3. GEN
TRI
FI
CA
TION
“The Mission”
Colonizers once came galloping on horseback,
Today Hipsters ride fixed gear bikes,
See 500 sun and moon cycles later
we find ourselves in the same fucking fight
We still wear the same scars of what our gente have
endured
Mother Fucken Cristopher Columbus Syndrome still
seems to sidestep a cure
We still struggle to get off the plantations and the pipe-
lines to prison
They are STILL discovering our homes in the Fruitvale
and the Mission
The Mission, La Mission
A spanish word, a Spaniard word
A soft sounding noun, a Painful verb
Spoken then... and today... it’s still heard
The Mission
500 years ago we were beaten, We were stabbed We
were hung
We were hunted like game
Watch Anastasio Rojas get Lynched on film today and
tell me it’s not the same
The Mission
500 years ago indigenous women were raped
2 in 3 women who cross the border today meet the
same fate
The Mission
Where diseases foreign born wiped out our gente por
montones
Y ahora mis padres luchan con diabetes,y me hermani-
ta lleva asthma en los pulmones
The Mission
Rosaries and white religion displaced our native wis-
dom
AndtodayDanzaCirclesstruggletoholdspaceamongst
Coffee shops and condomiuns
The Mission
The thinly veiled threats of boats on our shores would
forshadow colonization
Just As Shirtless Joggers chasing poodles through our
hoods hint gentrification
The Mission
Indigenous Languages, tribes and practices poco a
poco se van desvaneciendo
As today we see less and less Eloteros, Tamaleras,
Fruteros y los Paleteros se van desapareciendo
The Mission
Indian Removal Act’s, relocation campaigns, trails of
tears.
Become a war on drugs, gang injunctions, and dis-
placement for anotha 500 fucken years
The Mission
But the mission, is not only San Francisco,
Its on the sidewalks of The South Bronx,
in the Sushi Spots in West town, Chi-Town,
in the coffee shops in Echo Park,
in the yoga mats in the West Oakland flats,
The Mission is right here
in the Fruitvale
Where welcome signs weren’t meant to welcome
you
where condos and curfews are all the city council
seems to want to do
The Fruitvale
Where Oscar grant is killed on video
and Mehserly went free 3 years ago
The Fruitvale,The Mission
The Fruitvale,The Mission
But the Mission has never been completed
Our gente have never been defeated
Resistance
Like the Chumash Revolt that took over 3 missions
The Mission Santa Ynez
The Mission La Purisima
The Mission Santa barbara
Resistance
Como Joaquin Murietta who confronted the first
Gringo gentrifiers of California and stole from the
rich
Resistance
Like the Oakland Youth who stopped the gang
injunction and took over these streets
Resistance
Like our gente crossing deserts and checkpoints to
be free
Resistance
Like Undocumented youth coming out of the Shad-
ows, Unafraid to be Me
Resistance
Like a Mexican Kid trying to knock down these bor-
ders with a rock
Or Palestinian child with a slingshot
Resistance
And Why?
Cuz Colonizers once came galloping on horseback,
Today Hipsters ride fixed gear bikes,
See 500 sun and moon cycles later
we find ourselves in the same fucking fight
Cuz the Mission, Is resistance!
GEN
TRI
FI
CA
TION
4. Alejandra
We never meant to leave you
Leave everything you have given us
Tus colores, kept rich , after so much damage
So much hurt you been through
Tu gente , orgullosos viniendo de tus raíces
Tus suelos were my ancestors grew their crops , and were they built
their homes
You have given us everything to survive
Pero nosotros no hicimos lo mismo
We were forced to forget our identities and we let it happen
Although we fought back, at the end we let them erased us and they
rewrote us again
Many of us forgot Wat fighting back really is
Wat fighting back for you really is
We are lost without tu cultura , tus historias
We are wounded and not be able to heal por olvidar tus medicinas
de hierbas
Now we are embarrassed to say we are a part from you
That you are our mother land
They have killed us for many years and they still are
those who kept fighting were assassinated
Beautiful motherland, chjontatey o’ tzaj tioney chin t’ochtiy, t’uya
tzuja,
lu koya o’ ha’w tzitzjey.
~~
P O E M T O G U A T E M A L Aa dedicaion to Guate
5. Childhood:
I was four when I migrated to the U.S. I don’t
remember my life in Guatemala. But I do remember one
day going to Huehuetenango, I remember the festivity.
The mango, they would cut the skin off then would cut it
into a flower and add chili powder. The color of the build-
ings were so bright. I remember the colors.
When immigration caught us, they sent us to
Nebraska. It was my dad and me. We stayed there a year
while we waited to see if they would deport me and my
dad or let us stay. They let us stay because of my age
and due to accident. I had just lost my mom. Their idea
was that I would be sent to an orphanage and my dad
would be deported. However, they changed their mind
and mainly due to my age they allowed my dad to stay in
country without a status.
