Annotations for People: Guardo-john

I can't join a crew. I just renounced one, but I've got to protect myself. So the only thing left for me is to get a gun, or is it?

Last night, I was speaking to my girl on the phone, telling her how bad things were getting around my block and that I decided to buy a gun. She got mad, raising her voice and asking me, "How could you be that ignorant? You know what would happen if you got caught with one?" I said to her, "Yo, I ain't going to be carrying it around and showing it off. Imma keep it at home in case someone tries to break in or mess with my family." She got quiet then.

I was searching for a better answer. I realized what a vicious cycle I was willingly getting into. You see, around my neighborhood, things ain't no joke. I'm a former gang member, so I know what dangers roam the streets. Drug dealers, stick-up kids, crackheads, the whole nine. A glance is reason enough to get jumped. Having outgrown that lifestyle, though, I'm trying to live a regular life, working and going to school. Unfortunately, that also means my family's been taken off the untouchables list. We have all become prey to these urban predators.

Now, under this new set of rules, what am I to do with this trouble? Call the cops? Ha! No one I know, including myself, would do that in case of an emergency. In my eyes, cops are more interested in filling their quota than in serving their community. Dialing 911 has simply become taboo. At this point, I am sandwiched between two problems. Number one, I don't trust the police. The only times they've been there for me was to ram flashlights into my skull while cursing me out. If not that, they've stopped me in front of my building to frisk me as my neighbors watch. Number two, if I remain vulnerable for too long, something bad may happen to my loved ones.

What can I do? I can't join a crew. I just renounced one, but I got to protect myself. So the only thing left for me is to get a gun. Or, is it? You see, I really believe if the cops got their act together, there wouldn't be so much static in the streets. What I mean is not that we lack police presence but that it doesn't matter if there's cops in every corner when they're going to be there to magnify the distrust we already have for them.

Policemen should figure out who the real criminals are, I know, and go after them instead of treating all of us like such. They're the ones who have to change since the problems of the street are always going to be there; there's always going to be crime, and we need protection. These issues may be the bigger picture, but I'm still unable to answer my girl. Every day, I have to deal with these problems, and although I may forget about them, what worries me is that it might be one of my friends who falls into the cycle and goes out to buy the nine. In street slang, that's a nine-millimeter handgun. I'm John Guardo, speaking for the street.

Friday night I was hanging with my boys. We were chilling at this guy, Chino's house, drinking forties while he took care of his kid. I hadn't hung out in a while, so I didn't mind babysitting. But the rest of the guys seemed restless. When I finally asked what was up, they told me that they were expecting a delivery of skis, also known as cocaine. [hip hop music background]

It's hard for me to admit how much drugs have become a part of my life, but they have, and in a big way. The lyrics and the music I hear speak of drugs as a way to become popular or even rich. That idea is reinforced by how drugs are glamorized in the movies. Bad guys living large, selling cocaine, with women around them and money to burn. As a little kid, I fantasized about someday living like them. Walking home from school, I saw that crime did pay. Just like in the movies, the neighborhood dealers had cars, girls, money, and respect. Things I wanted. [hip hop music background]

Time passed by, though, and a pattern became visible. I watched yesterday's big shot dealers become the day's victim, whether they got shot or went to jail. It was always constant. I saw those who came around to buy drugs, deteriorate, transforming from regular people to beggars and criminals with each purchase. In the end, I realized everybody was a victim, that it wasn't worth it, because even if you ain't got nothing to do with drugs you can still be mugged by a crack head or catch a bullet from a dealer's gun. No one will ever really be safe unless this problem is solved. Until then, the only protection there is is to be educated. People like to sell or do drugs because they don't realize what harm they're inflicting on themselves or others. Not knowing leaves a void for curiosity to fill.

Anyway, that Friday, as my friends got high, I chose to ignore what they were doing, numbing myself to their actions. I felt compelled to talk to them, but was afraid they'd start dissing me. Feeling out of place, I went home, got to bed, and fell asleep with a bad feeling. The next day, I woke up to a phone call. One of the guys I was with the night before had OD’ed on cocaine and died of a heart attack. He was 21 years old, and also my friend. I'm John Guardo, speaking for the street.

Having outgrown that lifestyle though, I'm trying to live a regular life working and going to school. Unfortunately, that also means my family's been taken off the untouchables list. We have all become prey to these urban predators. Now, under this new set of rules, what am I to do with this trouble? Call the cops? Huh, no one I know, including myself, would do that in case of an emergency. In my eyes, cops are more interested in filling their quota than in serving their community. Dialing 911 has simply become taboo. At this point, I'm sandwiched between two problems. Number one, I don't trust the police. The only times they've been there for me was to ram flashlights into my skull while cursing me out. If not that, they've stopped me in front of my building to frisk me as my neighbors watch. Number two, if I remain vulnerable for too long, something bad may happen to my loved ones.

