Looking in. Looking out.

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Even after living all 18 of my years here, I have an extremely limited view of Portland. Most of us do, as we are each restricted by our own individual experiences, but it is also important to reach across the boundaries that keep us restricted. Before I leave this town, I feel a need to broaden my understanding of those who live here and the issues that are most critical to our community. I want to help others do so as well through my work on the I Love This Place PDX blog.

Starting with the bigger picture, I am doing this work because I want to build a skill set and portfolio of work as a freelance journalist post high school. The question that many folks my age most often get is some version of “what do you want to do with your life?” Well, I don’t know. Nor do I think anyone my age needs to. At the moment, journalism is the most meaningful work to me because it allows to continue learning about what is happening in our community right now, connect with people everyday as I learn about their stories, and give back by making information about the most important issues in Portland more accessible.


For the past and next couple weeks, I selected five areas in which to focus my work: environmental justice, housing, policing, the election, and an internal project. For all of these topics (with the exception of the internal piece), I am focusing on why it is important to our community here in Portland. I chose to report on environmental justice in Portland because I am intrigued by the link between mainstream environmental efforts to mitigate climate change and the work of grassroots organizations focused on equity for all Portlanders. I chose to report on housing in Portland because homelessness and the availability of affordable housing are defining issues in the politics of our city, but I don’t understand what led them to be so. I chose to report on policing in Portland because there is a discrepancy between the mission of the Portland Police Bureau and the actions of our officers. I chose to report on the primary election that wrapped up two days ago because I am engaged in Jo Ann Hardesty’s campaign (candidate for city council position #3), and the three issues I am focusing on are crucial to many of the races in this election. Finally, I am spending time looking internally at the work the CENTER does. In particular, I am looking at the relationship between the coalition partners and the youth collective with regards to leadership at the CENTER. The bigger question for this internal piece is how much power should an organization whose aim it is to empower youth, like the CENTER, actually give to youth decision makers when a lot is at stake?

The end goal for this project is to build a list of resources and collection of articles for these topics that I will share through the blog at the end of May. The end goal for my work as a journalist in Portland before I depart is to extend my work on this project to create a bigger list of resources and collection of articles that encompasses as many of the most important issues to Portland as I can cover.  

Personal Reflection: Disrupting Ideology


Race has become a conversation that Portland seems unwilling to meaningfully engage in. Nothing makes this city an anomaly; we follow in the footsteps of our fellow Americans-- we are unable to discuss race and race relations effectively.

Being black in Portland is a mythical, abstract concept. To inhabit a space that constitutionally outlawed your presence within its borders, is a bold and unmatched state of being. Three generations later, not only has my grandfather, mother and I lived here, but we have thrived. Even given this city’s perception of being a liberal utopia, we thrived. We are Oregonians through and through. But, we are black Oregonians. A rare combination that was never meant to exist.

There comes a time in the teenage life where one begins to contemplate their identity-- not only of themselves but of the world around them. Up until this point, they have been shaped and molded in the likeness of their parent’s or guardian’s values, perspective,and ideals. Coupled with the circumstances of one’s environment, there is a constant strife to carve out a place for yourself, in thought, action, belief or character. Seemingly, there is either a deviation from the ideology garnered from these varied influences, or a complete submission to become a product of the lessons or examples presented from these influences.  Ultimately the two options of life choices, creates an opportunity to subjectively choose the needed aspects of parental influence and environmental influence, whether it be positive or negative. This is the reality of teenage contemplation-- a decision to be or not to be, or to sometimes be.

While I lie at this cross section--of trying to figure out who I am, how much of my identity is my own or a reflection of what I have been taught--my identity as a black person is the most challenged. My entire life has been a constant quest to understand my relation to the continual statement, “you are so white.” From the inception of my minute understanding of race, social conditioning and stereotypes, I quickly made it clear to myself I would not be what I was told I should be. Within my own family, there is such a richness in the display and embodiment of the black identity. Professionals, criminals, doctors, lawyers, 7-Eleven clerks, drug addicts, single parents, business owners, two parent households, a family of people from all walks of life. A spectrum of color, career, language, experience, gender roles, class and sexuality. All ways, types and kinds of black were within my immediate reach. To have an identity and background that is not monolithic or connected to one generalized stigmatized archetype is a rarity in minority communities.