Life in Guatamala
My dad immigrated to the U.S. first. He went to
San Diego, our community was migrating there. Most of
the community was leaving due to poverty. After about
two years he returned, by this time I was about 2 years. He
wasn’t there when I was born . After six months he had to
come back to the U.S. as we were running out of money.
When he came back, he already had a job waiting for him.
He worked for another year and afterwards he decided to
bring us to the U.S. because he knew that in the U.S. kids
started school at age four or five where in Guatemala little
kids wait until 9 years old to go to school. Guatemala was
also becoming dangerous, little kids were starting to get
kidnapped, raped, and killed and found dead. Because of
poverty, people within our community started kidnap-
ping to ask for ransoms. Families who could not pay the
ransom would find their child dead. That was the faith of
one of my cousins, sadly. At this time, soldiers were also
going into small villages, burn them, and rape women.
Everything was becoming complicated so my dad decided
to have my mom and dad make the journey north.
The migration journey:
My dad met us in Mexico. I remember him
carrying me and my mom by him. I was on his back, they
asked me to not make any noise. I was four. We crossed
the desert walking. We crossed into the U.S. through San
Diego. My mom did not want us to stay in San Diego, she
wanted us to go to Florida because she had family there.
On our way to Florida, the car was filled with migrants
from all over Latin America wanting to go to Florida.
I remember it was snowing. My dad put me to sleep, he
said it would be faster. I fell asleep to them talking about
life in Florida once we arrive. I just closed my eyes and
next time I opened my eyes, I was standing up. I felt
so numb, just standing in the snow, paralyzed. A car
accident had happened, the car break did not work,
and the car tipped over. Four or three people died,
including my mom. I remember standing there,
nothing hurting. The police and ambulance arrived.
Once they realized we were immigrants, they called
ICE. Most of those in the car ran away from the
scene from fear of being deported. I remember a man
who was completely bloody. He tried to run away,
but ICE got him. They hit a few times before they
took him away. Someone grabbed me, put me in the
ambulance in a children’s seat. They brought my mom
in the ambulance. My dad joined. I panicked, start-
ed screaming and just wanted to be close to my dad.
They gave me a shot to sedate me and fell asleep.
Life now:
My life changed forever. I lost my mom and
grew up without her. Being raised by my dad has been
tough. He does not understand some of my strug-
gles. It was tough on my dad, losing his wife and not
knowing how to raise his then four year old daughter.
He started drinking. He drank day and night. After
a year in Nebraska, one of my aunts helped us come
to Oakland. She lived in Oakland. Coming to Oak-
land wasn’t much different from Guatemala. We felt
isolated I had never seen black people until I came to
Oakland. It was something new.
Piece of advice to other youth:
No matter how much you’ve gone through,
how intense things could be, or how hard life is hard,
you have to keep going. At the end of the day, is going
to be you who will be affected by the choices you
make. The consequences will impact you. Yet, if you
continue to struggle you’re going to learn who you are
in reality. You will discover who you are inside, what
are your strengths. You can be a role model for young
kids. You just gotta push it. Especially in a society
who is oppressing you, killed our ancestors, and try-
ing to eliminate us. We have to fight back.
A l e j a n d r a ’ s S t o r y
6. Jefferson
My advice to youth is that it
doesn’t matter what is going on or
what has happened, you always
need to have your head up and
don’t give up. Never let someone
put you down.
Childhood:
I was born in Guatemala. My bi-
ological father had many problems
there. For this reason, he had to take
me and my little brother to El Salva-
dor. I was only 2 years old and my little
brother was only a couple months old.
My biological dad took us to stay at his
sisters. He would work to feed us and
clothe us. He was with a woman that
was of the opposite gang/ territory.
So then we we lived with my uncle
and aunt (my now adoptive parents),
which lived in a different colonia with
a different gang. He would often cross
territories to feed us and clothe us.
I was 7 years old when they killed
my dad. I remember that day, my fa-
ther invited me to go sell food with
him. My aunt didn’t let him take me.
After half an hour, they had killed him.
It was hard for me, since i was
still a little kid. I was aware of some of
these things that would happen on a
daily basis, but it was still hard for me.
I was going to school at the time.
With great students, a lot of them were
my friends. I loved playing soccer.
At 8 years old, my grandmother
died. She got sick from having my fa-
ther died. My adoptive parents, i call
them mom and dad were now raining
me as one of their own. They soon
took me to the city hall, to finalized
them adopting me as well as having
papers to be a “citizen” of El Salvador.
This was the time when i was more
involved in my community and my
church.
When i was 13, i soon started
drifting away from these things, and
started getting involved in bad things.
