Afro-Latina Outsiders Talk about the Pandemic, BLM, and Juneteenth

Hola! Thanks for your interest in Afro-Latinas talking about the Pandemic, Black Lives Matter, and Juneteenth. I have really struggled with how to introduce this video, which was recorded specifically for Juneteenth, two days ago. Latina Outsiders Remaking Latina Identity is the anthology that brings the speakers of this talk together and what I now realize is that while this is a discussion between scholars and intellectuals, this discussion is not a scholarly one. This discussion between Afro-Latinas is extremely personal, raw, and messy because it is a response to centuries of colonial racism that Afro-Latinx people and movements have only started to discuss in earnest (while historian Arturo Schomburg may have started the work in 1891, when he came to New York from Puerto Rico, popular discussion of Afro-Latinidad may have started with Piri Thomas' work, Down These Mean Streets, published in the 1960s, just a few decades ago). There is much to unpack here as some of the statements in the talk have layers of historical trauma behind them.

For example, at one point Author Diana Diaz discusses an incident where she and her mother were attacked by a white woman in lower Manhattan. The woman used the plural version of the [trigger warning: word used in video] N-word to address Diaz and her mother. What might not be clear to some viewers is that Diaz is pointing out that while she has always identified as Black, her mother may not have and the moment this woman called them both this racial slur made the construction of race clear. This is a phenomenon that is very Latin American. Whereas in the United States, regardless of the different shades of brown in one family, all members of that family will know that they are Black. This is not the case in Latin America, where the "one-drop" rule was applied in the opposite manner it was applied in the U.S. Anyone in Latin America who has a supposed drop of white blood is allowed to claim whiteness, regardless of phenotype. That obviously doesn't work in the U.S. or for some of us who have a more realistic view of ourselves in the mirror. However, Diaz is trying to point out that claiming our Afro-ancestry should be a point of pride and not of shame, as it has been for some in Latin America and Latinx groups, and that because of this history her own mother didn't realize she was perceived this way. The source of this shame is rooted in old practices that were colonial, such as the nearly immediate promotion of the Casta economic system, which was based on a mythical racial purity but really functioned as a way to place white Europeans at the top of the economic system. These practices continue today with an echo of that system in neoliberal practices that are structured around a racist economic system in all Latin American countries, again, as a way to continue to pool wealth and resources in the hands of white leadership. As a result, many times citizens of our countries were not allowed to identify as Black for fear of deportation (to Haiti from the Dominican Republic, for example), murder, or being ostracized from one's family. In several countries, the category of "Black" was taken off of citizenship and census forms, so residents could only identify as white.

At one point in the talk, I mention that in my family we did not talk about race, and this left me with no ability to deal with the moment I was first called the N-word, when I was about seven or eight years old. I later reveal that it was likely that my family did not talk about race because my own grandfather on my mother's side rejected my father and the marriage between him and my mother. My mother didn't talk her father for 20 years because he did not go to my parents' marriage. My parents, very likely, did not talk about race in our household, because not only did they grow up in systems that did not create a language for such discussions, but they also did not want the trauma of their own marriage to affect their children (as if they could prevent that). When I finally learned my history and my family finally agreed to have a conversation about race with me, I was determined to be the person in my family to change the course on how we handled race. However, through these new conversations, I did learn that my mother had an aunt who identified as Black and said so openly in Cuba. However, she was completely ostracized by the family. The fact that my life's work has been about this subject and that my family has not ostracized me, makes me feel as if we are making a little progress.

That said, there is another moment in this part of the talk where I talk about shame, a word that Diaz also brings up. I talk about feeling shame, as a child, in the moment that I was called the slur and put into a category "that everyone despises." That thought is the thought I had as a child and it was taught to me by various people and sources. I was taught by many people in the Latinx community, mainly white Latinx but not limited to white Latinx, that being Black was the worst thing in the world. I was taught to cross the street if a Black person was walking on my side of the street. This was said to me without a drop of irony when Latinx people knew full well what I looked like. That is one source. I was also taught this racial hatred by media in the U.S., which in the 1970s and 1980s depicted Black folks in mainly minor roles, oftentimes, many of them stereotypical (there is a reason The Cosby Show, which broke those stereotypes, was so important for many of us). I knew what it meant to be called that slur and I was afraid of that reality. At the same time, as I explain in the video, I knew that I was Black, even though I had not had a conversation about it in my home or anywhere else. I was not blind and I knew that I looked more like the people on Soul Train than the people on American Bandstand. I also knew that I wasn't the ugly thing that I was being called, but as a child, I was afraid of being ostracized. I already knew this was the start of something I didn't quite understand yet, and that it would be a big thing. I spent the next couple of decades trying to discuss this with my family. As you can see, this is a deeply personal talk where those of us doing the work are incredibly exposed and saying things that need to be said.

Finally, when I originally planned this talk, I thought I was certain about whether Afro-Latinx folks should celebrate Juneteenth: Of course, we should! My thinking was, if we were transported back to an earlier time, via Octavia Butler sci-fi antics, I'd know exactly what situation I'd be in (something I allude to in the video talk). Therefore, why not celebrate Juneteenth? I also express in the talk that I felt "robbed" of the knowledge of Juneteenth because it was not taught in schools in Chicago, and that my Latinx background likely made my African American friends assume I wasn't interested in Juneteenth, if they celebrated it. Latinx folks, regardless of race, do not traditionally celebrate the holiday. As Dr. Monique Guishard points out, some of us from the islands celebrate our own specific independence or emancipation holidays that are related to our countries of origin, instead of feeling connected to Juneteenth, which is a holiday that was started by African American folks in the South in 1865, when they learned (two years after Lincoln made the announcement) that they were free. As a child, I already felt that any history relevant to my own or my ancestors' experience was left out of my school curriculum, so to learn in my 30s that Juneteenth was yet another item left out of the books, was surprising and upsetting.

However, after having this talk--in its very rough and messy form, with some thoughts fully articulated while others are left to hang there in an uncomfortable space--I feel less certain than I did when we started. Juneteenth is something that was formed by a specific group of folks in a specific time and while I do feel that Black Latinx folks are part of Black Lives Matter because we are Black, I realize now that Juneteenth doesn't feel exactly the same. If I am welcome at a celebration, great. There are a lot of people who worked very hard to create this joyous celebration and I am happy to support what they created. I celebrate the day ALL people were declared human in the United States because that is what is just. I also recognize that, ultimately, like what I describe in the anthology I edited, I will always be an Afro-Latina Outsider, not fully-claimed by anyone because I did not grow up in my parents' countries of origin (Cuba and Colombia), I am not white, and even though I am Black, in some circles my Latinidad erases that, and even further still, in some circles, my Blackness null and voids my Latinidad. Somehow, I manage to move in and out of all these groups, but I am rarely centered; I'm starting to realize that maybe that isn't necessary. Still, if you see me hanging in the corner of the party, dancing by myself, know I am thankful for all you have done to make it happen.

With that said, here is our humble talk, featuring Dr. Monique Guishard and Author Diana Diaz. Like I said, it is messy, sometimes we will struggle with the ideas, but on occasion there is a moment that hints at something worthwhile.

