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Opinion The Last Word

Getting a Clue on CLUE

Remember elementary school? No one was worrying about their taxes, gas prices, or whether there would be a viable planet for our future generations. No, the hot topic in our circles in the then Memphis City Schools was “If it’s raining today, what are we doing for recess?” That may still be a relevant, pressing issue today — that is, if students these days are able to go outside at all in between mandatory state testing — but I haven’t checked in with the primary school population recently for a quote.

In those years, I took the bus to school and back. Two days out of the week, however, I would be on the bus four times a day. It was not because I had a long commute to school that required city bus transfers. Rather, I was taking the bus during school. In the middle of the day, my friend (we’ll call him Dev) and I, two little brown kids, would be called out of class, board the bus, and be taken to another elementary school just two miles away.

As a now seasoned Memphis driver, two miles is not impressive, but Dev and I were nine and we felt that our commute and having to ride to and from classes made us professional 4th graders. Granted, this cut some serious time into our recess schedule, but we didn’t complain. We had the entire bus to ourselves for Two. Whole. Miles. Sure the rides were bumpy, some of the vinyl in the seats had rips that exposed the cloth underneath, and several sharpie scribbles by morning and afternoon commuters decorated the inside of the bus, but that was nothing compared to the warmth and hospitality of our companion and driver that facilitated our trip to a school that promised smaller classroom sizes and our choice of candy at the end of each lesson.

Krischam | Dreamstime.com

Dev and I were in a program called CLUE, Creative Learning in a Unique Environment, which had a small group curriculum that gave the instructor more flexibility to personalize to each student. Dev started CLUE a year earlier than I did because I had transferred from a Miami public school where I was set to start the program in 1st grade but was passed around taking Florida and then Tennessee assessments that would later label me as an intellectually and academically “gifted” student.

These arbitrary and subjective tests ultimately determined the investment I received as a student such that by the age of six, the trajectory of my academic career was planned before me. These scores do not truly tell us whether a child has the ability or capacity to take honors and Advanced Placement college courses years ahead in high school. No assessment can measure that. They determine the kind of preparation a child receives — that is, whether they will be receiving challenging, cognitively engaged learning that will prepare them for “advanced” classes in the future. Dev and I received this preparation that eased the transition into honors and advanced courses in middle school and later high school. But that also meant that many of our peers did not receive that level of investment and preparation, which over the years, adds up.

Barely at the double-digits age mark, Dev and I did not have the language to express how public education programs and policy such as these affected our daily lives and relationships, but we felt it. We felt the nuances of enforced separation and isolation from our classmates. Twice a week, we were physically separated from them, pulled from our zoned school which was predominantly black, Latinx, and poor and bussed to a better-funded, optional elementary school down the street. There, we engaged with brainteasers, word games, read short stories about history, and were encouraged to express ourselves through creative writing, which made going to class an enjoyable experience. We weren’t being asked to memorize and regurgitate facts or sit quietly in our desks with busy-work; we were challenged to ask questions and learn about ourselves and each other through a critical pedagogical approach.

We wanted to share these experiences (and the candy) with our friends. There was definitely room in the bus for the other 22 students in our class to join us on our trips … why couldn’t they come with us? Why couldn’t we bring our puzzles and word games to them?

These questions troubled our minds in the background as we rode back and forth to schools. Dev and I did not understand what about the CLUE assessment was so significant to adults that they divided us from our friends who we believed would also enjoy being challenged to think creatively in class. We were all students at the end of the day, all with limitless potential and all deserving of a quality, well-funded, gifted education.

I’m not sure where or how Dev is today. In 5th grade, my parents were advised by administrators and faculty to transfer me to the second school because I was missing instructional time during the drive in between schools. I stopped taking the bus with my fellow commuter.

The decisions my folks made were difficult, as all decisions regarding a child’s education and future are for parents. They wanted a better education for me than the one they had, and for that, I am eternally grateful. The education I received through the challenging learning environments in CLUE and similar programs equipped me with the tools, language, and critical thinking to believe in and expect more in a public education system, to have the resources and well-paid teachers and staff who can facilitate engaged learning for all students to ask these questions, too.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Lantinx chingona purusing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. A native of Argentina, she is researching Latinx identity in the South.

