For the last 50 years, a lot of smart, well-resourced people -- some of you, no doubt -- have been trying to figure out how to reduce poverty in the United States. People have created and invested millions of dollars into non-profit organizations with the mission of helping people who are poor.
U posljednjih 50 godina, mnogo pametnih ljudi s bogatim resursima -- zasigurno ih ima među vama -- pokušavali su dokučiti kako umanjiti siromaštvo u Sjedinjenim Američkim Državama. Ljudi su stvorili, i uložili milijune dolara u neprofitne organizacije s ciljem da pomognu siromašnim ljudima.
They've created think tanks that study issues like education, job creation and asset-building, and then advocated for policies to support our most marginalized communities. They've written books and columns and given passionate speeches, decrying the wealth gap that is leaving more and more people entrenched at the bottom end of the income scale. And that effort has helped. But it's not enough. Our poverty rates haven't changed that much in the last 50 years, since the War on Poverty was launched. I'm here to tell you that we have overlooked the most powerful and practical resource. Here it is: people who are poor.
Stvorili su trustove mozgova koji proučavaju pitanja kao što su obrazovanje, stvaranje poslova i imovine, te tada zagovarali politiku koja bi podržala naše najmarginaliziranije zajednice. Pisali su knjige i članke te davali strastvene govore, osuđujući imovinski jaz zbog kojeg se sve više i više ljudi nalazi na dnu skale dohotka. I taj trud je pomogao. Ali nije dovoljan. Naša stopa siromaštva se nije značajno promijenila u posljednjih 50 godina, otkad je započela borba protiv siromaštva. Ovdje sam da vam kažem da smo previdjeli najsnažniji i najpraktičniji izvor. Taj slijedi: siromašni ljudi.
Up in the left-hand corner is Jobana, Sintia and Bertha. They met when they all had small children, through a parenting class at a family resource center in San Francisco. As they grew together as parents and friends, they talked a lot about how hard it was to make money when your kids are little. Child care is expensive, more than they'd earn in a job. Their husbands worked, but they wanted to contribute financially, too.
Gore u lijevom kutku su Jobana, Sintia i Bertha. One su se upoznale kad su imale malu djecu, na roditeljskom tečaju u obiteljskom centru u San Franciscu. Kako su se zbližavale kao roditelji i kao prijateljice, puno su pričale o tome kako je teško zarađivati kad imaš malu djecu. Dječji vrtići su skupi, skuplji od iznosa koji bi zaradile. Njihovi su muževi radili, no i one su željele financijski doprinijeti.
So they hatched a plan. They started a cleaning business. They plastered neighborhoods with flyers and handed business cards out to their families and friends, and soon, they had clients calling. Two of them would clean the office or house and one of them would watch the kids. They'd rotate who'd cleaned and who'd watch the kids. (Laughs) It's awesome, right?
Stoga su skovale plan. Započele su posao čišćenja. Oblijepile su susjedstvo letcima i dijelile posjetnice svojim obiteljima i prijateljima, i uskoro su ih počeli zvati klijenti. Dvije od njih bi čistile ured ili kuću a jedna od njih bi čuvala djecu. Mijenjale bi raspored koje bi čistile a koja bi čuvala djecu. (Smijeh) Odlično je, zar ne?
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
And they split the money three ways. It was not a full-time gig, no one could watch the little ones all day. But it made a difference for their families. Extra money to pay for bills when a husband's work hours were cut. Money to buy the kids clothes as they were growing. A little extra money in their pockets to make them feel some independence.
I dijelile su novac na tri dijela. Nije bilo za puno radno vrijeme, nitko ne može paziti na malene cijeli dan. Ali je bilo značajno za njihove obitelji. Dodatan prihod za platiti račune kad se mužu sreže plaća. Novac da kupe djeci odjeću u skladu s rastom. Malo dodatnog novca u džepu da se osjećaju nezavisno.
