Eulogy - For Rasheem Civil

“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” Some people believe that there are more than two ways to fulfill happiness and sadness. However, I believe that there are only two ways for the expression of feelings. One is happiness and the other is sadness. For those who knew Rasheem, they may see him as just a person. Due to his short life span, the person who I grew to know as a young man dreamt of many successes. But his feelings, motivations, accomplishments, achievements, and himself as a person are what I greatly admire about him.

When I first met Rasheem it was on a basketball court. That was when I realized that he was a big fan of Ray Allen and so was I. From that day on I took a special interest in him because of the loneliness that we shared. As we grew together I learned many things about Rasheem, as much as he learned about me. He appeared to be very pleased and quiet at times and he seemed to be in a slight depressive state most of the times.

My most missed memory with Rasheem was senior prom of 2006. I still remember when he had asked me to have the last dance with him. I never saw him so peaceful. It was a night that we both wish could have never ended. During the times we spent together we shared some private secrets with each other. I learned that he had no family or relatives that he could depend on. This isolation reminds me of myself three years ago. He mentioned the struggle that he endured daily, the frustrations, the pain, the loneliness, the abandonment, and the courage that prevented him from failing.

He will be greatly missed and I will never forget him as long as I live. There are only a handful of people that walk into your life and change it forever. He had a great effect on me but due to his life being cut short he couldn’t become the man he is destined to be. The most valuable times that we spent together were when I learned about his experiences of sadness. It was the first time that I had met a young adult who actually explained his anger, his depression, and his ambition to learn.

Rasheem was abandoned by his parents at the age of 11. That was when he started to do odd jobs in the neighborhood and he slept in cars for survival. He worked two jobs while he was in high school. He still managed to stay in school on his own and that’s the passion that drove me into his life. With the help of a friend from one of the odd jobs that he had worked offered him a place to stay. This is one of the reasons why this poem reminds me of my best friend:

“God saw he was at his happiest and
Someone would not let that be
So he put his arms around him and whispered
Come with me
With tear filled eyes I watched him
Suffer and fade away. Although I
Love him deeply. I could not
Make him stay
A golden heart stopped beating
Hard working hands put to rest
God broke my heart to prove to me
He only takes the best!”


Rasheem knew God exists but because he struggled so much he had doubts of whether or not he should believe in him. In spite, of all this, he never stopped trying, and he achieved some of his greatest desires. He graduated from 8th grade, from 12th grade, and he was actively enrolled in college before he passed. My friend Rasheem, I will always admire and I will always respect his dignity and his passion for learning, and his motivation for life.

We Need a Resolution - By Toniesha Benthall

“You can be anything you want if you set you mind to it!” This has been the golden line fed to youth for decades which is used to nurture the youth’s hopes and dreams. But what America doesn’t show or tell us is the trials and tribulations that we have to go through in order to grasp what is in reach. Yet we have to find out by enduring these tribulations and as a result of that, some people become discouraged.

Let me just state that anyone who’s never resided in poverty has no place to judge and has no room to point and laugh at such a horrific epidemic. And to anyone who is enduring poverty, it does not give them the permission to rest on their rear end and make excuses for why their life isn’t progressing. Blaming “the man’ has never gotten us poor people anywhere or anything, so what should that propel us to do? As we would say, “get up and go for ours.”

Obviously people do not wish or want to be poor but they do choose whether or not they will remain in that predicament or try to rise above that predicament. Society does however facto into these unfortunate mishaps as well, though they are not the total blame.

When it comes to laying employees off, providing communities with trifling protective services, and so on, society, government etc. are the culprits. They are the dominators and have the authority to shut people out of the so called “American dream.” Urban areas, or more blunt, the ghettos are treated as if they do not exist on the face of this Earth which is one of the number one reasons for high crime rates. Poverty means lack of service and care, from both partied (residents and government), and this is why so many communities are tormented.

Now it is up to us who are in these situations to take a stand and care for our community if no one else will. Unfortunately, not everyone has that type of mind set and will sit back and accept such atrocities and refuse to try and progress which make us just as wrong and guilty.

Welfare, food stamps, section eight, and all of these other appeasements for the less fortunate are why people inadvertently are lazy. The purpose of these programs were to help the poor get on their feet and take their life from there but now the lazy poor are getting a hold of these appeasements and are taking advantage. They have the mind set that if welfare, food stamps, etc. are what I need to get by and comes for free, then why should I waste my time finding legitimate work? That is a very understandable but a simple minded mind set.

