"COMMUNITY MIC" by Frank Cardenas NOTES Editor I’ve been looking for something my entire life, not knowing what it was, I stayed in. I went out. I made friends. I even lost a few. I moved away. I went to college and eventually, I came back. It was only after I did that BAM! There it was. Something I’d never even known was missing. Community.In a repurposed garage, smashed between liquor stores and closed down buildings, I found it. This was the first SouthEast Community Microfono Libré, a production of One for Art, a grassroots coalition of young artists in Bell, California, a shuttered city famous only for its corruption. Yet in this overlooked working class community, just beyond the wealth and prestige of Downtown Los Angeles, there was more going on than their corrupt city government had ever done. Airliners screamed overhead, on approach to one of the largest airports in the country. Cars honked along the boulevard and dogs barked just beyond the cracked driveway. The fences in this neighborhood are piked, not picket. Young Latinos who had spent their entire lives in this neighborhood had grown tired of seeing nothing but broken windows and shattered dreams. They decided to fix things, themselves. They had tried before. Searching around town for a safe space for expression, they found none. Even their community center disappointed them. The center wanted to charge them a fee to teach others and volunteer their time. There were no other options for a creative space. So they made one. Eric Contreras, the event planner working with One for Art, and a writer for NOTES, organized an open mic for his community. For two years he’d been touring LAs various neighborhoods and surrounding cities seeking out new spaces and participating in every open mic he could. Reveling in the honesty of the experience, he decided to create his own. "It’s not a competition, and I love that!" he told a crowd of 60+ Friday night. The crowd filled his parent’s small garage and spilled into the driveway. Live artists painting wood panels and canvas along the edges. Donated pieces lined the walls. His mom even took donations for kale salad, homemade pastries, and aguas frescas, fruit infused water. A myriad of voices billowed from donated speakers. Christmas lights twinkled from the ceiling and illuminated a small repurposed-pallet stage as the performers streamed through. There were poets, musicians, comics and some simply wishing to share their thoughts. It was beautiful. It was real. The artists ranged far and wide. People for 20+ miles away made the trip to that small home. And that’s what it was, a home. A home for people hungry for one. A home for art. A home for expression. Through the help of his parents, friends and community, a home was made for those without one. Through all my travels and all my searching, I had no idea I had to come back to find a communal home, a safe place. But I am glad I did. Everyone there last night knows now what it felt like to have a safe place where before there was none. And they did it themselves, ourselves, through perseverance and the goodwill of others. If this can happen here, it can happen anywhere. Make it happen. Grow your own community.
Posted on: Sun, 18 Aug 2013 22:48:09 +0000
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