Up in the top-right corner is Theresa and her daughter, Brianna. Brianna is one of those kids with this sparkly, infectious, outgoing personality. For example, when Rosie, a little girl who spoke only Spanish, moved in next door, Brianna, who spoke only English, borrowed her mother's tablet and found a translation app so the two of them could communicate.
Gore u desnom kutku su Theresa i njena kćer Brianna. Brianna je jedna od one djece s vrlo živahnom, zaraznom, društvenom osobnošću. Na primjer, kad se Rosie, djevojčica koja je govorila samo španjolski, doselila preko puta, Brianna, koja je govorila samo engleski, posudila je majčin tablet i našla aplikaciju za prevođenje da bi njih dvije mogle komunicirati.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
I know, right? Rosie's family credits Brianna with helping Rosie to learn English.
Znam, jelda? Rosie-na obitelj zahvalna je Brianni što je pomogla Rosie naučiti engleski.
A few years ago, Brianna started to struggle academically. She was growing frustrated and kind of withdrawn and acting out in class. And her mother was heartbroken over what was happening. Then they found out that she was going to have to repeat second grade and Brianna was devastated. Her mother felt hopeless and overwhelmed and alone because she knew that her daughter was not getting the support she needed, and she did not know how to help her. One afternoon, Theresa was catching up with a group of friends, and one of them said, "Theresa, how are you?" And she burst into tears. After she shared her story, one of her friends said, "I went through the exact same thing with my son about a year ago." And in that moment, Theresa realized that so much of her struggle was not having anybody to talk with about it. So she created a support group for parents like her. The first meeting was her and two other people. But word spread, and soon 20 people, 30 people were showing up for these monthly meetings that she put together. She went from feeling helpless to realizing how capable she was of supporting her daughter, with the support of other people who were going through the same struggle. And Brianna is doing fantastic -- she's doing great academically and socially.
Prije nekoliko godina, Brianna je počela imati problema u školi. Postajala je frustrirana i nekako povučena te se iskaljivala na satovima. I njenoj se majci slomilo srce zbog toga. Tad su saznali da će morati ponavljati drugi razred i Brianna je bila slomljena. Njena majka osjećala se beznadno i preplavljeno i usamljeno jer je znala da njena kćer ne dobiva podršku koja joj je potrebna, a ona nije znala kako joj pomoći. Jednog popodneva, Theresa je pričala sa svojim prijateljima, i netko od njih je pitao, "Theresa, kako si?" I ona je briznula u plač. Nakon što je s njima podijelila svoju priču, jedan od njih je rekao, "Ja sam prošao kroz isto to sa svojim sinom prije godinu dana." I u tom trenutku, Theresa je shvatila da je velik dio njenog problema to što nema s kime pričati o tome. Tako je osnovala grupu podrške za roditelje poput nje. Prvom sastanku prisustvovali su ona i još dvoje ljudi. Ali se pročulo, i uskoro se 20 ljudi, 30 ljudi počelo pojavljivati na tim mjesečnim sastancima koje je pokrenula. Umjesto da se osjeća bespomoćno, postala je svjesna koliko je sposobna da podupre svoju kćer, uz podršku drugih ljudi koji su prolazili kroz iste teškoće. I Brianni ide fantastično -- ide joj dobro u školi i u društvu.
That in the middle is my man Baakir, standing in front of BlackStar Books and Caffe, which he runs out of part of his house. As you walk in the door, Baakir greets you with a "Welcome black home."
Ovdje u sredini je moj prijatelj Baakir, stoji ispred BlackStar Books and Caffe, (kafić s knjigama BlackStar), koji vodi u dijelu svoje kuće. Kad uđete kroz vrata, Baakir vas pozdravi sa "Dobrodošli kući, rođo."
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Once inside, you can order some Algiers jerk chicken, perhaps a vegan walnut burger, or jive turkey sammich. And that's sammich -- not sandwich. You must finish your meal with a buttermilk drop, which is several steps above a donut hole and made from a very secret family recipe. For real, it's very secret, he won't tell you about it.
