Your Voice Matters
His name was Jose. I had a lot of mentees last summer. I was helping lead a program for Georgetown, the same program that hosted me on campus for completely free over the course of three weeks. This program was the reason I fell in love with Georgetown; it made me feel important — like I belonged with my peers at an elite institution. When I was assigned nine mentees, I knew I had a huge task ahead of me; each was different, from various parts of the country, each valued a different type of study, and chose to present their pain in different ways than others. They all had one thing in common though — they came from the lowest socioeconomic bracket we have.
I recognized Jose. I’d never met him before, but the way he looked down at his shoes, the way he pulled his shirt down extra tight — perhaps it was the manner in which he awkwardly pulled his shoulders back when he walked. He doubted himself for some reason, and was working hard to make sure no one could tell. He didn’t say it outwardly, at least not at first. When I listened to him speak, his words were reserved. Behind his reservation, I saw great intellect; his eyes spoke words he never said, and the light bags that sat under them subtly conveyed the pain he was carrying inside of him.
I did not push him.
At the end of each day, I would gather together my nine mentees and we’d have a small group reflection. We’d sometimes discuss small things, how their days were, the weather, the things that were on their mind. There was space for fun; we’d joke around and get to know each other better. Every so often I’d steer the conversation away from these light topics. I was never sure what the group thought when I did this, but I’d ask one question at the start of the meeting, and make them reflect on it in complete silence for five minutes. There was no compromise; it was a hard five minutes, there was to be no laughing or discussion. It was time for the group to reflect on themselves.
“Who are you?”
Confusion, shock, perhaps anger. They were to sit in silence for an entire five minutes, contemplating something they should know perfectly — themselves. I heard the complaints and insisted they did it anyway. When they came back, their responses were average at best: Michelle told me where she was from, Luis said what he liked to study, and so on. After the entire group went, I repeated the question back to them.
“Who ARE you?”
Confusion struck their faces. They were lost. They’d answered the question already, what business did I have asking it again? In order to allay their concerns I gave a brief follow up, “If I was asking where you from, or what you’d like to study, I’d have just those questions directly. I’m asking who you are, not classes you enjoy.” I could tell the question was still tricky for them, but they answered again, this time with better answers.
“I’m a go getter,” or “I never give up”, and also “I am strong.”
After the group answered the question again, I repeated, “Excellent. Now tell me, no bullshit answers, who are you? What makes you work so hard? What makes you strong? Why do you never give up?” We sat in silence for another five minutes; I could tell they were into it this time. They were looking down, and contemplating the question I’d just asked for the third time over.
After the five minutes were up, I let myself stay completely silent. I was waiting for them to end the silence this time. Jose was the first person to answer this time; his answer blew me away.
He said, “I am not who my father says I am,” looking up from the ground. We all saw that Jose’s cheeks were streaked with tears. “He always tells me that I’m too stupid to go to college, or that I should stop trying to go to school.” The group, familiar with silence now, allowed his words to echo out into the night sky. His words rang heavy as the tear drops on his face streamed.
Everyone opened up to each other that night, tears were shed and minds were open. It was the fourth night of the program that we became a family. I’d had many other small group discussions like this, but nothing quite matched the moment Jose opened up to us for the first time.
We are a family
Towards the end of the program, I had the chance to select two students who I thought would be the best speakers in my small group. The conventional choices were obvious. Both Charlie and Saul had very strong voices — they were comfortable telling others their story and they weren’t afraid to speak up if they had to.

I did not choose Saul or Charlie. I chose Jose and Michelle. I was ecstatic when they both said yes. I knew that they had so much to gain by speaking to their peers for the program graduation — and I knew how much their peers had to gain by hearing them speak. Both Michelle’s and Jose’s speeches were beautiful; they touched on their experience during the program, their goals in the future, and how they felt empowered to look at college as a viable option, something many students from their socioeconomic background don’t consider realistic. The small group I had grew into a family; we celebrated when Jose and Michelle said something inspiring, and teared up when they mentioned how much it would hurt to have to separate from each other.
As the program came to an end, I hung around the outside lobby, waiting for Jose. As he burst through the doors, already looking quite emotional, I pulled him to the side before he could go off with his friends. “What’s up Emilio?” he asked me.
“Jose, do you know why I chose you to speak in particular?” I paused, and brought him around my arm. “I chose you because I wanted you to find the value in your voice, and I wanted you to learn that no matter what your father may say, you are destined for greatness. I didn’t choose you because you had the best speaking skills, I chose you because I see infinite potential within your story. Never forget that.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what his response to me would be, but his eyes welled up again, and his lip began quivering. “You’re gonna make me cry even more, man.” he said before he leaned in for another hug. “I’ll keep that in mind, and thank you for what you’ve done for me.”
The program didn’t last much longer after that; they stayed up all night, but I was exhausted and couldn’t. During the last day, we watched the videos they all worked so hard to produce during the program. I said goodbye to them one by one, as their flights grew closer and closer. When it was finally Jose’s time to leave, we shook hands, and I repeated my sentiment. “Find the strength in your voice. Don’t be afraid to be who you are. You are smart enough for college.”
I haven’t seen him since, but I think about Jose often. I have a feeling that he is going to succeed. I saw it in his eyes, because in those eyes I recognized something; I saw the same eyes I used see when I looked into the mirror as a child. The hint of pain and the endless words to share, the limitless potential that hasn’t been embraced yet. I may never see Jose again, but I know the day will come where he finds power in his voice, and strength in his actions. I finally have, and I can’t wait for the day when he does too.

