Tsarnaev brothers

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I’ve thought a lot about the Tsarnaev brothers and  about how America has reacted to the fact that these were two young Muslim men of Chechen ethnicity. (The Wrong Kind of Caucasian: Despite the Boston bombers having little to do with Chechnya, the media were quick to demonise an entire ethnicity.)

A very close friend of mine who grew up Muslim in Central-Asia in an area
neighboring the Chechnya region, emailed me from abroad and said:

“Yesterday I watched tv, russian news show about this.  So they saying americans wouldn’t believe this is  America’s own blame. I mean they are use to be terrorist is only foreigners but not USA peoples, but this time is terrorists is USA peoples, this guys grown up in USA and graduated [in USA]…”

He is right, Americans don’t see ourselves as having any fault in this. I remember watching a program about Anders Behring Breivik bomber and mass shooter in Norway, and how Norwegians questioned how it was they as a country had nurtured this person into being—of course noting his mental illness.

We need to ask ourselves as Obama put it:  “Why did young men who grew up and studied here, as part of our communities and our country, resort to such violence?”

We, as Americans, have not asked ourselves that.  Last week while at work I was waiting to round and a nurse asked me if she could help me and I explained that was alright, that I was waiting for the already paged physicians.  The other nurse referring to me said “Oh she is she just standing there to stop any mad bombers that might come in.  I’ve always said that the hospital is not a safe place, we have so many foreigners coming here”. I wanted to scream about xenophobia or that perhaps we should have more fear of educated white men who felt jilted by the system—but I said nothing.

How do we want people to feel accepted in our country when ideologies like that
are acceptable enough to say out loud? Do we really think that any person of color
or any Muslim person is fully accepted as American?  What, for example, do we think is going to happen when our country has a whole class of Mexican-Americans who are young adults who have only lived in the USA, don’t speak Spanish, know little of Mexico and yet are considered an “illegal class” here? I feel a sad affection for the Tsarnaev brothers, they too are ni de aquí ni de allá, and I must ask myself did we as a society fail in that someone would want to resort to such an atrocious act?  Had we treated them with more love and acceptance, treated them so that they too not only belonged but were wanted, would they have resorted to this heinous barbarity?

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Oh and how the authorities handled it afterwards only goes to show how much we fail with our own xenophobia and racism. Falsely Accused in Boston: 3 Examples and What They Should Teach Us (Hat Tip to Chirs Nelson)

mini revolutions

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This is the piece I read at the recent blogtitlan feminista gathering in Chicago.  This piece I felt was apropos for the event in that it was about Chicago, and about me finding my independence in the Windy City.  I didn’t want to post it here until I’d read it and until my companion on my mini-revolutions had heard it as well.  It is long but I hope you find yourself laughing and picturing me fierce with emotion.  (The other two pieces I read were Why I, and maybe we, blog   and ay no se que hacer..)

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I like walking down the street with him, holding hands enjoying our contradictions. We are opposites here. The city is his; he is comfortable in its clamorous chaos, while I weasel and fake my way into the big city, leaving my insecurities as the small cow-town corn field, naïve girl behind.   I feel like a grown-up, but you know, the kind that is free? The kind that isn’t concerned about where they need to be, or who they need to be answering to.  I am free; I am a big city woman, not a little girl from Ohio.   I am a woman in Chicago!

We walk into the bank alcove and our hands let go, as he fumbles with his papers to make the atm deposit.  Still in the alcove of the bank, he fixated on his banking, in complete oblivion to the revolution I’m about to instigate.  I am about to start the kind of revolution Michele Serros of Chicana Falsa fame would incite.  You know the story, where she grabs the “Hispanic Vegetables” from the frozen food section and asks why they are cut up so small? Is it because we are smaller? We are less of a people?  She unites the shoppers of the grocery store and they walk out united in the revolution against chopped up frozen food labeled “Hispanic vegetables”.  THIS is the kind of revolution I’m about to start!  Oh, if he only knew about the revolution and wasn’t so concerned with his deposit.

I’m staring into the bank, glaring at six picture frames, and in each frame is a head shot with a name beneath it.  Each frame holds a picture of a white man, named either Mike or Michael.  They are the branch manager, the loan manager, the small business manager etc.

I stare fiercely at the frames; the revolution is boiling within me and it makes me laugh out loud.  Inside the tellers have caught on to my staring.  Mind you again, he is still oblivious to my revolution…he is doing his banking.   I can see the three tellers discussing what it possible is I could be staring at, belly laughing at, and it is decided one of them must approach me and ask.

The lone woman teller walks towards me opens the glass door that separates us, and inquires “Is there something I may help you with?”  I smile, that revolutionary smile, the smile that will get you a chanclaso from your mother, and I respond “Oh no, I am just laughing at the fact that all six of your managers are white guys named Michael”

It is at this moment he comes out of his banking distractions and realizes I am up to something.  The teller, a middle aged plump white lady, looks at me and says “Yeah, we really can’t help how they are named”.  I chuckle again “Yeah, you really can’t help it either that the only people who know how to manage well, are white men”.  It is now her turn to stare, albeit at me, and she is completely dumbfounded.

