I remember the very first time I went to a nice restaurant, a really nice restaurant. It was for a law firm recruitment dinner, and I remember beforehand the waitress walked around and asked whether we wanted some wine, so I said, "Sure, I'll take some white wine."
Sećam se kada sam prvi put išao u fini restoran, veoma fini restoran. Bilo je to radi večere zbog zapošljavanja u advokatskoj kancelariji i sećam se da je konobarica prethodno šetala unaokolo i pitala da li bismo hteli vina, pa sam rekao: „Može, popiću malo belog vina.“
And she immediately said, "Would you like sauvignon blanc or chardonnay?"
Odmah je pitala: „Da li biste hteli sovinjon blank ili šardone?“
And I remember thinking, "Come on, lady, stop with the fancy French words and just give me some white wine." But I used my powers of deduction and recognized that chardonnay and sauvignon blanc were two separate types of white wine, and so I told her that I would take the chardonnay, because frankly that was the easiest one to pronounce for me.
Sećam se da sam pomislio: „Daj, gospođice, prestani sa kitnjastim francuskim rečima i samo mi donesi malo belog vina.“ Ipak, upotrebio sam svoju moć logike i uvideo da su šardone i sovinjon blank dve različite vrste belog vina, pa sam joj rekao da hoću šardone, jer mi je to, iskreno, bilo najlakše da izgovorim.
So I had a lot of experiences like that during my first couple of years as a law student at Yale, because, despite all outward appearances, I'm a cultural outsider. I didn't come from the elites. I didn't come from the Northeast or from San Francisco. I came from a southern Ohio steel town, and it's a town that's really struggling in a lot of ways, ways that are indicative of the broader struggles of America's working class. Heroin has moved in, killing a lot of people, people I know. Family violence, domestic violence, and divorce have torn apart families. And there's a very unique sense of pessimism that's moved in. Think about rising mortality rates in these communities and recognize that for a lot of these folks, the problems that they're seeing are actually causing rising death rates in their own communities, so there's a very real sense of struggle.
Imao sam mnogo takvih iskustava tokom prvih par godina studiranja prava na Jejlu, jer, uprkos spoljašnjem izgledu, ja sam kulturalni autsajder. Nemam elitno poreklo. Ne potičem sa severoistoka ili iz San Franciska. Potičem iz grada sa čeličanom iz južnog Ohaja i to je gradić koji se baš muči na mnogo načina koji ukazuju na šire borbe američke radničke klase. Heroin se doselio i ubio mnogo ljudi koje poznajem. Nasilje u porodici i razvodi su rasturili porodice. Postoji jedinstveni utisak pesimizma koji se tu uselio. Razmislite o porastu stope smrtnosti u ovim zajednicama i uočite da, za mnoge od tih ljudi, problemi koje vide zapravo uzrokuju stope smrti koje rastu u njihovim zajednicama, tako da je prisutan veoma realan utisak borbe.
I had a very front-row seat to that struggle. My family has been part of that struggle for a very long time. I come from a family that doesn't have a whole lot of money. The addiction that plagued my community also plagued my family, and even, sadly, my own mom. There were a lot of problems that I saw in my own family, problems caused sometimes by a lack of money, problems caused sometimes by a lack of access to resources and social capital that really affected my life.
Imao sam mesto u prvom redu te borbe. Moja porodica je dugo bila deo te borbe. Potičem iz porodice koja nema mnogo novca. Zavisnost koja je napala moju zajednicu takođe je napala i moju porodicu, pa čak i, nažalost, moju mamu. Bilo je mnogo problema koje sam video u svojoj porodici, problema koje je ponekad uzrokovao nedostatak novca, ponekad nedostatak sredstava i društvenog kapitala, što je zaista uticalo na moj život.
If you had looked at my life when I was 14 years old and said, "Well, what's going to happen to this kid?" you would have concluded that I would have struggled with what academics call upward mobility. So upward mobility is an abstract term, but it strikes at something that's very core at the heart of the American Dream. It's the sense, and it measures whether kids like me who grow up in poor communities are going to live a better life, whether they're going to have a chance to live a materially better existence, or whether they're going to stay in the circumstances where they came from. And one of the things we've learned, unfortunately, is that upward mobility isn't as high as we'd like it to be in this country, and interestingly, it's very geographically distributed. So take Utah, for instance. In Utah a poor kid is actually doing OK, very likely to live their share and their part in the American Dream. But if you think of where I'm from, in the South, in Appalachia, in southern Ohio, it's very unlikely that kids like that will rise. The American Dream in those parts of the country is in a very real sense just a dream.