I wasn’t doing these things out in the
public for people to see me, but i was
still participating in them.
My adoptive mom soon left to
the United States. I was left with my
adoptive dad. They were soon recog-
nized and congratulated them taking
care of us. They took on the responsi-
bility of taking care of more kids. Both
my uncle, aunt and their kids all real-
ly looked at me and my little brother
as one of their own. They never held
something against us for not being
their biological kids.
After some time, my 2 older broth-
ers had left to the United States to join
my mom. My family was now smaller,
it was now just me my adoptive dad
and my little brother.
Life in El Salvador
Positive- i like the culture there. El
ambiente me gusto. I loved being with
my friends and there is a lot of support
for everyone there. There was a com-
mittee that would help out the people
and different colonias
Negative- something that is bad is
the gangs. They would force people to
join them so they could be a part of it.
Migrating to US reasons
They wanted me to join the gangs.
Because of my biological father and his
affiliations with the gangs, they want-
ed me to be a part with them. Another
reason for my migration is living in a
low income place. I mean we did have
some resources, but i often felt like it
wasn’t enough.
Life in US
My life now is better in the US.
here i don’t have to be hiding from the
gangs. I don’t have to live in fear all
of the time. Also, i am now with my
family. I go to school now. I have more
opportunities here than i had in El Sal-
vador.
“
“
7. At school my teachers and princi-
ples would pity me and i don’t like that. I
often felt like i was never little. My prin-
ciple checked on me often time to time.
I was in a car accident and the car hit
hit behind my car and my siblings were
also in this car. It was the scariest thing
because of my siblings being involved.
My older brother lived with my
grandma for some time. He is now 19, and
is working, he moved in like 2 years, which
took some pressure off my shoulders. I
grew up seeing him have none by his side
and i didn’t know what to do. During the
time that he left, it was a rough time for me
because i was getting caught more by 50.
Childhood
J U S T I N
Growing up in
Oakland
Advice to others
Growing up i had a lot of thing that
backlash. I was the type of kid that had
to had the positive manner that many
kids had to looked up to. I was basical-
ly the one that had to put that guard up
for other kids that were being put down.
Growing up without a pops
kind of affected me. I wasn’t going to
let anything prevent me for being hap-
py. There was a point where i was the
oldest sibling in my house. It was kin-
da hard because I want the actual
oldestsibling.Mysiblings’fatherwalkedout
on them and my older brother got kicked
out, i had to take that male role model.
I was only eleven or twelve, taking
my younger sibling to school, I was basical-
ly raising them my own. My mom had to
be working late nights. I was in 6th grade
at the time and none looking back at it, my
sister is in the 6th grade now and i can’t be-
lieve i did all that at her age. She is basical-
ly still a baby, and i did all that at that age.
I was glad to split my bread with them“
“
Don’t let the events in your life form the person you are now. Kind of controversial be-
cause some bad events might shape who you are now, but it shouldnt always define you.
rrrrrr
School wasn’t that hard for, never really
understoodtheconceptofbullying,idon’t
stand for that. When my mom came, she
is still working the same job to this day.
She was struggling to learn english and
all of the transportation to get to her job.
Never really had any hobbies as a
kid. I would usually just chill with peo-
ple outside my block, i would go outside
and just talk to people. Did get my ass
beat a couple times and got in trouble
with the police. I didn’t grow up being
a deliquent child. I felt like i had never
had any real obstacles growing up be-
cause my sorroundings never change.
I grew up into these circumstances and
ive been living like that since i was born.
When i was younger i would watch tv,
the news would depict Oakland as some-
one always getting shot. But when i stood
outside i never saw any of that shit. I see
oakland as my home and to this day i still
don’t see it as dangerous.
Yea once i did get robbed, but it wasn’t
their fault. If they robbed me it was because
they don’t got it and it isn’t their fault they
are put in their situation.
I know that in Oakland there is a better
chance of getting shot than anywhere else,
but to me it is till my home. That can’t
change.
8. To be a working class immigrant
means hard work, low wages, and many
struggles. I, Erick Vargas, experienced
first hand what it means to be a child of
working class parents. While attending
Abraham Lincoln High School, I strug-
gled to find a part time job to help out
with finances at home. I don’t think it is
fair that children have to work in order
to have clothes for the new school year.
Growing up I remember having
many struggles, of course as a child
everything was much simpler then.
Slowly, I’ve become exposed to the
injustices of this world and understand
them better, including realizing that
we were poor. I first noticed that I was
poor because I didn’t have a bed. I slept
on the floor with my dad or occasion-
ally on a sofa. We were almost never in
one place for too long. The thing that
impacted me the most and I can see
the impact of the effects now was the
materialistic stuff, I felt forced to fit in
and assimilate with what was trending.
