Getting to a place of stability

Getting to a place of stability

Tower of Jenga blocks

CC BY-SA Guma89

This respondent was a foster youth who recently transitioned to independent status in terms of the state. She had been on the streets in the past, but she currently lives with her girlfriend and attends a vocational program to be a chef.

She said she smokes to relieve stress. “The City is losing manners… value and dignity,” she feels, and she said there isn’t much respect anymore. She smokes when feeling disrespected, and got a cannabis card to keep from “spazzing out” from work stressors.

She gave up drinking recently, but is surrounded by people who still imbibe and says she experiences pressure to go out socially where she may be tempted to drink. When she drinks, she smokes more. She said she’s not ready to quit smoking yet, but she is monitoring her smoking. She also enjoys vaping, but says vaping is, “kinda like halfways…not as fulfilling as a whole cigarette.” She noted trends that at first vaping was supposed to be better for you, but that now it seems e-cigarettes are not as good for you.

For single Black mothers and young Black men, she believes, it can take a long time to get to a place of stability (financially, emotionally and with family) to feel able to quit. By the time one gets to that place, generally one has children already, and they’ll have seen what you’re doing and be emulating it.  Of kids, she noted: “You see it, you do it.”

“Hey, y’all got to understand – y’all prolly scared of us… we scared of y’all too!”

Superhero-ish_ColorEnhance

Drawing by focus group participant

UPDATE: This post was reblogged at Ethnography Matters

Street-level recruiting, downtown Oakland, Broadway 13th to 16th, Oscar Grant Plaza (formerly but officially known as Frank Ogawa Plaza). We’ve been talking to all kinds of people – students, workers, merchants, customers, pimps, players, hustlers, dealers, addicts, sex workers and eyeballing the BART police roust a youth for nothing that I saw. I’m standing in clouds of cannabis smoke exhaled from the people we’re talking to, and no longer feel how cold my head is. We’ve finally got our posse of people walking back to the office, and I’m struck by how secure one feels in a mass of people traditionally feared. People walking in the opposite direction make a wide berth around us, and some look at me disapprovingly, and I wonder about what microaggressions these young men deal with as they move through their lives. And then the hardest and loudest of the bunch paces Rachelle and I talking strategy.

“Hey, y’all got to understand – y’all prolly scared of us… we scared of y’all too!”

There’s a smile, but it’s pointed, and I know they are checking my reaction. I smile at him as if to say, “I hear you,” but then gesture to my colleague known for being even more quiet than I am, saying with a chuckle, “You know, I’m not sure she and I can take all six of you in a head to head.”

Drawing by focus group participant

Drawing by focus group participant

Brother with the neck tattoo has been inside before. Jail. I know it without knowing it. We’re on the tail end of the three quarter mile walk back from street-level recruiting. One of the little hoppers (young hustlers) has already very pointedly asked if we’re FBI or with any kind of police. “Where? That building that got FBI in it?” He might as well not ask – my reassurances that they will leave our company unmolested are met with a tough-generous smirk and posture that lets me know he thinks the whole thing smells no matter what I say, but the steady footfalls and banter of the bigger, older muscle along with the joint being passed back and forth between them placates them enough for me to drawl, “They gone. They moved out of the building.”

“Where?”

“Dunno, and don’t want to. Ugh. We don’t get off into all that. Don’t nobody want to talk to the police more than they have to.”

Their thoughtful silent assent keeps us walking.  Continue reading