Da ste sagledali moj život kada sam imao 14 godina i zapitali se: „Šta će se dogoditi sa ovim detetom?“, zaključili biste da ću se boriti sa onim što akademici zovu društvena pokretljivost. Društvena pokretljivost je apstraktan termin, ali pogađa nešto što je u samoj srži, u srcu američkog sna. To je taj neki osećaj, a meri da li će deca poput mene koja odrastu u siromašnim zajednicama živeti boljim životom, bilo da li će imati priliku da bolje žive materijalno ili da li će ostati u okolnostima iz kojih su potekli. Jedna od stvari koje smo saznali, nažalost, je da društvena pokretljivost nije tako visoka kao što bismo to hteli u ovoj zemlji i, što je zanimljivo, izrazito je geografski raspodeljena. Uzmite Jutu, na primer. U Juti siromašnom detetu zapravo dobro ide i vrlo je verovatno da će doživeti da dobiju svoj deo američkog sna. Međutim, ako pomislite na mesto odakle sam ja, na jugu, u Apalačiji, u južnom Ohaju, vrlo je malo verovatno da će se tamošnja deca uzdići. Američki san u tim delovima zemlje je u pravom smislu samo san.
So why is that happening? So one reason is obviously economic or structural. So you think of these areas. They're beset by these terrible economic trends, built around industries like coal and steel that make it harder for folks to get ahead. That's certainly one problem. There's also the problem of brain drain, where the really talented people, because they can't find high-skilled work at home, end up moving elsewhere, so they don't build a business or non-profit where they're from, they end up going elsewhere and taking their talents with them. There are failing schools in a lot of these communities, failing to give kids the educational leg up that really makes it possible for kids to have opportunities later in life. These things are all important. I don't mean to discount these structural barriers. But when I look back at my life and my community, something else was going on, something else mattered. It's difficult to quantify, but it was no less real.
Zašto se to dešava? Jedan od razloga je očigledno ekonomski ili strukturalni, tako da pomišljate na te oblasti. Opterećene su ovim užasnim ekonomskim trendovima, izgrađene oko industrija kao što su ugalj i čelik koje otežavaju ljudima da napreduju. To je svakako jedan od problema. Takođe postoji problem odliva mozgova, gde veoma talentovani ljudi, pošto ne mogu da pronađu visoko kvalifikovani posao kod kuće, na kraju završe negde drugde, tako da ne osnuju posao ili neprofitnu organizaciju tamo odakle su, već završe negde drugde i ponesu svoje talente sa sobom. U ovim zajednicama postoji mnogo neuspešnih škola koje ne daju deci obrazovni podstrek koji bi im omogućio da kasnije u životu imaju mogućnosti. Sve te stvari su važne. Ne mislim da umanjim značaj tih strukturalnih prepreka. Međutim, kada se osvrnem na svoj život i svoju zajednicu, nešto drugo se dešavalo, nešto drugo je bilo bitno. Teško je to izraziti, ali nije bilo ništa manje stvarno.
So for starters, there was a very real sense of hopelessness in the community that I grew up in. There was a sense that kids had that their choices didn't matter. No matter what happened, no matter how hard they worked, no matter how hard they tried to get ahead, nothing good would happen. So that's a tough feeling to grow up around. That's a tough mindset to penetrate, and it leads sometimes to very conspiratorial places. So let's just take one political issue that's pretty hot, affirmative action. So depending on your politics, you might think that affirmative action is either a wise or an unwise way to promote diversity in the workplace or the classroom. But if you grow up in an area like this, you see affirmative action as a tool to hold people like you back. That's especially true if you're a member of the white working class. You see it as something that isn't just about good or bad policy. You see it as something that's actively conspiring, where people with political and financial power are working against you. And there are a lot of ways that you see that conspiracy against you -- perceived, real, but it's there, and it warps expectations.