Kad ste tamo možete naručiti alžirsku sušenu piletinu, možda veganski burger od oraha, ili pureći sentvič. I zove se sentvič -- ne sendvič. Morate završiti obrok s malo mlaćenice, koja je vrlo ukusna i napravljena po vrlo tajnom obiteljskom receptu. Ozbiljno, vrlo je tajan, neće vam ga odati.
But BlackStar is much more than a café. For the kids in the neighborhood, it's a place to go after school to get help with homework. For the grown-ups, it's where they go to find out what's going on in the neighborhood and catch up with friends. It's a performance venue. It's a home for poets, musicians and artists. Baakir and his partner Nicole, with their baby girl strapped to her back, are there in the mix of it all, serving up a cup of coffee, teaching a child how to play Mancala, or painting a sign for an upcoming community event.
Ali BlackStar je više od kafića. Za djecu u susjedstvu, to je mjesto gdje idu nakon škole da dobiju pomoć sa zadaćom. Za odrasle, to je mjesto gdje idu da saznaju što je novo u susjedstvu i proćaskaju s prijateljima. To je mjesto performansa. To je dom za pjesnike, glazbenike i umjetnike. Baakir i njegova partnerica Nicole, s njihovom malom kćerkom koju nosi na leđima, su u središtu svega toga, serviraju šalicu kave, uče djecu kako igrati mancalu (igre na ploči), ili oslikavaju natpis za nadolazeći društveni događaj.
I have worked with and learned from people just like them for more than 20 years. I have organized against the prison system, which impacts poor folks, especially black, indigenous and Latino folks, at an alarming rate. I have worked with young people who manifest hope and promise, despite being at the effect of racist discipline practices in their schools, and police violence in their communities. I have learned from families who are unleashing their ingenuity and tenacity to collectively create their own solutions. And they're not just focused on money. They're addressing education, housing, health, community -- the things that we all care about. Everywhere I go, I see people who are broke but not broken. I see people who are struggling to realize their good ideas, so that they can create a better life for themselves, their families, their communities. Jobana, Sintia, Bertha, Theresa and Baakir are the rule, not the shiny exception. I am the exception.
Radila sam i učila od ljudi poput ovih više od 20 godina. Zalagala sam se protiv sustava zatvora, koji utječe na siromašne, posebno crnačko, domorodačko i Latinoameričko stanovništvo, uznemirujućom brzinom. Radila sam s mladim ljudima koji zrače nadom i obećanjem, usprkos rasističkim praksama s kojima se susreću u školama, i policijskim nasiljem u svojim društvima. Učila sam od obitelji koje oslobađaju svoju domišljatost i žilavost da bi kolektivno stvorili svoja vlastita rješenja. I ne vodi ih samo novac. Usmjeravaju se na obrazovanje, kućanstvo, zdravlje, zajednicu -- stvari do kojih nam je svima stalo. Gdje god idem, vidim ljude koji se trgaju bez novca, ali nisu potrgani. Vidim ljude koji se bore da ostvare svoje dobre ideje, kako bi stvorili bolji život za sebe, svoje obitelji, svoje zajednice. Jobana, Sintia, Bertha, Theresa i Baakir su pravilo, a ne blistava iznimka. Ja sam iznimka.
I was raised by a quietly fierce single mother in Rochester, New York. I was bussed to a school in the suburbs, from a neighborhood that many of my classmates and their parents considered dangerous. At eight, I was a latchkey kid. I'd get myself home after school every day and do homework and chores, and wait for my mother to come home. After school, I'd go to the corner store and buy a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli, which I'd heat up on the stove as my afternoon snack. If I had a little extra money, I'd buy a Hostess Fruit Pie.
