Annika John
San Jose
Photo by Yuki Umeda
15 minutes so close, and yet a heart so far. They have eyes but they do not see.
The exhausted mother sleeping on the floor of an unfurnished single rented room working two full-time jobs, desperate to provide for her children in a way she was unable to back home in Mexco. You don’t see how her smile lights up when she shows you the precious pictures on the phone of her beloved children, the ones whom she risked everything for.
You don’t see the families packed in single rooms, basements, garages and back “houses,” using every square inch of space to make a home.
You don’t see the mother tucking in her little girl and praying for protection next to the bullet hole on her wall from the gang fight across the street.
You don’t see the brainy, talented high school graduate with a dream to be a scientist stuck at home watching his two nieces and younger brothers while his parents work all day. Hope deferred makes the heart sick.
You don’t see the look on the high school senior’s face when he proudly exclaims. “I finally got my own bed.”
You don’t see the flowers and frames of loved ones lost to gang violence littering the sidewalk and covering the affairs and shelves of homes.
You don’t see the young man break down crying when he shares with his scared circle of friends, “I don’t think I’ll make it past 18 years old.”
You don’t see the little “houseless” girl falling asleep in a van with the rest of her four siblings, wondering if her mother will ever find a stable job.
You don’t see the talented chef, paralyzed from the waist down from a construction accident, using a plug-in burner to make nopales out of the rented half-garage that he calls home.
Photo by Yuki Umeda
You don’t see the defeated middle schoolers with learning disabilities up late at night studying, attending schools that don’t have resources to provide them with the help they need.
You don’t see the determined undocumented 7th grader with a dream to go to Stanford and become a doctor, motivated by the fear that if she doesn’t keep her grades up she’ll be deported back to a country she’s never seen as home.
You don’t see the elementary school girl woken up in the middle of the night to translate from the police to her mom, from her mom to the police… about yet another one of her brother’s violent mental health episodes.
You don’t see the pregnant high school sophomore focused and strong through tutoring night, determined to finish high school and be the mother that her mother never was, in and out of prison her entire adolescent life.
You don’t see the single mom with two children all sick with Covid in their single rented room on Christmas Eve, huddled around a tiny fake tree, wishing they might one day find an apartment they could afford.
You don't see the young man with a hole in his heart the size of a father... on a desperate search to find his worth in all the broken places of the city.
You don’t see the determined and weary seniors writing their college essays, longing to create a new path forward out of poverty for their family.
You don’t see the young new father making the impossible decision to step out of gang life for the sake of his little boy—ready to live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.
You don’t see the little kindergarten girl “blowing bubbles for daddy” every year at the street corner where his life was taken from him.
You don’t see the 30 families in the decaying, low-income apartment complex come together to set up the most colorful Christmas decorations on the block.
You don’t see the beautiful murals covering the walls of old buildings and alleyways, painting a story of hope.
You don't see the beautiful murals covering the walls of old buildings and alleyways, painting a story of hope.
You don’t see the luscious and lively gardens taking up every square inch of back and front yards so carefully tended to, and shared with all who enter.
You don’t see the eager, excited faces at front doors, practically pulling you in to share a delicious, home cooked meal. Te sientes como en casa. Make yourself at home.
Photo by Gabriel Porras
You don't see the 50 Latina moms meeting weekly in the library of the local elementary school dreaming, visioning, and planning together, because they know it takes a village to support their children towards a better life.
You don’t see the depressed and cynical young man face his fears to learn the guitar and become the next worship leader at his church.
You don’t see the family with 10 siblings tightly packed in a small home with dreams and intellect great enough to tear down the walls.
You don't see the young adult leader finally owning her story and speaking truth to power, showing our city that although her voice had been suppressed, she was never voiceless.
You don’t see high schoolers who were once so desperate to get out of the neighborhood and leave all the suffering behind, start fiercely working together for change the their community to help youth like themselves dream and hope in ways they never thought possible.
You don’t see the rich culture and traditions, like the folklorico dresses with colors that twirl and swirl and light up the night.
You don't see the high school and middle school youth standing bravely, hand in hand, in front of a room full of privilege and power, declaring, "We are human. We are powerful. We are strong. We are children of God. We are immigrants. We are achievers. We are... Latino."
You don't see the Chicana community leader, full of the Holy Spirit, say, "Some refer to my neighborhood as sal si puedes ('get out if you can')... and I have chosen to stay."
You don't see Ximena, Xiomara, Nayeli, Ana, Natalia, Angelica, Jesus, Rafa, Alejandra, Jose, Carlos, Ariana.
And you don’t see the sparkle in the young woman’s eye when after five years of relationship, she says to her mentor, te quiero. I love you.
But maybe, if you stop. Listen, linger, savor. You just might see.
And to paraphrase Elizabeth Barret Browning:
"The inner city is crammed with heaven
And every common street corner afire with God
And only those who see take off their shoes."
Annika is on staff with Servant Partners and directs the Youth Squad at Shalom Iglesia del Pacto in San Jose, California.