When no one listens, there's no use talking at all...

“What are words for? When no one listens anymore? When no one listens - there’s no use talking at all..” - ‘til Tuesday

The worst of circumstances.

Denver, Colorado 2019, unemployment is hovering at 3% and marijuana is legal for recreational use.

That was one big reason we began the relationship with Bogota, Colombia – we could not staff our existing site in Denver, Colorado. The straw that broke the camel’s back – needed a class of 12 people got one. Even offering above market wages. ?

Eleven failed the drug test. I wasn’t part of the interview process; however, I can say with a degree of certainty – at least 8 of those denied employment were African American or Latino. Strange to think - the same 8 people could be under the influence of a half dozen synthetic opiates - a doctor’s note makes the difference.

The conversation you didn’t want to have but knew you would regret the rest of your life if you didn’t. You wished like hell some miracle could prevent it. It wasn’t going to happen. The coworkers who become friends, you lived through blizzards, bridge calls and enough oddities your group should be in Ripley’s Believe it or not. Another site closing.

My good friend and peer from Denver and I attended a workshop together in Houston, Texas earlier around mid-2018. It was the first time we had a chance to see each other face to face in quite a while, and the inevitable had become clear in the time between.

We were sitting at a BBQ joint in Houston Texas. We had ribs, brisket, fries, ribs, brisket, cornbread, brisket, ribs, some pickles, ribs, maybe just one more bite of that brisket, greens and of course, Dr. Pepper. At one point, brow glowing with seasoning sweat – it became work. And well, we both did not mind working overtime on the food in that rib joint.

With a pile of napkins, and very little food left on the table, we sat in silence, doing that thousand-mile stare - it wasn’t food coma.

It was “let’s get the conversation over with”.

First, I have to tell you about the man I am sitting across from. Husband, father, leader, friend. A man with a calm and strong way about himself. He always bringing a positive vibe to the room.

@Ernesto Martinez lights the room up with his smile and bright blue eyes - instantly.

He and I were just at the point where we were comfortable talking ?- getting past business and getting to know each other. Sharing vacation stories, talking about his new family and mine and learning a new language together.

Ernesto was my first “official” Spanish tutor. I told him I wanted to speak Spanish as well as English to get to know my friends a little better. (Of course, secretly it is because for some odd reason my profile picture gives some the impression I am the LAST person in the world that speaks Spanish. ??)

I believe Ernesto will agree, that was when our friendship really took off. Although we had worked through all kinds of craziness in a rapidly growing and changing environment, that was business. Learning a language with someone, it’s just different - you are forced to slow down and consider your words. I discovered, the term “lost in translation” can happen in both directions. And Ernesto was a great instructor.

My “I am REALLY learning Spanish now moment”- Ernesto taught me how to “hard key” the Spanish “?” with Alt 164. Full disclosure – this turned into a repetitive lesson, and I appreciate the patience he had because it took forever for me to get it.

Back to the table, napkins and…

I don’t recall who spoke first or even most of the words. It was just “so what do you think man, a year?” ?I think Ernesto finally just said it. We knew the inevitable.

We knew something else too.

“Eleven of twelve busted smoking weed, neither of us can staff a class, and there are 10,000 people just south of us that could be there, and they aren’t. Face it, immigration sucks.”

Yeah, I said it.

It wasn’t the first time I had that conversation with Ernesto, or a number of my Latin American friends. We both knew our shared personal experiences was definitely not what is being portrayed everywhere 24/7/365. I came from the construction business; I know the last thing these guys are interested in is a handout. That was not my personal experience. My personal experience? My neighbors working 20-hour days, six and seven days a week. And about every 8-10 weeks, they drove to Brownsville, Texas and back in a weekend so they could take money to their families.

The word not spoken.

He was staring off into the distance and for a moment it was like the life just got drained from him. That was not Ernesto. It’s a look I see more often than I care to. The look from your friend whose family can’t get any help with paperwork – back to Guatemala. It’s when you know - and they know you know – your friends in Bogota are chopping up days of food scraps to stretch a meal, sometimes more than one family - it isn’t about Global Sustainability -

it’s starvation.

Yeah, that look.

And for Ernesto, it isn’t about him - not the lifetime of side eye glances, the “with me or not” insta-check he has programmed for self-defense. Not even the outright slurs aimed at him. He is thinking about his kids, his wife, his family. Overwhelmed by a tsunami of click bait competition and political garbage. The argument about the wall. When we both know the wall is already so well fortified with the blocks of ignorance, apathy, fear and cemented with hatred.

Those are the thoughts that kept the words from being spoken.

By the time we walked from the restaurant to the car – Ernesto was back, smiling and giving me a hard time about all the brisket I took with me and talking about his babies.

You can’t keep a good man down.