This all boils down to everyone coming together to get school attendance in outstanding numbers, more people employed, and less babies being born into poverty. Everyone from poor people, to the government, and even wealthy people should come together. It’ll take all of us to bring this poverty epidemic to a halt because no one should have to endure such a way of living. Instead of America spending millions and billions of dollars to go to war and destroy another country for our own personal gain, we should spend that money to renovate this country which is engulfed in its own destruction. Prominent leaders such as Oprah, Don Cheadle, and others should start with assembling schools in this country first. And instead of us poor people wasting the hard earned or little money that we do have on the lottery, we should put that money into a bank account and make life for the future offspring somewhat finer.

I live without cash – and I manage just fine

Mark Boyle outside his off-grid caravan. Photograph: Mark Boyle

Armed with a caravan, solar laptop and toothpaste made from washed-up cuttlefish bones, Mark Boyle gave up using cash

In six years of studying economics, not once did I hear the word "ecology". So if it hadn't have been for the chance purchase of a video called Gandhi in the final term of my degree, I'd probably have ended up earning a fine living in a very respectable job persuading Indian farmers to go GM, or something useful like that. The little chap in the loincloth taught me one huge lesson – to be the change I wanted to see in the world. Trouble was, I had no idea back then what that change was.

After managing a couple of organic food companies made me realise that even "ethical business" would never be quite enough, an afternoon's philosophising with a mate changed everything. We were looking at the world's issues – environmental destruction, sweatshops, factory farms, wars over resources – and wondering which of them we should dedicate our lives to. But I realised that I was looking at the world in the same way a western medical practitioner looks at a patient, seeing symptoms and wondering how to firefight them, without any thought for their root cause. So I decided instead to become a social homeopath, a pro-activist, and to investigate the root cause of these symptoms.

One of the critical causes of those symptoms is the fact we no longer have to see the direct repercussions our purchases have on the people, environment and animals they affect. The degrees of separation between the consumer and the consumed have increased so much that we're completely unaware of the levels of destruction and suffering embodied in the stuff we buy. The tool that has enabled this separation is money.

If we grew our own food, we wouldn't waste a third of it as we do today. If we made our own tables and chairs, we wouldn't throw them out the moment we changed the interior decor. If we had to clean our own drinking water, we probably wouldn't contaminate it.

So to be the change I wanted to see in the world, it unfortunately meant I was going to have to give up cash, which I initially decided to do for a year. I got myself a caravan, parked it up on an organic farm where I was volunteering and kitted it out to be off-grid. Cooking would now be outside – rain or shine – on a rocket stove; mobile and laptop would be run off solar; I'd use wood I either coppiced or scavenged to heat my humble abode, and a compost loo for humanure.

Food was the next essential. There are four legs to the food-for-free table: foraging wild food, growing your own, bartering, and using waste grub, of which there is loads. On my first day, I fed 150 people a three-course meal with waste and foraged food. Most of the year, though, I ate my own crops.

To get around, I had a bike and trailer, and the 34-mile commute to the city doubled up as my gym subscription. For loo roll I'd relieve the local newsagents of its papers (I once wiped my arse with a story about myself); it's not double-quilted, but I quickly got used to it. For toothpaste I used washed-up cuttlefish bone with wild fennel seeds, an oddity for a vegan.

What have I learned? That friendship, not money, is real security. That most western poverty is of the spiritual kind. That independence is really interdependence. And that if you don't own a plasma screen TV, people think you're an extremist.

People often ask me what I miss about my old world of lucre and business. Stress. Traffic jams. Bank statements. Utility bills.

Well, there was the odd pint of organic ale with my mates down the local.

• Mark Boyle is the founder of The Freeconomy Community

Poverty in Newark - Anonymous Post

I lived in Newark, NJ (the hood) most of my life. I come from a family that lived in poverty and I believe there are several factors as to why poverty is so prevalent in urban communities like Newark. There are limited resources available to those that seek to get out of the poverty state that they’re in. I believe that a lot of people in Newark do not have the will to get out of their situation. I’ve experienced that when you’re constantly surrounded by depression, drugs, sex and alcohol it begins to consume you. There is almost no exposure to any other alternatives in the “hood.” 

Newark is a city with a reputation for a high level of crime and violence. There is always a story on the news about a kid getting shot here, and a gang member there. Why are these things such a constant in Newark? The young people in Newark are more products of their environment than the media portrays. 

What are the options for the youth in Newark? Where are the Boys and Girls clubs? Where are the recreation centers for them after dark? Where are the mentors for them? Where is the food and clothing for them? They want attention, and the gang leaders give them that. Yes it’s negative, but its attention they don’t get from home or from the positive working class they interact with on a regular basis. 

