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.
Poslednjih 50 godina, dosta pametnih, dobro snabdevenih ljudi - neki od vas, bez sumnje - pokušavali su da otkriju kako smanjiti siromaštvo u Sjedinjenim Državama. Ljudi su stvorili i uložili milione dolara u neprofitne organizacije sa misijom pomaganja ljudima koji su siromašni.
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.
Osnovali su ekspertske organizacije koje izučavaju pitanja poput obrazovanja, stvaranja poslova i izgradnje resursa, a zatim se zalagali da politika podrži naše najmarginalizovanije zajednice. Pisali su knjige i kolumne i držali strastvene govore, osuđujući jaz u bogatstvu zbog kojeg je sve više i više ljudi ukopano na najnižem dnu lestvice prihoda. Ta nastojanja su pomogla. Ipak, to nije dovoljno. Naše stope siromaštva poslednjih 50 godina se nisu toliko promenile, otkada je pokrenut rat protiv siromaštva. Ovde sam da bih vam rekla da smo prevideli najsnažniji i najpraktičniji resurs. Evo ga: ljudi koji su siromašni.
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 levom uglu su Džiobana, Sintija i Berta. Upoznale su se kada su sve imale sitnu decu, preko časova roditeljstva u centru za porodične resurse u San Francisku. Dok su se zajedno razvijale kao roditelji i prijatelji, dosta su pričale o tome koliko je teško zaraditi novac kada su vam deca mala. Dnevni boravak za decu je skup, košta više nego što bi zaradile na poslu. Njihovi muževi su radili, ali i one su želele da doprinesu finansijski.
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 sa čišćenjem. Izlepile su flajere po naselju i podelile vizit karte svojim porodicama i prijateljima i uskoro su ih zvali klijenti. Dve od njih bi očistile kancelariju ili kuću, a jedna od njih bi čuvala decu. Rotirale su se oko toga ko bi čistio, a ko bi čuvao decu. (Smeh) To je sjajno, zar ne?
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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 delile su novac na tri dela. Nisu imale puno radno vreme, niko nije mogao da čuva klince ceo dan, ali je značilo njihovim porodicama. Dodatni novac za račune kada su skraćeni muževljevi sati rada. Novac za kupovinu odeće deci dok rastu. Malo dodatnog novca u džepu da bi osetile nešto nezavisnosti.
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.
U desnom gornjem uglu su Tereza i njena ćerka Brijana. Brijana je jedno od one dece sa živahnom, zaraznom, društvenom ličnošću. Na primer, kada se Rouzi, devojčica koja je govorila samo španski, doselila pored njih, Brijana, koja je govorila samo engleski, pozajmila je tablet svoje majke i pronašla aplikaciju za prevođenje da bi njih dve mogle da komuniciraju.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I know, right? Rosie's family credits Brianna with helping Rosie to learn English.
Znam, je l' da? Rouzina porodica pripisuje Brijani zasluge za pomaganje Rouzi da nauči 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.
Pre nekoliko godina, Brijana je počela da se upinje akademski. Postajala je frustrirana i nekako povučena i ponašala se neprimereno na časovima. Njena majka je bila veoma uznemirena zbog onog što se dešavalo. Zatim su saznali da će morati da ponavlja drugi razred i Brijana je bila očajna. Njena majka se osećala beznadežno, preplavljeno i usamljeno jer je znala da njena ćerka ne dobija podršku koja joj je potrebna, a nije znala kako da joj pomogne. Jednog popodneva, Tereza se našla sa grupom prijateljica i jedna od njih je upitala: „Tereza, kako si?” Briznula je u plač. Kada je podelila svoju priču, jedna od prijateljica je rekla: „Prošla sam kroz isto to sa svojim sinom pre oko godinu dana.” U tom trenutku, Tereza je shvatila da je dobar deo njene borbe bio u tome što nije imala nikoga sa kim bi o tome razgovarala. Zato je osnovala grupu podrške za roditelje poput nje. Na prvom susretu je bila ona i još dvoje ljudi, ali vest se proširila i uskoro se 20, 30 ljudi pojavilo na mesečnim sastancima koje je organizovala. Stigla je od osećanja bespomoćnosti do shvatanja koliko je u stanju da podrži svoju ćerku uz podršku drugih ljudi koji su prolazili kroz iste borbe. Brijani fantastično ide - odlično joj ide akademski i društveno.
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."
U sredini je moj čovek Bakir, stoji ispred Blekstar kafića sa knjigama, kojim on rukovodi u delu svoje kuće. Dok ulazite kroz vrata, Bakir vas pozdravlja sa „Dobrodošli u crnu kuću”.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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.
Kada uđete, možete da naručite alžirsku sušenu piletinu, možda veganski hamburger sa orasima, ili ćureći semič. To je semič - a ne sendvič. Obrok morate završiti uz koju kap neobranog mleka, koje je na par mesta iznad američkih šupljih krofni i napravljeno po vrlo posebnom porodičnom receptu. Zaista, vrlo je tajanstven, neće vam ga otkriti.