Odgojila me mirno oštra samohrana majka u Rochesteru, New York. Išla sam u školu autobusom u predgrađe, iz susjedstva koje su mnogi moji suučenici i njihovi roditelji smatrali opasnim. S osam godina, bila sam samostalno dijete. Došla bih kući iz škole svaki dan i napisala zadaću i obavila poslove, i čekala majku da se vrati kući. Poslije škole išla bih u trgovinu i kupila konzervu gotovih raviola, koje bih zagrijala na štednjaku kao popodnevnu užinu. Ako bih imala viška novca, kupila bih gotovu voćnu pitu.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Cherry. Not as good as a buttermilk drop.
Trešnju. Ne tako dobru kao mlaćenica.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
We were poor when I was a kid. But now, I own a home in a quickly gentrifying neighborhood in Oakland, California. I've built a career. My husband is a business owner. I have a retirement account. My daughter is not even allowed to turn on the stove unless there's a grown-up at home and she doesn't have to, because she does not have to have the same kind of self-reliance that I had to at her age. My kids' raviolis are organic and full of things like spinach and ricotta, because I have the luxury of choice when it comes to what my children eat.
Bili smo siromašni kad sam bila mala. No sada, ja imam dom u novoobnovljenom susjedstvu u Oaklandu, California. Izgradila sam karijeru. Moj muž vodi posao. Imam umirovljeničku štednju. Ne dozvoljavam kćeri ni da uključi štednjak ukoliko nema odraslih kod kuće i ona to ne treba jer ne mora biti tako samostalna kao što sam ja morala biti u njenim godinama. Ravioli koje moja djeca jedu su organski i puni stvari poput špinata i svježeg sira, jer volim luksuz izbora kad je u pitanju hrana za moju djecu.
I am the exception, not because I'm more talented than Baakir or my mother worked any harder than Jobana, Sintia or Bertha, or cared any more than Theresa. Marginalized communities are full of smart, talented people, hustling and working and innovating, just like our most revered and most rewarded CEOs. They are full of people tapping into their resilience to get up every day, get the kids off to school and go to jobs that don't pay enough, or get educations that are putting them in debt. They are full of people applying their savvy intelligence to stretch a minimum wage paycheck, or balance a job and a side hustle to make ends meet. They are full of people doing for themselves and for others, whether it's picking up medication for an elderly neighbor, or letting a sibling borrow some money to pay the phone bill, or just watching out for the neighborhood kids from the front stoop.
Ja sam iznimka, ne zato što sam talentiranija od Baakira ili je moja majka radila više od Jobane, Sintie ili Berthe, ili brinula više od Therese. Marginalne zajednice su pune pametnih, talentiranih ljudi, koji rade i uvode novine, jednako kao naši cijenjeni i mnogo nagrađivani direktori. Pune su ljudi koji nalaze elastičnost da ustanu svaki dan, odvedu djecu u školu i idu na posao koji ne plaća dovoljno, ili se školuju i time zadužuju. Pune su ljudi koji se svojom zdravorazumskom inteligencijom krpaju s minimalcem, ili usklađuju posao i poslove sa strane da spoje kraj s krajem. Pune su ljudi koji rade za sebe i za druge, bilo da je to podizanje lijekova za starijeg susjeda, ili posuđivanje novca braći da plate račun za telefon, ili samo paze na susjedovu djecu sa trijema.
I am the exception because of luck and privilege, not hard work. And I'm not being modest or self-deprecating -- I am amazing.
Ja sam iznimka zbog sreće i privilegije, ne zbog teškog rada. I nisam skromna ili samoosuđujuća -- ja sam odlična.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
But most people work hard. Hard work is the common denominator in this equation, and I'm tired of the story we tell that hard work leads to success, because that allows --
Ali većina ljudi teško radi. Težak rad je učestali nazivnik ove jednadžbe, i umorna sam od priče koju pričamo da težak rad vodi uspjehu, jer to dopušta --
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
... because that story allows those of us who make it to believe we deserve it, and by implication, those who don't make it don't deserve it. We tell ourselves, in the back of our minds, and sometimes in the front of our mouths, "There must be something a little wrong with those poor people." We have a wide range of beliefs about what that something wrong is. Some people tell the story that poor folks are lazy freeloaders who would cheat and lie to get out of an honest day's work. Others prefer the story that poor people are helpless and probably had neglectful parents that didn't read to them enough, and if they were just told what to do and shown the right path, they could make it.