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Opinion The Last Word

Free Manuel Duran!

The arrest of local journalist Manuel Duran was viewed live. In a virtual sense, we were there with him. We were there as he reported on the theatrical protest at 201 Poplar on Tuesday, April 3rd. He let us be witnesses, via his phone, as he live-streamed for Memphis Noticias and interviewed individuals who had gathered for a multi-lingual and multi-cultural peaceful demonstration.

He’s a well-known Spanish-language journalist, and he was reporting on a protest against immigration detention and private prisons. He was doing his job, his press credential was visible, and he was the only journalist arrested by the Memphis Police Department that day.

While there were other journalists on site, only Duran talked us through Tuesday’s action as it was happening — giving us unedited, live footage. He filmed protesters holding signs while others lined up, in the spirit of performance activism, dressed in blue scrubs with chains and shackles, others theatrically representing Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers. He showed us, through his eyes, as someone spoke the following words — which continue to ring in my ears today:

Memphis Notacias

Manuel Duran

“We are changing the narrative. Poverty is not the problem. It’s the people who create, engineer, and perpetuate poverty, that is the problem. We have to take the fight to them. This is just a representation of their power, but now, they’ve even monetized jails where they have people working for little to nothing.”

Duran is a Memphis journalist, and he was doing his job. His commentary throughout the live-stream reminded us what this protest, led by the Coalition for Concerned Citizens (C3), Comunidades Unidas en Una Voz (CUUV), and Fight for 15 members, was really about. It was to bring attention to the continued injustices created by private prisons and the prison industrial complex. They were not only calling out the disproportionate rates that black and brown people are incarcerated and how their bodies are exploited for cheap labor, but were also calling for an end to the collaboration between Shelby County and ICE. As Duran says, this is a simple request by the people, given that ICE has increasingly been targeting folks with noncriminal arrests. He also reminded his Spanish-speaking viewers to recognize that while the separation of families through deportation is affecting the hispanic community, black people, too, are tied to this struggle, as black and brown communities are both exploited by private prisons.

Duran was doing his job. And we followed him as he filmed protestors crossing Poplar on the pedestrian crosswalk in front of the Shelby County Justice Center. And we walked backwards with him as he followed police requests to get off of the street. And we watched as an MPD officer pointed at Duran and a protester next to him, and the officer said to nearby cops, “Get ’em, guys.”

Our vision, through Duran’s phone, is shaken. We see the black concrete, the officer’s shoes, and hints of the blue scrubs. We hear a car alarm blaring beats in between people’s screams — and then, we, the viewer, are on the ground looking up at the gray, cloudy sky.

In those same hours the city was observing the MLK50 activities, journalists, photographers, and individual Facebook live-streamers were also documenting this demonstration and the arrests of eight protestors and of one journalist, Manuel Duran. All charges were dropped, and everyone walked, except Duran.

While the sheriff and the county have claimed that there is no collaboration with ICE, Duran’s detention proves otherwise. Their unwillingness to release him came despite overwhelming community support for him. More than 130 organizations and businesses and over 1,000 people made phone calls and sent emails. The sheriff had no obligation to honor the detainment request by ICE, further proving that the city and county are isolating those seeking truth.

In his live-stream, Duran pointed out that there were many journalists at the demonstration because “es importante esta noticia.” This news is important. Duran wanted to share this news with those who could not be there, with those who fear the hyper-surveillance in downtown Memphis, and who feel excluded from #IAmMemphis by means of criminalization. He wanted to show us that when our families are under attack, our communities will show up and support each other to address the causes of injustices and inequities.

Tuesday’s arrests were made with no valid reason. Even Shelby County District Attorney General Amy Weirich had to admit that “[there] was not sufficient evidence to go forward with the prosecution.” But those arrests reveal what is a different Memphis for some and just a daily reality for others. This is not the first time that the state has picked up, arrested, or detained prominent community organizers. In fact, you may remember, earlier this year, we commemorated the life of a particular famous civil rights leader who was targeted for his message in a very similar way.

#FreeManuel

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. A native of Argentina, she is researching Latinx identity in the South.

