Yesterday morning my email account was bombarded with emails from different sources announcing a community meeting we needed to attend because there would be some changes to our community that we might not like. New developments being built that would most likely displace the residents of my neighborhood… the neighborhood I’ve grown to love and care for because of it’s heritage, it’s diversity, it’s appreciation of arts, music, poetry… life! My neighborhood is Pilsen in Chicago.

As a music lover I am completely submerged within the local community of musicians and bands and through that my circle expands to local artists (painters, sculpters, dancers, poets, etc), activists, non-conformists, out-of-the-box thinkers, shakers, movers, etc.

Well, at least that’s what I thought.

Yesterday morning as I read this invitation to go and show our support of allowing our community to preserve our heritage I was thinking that I might not make it because I get out of work late, I was tired, I wasn’t in the mood and well, maybe it wouldn’t be worth it. I had many excuses. Yet the more I saw how many people were forwarding this notice and how often it was posted here in myspace, I knew I had to go and show my support. I had to show my concern for this neighborhood I claim to love. The support I was receiving by having others acknowledge there was a problem (those that re-posted this invite and made others aware) gave me that little extra push to show up. I would be there, next to my neighbors, in opposition of gentrification.

My friend David and I showed up to the location, saw the protest signs outside the building, the dozens and dozens of cars parked all around and inhaled with pride at what we saw before we even stepped inside. We also saw camera crews, more people arriving and the obvious police security ready for any sort of problem that might arise. I smiled and thought…”Yes. I’m so glad I rushed home from work to get here even though I’m a little late.”

As David and I walked in we were happily surprised to see so many people there. It was crowded! Yes! And as the night progressed and the cheers FOR this new development outcheered our few cries of protest I knew something had gone wrong. Our fellow “activists” had not shown up. If I saw a familiar face it wasn’t one of those that I hang out with and talk politics and change with.

What a dissappointment.

My concern now (after a long night of restless sleep disturbed repeatedly by visions of protest signs with nothing on them) is how I, one person against thousands, can do to move forward and not allow this to stop my belief in the preservation of this mecca of Mexican art and culture. How do I gather those few people who cared enough to show up? Their dissappointment possibly far greater than mine?

At this point, I guess it’s a matter of outsourcing. I must make a call to those outside of my own community and make them aware of what’s going on.

Maybe then, when those on the inside see the concern from those of the outside, will they wake up and try to save their own homes.

All I know now is that my own actions will speak far greater than my words.