Yet, as I left and even remained within the confines of familial interaction, I was told that the way I was black, somehow was incorrect. The ‘white’ things of shopping at organic grocery stores, running cross country, listening to alternative music-- everything blacks are told is not for them. Somehow these actions and characteristics were unblack. Despite my strength in myself, I found that insecurity began to form, constructing barriers between myself and myself. Again I was presented with this contemplation of further removing myself from toxic black stereotypes or giving fully into the pressure of both whites and blacks to act accordingly to a black that was more palatable for society.

Growing up in Portland establishes early on, very few ways to exist as a black person. Therefore, young black boys like me don’t see people who look like me on City Council, on the local news, at the grocery store, walking down the street. How can one aspire to be something, they can’t see? Black families are further behind white families and black families nationally, in regards to employment, high school graduation rates and health. There aren’t that many blacks here for a reason. Blacks are imprisoned more in Oregon than the national average, with the black population of Oregon at only 1.8%, one and 21 black men are in prison. This year’s stabbing of two men on the city’s, Metropolitan Area Xpress light rail. Throughout most of the 1900s, black people got loans at ⅙ the rate of all loans. This is no coincidence. The systems that exist in this state, have since the inception of this territory entering the Union, have been specifically created to exclude and outright ignore the existence of blacks.

Given this history, how could any black person find their identity, living in a city that presents a community of few to none blacks, who have largely fallen victim to policies set in place to institutionalize their bodies. The concept of being black in Portland holds a substantial take in defying every aspect of Oregon history. Being black in Portland is much deeper than being one of the 1.8% of blacks who live in the state, it is recognizing the root of that statistic. Realizing, our place here was never meant to be. That our identity and who we are is valid in every, simply because we are here.

We own homes in neighborhoods outlined to never have a black face within them. We own businesses. We are funny. We are reflective. We are tired of demanding our rights. We are tired of being targeted. We are humans.  We come in all shapes, sizes, backgrounds, careers-- we are black and white, black and asian, black and…


It seems there is truly no hope for finding my identity. Hopelessly scrambling to pick myself up left and right, it seems impossible to be black in this city, this state, this region, this country. Black people are not given the opportunity to even have an identity or contemplate what it means to be this or that, because we are trying to figure out what it means to be alive. I am black, black in its usage of a word to describe a movement-- black power, young, gifted and black, black feminism. It is a word that I can attribute to myself. It has a meaning, a strength and when you hear it, you will remember it. In complete contrast, the word that is made synonymous with black is African-American. African-American is a dichotomy. Two things that can never coexist. An identity I can never claim.  Politicians that protect these impossibilities. Policies that created this impossibility. Police that enforce this impossibility. Media that conditions these impossibilities. People who believe this impossibility.

As I see my own family creating a sense of making the most of what they have been given, I realize my own inherent privilege. My entire life I have had the access to everything that I need and more. My own family is one of the longest residents of the newest wave of homebuyers in our northeast Portland neighborhood of Concordia. In the last 20 to 25 years, the faces that use to greet us--as we drove through our neighborhood, as I went on runs and when the sun made its occasional appearance-- have lost their tan, becoming whiter and whiter.  Yet, even in defying the socioeconomic stigmas and limitations perceived among black families, my mother’s own success has been challenged or constrained to her identity as a black woman, in a position and field dominated by her white counterparts. My father is forced to navigate work environments threatened by his large, black presence. In every area of American life, there is no true way to escape the constant bombardment of racialized oppression. Being black is not acceptable in any form. Claims that economic prosperity would end racism are truly false, no matter the amount of money, a black person earns, they still face immense racism and discrimination.

Clearly, it becomes the responsibility of the oppressed to fix the conditions created by the oppressor. There is nothing even remotely fair about this situation, but it is the most realistic of any options available. That is why, given the intentionality, and small success, of destroying the black community, black people universally must come together to form a network that transcended any influence or border. A network that worked relentlessly and in unison to combat racism on all levels of the social sphere. With leadership within our country and the spread of white nationalism creating fear, the time to act is more necessary than ever. My own identity as a black man has caused an increasing amount of fear about my safety, which is nothing new in this city, simply by just being black and alive.


This is not a complaint, this is history. I am sharing my experience and the experiences of hundreds or thousands of people of color in this state. This is an opportunity to actively work to combat and discuss these issues. Nothing can change unless we listen.

When time has passed and the present crosses to the future, what will be said of your contribution to making your immediate surroundings, more receptive to black and brown bodies?

How will you disrupt racist ideology?


