by Jeanette Lim

Fernando, one of the boys in our neighborhood here in Chicago, volunteered to paint the fence around our voluntary service unit house. We decided it was a good idea, so I bought the paint and turned the job over to Fernando.

The day he said he would be painting, I went out to weed the garden. Soon I realized Fernando wasn’t the only one painting. I poked my head out around the back gate to see about 20 gang members, aged 15 to 30. A 30-year-old gang member was painting the fence alongside Fernando, while the rest of the gang gave suggestions.

My first instinct was to shrink back inside, but their calls of, "It’s the owner!" and their eager-to-please looks emboldened me. I stepped out, quaking, and looked at the fence—a stylized eagle in Mexican colors and the beginnings of it clutching a flagpole in its claw. "Cool!" I said. Fernando and the other guys swelled with pride.

Gang signs: But then I noticed the gang symbols: a six-pointed star on the eagle, a spear-headed flagpole, a pitchfork on the flag and "La Raza," a gang name, painted across the bottom. I was spending voluntary service money to let a street gang tag our fence.

Carlos and Timo, two of the neighborhood kids, were Just inside the fence, out of sight of the painters Quietly I asked them if the symbols on the fence were gang symbols. With large eyes and solemn faces they nodded.

I stepped into the alley and motioned Fernando over. "You know, we can't have any gang symbols," I quavered.

"There are no gang symbols," he said, stepping back.

"What?"

"It’s about Mexico," he said, straight-faced.

Doubting myself, I looked into our yard, catching Carlos and Timo’s eyes.

Again I asked them (hidden from view ‘ of the gang guys outside) if these weren’t gang symbols.

Carlos nodded energetically. "They lie to you," he said.

Once more I called Fernando over but this time he did not come as close.

"Fernando, we can’t have any gang stuff on the fence," I repeated. This time several other gang members heard me.

"There are no gang symbols," they said, backing Fernando.

I spoke louder, "How about the star? ‘La Raza’?"

"It’s for Mexico," they said. I pointed to the flag with its pitchfork emblem. "What about the flag?"

"That’s the Mexican flag," they said in unison.

A gamble: I was incredulous. Taking a chance, I said. "No it’s not. Hey, I’m dumb, but not that dumb."

Smiles and guarded laughs broke out. I repeated myself, and received a few looks of respect (well, at least not of contempt).

The older gang member, who was doing most of the painting, started whiting out the star, "La Raza" and the pitchfork.

"The spear, too," I said, now with increased control.

When the job was done, I let Fernando keep the surplus paint. Since then I’ve seen touch-ups to quite a few La Raza signs around here, but there has been no new graffiti defacing our back-fence eagle. The graffiti that was there has been replaced with a symbol of cultural pride by some assertiveness, vision, and a few gallons of red, black, white and green paint.

Jeanette Lim served in the Pilsen Mennonite Voluntary Service in ‘93-‘94

This story was published in The Mennonite