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Opinion The Last Word

Participate! Change Comes From the Bottom Up

On the evening of the Mid-South Peace and Justice Center’s 36th annual Living the Legacy of Nonviolence, Tami Sawyer accepted the Happy Jones Award on behalf of #TakeEmDown901. As the masses of people stood and applauded, Sawyer said, “Everyone in here … was a part of #TakeEmDown901. The reason it was so successful as a movement is because it was a people-centered movement. It gathered the voices and sentiment of our entire community.”

Sawyer’s words were a reminder of the power of widespread participation in collective political action. When members of the community are in conversation and they collaborate and strategize together, social change is more impactful and long-lasting. #TakeEmDown901 demonstrated how community dialogue with differing opinions on how to address local issues helps complicate and strengthen resistance to not only racial inequality but also symbols of racial violence.

The approach of a people-centered movement is reminiscent of Ella Baker’s grassroots leadership philosophy. In 1957, along with Bayard Rustin and Stanley Levison, Baker co-founded the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). As a field organizer for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), she traveled extensively throughout the South to organize local NAACP chapters.

From her travels, Baker came to recognize the collective power of communities and the importance of their participation in decision-making processes that affect their lives. These methods of organizing did not sit well with the other leaders of the SCLC, who were accustomed to a “top-down” approach. Baker challenged this practice with her understanding of how individuals can find empowerment through direct participation. Thus, they do not depend on the direction of a larger, outside institution but they find the resources within themselves first to address injustice in their community.

Baker found that the SCLC’s hierarchies within its organizational leadership conflicted with her philosophy. She said “In organizing a community, you start with people where they are.” She believed that individuals and communities already had resources and strengths that could be harnessed for collective liberation.

Additionally, Baker had disagreements with Martin Luther King Jr.’s leadership, because the SCLC relied so heavily on him as a sole leader. She knew the dangers of having a singular person portrayed as the face of a movement. Many of her ideas and suggestions, which called for the engagement of youth and women in organizing, were also overlooked, because they were voices of a black woman in a male-dominated space.

In the 1960s, Baker witnessed the organizing power of students in North Carolina. Following the example of 1940s and 1950s sit-ins in cities such as Chicago, Baltimore, and St. Louis, black students in Greensboro, North Carolina, used nonviolent protest to desegregate Woolworth lunch counters. The four college freshmen, now known as the Greensboro Four, were joined by other college students in daily sit-ins which drew national attention to the segregation in the South. They unveiled the curtain to the violence that white people would inflict to maintain segregation and racial inequality.

The grassroots organizing that these students were engaging in drew Baker to them and led to the formation of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Baker supported the student organizers working independently of SCLC because she knew that the youth needed to have agency in the direction of their organizing. Her advising influenced SNCC’s major role in the civil rights movement. Using Baker’s framework, SNCC was able to do much of the radical work that SCLC could not.

As we reflect on the legacy of Ella Baker, one of the most influential people in civil rights movement, we must consider how her framework exists today. The Black Lives Matter movement is strategic in moving away from single, national leaders. Rather, the movement encourages black communities to address issues that are affecting them locally. As such, black communities can have more agency in how they address injustices in their neighborhoods. This group-centered leadership where members work together to assess how they respond and organize is one of the main elements of Baker’s framework of participatory democracy.

Similarly, we can look to United We Dream as another example of an immigrant, youth-led movement. It includes a network of immigrant-rights organizations across the country that uses localized systems of political action to push for a comprehensive immigration reform. They, too, engage in decentralization and collective decision-making by training young people to organize in their communities through an intersectional analysis of immigrant and LGBTQ+ struggles.

We are also seeing the activism of the Parkland survivors and the obvious pressure they have placed on elected officials and corporations. They have helped mobilize another wave of young organizers. In various cities and states, Memphis included, students are coordinating with the National School Walkout to call for gun control. The mobilization is happening at a local level, with groups deciding on their own what type of demonstration suits them best. For this generation of organizers, I offer the advice that was offered to me: Find and work from the strengths within you and your community; seek guidance when you need to, but trust yourself; do not be pacified, do not be co-opted, and do not give up.

In the words of Ella Baker, “Strong people don’t need strong leaders.” We are all agents of change. Adelanté. Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. A native of Argentina, she is researching Latinx identity in the South.

