As football season rolls in, I’m reminded of how strongly people felt, on both sides, when some NFL players took a knee during the national anthem. I remember the feelings and opinions being so intense that it ruined friendships, dominated social media and gave the impression that these highly paid athletes, mostly Black men, were unpatriotic.
I have a different view of that.
Back home in New York, you can ride the subway two inches away from people struggling with severe mental health issues. Ride the train long enough, and you’d likely see someone urinating or defecating in the stairwells. Some of those people would walk the dangerous tracks, flirting with death by electrocution or being struck by a train. You’d see the homeless people asleep, with pungent body odor, sometimes talking to themselves. And the levels of violence vary. After some time, any New Yorker would tell you that they’ve become accustomed to and even indifferent to a mental health system that seems to be failing and social workers who are overwhelmed.
I remember sitting in prison watching the spectacle that was the 2016 presidential election. It was so powerful that I began to see how my societal role would start to change. Whoever won this presidency would still be in office once I was released. I was determined to vote once free, but I had no idea if I could. As it stands, voters' rights are restored once leaving prison. You need an I.D. and must re-register if you were already registered before your prison sentence. This can be frustrating to the newly released person, but I was determined to be a part of that process. After my first vote, there was a feeling of investment and engagement. I was also a father to a young girl and her brothers, and I wanted a better society for them. Civic engagement, particularly voting, is a great vehicle to attain those goals.
This interview is Part 1 of an occasional series by The Common Ground Initiative called “Avoiding Prison or an Early Death,” where I will write about my experiences growing up as at-risk youth in Brooklyn, New York, and how decades later, in a different state, communities are facing these same issues.
To kick off the series, I looked at an effective organization in Manchester, MYTURN.
MYTURN gives at-risk and disadvantaged youth the chance to focus on their goals and succeed in life. It provides mentorship and safe spaces for these young men and women to gain the skills and knowledge critical to becoming upwardly mobile members of society. I spoke with MY TURN’s executive director, Allison Joseph, for The Common Ground Initiative’s podcast in August.
I was 12 years old when I saw my first dead body. “Calvin” wasn’t much older than me, and he lay there with two bullet wounds through his head that slightly protruded from the other side. I can only remember trying to avoid that fate, even though sometimes it felt inevitable. The more gun violence and death I saw and heard about, the more numb I became to it. At that age, in that environment, you don’t appreciate life and death.
When it comes to trailblazing Latinas in New Hampshire, Daniela Allee is one who’s on the rise. Through NHPR, she helps get Spanish news to the communities of the Granite State. She has a pulse on the Latino communities in the state, keeping in touch through apps, events and in-person reporting. A resident of New Hampshire for five years, Allee brings a breath of fresh air to the regular status-quo.
Take a stroll around Manchester, and you’ll likely pass by some beautiful Hispanic restaurants and shops. Once those smells and flavors pass my nose, my mouth waters instantaneously. I see hard-working people, and whether American-born or newly arrived, they’re strong in their cultures, music, foods and dance. This adds to the diversity of New Hampshire, and I think it should be a welcomed addition. Sometimes, American citizens forget that somewhere in their history, their ancestors had a similar story of coming to America and carving out a path for themselves.
I grew up in a very hyper-masculine community back in the early ’80s. To deviate from the norm of masculinity was frowned upon and dangerous. It was so bad that roving bands of young teenagers would go on missions to pummel any male they deemed gay or effeminate. The media wasn’t much help. We were knee-deep into the AIDS epidemic, and politicians, the medical establishments, and churches labeled gay men a national threat. The fear-mongering was out in the open, and it wasn’t cloaked or implicit. Lesbians were also under siege, but the anger directed at gay men seemed like night and day by comparison.
There’s more than what meets the eyes regarding Black hair. It’s an expression, it’s pride, and it’s a showing of our culture. Most of us aren’t born with the silky texture that blows in the wind like those shampoo commercials on television. What we have, we wear with pride; through it, we display the heritage and roots we were born with.
As we step foot into this new year and I continue crafting my goals for the year, I decided to reach back to a few young men from my past to get an update on where they are in life. I wanted to see if there was any advice that I could offer to them, or possibly have an exchange of ideas that could benefit us all. It turns out that they were doing well, but that wasn’t the case for some of the younger generation.
Around 2 years ago, on December 10th, 2019, I exited a federal prison where I had spent the last 6-½ years. I met my brother, Chris, in the Port Authority Bus terminal in NYC. He handed me a cell phone preloaded with important numbers, pictures, and some cash. I boarded the bus headed to Boston, eventually landing in New Hampshire. During that bus ride, I watched videos of my father who died while I was in prison interacting with my daughter who was born while I was in prison. I took deep breaths, laughed, cried, and absorbed everything.
Cordan James Haveron, of Manchester, is a proud Army veteran who served in Baghdad, Iraq from December 2009 through December 2010.
These days, the 33-year-old helps other veterans and the homeless in Manchester. He’s the owner of a moving company, Vetrun movers, LLP, that he operates with another veteran. He’s also the founder of The Comeback Kids, which helps transform lives through mentorship, awareness, and mental health.
As football season rolls in, I’m reminded of how strongly people felt, on both sides, when some NFL players took a knee during the national anthem. I remember the feelings and opinions being so intense that it ruined friendships, dominated social media and gave the impression that these highly paid athletes, mostly Black men, were unpatriotic.
I have a different view of that.
As I made my way through the aisles, I got a stare from a white male, maybe in his mid-30s to early-40s. He had a scraggly beard, work boots, faded jeans, and a worn t-shirt. On his waist, an open-carry but holstered handgun. I’d made my complete assessment of him within seconds: Proud Boy member, Pro-White hate group, Far-right conservative. I just knew that in the parking lot, he likely had a 4x4 pick-up truck that was plastered with inflammatory and divisive slogans, topped with at least 16 American flags.
I’ve seen this all before.
I once lived at a place in Rhode Island that seemed to be overrun by possums and rodents. A friend brought in a cat named “Smokey,” a grayish British shorthair. Smokey had one eye missing and plenty of battle scars from his time on the street. No one knew the origin of Smokey’s missing eye, but I’d like to think that it was gangsta enough, and heartbreaking enough, to make Smokey my type of cat.
I remain humble and non-judgemental because we aren’t too far apart on society’s spectrum. Both rejected in some shape or form, both judged and both still making our paths regardless of circumstances.
Our major difference is our choices. Hers is high risk for short-term gains. She could very well get in a vehicle with the next serial killer, never to return. Her next drug fix could end her life on the spot. As someone returning to society going against all odds, it makes me wonder.
One of the few qualities that the thinking man (or woman) should pick up from incarceration is the ability to navigate around different personalities. Think about it, a lot of us are in cell blocks, dormitories, and/or housing units that house anywhere from 50 to 100 people. Those are 50 to 100 people that you have to engage with, sidestep, and learn to deal with. It’s a quality that comes over time, and sometimes I feel as if I could have a career in sociology or mental health.
I’m near my one-year anniversary of being released from federal prison. At times, I’ve been extremely frustrated…it hasn’t been an easy road. I used to sit back and daydream about this freedom, and how I would capitalize on it. The obstacles that I envisioned are real, but I’ve realized that rebuilding my life isn’t an overnight task.
I can’t help but to have flashbacks when I see the growing problems in Manchester. There are more shootings than I’ve ever seen in my time in this city. Gang violence, addiction, and crime seem to have risen, while the quality of life seems to be slipping. Although still one of the better places to live, I’m optimistic about it getting better.
