The Trouble I See... is a feature length documentary film, examining family separation through the prism of the systemic racism of  incarceration, violence, and poverty. Using the annual Father-Daughter Dance at the Richmond City Jail as the catalyst, the film illuminates  the realities of growing up in an environment where exposure to violence and  criminal activity are an everyday reality, of aspiring to the American dream when it has been rendered systemically out of reach and of being so deeply impacted by gun violence, that it is paradoxically common-place and traumatic. Above all the film is about family bonds  and how those connections are the only way our characters  maintain hope when the odds are dramatically stacked against them. Tonette Jones, mother of seven is at a vigil. She is honoring the life of yet another young Black man who has suffered a violent death. She takes the microphone, tilting  her head in a tough girl manner which belies her soft, grandmotherly features.  In her 54 years, Tonette  has identified several bodies at local morgues and attended countless funerals and vigils, all for men who have senselessly died as a result of gun violence. Tonette herself was a drug dealer for many years  (now she manages a cleaning crew at her local Marriott). Relatives of the dead man take to the microphone while supporters hold candles. One woman is filled with rage: “We need to take our streets back. We need to take our sons back. No more vigils.” she spits out. The crowd agrees audibly.One and a half  years  after the Father-Daughter Dance Joey Atkins stands outside his modest single story home. He talks with disarming honesty. When asked how it feels to repeatedly return to jail and be separated from his family, Joey responds: “It don’t make no sense, it feels like the dumbest thing in the world.”  Joey’s loyal and devoted wife, Amy is in the cosy kitchen cooking dinner. Amy: “I was glad when he got locked up this last time, at least I knew where he was.” Amy goes on to explain the stress of daily  life with an addict and how she could never keep anything of value in the house. Amy:” I honestly don’t know why I stay, but I love him. I just do.”It is November 2016 and  Rashaan (nickname: Skee) has been out of jail twice since the dance of 2013. During this stint he has been out for several months and stands in the galley kitchen of his sister’s apartment. The apartment is old with scuffed doors and floors, but nice with  carefully chosen decor. A stream of young men including his nephew, Lamar  traipse through the kitchen. Rashaan laughs at his sister Philly’s crazy story about a recent night out.  Philly, a 36 year old former drug dealer, filled with a warmth and charisma that bely the bullet scars peppering her tattooed shoulders describes their  upbringing in a sit down interview: “The drug game runs deep in our bloodline. Skee wasn’t even 13 when he jumped off the porch to start selling.” Philly talks in glowing terms about her son, Lamar and the similarities between him and his Uncle Skee. Rashaan’s  daughter, Shaniya sits next to him  in the living room. He  looks on as she texts. She is now 13 now and is starting to look womanly. Philly discusses their vocation: “So you win and you lose in the cocaine game... We seen our Uncles die, our best friends die...so much death. It gets you depressed, it gets you aggravated..” Rashaan smiles half heartedly as he pulls off in an old old white  Lexus.It is now 2018 and Joey’s daughter, Alexis is 15, her long manicured fingernails tap as she clutches her pencil doing geography  homework, her mother Amy steps in to offer assistance. Joey’s son, Jojo (now 10 years old) takes out  the trash. There is a buoyant  tone to the family and home as Amy clips coupons.