One Time At Sons and Brothers Camp...

When the bus’ air conditioner broke down on the way to Portola, California for the Sons and Brothers Camp, I thought to myself, “If this is any indication of how the rest of my week is going to go, I am going to sufer.”

I am not an outdoorsy kind of person. I can stop and appreciate the beauty of nature, but to stay in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with people I have never met was beyond what I was comfortable with. And to make matters worse, I had to do it without my phone.

But I am here today, writing this for everyone to read, meaning I survived the week. Minus the many, many mosquito bites (thanks for nothing, insect repellent), my time at camp was a lot diferent than what I had imagined.

Before I start talking about myself, I should probably explain what the Sons and Brothers Camp is. Now in its ffth year, the folks from The California Endowment invite young men of color from across California to help them become the leaders that they can be. The youth have a safe space where they can openly talk about the injustices that plague their communities and the hardships in their lives. Through workshops, activities and healing circles, the young men learn how they can combat these injustices through advocacy as well as self-healing.

I was initially invited to the Sons and Brothers Camp to be part of a media team. To be entirely truthful, I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

Once the team and I got together, planned out our roles and started working on the project, I still had no idea what was going on.

But through this project, I was able to meet a young man named Alex Meza from Coachella, California. Alex shared with me his will to fght the injustices people of color face, especially those who are undocumented and part of the LGBTQ+ community. To see the fght in this young man’s eyes got me excited.

To see the fght in all of these young men’s eyes lit a fre within me.

These young men want to live in a place where they won’t get stopped and/or killed by the police because of the color of their skin. They want to be able to leave the comfort of their homes and not be afraid that that may have been the last time they saw their families. Equality is something they want for everyone, regardless of race, religion, class, gender and/or sexuality. They want to see change and they are willing to fght for it.

And I’m willing to fght for it as well. I came to camp with a pessimistic outlook of how my week was going to be. But these folks, many of whom are four to seven years younger than I am, changed that. I was able to let loose and have fun while learning the importance of advocacy and self-healing at the same time.

I learned to trust people, which is something that I struggle with. But when your life hangs in the hands of your cabin-mates, you’re left with no choice but to trust them. And because I trusted them, I was able to fy high on the Flying Squirrel and walk across strings of ropes a couple feet of the ground. #TeamWorkMakesTheDreamWork

I’m also the type of person who keeps to himself, but being around these folks, I knew I was in a safe place. So much so, I was able to open up without the fear of being judged. I told stories that I’ve kept to myself for years in front of people I’ve only known for a few days. I was exposed, but it was liberating.

And throughout the week, I was given the chance to try and experience a lot of new things. I took the opportunity to channel my inner Katniss Everdeen and tried archery for the frst time. Well, I was probably more Peeta than Katniss because I wasn’t very good at it. Terrible, really.

But hey, he survived the Hunger Games (twice!) and I survived nature and mosquitos, so we’re pretty much the same person.

But on a more serious note, the moment I’ll cherish and remember most about my week at camp was during a spoken word workshop with Paul Flores. Paul led the group by frst listing the events of my generation i.e. the many unjust killings of blacks by the police and the Pulse Nightclub massacre in Orlando. We were instructed to write a personal testimony for a community in my generation who face injustices and how we’ll stand in solidarity with them.

When I put pen to paper, I wrote thinking I didn’t have to share. You should’ve seen the look on my face when Paul said to get in groups with your cabin. The camp respected privacy, so we weren’t required to share our pieces, but I surprisingly did. I don’t know why, to be honest. I’m not the best writer when it comes to poetry or spoken word, but I shared anyway.

We then performed it in front of the whole camp. I wrote about the injustices faced by the LGBTQ+ community. I didn’t say it directly, but it was implied I identifed with the group. This was the frst time I really acknowledged myself as being part of this community. I fnally felt comfortable enough to say, “Hey, I’m bisexual.” To a room where 90 percent of the people are straight, nonetheless. But I heard the snaps and the applause and I felt safe. Loved. And that moment of safety, I will remember that feeling for the rest of my life.

(Also, I may have just came out to lot of people, so . . . surprise! But I don’t care who knows anymore. I’m proud of the person I am and that’s all that matters.)

FAX Riders Deserve WiFi

Words. Danyeal Escobar. Art. Lauren Baker.

For only $1.25 most people, ages 7-64, can take up to 3 of 100 buses traveling 16 routes that cover 133 square miles of Fresno. This city service is known as Fresno Area Express, or FAX.

FAX buses help people from all walks of life get where they need to go. The buses have ramps and availability for wheelchairs, but handicapped people have to pay 25¢ more. There are lower bus fares for elders, costing only 60¢. They even have bus schedules available for 25¢.

FAX ofers many services to help the community of Fresno, but they could do more.

FAX buses should ofer free public WiFi for riders. WiFi servers are already installed in FAX buses, but its use is restricted to bus drivers. Free public WiFi would relieve stress and make bus rides more enjoyable for the people of Fresno.