I saw other kids wearing brand named
shoes and shirts every new school year,
while I was still wearing old clothes or
my older brother’s old clothes. I want
to share a story that happened not too
long ago.
One early morning , I woke up to
the smell of freshly made Salsa (Spicy
Sauce) that my mother had made. I
walked into the living room, which
is also our dining room and saw my
dad quietly sitting down and reading
a letter. My father cannot read english,
instead he handed me the letter and
asked me to translate it into Spanish.
As I read , my body became numb and
cold I didn’t know how I was supposed
to tell my parents that our landlord
wanted us out in 60 days. I feel some-
what ashamed but that morning I lied
to my parents and told them the letter
was from some credit card company.
Later that night, I saw my father
was watering the plants before he went
off to bed. I went up and talked to him
for a bit and confessed that the letter
was not what I said it was. I told him
that it was a notice that the landlord
wanted us evicted.
The next morning, I noticed my
mother’s eyes where puffy . My brother
told me she spent the night crying .I
went out for some fresh air to my local
park and shrugged my shoulders as I
exhaled and inhaled . I opened my eyes
and noticed that my neighborhood was
changing. There are 3 new coffeeshops
, 2 wineries and many family owned
business going out of business. I was
overwhelmed with the results of what
my neighborhood has become. It’s no
longer welcoming and warm , I feel out
of place as I walk down the streets that
my “raza’ used to own.
My family and I have lived in our
home for roughly 10 years before being
thrown out like dirty set of laundry.
Since the eviction, we’ve had to move a
further away from my childhood neigh-
borhood.
I feel disconnected here. I will
longer have the same routine, I won’t
be able to smile at the same people, or
help the lady carry her groceries up the
sheer hills in Lincoln Heights Los An-
geles. I get emotional when I drive past
my old home and can imagine myself
playing basketball in the front yard.
This image is only a blur now.
The owner who evicted us hasn’t
improved the home in any way since
we left and no one lives there. It seems
like the the only thing the landlord
cared about was evicting us in order to
sell the property as the property value
continues to rise in this through gentri-
fication and displacement of those who
onced lived there.
No matter how many tears run
down my face, I must continue, to fight
for my community. My neighborhood
has made and shaped the person I am
today. Without it I would not have
learned the definition of struggle.
I wanna bend time
Gentrification should be a crime
The U S A
stands for assigned
based off our cultural kind
where told where to go
what to eat
what to wear
and where to live
how are my people suppose to thrive
In a society
silenced by authority
unlawful acts by cops
there the majority
pick on us
calling us the minority
I was first exposed to
white privilege,
when all of my village,
was put up for sale
families locked up in jail
we’re a community trying to prevail
we don’t believe in male or female
authority told my brother he was a disgrace for having a ponytail
The above supervision
is responsible for the 80% of our people in prison
where only one in a million
will understand our position
where on a mission to fulfill our families vision
instead were rewarded with deportation
and accused of exportation
my people are not confined to one religion
they will never understand us
but they criminalize? us based on their police description
“
“Message
I WANNA SEND A MESSAGE
E r i c k
V a r g a s
9. How am I supposed to live to the fullest?
If all I hear in my neighborhood is bullets?
Shamefully police brutality is becoming the nor-
mality
These pigs are assassinating
Through my neighborhood they are navigating
So called, “patrolling”
When in reality they’re strolling
In search of a new victim
To feed to the injustice system
This country like many other places has a grue-
some history
They justified the mass genocide of Native Ameri-
cans by calling it Manifest Destiny
They slaughtered them endlessly
Killing 100 million without a tiny drip of empathy
This country’s foundation is based on immigration
Who are you to call my people illegal?
Who are you to treat undocumented unequal?
Stop dehumanization by ending deportations
An immigration nation filled with deprivation
People are not illegal
Borders are illegal
Presence attached with a dream is existent
Yet equality and justice for all is inconsistent
We are not criminals, rapists, and killers
We are life, love, and opportunity givers
“Manos de Trabajadores,
Caras de Luchadores”
I turn on my television screen, only to
realize it’s another murder scene. The
news station shows that another per-
son of color is shot. The person was
not shot by a rival gang member of the
surrounding neighborhoods like people
would probably assume yet murdered
by another police officer. Everyday is the
same situation only a different day and
location. Police Brutality is an ongoing
trend happening all over the world. It
has a negative effect and occurs every
8 hours in the United States. I’ve wit-
nessed it and feel that bringing aware-
ness about it is important because many
cases are over-looked and officers are
rarely indicted. Like the officer who bru-
tally murdered Ezell Ford, a mentally-ill
man shot in my community. I’m born
and raised in South Central, Los Ange-
les which is often recognized for being
one of the roughest neighborhoods in
the area. Growing up, I witnessed a lot
of struggles and have come across many
obstacles. One of the common obsta-
cles/issues my community faces is police
brutality.
