a little bungalow-style building off 15th and Washington. He was about 6 feet tall and as wide as a soda machine. He had two bulldogs and a couple 9 millimeters tattooed on him. J had gold grills, this was mid 90’s, and I had never really seen anyone else with gold grills before, so I always thought he had braces when he beamed like the sun.

J was always in some shit, either as an enforcer for his boys or some dealings in the undercurrent so many of us are assigned to on blocks like this. In my twisted memories, I remember a time when we used to have yearly family reunions at various community centers. I learned a lot about organizing and the concept of community through watching my aunt’s efforts with these events. At a particular reunion, all the kids were running around outside playing when suddenly our parents came stumbling out, screaming for us to get inside. A few older cousins got into a fight with someone from the block, and so J brought back like six of his homeboys to the center with guns, or so I remembered.

My dad reminded me that it was actually

J’s wedding, and he purposefully had it in a different Varrio than his own. My memory floats towards this image of J just dancing while the DJ spun records amongst the confusion until someone tapped him and whispered in his ear. J told everyone to stay in. He walked outside with a family friend and came back 10 minutes later and said: “it’s all good.” My aunts were angry at him for putting everyone in danger, but also so happy that he had saved the night.

I don’t hear much of him anymore. As the blocks changed, my family seemed to atomize in the same fashion, growing apart.

Last I heard he was locked up, which made me sad to hear. I ask my dad about him, but he mostly avoids it to hide from pasts, maybe? Or like a lot of people from my childhood, maybe they had a falling out involving money or drugs or something “I’d never understand.”

So many things my parents and family hid from us and I can’t tell if it was for them or for us. The majority of us were smart enough to figure out what was going on though. Although J probably did some bad things, he is still one of the coolest people I remember from my childhood. I learned a lot about respect, politeness, and acts of pure love from him. Things are tricky and not as easily explained as the times would have us think. No one person has a single story, we each hold volumes. It’s always that same tale though, from elders, we hear, “I want them to be better than me” or “I want them to have a better life than I.” I understand the game sometimes.

by Jalissa

M

y Name is Jalissa and I lived on the Eastside of San José all my life. My brother and I both went to schools on the eastside. We would stay with my aunt a lot of the time while my mom held down two jobs and my dad was incarcerated. My mom was determined for us not to grow up like she and he did.

When she was not working on the weekends we would have barbeques, birthday parties, video shoots, car clubs and listen to oldies - that was a big part of my young life. It was exciting and educational because I was always taught about my Chicano culture and heritage. A lot of times my people would get together for fundraisers - lowriders would get together at Wienerschnitzel’s and we would go out cruising downtown and enjoy the beautiful night with all the other beautiful rides.

Sometimes there would be a DJ out there putting music on and everybody getting down to the oldies. It would be fun seeing my people out and getting together having fun, just chilling.

When we would go cruising my mom would drive under the King road bridge and honk her horn. I would ask why she did that, she would tell us her dad used to do that with her and her siblings. We’d drive by pink elephant because her dad used to be a barber there, her parents knew a lot of people. We would cruise to House of Pizza or Burger Barn which now are mine and my siblings favorites, that’s just how we were raised.

When my dad came home from prison he started educating us about avoiding the police and knowing our rights. He told us to not engage in criminal activity because he knew our neighborhood and in NO way be a smart ass with law enforcement. That

would give them an excuse to be excessive with us. Especially with my brother, my dad would verbally pound this into his head. My dad was always worried and now I know why. Eventually my family got raided and the police took a lot of stuff that had nothing to do with the case but a lot to do with our culture. As I sat through my dad’s trial I saw the district attorney, who worked with the police that raided my house, showing the jury what was taken and named those items gang related, a sports jersey - WOW. My dad was convicted of two gang enhancements that got him a life sentence.

My life changed forever. I now only see him on weekends at a prison. He doesn’t pick me up from school and doesn’t do homework with me, he’s just not there. He was always there for me and my brother - he fed us, clothed us, and taught us. I MISS HIM A LOT. I remember when he was home he would always motivate me to stay on track. What also affects me is that he wasn’t there to see me graduate from elementary and middle school. I wish that he was out here protesting with me and just to be supporting me and doing the work with me to keep me on track.