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Opinion The Last Word

A Future for All

We Love (Some of) Memphis.

That’s the message I got after reading about recent developments from the Cooper-Young Neighborhood Watch. Earlier this year, the Cooper-Young Business Association partnered with the Shelby County District Attorney’s office in its “anti-trespassing program.” The program, which started from the DA’s office to “discourage incidents of loitering and criminal trespass” in apartment complexes, has expanded to cover commercial properties and now has over a dozen businesses signed up in the Cooper-Young area.

For businesses who participate in the program, this means that the police are given authorization of agency. Authorization of agency would typically require businesses to fill out a form against specifically named persons outlining that they are not allowed on property or else they will be charged with criminal trespassing. This program throws all of that out the window. Without warning, people can be arrested for criminal trespassing on first offense. Anyone can use their judgment to deem someone of trespassing, and the police can make arrests with or without a complaint made. Does that sound familiar? Targeting a person because you think they might commit a crime. Anyone? What is profiling?

Calvin Leake | Dreamstime.com

Cooper-Young

Correct. Programs like these that have been implemented around the country and in our city result in assuming certain behaviors are criminal behaviors. We then don’t see people as people, rather we assign them a role as criminals. Take the humanity out of a person and it becomes easier to isolate and incarcerate the body. Black and brown folks, especially men, are often targeted because the pigment in their skin does not fall within the spectrum of the predominantly white demographic of Cooper-Young. If you aren’t aware of this pattern of implicit, and sometimes explicit, bias, then you probably haven’t checked what your neighbor down the road has been posting on Nextdoor.com.

A couple of “shady” folks standing near your favorite coffee-yoga-organic-craft brewery during your happy hour? Sit down, Carol. There’s nothing incriminating about standing or talking. In fact, they probably know the neighborhood better than you. It’s this simple judgment that can now have severe results for folks of color engaging with police.

This isn’t the first time that such programs and ordinances regulating urban space have been enforced. We’ve seen it happen in almost every corner of “revitalized” Memphis space — from downtown, Crosstown, and Overton Square to the Edge District and University District. It doesn’t stop at the moving or closing of local businesses owned by people of color who attract the “wrong” crowd. It spreads to a structural separation of people and communities. Just take a look at how we’ve cut bus lines and frequency and don’t fix bus shelters but yet we paint our street lanes green for the urban cyclist.

There is nothing proactive about this as an approach to address crime. A proactive approach would be one that would assess and address the needs of the population that is facing chronic hunger and/or homelessness. It would challenge loitering prohibitions as restrictions to people’s right to move freely in public space. It would critically engage with solutions to address homelessness and its causes (low wages, lack of affordable housing, etc.). A proactive approach would be not just speaking on these issues when they hit the news, but actively investing in programming that would support individuals as they work to find stable jobs and housing. While Memphis is a city with one of the lowest costs of living, people cannot make it on $7.25 an hour.

Programs such as these ultimately reflect a neglect in the framing of the future for Memphis. When we are creating this Memphis, who is it for? And at whose expense? Are we prioritizing certain people’s comfort and in exchange suppressing the freedom and autonomy of others? The decisions made in Cooper-Young as well as in Overton Square and the Crosstown neighborhood give us a peek into some of these answers. How we police public streets and how we decide who gets to walk on those same roads will show the world whether we are moving forward or backward, and once we put up these signs claiming land for a certain group of people and intimidating others with criminal charges, we send a clear message.

As we reimagine and reshape urban space, we need to be critical of ourselves and our practices that exclude and literally push out people to the margins. Our actions are all connected, and what decisions we choose to support and call out will put us in history as community-builders or as complacent agents in the uprooting of communities.

We cannot convince ourselves that we are uplifting the city when we are simultaneously destroying opportunities for some and denying fellow Memphians access to a space in our envisioned future.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. A native of Argentina, she is researching Latinx identity in the South.

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Opinion The Last Word

A Dream in Limbo

Keeping Up with D. Trump is one of the most difficult reality TV shows to follow. It’s probably the longest-running series I’ve ever watched (I tend to trust the binge-able shows on Netflix that offer some sort of consistency). But with Trump, it seems that we can never trust him to be consistent, or even comprehendible.