There are many forms of police brutality
like unreasonable search, false arrest
or imprisonment, racial profiling, and
using excessive force. I’ve been writing
poetry since middle school, and decided
to write this piece to bring more aware-
ness around the sensitive topic. Also, as
a 16 year young Chicana, I’ve witnessed
the discrimination and dehumanization
against my two undocumented Mexi-
can parents and other undocumented
people. My parents immigrated to this
country when they were young adults
in hope of a better life, but were faced
with numerous challenges like discrim-
ination in their workplace, poverty, and
poor-living conditions.
Another common obstacle/issue that af-
fects my community is the dehumaniza-
tion of immigrants. I focused this topic
on the second part of my piece where I
spoke about immigration and how
I feel that deportations and calling
people illegal are the definition of de-
humanizing people. Deportations rip
families and friendships apart. I write
poetry because it’s my remedy and act
of rebellion against an injustice system.
Through poetry, I paint a picture of my
sadness, pain, anger and happiness. On
my spare time I love to write poetry,
read books, exercise, attend art shows,
go to open mics, and spend time with
my family. Growing up in south central,
a lot of stereo-typesof people living in
my community came along with it. I feel
that I am constantly judged and under-
estimated because of my race, gender,
and where I’ve grown up. I’ve learned
that its up to us, the youth, to destroy
those stereotypes and change something
within ourselves and our community to
improve conditions for us and the future
generations
Estella
10. earth. We schedule a meeting with the housing manager
to build a garden in a perfect square of dried grass first a
few of us from our school volunteered to dig out the dirt
and mixed it with organic fertilizer. fruits and vegetables
inside m.v.g for people to get there hands on organic pro
Then we build beds for residents to plant and grow. our
plan is to increase access to healthy
fruits and vegetables inside m.v.g
for people to get there hands on
organic produce and natural medi-
cines rather than sodas and bags of
chips. In the past few months we
build a 3 in 1 compost bin system
that holds lots of food waist and
turns them into free compost.
Community gardens bring people
together allowing for people to
meet and learn from each other,
as well as to explore and build
our vision together as a team. The
community garden is a necessary resource to have differ-
ent types of vegetables like kale, lettuce, radishes, onions
, carrots , tomatoes , sweet potatoe , and chayotes. My
vision is to build more community gardens in m.v.g that
build passion for the garden and community.
Afew months ago after my birthday, I had a bad experi-
ence eating Cheetos and Takis. It messed up my stomach
and I had a burning sensation until I couldn’t take it any-
more. At 11:30pm, I was rushed to Marina del Rey hospital
and they told me I had gastritis and prescribed me pills to
take everyday for three months…and I hate pills. After that
I was told I couldn’t drink
anymore soda because it
would damage my stomach
even more. At night I could
no longer sleep upside down
because the burning sensa-
tion. After that painful expe-
rience I decided to change my
eating habits from Cheetos
and junk food to fruits and
vegetables.
My goal is to bring organic
fruits and vegetables to the
community as I would rather
have my family and community eat healthy and locally in
order to not have deadly health issues or deadly disease(di-
abetes, high blood pressure as well as obesity) caused by fast
food. Marvista gardens projects is a clean community but
we need to continue building an environment of care and
respect for each other , or neighbors , young people and
C H U Y
11. I still say that I have known a home-
land from the photos of the Sabra and
Shatila massacres in the Palestinian
Embassy in Tunisia, where my fa-
ther used to take me with him to work.
I miss the smell of the leather sofa and the
air conditioning there. The embassy was for
me a complicated matter that had a meaning.
When I am outside of it, I take with me what
is inside of it, especially when the photos I
see along the corridor, are of martyrs, pris-
oners, those with broken limbs due to the
politics of breaking bones. This was not easy.
The questions were big and the answers even
bigger. They could only be summarized in
one term “because we are Palestinians and we
have a homeland”. Alright then, but where is
this homeland? Why didn’t we move there?
How did they arrive to our homeland????
Did we flee because of the killing and hitting?
Despite this, my father was careful to take
me along to wherever he went, despite the
volume of questions I asked to which I did
not find answers, and despite my stupidity
in front of what is happening and what I am
seeing. Making matters worse was the fact
that my father wanted us to deal with what
we need and live with it as part of our iden-
tity, torture is part of the identity! The con-
tradiction with the externalenvironment is
part of the identity! The emergency situation
is an identity! Although my father put me in
an Arabic school, and not a Tunisian one, to
live through the other diverse nationalities
as a natural thing, I did not find a way to
introduce my difference except through the
photos of Sabra and Shatila and living as an
emergency!
