There is a certain clarity that young people carry, one that comes from growing up in a world where you don’t get the benefit of doubt. My students might not speak in the language of policy briefs or Atlantic articles, but they understand how power works. They understand what it means to have very little of it. And more importantly, they understand who gets to use it freely.
I teach in Sobrante Park, a neighborhood in deep East Oakland that the rest of the city too often forgets exists. You would not know it by walking through Montclair or reading headlines about downtown development. But if you come out here, past the Coliseum, beyond the bus depots and freeway exits, you’ll find a pocket of resistance holding on. There is a split in the train tracks just before you arrive, a jagged seam in the pavement that marks where the city stops pretending to care.
Bayview Market sits at its heart, its sun-faded signs offering cold sandwiches and lukewarm hope. Stray dogs dart through the fences. Kids walk to school in groups not because it is fun, but because it is safer. The houses are small and crowded. Some sag at the roofline. Others shine from fresh coats of paint applied by the hands of people who cannot afford to leave…