I was watching a documentary on the Sundance Channel recently called, Brick City about the city of Newark filmed in 2008. One of the episodes was surrounding the Central High School student body. The Vice Principal had an sleepover for the young men. He was standing there and took a poll of this class of boys. He asked them, “How many of you either do not live with your father or don’t know who he is?” Sadly about 80% of the boys present raised their hands. So I say yes there is a reputation that exists, but when is the change going to come? Without a change or a way out the youth will continue to join gangs. In gangs they face unreasonable pressures to be drug dealers, murderers, and to cover up emotional weaknesses. They’re forced to be what is necessary so they can continue to be respected and appreciated. This is one of the reasons an overwhelming amount of people in Newark turn to sex, drugs and alcohol. 

I don’t know where and when it came about, but being expressive in emotion is frowned upon in the urban community. Saying that I need help in dealing with the emotions that I’m feeling about my life is frowned upon. I know people that could use some type of mental health assistance but will never admit it or seek help. There is really no acceptance to being weak or emotional without someone labeling you in a negative way. Most of the women and men in the urban community want to be so “HARD.” So we struggle with everyday pressure to be better and deal with our issues and everyday life in the “hood.”  

That’s when sex, drugs, and alcohol come into play. If you’re not praying to God for some type of sign around here, then there’s a blunt, a drink, or someone to have sex with in order to keep your mind off of things. This is why the welfare offices are tumbling over in paperwork and recipients are lined up out the door. I’ve seen it so many times that as a teenager they began drinking, smoking and sexing and eventually becoming adults doing the same. Once you become addicted to these things, how do you stay focused on graduating from high school? How do you set goals for yourself? It’s just a destructive wheel. The people of Newark that are in these situations aren’t given any alternatives either. Through exposure there’s opportunity. 

I don’t think that the people of Newark, Detroit, or Chicago chose to be hopeless. We are the ones who watch the TV shows and picture ourselves in the “lime-light.” But the closest and most common resource is selling drugs, selling ourselves, and the system of welfare.  I think a solution can be to go into the high schools and ask the young people what are their dreams? What do they struggle with outside of the school? Then put programs, assistance and counseling in place to deal with those issues. Include the parents, offer job training to the parents. There should be counseling for the parents and their kids so that they’ll have a better understanding of one another. Make counseling and lifestyle workshop requirements for the people on welfare. 

I live here and it hurts my heart everyday I’m on the bus riding up Springfield Ave. I have friends and family I talk to everyday, who sound more and more hopeless.  Someday I hope to be in a position to make a change in my community.  To the politicians use your money and power to make the difference. Give cities like Newark some money; bring professionals here to make a difference. We want to be successful too!!

A Remarkable Man - by Mariela Moya

Whenever espresso is brewing, it brings me bittersweet memories. It transports me back in time and the first thing that comes to mind is the image of my grandfather in front of his kitchen stove in the middle of the late afternoon weekend ritual. Also it is a reminder of what he was doing when he took his last breath.
Death, the unwanted guest paid him a visit on a Sunday late afternoon while he was brewing what would be his last coffeepot of Cuban espresso. For the most part, it was a good death because it came unexpectedly and he had lived a healthy life for eighty three years. Of course, this didn’t mean that he wasn’t terribly missed.


Tomas Fernandez was born in the province of Cienfuegos, Cuba which is located in the southeast part of the island. He married my grandmother in his early twenties who according to him was the prettiest blue-eyed girl in town. Blue eyes that I was lucky enough to inherit out of his three granddaughters, something he always pointed out that obviously made me feel special.


Tomas fathered three kids, one boy and two girls. My mother was his older child. My grandfather was a man of average height with a strong build, wide shoulders and muscular biceps. He acquired his physique while loading ships at the town’s bay and remained the same way for the rest of his life. His skin was permanently tanned and wrinkled, a sign of the arduous work he did, exposed to the sun for so many years. He wasn’t a man of many words, but well known for his good actions throughout his hometown. He never hesitated to lend a helping hand to his neighbors or co-workers. That’s when his self learned trade as a handyman came into use. Over the years, he made an extended collection of obsolete artifacts and tools that he kept in his workshop in the back of his modest home.

He took pride repairing most of these antiques and as far as I can remember he was in the middle of one of these projects. He usually smiled, except when he was upset. Then total silence would take over. He had very conservative ideas and like most old fashioned fathers, he resented giving his young daughters away in marriage. The family wedding portraits were proof and his facial expressions gave him away. He looked almost as he was experiencing some sort of physical pain. It was typical of him not to voice his opinion, but his thoughts were usually written all over his face.


