And still we rise |
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"There is something about the realness of our young people that always seem to capture my attention and forces me to reflect on my responsibilities to our next generation." |
| by 'Anapesi Ka'ili |
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This past year I had the pleasure to travel to many Pacific Islander functions in Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York City, and then to my homeland of Tonga. It’s always a wonderful opportunity to meet other Pacific Islanders but what I cherish most is the moments that I share interacting with our youth. There is something about the realness of our young people that always seem to capture my attention and forces me to reflect on my responsibilities to our next generation.
In a particular visit with our youth, I posed to them a simple question about their future goals—what I received as a response was blank stares and silence! Yet it’s not the kind of blank stares that you come across when people have no idea what you are talking about or the kind of silence that I get from my students who come to class unprepared and cannot articulate their answers. I am talking about the blank stare that pierces one’s heart, the kind that challenges us to reevaluate our priorities and reminds us that it is our kids that are being incarcerated, that it is our kids that are dropping out of high school, and that it is our kids that are killing each other. Then there is the silence—it’s the loud silence—the kind where no one is speaking because no words can articulate that pain—it can only be felt and experienced by long moments of silence.
Finally, a young Tongan kid breaks the silence and says “damn, I’m not even thinking about living in the future, I’m just thinking about surviving the here and now!” I sat there speechless, after years of lecturing, teaching, writing, and speaking about these issues, you would think I would have some type of response for these young kids, some words of comfort, and yet I sat there speechless. I had no idea what to say to them, words at that moment felt so fleeting, so powerless, so minimal, so cliché and yet, I wanted to assure them that there is hope for their future, that although the statistics are stacked high up against us, that somehow we can still rise up out of the craziness that permeates their daily experiences.
My first thought was to share some inspirational quote with them, then I thought that perhaps I should share a story about how I was able to break down barriers, then I thought maybe I could just shake them and tell them to get with the program and keep moving, then I thought maybe I should just pretend like that exchange didn’t take place and ask another question—and while all these thoughts were going through my mind, I somehow quietly asked them “what can I do to help?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a plea for these young people to know that there are many of us who care about them, who are aware of their pain, who are attentive to their issues, who know that living and surviving are two completely different things, and who understand that in a society that operates on racial and class privilege everything that marks these kids as different is relegated to the margins.
One young girl looks at me and says “can you explain to my parents that being Tongan in America is not the same as being Tongan in Tonga?” The whole group breaks out in laughter and nods their heads in agreement. Another young girl chimes in and says “can you please tell my English teachers that we have Polynesian authors and poets, because she is convinced that there are no Polynesian authors out there”, and then another young man says “If you do get to speak to our teachers tell Mrs. Jensen (real name withheld) that its not okay for her to refer to us as the coconuts in the back of the room.” They all laughed but this time it wasn’t necessarily because what he said was funny but rather because what he said was real and that it was a comment that had been used by their teachers more than a few times in their own classrooms.
On my way back to Utah, I sat next to a woman who was reading a book by Maya Angelou entitled, And still I rise. Immediately I thought about my new young friends and how much I hoped that no matter where life leads them that they would still continue to rise! I arrived back in Utah and spent many sleepless nights thinking about my conversation with these young kids and all other Pacific Islander young people whom I have had the pleasure to cross paths with and I kept asking myself “what can I do to help?” A couple of weeks later I boarded another airplane and traveled back to my homeland of Tonga for a couple of weeks. I was fortunate enough to come in conversation with many of our young people in Tonga and although their experiences were different in many ways what remained the same were their feelings of hopelessness.
One morning during breakfast with my father, I explained to him how much I wanted to do something, but I felt I had nothing to give to these young kids; at least nothing that I felt would actually really make a difference. My father looked at me and said “Anapesi, the best gift we could give is to give of ourselves!” Such a simple, but yet very profound answer!
The Pacific Eye Magazine is our attempt to give of ourselves. The whole construction of this magazine has been the arduous labor of Pacific Islanders who are willingly volunteering their time, energy and resources for the betterment of our communities. All involved are volunteers from our writers to our web designer to everyone interviewed in this magazine.
The Pacific Eye Magazine will be a bimonthly online publication dedicated to issues that impact and influence the everyday lives of Pacific Islander Young people. It will serve as a space for learning, a space for articulation, a space for cultural knowledge, a space for activism, and a space for revolutionary struggles; it will be a contested space, one that is always changing, moving, and interrogating. The contents encountered in this publication are reflective of the voices, the experiences, the struggles, the challenges, the triumphs, and the successes that influence our everyday realities. We hope to offer our readers a glimpse through the lenses that we use to view the world from a Pacific’EYE’lander standpoint.
My hope is that every young person in our community will be able to find themselves reflected in this magazine in one way or another. I hope that you find comfort in knowing that you are not alone in your struggles. I hope that you are inspired by other community members who break down barriers and disrupt stereotypes. I hope you are motivated to speak out when reading about the challenges that others go through, I hope that as young people you will contribute your voice, your writings, and your talents to this magazine, but more importantly I hope that the contents of this magazine will inspire you to hope, to dream, to live and not merely just to survive, but to live and recognize that your very presence makes a difference in this world!
We acknowledge that there is still so much more to do and that creating an online magazine is not going to address all of the challenges that we face, but it is a step forward with the strong conviction that no matter what the odds are, no matter what the media says about us, no matter what some teachers, law enforcement officers, and politicians may think about us, we as Pacific Islanders will continue to rise and that I am sure of!!!
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
(Maya Angelou)