ENGLISH LANGUAGE TRANSCRIPTION OF VIDEO:
(Spanish language transcription is forthcoming)

Dr. Grisel Y. Acosta: Hello everyone, thank you so much for coming to this talk. The talk is inspired by the anthology Latina Outsiders Remaking Latina Identity, published by Routledge in 2019, and specifically today, we are focusing on Afro-Latina outsiders. The anthology focuses on Latinas on the periphery in general, Latinas who do not meet the stereotypical idea of light brown skin, straight hair, very J.Lo, very Salma Hayek. We actually want to bring light to the diversity under the Latinx umbrella and, specifically, today we are focusing on Afro-Latinas and how we support and are part of the Black Lives Matter movement. We also want to talk a little bit about the pandemic and self-care for Afro-Latinas and we want to talk about Juneteenth and whether we think Juneteenth is something Latinos should be celebrating—I personally do, but we’ll get into that in a little bit. So I want to thank Vincent Toro for the tech and we’re going to read the bios of our wonderful participants today. So, a little bit about me:

I am Dr. Grisel Y. Acosta and I’m an associate professor at the City University of New York-Bronx Community College. My first book of poetry, Things to Pack on the Way to Everywhere, is an Andrés Montoya Poetry Prize finalist and it is forthcoming from Get Fresh Books in 2021. My recent work can be found in The Baffler, Acentos Journal, Kweli Journal, Red Fez, Short Plays on Reproductive Freedom, and Celebrating Twenty Years of Black Girlhood: The Lauryn Hill Reader. I am a Geraldine Dodge Foundation Poet, a Macondo Fellow, and the editor of Latina Outsiders Remaking Latina Identity, an anthology that features over Latinx 30 contributors and subjects. My work focuses on my Afro-Latinx and indigenous ancestry, queer identity, the punk and house music subcultures, my birthplace of Chicago, and, hopefully, the destruction of post-colonial neoliberalism.

Our other contributors who are incredible people, we are so lucky to have them here today:

Dr. Monique Guishard is a participatory action researcher, a de-colonial ethicist with expertise in using Brown feminist (Black, Latina, & indigenous feminist epistemologies) to theorize back to conventional research ethics frameworks. She is an associate professor at Bronx Community College-CUNY, and committed to student-centered, culturally relevant, blended learning andragogy theory.

Our other speaker today is Author Diana Díaz who is a Nuyorican writer and producer. Her creative nonfiction appears in Red Wheel Barrow and in A Cup of Comfort for Mothers to Be. Díaz is the editor of Kevin Cole: Straight from the Soul and her article “Nuyoricans In Film” appears in The Encyclopedia of Latino Culture, From Calaveras to Quinceañeras. She co-produced El Barrio Remembers Piri: Down These Mean Streets, 45 Years Later. Most recently, she contributed to Boricua en la Luna and she is a certified yogi.

So, please welcome our speakers and we’re going to get started with our talk. So, this is really exciting. Welcome both of you, thank you so much for being here.

Dr. Monique Guishard: Thank you for the invitation.

GYA: Of course, of course. We’ve already pre-planned these questions so I’m just going ask and say a few words on my end, but then we want to hear from both of you.

The first question is about how you’ve been handling self-care during quarantine and the re-opening of our city. I was mentioning to both of our speakers that I am very immunocompromised. At one point I had my lungs working at about 23%, this is when I lived in Texas. It actually got better when I came back to New York, but my lungs have never fully healed. So I was social distancing from the moment I heard from a friend in Korea about what was going on with the pandemic. It was a very scary thing for me; it still is. What I try to do is I go for walks. There’s this program called GirlTrek, and it’s specifically for Black women. Every day you get—they’re doing a Black History Bootcamp—so every day you get inspiration via different wonderful Black women in our history. You can listen to the podcast while you’re walking every day. Basically they’re asking Black women to walk 30 minutes a day for radical self-care so that we live longer, because the stats are that we don’t live as long as other folks. So, they want us and our wisdom to stay around. So, I‘ve been doing that and cooking a lot, but what have both of you been doing?

MG: Okay, so Diana and I were talking about this before we started recording. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m probably not doing the best self-care at the moment, since the pandemic started. I live in close proximity to Roberto Clemente State Park, which is not the same as Roberto Clemente City Park, which is nearer to Yankee Stadium. The state park is maintained by New York State Environmental Police and State Troopers and they have strictly been enforcing social distancing. So I was going on walks and I was participating in the GirlTrek challenge. I’ve been burning palo santo, right? I’ve been burning incense. I hope Diana will talk about this, but a lot of the mediation apps that I usually use are hard for me because sometimes they’re white men, a lot of them are white women, so I’ve been using Shine, I’ve been doing my daily Shine meditations, but also using the Liberate app, right? Because it’s important for me to hear Black-sounding voices. And, quite frankly, going to demonstrations has been my community care. Meeting up with my friends, especially young, Latinx graduate students, we check on each other, we walk, we develop our strategy, you know, if they barricade us, what we’re gonna do. That’s been my self-care.

GYA: Thank you! What have you been doing, Diana?

Author Diana Díaz: Wow, besides being impressed with what Monique is doing. We were laughing about this beforehand because she noticed I have lipstick on. This is my form of self-care in the house, because I love wearing lipstick. It’s the only make up I wear and no one can see it under the mask. So that’s one thing; if I can possibly get up and put lipstick on, that’s what I do.  But more inwardly, as you said, I started my certification in yoga prior to COVID, prior to the Black Lives Matter revolution, I started in February on ground, and we needed to move online. I’m very grateful that the institution did because others did not, so part of my self-care was not only completing that training online, which I’ve never done before, I’ve never taken a class online, but also apply the teachings of yoga as I was training in order to stay focused as to why I was doing this training to begin with. And it was to, and it is to serve our community, to realize and understand our inner peace. That is everyone’s birthright, it is inside of us, it isn’t something we need to heal to get to or anything like this. So, I’ve been really concentrated and focused on that because we need to be at peace with ourselves before we go out and do anything for anyone else. Aside from that, I did not expect to have to do this but I have been very discriminating with my email and my DMS because well-meaning people, actually, love to send videos of another Black body being beaten, or a headline that they saw, or a sound-byte of someone being racist, without the understanding that it’s just triggering and it’s putting us through some more trauma and, guess what, it’s not news to me. It’s a little disturbing that it’s news to you, it’s not news to me, it’s a little insulting that you’re showing me this, and then asking what I think about it. So my form of self-care is to not open those. Some of them I have not answered. Some of the people who I consider friends who were well-meaning, I give it some space and I answer them. And I just keep in touch with my kids who are no longer kids. They’re actually on the forefront of all of this, 20 and 25 years old, and just, you know, remaining centered and proud of them. Doing what I can. No cooking.

ALL: (laughs)

GYA: Believe it or not, I actually do get a lot of peace from cooking. I never ever thought that that would be my thing. I was adamant that I would never learn to cook, never do anything domestic, but here I am. It actually brings me peace. Wow.

So I’m glad that both of you brought up the protests, not only as self-care but also something that maybe our children are being involved in. I want to talk about how the Black Lives Matter protests are important to us specifically as Afro-Latinas because I think that sometimes people think that it’s about “we are Latinos for Black Lives Matter” whereas they don’t realize we are part of Black Lives Matter already because there are so many of us who are Black. If you want to support this movement, you don’t want to be this fringe group that says, “Yes, we support what YOU are doing.” You want to realize that in our own countries, in Latin America, in the U.S., we have been struggling with these same issues for a very long time. So for me, as a Latina, I feel like this is…Black Lives Matter is my life matters, is my friends lives matter. If we value Black lives, we value all lives. I mean, that’s really the thing, we can’t value any life if we don’t value this group, it just doesn’t make any sense. Then we don’t really value lives. That said, I think there are many Latinos who don’t realize that there is Afro-Latinidad. A lot of Latinos don’t know their history, which is why I try to teach it in my Latino literature classes and really in all my classes I have works that address this because of our student population at BCC. We have a lot of Latinos who, whether they realize it or not, they are Afro-Latino, so I feel like these protests are incredibly important as a way to talk about these issues.

How do you all feel about this?

