Youth Radio - Topic: Perspective

Me and Mr. World Wide Web

cfoster — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 13:59:43 -0600

This decade the internet and I grew up together. In 2000 we were just kids. I was still drawing pictures with crayons and Google wasn’t even a verb yet. But by the time I was 11 I had my first cell phone, at12 I had my first computer, and I snuck onto MySpace at 13.

By the time I was in the ninth grade, technology and I were going steady. My Oakland public high school gave us laptops instead of textbooks. I loved that because I could quickly email my teachers for help, and instantly send my homework.

My generation depends on modern technology in school, to keep in touch with our friends, to listen to music, and to express ourselves. But one of the biggest paradoxes of the last decade, was that while it was more or less mandatory to have a life online, no one had figured out how to balance the digital world with real world responsibilities.

By the eleventh grade, my sweet relationship with technology became dysfunctional. I was falling asleep in English class every other day because I’d be up ‘til 4am chatting online. Ironically, the same teacher who yelled at me in class is now my friend on Facebook.

I knew I had to do something. So my senior year the internet and I signed up for couples counseling, and decided to spend some time apart. I cancelled all but one of my social networking memberships. And now that I’m in college, I chat a lot less and use the internet in more resourceful ways.

As 2010 approaches, I’ve decided the internet and I are better off as just friends. I’m curious about analog technologies, like film photography. And I’m even excited to send hand written letters and postcards to my college friends over the winter break.

Technology will forever have a place in my life. But if there’s one thing the last decade has taught me: it’s that sometimes you need to log off.

All Eyes On Copenhagen

wilmer — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 19:27:17 -0600

I have been struggling to get people to see the urgency of environmental action since my freshman year in high school. Tomorrow I’ll fly to Copenhagen, Denmark as one of the Sierra Club’s nineteen youth delegates to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change. And after all of my activism at home, I won’t accept any more delays on the road to an effective climate treaty.

My generation’s future hinges on this treaty, so I have high expectations for world leaders, including my own president. But I also understand how difficult it is to affect change, even on a small scale. For years I have struggled, along with other students and teachers, to get a comprehensive recycling program at my high school. We generate mostly paper waste, but administrators aren’t interested in recycling paper because it isn’t redeemable for money. So today aluminum cans are the only resource consistently recycled at my school, because they actually make money.

My public high school has a lot in common with developing countries around the world that are hesitant to adopt environmental legislation. Their foremost concern is economic growth, not their impact on the environment. This is why discussions are already happening before Copenhagen, about how developing countries can be supported as they reduce their carbon footprints.

My generation needs government to reverse global warming. Melting polar ice caps affect me in a very real way. Because rising sea levels mean that my hometown of Alameda, California could possibly turn into an underwater Atlantis.

On Monday I’ll join thousands of people from all over the world in Copenhagen. We’ll all bring our stories of small change, hoping for a story of big change. These people have done everything they can within their communities – and now it’s time for our leaders to come together and make real change for the global community.

Previously:

Homeowner at 20

rpereira — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 16:26:34 -0600

"Sign here and here," the notary public said to me after we reviewed yet another page of loan information. It was August, a month before my 21st birthday, and after signing the final page, I handed over a check that wiped out my bank account.

Three days later, I received the keys to my first house.

I feel like half my life I've been preparing to be a homeowner. Because I have.

I was eight when my family emigrated from El Salvador and our first financial obligation in the U.S. was to pay off the coyote who took us across the border. My dad set a goal -- he would pay the debt in two years, then buy a house. In a year and a half, we were living in our new home in the East Bay.

Purchasing that home was the beginning of my dad’s “school of real estate” -- and I was already enrolled. I remember sitting with Dad as he talked to the real estate broker. "Make sure you understand what this man is saying," Dad said.

Then, when I was 15 and eager to spend the money I was making at my first job, Dad sat me down. He told me if I saved 50 percent of my paycheck, I’d have enough money before long to buy a house.

So I started working three jobs, living off my part-time wages and saving the entire paycheck from my full-time job. I also researched federal loans that target first-time homebuyers.

The biggest hurdle was proving to the banks that, despite my age, I had the savings and job security to pay a mortgage. And Dad was right – I did have enough.

I’ve been living in my house for two months now, and every time I come home I can’t help thinking “Man, this is mine!” Of course, when so many people are losing jobs, I think about how I would pay the mortgage if I lost one of mine. But my Dad has taught me how to make financial plans and has shared his experience navigating the world of credit and loans. “Debt is part of life,” he says – whether if it’s for a new car, a college diploma or a place to live. And my house is worth every penny I owe.

