Weaver says
the Portland
Trail Blazers turned down his requests for donated equipment.
Contact:
Hoops
Sagrado
1837 Biltmore NW,
Washington, DC 20009.
"My position
in life I really owe to Jeff Griffith," says Weaver
of his friend, who
died of a heroin overdose several years ago. "Jeff was
on top of the world; he was press secretary for Jesse
Jackson and Paul Wellstone. But he couldn't break the
chain of the 'hood rats he hung out with as a 15-year-old
kid."
Bryan Weaver studies the basketball in his hands with
the intensity of a mythological god looking at a new creation.
Where others see an orange sphere that reads "Spalding,"
Weaver sees an entire world. It is a world of infinite
possibilities and opportunities, a place where the sport
of basketball means more than fast-paced competition and
high-paid hoopsters. This is a world where a rubber ball
and a metal hoop are the tools to build bridges between
different cultures; where the measure of success is not
a multi-million dollar contract, but rather the enrichment
of lives devastated by poverty and violence. This is the
world of Hoops Sagrado.
Weaver, a former Portlander who relocated to Washington,
D.C., left for Guatemala two weeks ago with four kids
from the mean streets of D.C., a bunch of basketballs,
T-shirts and shoes. His group, Hoops Sagrado, is named
after an old Native American belief that all races are
connected in a sacred hoop of life, destined to live in
balance with each other or doomed to perish separately.
The four-year-old immersion program pairs American inner-city
kids with Guatemalan host families. The American kids
coach basketball to Guatemalan children. In return, they
learn the language, explore a new culture and, hopefully,
return with a renewed sense of self-esteem. They're not
your typical foreign exchange students. "These are tough
kids, who've had tough lives," says Weaver. "Some have
never even left their neighborhood."
Weaver graduated from Madison High School in 1989, where
he played basketball, ran track and was involved in student
government. In 1991 he left Portland to study political
science (focusing on civil-rights law) at Howard University
in Washington, D.C.
Living in the nation's capital, Weaver was exposed to
the world of politics through Jeff Griffith, who
worked at the university's radio station. Griffin helped
Weaver get an internship with U.S. Sen. Paul Wellstone,
which led to a job at the Democratic National Committee
and work for everyone from Bill Clinton to Jesse Jackson.
Disillusioned with politics and back in school, Weaver
spent the summer of 1996 enrolled in a Spanish-language
immersion program in Guatemala. Living outside of Xela
(a.k.a. Quetzaltenango), Weaver came up with the idea
to form Hoops Sagrado.
Wherever Weaver traveled in the country, the effects
of the civil war were evident--and disturbingly familiar.
"Many of the kids in Guatemala had a family member who
disappeared, who was killed in some sort of political
violence or went to jail," he says. "In Washington, D.C.,
you have the same thing. You have kids who don't know
their own fathers, you have kids who lost brothers and
sisters, uncles and cousins to street violence."
Amidst the lingering brutality, Weaver found an indigenous
culture that was determined to survive and strangely enamored
with basketball.
"In these Indian villages, because they were pressed
higher and higher into the mountains, the only flat land
was next to where they had the church. And in that flat
land they would build a basketball court, which kind of
became the center of the entire community," Weaver explains.
Weaver began to form a bond with the children in the
village. He began coaching the kids, who play the game
in their church shoes and tend to make up the rules as
they go along. He bought some basketballs and helped repair
the local basketball court. To him it was a way to pass
the time while studying in a foreign country. To the locals,
though, it was heroic.
The profound impact his simple actions had, and the sense
of fulfillment those actions brought, led Weaver to form
Hoops Sagrado, hoping the same sense of accomplishment
might enrich the lives of those less fortunate than him.
Using his political contacts, he set out to raise money
through tax-deductible donations and T-shirt sales. He
came up empty-handed.
"When I worked the '93 mayoral election in New York for
the DNC, they gave me what was called 'walking around
cash'--$12,000 to give to people who thought they could
get out voters," says Weaver. "These people gave me 12
grand to essentially buy a bunch of votes, and I can't
even get them to buy some damn T-shirts."
Despite the lack of major contributors, Weaver moved
forward in 1999, using money donated by friends and family.
The program got off to a shaky start: Four of the five
participants dropped out just days before they were to
leave for Guatemala.
Weaver's sole participant was Sean Thomas, an African-American
teenager whose twin brother is in prison, whose father
is a crack addict and whose mother had been murdered in
a 7-11 robbery. Despite his tough exterior, Thomas was
deeply affected by the experience.
"Sean complained every day we were there, but when it
came time to leave, you never saw someone more broken
up. Here was a kid who had survived the mean streets of
D.C.--whose mother had been murdered--and he was an emotional
wreck," recalls Weaver. "When the kids from the village
threw a going-away party for Sean, and the tears were
flowing, I knew that despite all the setbacks, this project
was not a failure."
That sentiment has recently been affirmed. Last month
Ben Cohen, co-founder of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, came
through with Hoops Sagrado's first big contribution: $20,000.
Jan and Phil Fenty, owners of Fleet Feet, a small shoe
store in D.C., donated 26 pairs of basketball shoes for
the Guatemalan children. The Atlanta Hawks donated balls
and T-shirts.
Thomas has turned his life around, avoiding the seemingly
inevitable jail cell or violent death that once awaited
him. He now works with Weaver, joining him and four other
young men for a trip to Guatemala that began
on July 14.
Weaver returned home last month to visit his family before
going to Guatemala. Sitting in the backyard of his mother's
Northeast Portland home, he stared at the basketball in
his hands.
"Being a basketball player is a commodity," he says.
"You go to any playground or park in this country, and
see guys who can hoop with the best of them. Most of them
will never get to do anything with those talents--never
change the world with their skills on the court. But to
share their gift, a common love of a game, in a place
as far removed from their neighborhood as you can imagine--that
can make the world a better place."