... jer takva priča dopušta onima od nas koji uspiju da vjeruju da to zaslužuju, čime se podrazumijeva, da oni koji ne uspiju to ne zaslužuju. Govorimo si, u podsvijesti, i nekad to izreknemo naglas, "Mora da nešto nije u redu s tim siromašnim ljudima." Imamo širok spektar vjerovanja o tome što je to što nije u redu. Neki ljudi pričaju da su siromašni lijeni paraziti koji bi varali i lagali da izbjegnu pošten radni dan. Drugima je draža priča da su siromašni bespomoćni koji su vjerojatno imali zanemarujuće roditelje koji im nisu dovoljno čitali, i ako im se samo kaže što činiti i pokaže pravi put, mogli bi uspjeti.
For every story I hear demonizing low-income single mothers or absentee fathers, which is how people might think of my parents, I've got 50 that tell a different story about the same people, showing up every day and doing their best. I'm not saying that some of the negative stories aren't true, but those stories allow us to not really see who people really are, because they don't paint a full picture. The quarter-truths and limited plot lines have us convinced that poor people are a problem that needs fixing. What if we recognized that what's working is the people and what's broken is our approach? What if we realized that the experts we are looking for, the experts we need to follow, are poor people themselves? What if, instead of imposing solutions, we just added fire to the already-burning flame that they have? Not directing -- not even empowering -- but just fueling their initiative.
Za svaku priču koju čujem koja ponižava samohrane majke s niskim prihodima ili odsutne očeve, što je način na koji su ljudi možda gledali na moje roditelje, imam 50 koje pričaju drukčiju priču o istim tim ljudima, koji svaki dan daju sve od sebe. Ne kažem da neke negativne priče nisu istinite, ali te nam priče dopuštaju da ne vidimo tko ljudi zapravo jesu, jer ne prikazuju cijelu sliku. Polovične istine i ograničeni zapleti uvjerili su nas da su siromašni ljudi problem koji treba riješiti. Što ako bismo prepoznali da ono što funkcionira jesu ljudi a što je pokvareno je naš pristup? Što ako bismo shvatili da su stručnjaci koje tražimo, stručnjaci koje trebamo slijediti, upravo sami siromašni ljudi? Što ako bismo, umjesto nametanja rješenja, samo dodali ulje na vatru koja u njima već gori? Da ih ne usmjeravamo -- čak niti osnažujemo -- već samo potičemo njihovu inicijativu.
Just north of here, we have an example of what this could look like: Silicon Valley. A whole venture capital industry has grown up around the belief that if people have good ideas and the desire to manifest them, we should give them lots and lots and lots of money.
Sjeverno odavde, imamo primjer kako bi to moglo izgledati: Silicijska dolina. Čitava industrija je izgrađena oko vjerovanja da ako ljudi imaju dobre ideje i želju da ih ostvare, trebali bismo im dati puno i puno i puno novca.
(Laughter)
(Smijeh)
Right? But where is our strategy for Theresa and Baakir? There are no incubators for them, no accelerators, no fellowships. How are Jobana, Sintia and Bertha really all that different from the Mark Zuckerbergs of the world? Baakir has experience and a track record. I'd put my money on him.
Je li tako? Ali gdje je naša strategija za Theresu i Baakira? Za njih nema inkubatora, ni akceleratora, ni stipendija. Koliko su Jobana, Sintia i Bertha zapravo različite od Markova Zuckerberga ovog svijeta? Baakir ima iskustvo i policijski dosje. Ja bih se kladila na njega.
So, consider this an invitation to rethink a flawed strategy. Let's grasp this opportunity to let go of a tired, faulty narrative and listen and look for true stories, more beautifully complex stories, about who marginalized people and families and communities are.