This identity crisis and the exile, is like
someone who has created a photo of what
the homeland would be, an imagined photo,
especially at times where we were allowed
to visit the homeland at my mother’s fam-
ily home and the stories that they used to
narrate. The family gathering was one of the
strongest reasons for us to reach the idea of
the homeland; thinking that the homeland is
the family flavour especially my youngest sis-
ter, who was always a rebel and wanted many
kids and a large family to play with, a family
and a life, different from the one in exile.
After the Oslo Accord in 1994, and in 2001 in
particular, my father decided to return to the
homeland –as simply as that-. The homeland
in which neither himself or myself were born.
The homeland I have seen during visits. One
day, he returned from work, as a diplomat
in the Palestinian Embassy. As a family, we
were not ready to return. My mother was on
the verge of completing the painting of the
house, and we were on the verge of starting a
new school year. Now, we stood on the foot-
steps of a decision for a new phase!
The nationalist feeling, for which he
has sacrificed a lot in the past, and sacrificed
until this moment, and will continue to do
so as it seems…. It was a tearful day, where
I was unable to compose an image of the
homeland or an image for life in it. It was a
scattered feeling and an unexpected decision.
I remember when I took my diploma, we
asked each other at school at the end of the
term, in the usual way: We will see you in the
new year! And the answer was yes. But we
suddenly left, I was even unable to return to
that moment and say it simply: We are
leaving! I have not bad farewell to
anybody. That moment seemed one of the
ugliest moment for me. I could have maybe
kept written memories in my notebook, or at
least written telephone numbers or anything
else… But I have lost everything! I could not
until this moment feel free from the feelings
of usual habits I did or the sorrow of what I
had! And we left!
I can almost certify that my father
was more shocked from the homeland
than we were. More than my sister who
carried her chair and hid under the stairway
afraid of the Israeli rockets during the second
intifada and which started 15 days upon our
return – when we have not settled in yet-, as
if the homeland wanted to compensate us
for what we have missed! My youngest sister
who was a rebel in the past and got a family
in the homeland, became an adult so early to
become more of a rebel and return to exile!....
He was shocked from the national project
and the general framework of what we yearn.
He was shocked of demeaning the nationalist
people, he was shocked and so were we at
our regret for the days of the (Israeli) Civil
Administration and the outings in Tel Aviv,
from the moral and value devaluation that
my mom said: You will not find it in Pales-
tine, Palestine the land of dignity and pride,
which dignity?! The dignity that sarcastically
welcomed those who return, a dignity that
marginalized the nationalists at the expense
of the opportunists, the dignity that divided
the homeland like bread crumbs, a dignity
that distorted whatever was left from our
homeland, namely our humanity, the de-
struction of man in man,
what dignity are we talking about??!!
We have inherited a harsh lesson.
This silence afore so many questions, which
made me target my dad with these looks, so
where, and where and where… ? Where is
the homeland that I have felt so close while I
was in the Palestinian embassy. Where is my
differentiation, which I felt like dust when I
went to university. I was surroundedby some
students asking me to declare I was a refu-
gee and not a returnee, although the return
is more beautiful as a consequence of being
a refugee! I felt the absence of a homeland
in the homeland. This harsh lesson made us
go into exile and to its appetizing image. I
cannot image the homeland further than the
one I imagined it when I was in exile. Pain
has made us stick to it more, the homeland is
no different and the dignity cannot be added
except from our doings, our awareness that
exile in the homeland is more difficult that
the exile outside. This world is missing love,
no more and no less, it misses honesty to
become more beautiful.. it does not need pro-
fessional skills or external tools, or illusion,
or the philosophy of some cultured persons
and politicians which can be attained in the
rest of the world. It needs that feeling that has
killed everything except for the conscious,
the homeland twitch that keeps tapping on
the body and says: Rather death than shame,
and as Ibrahim Nasrallah said in the morning
hymns: One... two... thirty... and the sea will come to you
One... two... thirty... and the shackles are within your hands’ reach
One... two... thirty... all the exiles are against you
One... two... thirty... what is left for you?
You are still laughing, elevating your palms towards dawn, dreaming!
“Once upon a time in Akka. I came
to Palestine to live in the year
2001. Until this moment, I have
not visited my country…. I even
succeeded for the first time to en-
ter the areas of 1948 through a trip
organized with my colleagues at
work in 2014…. For the first time,
I saw Akka, I went on the boat al-
thoughIdidnothaveenoughtime
to see the city and wander in its
streets as I wished. It was however
a breathtaking and spiritual trip
“
-Fairuz Shahrour, 29
M.A. Middle Eastern Studies
12. Why do we fall? Only to learn to rise again
It seems difficult to write a letter addressed to
those who are better off. Hence, a person tends to
share his pain with those who are empathic and
to those who had luck in this bitter life! However,
this pain is sometimes a source of life. I believe
that pain must be invested. This is my message,
my burden, that I carry and that I send to those
who are tired, a message that ourpain should not
go wasted without being shaken like the yoghurt
is shaken*, to skim the best out of it, to get to
the best experiences and the most beautiful sto-
ries. Despair does not make a man. Despair makes
desperate people… and despair is an ailment of
the heart and soul. Hence, we should live each
second for the good, to make it and spread it
around us. We should develop ourselves not to
be carried behind the horrendous sectarian think-
ing. I do not believe that God has created us and
created other religious to see bloodshed! Hence,
the highest level a human being can reach, is to
stress on himself that he is human, he acts to do
beautiful things in the world and challenge evil.