He of course, has understood that this isn’t going to be a normal banking day.  He pops his hoodie up and with the utmost haste begins to walk out.  I follow him, glowing in the fact that I have started a revolution!

With my head swimming in thoughts of the revolution, he affectionately jests “That’s one more place in Chicago I can’t go because of you.”  I quip “Don’t worry, at the bank, all you black men look alike, they won’t be able to tell the difference and next time, don’t try to be inconspicuous by throwing your hoodie up and quickly walking away.  I hear that doesn’t work well for black men”.

He non-verbally mends the situation by restoring our clasped hands, and I begin to think of all the places he says he can’t go back to because of my many one woman mini-revolutions: the Wicker Park Walgreens, the Logan Square Chicago Deli, all three Sultans, the stop where the blue and orange line connect, and now the bank.  Maybe I have created my independent Chicago woman persona; I’m a revolucionaria without a cause.

Blogtitlanista Mid-West Reading

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Tomorrow, Wednesday night, I and 5 other Latinas will be holding a Blogtitlanistas Reading at the No Nation Gallery here in Chicago in Wicker Park, 1542 N Milwaukee Ave 2nd Floor, at 8pm.   I’ll personally be reading an old piece and a new unpublished piece.  Below I am pasting bios on the impressive woman I’ll get to share a stage with.  If you are in Chicago, come on and out, and bring me some wine or hugs — as I accept both forms of currency.

Diana Pando  is a writer from Chicago and a founder of the Proyecto Latina Reading Series spotlighting emerging and established writers/poets. She also writes for the Proyecto Latina blog and has interviewed countless Latinas making an impact in the arts and beyond.  In 2012, her poem Coatlique Rising was selected to be part of the Rites of Passage anthology published by Mujeres de Maize in California and was a finalist for the Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Competition. In 2010 her ten-minute play Thirst was presented at Teatro Luna’s 10X10 play festival. She is also part of the Conjure Woman and Con Tinta literary advisory boards.

Irasema Gonzalez is the Little Village girl that daydreamed a bit too much and grew up to be a multi-genre writer indulging in creative interludes with a hook and yarn. A founding member of Proyecto Latina, a project that includes a reading series and a blog dedicated to featuring and documenting the work of Latinas. She has presented work at 2nd Story, Unnatural Spaces (the Poetry Performance Incubator for the Guild Complex) and Palabra Pura.  Her poems have appeared in the chapbook, Afternoon Wine: Vicios, Sueños y Confesiones, Ariel XXVIII, and in Between the Heart and the Land: An Anthology of Midwestern Latina Poets by March Abrazo Press. She is a graduate of Columbia College Chicago and currently works at ElevArte Community Studio where she pens grants and oversees education programs.


Yolanda Cardenas is a proud Chicago native. She has emerged as a modern day Dr. Zhivago from this city known as a mecca of bizarre weather and medicine. In 2009, Dr. Cardenas served as the music director of Proyecto Latina Radio on 90.5FM WRTE Radio Arte but her radio debut was on NPR’s “848″ which aired a poem in a segment about the Proyecto Latina Open Mic series. In 2007, Yolanda participated in “Niki Nights: Literature and Music in the Garden” at the Garfield Park Conservatory as well as in the National Museum of Mexican Art’s “Sor Juana Festival.” In 2006, she was a semi-finalist in the 13th Annual Gwendolyn Brooks Open Mic Award and her work appeared in “Afternoon Wine: Vicios, Sueños y Confesiones” a compilation of poems in a chapbook featuring her writing group. In 2004, Yolanda Cardenas completed her family medicine training. While fine tuning the art of medicine, Yolanda also honed her writing. Although there’s no Russian revolution in her future, she’s primed for social change and a medical revolution.

Adriana Díaz aka Poor Little Tumbleweed:  My brother once called me a tumbleweed. And it’s true I’ve been known to blow into town and right out again. I’ve suffered from wanderlust for several years, but for now I’m staying put in Chicago, IL. Oh how I wish I could live in several places at once :( I have the cutest little Chihuahua! I’m proud of my heritage: I was born in America to Mexican immigrants, but I hate it when people I don’t even know just come up to me and ask, “What are you?” before they even ask me for my name. I guess I don’t have the stereotypical “Mexican look.” Sometimes when people hear me speaking Spanish I can just see them thinking, “Hey! That’s not Chinese!” I have an artist’s soul, although I lack the matching talent (ha!) I just have a strong appreciation for beauty and love to be inspired. So I tend to surround myself with creative people and people with passion. I love being preoccupied and I love learning new things so I always have my hands in a million different things at once, what ever happened to the renaissance (wo)man?  My ethnicity is a big part of who I am, but it is not the sole factor in what defines me.  If you read my blog on a regular basis you’ll catch a glimpse of this mentality.  My reason in becoming a blogger (or ‘bloguera’ as Elena Mary puts it) stem from creative frustration, and having too much time on my hands at work.  I write about all aspects of my little life, sometimes that includes cultural aspects and sometimes they’re purely  Tumbleweed rantings

Veronica I. Arreola   directs an academic support program for women majoring in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. She is a long time member of the Chicago feminist community having worked with Chicago NOW, Planned Parenthood, NARAL, Chicago Abortion Fund, NW Suburban NOW, and Women Employed. She also served one year on the National NOW board. Veronica helped launch the Planned Parenthood Action Illinois blog in October 2007 while the staff attended to anti attacks to the opening of a new health center in suburban Chicago. She currently contributes to Chicagonista, WIMNs Voices, and Care2.com. Veronica has consulted with non-profits and authors on their social media and blogging strategies.