In the past week alone, Trump has gone from, “We want the wall. The wall is going to happen, or we’re not going to have DACA” at a press conference at Camp David to saying on Tuesday that he’ll “take the heat” for a sweeping immigration deal, which he referred to as a “bill of love,” to protect over 700,000 young undocumented youth. He later backtracked and stated on Wednesday that any deal would have to include millions of dollars in investment towards the militarization of a border wall.

Imagine this recap preceded by your favorite voice-over of “Previously on ___” but instead of Lost, Ugly Betty, or The Walking Dead, it’s Trump’s White, Cishteropatriarchy America. Now you have an interesting comedy-drama and apocalyptic horror show that airs 24 hours a day, seven days a week, whether you want it to or not. Having watched almost a full year of this, er, production, I can’t say that I’ve picked up on a consistent plot or theme. If anything, the stress of not knowing what will happen next is the only thing I can be sure of.

Joshua Roberts | reuters

Previously on President Trump

I say this jokingly because humor is one of my coping mechanisms; however, this is my reality and the reality for anyone in the U.S. (and the world) who is poor, brown, black, indigenous, undocumented — or “made undocumented,” if we want to challenge the construction of borders and recognize the displacement of people who inhabited the land for hundreds of years before us. We have essentially been living in an apocalyptic episode that our friends and allies are only recently waking up to. We can’t really hit pause or take a commercial break from the stress and anxiety when we’re constantly having to defend our humanity. We can’t all go running into country fields and roast marshmallows over a bonfire after a good ol’ hike in the woods like Justin Timberlake.

For those of us who’ve been “resisting by just existing” our whole lives, the feeling of living during the Trump era is not unfamiliar. We remember the record number of deportations during the Obama administration and President Clinton’s NAFTA, which basically destroyed Mexico’s agriculture and economy, and Bush’s “Special Registration” program that disproportionately targeted Arabs and Muslims.

While Trump may seem like a culture shock to the average, apolitical person, we’ve been living under high levels of uncertainty for quite a while, long before Number 45 came into office. White men, fueled by power, have disenfranchised our youth and workers, defunded our education and public transportation, created barriers against the development of our businesses and livable housing, and have separated our families. We’ve been made immobile physically and economically by policy for years. The difference is that in the past nearly 365 days, things have intensified and accelerated. And the squabbles in Congress and Trump’s inconsistency don’t ease our concerns.

Hundreds of thousands of DREAMers and undocumented folks are dealing with the rollercoaster of reactions to Trump’s statements and tweets. On Tuesday, U.S. District Judge William Alsup ruled to block the administration’s plan to end the DACA program, arguing that no action can be taken while the program is being legally disputed. Bruna Bouhid of United We Dream, the largest immigrant youth-led network in the U.S., responded, “We can’t keep relying on lawsuits and different presidents to come in and upend our lives. I don’t want to go through this anymore. It’s too hard. As a DACA recipient, it’s too much back and forth. You don’t know what your future looks like.”

On the one hand, the ruling gives a glimmer of hope, but undocumented people know the game and know to wait. Time reveals the truth in politicians facing reelection in 2018, and Trump’s cryptic stance(s) this week offer further evidence of how undocumented people’s lives are repeatedly used as bargaining chips.

Back in December, Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer was criticized for using DREAMers for photo-ops and pandering to the Latinx voter, leaving them with empty promises of work dedicated toward an immigration reform. At the end of 2017, Democrats were not willing to push further the inclusion of a clean DREAM Act in the spending deal. This past week has also seen the end of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for over 200,000 Salvadorans, many of whom have been living and working in the states for at least 20 years.

So what do you do when your life is just part of someone’s political agenda? For some, the answer is to take action (I highly recommend this to allies who have certain securities and privileges that undocumented folks and people who are targeted for their race, ethnicity, sexuality, faith, and nationality do not). To those who, like Bouhid, are tired of their existence being left on a cliffhanger with each episode of Keeping Up With D. Trump, please take a rest. In order to keep you and your love alive, we need you to check in with yourself, find your people for support, and do what you think is best for your body and mind.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. A native of Argentina, she is researching Latinx identity in the South.