Free Speech In Eugene

I spoke at the Plaza on Saturday,it was a gas. I talked to Ishi--Here is the story:
Pulling the plug won't quiet this pair
By Matt Cooper
The Register-Guard
Published: Monday, July 3, 2006

Iana Matthews-Harris had something to say, and she felt the politicians weren't listening. So the 18-year-old delivered her message in a place where all they could do was listen: their own meeting.
In May, the young woman from Eugene appeared before the Lane County commissioners to protest their shutdown of amplification for free-speech gatherings that she organizes on the county plaza in downtown Eugene.Seated at one end of a long table, facing the leaders of the county - adults three and four times her age - and with the television camera rolling, Iana, a spoken-word poet, recited a poem.
It was about free speech and her belief that the commissioners had stifled it. It was about the abuse of authority and misguided decisions.Iana spoke with a distinct sense of rhythm and tone, her voice bold at times, then soft as a whisper. Repeatedly, she intoned, "the powers that be don't be nothin' but scared." Commissioner Bobby Green later described the board as speechless.It was an appropriate choice of words, because speech is at the center of a dust-up that has left county officials at odds with the kind of people they would presumably rather encourage: Young leaders who can chip away at the political apathy of their generation.Iana is half of a dynamic duo that is pushing the commissioners to restore amplification for the free-speech events. The other half is Ishi Woods, a 22-year-old drummer, also from Eugene; the close friends co-manage the Wayne Morse Youth Program, the youth development group that holds the events.Iana and Ishi ... Ishi and Iana ... or even Ishiana: The complementary nature of their names - which are pronounced "EE-ahna" and "EE-she" - only hints at their similarities.
Both come from large, activist families with multiracial backgrounds, represented in Ishi and Iana's light-brown skin. Both fled the public-school system, disenchanted. Both want to give a piece of the old people's power to the youth.Both are passionate, outspoken and striking: The slender Iana wears her hair in dreadlocks; Ishi, more compact, wears his in a braid, and his dark-brown eyes can hold you with their sincerity.The two want to reach troubled teens and young adults - kids with talents buried within a lifestyle of apathy and substance abuse, they said. The idea is to draw these young people in through music, art, or just speaking up into a live mike; then, they teach them the values of an engaged, democratic community in the spirit of the late Wayne Morse, Oregon's fiery independent senator."That's the most unique thing about our generation," Iana said. "We are coping with countless problems, from war to the environment to global concerns, while at the same time dealing with being a teenager in a society where drugs are easier to get than support, for most of these kids."But in their effort to guide peers toward active citizenship, it was Ishi and Iana who got the civics lesson.County officials wanted to crack down on drug abuse, noise and misuse of the plaza during Saturday Market, so early this spring they turned off the electricity. That left the youth program unable to amplify statements during the free-speech gatherings.Ishi and Iana accused the board of snuffing out free speech because, without amplification, statements are lost in the general din of the market. "Free speech is not free speech unless it can be heard," Ishi told the board.Green, the commissioner, objects to the notion that the county hindered free speech. But he said the board will revisit the issue this month and may turn the power back on, assuming plaza users will behave responsibly.Green said the youth program was an unfortunate victim of the crackdown, and that the county erred in not notifying Ishi and Iana about noise problems well before the board turned off the power.The 52-year-old commissioner also recalled what it was like to be a teenage activist, knocking on doors in New Orleans and urging blacks to get involved in social justice and political issues.Of Ishi and Iana, Green said, "I see a lot of the community I grew up in in those kids. Speaking out on issues that are important to you. There's a way you do it - be emotional, and be guided. These kids are guided."Perhaps their main guide is the man known as "Uncle Victor": Victor Stathakis, 67, board chair for the youth program and a friend and driver for Morse.
Stathakis said it was Iana and Ishi's understanding of a First Amendment right - the right to petition the government for a redress of grievances - that prompted them to appeal to the county's human rights commission, which led to mediation with the county over plaza issues.It was just the kind of stubborn commitment to a constitutional right that Wayne Morse would have championed, Stathakis said. "I knew Wayne Morse, I knew his spirit, and our co-managers personify that spirit," he added. "The two of them together - I really feel him there."Whether their run-in with government is the kind of thing that will push Ishi and Iana to pursue a political path - or run, screaming, from it - remains to be seen.They are bluntly critical of the county's handling of the noise issue. They see bitter irony in the fact that the Wayne Morse Youth Program was restricted on what is officially named the Wayne Morse Free Speech Plaza.Ishi, who plans to pursue music, sees more potential to effect change from the outside. Look at Bono - famous rock-star musicians wield more power than the president, Ishi said.But Iana talks about just that: being president.
The notion struck her at 16. She's talked about it with friends and others, and a hundred or more of them have vowed support. How many more might sign on over the next 20, 30, 40 years?"The youth is the No. 1 discriminated group in the world," Iana said. "We're looked upon as not intelligent enough to make decisions. This country needs someone in the White House looking out for the next generation."