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.
Međutim, Blekstar je mnogo više od kafića. Za decu u komšiluku, to je mesto gde odlaze posle škole radi pomoći oko domaćeg zadatka. Za odrasle, to je mesto gde idu da saznaju šta se dešava u komšiluku i da dele utiske sa prijateljima. To je mesto održavanja nastupa. To je dom pesnika, muzičara i umetnika. Bakir i njegova partnerka Nikol, sa svojom bebom privezanom za njena leđa, tamo su u mešavini svega toga, služe kafu, uče decu kako da igraju mankalu, ili slikaju plakat za predstojeći događaj u zajednici.
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.
Ja sam radila sa ljudima kao što su oni i učila sam od njih više od 20 godina. Organizovala sam protiv zatvorskog sistema, koji pogađa siromašne ljude, naročito ljude crne kože, urođenike i Latinoamerikance, alarmantnom stopom. Radila sam sa mladim ljudima koji ispoljavaju nadu i obećanje, uprkos tome što su na udaru rasističke discipline u svojim školama i nasilja policije u svojim zajednicama. Učila sam od porodica koje puštaju na slobodu svoju domišljatost i izdržljivost da bi kolektivno stvorili svoja rešenja. A nisu fokusirani samo na novac. Bave se obrazovanjem, stanovanjem, zdravstvom, zajednicom - stvarima do kojih je svima nama stalo. Gde god da odem, vidim ljude koji su bez prebijene pare, ali ne i prebijeni. Vidim ljude koji se bore da ostvare svoje dobre ideje, kako bi mogli da stvore bolji život za sebe, svoje porodice, svoje zajednice. Džiobana, Sintija, Berta, Tereza i Bakir su pravilo, a ne sjajni izuzetak. Ja sam izuzetak.
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.
Odrasla sam uz tihu ali žestoku samohranu majku u Ročesteru, Njujorku. Išla sam autobusima u školu u predgrađu, iz komšiluka koji su mnogi moji drugovi iz razreda i njihovi roditelji smatrali opasnim. Sa osam godina, bila sam ključonoša. Vratila bih se kući posle škole svaki dan, uradila domaći i kućne poslove i čekala moju majku da se vrati kući. Posle škole bih otišla u prodavnicu na uglu i kupila konzervu raviola Šef Bojardi, koje bih zagrejala na ringli za svoju popodnevnu užinu. Kad bih imala malo više para, kupila bih pitu sa voćem „Domaćica”.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Cherry. Not as good as a buttermilk drop.
Sa višnjom. Nije dobra kao kap neobranog mleka.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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 dete, ali sada posedujem kuću u rastućem bogatom naselju u Oklandu, Kalifornija. Izgradila sam karijeru. Moj muž je vlasnik preduzeća. Imam penzioni račun. Mojoj ćerki nije dozvoljeno ni da uključi šporet osim ako je odrasla osoba u kući i to ne mora da uradi, jer ona ne mora da ima istu samostalnost koju sam ja imala na njenom uzrastu. Raviole moje dece su organskog porekla i pune stvari poput spanaća i sira rikote, jer imam luksuz izbora kada se radi o tome šta moja deca jedu.
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 izuzetak, ne zato što sam talentovanija od Bakira ili zato što je moja majka više radila od Džiobane, Sintije ili Berte, ili je više brinula od Tereze. Marginalizovane zajednice su pune pametnih, talentovanih ljudi, koji se guraju, rade i donose novine, baš kao naši najcenjeniji i najnagrađivaniji direktori. Pune su ljudi koji crpe snagu iz svoje izdržljivosti da bi ustali svakog dana, da bi odveli decu u školu i da bi otišli na nedovoljno plaćene poslove, ili da bi stekli obrazovanje koje će ih ostaviti u dugovima. Pune su ljudi koji primenjuju svoju pronicljivu inteligenciju da rastegnu minimalnu platu, ili balansiraju posao i nešto sa strane da bi sastavili kraj s krajem. Pune su ljudi koji rade za sebe i druge, bilo da se radi o podizanju lekova za starijeg komšiju, ili pozajmici novca da brat ili sestra mogu da plate telefonski račun ili kad samo treba da se pripaze dece iz komšiluka od prednjih stepenica.