MG: So many thoughts pop up by you asking that question. The most recent demonstration I participated in was this Sunday, and it was intentionally an African Latinx Diasporic march from the Malcolm X and Betty Shabazz Center in the Heights, all the way to down to Adam Clayton Powell on like 125^th or whatever. It was good that we walked through the Heights, right? What I didn’t know, the interesting thing about these demonstrations that outsiders don’t know is you learn about something two, three days before it’s going to happen and that’s to always keep the police guessing about where we’re going to be and interrupting their ability to organize and shut stuff down, but still thousands of people show up, right? We gathered in front of BBQs and there were lots of famous Afro-Puertorriqueños and Afro-Panamanians who reinforced the connection to what you said, right, our shared ancestry but also talked about how Malcolm X, how different Puerto Rican independence scholars have always historically demonstrated this type of unity. I’m mentioning this to you in answer to your question because…taking pictures of signs and not people’s faces has also been part of my community care, let me tell you, some of these signs are AMAZING, right? So my sign said, “Latinos, please bring that same #Justice for Junior energy to Black Lives Matter. I wasn’t trying to be messy, I was really just trying to say what it is because sometimes in the Bronx it is very polarizing. I have never seen “Las Vidas Negras Importan”, more signs that said that, than on Sunday, and it made me bawl, but it also was just so affirming. To Diana’s point about being bombarded with emails and messages about the violence, [the counterpoint at the march is] that we love each other and that we show up for each other. But you still have these weird conversations with your families and your students, about how we always need to be there for each other and they’re not separate things. I hope that begins to answer your question.

GYA: Yeah, absolutely, absolutely, thank you for sharing. Diana?

DD: Well, I’m not going to reiterate what you Drs. have just said, because I agree completely. I was going to say something along the same lines, maybe not so eloquently. So I will just be personal about it. Black Lives Matter to me because I am a Black life. I never thought this was in question. Like, I look in the mirror and I’m brown, as is my daughter, as is my grandmother. The ship just stopped on a different shore, it doesn’t make us of any different heritage. So, when I’m faced with this divide, I always thought of it in terms of colorism and not racism because in the Caribbean we have this thing where, “Oh, you’re trigueña, and you’re negra” and we have all sorts of words for the rainbow of skin colors. And there’s a lot of denial in the Latino community about the fact that we are, indeed, Black. Some of us may show it on the outside but we’re all…if you’re from the islands, it’s in there somewhere. I think my mom might have gotten a really rude awakening. My mother who is 76 years old just for the first time in her life decided to go to an acupuncturist, she’s suffering from arthritis and [unheard] and all sorts of things. Western medicine is just not helping. She’s on a bag of medicines. So, I finally get her to do this, I take her to an acupuncturist in Chinatown, she comes out and she’s feeling, not 100%, obviously, but markedly better. So we’re happy, we’re walking through Columbus Park, it’s in Chinatown, a white Southern homeless woman shows up out of nowhere, starts yelling N---s, with an “s”, at us, snaps a filthy town at us, an then proceeds to go rambling in the other direction, about how Black men love white women and whatever else she was talking about. I think just the disturbing nature of that incident alone should say to everyone, if you don’t think you’re Black, guess what, that’s how this [gestures to her face] is showing up in the world and in the country. The fact that a homeless woman across the street from a police precinct in Chinatown, outnumbered, still felt safe enough to verbally and physically attack me and my 76 year old mother says a lot about where in this society, how we are viewed in this society. So, it’s important because this is us, and whether or not someone has had specific incidents like that, this happens. This is not the first time, maybe it’s the first time it happened like this, but it’s everywhere. My son is very light-skinned. He got harassed when he was in college, in his dorm. They would call campus police with false accusations while he was sleeping. We are seen as Black because we are Black. So part of me doesn’t understand where that divide happened, it’s just like willful denial, but it’s important to me to affirm that yes, we are part of Black Lives Matter, but that is nothing to be ashamed of [like some Latinos think], particularly because our history does not highlight it and particularly because lots of us grow up in household where that is not a welcome point of view. I remember we had our hair “fixed,” meaning “straightened,” from the time…I can’t even remember when our mother wasn’t straightening our hair. It’s in adulthood that I decided to leave it like this [points to natural hair texture]. It’s things like that that are building within, and I think now the time is wonderful with all the support and out in the open, with the collective healing, to embrace it. It’s uncomfortable, it’s really uncomfortable, but now is the time.

GYA: Thank you so much for sharing that. That story really upsets me. It reminds me of the first time that I was called the N-word. I think that a big problem right now is a lot of Latino families kind of want to shove this history down, they don’t want to have these conversations that, in African American households they’re very common, but in Latino households, regardless of your phenotype, we do not have conversations about race. At least, not the Latino families who I grew up with. So, the first time I was called the N-word, it was at a roller rink, I was really young, maybe like seven or eight years old, and it was by these kids who were white in the roller rink, and I remember at the time feeling such shame because I was being put into a category that I knew was despised by everyone, but at the same time I remember thinking, “Yeah, but what they’re seeing in me, is in me.” Just because my family hasn’t talked about it doesn’t mean it isn’t true, you know? What they’re seeing in me, they’re calling it something ugly, but it’s not something ugly, it’s something that they see in me and it’s something that I need to have a conversation about. Now, I didn’t have the words to say all of that as a child but it was at that moment that I knew that this conversation had to be had in my family and it took me like 20 years to get my parents to talk about it with me. My father had been rejected by my grandfather on my mother’s side, so they didn’t talk about race. My father had been rejected because of racism. My grandfather didn’t go to the wedding because of racism, so we have to have these conversations and hopefully, BLM can help us do that.

So the next question we’re getting to connects with the previous question and it’s what are you personally doing to support these movements. No pressure with this question, I know some of us are more active out there marching than others, but it could be as simple as having these conversations, right? Or posting certain information on social media, I try to post certain information on social media. One thing I will bring up is that I had an extraordinary privilege to actually kind of voice my truth and help with a Latino arts organization, and I’m not going to name them right now. But it’s a very prominent Latino arts organization for writers they had not done their part for Afro-Latino writers. They just hadn’t. They tried but didn’t understand because the leadership was not diverse but through a miraculous series of events a friend of mine called me and said they’re having a meeting about this and I think that you could say some things that might help. So even though I’m not part of the organization, I was able to be part of a statement that they made. Let me tell you something, the people in the room, they are doing everything on that statement. It is not like other statements that I have helped construct, in academia, for example, that may not actually come to fruition, because we have a lot of layers of red tape to go through, but I know that this arts organization is actually going to back up everything that they wrote on that list. And that makes me really, really proud, to have been a part of that. Now, I’m very privileged that I was even asked to be there. Many of us, we don’t have these connections. So, how do we support? What have we been doing to feel connected to this movement that’s worldwide now?

MG: Right, I’m going to be the first to admit that I’m #Doin’ Too Much. When I can’t go to a demonstration, because you always have this moment after you come back where you’re mindful of every cough and every inhalation, like, “S--- did I pull down my mask to drink water and become exposed to COVID,” you know what I mean? So I take breaks between demonstrations, but when I can’t physically be there, I am contributing to bail funds or acting as a safe call for my friends, in case they get arrested, or just texting, “Where you at?” [laughs], “Did you make it home?” Sometimes, like Dr. Acosta, I’ve been invited to contribute to statements, most of the time I’ve said no, sometimes I’ve inserted myself when people are writing statements that are still full of anti-Blackness or are just performative. Forgive the noises behind me; I live next to the Major Deegan and it’s just noisy. But then I’ve been—this is probably weird to say to other people that are not familiar with the genealogy of scholarship but I’ve been also resting. For folks who are interested, there’s a wonderful account by some wonderful

Brown women scholars called The Nap Ministry, on Instagram, and they talk about how resting, like taking naps [laughs] is a form of self-care that Black women, especially, need to be engaged in because we cannot wage the sustainable war that we need to wage against white supremacist imperialist capitalist patriarchy without being rested. Like who’s gon’ do that and be tired? So I’ve been resting and going back to therapy. I don’t know if it’s helpful but there’s the Black Girl Breathing Collective who facilitate breathing circles. There’s SESH, scholars of color who do very particular types of virtual therapy sessions, for Latinas, for queer Latinas, for Black girls, so I’ve been doing all of those things to keep the rage and depression and sometimes hopelessness that I feel at bay.

GYA: Thank you, thank you. Diana?

