These are our youth. They should not be treated the way they are. They deserve our assistance. They deserve our time. They deserve our love. They deserve not to be abandoned or rejected, for who they are or what has happened to them. They deserve to be seen as people, and people of worth.
You want to fight crime and poverty in our city? It's easy. Frighteningly so. You look after the kids that are in greatest danger of becoming the next generation of criminals. You don't subject them to a system that dehumanizes them, and shuffles them, like a worn pack of poker cards, drawn at random.
These are the kids that will sell your son pot. These are the kids that get into the adult entertainment industry because it's easy money, and nobody's told them the consequences of those actions. These are the kids that will steal bikes to sell for drugs. These are the kids that are enticed into gangs because that is the closest thing to family they've ever had.
You want to stop vandalism? You want to stop theft and drug crimes? You want to stop drive by shootings? You want to stop seeing that guy under the bridge, or the guy that asks for your change outside the liquor store? Stop them from becoming that man or woman. It's easy. Frighteningly so.
These kids are not animals. These kids are not monsters. They are like us, but a with a crappy hand of cards. They've had less to start with. They've had more to fight through than most of us can ever imagine. They are resilient beyond what you give them credit for. They have inner resources that beggar me.
Our church shares this burden of our society. Jesus calls us to look after the least of these. Jesus calls after us to look after the children of our neighborhood, of our city, of our province. It is not always some starving child across an ocean that he's calling us to look after. It is not always some face on the tv that stares blankly into the camera. It is the child that is in the rough part of town. The kind that you drive past on the way home and are thankful you don't live there. It is the child of the mom that's in the woman's shelter, who isn't going to school, who doesn't know what home is. This is not to say that the people across the ocean don't deserve our help. They do. But they aren't hungry as a result of our choices. The kid down the block is. He's hungry because dad can't make it past minimum wage, and has a drinking problem that soaks up all the money that should go to food. He can't make minimum wage because we have a government that doesn't support our poor. We have that government because we voted it in, or failed to vote to begin with. THAT is a result of our choice. We ARE our brother's keeper, and we've steadfastly ignored him.
We been comfortable in our cars and SUVs, walking the +15s, and it's time for us to consider the teen that's sleeping under the bridge, a block or two away. It's time for us to consider that the teen that is the same age of your own teen, and you were once the same age as well.
They should be in homes that care and love for them. They should be in foster homes where there isn't abuse, or a lack of compassion and love. They should be in foster homes that aren't overburdened. If they can't get in, they should be in grouphomes that have the staff, the time, and the space for them. They should be in a home where there is consistent people around, with fewer kids per staff, with a house mom and a house dad.
You hear about Focus on the Family, why don't we focus on our family growing larger, opening our hearts to include those that have been excluded. Why don't we consider, as a part of our society that seems to support family values, the notion that family should count for all people, not just the ones in polo t-shirts that sip lattes on the way to another church service in the car that cost more than these kids can even imagine. Why don't we think about loving the people who are unloved, the ones that are hard to love and easy to ignore, forget, and dismiss. We are called to love the least of these. We are called to love the unlovable. We are called to touch the untouchables. They do not exist a continent away, they exist a block or two away. They do not demand your attention the way your radio does, they do not demand your attention like prime time tv does, because they have not been given the voice, and its time we listen to it. Listen! Compassion is what Jesus was about! Compassion is letting go of our privilege and opening our eyes and hearts to those around us. Get involved in street ministry, give money to the poor. Don't ignore the dude that asks for a little bit of change. Feed him lunch instead. Find out who fosters in your church and support them with everything you got. Foster kids yourselves, consider adoption. There are so many kids that want homes, and we have families, with family values in abundance. You want to make a change in society, change this world around you? You want to stop this slide into apparent degradation? Make room in your heart for those that society has spit on, stepped on, and walked on by. Are we willing to be the Samaritan, heretical and rough around the edges? Or are we going to simply push the status quo and just walk on by, deaf to the cry of a society in pain?
Listen!
Showing posts with label youth work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label youth work. Show all posts
10/12/2008
10/08/2008
A Youth Worker's Manifesto pt. I
There is a problem in this city. It is not with the roads. It is not with the buses. It is not with unemployment. It is with how we treat our youth and the people that take care of them. The youth of which I speak are the kids that are in your schools, in your rec centres, in your starbucks and in your youth groups. They are the youth that are in the system, but whether we see them or not, they are in our lives. They have been ripped from their homes by forces that they don't fully comprehend. They have been shaped by choices that are not their own. They have been made into people they are not entirely by their own will.
