Notes From the Field

by Anna Deavere Smith

  Young people aren’t dumb, they—they might not have the fancy academic language, but they know that there’s not much opportunity. They know they go to schools where it’s a big deal to go to college? They—they know that there’s—they know there’s not a whole bunch of private-sector employment in this city, so they—might [not] know [how] to describe these things, and they may say things like, “Oh, ain’t nothing for—ain’t nothing for me to do,” or “There’s nothing for us.” And they may [not] say it in that way, but they understand that something structurally is wrong.

  I think that leads you just to nihilism and it’s—especially around our young men, which is a—not for all of them, but for the population that’s been the most vulnerable, and the—the dropouts, and those [that] are in the pipeline, and those that are…killing each other, it’s just this idea that my—the value of life, like, my life doesn’t matter, what—what—what life is this where I’m struggling to eat every day? What life is this when I can’t see— Like, I talk to young people—I’m like, “Okay, where you wanna go to college?” and they’re like, “I can’t see past eighteen, realistically!” And like, “No, I want you to sit down and write down your dreams, I just want you to— What’s your goal?” “I just want to be alive by twenty-five.”

  It’s heartbreaking, so. In that way, I think, that’s how the nihilism will manifest itself. Prison or—or death. There’s really no other alternatives or options for our boys and men of color in Stockton. Prison or death.

  [Slide]

  ON THE RIVER

  [Slide]

  TAOS PROCTOR

  YUROK FISHERMAN/FORMER INMATE

  YUROK TRIBAL RESERVATION

  KLAMATH, CALIFORNIA

  “The Baddest”

  “The Baddest”

  (Yurok Reservation. A salmon-fishing tribe. Standing in a fishing boat at the mouth of the Klamath River exactly where it joins the Pacific Ocean. August, height of fishing season. Taos wears orange fishing waders. He’s about six-foot-four or taller, almost three hundred pounds. Tattoos. A disquieting moment of silence as he surveys the entire audience and looks off at the grandeur of the river. The first of all the speakers to take the time to do this. At first, it seems not entirely welcoming. A sense that you come to him. He doesn’t come to you. Once he starts speaking, there’s generosity in what he shares. However, there’s always a sense that he is watching us as intently as we are watching him. Actual Yurok ceremonial song is in the background. The musician onstage improvises with the ceremonial song.)

  * * *

  I got to about the eighth grade. Well, I, I didn’t leave; they kicked me out. Well, I got in too many fights and it was always my fault from the teachers, and well—well—well, beginning, since I was a kid, I have to say, I went to school, and I was always getting in trouble, got kicked out, and then they said I hit the teacher, so I got kicked out of, like, Redwood School, out in Smith River. Well, I just pulled away from her, and it hurt her arm or something. I was a little kid, probably about eight? So they kicked me oudda that school ’n’ then I went to Pine Grove School ’n’ then I was always just in the office or sitting there because of getting in trouble. So I got kicked outta there, and I went to—then I—then I went to Crescent Elk I got kicked out of there. And then I went to community school by the juvenile hall. And when I went there, then, I really didn’t git kicked oudda there, they just threw me in juvenile hall. But I learned howda read in juvenile hall. I learned howda read. And then and then I was too bad there, y’know? Fightin’ ’n’ arguin’ ’n’ ’n’ not doin’ mah work so then they put me in the probation office. With the probation officers. And then…then they tried to put me back in high school after I’s tryin’ da start doin’ good, put me back in high school I got kicked oudda there, ’n’ then I went to prison. CYA ’n’ prison. California Youth Authority. Yeah, I was the first one of my friends to go to CYA, first one to go to prison.

  (He listens to a question, thinks, looks us in the eye, steady, then:)

  ’Cause they know I’m a killer.

  (Pause.)

  (Raucous laughter.)

  No. I had the mentality I was gonna be the worstest and the baddest. ’Cause I’m the baddest of the bad!

