For the previous nine months I had traveled between a cluster of alternative schools in South Central and East L.A., commuting each day from my home in a suburban area of Pasadena. The schools are designed for adolescents who are euphemistically called “at risk youth,” and many have some kind of gang affiliation. The schools are located in various locales throughout Los Angeles because the neighborhoods are carved up by the gangs. As a white, well-educated, middle-class woman I felt like I was crossing a border into a different world.
I began working at the alternative schools because I needed a job after several months of freelance writing with very little success. I’d written a story during this time about an urban community affiliated with the First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood, and one person I interviewed worked at the alternative schools. I was intrigued with the schools, especially since I had been exploring various urban ministries as a possible ministry direction for me. I thought working for Catholic Charities could introduce me to neighborhoods where I might want to live while earning some needed income. I also wanted to live an “edgier” life—perhaps for adventure, perhaps to be admired by others—although this motivation wasn’t clear to me until later. I told myself I needed income and I wanted to explore ministry. During my time I learned to bear witness, as in, providing evidence of their lives by seeing, hearing, experiencing their marginality, their suffering, and their interrelatedness with others.
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While working in the alternative schools I was constantly thinking about marginality and what it means to live on the periphery of the dominant culture. I heard stories from my students—stories of burying
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