Za početak, postojao je veoma stvaran osećaj beznađa u zajednici u kojoj sam odrastao. Deca su imala utisak da njihovi izbori nisu važni. Bez obzira na to šta se dogodi, koliko god da naporno rade, koliko god se upinjali da napreduju, ništa dobro se neće desiti. Teško je odrastati uz tako težak osećaj. Teško je prodreti u takav mentalni sklop i on ponekad dovodi do vrlo zavereničkih mesta. Hajde da uzmemo jednu političku temu koja je prilično aktuelna, afirmativnu akciju. U zavisnosti od vaše politike, možete misliti da je afirmativna akcija mudar ili glup način da se podstiče raznolikost na radnom mestu ili u učionici. Međutim, ako odrastate u ovakvoj oblasti, vidite afirmativnu akciju kao sredstvo za sputavanje ljudi poput vas. To pogotovo važi ako ste član bele radničke klase. Vidite je kao nešto što nije samo dobra ili loša politika. Vidite je kao nešto gde se aktivno kuje zavera, gde ljudi sa političkom i finansijskom moći rade protiv vas. Postoji mnogo načina na koje vidite tu zaveru protiv vas - doživljenu, stvarnu, ali tu je i izopačava očekivanja.
So if you think about what do you do when you grow up in that world, you can respond in a couple of ways. One, you can say, "I'm not going to work hard, because no matter how hard I work, it's not going to matter." Another thing you might do is say, "Well, I'm not going to go after the traditional markers of success, like a university education or a prestigious job, because the people who care about those things are unlike me. They're never going to let me in." When I got admitted to Yale, a family member asked me if I had pretended to be a liberal to get by the admissions committee. Seriously. And it's obviously not the case that there was a liberal box to check on the application, but it speaks to a very real insecurity in these places that you have to pretend to be somebody you're not to get past these various social barriers. It's a very significant problem.
Ako razmišljate o tome šta ćete raditi kada odrastete u tom svetu, možete odgovoriti na par načina. Kao prvo, možete reći: „Neću naporno raditi, jer koliko god naporno radio, to neće biti bitno.“ Druga stvar koju možete reći je: „Pa, neću krenuti putem tradicionalnih pokazatelja uspeha kao što su fakultetsko obrazovanje ili prestižan posao, jer ljudi kojima je stalo do tih stvari nisu kao ja. Nikada mi neće dozvoliti pristup.“ Kada su me primili na Jejl, član porodice me je pitao da li sam se pretvarao da sam liberal da bih prošao na komisiji za upis. Ozbiljno. Očigledno da ne postoji opcija koju treba štiklirati na aplikaciji ako ste liberal, ali to govori o stvarnoj nesigurnosti na ovakvim mestima, da morate da se pretvarate da ste neko ko niste da biste prebrodili razne društvene prepreke. To je veoma značajan problem.
Even if you don't give in to that hopelessness, even if you think, let's say, that your choices matter and you want to make the good choices, you want to do better for yourself and for your family, it's sometimes hard to even know what those choices are when you grow up in a community like I did. I didn't know, for example, that you had to go to law school to be a lawyer. I didn't know that elite universities, as research consistently tells us, are cheaper for low-income kids because these universities have bigger endowments, can offer more generous financial aid. I remember I learned this when I got the financial aid letter from Yale for myself, tens of thousands of dollars in need-based aid, which is a term I had never heard before. But I turned to my aunt when I got that letter and said, "You know, I think this just means that for the first time in my life, being poor has paid really well."
Čak i ako se ne prepustite tom beznađu, čak i ako mislite, recimo, da su vaše odluke bitne i da želite da donosite dobre odluke, želite da učinite bolje za sebe i svoju porodicu, ponekad je teško uopšte znati koje su to odluke kada odrastate u zajednici kao mojoj. Nisam znao, na primer, da morate da idete na pravni fakultet da biste postali advokat. Nisam znao da su elitni univerziteti, kako nam istraživanje stalno poručuje, jeftiniji za siromašnu decu jer ti univerziteti imaju veće zadužbine i mogu da ponude izdašniju finansijsku pomoć. Sećam se da sam ovo saznao kada sam dobio pismo sa Jejla o finansijskoj pomoći, desetine hiljada dolara radi pomoći u slučaju nužde, što je termin koji nikada pre nisam čuo. Okrenuo sam se ka svojoj tetki kada sam dobio to pismo i rekao: „Znaš, mislim da ovo znači da se po prvi put u mom životu dobro isplatilo biti siromašan.“
So I didn't have access to that information because the social networks around me didn't have access to that information. I learned from my community how to shoot a gun, how to shoot it well. I learned how to make a damn good biscuit recipe. The trick, by the way, is frozen butter, not warm butter. But I didn't learn how to get ahead. I didn't learn how to make the good decisions about education and opportunity that you need to make to actually have a chance in this 21st century knowledge economy. Economists call the value that we gain from our informal networks, from our friends and colleagues and family "social capital." The social capital that I had wasn't built for 21st century America, and it showed.