(download mp3)

Previously:

My Depression

rpereira — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 15:34:12 -0500

Here’s a snapshot of my Saturday nights as a freshman at UC San Diego. My suitemates are all glammed up to go clubbing. My friends next door get cozy around the couches to watch a marathon of “The Office.” And where am I? I’m in my room with the door closed, doing…absolutely nothing. Ain’t college life grand?

That was the story of my life last year. My friends would ask me to come out with them, and I’d make up bogus excuses to stay in. Pretty soon, I got fewer and fewer of those invitations.

Partway through last year, I realized what I was feeling might be more serious than I thought. Sure I was a tad homesick, and a little stressed with classes, but nothing that would make me go through two boxes of tissues in a week. I definitely didn’t want to talk to my friends about it. I was afraid they would think I was craving attention. I had absolutely no control over how I felt, so I did what any tech-savvy teenager would do -- I googled my condition.

I waited for all my suitemates to leave before taking an online depression survey. All wrapped up in my comforter, I started on the first question. "Do you feel sad or irritable?" Oh yes. From there I answered questions about my sleeping and eating habits. These had changed quite a bit, but I chalked it up to the norms of college life. I answered "yes" to 7 of the 10 questions. The results? Clinical depression. Eh...what?

I refused to believe I was clinically depressed. I always prided myself on being strong and capable of facing changes easily, so this diagnosis was beyond shocking. I figured I ought to talk to UCSD's counselors, but I talked myself out of an appointment. I thought I had no legitimate reason to have these feelings. Talking to my friends was out of the question, and I didn't want to worry my mom.

After some research, I resolved to self-medicate by getting a job and joining student organizations. The rest of the year was still difficult, but I felt like I was making strides toward a healthier outlook on college life. Eventually I met a friend who opened up to me about her own depressed feelings. I finally realized I wasn’t alone in this -- and can face my sophomore year with confidence. I’ll watch out for more serious signs of depression, but know where to get started for help – by opening up, not bottling up.

[Note: A version of this commentary aired on KQED's Perspective series on October 8, 2009.]

Previously:

Grief and the Other G Thing

rpereira — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 17:30:59 -0500

On my last day of school, I was laughing really hard at something a classmate said. My first instinct was to call my mom and tell her the joke. It didn’t hit me until I pulled out my phone -- there wouldn’t be an answer when I pressed send.

My mom died four months ago. At first, I didn’t know how to handle life without her. I wasn’t able to cry even when I saw her in bed after she had passed away in her sleep. It wasn’t until her funeral 10 days later, when the music started playing and the congregation lined up to see the casket, that I shed my first tears for her.

But after that, I felt blank. “What happens next?” I wondered. Who’s going to take me to the doctor’s office? Or to shop for back-to-school clothes?

But those are just the practical questions. What made my mom’s passing so difficult was that I didn’t just lose a loving parent. I lost my best friend – the person I talked to about everything. So here I am facing the hardest thing that’s ever happened, and she’s not here to help.

In the weeks after my mom died, I kept thinking about the only time she was depressed. Her mother had died and for a full month she acted like a different person. I was in third grade and I remember coming home every day and finding her crying in bed.

“You can’t grieve halfway,’’ she told me, “You’ve got to let yourself feel all the emotions when a loved one dies, or you won’t get over it.”

But when I was older and we’d talk about death she would give what seemed like the opposite advice. “When I close my eyes, I don’t want you crying over me,” she’d say. “‘Cause I’m G, and dying ain’t nothing but a G thang.”

G is short for gangster. It’s not like my mom was a gang-banger. But she was tough and strong. And after she died, she wanted me to be the same.

To me she’s still alive because she’s living through me. I know it’s going to be hard, but I’m taking her lessons and putting them to use. For my mom, I’m going to grieve all the way. Then do what Gs do, and keep on steppin’.

Previously:

Don't Ask, Do Tell: The Shocking Story of a Gay Sailor (VIDEO)

noah — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 12:44:26 -0500

We met Joseph Rocha at an anti-Prop 8 rally in San Francisco back in May. Little did we know at the time that his story would prove to be so compelling. This week we asked Joseph to share his story with the audience of KQED-FM, and he produced the following Perspective.

By: Joseph Christopher Rocha

After a rough childhood, I dedicated my life to public service, starting in the military. I had no idea at that time that every one of my major military accomplishments, including acceptance to the U.S. Naval Academy, would be overshadowed by my sexuality.

I earned a spot among the elite, high-testosterone community of Military Explosive Detection Handlers. While stationed in the Middle East, the men in my unit spent lots of time with prostitutes. Soon, my refusal to partake was reason enough for my peers to accuse me, day in and out, of being gay.

My Navy peers often harassed me, insisting the extra training I did with Marines was a search for sex partners. Once, I was hog tied to a chair, rolled across the base, and left in a dog kennel with feces. I was forced to simulate sex acts, on camera, to armed service members with trained attack dogs in the room. Men with hoses sprayed me down in full uniform.