These are our youth.
They are the youth that society ate, chewed and spat out, left to their own devices. They are the youth that get into gangs. They are the youth that have access to drugs. They are the youth that sleep on our streets. They are the youth that have gone missing. They are our invisibles, well on the way to becoming invisible.
These are our youth.
They are the youth whose mothers passed on their crack addiction when they were born. They are the youth that were abused when they were babies. They are the youth that were left for days without food due to neglect. They are the youth whose faces are bruised by yet another of mom's boyfriends. They are the youth who were born with FAS. They are the youth that were ignored. They are the youth that were beaten without cause. They are the youth that were beaten for any cause.
These are our youth.
They are the youth that are strung out in an alley. They are the youth that break into houses to find something they can pawn so they can score another hit. They are the youth whose boyfriend left them with nothing more than a pregnancy. They are the youth that listened to the wrong man online and disappeared. They are the youth that cut. They are the youth that want to end their lives. They are the youth that can't control their anger, for a reason that they can't explain, because Daddy kept on hitting him when he was little and wouldn't stop crying.
These are our youth.
And we own them more than what we can ever give them.
We house them in grouphomes and foster homes and lock down recovery clinics. We commit them as patients of a hospital of societal illness, slaves to an impersonal system of beds and numbers. We house them with grouphomes that are understaffed and underpaid, with drywall full of holes, cracking lino, and burned out staff. We house them with foster parents and brothers and sisters, who opened their hearts to take yet another risk, another burden on the shoulders of the burdened. We give them case workers who are overworked. We house them in places that are ripe for tempers to fray, with easy access to others for drugs and gang inductions. We house them in the ghettos of our city. We house them without regard. We tell them that this is only temporary. We tell them this until they turn 18.
These are our youth.
We give them staff that are underpaid and told to care for them, and if they can, love them. We give them staff that are paid a pittance and train them in how to stop a kid from trying to kill themselves, how to restrain a kid that’s lost control of their temper. We give them staff that pull 48 hour shifts because there wasn’t anybody else to call. We give them staff that are paid less then someone working at the local Timmy’s. We give the staff six kids with different schedules, doctors, counselors, parole officers, support workers, social workers, teaching assistants, psychiatrists, addiction counselors, and ask them to juggle it all. We give them staff that are the anvil to the hammer that the world has beat into these kids. We give them staff that deal with the behaviors and the memories of the abuse suffered at a previous home. We give them staff that are asked to risk life and limb to some of the kids that are severely unbalanced. We give them staff that are expected to bind the horrific emotional wounds that abandonment causes. We give them staff that can’t work regular hours because it’s shift work, and doesn’t pay enough to hold down as a job. We give them a staff that cares, and then burn them out. We give them a staff that sees these kids for who they really are, youth who actually matter, and then fail to pay a competitive wage.
These are our youth. And these are our youth workers.
And we’ve forgotten about them.
These are our youth.
They are the youth that society ate, chewed and spat out, left to their own devices. They are the youth that get into gangs. They are the youth that have access to drugs. They are the youth that sleep on our streets. They are the youth that have gone missing. They are our invisibles, well on the way to becoming invisible.
These are our youth.
They are the youth whose mothers passed on their crack addiction when they were born. They are the youth that were abused when they were babies. They are the youth that were left for days without food due to neglect. They are the youth whose faces are bruised by yet another of mom's boyfriends. They are the youth who were born with FAS. They are the youth that were ignored. They are the youth that were beaten without cause. They are the youth that were beaten for any cause.
These are our youth.
They are the youth that are strung out in an alley. They are the youth that break into houses to find something they can pawn so they can score another hit. They are the youth whose boyfriend left them with nothing more than a pregnancy. They are the youth that listened to the wrong man online and disappeared. They are the youth that cut. They are the youth that want to end their lives. They are the youth that can't control their anger, for a reason that they can't explain, because Daddy kept on hitting him when he was little and wouldn't stop crying.
These are our youth.
And we own them more than what we can ever give them.
We house them in grouphomes and foster homes and lock down recovery clinics. We commit them as patients of a hospital of societal illness, slaves to an impersonal system of beds and numbers. We house them with grouphomes that are understaffed and underpaid, with drywall full of holes, cracking lino, and burned out staff. We house them with foster parents and brothers and sisters, who opened their hearts to take yet another risk, another burden on the shoulders of the burdened. We give them case workers who are overworked. We house them in places that are ripe for tempers to fray, with easy access to others for drugs and gang inductions. We house them in the ghettos of our city. We house them without regard. We tell them that this is only temporary. We tell them this until they turn 18.