Nisam imao pristup toj informaciji jer društvene mreže oko mene nisu imale pristup toj informaciji. Naučio sam od svog okruženja kako da pucam iz puške, i to dobro. Naučio sam kako da napravim strašno dobre pogačice. Trik je, inače, u smrznutom, a ne u toplom puteru. Međutim, nisam znao kako da napredujem. Nisam znao kako da donosim dobre odluke o obrazovanju i mogućnostima koje treba da donosite da biste uopšte imali nekakve šanse u ekonomiji znanja 21. veka. Ekonomisti nazivaju vrednost koju dobijamo od naših neformalnih mreža, od prijatelja, kolega i porodice „društveni kapital“. Društveni kapital koji sam ja imao nije bio napravljen za Ameriku 21. veka, a to se i videlo.
There's something else that's really important that's going on that our community doesn't like to talk about, but it's very real. Working-class kids are much more likely to face what's called adverse childhood experiences, which is just a fancy word for childhood trauma: getting hit or yelled at, put down by a parent repeatedly, watching someone hit or beat your parent, watching someone do drugs or abuse alcohol. These are all instances of childhood trauma, and they're pretty commonplace in my family. Importantly, they're not just commonplace in my family right now. They're also multigenerational. So my grandparents, the very first time that they had kids, they expected that they were going to raise them in a way that was uniquely good. They were middle class, they were able to earn a good wage in a steel mill. But what ended up happening is that they exposed their kids to a lot of the childhood trauma that had gone back many generations. My mom was 12 when she saw my grandma set my grandfather on fire. His crime was that he came home drunk after she told him, "If you come home drunk, I'm gonna kill you." And she tried to do it. Think about the way that that affects a child's mind.
Postoji još nešto što se dešava i što je veoma značajno, a o čemu naša zajednica ne voli da govori, ali je veoma stvarno. Deca iz radničke klase imaju mnogo veće izglede da se suoče sa onim što se zove nepovoljna iskustva u detinjstvu, što je samo otmena reč za traume u detinstvu, dobijanje batina i vikanje, višestruko kritikovanje roditelja, gledanje nekog kako udara ili bije vašeg roditelja, gledanje nekog dok koristi droge ili zloupotrebljava alkohol. To su sve primeri trauma iz detinjstva i prilično su učestali u mojoj porodici. Što je važno, nisu samo učestali u mojoj porodici danas. Takođe su višegeneracijski. Tako su moji deda i baba, kada su prvi put dobili decu, očekivali da će ih odgajati na način koji je jedinstveno dobar. Pripadali su srednjoj klasi i mogli su da zarade dobru platu u čeličani. Međutim, na kraju se desilo da su izložili svoju decu mnogim traumama u detinjstvu koje potiču više generacija unazad. Moja mama je imala 12 godina kada je videla da je baka zapalila dedu. Njegova krivica je bila u tome što je došao kući pijan nakon što mu je ona rekla: „Ako dođeš kući pijan, ubiću te.“ Pokušala je da to uradi. Pomislite kako to utiče na um deteta.
And we think of these things as especially rare, but a study by the Wisconsin Children's Trust Fund found that 40 percent of low-income kids face multiple instances of childhood trauma, compared to only 29 percent for upper-income kids. And think about what that really means. If you're a low-income kid, almost half of you face multiple instances of childhood trauma. This is not an isolated problem. This is a very significant issue.
Mi razmišljamo o takvim stvarima kao naročito retkim, ali je studija Povereničkog fonda za decu u Viskonsinu otkrila da se 40 posto siromašne dece suočava sa više slučajeva traume u detinjstvu, u poređenju sa svega 29 posto dece u porodicama sa većim primanjima. Razmislite o tome šta to u stvari znači. Ako ste siromašno dete, skoro polovina vas se suočava sa više slučajeva traume u detinjstvu. To nije izolovani problem. Ovo je vrlo značajan problem.
