Juvenile Justice Information Exchange (https://jjie.org/tag/out-of-school-time/)
As the pandemic raged across New York City in spring 2020, Jose Rivera trekked from the Bronx to Coney Island, Brooklyn to Far Rockaway, Queens, dropping off 100 computer tablets and dozens of food vouchers to public school students, including undocumented Yemenis and Bangladeshis and their families.
Christian Picciolini, 14, was hanging out one day in an alley near the intersection of Union and Division streets in Chicago.
An older man with cropped hair and big shiny boots drove up.
He was warm and friendly, and he offered fatherly advice: Don’t smoke marijuana, he told Picciolini. “That’s what the Communists and Jews want you to do,” he said. He told Picciolini to be proud of his Roman warrior ancestors: They were a superior race, he said. The man was Clark Martell, a violent neo-Nazi who was later sentenced to prison for assault and robbery. But Picciolini was hungry for attention and he saw Martell as heroic.
What do you do if you find racist graffiti on a wall near your school or youth program? Or come across neo-Nazi flyers in the area? Or read white nationalist comments on an online platform used by your program? A toolkit, “Confronting White Nationalism in Schools,” can help adults who work with youth choose specific responses. It was created by the Western States Center, a Portland, Oregon, nonprofit whose mission is to strengthen inclusive democracy and respond to bigotry and intolerance.
Nora Flanagan’s first brush with hate group recruiting took place when she was 15 and living in Beverly, a southwest Chicago neighborhood. Her older brother brought home a couple of his friends. To Flanagan’s dismay, they’d shaved their heads and wore Confederate flags on their jackets. It signaled they were part of the burgeoning skinhead movement in Chicago in the late 1980s and early 1990s, led by a teen named Christian Picciolini. “And they had been recruited and they were running around with this guy terrorizing the South Side.
Growing up in San Jose, California, I had some amazing experiences with law enforcement that I can say likely made a huge difference in my path as a young adult. When I think back, in elementary school we had the Say No To Drugs campaign and McGruff the Crime Dog that led us into our middle school and high school years.
Youth sports was a huge part of our culture. Even if you were not an athlete, you supported a neighbor or friend that was. We had P.A.L. stadiums throughout Santa Clara County. These were operated by the Police Athletic League. We also had officers who volunteered or worked on campuses.
Why are we so shocked in this country after witnessing a black man being killed? Is it because of the way he was killed? I feel that this time people seem to be more aware of the problems that run deep into the soul of this country, and of how black and brown people are treated on a daily basis because of the color of their skin.
As protests erupt in cities across the nation following George Floyd’s death in police custody, youth-serving agencies appear to have a similar view of their role. Their job is to support young people, provide safe space for them and, in many cases, bring their voices and experiences into the public realm to solve public problems.
In January, Sharral Dean, a therapist at the Family Counseling Center of Central Georgia, was seeing about 30 young clients a week. At any given time, five to seven of them were what Dean calls “at risk” — more likely to experience violence at home, at higher risk for depression, anxiety, fighting in school and entering the juvenile justice system.
Art is subversive. It has a history of undermining the status quo and of transforming perceptions.
What can youth advocates in rural New England learn about reducing teen drug and alcohol use from a small island nation just below the Arctic Circle?