DD: Wow, that is a lot. So I’ll start in reverse. I’ll start with the breathing. What I’ve been doing is, well, I was certified at the end of May. And Black Lives Matter was just taking hold, so one thing that I’ve personally and purposefully done is immediately inserted myself in another training, accessible yoga training, where we deal with trauma, grief, and race, and it’s very intense and condensed, and it’s specifically for this purpose. I thought it was very interesting, Monique, when you said that you want your mediation with a Black voice. If my Black voice is Black enough for ya, here I am! [All laugh] I’m certified in not only Asana but also Pranayama. I’m doing this for my girlfriends and my family and anyone who needs it but gifted in particular to people of color. You need that yoga suite, you need that nap, you need that mediation, you need to feel safe to close your eyes and take a deep breath, and I want to be that person who will show you how to do that, because it’s hard. And it’s almost a gift that we’re in our homes because I don’t know if I could sit in a space where I’m the only visible woman of color being told by white people to close my eyes and breathe. That suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. So, I’m working specifically with that. I’m also implementing it in our writing workshops so that we can start with it so that we don’t traumatize ourselves again when we do sit down and we tell our stories. Or, so we can find that inner peace and work from that place, knowing that we are not our trauma, we are not our conditions, we are not what everybody tells us that we are, but we need to be in that place of who we are so that we can express all of those other things and how they affect us, as this human being in this body. So that is specifically things that I have done, inspired by and for Black Lives Matter. More tenuous things are, I am a safe call. My kids are in their 20s, I am their safe call, I can reach their friends’ parents. I also edit Hispanicdotes, an online magazine for Hispanic stories, and we have an issue going out in print in October called Acendencia (ancestry). I am looking at, with our editor-in-chief, specifically stories that explore the complexity and the layers of our identity, whether it be the color of our skin or there are those of us who may not be Black-presenting but identify as such, and that’s a whole other thing. Now with everybody finding out their DNA, I can share that I was more than a little disappointed to see the percentage of oppressor blood in my wheel of percentages there. I knew it was going to be Black, white, and Taíno, but I was not ready for that huge portion to be, “Oh no no, there’s a lot of white blood in you,” and then here’s some African and then here’s some native. Mostly because I didn’t expect it because I look like this [points to self]. Also, [it shows] just how much of a construct this is. It’s truly based on how a person looks, because if I match this up against a random European, I can probably have more “white” blood, but I look different, and my daughter looks different than my son. So, [Hispanicdotes] is just giving a platform to all sorts of identity and working the messiness out for people who are willing to listen.

GYA: Wonderful! So people can learn more about that at Hispanicdotes.com, and where can they reach you for the yoga?

DD: You can actually email me because I am newly certified, so I haven’t really put my website together, but my email address is ddwordsmith@gmail.com, and ddwordsmith on all social media.

GYA: Okay, great – thank you so much! So, we’re at our last question, and I want to thank both of you so much, and if there’s any information that you want to share in terms of how folks can reach you or any specific events you want to promote, please include those, but our last question is about, finally, Juneteenth! We know that Juneteenth is a day that African American folks celebrate finally knowing that are free, that they are considered human beings, legally by the United States, and this is two years after Lincoln announced that slaves were free but through a series of events folks in the Southern part of the United States did not learn this until Juneteenth, in 1865. I, personally, feel that all people should be celebrating Juneteenth, although I worry about how that will look. If people start celebrating it, I don’t want it to be a Cinco de Mayo situation. You know? I think it really needs to be historically-based. Something that just honors the work that many people have done well before we were ever here. I first learned about Juneteenth when I was in Texas and I felt very robbed. I was upset that I’d never learned about this in Chicago. I’m sure there were Black folks who I was friend with who celebrated Juneteenth but just never felt comfortable talking about it to me because I am Latina. So, I was very upset to learn that used to be something that was celebrated across the United States but somehow it lost traction, I don’t know what happened. It’s just not something that is shared in schools everywhere. I really do believe that it is something that we should all be celebrating because it’s a day that Black people in the United States knew that they were considered free and human and that’s an incredibly important thing. If my ancestors had changed things around a little bit, we were traveling back and forth in the Americas for centuries, if things had worked out just a little differently, I might have been here earlier, or my ancestors might have been in the United States area earlier, and we would have experienced the same exact thing [in terms of laws against Black people]. I think that this is something, as a Black person, I want to be a part of it, I want to honor that legacy. I don’t know how other folks feel about this. Should Latinos, Afro-Latinos, all people be celebrating Juneteenth.

What do you think, Monique?

MG: Okay! My answer is complicated, I guess, because, I was born in…I’m a Latina by way of my father who is a Dominican man of mixed ancestry, and I’m unapologetically Black, but if there’s a hierarchy to my identity, I’m a Virgin Islander first. In the U.S. Virgin Islands we celebrate Emancipation Day, which is July 3^rd. That’s a controversial holiday, too, because we were purchased by the United States for our “thought of” strategic position, if they were ever going to go to war with other entities. And I’m mentioning the Virgin Islands, I guess, because a lot of my youth was spent in summers there and then ferry trips to Puerto Rico, always remembering that people escaped enslavement by going to places like Loisa. And there were few [places, throughout the Caribbean, where enslaved people found some form of safety, even established Maroon societies, in Latin America. So, why not [celebrate Juneteenth]? And Juneteenth is complicated for me also because it make the Declaration of Independence, it makes the Emancipation Proclamation, performative documents; what’s freedom? What’s freedom if people don’t know that they are free? Who can declare that for me? But also questions about decoloniality and what that means. I think, for me, Juneteenth is when not only do people have consciousness of this government decision but it’s a time for immense Black joy. So I’m thinking people should follow #JusticeForGeorgeNYC on Instagram, and I think that I said on social media this morning that I am HERE for the 5,011 Juneteeth demonstrations that are happening [ALL laugh] in New York City. There’s a silent march through Seneca Village, the place that we call Central Park. There are a million and one celebrations [unheard] Plaza, City Hall, in Harlem at the Adam Clayton Powell Building, for people just to come together and celebrate the…and remind ourselves that Blackness is not about enslavement, it’s not about trauma, that it’s about joy, there are hair braiding boutiques set up, all kinds of drinks, and things like that so, if you identify as Black. And at some point we should have a conversation, because you know I love you both, about it’s not who you claim but it’s also who claims you, you know what I’m saying? It’s also who claims you. And I can say, I know Grisel a little bit more than Diana, but I remember going through the BCC workplace demographics and seeing there were two people who identified as both Black and Latinx and I knew that was Grisel without asking. Does that make sense, you know what I mean? Okay! That’s me and Grisel! So, if you identify as Black, you are welcome. So come through.

GYA: Excellent! Thank you. Diana, should we celebrate Juneteenth?

DD: Of course we should celebrate Juneteenth! You know, we should acknowledge it. I think it’s kind of bittersweet. Using the word “celebration” to me, right now with everything that’s going on, feels a little bit heavy because we were lied to for all that time. We were “free” but, again, without access, you know, so what is it we are really celebrating? Are we celebrating that the slave owners decided to let the enslaved people know that they could go now but they could have two years ago, but they needed all that free labor, is that what we’re celebrating? Because that’s kind of what it feels like to me today, in this scene, with everything going on and that colors it very much. I feel like it should be more in the vein of Martin Luther King Day, a celebration of knowledge, because I think this is the clearest example of how knowledge is passed on. You stayed enslaved even though you were not, because you lacked the knowledge that you were no longer an enslaved person. And so I think it should be knowledge-forward, sure, let’s read books during barbecues, something like that. Just acknowledging that power of…not just knowledge of yourself but knowledge of who’s claiming you, who’s claiming what about you, who’s making the decisions for and about your life, that sort of thing. But, yeah, I’ll get my hair done, I’ll have barbecue, but I don’t want this to happen again. Like, “Hey, prisons have been reformed but we’re not going to tell you guys, we’ll let you figure that out.” There are just so many instances where that can happen, in the medical industry, government agencies, I’m repeating myself now, but the point is the knowledge and education and how important it really is. And that is independent of school, because technically, I don’t even know what school is right now. Everybody is online, some kids are learning, others aren’t, I really know who is learning what, and we need to separate that as well, because we got all our misinformation from school. I also didn’t know Juneteenth existed and I grew up in New York City on the Lower East Side. That’s ridiculous. I was ashamed about that for a couple of minutes but, you know what, you don’t know what you don’t know. And maybe that should be what Juneteenth is about, you don’t know what you don’t know, so get to knowing, so you know what you can and cannot do.