*A youghurt prepared in the Middle
East that entails hours of preparation.
FAIRUZ.
This art work represents the map of the
Arab World, drawn as a woman’s face.
This painting was used as a slogan for the
women’s intifada (uprising) in the Arab
World. I have chosen to draw it because I
believe in the necessity of being free as a
woman: free from oppression that we are
subject to in our society, our surround-
ings, and our small circles. First, to suc-
ceed to dismantle the colonization and to
fight for freedom. The occupation of our
minds, and the use of our weakness keeps
us at the low scale of societies. To succeed
in facing the enemy and the parasite, as
Arab women, we should all fight to live
in dignity and to be free from the restric-
tionsimposedmainlybyourArabsociety.
This photo was taken during the yearly march of the return to the
deserted villages and towns. This march was to the village of Khubezeh: It is a
yearly ritual that takes place on the Independence Day of Israel. This march is
an emphasis on the right of each Palestinian to return to his land and an em-
bodiment of the Palestinian historic narrative in all our minds.
I am encircled in this photo by the presence in a village whose inhabi-
tants were chased out and displaced. Every year, I remember the stories of the
refugee and displaced women; who were omitted from our history. The story of
my grandmother’s life along with the stories of the majority of Palestinian wom-
en will remain absent from the history books. The majority of the stories of the
Nakba (disaster) do not include the stories of Palestinian women. The omission
of the role of women in the collective Palestinian memory and struggle is clear.
As a Palestinian women, I suffer daily from a two-fold discrimination.
On the one side, I struggle and defend my existence as a Palestinian person. I
strive in all the details of my daily life not to bargain since I am considered part
of the “Arab minority” in a state. I try to conserve my identify from fragmenta-
tion and to face daily repeated discriminatory plans that strive to erase my exis-
tence on my homeland. In parallel to my political struggle, I fight as a women to
live in dignity in a patriarchal authoritarian society, that erases my existence as
a woman. I try, with all the available and non-available means, to live my life as
I wish it to be, in freedom with no restrictions imposed by the occupation or by
men.
I belong to the weakest and most complicated link, from both sides. I
suffer from targeted hits where the occupier exploits me as a tool to exercise his
authority on my people through his hierarchy.
24 years old
BA in Social and Humanitarian Sciences
JUMANA ASHKAR
13. My name
is Naji El Jamal. I live
in Jabalia Camp, Gaza Strip, Palestine.
I am 27 years old.
I was born in the refugee camp but
I am not a refugee. I am a citizen since
neither my father nor grandfather before
him were expelled. This characteristic
might have provided me with a specific
culture and importance that Gaza is not
the homeland but rather Palestine is, de-
spite all the siege and closures suffered in
the last years.
My voluntarism began during my
freshman year at the university. I was
active with the student work committee,
which is a leftist movement that cares
about the students’ issues, and defends
their rights. Then, I started working
as a facilitator in the Palestine Popular
Achievement Program, implemented by
AFSC.
The Popular Achievement Program
is a program that cares for Palestinian
youth, and believe that they are the cit-
izens of today. It focuses on identifying
their problems and solving them or at
least shedding some light on these issues
to the local community. The program has
offered me
and the other youth
members with a new opportunity
to work professionally and and learn life
skills. This was a life-changing experience.
It was the first time I meet participants
from the other side of the homeland. My
relationship with them started to grow. I
started to understand things better. Then
I moved to work in one of the local or-
ganizations as a project coordinator that
assists mothers and their children during
and post crisis.
Besides my regular job, I am still a
volunteer in the Palestine Youth Togeth-
er for Change Project, which contributes
in re-enforcing the Palestinian identity
through calling for our right of move-
ment and access, in the framework of a
campaign organized by “movers”. This
experience was unique since it helped
my emotionally, socially, and culturally. I
no longer concentrated on daily issues or
burdens, as the Israeli occupation likes it
to happen. I started to think of nationalis-
tic and comprehensive issues, especially
that on
15 January 2015, I
left the Gaza Strip for the first time
and met with my friends in the West Bank
and 1948 areas after having worked for
them for almost two years through social
media.