These are our youth.
We give them staff that are underpaid and told to care for them, and if they can, love them. We give them staff that are paid a pittance and train them in how to stop a kid from trying to kill themselves, how to restrain a kid that’s lost control of their temper. We give them staff that pull 48 hour shifts because there wasn’t anybody else to call. We give them staff that are paid less then someone working at the local Timmy’s. We give the staff six kids with different schedules, doctors, counselors, parole officers, support workers, social workers, teaching assistants, psychiatrists, addiction counselors, and ask them to juggle it all. We give them staff that are the anvil to the hammer that the world has beat into these kids. We give them staff that deal with the behaviors and the memories of the abuse suffered at a previous home. We give them staff that are asked to risk life and limb to some of the kids that are severely unbalanced. We give them staff that are expected to bind the horrific emotional wounds that abandonment causes. We give them staff that can’t work regular hours because it’s shift work, and doesn’t pay enough to hold down as a job. We give them a staff that cares, and then burn them out. We give them a staff that sees these kids for who they really are, youth who actually matter, and then fail to pay a competitive wage.
These are our youth. And these are our youth workers.
And we’ve forgotten about them.
9/19/2007
Soapbox: The Child and the System
If there is one proof for me that the fundamental nature of humankind is broken, or at the very least bent in incredibly wrong directions, I only have to look as far as my workplace. I have the opportunity to work with our less fortunate children in our society, in our city of Calgary. I work at a grouphome with teens that is part of the child welfare system. The basic way I understand the child welfare system to work in Calgary is thus. The provincial government gives grants to a privatized not-for-profit groups to house children that need the care of the state. The way this is organized is that the health region (or an analogous equivalent), in the manifestation of the Rockyview Child and Family Services hands out contracts to these grouphomes based on demand (used in units of beds) for spaces for these kids. The grouphome system runs parallel to the foster care system, it's what houses kids when they are waiting for a family. Its where they go when that foster situation breaks down.
That's how the system's mechanics basically works. It's interesting though, I've worked in the system, more specifically with the company I'm employed by, for the past three years. In some ways the company feels much more like a family or, vaguely even of a church. Someone calls looking for relief, and you figure out whether your schedule can fit it in to help out the grouphome.
My beef isn't with the company directly, but more so with the government and primarily with the reason that these kids are in the system.
What's been incredibly frightening to learn over my limited years as a youth worker, and a young one at that, is the real depths of depravity that human nature sinks to. I have heard stories and witness things and read files of kids that would make Quentin Taratino sick to his stomach. The things that people are capable of is unimaginable. One might say, that the abuse of people say in slavery in the US before emancipation was a long time ago and a product of the culture of the time, of the attitude of colonialism, etc., and things like that don't happen today in our society. Or that CSI depicts things that happen down there in Las Vegas, and it's just tv. No. It's not. It's happening now. It's happening as we speak. Maybe not murder, but certainly neglect. Sexual abuse. Physical abuse. Sexual slavery. Starvation. These are things that don't just happen in Africa, but down the block! These are things that don't just happen in the bad part of town, but maybe around the corner! There are monsters in our world and they live down the street. Hell doesn't take dying to experience.
And you know what? It makes me bleeding angry. Boondock Saints angry. I am afraid of what I would be capable if I were put in the same room as the monsters that devastated the children I work with. A feeling of helpless overcomes many people who work in the field. Burnout is common. Over the last year and half of working relief shifts at the grouphome (and a summer's worth of overnights) I've worked with 4 supervisors. The turnover rate of staff doesn't help the kids of course. Of all the industries in the world, this is one of the few that works to negate itself.
So, as workers, we are left with the broken children that the world gives us. I think about the primetime dramas, and our cultures fascination with flawed characters, with fallen men and women, and I think, they have nothing on the kids I've worked with. My first shift at a grouphome, I was bitten. For keeping away a t.v. remote from a kid. I had to do a write up and witness statement for the police and everything. I've seen the breakdown of a family I worked with, seen a kid abuse his mother, had a couple of death threats leveled against me, had things thrown at me, been shoved around, and I've seen a cop forcibly take down a kid. I'm 22. And those are just a few of the stories I've got in my book.