Profiles: Understanding Whiteness

Profiles is an ongoing series, seeking to create spaces of affinity, where similarly identified folks have a space to talk about the perceptions, nuances and actualities of their identity.  



Within American society, historically and currently, economic, political and social power has been largely dominated by white individuals. As our country and world becomes more and more colorful, the experiences of white people are boldly modulating with time. This shift in white perception, fragility and racial competence has come by the way of our ever integrating society. We sat down with two young white men, who have spent a majority of their lives in radically diverse settings. A complete shift in power and influence has been made in the spaces they constantly inhabit. These two offer up their experiences as the perceived epitome of American privilege-- straight, white males. 

Owen O, 17


I was in the 7th grade, really fully understanding it. I joined the Roosevelt Youth Football team and that was the most diversity I had ever really seen. I had never really thought about race as much as I did, until I joined that football team. 


My mom had always raised me and taught me things about race. She never really go too far in to it. I don't think she really knew how to tell me certain things or how the world works. But she taught me know so that if I was ever in a situation, I would not let race effect it. Just treat everyone the same way.  


Say me and my black friends are in an altercation with the cops, even if I feel like I have to stand up for them, I cannot really do anything because that puts them in a worse position than me. Trying to stand up for them in a situation with police brutality, its not going to effect me or hurt me. So she [my mom] has told me things like that.


I don't know. I don't think being white means that much to me. If I identify with anything, like I'm still white, but I like to identify more with my culture, being Greek and being Irish. I identify with those more than anything. But I don't think being white is super important, like I have anything to prove. It is just a matter of living out my life and looking back and being happy with what I have done. Going back to the question, it is more about identifying with my culture instead of race. I feel like the racial element, brings in more of the white supremacy and inequality. 


The whole thing with stereotypes has gotten really weird on social media. I don't get mad when people make fun of white people. But I get so mad, because I don't get what the point is.What do you get from this? In a country, where we are trying to progress for human equality this is setting us back, giving everyone a bad rep. Me personally, I am all about this country moving past, so don't make it even harder. 


Indiana C, 16


To me, being white is just the color of skin I was born with. The difference is that, being white makes me realize that I don't have to explain my self or what I'm doing in most circumstances. It doesn't mean I am more or less then anyone else. It's just the color Of skin I happen to live in. Spiritually we are all the same. I feel blessed by those around me no matter what color skin they live in . I see the beauty in all flowers of humanity.



Growing up in an ethnically diverse setting allowed me to realize the similarity'sare much greater then the differences. I was able to grow up in the best possible situation where I saw the equality in my friends and my neighborhood. It shaped me in to a much more well devolved and up to speed and focused person. The family's of my friends are strong and loving like my own. Doesn't matter what culture or religion you are. It's always you're inner self that shows who you truly are. Growing up in diverse places takes the fear out of the world. It's something money can't buy.




Profiles: Discovering What it Means to be Black

Profiles is an ongoing series, seeking to create spaces of affinity, where similarly identified folks have a space to talk about the perceptions, nuances and actualities of their identity.  



The concept of black identity has been one fraught with a single narrative and stigma of what it means to be black in America. With diverse images and stories beginning to show and develop in mainstream society, there have become more ways to express blackness. Blacks are now left with the job of taking on their own understanding of being black, without adhering to what society tells them they must be or how they should act or who they can be. This is their world, this is who they are, who they deserve to be and will never fall victim to being anything but themselves. 

TRIBE, The Real Inseparable Black Experience, is the name of our affinity group here at Catlin.

Being black, African-American, Afro-American African, a ‘Negro’ as they use to say, back in the day just means being a part of such a rich culture and history. Now, what is black culture, is an entirely different conversation on its own. Being able to connect with people who look like you on that level. It’s like being exposed to an entirely different world.
— Juma S, 17
Being black means having to live in a society where you were set up to fail from the beginning. Being black is being followed around in a store, and being afraid for your life when you get pulled over by the police. Being black is having your culture constantly mocked, but also having it, while other minorities try to mimic.
— Jordanos L, 18
I just really think being black, means to be beautiful and strong and powerful and resilient. If I had to pick one word to describe black women, it would be RESILIENT.
— Aaliyah J, 17
What does it mean to be black? I think it means being whoever you are. Thats how I answer that. There are so many different variations of skin tone, personalities and jobs and the way people speak. I think whoever you are as a black person, is what it means to be black.
— Damien G, 34