It is important to note that the Gaza
Strip has been under a complete siege for
over ten years. It was a harsh yet interest-
ing experience, because I passed through
a “schizophrenia” phase: For the first time,
I saw the Israeli flag hoisted but also the
first time I saw an Israeli soldier and talked
to him. For moments, I felt like a traitor.
Many memories flashed in my head espe-
cially the demolition of our house, my sis-
ter’s house, our farm, the death of my rel-
atives: All of this while I was crossing the
Erez Israeli checkpoint. It was a trip full of
contradictions that I will always remem-
ber.
My message to the youth:
We, in Gaza, live under catastrophic and
difficult conditions: The siege, the op-
pression, and the isolation from the out-
side world. This has been ongoing for ten
years now due to the Israeli occupation.
This has not impeded us however to try
and work, and love life. We have become
like the Phoenix with our will and dai-
ly experiences. It is a message to support
you, to support your struggle and stead-
fastness against all the evil and oppres-
sive powers. We, the youth of today, can
write history as we wish, and never for-
get, that life on this earth is worth living.
NAJI EL JAMAL
14. NAJI
EL JAMAL
A photo from Jerusalem
in the Aqsa Mosque, that
I visited for the first time.
The Mosque is attacked and
judeaized. Palestinians are
treated with violance and dis-
crimination in this holy city.
1
2 3
4
5
6
1
“Gaza my darling” is the title of this
mural that was drawn on one of the
Gaza wall. I remember this photo
well. I have taken the shot during the
cease-fire imposed by the Israeli forc-
es and which lasted six hours only
during the last atatck on Gaza.
2
These are the photos of our farmland
which has been destroyed by the
occupation forces three times during
the last ten years. A F16 rocket hit
our land, and after having planted
the seeds, it was hit anew. My father
always says that the land is our life,
and the secret of our survival.
4
This is the Jabalia refugee
camp, where I live. It is
one of the most populated
areas in the Gaza Strip.
More than 200,000 refu-
gees live here, although
I am not personally a
refugee, and was not ex-
pelled during the Nakbeh
or after, yet I still dream of
returning to the homeland
because Gaza, alone, is not
the homeland.
5
This is a photo of our
destroyed home in Jabalia
camp where the Israeli
occupation forces have de-
stroyed it completely with
no reason. Maybe they
have succeeded in bother-
ing us, tiring us, and bury-
ing our nicest memories in
this house, but they cannot
take away life.
I took these from my bedroom before and after the electricity
was cut off. It is important to note that the electricity pow-
er cuts in Gaza amount to 18 hours a day, against 6 of func-
tionality. This has been the case for the last ten years, after
the main and only electrical plant was hit in Gaza, by the Is-
raeli occupation forces. This means that there is a whole gen-
eration who is unaware of a life with 24 hours of electricity.
3
This is the corridor that separates the Gaza Strip from the
rest of the world. It is situated before the Erez military check-
point. For the time in 26 years, I have obtained a permit
through the AFSC. The occupation forces have more than
700 checkpoints in the West Bank and Gaza to fragment and
divide the homeland into small fragments.
6
7 8
78
15. PEOPLE
GUATEMALA
OF
Yessica Paola
My name is Yessica Paola Cal-
zadilla Sotoj. I am 17 years old.
I love to do stilts, juggle with a chain,
workshops, and artistic makeup
Community urban art is a sensitiza-
tion tool. It transmits mo-
tivation, joy, enthusiasm, respect,
creativity, imagination and provides
a connection with nature. We, young
people, can express and prevent
violence through art. It is a means
to improve social interaction.
Calzadilla Sotoj
“
“
Communityartisthe meanstoshare
knowledge with young people and
adolescents, seeking a better and
fairerlifethroughpoliticaladvocacy.
16. Saulo
Fernando
Mazariegos
Hernández
Young community leader and
artist, 31 years of age, Gua-
temalan, lives in Santa Isabel
II, in the outskirts of the de-
partment of Guatemala.
Pictorial muralism is an
art that we can all develop,
even if we are not profes-
sionals or have any studies.
Through it, I can express my
feelings, ideas and dreams.
~~
Jonatan
Daniel
Hernández
Vicente
Young community leader,
21 years of age, Guatemalan,
lives in the city of Peronia, lo-
cated in the outskirts of the
department of Guatemala.
Juggling, stilts, batucada (cele-
bration where you dance to the
beatofdrums),theater…arear-
tistic expressions and means of
transformation for young peo-
ple of the community. It allows
us to exploit the spontaneity
and set of qualities and abilities
necessary and inherent to the
human being, such as playing
with no rules nor standards.
It helps me feel
alive.
“ “
“
“
I love painting, colors and
shapes. Through them
I transmit a culture of
peace, free expression,
and community identity.