GYA: Yes, yes, knowledge! Celebration of knowledge! Celebration of who we are! I think this has been healing. I think this has been healing. Please unmute yourselves – I just want to talk!

[ALL LAUGH]

GYA: Thank you so much for this beautiful conversation. I needed this. You all had an okay time, too?

MG: We did!

DD: Yes, this was wonderful!

MG: It was! Amazing.

GYA: Thank you, thank you. I will be including some transcriptions when this is posted so it is more accessible. I will be including an English transcription and an Spanish transcription. I’m hoping to share all of that on Juneteenth—the recording will be shared on Juneteenth—but the transcriptions might take a little more time. I’m going to do my best.

Again, I want to thank Dr. Monique Guishard and Author Diana Diaz for being here. I think we have an outgoing slide with a little information on the anthology. Vincent will put that up. Again, thank you so much, and I really look forward to when we can be in the same space.

MG: Same!

DD: Me, too. 

When Teaching Remotely is Safer for Reasons Other than COVID-19

From Getty Images/The New Yorker

I nodded at the joke, posted by one of the editors I recently worked with, claiming that while everyone else was running around panicking about COVID-19, women of color were at home giving themselves spa treatments, catching up on their reading, and spending quality time with their kids. I knew this to be true for myself, of course, delighting in being able to cook meals from scratch more often in the first few days of social distancing. However, as the days continued, I also noticed that both my partner and I had a bit of a lighter tone in our voices, a bit more sparkle to our smiles. It’s not that we weren’t working just as hard, if not harder. I was on deadline for a review of a new anthology whilst trying to make sure that my students understood the changes taking place in our classes. I was negotiating whether my mother should go to certain doctor appointments and physical therapy, and trying to ensure that we had the groceries we needed despite the shortages and overwhelmed food production system. My partner was taking an entire student outreach program online in order to make sure that everyone working for the program, many of whom were college students, would get paid during the pandemic crisis. We were and have been working hard each day. However, somehow we felt better and lighter.

            As soon as I thought it, I understood why. I have been working for a diversity task force for the last four years at my college campus, and during that time, I’ve been attacked in various ways, the worst being when a senior faculty member screamed at me in front of a room of my colleagues. My partner, too, has suffered incredible attacks at his workplace because he is the head of a program where art education for low-income students of color is the focus, and one peripheral faculty member has been abusive to him non-stop. Now that we are social distancing, we are free of the micro- and macro-aggressions wielded our way on a regular basis. That is, we are free of these behaviors to a certain extent.

            Ultimately, we have always seen and been victim to these behaviors in a systemic fashion. Right now, the most vulnerable populations are being positioned as disposable. Many people are ready to get back to work, thinking that two weeks of social distancing will be enough, despite clear proof in other nations that is nowhere near enough. According to our leadership, the cure is worse than the cause. In other words, protecting our weakest is worse than keeping the status quo. This kind of thinking is exactly why someone like me, someone viewed as a minority (despite world stats), suffered before the crisis. For some people it is always easier to continue with the status quo, to allow abusive people at best and racist people at worst to dictate policies in our organizations. It is supposedly easier to just let these leaders continue leading, and not listen to anyone brave enough to speak out, even if that person might have a better, kinder way of leading. In the end, social distancing—or hiding—is not enough to escape this abuse. Now these abusive leaders want all of us to work in close quarters again, saying that people like me, who are immune-compromised because of asthma, or people like my friend, who suffers from severe immune disorders, or people like my mom, who is elderly and a cancer-survivor, should be happy to die for our country (according to one official from Texas). So much for social distancing.

            I have always known as a Black woman, as a Latinx woman, as a queer woman, my life is disposable in the eyes of many. I have seen the hateful eyes right before me, telling me in their red fury, “You don’t belong here.” Still, somehow my excellence has always found a way to secure a place in rooms where most of the people there would have me shunned. What a miracle that is. Maybe what I carry with me, what I might pass on to others, is what people fear the most. Maybe that unimaginable world, the one I have always been a part of, the one where someone like me is valuable, is what everyone is really reacting to right now. In order to get through this, we have to imagine that everyone is valuable, even people with disabilities, even people who are older, even people who cannot afford insurance, even people who are undocumented. I have always known we are all valuable, and my behaviors fall in line with that, crisis or no crisis. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all behaved in a way that exemplified that idea? I guess that idea is too scary for some of us. 

We Carry the Earth: A Poem for Lights for Liberty/Families Belong Together Vigil in New Jersey, 7/12/19

As a response to the torturing of children/families who are seeking asylum in the United States, via the for-profit concentration camps placed at the U.S.-Mexico border and throughout the U.S., over 600 cities throughout the world will hold a vigil on Friday, July 12, 2019. I am proud to be part of the movement, thanks to Leah Fowler, Laura Gonzalez, and the Leonia Action Alliance in New Jersey. I've posted the flyers below, both in English and Spanish, for the particular vigil I plan to attend. I've also included the poem that I'll be reading at the event, before the moment of silence. I consider it an honor to have written it specifically for the vigil. As I mentioned, there are events all over the country and planet. Please find your local Lights for Liberty/Families Belong Together Vigil and attend!

We Carry the Earth

by Dr. Grisel Y. Acosta

for Lights for Liberty/Families Belong Together Vigil protesting U.S. concentration camps

We bring the harvest and lay it at an altar

of bread crust, pierced gold earrings, and the bones of our first born

Banana leaves halo the foundation of her body,

we salt the sand she rests upon, sprinkling the mineral from seashells

We pick translucent grapes and squeeze the juice into our downturned

mouths, lay gardenias to frame her death, perfume the pain within our muscles

You see a carcass of stone, barren of life, bleached ossein,

we see the child that ran between the Saguaros and wore red Matucana’s in her hair

*

Cognac woven leather wrapped her brave feet as her toes tipped

sharp rock, skipped over puddles bordering the desert on lucky rain days

White sun burned through camisas de primos, sent to us del Norte,

worn threads unraveling with each day of wear, cada dia without descanso or certainty

Black hair flying like whipping palms, set aflight from much needed breezes

cooled café skin burning cedar brown with each step on the red tawny dirt taking us closer

Cyan sky hovered over our contorted path, twisted like a sapphire river

pooling into a sea of compadres singing the blues at the frontera, asking, “¿Y de donde tu vienes?”

*

It must have been the cold

concrete holding her like iron gate

choking her lungs into frozen

prayer, holding her breath

tight within grey mucus and swollen sacs

bubbles of air that stopped

circulating, like language

words that fall dead on icy ears.

*

mihcacocone

tlahquilli

tlamiz †

*

Se murio de neumonía.

There was no water.

There was no soap.

I was taken away from her.

Lloró en la mañana.

She called to me at 3 am.

I was not there.

You were not there.

We were not there.

We still are not there.

She will continue to cry her song in wind until we are there.

A shriek in the current is free to move, cross, fly beyond the flimsy delusion of barriers.

*

Her body will dust your land which is my land which is our land

We do not carry danger to your door

There is no door

There is no danger

There is only land

There is only earth

We carry this Earth on our skin

We carry it in our lungs

We carry it as our body which holds all bodies

Dirt from many tierras that are one tierra

We set it at an altar

We set you at the altar

We set ourselves at the altar

We set our firstborn at the altar

See the altar

See the Earth

Come carry it with us

Carry the child

Carry the family

Carry the people who are your people who are yourselves

You have been invited.

*

† The words at the center of the poem are in the Nahuatl language. They mean “dead children,” “tomb,” and “this will end.”

Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta Eulogy 5-5-19

Dad's ashes, the Colombian hat he always wore, his Princeton diploma. 