Having outgrown that lifestyle though, I'm trying to live a regular life working and going to school. Unfortunately, that also means my family's been taken off the untouchables list. We have all become prey to these urban predators. Now, under this new set of rules, what am I to do with this trouble? Call the cops? Huh, no one I know, including myself, would do that in case of an emergency. In my eyes, cops are more interested in filling their quota than in serving their community. Dialing 911 has simply become taboo. At this point, I'm sandwiched between two problems. Number one, I don't trust the police. The only times they've been there for me was to ram flashlights into my skull while cursing me out. If not that, they've stopped me in front of my building to frisk me as my neighbors watch. Number two, if I remain vulnerable for too long, something bad may happen to my loved ones.

[Hip hop music] Last night, I was speaking to my girl on the phone, telling her how bad things were getting around my block and that I decided to buy a gun. She got mad, raising her voice and asking me, "How could you be that ignorant? You know what would happen if you got caught with one?" I said to her, "Yo, I ain't going to be carrying it around and showing it off. I'm going to keep it at home in case someone tries to break in or mess with my family." She got quiet then. I was searching for a better answer. I realized what a vicious cycle I was willingly getting into. You see, around my neighborhood, things ain't no joke. I'm a former gang member, so I know what dangers roam the streets. Drug dealers, stick-up kids, crackheads, the whole nine, a glance is reason enough to get jumped.

[Hip hop music] Last night, I was speaking to my girl on the phone, telling her how bad things were getting around my block and that I decided to buy a gun. She got mad, raising her voice and asking me, "How could you be that ignorant? You know what would happen if you got caught with one?" I said to her, "Yo, I ain't going to be carrying it around and showing it off. I'm going to keep it at home in case someone tries to break in or mess with my family." She got quiet then. I was searching for a better answer. I realized what a vicious cycle I was willingly getting into. You see, around my neighborhood, things ain't no joke. I'm a former gang member, so I know what dangers roam the streets. Drug dealers, stick-up kids, crackheads, the whole nine, a glance is reason enough to get jumped.

What can I do? I can't join a crew. I just renounced one, but I got to protect myself. So the only thing left for me is to get a gun. Or is it? You see, I really believe, if the cops got their act together, there wouldn't be so much static in the streets. What I mean is, not that we like police presence, but that it doesn't matter if there's cops on every corner when they're going to be there to magnify the distrust we already have for them. Policemen should figure out who the real criminals are. I know. And go after them instead of treating all of us like such. They're the ones who have to change since the problems of the street are always going to be there. There's always going to be crime and we need protection.

What can I do? I can't join a crew. I just renounced one, but I got to protect myself. So the only thing left for me is to get a gun. Or is it? You see, I really believe, if the cops got their act together, there wouldn't be so much static in the streets. What I mean is, not that we like police presence, but that it doesn't matter if there's cops on every corner when they're going to be there to magnify the distrust we already have for them. Policemen should figure out who the real criminals are. I know. And go after them instead of treating all of us like such. They're the ones who have to change since the problems of the street are always going to be there. There's always going to be crime and we need protection.

These issues may be the bigger picture, but I'm still unable to answer my girl. Every day I have to deal with these problems. And although I may forget about them, what worries me is that it might be one of my friends who falls into the cycle and goes out to buy the nine. In street slang, that's a nine-millimeter handgun. I'm John Guardo, speaking for the street.

These issues may be the bigger picture, but I'm still unable to answer my girl. Every day I have to deal with these problems. And although I may forget about them, what worries me is that it might be one of my friends who falls into the cycle and goes out to buy the nine. In street slang, that's a nine-millimeter handgun. I'm John Guardo, speaking for the street.

Yo, you want to know what really burns me up? It's when I hear people talk about minorities and immigrants like we are subhuman.

Yo, you want to know what really burns me up? It's when I hear people talk about minorities and immigrants like we are subhuman. It's those same people who think it's our fault when bad things happen in our neighborhoods. What they don't realize is that our communities are the ones abandoned by the authorities and left to decay. To set the record straight, let me tell you a story. There once was a kid, a smart kid, who came to this country not to freeload or abuse the opportunities America had to offer, but for a more basic reason. To live with his mom. You see, earlier in his life, his parents had separated. Pops was an alcoholic who had made a habit out of beating up mom. Mom was a teenager, who after the separation, moved to the US, leaving the kid behind, sacrificing it all for a shot at a better life. Finally, time allowed for mother and son to reunite in New York City.

