work in progress.

My grandma’s time with us is over, and she has finally arrived safely at her home. These past few weeks with her have, not only been a blessing, but very emotionally and spiritually rewarding. I have been able to talk to her about many topics including politics, love, and most importantly my mother. She has helped me visualize a future project, one I want to dedicate to my mom and all of her work. But it still remains in my imaginary – maybe to be talked about later.

The youngest cousin in Mexico answered the phone when I called a few minutes ago.  This had me thinking, about what her life is like right now. I’ve seen it happen before—everyone gathers around the costales full of someone else’s clothes. To them, it is like Christmas, to us it is charity.  

historical amnesia

The idea of historical amnesia, or as I have also understood it to be called—genetic memory, to me has been a very powerful concept. The idea that although we, the current we, as a people, did not physically undergo, or vividly experience the many atrocities that our community has suffered. Therefore, although I don’t remember much of what I was thought in high school, perhaps as a result of it being a history that was very irrelevant to me. Also, AP American History focused a lot on the formation of this country, and even though the taking of the “southwest” is increasingly important, there is a very little focus paid attention to this. I would argue that it is a result of the curtailment of critical thinking that American educational institutions abide by. If schools begin teaching, in detail, what “really” did happen, how the United States came to be such a huge country, in land mass and in power, students would continue to press difficult questions that would ultimately lead to the understanding that the United States, as an imperialist nation, is a power hungry patriarchal state.

The word patriarchy is a hotly contested one, and few would want to be associated with it. Therefore, by not acknowledging exactly the tools employed by this nation to become such a powerful country, our institutions deny us the opportunity to understand the ideologies that have led us to this.

I find it difficult not to abide by models of feminism, that many (in particular whiteness) consider outdated. Yet, I have a particular interest, proclivity towards feminists of color who strongly contributed to this idea of cultural feminism, the idea of womanhood, the femininity, as a powerful tool that patriarchy tries to subjugate and belittle. Thus, the idea of memory – at least to me, reminds me of this powerful force. The fact that women have had the important task of retelling our peoples story, continuing and keeping the memories alive of the previous tasks, which is why I find it to be such a powerful construction.

Understanding my position, both privileged but also marginalized as my intersectional (and ultimately complex/clashing) identities has led to me the position living within the margins. This marginal space is full of both untold stories as well as mysterious paths leading towards my queer Aztlan. Therefore, understanding my history as a person – queer, hombre, son, Chicano, etc. is key to comprehending where I will be going. But it has been difficult—being born in a country that is constantly denying me the opportunity to be. I was born in Mexico in 1989, and immigrated to the United States in 1993. In terms of socialization, I would argue that I have embraced American values (read as White Supremacist Capitalist Patriarchal ideologies). Yet, at the same time I have struggled with naming myself

In coming to terms with my Chicano identity have been “forced” to re-learn a lot. I feel privileged in a way, although at also times plagued by this onus—when I was in high school, I had the prerogative of attending a program dedicated for young Chicana/os. As a result of those programs, I began my own process of conocimineto, and thus co-enrolled in several community college courses, mainly Chicano/a Studies at East LA College. In addition, our high school offered Mexican-American Studies and Chicano Literature, and since my older brother took it, I had access to some knowledge about what it meant to be brown in the United States. 

shadow beast

Earlier today I was reminded of my shadow beast. Rather, it is always here—it never leaves. More like, it came out in the open—not by me, but by someone else. He asked me, “Why are you so self conscious?” Him saying this spoke volumes of my own inability to actually begin writing this. I have known about this prompt for a couple of days. I have sat down, on many attempts, to write and finish this. But I was scared. I am scared. I am stuck. 

The borderlands is a place of uncertainty—that location is often unmapped because it is not always physical. There is a stalwart sense of urgency, and thus requires lots of moving. That shift may be controlled, but frequently it is exuding jubilance. For me, this apperception of fleeing, even what I call home, contributes to my process yearning a sense of agency. The knack to visualize nostalgic feelings is a very powerful device one must be willing to embrace.

Living in the margins now, as a queer Chicano. To many, it feels like I am running away from some dominant group that is frequently chasing me. There have been many things that I have done as a result of surviving. Can we be punished for simply trying to survive? Or should we be targeting the reasons that have caused us to flee from the dominance.