We know what happens to the kids who experience that life. They're more likely to do drugs, more likely to go to jail, more likely to drop out of high school, and most importantly, they're more likely to do to their children what their parents did to them. This trauma, this chaos in the home, is our culture's very worst gift to our children, and it's a gift that keeps on giving.
Znamo šta se dešava sa decom koja osete takav život. Veće su šanse da koriste droge, da odu u zatvor, da napuste srednju školu, a što je najvažnije, verovatnije je da će raditi svojoj deci ono što su njihovi roditelji radili njima. Ova trauma, ovaj haos kod kuće, predstavlja najgori dar naše kulture za našu decu, a to je dar koji neprekidno daruje.
So you combine all that, the hopelessness, the despair, the cynicism about the future, the childhood trauma, the low social capital, and you begin to understand why me, at the age of 14, was ready to become just another statistic, another kid who failed to beat the odds.
Dakle, spojite sve to, beznadežnost, očaj, cinizam po pitanju budućnosti, traume u detinjstvu, nizak društveni kapital, i počećete da razumete zašto sam, sa 14 godina, bio spreman da postanem samo još jedan statistički podatak, još jedno dete koje nije uspelo da pobedi verovatnoću.
But something unexpected happened. I did beat the odds. Things turned up for me. I graduated from high school, from college, I went to law school, and I have a pretty good job now. So what happened?
Ipak, nešto neočekivano se dogodilo. Jesam pobedio verovatnoću. Neke stvari su mi se dogodile. Završio sam srednju školu i fakultet, otišao na prava, a sada imam prilično dobar posao. Šta se dogodilo?
Well, one thing that happened is that my grandparents, the same grandparents of setting someone on fire fame, they really shaped up by the time I came around. They provided me a stable home, a stable family. They made sure that when my parents weren't able to do the things that kids need, they stepped in and filled that role. My grandma especially did two things that really matter. One, she provided that peaceful home that allowed me to focus on homework and the things that kids should be focused on. But she was also this incredibly perceptive woman, despite not even having a middle school education. She recognized the message that my community had for me, that my choices didn't matter, that the deck was stacked against me. She once told me, "JD, never be like those losers who think the deck is stacked against them. You can do anything you want to."
Pa, jedna stvar koja se desila je da su se moji deda i baba, isti deda i baba poznati po paljenju, zaista doveli u red u vreme kada sam ja došao. Pružili su mi stabilan dom, stabilnu porodicu. Postarali su se da, kada moji roditelji nisu mogli da rade stvari koje su deci bile potrebne, priskoče i ispune tu ulogu. Moja baka je pogotovo radila dve stvari koje su zaista važne. Prvo, pružila mi je miran dom koji mi je omogućio da se usredsredim na domaće zadatke i stvari na koje deca treba da budu usredsređena. Takođe je bila žena sa neverovatnim zapažanjem, uprkos tome da nije završila ni osnovnu školu. Prepoznala je poruku koju je moja zajednica imala za mene, da moje odluke nisu bitne, da su mi podeljene loše karte. Jednom mi je rekla: „Džej Di, nikada nemoj biti kao oni gubitnici koji misle da su im podeljene loše karte. Možeš biti šta god poželiš.“
And yet she recognized that life wasn't fair. It's hard to strike that balance, to tell a kid that life isn't fair, but also recognize and enforce in them the reality that their choices matter. But mamaw was able to strike that balance.
A opet, priznala je da život nije fer. Teško je postići tu ravnotežu, reći detetu da život nije fer, a takođe uvažiti i potkrepiti u njemu realnost da su njegove odluke bitne. Ipak, nana je umela da ostvari tu ravnotežu.
The other thing that really helped was the United States Marine Corps. So we think of the Marine Corps as a military outfit, and of course it is, but for me, the US Marine Corps was a four-year crash course in character education. It taught me how to make a bed, how to do laundry, how to wake up early, how to manage my finances. These are things my community didn't teach me. I remember when I went to go buy a car for the very first time, I was offered a dealer's low, low interest rate of 21.9 percent, and I was ready to sign on the dotted line. But I didn't take that deal, because I went and took it to my officer who told me, "Stop being an idiot, go to the local credit union, and get a better deal." And so that's what I did. But without the Marine Corps, I would have never had access to that knowledge. I would have had a financial calamity, frankly.