This is why I advocate with Silicon Valley De-Bug youth: to bring awareness of the injustices that my people suffer. I go to Sacramento to support bills that would have an effect on incarcerated youth and adults. And most important to my heart and the purpose of all this is to bring my dad home. Hopefully soon we will no longer have the mayor’s gang prevention task force - true community will be there for each other.

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I

first remember living in Los Gatos, it is a very nice neighborhood full of wealthy white people.

As a kid, being Mexican wasn’t a problem until I realized that I was the only brown kid out of all the white kids at my school. It really didn’t affect me that much, but at the same time I kind of felt weird. I don’t know how to describe it but I felt different. Sometimes parents would look at me weird and I couldn’t understand it. Sometimes my friends would make little jokes about me and I acted like I didn’t care and laughed along with them.

I’ll be honest, sometimes I wished I was white and I would ask myself, why am I brown?

Why are they white? I want to be like them... I wanted to feel “normal.” I do remember feeling safe and never having to worry about the outside world. My mom wouldn’t worry about her car being locked at night because it was such a nice neighborhood.

One day I was informed that we were moving. I didn’t know why we were moving, but now that I’m older I realized it was because they raised the rent. My mom wasn’t able to afford it so we had to move.

We moved to a “gang hotspot” but during this time I didn’t know that. After our first two weeks living here, my mom’s car was keyed. That kinda scared me because that would never happen in Los Gatos. We didn’t even want to have mail delivered to our address because the mailboxes were constantly getting broken into so we used a P.O. Box. All of this was new to me and was kinda scary. Cops drove by our house everyday

when I was playing outside checking out the neighborhood, my mom would never let me out after dark. Two years ago when I was 11, this was a very new experience for me.

My older brother’s girlfriend worked down the street at a nearby Denny’s and he used to pick her up late at night. Sometimes I would go with him and felt scared. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I do think that I kinda had a right to be scared because crime near that area was pretty common. I had a neighbor that had a number of incidents happen to her. One time she almost got her car stolen right in front of her house. People’s garages would constantly get broken into. It was a scary place to live.

Moving from Los Gatos to a lower income neighborhood was a big change in my life but I wouldn’t change it for anything. It made me wiser and more aware of the world around me. I don’t want to be a rich spoiled white kid and I don’t want to be a gang banger, I just want to be me. Living here wasn’t all bad and I did have lots of fun memories just like I did in Los Gatos. I’m not trying to say one neighborhood is good and one is bad. Both neighborhoods have some flaws, even Los Gatos wasn’t perfect, there is no such thing as a perfect neighborhood.

I’m glad I was able to experience living on both sides of the tracks. I know the struggle. I’ve had to move multiple times and I’ve seen a lot in life. No one can say to me you don’t know how it is to live in a “bad” neighborhood or you’ve never experienced a rich life. I’ve lived on both sides of the tracks.

Roosevelt

by Diana

G

rowing up on the eastside of San Jose in the neighborhood of 33rd and Alum Rock has been a good place to grow up at. Most of us here are lower to middle class. The houses surrounding my neighborhood are mostly duplex and most of the people are Latino or Portuguese. I would describe my neighborhood as mostly quiet and everyone minds their business. In the summer, all the kids play on the streets or wrestle on the front lawns. As far as gang activity, I don’t really see much. You can see some people who would “fit that profile” but you don’t see them causing trouble.

I can honestly say I am more scared of the police than I am of these so called

“gangsters.” When they raided my house due to my brother being charged with a crime that he was already In custody for, they knocked my door down and mistreated my sister and i -- handcuffing us for no reason and not telling us why they were there. It was a really scary, and even though it was seven years ago, my sister and I are still terrified of the police.

The signs of our broken door and lock are still there.

The hope I have for my neighborhood is that kids continue to play on the streets and cop activity stays at a minimum unless needed.