Zato, smatrajte ovo pozivom da razmislite o manjkavoj strategiji. Uhvatimo ovu priliku da pustimo umornu, krivu priču te slušamo i gledamo istinite priče, ljepše složenije priče, o tome tko su marginalizirani ljudi i obitelji i zajednice.
I'm going to take a minute to speak to my people. We cannot wait for somebody else to get it right. Let us remember what we are capable of; all that we have built with blood, sweat and dreams; all the cogs that keep turning; and the people kept afloat because of our backbreaking work. Let us remember that we are magic. If you need some inspiration to jog your memory, read Octavia Butler's "Parable of the Sower." Listen to Reverend King's "Letter from Birmingham Jail." Listen to Suheir Hammad recite "First Writing Since," or Esperanza Spalding perform "Black Gold." Set your gaze upon the art of Kehinde Wiley or Favianna Rodriguez. Look at the hands of your grandmother or into the eyes of someone who loves you. We are magic. Individually, we don't have a lot of wealth and power, but collectively, we are unstoppable. And we spend a lot of our time and energy organizing our power to demand change from systems that were not made for us. Instead of trying to alter the fabric of existing ways, let's weave and cut some fierce new cloth. Let's use some of our substantial collective power toward inventing and bringing to life new ways of being that work for us.
Uzet ću trenutak da kažem svojim ljudima. Ne možemo čekati nekog drugog da učini ispravnu stvar. Sjetimo se za što smo sposobni; sve što smo izgradili svojom krvlju, znojem i snovima; svi zupci koji se okreću; svi ljudi održani na vodi zbog našeg napornog rada. Sjetimo se da smo mi čarolija. Ako trebate inspiraciju da vas podsjeti, pročitajte "Prispodobu o sijaču" Octavie Butler. Poslušajte "Pismo iz Birminghamskog zatvora" velečasnog Kinga. Poslušajte recitaciju Suheir Hammade "Prvo pismo od tad", ili Esperanzu Spalding kako izvodi "Crno zlato." Usmjerite pogled na umjetnost Kehinde Wiley ili Favianne Rodriguez. Pogledajte ruke svoje bake ili u oči nekog tko vas voli. Mi smo čarolija. Zasebno, mi nemamo puno bogatstva i moći, no zajedno, mi smo nezaustavljivi. I trošimo puno vremena i energije organizirajući našu moć da zahtijeva promjene u sustavu koji nije za nas. Umjesto da pokušavamo prilagoditi tkaninu postojećih načina, tkujmo i režimo čvrsto novo sukno. Iskoristimo neku našu suštinsku kolektivnu moć za izum i oživljavanje novih načina življenja koji nama odgovaraju.
Desmond Tutu talks about the concept of ubuntu, in the context of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation process that they embarked on after apartheid. He says it means, "My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, in yours; we belong to a bundle of life." A bundle of life. The Truth and Reconciliation process started by elevating the voices of the unheard. If this country is going to live up to its promise of liberty and justice for all, then we need to elevate the voices of our unheard, of people like Jobana, Sintia and Bertha, Theresa and Baakir. We must leverage their solutions and their ideas. We must listen to their true stories, their more beautifully complex stories.
Desmond Tutu govori o pojmu ubuntu, u kontekstu procesa istine i mirenja Južne Afrike koji su prihvatili nakon rasne diskriminacije. On kaže da to znači, "Moja ljudskost je isprepletena, neraskidivo povezana, s tvojom; pripadamo u zavežljaj života." Zavežljaj života. Proces istine i mirenja počeo je uzdizanjem neslušanih glasova. Ako će ova država živjeti prema svojim obećanjima o slobodi i pravdi za sve, onda mi trebamo uzdizati glasove neslušanih, ljudi poput Jobane, Sintie i Berthe, Therese i Baakira. Moramo dati snagu njihovim rješenjima i njihovim idejama. Moramo slušati njihove istinite priče, njihove ljepše složenije priče.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)