To think of my shadow beast, is to imagine this metaphysical object or feeling that I cannot really touch. Its strange, sometimes I feel it is peevish. Then I am reminded that trying to belittle my own feelings and pain is a product of again, my shadow beast. Even in my own sense of liberation, and consciousness, my shadow beast sneaks up on me. We have been conditioned to think of beasts as something dark, carnivorous, animalistic, as if it were describing the stereotypes of what is meant to be a subordinated person of color, queer, womyn, etc.

Marginalized communities have been targets of terroristic attacks in different manifestations. For Latino/as living in the United States, one of those specific attacks is in the form of linguistic terrorism. In “Borderlands” Anzaldua argues that linguistic terrorism represents the actions by groups within the dominance power to try and curtail the linguistic expression of those in marginalized communities.

I write to survive. I organize to live. I live for liberation. My essence of existing is one marked by my intersecting, frequently clashing and always changing identities: poor, Brown, queer, middle-class, fat, immigrant, male, versatile bottom, student, lover, friend, son, fuck buddy, etc. When I write, I have an audience in mind: he is always Brown, and more than likely queer. He cries himself to sleep and prays to La Virgencita to make him normal, to rid him of those impure thoughts that haunt him in his sleep. He rides the bus from East LA to visit tha older man he met online that has promised him a couple of bucks after they fuck. I write with that joto that didn't make it, in mind. The one who took his own life becuase he could no longer tolerate the pain he felt inside after getting rejected by his parents. The one who could not find shelter in his home after getting his ass beat at school. I write with that Chicano in mind. 

Yet, I am afraid that I will remain silent – that I will not be able to speak out my verdades. My shadow best is my fear—fear of being myself. That for once, I, no longer the cowardly brown man, joto, with the power to speak. I am self conscious of my voice, not exactly in tone and sound, but in my (in)ability to speak. It’s a combination of internalized racism, homophobia, and xenophobia, etc. It is a painful experience reminiscing on my own transition. It hurts to think of myself, a younger me. To remember my own thoughts of being brown. I hated myself.

I knew I was not White. I knew I could never be white. But I tried…and failed.

I am so afraid. I am afraid of not being able to compete. Because, although I am de-colonizing myself and my proclivities to be better. I am always doubting myself. I am always comparing myself. Because this is all new to me and my family.

I really don’t wan to fail them. Yes, this is about me—but most importantly, this is also about my family.

Which is why I value my words so much. My ability to write and speak – is my power. But I am always conscious of what I write, how do it. To some, it is solely an artistic representation. To me, it is my voice, my power, my life. I am self-conscious because it is one of the few things I have. And as a result, it is always being ridiculed. How to break a queer Chicano down, tear his words apart. That is all he has.  How can I get over the thoughts in my head that are always saying, “your writing sucks?” I know this assignment is about continuing without looking back, trying not to erase anything. It is hard when this whole time I have been trained to write, erase, try harder, erase again.

How can I speak so freely?

cultural schizophrenia

I would frequently write and argue that being both queer and Chicano was a contradiction. But I am beginning to feel, and understand that perhaps it isn’t a contradiction that I want to believe, but one that has been imposed on me to feel self-hatred. Granted, the idea of Chicanismo and its manifested identity, is socially constructed; it was popularized following the Chicano (emphasis on the o) movement. Whereas, being queer was not something that was acceptable to the community because it was seen as an anti-family, anti-Raza identity, solely because being queer would mean the inability to “re”produce for the revolution. 

Whereas, being queer has always been seen as a white middle class issue, because that is what is often depicted in the media, and the leaders of the larger queer community are gay.

 The interesting contradiction here though is that the people that were leading both movements in the 60s were people of color, and in many instances queer. For example, it was queer people of color, especially genderqueer and transgender folk, who were at the frontlines of the Stonewall Riots. In addition, it was queer people of color, like Bayard Rustin, who were leading Civil Rights movements. But of course, these things, these details gets lost because hegemonic forces are trying to tell a specific kind of history – one that ignores the identities, or often the actual livelihood, of people.

 To be, or fee, cultural schizophrenic, is to like a game of tug-of-war. There are forces on both sides that are trying to pull into a specific idea or identity. For example, the idea of assimilation for many immigrant and immigrant families, is to forget where one comes from and to conform into the mainstream hegemonic culture. Perhaps for other immigrants, that has been much easier. But for those from Mexico, especially in my case, that has been not been the case. Considering the fact that I still have people in Mexico whom I still call family, and the fact that we are often traveling to Mexico, makes it harder to completely forget those roots.