  Whatever I do in life, I try to do it to the—to, like, the best of my ability? I’m gonna have more drugs than anyone. I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m gonna have cars? I’z nineteen when I went to y’know San Quentin. I was moved around prison prison prison. Yeah, San Quentin, High Desert, uh, Pleasant Valley, Avenal. Well, well I started out at the like the lowest…the lowest level of prison. I start out at Avenal at like level one er two, and then, I paroled from High Desert, High Desert, um…C Yard (a beat) shoe kick out. So uh, I, I’z bad through prison too. Probably my fights got me moved around.

  Prison fights? Just any kind o’ disrespect. If somebody even looks at you a lil’ bit funny, then you might hafta just sock ’em up. Usually it’s a word kicks it off. Punk, butch, lame…Some talking ’bout yer family, some talkin’ ’bout yer race. A lot of people din’t like Native Americans. Iss like…just looked down upon, y’know? I went to school Crescent City there ain’ no Native Americans! It’s just probly much just the whole class w’be like twenny-sumpthin’ kinds, ’n’ I’d be like one er two of us in there. And then you wouldn’t talk to the other Native Americans.

  (Considering a question.)

  Cause you wouldn’t wanna be ya know— (Burst of laughter.) Be th’only Native American talkin’ to a Native American. Kinda! All white people! Maybe a Mexican here and there? The be no black people, no black people. Thiz ’n’ black people Crescent City when I was growin up.

  (He looks at the musician.)

  I-I-I was wondering—a was wonderin’ y’know? How they keep ’em out. I seen black people on TV.

  Prison don’t do nothing but make you a worser person. Made me where I didn’t care if I hurt someone….And the longer you stay in prison, the more you lose your feelings about even caring. You don’t care if you stab someone. You just stab ’em ’n’ stab’m five or ten time, you don’t care. Who cares? I mean, they’re worthless! Or beat ’em up. You don’t care. Knock their teeth out. You don’t care. I mean, I didn’t care if a person had life. I’d walk up and sock ’em in the head.

  Everyone’s bad in there, it…don’t really matter what you do, to a person that’s there for twenty-five to life. I did everything I could to stay on top of the food chain. I did day for day in prison because of my fighting. Mean’ I come out my cell and I make the whole yard lay down? Put down the whole yard. Lay it down! You git in a fight and then everyone has to lay down while you’re fighting cuz eh gunners gonna shoot. I didn’t care if they shot in the yard. I ain’t give a shit. I’m doing it and I’m gonna make it happen and I’m gonna do what it does. That world, that world in prison is just as strong as the world out here, ’cept for you’re in a cage. Sure, people get hurt; people get stabbed. You can do anything you want, you know what I mean?

  That’s why I—I can’t get the school thing. I was the top of everything, everywhere, in my whole life. I’m the best at everything I’m doing. If I’m on the river, I’m the best at everything I’m gonna do. I started a business at being the best. I’m the best at smoked [fish]. I’m the baddest there is. ’Cause I’m the baddest of the bad! Y’know what I mean? And when I got to, y’know, prison, it was the same thing. I— It’s actually like a big game in there, y’know [what] I mean? I mean, I got stabbed like ten times, but it don’t matter.

  (He looks at someone in the audience as if to hear a question.)

  Rape? (Loud burst of laughter.) I’m—I’m almost six-four, almost three hundred pounds, I don’t think no one’s gonna try to rape me! Can’t rape the willing. (Loud laughter.) I can’t say nothing about that. Never been raped. I mean, it’s not…It’s bad if someone does get raped, you know? B
ut…I mean, I never raped no one. I mean, I guess, uh, I guess stab ’em? Stab someone if they try to rape you? That’s how I’d do it if you’re gonna be scared and—and—and cr— whine and crybaby and that, then sure, you’re gonna get abused and treated bad. But if you just go out there and you’re just a monster, then you’re gonna—you’re gonna just be a monster!