Thank you so much for being here today with us. It means so much to the whole Acosta-Toro family that all of you carry my father in your heart. I know that he was the kind of man that left an impression on people because of his kindness, his child-like love of life, family, and friends, and his dedication to serving others. I cannot list the acts of generosity that my father shared with the world, or the ways in which he demonstrated his loyal friendship or commitment to family. We wouldn’t just be here all night; it would take another lifetime to recount his diligence towards others, because every single day of his life was dedicated towards others. So, today, I’ll focus on a few key memories that I want to share, ones that exemplify Papi’s love of life, his faith, and his family.

                The reason Papi was so special is because he made everyone feel the joy he always carried in his heart. This was a man who woke up happy to be alive because God gave him another day of life. There is no one I know who loved, and appreciated, life more than him. He found joy wherever he went. When I was a child, we visited a beautiful place in Michigan called Tower Hill, which was a property owned by the United Church of Christ, along Lake Michigan. It was full of pine trees, rustic cabins, and there was a short walk to a very real beach with enormous sand dunes. We often spent all day at the beach and, after dinner, Papi would invite everyone for ice cream at the beach with a view of the gorgeous sunset dipping into what seemed like our own Midwestern ocean. The afterglow was every shade of orange, pink, purple, gold, and green, and we often just sat next to each other, quiet, looking at the sky change its kaleidoscope before us. One time, when I was not yet 10, he looked at the sky and then at me and told me, “That there is proof that God exists.” I looked at him with a curious face, not understanding quite what he meant. Then he explained, “If there were no God, then why create something so beautiful that all of us can enjoy?” I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten that moment because it explained to me that God was not something that was necessarily trapped in words or acts, but it was something that you chose to see in the world and, ultimately, in other people. At that moment, for me, my dad taught me that one could find God in a moment with one’s father, having ice cream, enjoying the beauty of nature.

                In practice, Papi’s faith had many branches. He was not only a minister, but also a licensed psychologist, and a community leader. It could be easy to take oneself too seriously with that combination of professions, but Papi had a wonderful sense of humor that was a huge part of his discipline. After a trip to Hawaii, for a United Church of Christ conference, he decided that at his next service back home, everyone would wear leis and for some bizarre reason, he kept doing this every year. There was always at least one service where we all wore leis. He also became obsessed with outlandish summer outfits and he would often wear shirts and shorts with mismatched prints during summer outings with the church, causing everyone to wonder, “What will Pastor Acosta wear this time??” It was also common for him to reveal his most vulnerable moments in his sermons, if only to reassure other men in the congregation that such vulnerability was okay, even if it made everyone giggle nervously. For example, he was happy to share how violated he felt during his first prostate exam, at the pulpit during Sunday service, just so other men would know that they needed to get one too, and that they could live through it. When the church celebrated his 50^th birthday with banners that said, “Over the Hill,” he was screaming, “Over the Hill” and cracking up for years after that—any time it hurt to bend down, “Over the Hill!” Anytime he forgot something, “Over the Hill!” I want to say, Papi was an excellent writer; his sermons used examples from his own life, from popular films and songs that the congregation could relate to, and they always showed a great compassion for fears that folks might have. He used his sermons to reassure everyone. He knew humor was the greatest tool, in this respect, so if he could make them laugh, he knew they’d be less afraid. After every service, Papi could be heard laughing the loudest with fellow church-goers, who were cracking Catskill-type jokes over afternoon café.

                 I believe that this may be one of the reasons my very different parents found a connection, for as a child and as I grew up, I heard Papi laughing with my mother about something every day. Their relationship was exemplary for me. When he and I would pick her up from work, when she got out of her Michigan Avenue building and walked towards the car, he would say, “Look, look at her, look at how she walks,” and he’d giggle in anticipation of having his love near again. He did this all the time. It never grew old for him. Papi probably struggled with raising us kids more than anything else in his life. He was a dedicated father that told each one of us that he loved us every time we saw him. He married all of us to our respective spouses. When Vincent told Papi, secretly, that he wanted to marry me, Papi leaped with joy and squealed so loud, he almost spoiled the surprise, as I was only upstairs from where they were. Papi shared all his children’s joys. And he cried and prayed for all of us when we needed strength. He was always there for us, no matter what. His favorite phrase was, “I’m going to run the second mile with you.” I spent my life wondering when the second mile ended, because there seemed to be an endless second mile. It was endless, like his love. He was not one to say, “I’ve given everything I can give.”

Papi felt that love, like God, is an eternal well, and we always have more to give if we have life. I want to extend that: Papi’s love, like God, is truly an eternal well, because we still have his love here today, even though his body is no longer with us. His love was so strong, so big, that we can still feel it even though he is gone. Papi taught me to see that, over a simple, sweet moment, in front of the sun.

NOTE: We will have a Chicago memorial for my dad on 6/14/19, at Ravenswood Presbyterian Church, 4300 Hermitage Avenue, Chicago, IL 60613, at 6 p.m. Anyone and everyone is welcome at the memorial. The eulogy that day will be completely different from this one. 

Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta Obituary: January 19,1937 - April 28, 2019

Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta believed in the transformative
 power of education and love. 

A Joyful Leader Leaves a Legacy of Hope

The Bible says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2). This is the doctrine that Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta lived by as a servant of God, by which I mean a servant of his community, mainly in Chicago’s Logan Square. Instead of being rigid in his ideas about community, Sam always listened to what his community needed and responded accordingly. When helping young men in prison, for example, he was known to say things like, “They don’t need Bibles; they need jobs.” His flexibility and cheerful disposition earned him the trust of many in the Chicago Latino community, where he came to be known simply as “El Reverendo.” We would often hear this called out to him when walking around the city, as he could not walk a block without someone who he helped running toward him to say, “Hola.” The congregations that he led were extremely diverse, representing Latinos from an array of countries of origin and varying beliefs, which underscores his ability to bring different minds together. He earned countless accolades for his community service through the church, though he never boasted about any of them. In fact, he worked 80 hour weeks, as a minister and psychologist specializing in pastoral family counseling, rarely charging his clients or parishioners for his dedicated care. El Reverendo helped LGBTQ folks face coming out to homophobic parents and friends, he helped Latino refugees who had been tortured by dictators in Latin America, he helped families struggling with abuse, and he encouraged women in the neighborhood to learn to drive and earn their degrees so as to be more independent. This work earned him a commendation by Mayor Richard M. Daley and a Celeste Peña Community Service Award from the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services. Even though it may sound like it, his work in Chicago was not a singular experience. When he moved to San Marcos, Texas, he had a similar effect, participating in events like San Marcos Chamber of Commerce’s Navidad Para Los Niños fundraising event. Such work earned him the San Marcos Key to the City. Somehow, he always renewed his spirit and determined what the will of God was wherever he went. This man, who has people who love him all over the U.S., will be greatly missed. His brief and incredibly incomplete bio follows.

Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta died at age 82, in North Bergen, New Jersey, on April 28, 2019, at 10:30 p.m. He struggled with complications from Alzheimer’s disease and Parkinson’s disease for about 10 years before passing. He was born in Barranquilla, Colombia, in 1937, to Luis and Justicia Acosta, and had three sisters, Nohemi, Dorcas, and Mariela, all of whom are still alive. Sam and Yolanda met and married in Matanzas, Cuba, in 1961, where he earned his Bachelor’s Degree in Theology. They then moved to Sam’s hometown to be with his family. There, he fathered his first two children with Yolanda, sons Luis (his father’s namesake) and Carlos. Sam continued his education at Princeton Theological Seminary, where he earned a Master’s in Theology in 1967. He and Yolanda eventually moved to Chicago in 1969, to start his ministry at First Spanish United Church of Christ in the Logan Square neighborhood of Chicago, where he worked for over 20 years. Daughter Grisel was born in Chicago in 1971, and during this time he earned multiple degrees from Loyola University and The University of Chicago Theological Seminary, including his Doctorate in Theology. Sam continued his practice at Ravenswood Presbyterian Church for his remaining days in Chicago. Eventually, he and Yolanda moved to San Marcos, Texas, where he semi-retired, devoting his last working days to Memorial Presbyterian Church. Upon facing his debilitating illness, Sam and Yolanda finally retired in Florida, where they lived near Luis, his wife Susie, and their daughters Michelle and Madeline. However, as the disease progressed, Sam and Yolanda decided to move to New Jersey to be with Grisel, who could devote more time to their care in their elder years. Sam was happily married to his wife, Yolanda, for 58 years. He also leaves behind Elizabeth, Carlos and Lori’s daughter, and Sam and Yolanda’s first grandchild.