 Even though I am an immigrant to this country, my socialization occurred within Eurocentric/American institutions and ideologies. It’s very interesting because my parents were okay with the fact that I was growing up with different cultural attitudes. For example, my parents to some extent, encouraged this culture of consumerism. Because they were trying to protect us from bullying, and because they wanted us to fit it, they often bought us clothes and accessories that although we did not need, they thought would protect us. We then were forced to create this image of wealth, and haves, to demonstrate some sort of capital.

 Although, this is a very physical understanding of cultural schizophrenia, a more emotional and hurtful one came in the power of language. It has been hard not being able to communicate with the language that I was taught that has been the hardest for me.

It has become an issue that in my inability to speak, because I have been forced, as a result of linguistic terrorist, forget who I am, as a result of loosing my language.

 It  is very interesting however, that the narrative is not so much about loosing our culture, but rather about how to integrate them. Living in los Angeles, especially it has been easier to talk about retaining ones culture, as opposed to forget it. Therefore, my cultural upbringing has been that of Chicanismo – both brown and White. My understanding has been about cultural fusions—the mixture of cultures. The cultural fusions I can relate to the most are Mexican and Asian. It is represented in Korean barbeque tacos, for example.

 As Latinos become the majority in this state, and soon becoming equally dominant (in population) with Whites, I would argue that the cultures would no longer be clashing but meshing. Therefore, it will not be a pull between cultures, but rather Chicano/as will be dictating cultural norms.

my religion.

I am my mother and father’s son. There is no doubt about that. Unless of course my mom had sex with another man, which she has been accused of by my father’s family. As a result, I have been engrained with (some) values that my parents preached, not all are practiced by them. I grew up in a family where we were allowed to worship our religion freely. My father is not religious. He repeatedly said that.  My mother attempts to portray a complicated, often contrasting, religious façade. We grew up with images of La Virgen decorating every wall of our home. We have some icons of other culturally Chicano/Mexican religious icons – El Santo Nino de Atocha, for example. But my parents never forced a specific practice upon us. In fact, the punishment my brothers and I received for misbehaving was a prayer. My mom would make us to pray to La Virgen and ask her to forgive us for being bad children. It was not a praying culture. Religion was used to scare us into behaving.

When my parents brought us to the United States, they understood that we would be living in a more “secular” society, were religion was not going to be pushed upon us. They knew that our formal schooling would not revolve around a religious idea. And they were okay with that. They always taught us to respect other people and their different religious views. The only people that irked my parents were those that were trying to push their religious beliefs onto us.

Both my parents disapprove of the religious institutions. Them stealing off poor peoples’ money, their role in colonization, the frequent child abuse scandals, etc. While my dad completely ignored the church as an institution, my mom went to Church every Sunday to fulfill her role as a devoured follower of Christ and La Virgen. I don’t even know what she would think about when the priest was preaching his things. I think she was more occupied trying to keep us shut, awake, or from fighting with each other. Her obsession with going to Church is more as a result of trying to portray a good image, rather than actually following the Church’s orders.

So yes, I grew up differently. My understanding of religion in ones’ live differes than the hardcore Christians. I cannot imagine what it would be like if both of my parents were super religious. It would be hard to imagine what that would be like, since all of my brothers are agnostic/atheist/non-practicing Catholics. 

I really came to this conclusion on my own though.

I was very involved in the local church throughout high school. I was first involved in my first communion classes, which lasted two years. Then became a student leader for the remaining two years of high school. I tried. Trust me.

But understanding that my queer identity was in often conflict with the Catholic dogma. How could I often try and teach about this religion and remain silent about my own self. It made no sense. It only made sense that I leave. I could not consciously stay there, knowing they did not want me there.

And this is what I continue to struggle with. I love La Virgen, and what she has thought of us. The brown folk re-created Tonantzin into La Virgen, as an avenue to still support their own beliefs in the name of staying alive. Similarly, we have recreated a queer Virgen to take care of us.

So no, I don’t hate you. Hate your Jesus or your Mary. I hate that you have access to her. A her that looks and feels and loves like you.