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by Carolina Haro

I

was three when we first moved to Valley Palms, and we lived there for ten years.

Valley Palms is located in the Eastside on Tully and Lanai. They are big brown apartments on the backside of Highway 101. The apartments voice would sound like moms screaming for their kids in the afternoon, and at night it would be the cars off the freeway and music blasting from parties. If the apartments had a smell, it would be spices and home cooked meals from all cultures -- Indian food, barbeque, Chinese food, Soul food, and of course, Mexican food. There’s palm trees everywhere.

Hella people live there. Everyone knows each other. Everyone knew my name because my mom would scream it all the time. And when neighbors would hear it, they’d tell me to go home. My mom is crazy, but so so loving. She loves everyone. She’s 5 feet tall, and in those days, the days before my brother went to the Department of Juvenile Justice, and our family was all together, she always dressed nice -- dresses, heels, nice shirts and pants. Everyone would know she was home because when she cleaned our house, she’d play her loud music. We lived in a 2-bedroom townhouse. The rent back then was a $1,400 month.

The kids in the neighborhood - us and my brothers - we all just kinda knew each other. Our “spot” was the parking

lot. There was a bunch of times where we’d be standing there, on the parking lot, and it wasn’t everyone else’s parking lot. It was just ours -- our car space and my brothers’ friends space. We would just be hanging out, just stand there -talk, laugh, make jokes, waiting for mom.

And when the neighbors would come, we’d say hi to them. Everyone was friendly with everyone -- all the boys and me.

Ten boys - all of us were Mexicans, teens -- the youngest was my brother who was 14. I was 12. I grew up with most of them.

They took care of me, always looked out for me.

We looked out for each other because everyone’s mom and dad was working. One of them worked at an airport. One of them at the market. But my mom -- whew. She was their second mom -- taking care of everyone’s kids.

When she’d come back from work as a caterer, she’d bring home trays of foods and we’d all eat together.

This is how we would live. Our neighborhood. We always watched out for each other, especially when the cops came.

They would come at least twice a week, sometimes almost everyday, but especially over the weekend. They knew most of the boys were on probation, and they’d run up on the boys. The boys would run because they didn’t wanna go back to the hall, or just didn’t wanna interact with

“

We looked out for each other because everyone’s mom and dad was working... But my mom -- whew. She was their second mom -- taking care of everyone’s kids. When she’d come back from work as a caterer, she’d bring home trays of foods and we’d all eat together. This is how we would live. Our neighborhood.

the police. Not because they were hiding anything, they were just there.

When my mom would see the cops, she’d always stick up for the kids. She was the real check for these boys -- the one they’d listen to.

She was the one who would tell them not to smoke, to get a job, to go to school.

She would always make sure they were okay. That’s the kind of mom she is -- the one who visited other kids in juvenile hall because there was no one visiting them.

Living in Valley Palms was also scary. Rival gangs from other complexes would come over with guns, but we’d all know to run and hide in our apartments.

But even with that, I was still more scared of the cops. They were so violent to the kids, to my friends, to families. Other kids could fight each other and handle that, but people couldn’t fight against the police. I would see the police just grab these little boys. One time, my mom saw the cops hit a young boy with a baton. It was at night. She was coming home from work. The young boy was standing there.

He was young, bald-headed, wearing a

Sharks t-shirt.

The cops asked him, “What are you doing?” He said, “I’m not doing anything.

I live here.” The cops then started hitting him with a baton.

He was yelling for his mom through the back fence, and my mom got his mom to come out.

This other time, the boys were just in a parking lot. In that same space they always hang out in. The cops came and as soon as they got out of the car, they already had their hands on their guns.

That’s what scared me the most --- that they were that ready to shoot. The boys were doing nothing -- just what we do everyday.

When my mom came to the United States, she told me she was telling someone that she looked at cops as heroes.

But then after us living in Valley Palms, she doesn’t feel that anymore. She experienced domestic violence, and at first my family was grateful for the cops helping us. But then, seeing the way they treated us and our friends and neighbors, she doesn’t trust them anymore.

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