“People were sitting on the floor, there weren’t enough desks or supplies,” he says. “It was a depressing scene, and you pretty much feel isolated in it. Here in this country, you learn about democracy and freedom. But if you look at it, there really is no freedom without the freedom of education.”
It’s useful to remember that for all the weightiness and complexity of the CEJ’s mission, average teenagers are carrying it out. The typical coalition student is willing but is often in the middle academically — neither an honors student nor a troublemaker. Some, like Travon, have been in special education. Many CEJ students come from households run by single parents or grandparents in which siblings haven’t graduated from high school. Often, as with Robert, they are the first four-year-college prospects in the family.
“I have one older cousin who got a diploma, and that’s pretty much it,” he says. “My parents are immigrants who’ve always tended to say, ‘Study hard and get an education.’ I feel some pressure.”
So does Marquise. “My mother has very, very, very high hopes,” he says, with a sigh.
“It can get pretty hot sometimes. She wants me to go to college and be the poster boy in
the family.”
Angela Azurdia, a senior at L.A. High, is the third of seven children. Her older sister never finished high school and married at 18; a brother, she says, “just gave up.” Angela admits to coming to a CEJ meeting initially because she was looking forward to getting extra credit — “I’ve always been kind of nerdy,” she says, laughing — but she wound up getting hooked on the message.
“I was surprised that the students ran the whole thing, and that you could say whatever you want,” she says eagerly. “They talked a lot about issues I was interested in, like being against the war. I wanted to go to an anti-war protest. I made plans to do that, and at the last minute my mom said, ‘Oh no, you can’t go.’ Because in Guatemala, where she’s from, people who get involved in issues get killed. My mother’s really afraid of that. She used to live in the capital, and she knew people who would go to parties and suddenly, in the middle of the party, the lights would go out and the people would disappear. And then they would find them dead.” Angela’s teacher, a CEJ member, talked with her mother and allayed most of those fears, for the moment.
“She decided she was going to let me have an open mind,” says Angela.
Unlike a lot of their peers, CEJ students talk easily about the future. For all their informed criticism of the system, they, like all students, want to do well. They want good grades and spots at good colleges. Angela wants to work as a women’s-rights activist when she gets older, maybe run a safe haven for rape victims, an issue she is especially passionate about. Marquise hopes to go to Cal State Northridge and start a CEJ chapter at the college level, the first one. As crucial as the CEJ might be in encouraging the future, encouragement is always tempered by reality: Travon’s grades, never outstanding, have drifted lately; Frances confessed to the same thing. Travon vows that he’s going to make it up over the summer. He says he wants to go to USC and become a lawyer, “or something involved in justice,” he muses, “maybe business with a justice twist.”
Right now he’s visibly excited about an anti-war march happening in Hollywood; the CEJ will be there in formation, with banners and T-shirts to ensure that everyone knows who they are. The coalition has been planning this for weeks. Travon has never participated in a rally of this size before, and he’s looking forward to it.
“It’ll be hectic and outrageous, but it’ll be fun,” he says. “People say that when everybody’s walking between those tall buildings, the sound at some point gets very intense. Like a big whoosh.” He sweeps his arms above his head in an imaginary sky to describe it, and smiles big. “I’ve always wanted to be part of something like this,” he continues. “I just want to hear that sound. I know it’s gonna be great.”