Education

Education

Today, Saturday (July 9), we went to the Africa institute of South Africa, and had a lecture by a doctoral candidate and researcher, Neo Lekgutla. His current research and political advocacy encouraged a shift in the educational curriculum to be more inclusive. He argued that the current South African curriculum, which has not changed even with the end of apartheid, continues to be very Eurocentric. He then proposes an “Africa-centered curriculum,” which “does not imply that students will learn only about African issues, but will learn about other cultures.” This, he argues, would provide a more realistic picture of the current South African diversity, instead of focusing on a European/White-centered curriculum.

As a Chicano/a Studies major, the issue of Eurocentric curriculums is close to me. I grew up learning about White people’s experience in the United States, and unless it was “Black History Month,” would we then learn (minimally) about the experiences of other important members of our national identity.

However, our curriculum is designed to compliment the Educational institution which is guided by a White Supremacist ideology. In order for power to remain unchallenged, people of color, queers, and womyn, should not be aware of their history. The history of both struggle and resistance. If marginalized communities knew of their historical legacy and potential, the status quo would not only be challenged but entirely defeated.

The lecturer however did not think that there should be a new curriculum developed. Rather, he suggested that the curriculum should  include African history as well as European/White history. This liberal/conformist perspective, however, does not challenge the status quo entirely. It merely provides a temporary solution to a larger problem, which I would argue is the lack of access to education for most poor people and communities of color (both in the United States and South Africa).

Black lesbian scholar/writer and activist, Audre Lorde, exclaimed “the masters tools will not dismantle the masters home.” Thus, while it is important to understand that the educational system needs fixing, and thus providing a more African-centric curriculum will empower a few students, the larger problem is with the institution itself. Perhaps, then, we must not find temporary band-aid like solutions to these problems, but find innovate answers that will ameliorate the entire problem all together. 

HIV and AIDS in South Africa

HIV and AIDS in South Africa

The issue of HIV/AIDS is a very personal to me. I have many friends who are currently diagnosed with AIDS/have the virus. I have attended funerals of dear people close to me who passed away due to complications with HIV/AIDS. No one will understand the gravity of HIV/AIDS until it has affected someone personally.

As a result of knowing close friends who contracted the virus, I became a Peer Health Educator through the AIDS Project Los Angeles (APLA) in High School. As Peer Health Educator, it was my role to provide exciting workshops that would attract “at-risk” youth and teach them about Sexually Transmitted Infections, fun and safe sex. As a queer Chicano living in Los Angeles county, I am at a huge risk of getting HIV. Young queer men of color have the highest risk of getting it. Though the numbers do look promising, it will never be enough until everyone knows their status and is protected.

Coming to South Africa, I have learned so much more about HIV/AIDS. It always seems interesting to me, that when we are discussing HIV/AIDS we are not talking about the queer community. Per my academic and also personal development, anything related to HIV/AIDS always involved the queer community. HIV/AIDS has become a national epidemic, and a world-wide pandemic. In this country, everyone is at risk.

Which is why there have been many efforts, campaigns, to raise awareness about healthy and safe sex, status awareness, and empowerment for those who are positive. After arriving from Dundee, we immediately had a seminar with two guest speakers who are working with different HIV/AIDS agencies.

The speaker that most students found interesting: because of his provocative comments and his high energy made some interesting points. This idea of working with private companies to help promote safe sex, while it may seem like an obviously good idea, I still find many reservations. The speaker’s job is to find “cool” ways to engage the youth in condom usage, and other precautions. But what is “cool” is relative, and in my personal opinions (and experiences) other people have MANY more things to worry than to find out what is cool and how to practice “cool” sex. Nonetheless, cool becomes a fad, which will ultimately dissolve. Therefore, finding “cool” avenues is a challenge because it does not solve the problem at the core, but rather find temporary ways of helping the country, but then having to repeat the “cool” cycle.

This is the second time I hear people talking about how capitalism (the private market/corporations) are going to help end the HIV/AIDS pandemic. But, it has been the capitalist culture that has caused such a huge number of HIV/AIDS. Poor people are not poor because they want to be poor. Rather, it is under a capitalist society that we have poor people. The rich need a class of people to exploit in order to be rich. Therefore, the poor people have had a history of no access to many important institutions: education, healthcare, etc. These are the institutions that they needed in order to be more cautious. However, they are now infected. And now, the same capitalist society is trying to come back and provide band-aid solutions to a larger problem. Since when has capitalism ever cared about the poor person? Perhaps now that capitalism feels guilty for what it has help create.