  I mean, like, talking about it makes me go back to a bad place that—yeah, yeah, I’m in—I’m in a happy spot now, you know what I mean? And…yeah. Just thinking about all the badness— Now that I cleaned up my life, I’m doing very well with everything. I got a family, too. I got a kid. He’s wonderful, ain’t he. Shaqoon. Call him Hog.

  He—he—he’s perfect. (Dead stop.) Where you gonna be at later? I can get you a fish and some smoked salmon.

  (Very long pause as he stares into the audience, listening.)

  When I look in the mirror? I see a very good person that’s just been down a rough road. And I don’t know if it was my schooling or—or—or growing up where I grew up, or what it was, that put me on this road? But I wouldn’t change this road for nothing? Because this is the road that made me who I am? And got me to where I’m at. I didn’t know I was on the rough road, I always just—I always just thought: life’s hard, you know?

  [Slide]

  JUDGE ABBY ABINANTI

  CHIEF JUDGE, YUROK TRIBAL COURT

  SAN FRANCISCO AND KLAMATH, CALIFORNIA

  “Broken”

  “Broken”

  (In a straightbacked chair on her porch, on a hill directly over the mouth of the Klamath River and the Pacific Ocean. In her sixties. A fantastic-looking person; takes-your-breath-away type. Charismatic. There’s a lot of story in her sheer presence. Cool, tall, lean. Cowboy boots, long gray hair, silver and turquoise rings. Soft-spoken. Very rarely looks at the interviewer/audience, up into the sky, off to the horizon, sometimes turns all the way around and looks down at the river and ocean. Musician onstage, underscoring the monologue.)

  * * *

  Taos. He’s in our tribe. Part of it is just he’s very big, and he…acted out. He did things in school that he probably shouldn’t have and nobody stopped to say, “Taos, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?” And now that he’s out, y’ know, when he does wrong by me, then I help sit him down and I’ll go, “Why are you doing this, Taos? We need to figure this out, because you’re gonna get in trouble. If you go away, who’s gonna tend to your family’s graves? Who’s gonna raise your son?”

  You cannot deal with children if you don’t have a sense of kindness and respect. And if you don’t like them. And if you don’t have a system that supports them and likes them and stays with ’em. I get mad at you so I throw you outta school? What is—what is that? NO. I get mad at you so we need to come closer. You did something wrong: so you need to come closer you don’t need to go further. You know, if I have something to offer, then you need to be close, you don’t need to be further.

  Y’know, we believe you get things from your ancestors. [When I was a kid] the old people used to laugh around and say, “Oh, you are just like your grandfather.” Meaning my attitude. Now, my grandfather was shot down as a bank robber, and he did kill white people, and he did do those things and he didn’t take to the reservation life very well. You have to learn the wisdom with it. I was in a fistfight and somebody clobbered me. And they were saying, “Say ‘I give up,’ or say ‘Uncle.’ ” And this other person walked by and said, “You may as well kill her, ’cause she’ll never say it.” And it’s true!

  You cannot fistfight everybody. You know, you just can’t. It doesn’t mean you can’t fight. It means you have to measure how to do it. ’Mean, I gave up fistfighting at some point. You know and then I learned to do this. I learned the law; this is what I can do. [I fought a] sufficient amount. But I think you get to a place and you go, “You gotta look at this man.” You know, and…“At your weight class and whatever. You’re gonna get your butt kicked!” You can’t be like my grandfather. You can’t be shooting people down. You can’t be stealing their money. ’Cause it makes ’em nuts.

  School-to-prison pipeline? I think the kids are—are not finishing school, they can’t get jobs, then they end up trying to make do, and they end up going to jail! I mean, that’s what it is.