Mami Ana

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Happy Birthday to my Mami.

This woman created three children.  Three educated, intelligent, opinionated, now self-sufficient adults.  Together we are published authors, artists, activists, revolutionaries, multilingual, culturally aware, wanderlust, radicals.  Not one of us is a follower in any aspect of our lives.   Espero mama, que tengas orgullo en lo que has regalado al mundo.  Te quiero mami con todo mi corazón y alma.

Familia

Familia Tzintzún

Why I hate dating artists

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Why I hate dating artists:

Artists leave bits and pieces of feelings and moments that existed only to never again repeat. Little doodles, emotional song lyrics on the back of a business card, a random mp3, scratched notes, idea lists, love letters, drafts of novels, paintings, sculpture attempts, each prophetic piece a glimpse into their soul, and of what was.  Frustratingly, I cannot control these things, as all of them randomly appear when I least expect them. When I open an old book, move a desk, hear a random song on a long forgotten playlist, clean out the car, stick my hand in a winter coat pocket, open a purse I haven’t used in years, it is all there, just waiting for me. I hate it, almost as much as I love it.  I guess that is the paradox of a lost love.

Skeleton Octopus, this piece used to sit on my porch until someone stole it.

Skeleton Octopus, this piece used to sit on my porch until someone stole it.

 

Knowledge through Music

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Going through old emails and found this exchange with a friend.  I asked him first if I could post it here and he agreed.  For a bit of background, my friend is a pretty well known underground (isn’t that an oxymoron?) hip hop artist and dedicated father.  He helped me put together a nice compilation of music for Olga after her accident, and via that still claims Nina Simone as one of her favorite artists.  Also, as an aside,  to the exchange below I let the students in the after school program curse.    I explained to them that my goal was to help them be as eloquent as possible and that sometimes curse words are necessary and powerful but we have to know why we use them.  I showed them the following Saul Williams clip where he explains what he means by “mother fuckers” and I told them, that if they were to curse, I wanted them to defend their word choice as eloquently as Saul Williams, if not, there was no point in using that word (skip to 1:14).

Hi,
im running an after school program.  all the kids live in the same apartment complex (subsidized housing)  all are on food stamps and only two families have dads.   some of my kids also, don’t go to school because they have been suspended (yes i know it is called an afterschool program).  Not one of my students is white.

anyway been trying to get them to learn about the history of hip hop.  tired to watch “Fresh” with them, tried to assign each of them a hip hop artist like KRS-One and K’Naan.  Aksed them to research how spoken word is related to hip hop, same with graffiti and break dancing.  Tried to get them to listen to some Saul Williams.  Today I am going to do MURS with them and his song “The Science”.

I just don’t know how to get them interested. I am really struggeling.  They’ve talked through the documentaries.  Called Saul Williams a fag and blew him off.  Don’t understand why we can’t do mainstream “artists”.

any suggestions?
elena mary

 

and his response:

if the names you picked where what I was exposed to I wouldn’t have fallen in love with hip hop the way I did. Now I’m from a different time and its hard to get a young kid today to get into some shit that came out before they were born because they are programmed to like what they hear all day.

Judging by there responses here are some concious but not soft suggestions.

Eric b and rakim – start with juice (know the ledge) and then give them the paid in full album.
Public enemy – it takes a nation of millions
Kool g rap – the streets of new york
What krs did you give em? Try by all means necessary. My philosophy specifically.
Dead prez – its bigger than hiphop and I’m an african
Nas is a good bridge. Genius. Conscious. Positive but street level at the same time.

Its tough because I listened to a lot of ignorant shit but I was balanced by positive and educating parents so I knew the ignorant shit was just entertainment. These kids don’t.

Without any interest fresh would bore them. Have them watch “the show” but screen it first alone since I haven’t seen it in a while and might not be appropriate.

Start there and let me know how it goes

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about this email exchange and that program.  I didn’t realize how fulfilling it was, and how good I was at it.  It has taken years.  You know, my attendance quadrupled (yeah quadrupled) compared to all previous teachers and I took back students that had been suspended (the administrators made it my call).  I had a soft spot in my heart for those kids that had been suspended, although I am not sure they ever fully trusted me.  All of my students increased their grades and attendance not just for my program but for their schools too.  It was awesome.  I wonder if this is what people like Gustavo, and Cesar EMC, and Cindylu feel all the time.