SERVICES

We will have a gathering in our home in New Jersey to commemorate the life of Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta. 

Please join us for a small ceremony and time for contemplation on Sunday, May 5, 2019, at 3 p.m.

We will say a few words about Sam starting at 3:30 p.m. Please feel free to stop by any time between 3-7 p.m.

We will have light refreshments, but if you are inclined to bring something, we are eternally grateful (by no means is this required). 

Please email me at acostagrisel@hotmail.com for our address. 

*For those of you who cannot attend this event, there will be a larger church ceremony in Chicago during the summer of 2019. 

SPANISH TRANSLATION:
Tendremos una reunión en nuestra casa en New Jersey para conmemorar la vida de mi padre, el Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta, esposo de la Sra. Yolanda Acosta y padre de Luis y Carlos.

Por favor, estan invitados para una pequeña ceremonia y tiempo para la contemplación en dominigo, 5 de Mayo, 2019, a las tres de la tarde. 

Diremos algunas palabras sobre Sam a partir de las 3:30 p.m. Por favor, siéntase libre de pasar por cualquier momento entre las 3 y las 7 p.m.

Tendremos cositas pequeñas para comer, pero si están dispuestos a traer algo, estamos eternamente agradecidos.

* Para aquellos de ustedes que no pueden asistir a este evento, habrá una ceremonia religiosa en una iglesia en Chicago durante el verano de 2019.

Latinx Erasure, Censure, and Buffoonery--Day 1

I have not written a blog in over a year because I didn't want to add carelessly to the back and forth between racist rhetoric and resistance against it. I wanted to make sure that when I contributed, it would be to say something significant, something that made sense to me. I didn't want to just shout the same anger that echoed the anger of so many others. I wanted to have something fresh to say, or at least something that I could live with, something that, for me, wouldn't get lost in the static.

After hearing about our current State of the Union and subsequent language about the statements made in it, where immigrants were again equated with violent behavior, and after thinking a lot about what has been happening around me, I finally have something to say. There is a clear movement to erase Latinx existence in the United States, by way of destroying families by separating them (see DACA termination and other hostile immigrant policies), by way of destroying education in Latinx communities (see privatization of public schools and school closures in Latinx neighborhoods and Puerto Rico), by destroying any possibility of job security for Latinx workers and professionals (see tenure process in academia and migrant worker rights), by destroying our history and our literature (see Arizona book banning and multicultural studies banning), by silencing our voices in spaces where liberal conversation is supposedly accepted (see the Democratic Party and activist groups that claim to be radical but aren't), by erasing our full and diverse presence from the majority of forums in the media (see films, books, magazines, news programs, Spanish-language television that has no Afro-Latinx or queer presence), by including us in major media forums only as buffoons who exemplify stupidity and/or violence, by having non-Latinx actors play us or non-Latinx writers and directors write stories they think are about us (see Saturday Night Live and Stephen Spielberg), by impeding access to healthcare and safe housing, by pretending to sympathize with our plight only to continue the same practices that ignore the heritage and labor that we cultivated in the Americas (the full Americas, meaning both North, South, and Central America, and the Caribbean), a heritage and labor that has literally made Europe and its descendants rich, and fed the world and kept it dynamic and interesting with a culture of intellectual depth and spiritual magnificence (see the works of Junot Diaz, Carmen Tafolla, Julia de Burgos, and Arturo Schomburg, just to name a very few). 

We are not and have never been immigrants. 

From Humboldt.edu

This map shows that the Spanish, who in combination with our indigenous ancestors and African ancestors, created who we are. We were here in the full Americas before the United States was created and back then it was common to move all around the Americas. Our movement today echoes our original travels back then. And, yet, some of us never moved, having inhabited areas called California and Texas well before they were ever considered the United States.

When people call us immigrants, that is an attempt to erase our history and, in effect, erase us. All the behaviors I describe above have one purpose: to erase our existence and contribution to the Americas because the occupiers and their cohorts want to erase us. More space for them. But we are here. We've always been here and we always will be here, despite this multi-pronged attempt at genocide. Don't call it genocide? What else is it when you don't grant someone access to healthy housing or healthcare and know that will mean their death? What else is it when you destroy someone's chances for education or don't allow them to see characters who represent their existence (thus destroying self-esteem and self-actualization)? What is the ultimate result of that action?

Therefore, I will now post again because I literally have to point out the Latinx erasure, censure, and buffoonery so that people will become aware of this silent, yet obvious, attempt at both cultural and literal genocide, and maybe, just maybe, they will feel disgusting about their own part in it. This post explains the context. Future posts will be brief like what you see below. 

Today's erasure: 

DACA Dreamers were recently portrayed as both terrorists and stick-'em-up thugs in an urban environment, holding up two white people, in a political cartoon in The Albuquerque Journal. The New York Times has since reported that the Journal apologized for printing the cartoon, but considering nearly 50% of the population in New Mexico is Latinx, according to Pew Hispanic, the newspaper had to realize that at least one-half of its population would take issue with the cartoon; we are not even including disapproval from allies in the state and allies in the rest of the U.S., all of whom were outraged by the incident.

I classify this incident as an erasure because what the cartoon does not show, what it in fact obscures, is that DACA Dreamers are literally here to study. They are excellent students, and they can be deported if there is any incident of violence, so they, for the most part, are absolute model citizens. Those of us who are not under a contract like they are have the luxury of getting a parking ticket, or a speeding ticket, or goofing off on spring break, for example. DACA Dreamers study and work. I'm sure some of them may have actually indulged in behaving as a young college student might, but trust me, many of them are hardcore about their goals because that is the choice they made.

By Sean Delonas

Furthermore, the cartoon is poorly executed. If you take a look at it, seen above, you'll see one Dreamer is a suicide bomber and two others are holding up a couple. I mean, are these supposed Dreamers going to rob the couple and then blow everyone up? That isn't exactly logical, is it? Or, is the cartoon supposing that one of the Dreamers is a Middle Eastern terrorist who just happens to be hanging out with a gang member from M.S. 13, which is a gang that is based in locales like Los Angeles and El Salvador. Does the cartoonist think that all Dreamers hang out with each other and plan evil deeds together? A more realistic tableaux would be all three of them studying for a calculus exam. And, why is the landscape a New York landscape? Did the gang member from L.A. actually fly to New York in order to hold up people? If he's so poor that he has to hold up people, how did he fly to New York? So many plot holes, so ridiculous, so over the top, it could actually be classified as buffoonery, too. We can give it that I suppose, but it is the erasure that bothers me the most. I've worked with Dreamers, heard them give incredibly moving speeches, watched them make the lives of everyone around them better, so it's the erasure that we must highlight, because no one's hard work should ever be erased that way. 

The "Worst Year" is My Best Year

2016 has been an awesome year. Here is a list to prove how magical it has been:

1. I got to see Xiomara, a wonderful, artistic woman who was my teaching assistant when I worked in the high school program at Hostos Community College, years ago. She introduced me to her artistic friends and family at the Botanical Garden. It was lovely!

2. I celebrated Papi's 79th birthday! Here, he and Mami kiss over birthday flan.

3. Vincent and I celebrated our 11th anniversary! We went to the Russian Tea Room.

4. I was accepted into the Kweli Writing Workshop and received invaluable mentorship from Laura Pegram. I strongly recommend it to any writer at any stage of his/her/their career.

5. I was accepted into a Creative Capital Fellowship program and received incredible tools in order to continue my work as a writer.