When it doesn't make me angry it makes me sad, tired and lonely. I think of the kids I've worked with who have FAS, who've been made the way they are before they even had the semblance of a choice. I think of the kids who've collected multiple STDs. I think of teen mothers trying to be a teen and a mom at the same time. It's a grey tableau.
And yet there is hope. Not much, and it's hard to see sometimes. And it comes out in ways not always expected. A kid will say sorry to you for beaking off, getting angry and breaking something. Or you go out on a outing and for a brief moment you forget that these are kids with behavioral issues, with no parents worth speaking of, or have drug addictions, or neurological problems, but instead just kids having fun. And most precious of all, you'll hear back from kid who's grown up and out of the program and is trying to get into college, and trying to make life work, despite the shitty hand of cards life dealt them.
And sometimes there's just a little bit of the divine in it. Getting to tuck in a kid at night. You are their father in that place. Teaching a kid to throw a football. You are a older brother in that place. Giving them a hug when they hurt. You are a friend, a mentor in that place. You get to be Jesus with skin on.
THESE kids are what Jesus talks about . They are our "least of these."
Do something about it.
That's how the system's mechanics basically works. It's interesting though, I've worked in the system, more specifically with the company I'm employed by, for the past three years. In some ways the company feels much more like a family or, vaguely even of a church. Someone calls looking for relief, and you figure out whether your schedule can fit it in to help out the grouphome.
My beef isn't with the company directly, but more so with the government and primarily with the reason that these kids are in the system.
What's been incredibly frightening to learn over my limited years as a youth worker, and a young one at that, is the real depths of depravity that human nature sinks to. I have heard stories and witness things and read files of kids that would make Quentin Taratino sick to his stomach. The things that people are capable of is unimaginable. One might say, that the abuse of people say in slavery in the US before emancipation was a long time ago and a product of the culture of the time, of the attitude of colonialism, etc., and things like that don't happen today in our society. Or that CSI depicts things that happen down there in Las Vegas, and it's just tv. No. It's not. It's happening now. It's happening as we speak. Maybe not murder, but certainly neglect. Sexual abuse. Physical abuse. Sexual slavery. Starvation. These are things that don't just happen in Africa, but down the block! These are things that don't just happen in the bad part of town, but maybe around the corner! There are monsters in our world and they live down the street. Hell doesn't take dying to experience.
And you know what? It makes me bleeding angry. Boondock Saints angry. I am afraid of what I would be capable if I were put in the same room as the monsters that devastated the children I work with. A feeling of helpless overcomes many people who work in the field. Burnout is common. Over the last year and half of working relief shifts at the grouphome (and a summer's worth of overnights) I've worked with 4 supervisors. The turnover rate of staff doesn't help the kids of course. Of all the industries in the world, this is one of the few that works to negate itself.
So, as workers, we are left with the broken children that the world gives us. I think about the primetime dramas, and our cultures fascination with flawed characters, with fallen men and women, and I think, they have nothing on the kids I've worked with. My first shift at a grouphome, I was bitten. For keeping away a t.v. remote from a kid. I had to do a write up and witness statement for the police and everything. I've seen the breakdown of a family I worked with, seen a kid abuse his mother, had a couple of death threats leveled against me, had things thrown at me, been shoved around, and I've seen a cop forcibly take down a kid. I'm 22. And those are just a few of the stories I've got in my book.
When it doesn't make me angry it makes me sad, tired and lonely. I think of the kids I've worked with who have FAS, who've been made the way they are before they even had the semblance of a choice. I think of the kids who've collected multiple STDs. I think of teen mothers trying to be a teen and a mom at the same time. It's a grey tableau.
And yet there is hope. Not much, and it's hard to see sometimes. And it comes out in ways not always expected. A kid will say sorry to you for beaking off, getting angry and breaking something. Or you go out on a outing and for a brief moment you forget that these are kids with behavioral issues, with no parents worth speaking of, or have drug addictions, or neurological problems, but instead just kids having fun. And most precious of all, you'll hear back from kid who's grown up and out of the program and is trying to get into college, and trying to make life work, despite the shitty hand of cards life dealt them.
And sometimes there's just a little bit of the divine in it. Getting to tuck in a kid at night. You are their father in that place. Teaching a kid to throw a football. You are a older brother in that place. Giving them a hug when they hurt. You are a friend, a mentor in that place. You get to be Jesus with skin on.
THESE kids are what Jesus talks about . They are our "least of these."
Do something about it.
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