Thousands of miles away from the United States, being subjected to extreme humiliation by my own military leadership, I did not feel hatred. I felt fear. Fear they would hurt me and no one back home would ever know. I had no gay friends to talk with and no gay personal life. I was only 18 years old, and I was afraid if I told anyone, I would be kicked out for being gay.

Joseph tells his story to reporter Rachel Krantz.

Eventually, someone a rank above me reported it, and there was an investigation that found dehumanizing pranks against me were habitual. I was preparing to testify, when I got a call from a Navy attorney telling me the case was dropped.

So all I have to show for my abuse is a two inch packet of investigation findings and post traumatic stress disorder.

Since 1993, the policy that reads "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Harass, Don't Pursue" (DADT) has legitimized discrimination and abuse against our Country's finest. It's a policy that made it easier for my abusers to torment me. I support House bill H.R.1283 which would replace DADT with a non-discrimination policy, and when it comes to a vote, our President and legislators in Congress should have little fear of opposing it. Because according to a 2008 Washington Post/ABC News poll, 75 percent of Americans favor allowing openly gay people to serve in the military.

I wish I could still be serving in our military, but after three and a half years in the Navy, including two and a half years stationed in the Middle East, I resigned because I refused to be punished any longer for who I am. My official statement to the Navy reads in part:

"I am homosexual. I am proud of my service and had hoped that I'd be able to serve the Navy and country for my entire career. However, the principles of honor, courage and commitment mean that I must be honest with myself, courageous in my beliefs and committed to my course of action. I understand this statement will be used to end my naval career."

I told, and I was discharged.

Previously:

Dear Superintendent

cfoster — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 16:30:35 -0500

By Venus Morris.

Dear Mr. Superintendent,

When I first heard you were coming to Oakland, I figured you were a flunky from Sacramento, sent to do the state's dirty work. But then I learned getting a superintendent means regaining local control over our schools. And that gives me hope the district will start to change.

You see, I just graduated from one of the schools in your district. I know you haven’t yet been to my West Oakland alma matter, but when you do visit, you might want to be on your Ps and Qs. Don’t be surprised if you’re knocked over in the hallway by students who aren’t afraid of big school officials—even a former football player like yourself. Most of the kids there have had discipline problems, been kicked out of other Oakland schools, or been to jail. Many of us don’t have role models. And still, we want to learn.

That’s not always easy. When I was in ninth grade, my English and biology classes had different substitutes throughout the whole school year. They couldn’t even keep track of the work we turned in, so they’d leave, and mess up our credits.

But things got better. By tenth and eleventh grade, we got real teachers and computerized smart boards. They even painted the walls off-white, the floors a dark tan and added colorful murals.

But you’ll only know about changes like these if you actually spend time at your Oakland schools. And that’s what I’d like to challenge you to do, Mr. Superintendent. Visit each of Oakland’s 107 public schools before winter break. That would show the students for the first time in a long time, someone is on our side and cares.

I know some schools will dress up nicely for the superintendent’s visit. But I hope you’ll look past the get up so you can see what it’s like for the Oakland schools like mine, which don’t have all the music programs, football teams and engineering competitions.

I'm excited someone new is in charge of my school district. Not to overwhelm you with the comparison, but this moment kind of reminds me of President Obama coming in, and promising change. I hope you, too, will partner with young people and work together to fix this district--in each and every Oakland school.

Sincerely,

Venus Morris

Previously:

Stock Market Obsessed

rebecca — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 16:54:03 -0600

by Lauren Silverman

I've been ducking and dodging the unfamiliar economic terms since the first financial bailout was announced, hoping phrases like "credit default swaps" and "short selling" might disappear. Well, they haven't; in fact, those pesky financial terms are showing up everywhere from Vanity Fair to Star Magazine (although Star chose to talk not about lost assets, but lost "cashola").

I can't escape the terms, so I decided to stand up and make an interception. I started my financial self-education this way: typing questions into Google. Surprisingly, this proved fairly successful--I learned that a hedge fund is basically an exclusive mutual fund, and that short-selling is essentially borrowing stocks and selling them in the hopes that you will be able to rebuy them when their price goes down. And to commit these terms to memory, I made flash cards on things like price to earnings ratios.

Then I took the next step in my game plan and registered for a free online trading account at www.up-down.com. The site gives players a million dollars to virtually invest and practice trading techniques.

Despite the fact that it’s not real money, I find myself being extremely cautious buying just 20 shares at a time. So far, I’ve only invested 15 thousand dollars - mostly in things like alternative energy hoping to cash in on the promises of President Barack Obama. But the last time I checked my daily digest, I saw a lot of red and I know that’s a bad sign. The only stock that was up was a solar company. I keep trying to think of innovative investment ideas – things other people may overlook – like manufacturers of insulation and double paned windows. But many of those companies are either private, or behemoths that cut across sectors. So I’m sticking with predictable companies, and getting trounced like everyone else.

