Ramón Jimenez is running for Attorney General of New York as a 3rd-party candidate. He cannot win. The Democrat cannot lose. So why step into this ring at all? Recently, Hostos Community College celebrated its survival: nytimes/2014/09/29/nyregion/celebrating-an-activists-birthday-at-the-college-he-helped-save.html I was on the Wrong Coast at the time, but my “speech” was read by a volunteer. Here it is. And here’s why no resident of NYC should pass up the chance to send a message. ============= My name is Andrew Vachss. My name is not important–I am here today in spirit as I once was in person ... and that is important. I am certain mi hermano Ramón Jimenez, would use very similar words to introduce himself. But that would be less than accurate, as Ramón was not just present at the birth of the struggle to save Hostos Community College, he was one of those who gave it birth, and sustained its life. Ramón and I go back a long way. All the way back to when he told Harvard Law School it would have to put his scholarship on hold because he was too busy with “People for The People,” a concrete-roots movement he began in Corona-East Elmhurst, a neglected, ignored, and exploited area of Queens county that had yet to hit the headlines. Ramón would not want me to say more about his work. Especially not here, and not now. But I must say this: We formed a partnership to practice law many years ago. Our office was an abandoned Quonset hut, one of those aluminum structures created on the roof of many buildings during World War II. We called it the Penthouse. It was what we could afford, and we were happy to get office space so cheaply. It didn’t take long for me to realize that a significant percentage of our law practice consisted of me defending Ramón ... and it all started with Hostos. After that battle, I appeared in court with Ramón many times ... as his defense counsel. Always for the same reason–by then, occupying buildings that housed “educational services” was in his blood. For me, the significance was not when Ramón was served with a subpoena to vacate the premises and tore it to shreds, showering the media with the confetti of the united determination of those who would not leave until they could be assured Hostos would stay. I know how some people dismiss the term “community college” as if it were some lesser form of higher education ... but those people were not privileged to see how a real community formed to protect their school, and the risks they were willing to take to do so. No rhetoric, reality. Hostos was occupied by the widest spectrum of men and women imaginable. Welfare mothers who knew their only hope of giving their children a better life was to pull themselves out of poverty. Hostos was the only line throw into the sea of despair that had been their daily existence, and they were not about to let go of it. Career criminals who knew only Hostos stood between them and another trip Upstate. Gamblers and gangsters mixed with those who had returned from serving their country on foreign soil ... only to be welcomed back with the same unchanged lack of opportunity that had driven them to risk their lives to leave. Yes, there were intellectuals there as well, but most of their knowledge had come from prison libraries. What is a better definition of “community college” than when a community bands together to keep that college standing on their streets? It was my honor and privilege to “teach” some classes during the occupation–and make no mistake, this was not some privileged children having a party in the Dean’s office and calling it a “revolution” ... no, this was KEEPING THE SCHOOL OPEN FOR BUSINESS. The fact that I know only a couple of dozen words of Spanish somehow proved no barrier to communication. There are a dozen names I could roll off my tongue who were there at the time, and many more who supported this uprising in other ways. Some went on to become men and women who contribute to their community every day, not just with the work they do, but with their presence as role models. Some went on to die young on those same streets. But, for that one mission, all were the same. All shared the commitment, all shared the mission ... and all were prepared to pay whatever that might cost. And the result? This whole city learned what the infamous “South Bronx” taught them: A community college is not a dumping ground for those who didn’t have the intelligence for a “real” college ... it is a college for a community. And its value could be seen in the faces of those who took that message to their hearts. Some of those faces are here today, I know. And I know they would all do it again. Some of those here today are politicians. To those, I say, “Look around.” And take what you see back to the State House, because this community has endured trial by fire. And the monument to that struggle is right in front of you.
Posted on: Fri, 31 Oct 2014 16:35:06 +0000
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