I flew to San Antonio expecting to test the leader in me. I returned to Reading with my armor cracked open, unafraid. It did not crack because I was under attack. It opened because I was in a room where strength did not require armor.
For a week in July, I attended the 2026 NALAC Leadership Institute at the University of Texas San Antonio Downtown Campus. I was one of fourteen fellows selected from across the United States, including Puerto Rico, for an intensive week of professional development in nonprofit arts management and leadership.
I think I was chosen for this highly competitive program because Barrio Alegría treats art as more than entertainment. Art is community infrastructure. Yes, we may be poor, yes, we may be dealing with many challenges, but creativity is alive in people’s homes, in the food, in the music, in the stories, and the relationships.
At Barrio, my nickname is Cassini, after the spacecraft sent into the distance to search for new perspectives and ways of understanding the universe. But I did not travel to San Antonio alone. Cassini carried the voices of Ms. Chichi Alcantara, Ms. Jeanette Buchannon, and Dani Guerrero in his maleta. Through me, our neighbors entered a constellation that included people from much larger cities: San Francisco, Miami, Chicago, New York, and El Paso. Our conversations did not merge into a chorus that agreed on everything. Each community’s identity remained distinct, ours bearing the red shadow of a pagoda.
The gathering was starkly different from other roundtables, community meetings, and learning exchanges I have attended because NALAC engineered a space that welcomed both the leader and the human being. I was not merely the sum of my accomplishments, the work I do, or an easily packaged “success story.” I was a painter, an immigrant, an organizer, a son, a grandson, and a man who is still making mistakes—and all of it was treated as legitimate knowledge. The space allowed me to cry and be held, to joke and laugh, to be celebrated, to dream and be dreamed of, to be loved, and to leave knowing I would be missed. That is not usual in most professional spaces I have entered.
I returned to Reading determined to create spaces where people do not have to choose between being useful and being human. Can our programming create opportunities for people to be held, celebrated, challenged, dreamed of, and missed? Can we move beyond welcoming people into a space and help them know that the space would not be complete without them?
Reading does not need more spaces merely labeled “for the community.” We need spaces that neighbors have the power to shape, with evidence of their presence and direct influence. We need to shift from dictating the setup, identity, programming, and rules of “community space” before neighbors ever enter the room. String lights, exposed brick, and grant language are only decorations if every meaningful decision has already been made. If neighbors cannot change the space, it was never theirs.
The original Cassini never returned to Earth. My mission had a gentler reentry. I returned to Reading carrying questions and a constellation of kindred spirits I now trust to help me find my way. NALAC did not send me home with a blueprint; it helped me reset my coordinates. Can we give neighbors the power to shape our spaces? Can we refuse to make decisions without the people who will have to live with them?
Across the rest of Reading I cannot say. But in Barrio and the South of Penn neighborhood, this is the only option.