Druga stvar koja je zaista pomogla je Korpus marinaca SAD-a. Zamišljamo Korpus marinaca kao vojnu skupinu, što i jeste, naravno, ali je za mene Korpus marinaca SAD-a bio četvorogodišnji intenzivni kurs za obrazovanje karaktera. Naučio me je kako da namestim krevet, kako da operem veš, da se probudim rano, da upravljam finansijama. To su stvari kojima me nije naučila moja zajednica. Sećam se kada sam prvi put otišao da kupim auto. Ponudili su mi veoma nisku kamatnu stopu za trgovca od 21,9 posto i bio sam spreman da se potpišem na isprekidanoj liniji. Ipak, nisam prihvatio tu ponudu, jer sam je odneo svom oficiru koji mi je rekao: „Prestani da budeš idiot, idi u lokalnu kreditnu uniju i uzmi bolju ponudu.“ To sam i uradio. Međutim, bez Korpusa marinaca, nikada ne bih imao pristup tom znanju. Doživeo bih finansijsku propast, iskreno.
The last thing I want to say is that I had a lot of good fortune in the mentors and people who have played an important role in my life. From the Marines, from Ohio State, from Yale, from other places, people have really stepped in and ensured that they filled that social capital gap that it was pretty obvious, apparently, that I had. That comes from good fortune, but a lot of children aren't going to have that good fortune, and I think that raises really important questions for all of us about how we're going to change that. We need to ask questions about how we're going to give low-income kids who come from a broken home access to a loving home. We need to ask questions about how we're going to teach low-income parents how to better interact with their children, with their partners. We need to ask questions about how we give social capital, mentorship to low-income kids who don't have it. We need to think about how we teach working class children about not just hard skills, like reading, mathematics, but also soft skills, like conflict resolution and financial management.
Poslednje što želim da kažem je da sam imao mnogo sreće sa mentorima i ljudima koji su igrali važnu ulogu u mom životu. Iz Marinaca, iz države Ohaja, sa Jejla, sa drugih mesta, ljudi su zaista priskočili i postarali se da ispune tu prazninu društvenog kapitala za koju je bilo prilično očigledno, izgleda, da sam je imao. To dolazi uz sreću, ali mnogo dece neće imati takvu sreću, a mislim da to pokreće veoma važna pitanja za sve nas o tome kako ćemo to promeniti. Moramo da postavimo pitanje kako ćemo siromašnoj deci koja potiču iz razjedinjenih domova dati pristup domu punom ljubavi. Moramo da postavimo pitanje o tome kako ćemo naučiti siromašne roditelje da ostvaruju bolju interakciju sa svojom decom i sa svojim partnerima. Treba da postavimo pitanje kako dajemo društveni kapital, mentorstvo siromašnoj deci koja ga nemaju. Potrebno je da razmišljamo o tome kako podučavamo decu radničke klase ne samo „tvrdim“ veštinama kao što su čitanje i matematika, već i „mekim“ veštinama kao što su rešavanje konflikata i finansijsko upravljanje.
Now, I don't have all of the answers. I don't know all of the solutions to this problem, but I do know this: in southern Ohio right now, there's a kid who is anxiously awaiting their dad, wondering whether, when he comes through the door, he'll walk calmly or stumble drunkly. There's a kid whose mom sticks a needle in her arm and passes out, and he doesn't know why she doesn't cook him dinner, and he goes to bed hungry that night. There's a kid who has no hope for the future but desperately wants to live a better life. They just want somebody to show it to them. I don't have all the answers, but I know that unless our society starts asking better questions about why I was so lucky and about how to get that luck to more of our communities and our country's children, we're going to continue to have a very significant problem.
Ja nemam sve odgovore. Ne znam sva rešenja za ovaj problem, ali ovo znam - u južnom Ohaju ovog trenutka postoji dete koje zabrinuto čeka tatu, pitajući se da li će, kada uđe na ta vrata, ući mirno ili će se pijano teturati. Postoji dete čija mama zabada iglu u ruku i pada u nesvest, a on ne zna zašto mu nije skuvala večeru i te noći odlazi gladan u krevet. Tamo je dete koje nema nadu u budućnost, ali očajnički želi da živi boljim životom. Samo žele da mu ga neko pokaže. Nemam sve odgovore, ali znam da, ako naše društvo ne počne da postavlja bolja pitanja o tome zašto sam ja imao toliko sreće i kako da pružimo tu sreću većem broju naših zajednica i deci u našoj zemlji, nastavićemo da imamo vrlo značajan problem.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)