This story should have ended with them living happily ever after. Unfortunately, this is the real world and it didn't happen that way. I am that kid. When I put my foot on the plane, I knew it was the start of a new life. I look forward to visiting Disneyland and the Empire State Building. I had a lot of aspirations. Catching a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty just before landing gave me confidence. It reassured me that I was finally free from the family violence I left back home. But had I really escaped violence entirely? For the first few weeks after I came to this country, life was good. Living in postcard New York was how I thought it would be. That all ended when my mom ran out of places to take me and I had to face it all on my own. Armed with only intellect and friendliness, I stepped into society only to face a seemingly indestructible enemy. Prejudice.

Being nice didn't keep me from getting beat up. Being smart didn't mean anything if no one would listen. But being punched for not knowing English, that was the last straw. From then on, respect became more important than anything and the streets became my school. My mother, on the other hand, worked incessantly, pushed to exhaustion by a dream of seeing her son wear a graduation gown. Sometimes, I felt like telling her how many obstacles I was facing as a new immigrant and just because of being myself, but that would've disillusioned her and she didn't deserve that. When I turned 15, I joined a gang. It seemed like the only way out of my situation. It was like a passport to a regular life, free from being pursued by hate I didn't understand. With size came strengths, and all our voices fused into one that was heard and respected. Now, through violence, I had earned the right to be.

Being young at that time though, I was more inclined to the social aspects of gang life. Being with girls, drinking with the guys, and wilding. Walking down that path landed me in jail a couple of times, turning me into a stereotype, just another statistic. I admit that my sense of responsibility decreased by being in a gang. Instead of hanging out, I could have been studying. But that lost time was replaced by a sense of security. The acceptance given to me by my crew filled up the hole created by being rejected during my first months here. Belonging to a gang fulfilled me, but as time passed, I realized this wasn't the way either. Now that I've been here for almost 10 years, I look at other young kids who have just arrived to this country and see myself. It's a shame that a person whose only intention is to come here and do better is welcomed by prejudice, greed, and racism.

This country was built on immigration. Why is it then? And some people claim to have more rights than others. Is it a seniority thing or a freedom thing? You see, I believe if there was some sort of structure or orientation to guide immigrants when they arrive here, those who are new to this country would be able to avoid certain obstacles. Like the ones I had to confront. A good start would be an expansion in the English as a second language program to make it available to everybody, students and adults alike. Not knowing how to speak English is a problem that leads to others like difficulty in finding a job or being a target for discrimination. America is a beautiful country, full of promise and opportunity for everyone. Immigrants included. Too bad, there are those out there who tarnish its beauty with ignorance. I am John Guardo, speaking for the street.

Walking home from school I saw that crime did pay. Just like in the movies, the neighborhood dealers had cars, girls, money, and respect. Things I wanted.

[Background--Music--Hip-hop] Friday night I was hanging with my boys. We were chilling at this guy, Chino's house, drinking forties while he took care of his kid. I hadn't hung out in a while, so I didn't mind babysitting. But the rest of the guys seem restless. When I finally asked what was up, they told me that they were expecting a delivery of skis, also known as cocaine.

It's hard for me to admit how much drugs have become a part of my life, but they have, and in a big way. The lyrics and the music I hear speak of drugs as a way to become popular or even rich. That idea is reinforced by how drugs are glamorized in the movies. Bad guys living large, selling cocaine with women around them and money to burn. As a little kid, I fantasized about someday living like them. Walking home from school, I saw that crime did pay. Just like in the movies, the neighborhood dealers had cars, girls, money and respect. Things I wanted.

Time passed by though, and a pattern became visible. I watched yesterday's big shot dealers become today's victim. Whether they got shot or went to jail, it was always constant. I saw those who came around to buy drugs deteriorate, transforming from regular people to beggars and criminals with each purchase.

And then I realized everybody was a victim, that it wasn't worth it because even if you ain't got nothing to do with drugs, you can still be mugged by a crack head or catch a bullet from a dealer's gun. No one will ever really be safe unless this problem is solved. Until then, the only protection there is is to be educated. People let us sell or do drugs because they don't realize what harm they're inflicting on themselves or others. Not knowing leaves a void for curiosity to fill.

Anyway, that Friday, as my friends got high, I chose to ignore what they were doing, numbing myself to their actions. I felt compelled to talk to them, but was afraid they'd start dissing me. Feeling out of a place, I went home, got to bed, and fell asleep with a bad feeling.

The next day I woke up to a phone call. One of the guys I was with the night before had OD'ed on cocaine and died of a heart attack. He was 21 years old and also my friend. I'm John Guardo, speaking for the street.