6. I had the opportunity to be one of the preliminary judges in the Nelson Algren Stort Story contest; this was so exciting for me because I always list Nelson Algren as one of my favorite writers (a fellow-Chicagoan!). Thank you, Nancy Mendez-Booth for recommending me! 2017 submissions are open now!

7. I had a second monologue brought to life by In Full Color, a production which highlights the experiences of women of color. Thank you Summer, Paola, and The Art House!

8. I had my monologue, "Hardcore Chica Punk Birth Fragments," produced for a second time (the original was by In Full Color last year), by the Reproductive Freedom Festival. This was live-streamed worldwide. Thank you Cindy Cooper and Words of Choice.

9. Both monologues mentioned were published in two anthologies: The In Full Color Anthology and The Reproductive Freedom Anthology.

10. I was able to be a part of Montclair State University's Live Literature program again. Thank you Melissa Adamo!

11. I got to perform with Vincent, as our collective GRITO, at the Bronx Community College English Department's Faculty Lecture Series, and it was amazing!

12. I got to see the incredible Buraka Som Sistema and dance my ass off!

13. It was wonderful to provide Mami with tickets to see Michel Camilo, one of the best jazz pianists alive. Yay!

14. I was able to provide a modest scholarship to a student graduating in the Social Science Department at Bronx Community College; the scholarship is the Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta Memorial Scholarship. It will be provided every year.

15. My panel on social justice and creative writing was accepted by the "Celebrating the Poetic Legacy of Whitman, Williams and Ginsberg: A Literary Festival and Conference," at The Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College (which has hosted Poet Laureates, Inaugural Poets, and Pulitzer Prize-winning poets from all over the U.S.). The conference is in June 2017 and the folks on the panel include Vincent Toro, Marina Carreira, Ellen Hagan, and Jeremy Michael Clark.

16. Maria Mazziotti-Gillan was a featured speaker at Bronx Community College, upon my recommendation, and she rocked!

17. When Vincent featured at NJPAC for its Oigo a Cantar event, featuring Bobby Sanabria, Mr. Sanabria brought me up on stage to help him teach everyone how to salsa properly. Vaya!

18. I had the honor of celebrating Vincent's beautiful book, Stereo. Island. Mosaic., at his book party at the Nuyorican Poet's Cafe'. The poets who read include Carlos Manuel Rivera, Ellen Hagan, Marina Carreira, Rosebud Ben-Oni, Rigoberto Gozales, Kamilah Aisha Moon, and Michael VanCalbergh - all of them so wonderful and genuine. Thank you to Kweli for supporting this event.

19. I was asked to write about my vision for the 1st ever Hall of Fame, housed at Bronx Community College. The essay is here. I still think Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor and Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall belong there.

20. My poems were accepted by the Lauren Hill Reader project. They are forthcoming.

21. My short fiction was accepted by the BASTA: 100 Latinas Write on Violence Against Women project. The anthology is forthcoming.

22. I was asked to organize Hispanic Heritage Month at Bronx Community College by Prithi Kanakamedala and Ahmed Reid (of the BCC History Department). Thank you, Carmen Rivera, for providing your papers and ephemera for an exciting exhibit, and thank you for the wonderful conversation with a packed house of students. I tried to facilitate many other events, including a poetry reading featuring J.F. Seary, organized by Prof. Melissa Coss-Aquino, an exhibit of Latinx artwork, and a dance class that featured Latinx traditions which come from Africa. A special thank you to Prof. Gloria Rodriguez (who is known for her work as a Young Lord) for supporting this event.

23. I was voted to be on a Task Force at BCC where we focus on how to address issues of equity for faculty and staff of color and female faculty and staff. It is an honor to have such a great responsibility at my college.

24. I was able to visit the beachy side of Long Island, including legendary Cherry Grove, which was so much fun! This trip allowed me to understand New York in ways I hadn't before.

25. I had a wonderful visit by Nova and her wonderful mother and family. The time is never enough!

26. I had so much fun going to Afro-Punk and seeing Fishbone, Bad Brains, Living Color, and George Clinton jam onstage!! Wow! We also saw the Prophets of Rage a week earlier. What an August!

27. My dear friend Chris, who I hadn't seen for over a year, visited and we had such a wonderful time chatting in our backyard. Miss you so much already! When in Los Angeles for AWP, we got to see my dearest, most fun high school friend, Jen (so much fun!) and her man, Brian, while staying with Vincent's college friend Derek and his fiancee, Callan. Thanks for the hospitality! Vincent and I also visited our dear friend, Andrew, in Vermont; again, never enough time.

28. I had a poem accepted for the special Mendez v. Westminster issue of The American Studies Journal; that is forthcoming and I can't wait!

29. I was commissioned by The Dodge Poetry Foundation, NJTV, and the Center for Investigative Reporting to write a poem in response to the heroin crisis. The poem was debuted at The Dodge Poetry Festival in October, and it is published on NJTV's site here. I am extremely proud of this work because a lot of research went into it. I followed the journey of the poppy, and learned a lot about our economy in the process. It is not an easy truth to bear.

30. I wrote two pieces, upon request by the incredible poet, Rosebud Ben-Oni. The first is on Latina intellectuals, and it went viral. A million thanks to everyone who shared it. It was published by VIDA here. The second piece was a collaboration with other writers, and it was in response to the election. It is published by Kenyon Review, and it is here.

31. I also wrote a longer essay in response to the election, published by English Kills Review, and it is here. Thank you Ian MacAllen for publishing it and to all who shared it.

32. I was asked by Cindy Cooper to be part of a series of creative workshops with women at Greenhope. This request came later in the year and I was so tired and depressed because of recent events; it was a gift to receive this opportunity and to have good conversation with truly generous artists. I thank Cindy for that.

33. I had the honor of seeing SC Justice Sonia Sotomayor accept the Tisch Award in Civic Leadership, and the double-honor of asking her a question. She was delighted to tell me what the most exciting thing about being "the only Latina in the room" is: "Having a voice."

34. Marina Carreira invited me to celebrate the life of LGBTQ activist and amazing poet Louie Crew Clay, who just turned 80! I and many other poets I admire read at the event and had cake. He made me blush when he said, "I always want to hear you read more." I don't feel deserving because he is the real deal, but I'll keep remembering the words when I doubt myself.

35. I was able to take Mami to Carnegie Hall to see the New York Pops play Christmas tunes, in celebration of her 78th birthday. It was the happiest I've seen her in months!

36. I had a wonderful lunch with Ysabel Gonzalez and learned that she is cousins with DZine, the artist who brought life to my Chicago underground youth (at places like the warehouse party Club Naked and Wicker Park club, Red Dog)! Small world!

37. My 45th birthday party this year had all my friends and family dancing, and Papi was the highlight of the event when he was practically breakdancing to house classic, "Din Daa Daa." Alzheimer's has nothing on Chicago house!

38. My dear friend Norma had open heart surgery this year. I was so fearful, but I knew she was strong. It has been such a blessing to see her recover so well. I can't wait until I see her next summer. I will be in town then, Norma! Abrazos!

39. GRITO also performed at my old alma mater, The University of Texas at San Antonio, as part of its Creative Writing Reading Series (something that I never in my wildest dreams I thought would happen). It was pretty dope. Thank you to Wendy Barker for inviting us and thank you to Norma Cantu for coming to see us. I also thank all of our former students who showed up (a special shout to Blanca Hurley who has never ceased to be supportive).



40. The biggest gift has been seeing how my family - from both Vincent's side and my side - have come together to support my parents. I am eternally grateful.

I write this list because I must remember the blessings. It has sometimes been hard to remember the blessings when watching my father's mental state decline, watching my mother suffer because of his condition, and struggling to create special moments with Vincent when we are so busy with caregiving and work. It is also difficult when we are constantly being told that it is the end of the world because of our political situation. Yes, there are many challenges ahead, but it is clear that I have such wonderful people around me, and so many of them are supportive and giving and generous that I wonder how in the world I can repay them for their generosity. All I can say to my friends and family (especially Vincent, mi vida. my love) is this:

THANK YOU FOR ONE OF THE BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE.