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.

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