Like other families in Cuba, our family was also affected by separation. I never really knew my grandfather’s political view of Cuba. I imagine that he chose to be oblivious and carry on. Unlike Tomas, his children did not agree with the communist regime and one by one, left the country to conquer the American dream. That included his only grandchildren, my two older sisters and me. According to some other relatives, my grandparents were devastated. I don’t even want to imagine the silence left behind after our departure. That was probably what led them to make the decision to follow us after a few years. It may have been painful for them to leave behind what took them a lifetime to build and start off a new life in their late sixties. I still remember the day we picked them up at the airport; a lot of tears were shed.

Family members managed to put a cozy apartment together for them in New Jersey, where we all relocated. Later on, he took over a small walking closet in the living room and once again began his new collection of unidentified objects. Both my grandparents refused to be a burden, so they both took on jobs despite their old age. My grandpa worked part time in a hardware store, while my grandma started babysitting.


Once the family reunited, we re-established our old tradition of family get-togethers every Sunday. As a teenager I went through a stage where I dreaded these family gatherings and managed from time to time to escape them. But, as I started my own family, once again I enjoyed spending time with my loved ones. I never even considered the idea of my grandparents not being around. Especially, my grandpa who possessed good health and time didn’t take much of a toll on his physical appearance over the years.

On the other hand, my grandma’s mental health did start to deteriorate and was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. My grandfather was an emotional wreck, which was unusual of him. Later on, he got on his feet and took over the role of a caretaker. He disapproved of any outside help from a nurse or homemaker, even after the family’s continuous attempts to hire them. He cleaned, cooked, bathed and assisted my grandmother on a daily basis for the next several years.


As usual his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren paid him weekend visits. Every time we walked through his door, he would light up like a Christmas’ tree and immediately start brewing his signature espresso. My grandfather’s priority was always his family. I recognize what he sacrificed just to witness his grandchildren turn into adults and live to meet his great-grandchildren. I thank him for all the unconditional love and the strong family values that he once taught me. He was the foundation of our family and even if he is no longer present in his human form, he will forever live within us.

A GHOST - by Litto Bezama

Confusion, Sadness, and Loneliness were some of the feelings that governed my life for a while. I used to live in a bubble and I didn’t let anyone in. My room became my fort, a dark fort I should add, nothing but darkness and cold wind flowing around as my only company. I used to sleep most of the time, trying to avoid thinking thoughts like, how alone I was or “is there someone that loves me?” I already knew the answers to these questions, but I couldn’t think of the right answers, my mind was filled with pity for myself; it was like a cloud was in my brain that didn’t let me think about anything else.

Some of these attacks made me feel a knot in my throat, that was choking me, which made my respiration harder.  There was a feeling in my chest of something that wanted to explode, or cry-out to the world “I’m here.”  It was taking over my mind, and all I could do was try to repress that feeling, try to calm down, and to loosen this knot that was making my eyes watery.

I look back at that time of my life, and sometimes I get scared that this ghost might hunt me again, the ghost of feeling abandoned and sad all the time; this ghost that whispered in my ear telling me that I had nobody, that I’m content to live in darkness, playing with my brain, attacking me in a way that I didn’t realize until I touched the wounds.

I suffered the attacks of this ghost called depression for a while, I used to feel alone, it’s like no other feeling, and it’s so hard to overcome. I made my friends feel like I didn’t want to be around them anymore, but that was just part of the confusion I had, I didn’t even know who I was.

This phenomenon called depression is so horrible, you feel like you’re trapped within yourself, like you are drowning, as if you are sinking in quicksand. The persons that fall on this monster’s claws basically become zombies, dead but alive. I remember that when I was in a depression, I wouldn’t do anything at all; it was like I had no will to live, even at the young age I was and still am.

I had forgotten how much I love to laugh, or how I like to have fun with my friends, but once God was in my life in the most important place, the depression faded little by little until I was free of darkness.

The Creator of all life, of every living thing helped me to overcome this depression, and realize the big mistake that I was creating by letting my friends go away from me. I realized that the ghost I talked about previously was in my mind the entire time, and that with the right guidance I was able to not fall into the power of this ghost once again.

So we are finally up and running.  Here's the deal.  Each week we can feature up to 3 submissions of student work.  Your work will be posted just the way you send it to me.  If it is full of grammar and spelling issues, I can not post.  So your thorough presence in proofreading will be a requirement.

Once content is posted students will be required to log on and read the posts and leave comments for the writer.  Comments are to be constructive and thoughtful.  "This was good/bad" says nothing about what you read or what you thought.  I am looking for responses to be thoughtful.

Also, from time to time we will log on to view, art, brief video content and listen to music....

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