  Some of it’s school discipline. We don’t have good relationships with these people. (Pause.) Educators. (Pause.) White people. They identify our [tribal] kids as having behavioral issues. So then they get suspended from school. Then they get arrested at school. Y’know, we had an eight-year-old in Klamath who they were about to put cuffs on, and I sent people over there to stop it. You cannot cuff an eight-year-old! It’s stupid! If…if you have children who are suffering to the extent that they act out in schools and do things they should not do…that could include hitting another child, hitting a teacher, having some kind of fit—and then they get expelled from school, then they get mad at somebody or they attack a school resource officer, then they get handcuffed, then they go to jail or probation or juvenile hall, and then it just goes from there and it—it just keeps going! And nobody says, “Why is this kid like this?” Y’know? “What happened?” You know, I mean, come on, you know? You know, that kinda stuff.

  The whole thing about kids is they do need…grown-ups! And if you—if you don’t have a couple of good grown-ups on your side, you cannot—you could go down! Or if you don’t have ones that can deal with the system. You need grown-ups who are allies. You just can’t make it—kids can’t. You know, ’cause you look at a lotta kids who go “But for…I would be in prison.” And a lot of that is around a teacher or somebody who saved ’em. Somebody who just—who reached out to them, and went like, “Come on, you can do this,” you know? “This is gonna be okay. But you gotta stop acting like this. You can’t run from the cops, ’cause if you run from the cops they chase you.”

  And one of the things we looked at was how overmedicated foster children are. The biggest expense in Medicaid in this county—in this state [of California], is for psychotropic drugs for foster children! All they do is jack these kids up on medicine. We’re using drugs to control children. ’Mean, you look at yourself and you go, what kind of people do that.

  Y’know what I mean, c’mon, these are children, y’know?

  And I mean, it’s like, did you see that—that video of the fourteen-year-old girl in Texas?

  (Behind her, an actual cell phone video from June 5, 2015, of a fourteen-year-old black girl in a bathing suit being thrown to the ground by a white police officer in Texas. From the video: the sound of teenagers screaming. The girl on the ground cries out: “I want my mama. I want my mama. Oh God!” The police officer: “Get down! On your face!”)

  She’s crying for her mommy. “Mama, Mama, I want my mama.” And she’s in a bathing suit! Like what kind of threat is this? Who—who does that to a fourteen-year-old?

  I think judges…I—I think we’ve gone to sleep on the job, I really do. US law is justice by strangers, y’know, and that’s how it—you keep yourself separate. You do that and I just don’t believe in it! When they had problems with each other, we resolved it in the village. With—sometimes we used elders to help us. If we really needed to. But we did not go to strangers. When I was on the bench in San Francisco, my—the way I made it work for me was to use the values that I’m familiar with, which meant that I treated the people who appeared in front of me as if they were my family. Y’know, I don’t think…And I don’t really feel like I judge, I help…people meet responsibilities.

  To me the problem is that nobody learned that justice is what—what the law is about. Yes, you need rules—every society needs rules—but the whole thing about having a law or having a process or having courts was to ensure fairness and right behavior and justice! It’s not about that anymore. It’s about money. It’s about…you know, whoever has the power to…

 
I think the country’s broken. I really do.

  (The musician exits the stage.)

  [Slide]

  EDUCATION AND SURVIVAL

  [Slide]

  LETICIA DE SANTIAGO

  PARENT

  STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA

  “The Geese”

  “The Geese”

  (An elegant, dignified woman in her fifties. Salvadoran accent. Sitting in a conference room at Fathers & Families—a nonprofit dedicated to helping recently released inmates transition back into the community, offers help finding jobs, etc. She volunteers here regularly. Swivel office chair. Musician is onstage. He sometimes interacts with the actor.)

  * * *

  But it’s—I think it’s the way…you raise your kids. What they see around the family. I never heard too much about drugs at that time, but it was more about baggy pants and you start being in gangs? That’s what I was worried. (Listens to a question.)

  I don’t see nothing in the pants; what I see is butts all the time. You can see the underwear! I don’t have the slightest idea why the kids do it. And I—I don’t think I would let my kids do it. I wouldn’t let them. No! I woulda ripped every single pants. Knowing myself I would have done it!