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Out of the mouths of babes

Perhaps the most interesting assignment I've had so far was for my Focus class on youth at risk. In groups of 3 or 4, we were asked to informally go to a neighbourhood near a school or schools and ask the people who live and work there their impression of the neighbourhood, school, and (or) people in the community.

The neighbourhood we went to is considered the worst/poorest/most dangerous neighbourhood in Kingston. It's definitely a rough-looking part of town, and certainly most of the people living there are on very limited incomes--pensions, welfare, disability, or employment insurance. They were also some of the most approachable, accomodating people I've ever spoken with. No one brushed us off as not having the time to talk to us. No one seemed suspicious of us being "outsiders". We spoke with mothers and fathers, employees and employers, adults and children. People who were just filling in for the day, and people who had lived there most of their lives. We listened as they told us about the problems in their community. Drugs. Violence. Absentee parents. A lack of discipline both at school and at home. A lost sense of community. Feelings of hopelessness for their children if they lived there much longer. An anger at the city for putting so many people with problems together in such a small area; for creating a place where so many children have so few positive influences or role models. No one had to pause a moment for thought. These concerns were foremost on their minds. It was as though they had been waiting for someone to come along and just ask them what they thought, and once someone, us, did--the floodgates opened.

At one point we were talking to a group of 7 young girls, all aged 12 or 13. We were asking them what sort of opinion people not from their neighbourhood seemed to have of that community. They told us how people from the so-called other side of the tracks called them trash, or told them they had no future. How they were made fun of for the way they dressed, or the fact that Children's Aid and the Police were such frequent visitors to housing development. I asked them if that made them angry or upset, or if it made them want to somehow prove all of those people wrong. The response I got from one of the girls was one of the most powerful statements I have ever heard:

"I don't have to prove them wrong. I'm not doing anything to prove them right."