Ignacio ambled up to my desk, catching his breath after climbing the stairs to my second-floor cubicle. As a St. Joseph Worker, I am a case manager at Homeboy Industries, and Ignacio is my client. I turned to him, wondering if he needed something or if he was there for his usual reason, just to catch up. Getting to hear the inner thoughts and random details of their day is my favorite part of working with the homies.
He dropped himself in a chair at my desk and told me, “I’m in a situation.” Oh boy, I think, this could mean anything. He continued, “I lost my EBT and my Medi-Cal.” I responded with sympathy, adding that I know a lot of homies whose benefits have been taken away recently. Once I finished explaining the steps to re-enroll for them, he clarified, “I was riding my bike at the protest, and they must’ve fallen out of my pocket.” At this point I realized that he didn’t mean he got his benefits taken away, he meant that he lost the physical cards that allow him to access these benefits.
As if he’d entirely forgotten his distress over misplacing his wallet, he quickly pivoted, “But did you see me on the news though?” Before I could answer (I hadn’t seen him on the news, by the way) he pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened it to a clip of him at the protests pedaling in circles on a bike far too small, dressed in a Mexican soccer jersey and flying a Mexican flag from his backpack. In the video, he’s surrounded by police with expressionless faces, a sharp contrast to the pure joy strewn across Ignacio’s face.
We watched the video together, laughing as we noted that the bike is far too small and that Ignacio was lost in the giddiness of the moment, entirely unconcerned with the impression he made on those around him, specifically the cops. As I sat there, I was reminded of the child-like wonder and joy a life of service and justice requires. Not only an ability to laugh and have fun, but a commitment to being our true selves, riding a bike that’s too small because it’s funny, embracing who we are—flying our flags.
I happened to be filming an Instagram takeover for my university that day, so I asked Ignacio if he’d be willing to be in it. He agreed, so I explained to him what he should talk about: his name, how long he’s been at Homeboy, and a fun fact. This was the first time he’d heard of the concept of a fun fact, so I tried to explain it to him as this: something interesting about him that we wouldn’t necessarily know just by looking at him. I gave my own example: I am left-handed. He nodded, saying he was ready, so I began recording.
Starting with his name, he continued to his experience at Homeboy, and then we got to the fun fact portion. At this point he paused for a moment, reflecting, and then continued again, “A fun fact about me is that I am humble. I am kind. I am a good person, and I love giving back. No matter where I am at in life, I always like to help others out.” Behind the camera, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face as I thought to myself that I wish this was the direction we all headed toward discussing our fun facts. I am humble. I am kind. I am a good person.
These moments with Ignacio sum up a lot of what I’ve learned in the six months so far of my year of service. The long winding road of justice can be tiring and challenging, especially when we get bogged down by its seriousness and lost in the reality that there is no concrete destination. But for justice work to be sustainable, it requires those moments along the way—the moments of humor and joy, unbridled individuality and confidence in what makes us ourselves, our fun facts. When we share these moments with others, we learn more about who we are individually and collectively, and the slow work of justice continues.