Riding FAX buses can be stressful. Sometimes buses are of schedule and sometimes they don’t show up at all. When these situations occur, riders miss transfers to other buses. People can be late for meetings, work, school, curfew, etc. Some people are fortunate enough to have data on their phones, while other people rely on WiFi, like me.

Mid-July in Fresno is deadly. We’ve all experienced the desert heat and sometimes it causes extreme disruption to our lives.

I was riding a FAX buses, number 22 actually, and the bus driver seemed alarmed. He had pulled over twice already at locations without stops due to unknown issues. The engine sounded funny and I felt unsafe. The bus got downtown, almost to the transit center, and stopped. The driver pulled over and told everyone that bus 22 was no longer in service due to overheating. It was dangerous to continue driving.

Everyone got of the bus we all paid for and had to walk. I was far from my destination and didn’t have WiFi to tell my mom what had happened. I didn’t know exactly where I was so I just started walking. I went about 6 blocks before I found free WiFi. I let my mom know what had occurred and had my boyfriend come pick me up and take me to work.

That situation is why I think FAX buses should have free WiFi. It could’ve been late at night, I could’ve been hurt or kidnapped and no one would’ve known my bus hadn’t made it to my location.

Anyway. My time at camp was a transformative experience. And as cliché as it sounds, I really did come back a diferent person. I met a lot of new people, all of whom I appreciate and love.

Our time together, albeit short, was fantastic. Terrrrrrifc. Grrrrreat. All. Day. Long. And at the end of it all, we all gained about 100 new brothers.

If given the chance next year, I would come back in a heartbeat (with stronger insect repellent too). And before I end this blog post, I want to thank everyone at the Sons and Brothers Camp for making this experience unforgettable for me. If our paths don’t cross again, just know you all have a special place in my heart.(Also, if you haven’t, add me on Facebook~)

P.S. – I also kayaked for the frst time in a pond that was 15 FEET DEEP (or so I’m told). I’m glad I didn’t tip over because I can’t swim.

P.P.S. – The food was good; in case you were wondering. I would.

Not to mention, bus rides are long and tedious. With the many stops and driver breaks it takes at least an hour to get anywhere. WiFi on FAX buses could make my time normally wasted on buses, much more productive.

Making free public WiFi available could help many people in unexpected situations. I think this addition would be a good way to spend city money.

When Donald Trump frst announced his bid for presidency in 2015, I saw it as a joke. My friends and I laughed at the thought of Trump ever becoming president. But now it’s our reality.

Other than a couple retweets and a few conversations with friends and colleagues, I’ve kept silent on Trump’s election. I was going to remain quiet, but considering this is our reality for the next four years, I realized that this is not the time to be silent.

And I’m speaking out the best way I know howwith my words.

I was still in class when polls started to close on the east coast and I was anxious to see how America was voting.

I wasn’t surprised when I saw the numbers for the frst time. Trump was leading in electoral college votes, but those were from predominantly red states. The night was young and we still had a long way to go.

At the start of the day, I thought there was no way Trump would be triumphant. Hillary had this in the bag.

I do think it’s important to note that I am not Hillary Clinton’s biggest fan either. I didn’t think she was the best candidate for the job, but she was who America elected to be the Democratic nominee. I respected that and I respect her. I stood with her. I still stand with her. I will continue to stand with her.

But about 15 to 20 states in, I started to worry. I could not believe what I was seeing. The map before my eyes was being painted red. I still had hope, but I could feel my anxiety rising.

I was on assignment for my college newspaper covering a city council candidate’s campaign party when I got the news that Trump won Ohio and Florida. Even with California and its 55 electoral votes, I knew it was over. Hillary had no chance of winning.

That’s when my anxiety kicked in. The worst attack I’ve had in years. I couldn’t breathe. I sat in a corner and tried to control my breathing. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

I was back in the newsroom when I got word that

Hillary conceded the race. I, we, were angry. Sad. Confused. Heartbroken. But most importantly, we were scared.

It was about 1 a.m. when I got home. Before I went to bed, I looked on social media to see how the country reacted. I saw some family and friends celebrate Trump’s win, but a majority of my feeds were flled with disbelief, anger, disgust, annoyance, hatred and fear.

I liked and retweeted some posts, but I decided I was not in the right state of mind to share my own opinions, so I kept quiet and planned to stay quiet for some time.

I went to sleep hoping Ashton Kutcher would tell America in the morning that we’d just been Punk’d.

President Obama was right when he said the sun will rise again in the morning, because it did and our world was still intact. It was no diferent from any other morning. I participated in TASTE, a mentor/mentee and networking event Fresno State’s MCJ Department hosts yearly, and went about my day.

That changed when my best friend called to check up on me. He knew how closely I followed the presidential election and how much it meant to me.

I told him I was disappointed and embarrassed in America’s choice. Then he asked if I was scared.

And it hit me.

It fnally hit me that it was not like any other morning.

America had elected a racist, sexist, misogynistic,