David Campos – School Was the Place Where

Posted byAngela Chaidez VincentPosted inDavid Campos
School Was The Place Where Over a yearbook photo of David Campos in the 7th grade, there are lines pointing to different parts of his face, hair, collar, etc. They lead to boxes of text. They read from top clockwise as follows: Read the title “School Was the Place Where” before you read each box… a) (Text box points to hair): There is a code for how long my hair can be; my hair is a code; the code has a part down the middle to hide. b) (Text box points to left eyebrow): I learned the importance of shaving off the connection between me and my family c) (Text box points to right eye): The code also mathed what color these were and what colors they saw. d) (Text box points to right ear): language snapped across classrooms grouped desks asphalt and concrete and grass always grass different ages of grass fresh cut grass and sand and dirt; my name all but forgotten and replaced with hacksaw blades and bats and cleat bottoms; I was a good listener. e) (Text box points to mouth): the first time I stood up for myself I echoed the systemic racism lashed out by colorblindness. It took me a long time to undo the twisted knots of my tongue. For too long language became entangled in distrust unearned and passed down like jewelry from the abuela that whispered the beso de judas into your mother’s ear; she learned of my girlfriend and said she better not be... Love is an idea I learned about in textbooks and literature. I first had to learn to spell it in the original language to reset. f) (Text box points to chin): the stubble was against the code; the code listed all these ways in which I couldn’t simply be a young man because to be a man was to learn obedience and confuse it for respect. Respect my father. Respect my teachers. Respect the gang members in my neighborhood. They all can kill you if you don’t watch your back. I shaved even when I didn’t have to thinking the cuts would thicken my beard thinking the cuts would quicken the transformation to that what must be obeyed. The blood stains on my collar are code. g) (Text box points to jaw): this was punched so hard my jaw still clicks when I open wide to eat. To live is to be reminded of the kick that followed. Sometimes I think each click is an echo. h) (Text box points to nose): the importance of smell | I smelled | poverty can smell | others could smell me | they can smell my chorizo burrito wrapped in foil | lunch bags were plastic bags from the grocery store | I washed my uniform every day | I only owned a few pairs | sometimes they were second hand| thrift store scents all over my uniform i) (Text box points to shirt collar): This faded. Color faded. My clothes faded. I faded. My color faded. My songs faded. My writing faded. My learning faded. My pants faded. My shoes faded so much sometimes my toes would peek out and yell “I’m too poor!” into a hallway. Ironing faded away the wrinkles. Ironing made me focus on the color slowly going away. Ironing the creases on my pants was a reminder of how school ironed me. Here, I’m only two dimensions. Here, I’m inks in different states of fading. j) (Text box points to left ear): the sounds of music prohibited at home were danced to. To move in this world is to find a rhythm that somehow breaks away from that ancestral song but still somehow honors the key it was originally sung in; sample is not the right word but it’s close. The most sampled beat in music is called the “Amen Break.” The sound of myself still had my family’s “Amen Break.” I may speak English, but the background beat is Spanish. Notice how even the structure of these words sound differently if you’ve heard me Speak. k) (Text box points to left eye): I saw the future; it was more overwhelming that I expected. Each day a different color my eyes had yet to learn the name of. Nameless colors. Bless you.

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Artist’s Statement: In the article “The Resegregation of Jefferson County,” Nikole Hannah-Jones writes that “since 2000, at least 71 communities across the country, most of them white and wealthy, have sought to break away from their public-school districts to form smaller, more exclusive ones.” This led to research into my state’s segregation and integration efforts. The rhetoric, the maps, and the data were all there—coded language, school boundaries, and even diversity statements covered the stagnant “struggle” toward integration. As an educator, this project provided context for my experience and those of the students in the classroom. Notes and citations will appear at the end of the project. 

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