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 izuzetak zbog sreće i privilegija, ne zbog napornog rada, a nisam skromna niti se degradiram - ja sam neverovatna.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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 --
Ipak, većina ljudi naporno radi. Naporan rad je zajednički imenitelj u ovoj jednačini, i umorna sam od priče koju pričamo kako naporan rad vodi uspehu, jer to omogućava -
Thank you.
hvala -
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
... 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 ta priča dopušta da mi koji uspemo verujemo da to zaslužujemo i implicira da oni koji ne uspeju, to ni ne zaslužuju. Govorimo sebi, u nekom kutku uma, a ponekad i naglas: „Mora da nešto nije u redu sa tim jadnicima.” Imamo širok opseg uverenja o tome šta to nije u redu. Neki ljudi pričaju kako su siromašni lenji gotovani koji varaju i lažu da bi se izvukli od poštenog rada. Drugi više vole priču o tome da su siromašni bespomoćni i da su verovatno imali nemarne roditelje koji im nisu dovoljno čitali, a samo da su im rekli šta da rade i da su im pokazali pravi put, mogli su uspeti.
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 demonizuje siromašne samohrane majke ili odsutne očeve, što je način na koji ljudi posmatraju moje roditelje, imam 50 koje iznose drugačiju priču o istim takvim ljudima, koji se pojavljuju svakoga dana i daju sve od sebe. Ne kažem da pojedine od negativnih priča nisu istinite, ali te slike nam ne omogućavaju da zaista vidimo ljude onakim kakvi jesu, jer nam ne prikazuju celu sliku. Poluistine i ograničeni zapleti su nas ubedili da siromašni ljudi imaju problem koji treba rešiti. Šta ako bismo prepoznali da su ljudi oni koji rade, a da je naš pristup ono što je pokvareno? Šta ako bismo shvatili da su eksperti koje tražimo, ekperti koji su nam potrebni da ih sledimo, upravo siromašni ljudi? Šta bi bilo kada bismo, umesto nametanja rešenja, dodali vatru na njihov već postojeći plamen? Ne usmeravajući - čak ni osnažujući - već samo podstičući 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.
Malo severnije odavde, imamo primer kako bi to moglo izgledati: Silicijumska dolina. Čitava industrija preduzetničkog kapitala je odrasla sa uverenjem da, ako ljudi imaju dobre ideje i želju da ih izraze, treba da im damo mnogo, mnogo para.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
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.
Zar ne? Ali gde je naša strategija za Terezu i Bakira? Nema inkubatora za njih, nema akceleratora, nema stipendija. Kako se to Džiobana, Sintija i Berta zapravo razlikuju od bilo kog Marka Cukerberga na svetu? Bakir ima iskustvo i staž. Stavila bih svoj novac 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.
Dakle, smatrajte ovo pozivom na preispitivanje pogrešnih strategija. Hajde da zgrabimo ovu priliku da ostavimo istrošene, pogrešne priče, a poslušamo i sagledamo istinite priče, lepše složene priče o tome ko su marginalizovani ljudi, porodice 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.
Odvojiću vreme da se obratim svojim ljudima. Ne možemo da čekamo da neko drugi ovo ispravi. Podsetimo se za šta smo sposobni; svega ono što smo izgradili uz krv, znoj i snove; svih točkića koji se i dalje okreću; svih ljudi koji ostaju na površini zbog našeg mukotrpnog rada. Setimo se da posedujemo magiju. Ako vam je potrebno malo inspiracije da osvežite pamćenje, čitajte „Parabolu o sejaču” Oktavije Batler. Slušajte „Pismo iz Birmingemskog zatvora” od velečasnog Kinga. Poslušajte kako Suheir Hamad recituje „Prvo pisanje otkada”, ili kako Esperanca Spalding izvodi „Crno zlato”. Zadubite se u umetnost Kehinde Vajli ili Favijane Rodrigez. Pogledajte ruke svoje bake ili u oči nekog ko vas voli. Mi smo čarobni. Pojedinačno, nemamo mnogo bogatstva ni moći, ali kolektivno smo nezaustavljivi. I trošimo mnogo svog vremena i energije u organizovanju naše moći da bismo tražili promenu sistema koji nisu stvoreni za nas. Umesto da pokušavamo da promenimo niti postojećih načina, hajde da ispletemo i izrežemo novu žestoku tkaninu. Hajde da upotrebimo nešto naše znatne kolektivne snage u pravcu pronalaženja i oživljavanja novih načina postojanja koji funkcionišu za nas.
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.
Dezmond Tutu govori o konceptu ubuntu u kontekstu procesa za istinu i pomirenje Južne Afrike sa kojim su otpočeli nakon aparthejda. On kaže da to znači: „Moja ljudskost je upletena, neraskidivo povezana, sa tvojom; pripadamo skupini života.” Skupini života. Proces za istinu i pomirenje započeo je podizanjem glasova onih koji se ranije nisu čuli. Ako ova zemlja hoće da ispuni svoja obećanja slobode i pravde za sve, onda moramo da povisimo glasove naših nečujnih, ljudi kao što su Džiobana, Sintija i Berta, Tereza i Bakir. Moramo iskoristiti njihova rešenja i ideje. Moramo poslušati njihove istinite priče, njihove prelepe složene priče.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)