I also signed up for a free 30-day practice account with Advanced Currency Markets, a foreign exchange dealer, and got a call from one of their representatives ten hours later to "follow up with my interest." I'm guessing they don't have too many people signing up for their services right now. Which scared me enough to tell them to take me off their list.

Months ago, I hardly knew what NASDAQ was; today, I'm a bit stock-market obsessed.

The financial crisis has been disastrous for the majority of Americans, and there's no doubt that it has slimmed down my wallet. My regular babysitting gigs have dried up now that parents are choosing Netflix over the theater.

On the plus side, the meltdown has fattened up my stock-market knowledge. Hopefully, the time I have invested in educating myself and playing online stock trading games will pay off--even if only with virtual money. You don't actually think I'm crazy enough to put one penny into the REAL stock market??

Previously:

The Gays of Our Lives

cfoster — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 12:49:00 -0500

I’ve been an outcast since childhood. In school, I was either the skinny kid or the only black kid or the free lunch kid. In 6th grade, there was only one kid as bad off as I was—my friend Bobby. We were on the playground when he said, “I have something to tell you. Please don’t stop being my friend.” He told me he was gay. Me too, Bobby, me too.

Every crazy day, we had to stand up for ourselves and each other. After all, we couldn’t change who we were.

I’m a long way from 6th grade, but I still have the same struggles.

Just a few days ago, I was at the bus stop in the wrong part of town, when I saw a friend. Part of me wanted to hug him like we usually do whenever we run into each other. But another part of me wanted to pretend I didn’t even see him. I didn’t want everyone to know I was gay.

In a flash, I got over myself. Because I realized, if I want the world to accept me for who I am, I have to let the world see me for who I am. So I opened up my arms in front of everyone, exposed and vulnerable, but so proud. And I have a feeling somebody who was watching us from the bus, or driving by in a car, or looking down from a window, was proud of us too.

I know hugging my friend in East Oakland doesn’t make me some gay rights leader. But it’s the little battles that give me hope we’ll win the wars, like the one we’re fighting about the right to marry.

In America, it’s against the law for anyone to violate my rights as a gay citizen. But when it comes to same-sex marriage, America is contradicting itself, by excluding me and my gay people. I’m only 18, and I’m not even the monogamous type. But for me, the issue isn’t marriage. It’s equality. I know what it’s like to be an outcast. And as long as gay people can’t get married, it feels a little like I’m still back at middle school, all alone in a hostile environment.

The difference now is I know I’m not fighting by myself. Nobody can control love. And as long as we keep fighting, we’ll make it through. Believe me, I’ve done it before.

[Editor's Note: Starting next Monday- June 22- we'll be running a series of features on Gay Rights in the U.S. in honor of the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. Click here for a preview.]

A Different World

cfoster — Thu, 21 May 2009 15:20:30 -0500

I am one of 45 seniors in my graduating class, and we’re the fourth class to graduate from my arts-centric charter school. With college around the corner, I started questioning if I should have gone to a larger, more traditional high school.

There’s a lot that’s good about my school. I have never had to break up a fight or be afraid to go to school. Since it’s so small, I’ve gotten to know every student. Like my friend Tony, who loves Disney musicals, or Catherine, who wears Dungeons and Dragons dice for earrings. These are people I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have hung out with if I’d gone to a huge, clique-y high school.

While these are some great benefits to a small charter school, there are a lot of traditional high school experiences I feel like I’ve missed. So I decided to infiltrate a nearby high school where my best friend Imani is one of 747 graduating seniors.

At the beginning of the year, Imani and I went to homecoming—my first football game ever. No one was watching the football players. Instead the crowd, dressed in gold and red, danced to blasting music and cheered on the homecoming king and queen. The teenage royalty circled the field in a convertible, with a train of cheerleaders following on motorcycles. I didn’t enjoy it, and don’t think I’ll do it again. That took care of sports.

Next, I wanted to check out a big school’s prom. After passing two security checks, I reached the dance floor, which was more like a giant mosh pit. I was having so much fun until a fight broke out. But 15 minutes later people started dancing again like nothing happened.

My art school’s prom is this weekend. And I still plan to go to it. But the dress I wore to Imani’s prom was a lot cuter than the one I’m wearing to mine. Mainly because her senior class has hundreds of boys. Mine has 10.

Still, as I look forward to graduation, I realize it’s my tiny charter school that’s home. And I’m glad to have been part of a community that tries to educate differently. Because even if our prom might be lame, our refusal to play by the standard school rules is pretty cool.