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| Protest in San Francisco |
Today’s La Bloga
extends words of strength, solace, encouragement to nuestr@s jovenes who are
new to tumultuous historical moments.
Last week was one such moment in this country. The day after the
election, I decided I could not teach my classes pretending nothing
had happened. And actually, later that
day, one of my students told me that when she did go to a class where nothing
was being discussed about the election results, everyone seemed “like robots. It was strange,” she said.
The classroom is
a place that is not isolated from the outside world. How can a class read Shakespeare’s Macbeth and not discuss various levels
of ambition using 21st century examples? How can I teach Junot Diaz’s The Brief
Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao without making contemporary connections to
power, government corruption, immigration, etc.
The discussion of literature is vital for understanding the human
condition and how authors deftly place us in situations we would otherwise not be
able to envision. And so, last
Wednesday, I invited the class to sit with me in a circle on the floor. I said:
“I’m encouraging you to come and sit on the floor with me, sit in a safe
space circle to respectfully listen and share your thoughts/feelings, ask
questions regarding this election.” For
many of these students, it was the first time they had voted. Thus commenced thoughtful and generous
comments, the sharing of fears/worries, good questions about “popular vote vs.
electoral vote,” about next possible steps in this process, about how this may
affect their personal lives. We
broadened past discussions on privilege and diversity. I was so impressed with them. I believe that our young students are not apathetic. Far from it. They are actively committed, knowledgeable and aware! And they want to engage. My classroom is a place to critically think about our world, our lives, as we continue
to read works of literature. Nothing like this has ever happened before in the U.S. Now-- more than ever, it is necessary to reach out, stand together, unify.
And so—today—the
La Bloga writers gather to share their reflections and their messages to
you. Thank you to Pat Alderete and Scott Walters for the photos you sent me of the protests happening in Los Angeles and in San Francisco this past week. Also, La Bloga writer, Rene Colato Lainez, who invited his elementary school students to draw their feelings, shares some of them with us, (photos of their drawings below).
Xánath Caraza
Being present with
my students, letting them feel that I am with them. I also need to feel that from them. Our classroom is a safe place. I am with them. We learn from one another. We celebrate and embrace diversity. We express ourselves by writing.
Rene Colato Lainez
The day after
the election, Rene wrote on Facebook:
“My students were scared today. I
let them express themselves.” Here are photos he took of some of the student’s drawings (see below). For La Bloga today, he writes: “We are not alone. Let’s work together like brothers and
sisters, like a big familia. Let’s build a bridge instead of a wall. La
unión hace la fuerza.”
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| Translation: How I feel: I'm sad because the new president is Donald Trump. He is not a good President. He is not nice. |
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| Translation: I feel very sad, very sad because Donald Trump won. I am sad because he can send us to Guatemala and I don't want my family to be told to leave. |
Olga Garcia
Like so many
other people across the country, I woke up on Wednesday with a deep sense of
dread. The hardest thing was getting up
and going to work. What would/could I
say to my students, so many of whom are Latin@s and come from immigrant
families? I was raw and completely
distraught; how much help could I possibly be to them? I went to work feeling an enormous weight
bearing down on my being, expecting attendance to be at an all-time low. The campus looked empty and somber, but when
I got to my class—there they were. 90%
of my students showed up to class on Wednesday and then again on Thursday. Yes, they too were distraught, full of
questions, fears, disappointment, rage, etc.
Yet, they were there, and from the get-go, it was they who comforted
me. I didn’t even realize how much I
needed to be in community until I was standing there in front of them. The first thing a student said to me with a
tone of deep concern when I walked into my first class was, “Ms., how are
you?” It caught me off guard because
that was the first question I had intended to ask them and because in the
concerned faces of my students, I saw a mirror of my own. I couldn’t answer my student’s question
immediately because I would have cried.
I had to breathe and I felt others in the room doing the same. Another student came up to me and asked if
she could give me a hug, which I desperately needed. In all three of my classes, we spent our time
expressing and unpacking our feelings and thoughts. It was painful. It is still painful. Yet there is comfort in knowing that we are
not alone. We are powerful. We don’t have to have all the answers right
now (there is no way we can have them). We
just have to commit to looking out for, protecting, and loving one another in
small and big ways. As a good friend
recently said to me: “We can’t allow
ourselves to normalize this shit.”
Everything we are feeling (as fucked up as it feels) is not only valid,
it is necessary and it is fuel for fire, fuel for movement. We all have the capacity and the
responsibility to move forward, to fight, and not only survive this white
supremacist bullshit, but to rise up and flourish beyond it. We know it isn’t new—this hate. We are just seeing the unveiling and the
shameless parading/boasting of some of our country’s oldest and ugliest truths.
Animo herman@s. Unidos con fuerza, conciencia, orgullo y corazón we cannot only
resist, we can transform and recreate. This I believe.
Daniel Olivas
In 1980, I was
old enough to vote for president for the first time. My college friends and I could not imagine
Ronald Reagan beating Jimmy Carter, but he did—in a landslide. And then we were shocked when he was re-elected
by an even bigger landslide four years later.
So many rights are at stake now.
Also, our country seems to be more divided by race and ethnicity than
ever before. The silver lining? Well,
there were some great victories this election season on a more local level such
as the defeat of Sheriff Arpaio in Arizona, the election of a Latina as United
States Senator in Nevada, turning Arizona purple as records numbers of Latinos
voted, to name a few. And though it may not feel like it, this was an extremely
close election. In fact, Hillary Clinton
won the popular vote as did Al Gore in 2000.
In the end, our fight cannot stop.
True, we are angry, upset, and in shock. But that means we have to use
every tool at our disposal to get our country back. Part of that can be done at the grass-roots
level, including making certain we continue to register in larger and larger
numbers. We have midterm elections in
two years which means we have a chance to flip the Senate into Democratic hands
in order to stop Trump’s wrecking ball legislative agenda. The last thing we should do is start blaming
each other. The Republicans would love
for us to do that. We have survived many
setbacks in this country. We will
survive this one. We are still fired up
and ready to go.
Melinda Palacio
I’m very hurt
that half the people in our country elected a man who lacks dignity and does
not respect all beings on our only planet.
The attitude that burning down all our houses to fix our broken windows
will suddenly clear the slate and even out the playing field for everyone
doesn’t make any sense, yet many voted for an outrageous and offensive
solution. In four years, I can say, “I
told you so.” But instead of glaring and
pointing fingers, we need to change the sea of red, we need to keep on carrying
on as my yoga teacher says. We need to continue to vote and to be honest with
each other. Many of the people opting to
burn down the house, did so in silence and the results stung and stunned. In 1933 when Germany elected Hitler, the people
were confident he wouldn’t be as bad as his campaign rhetoric. How do we come together? How do we prevent further hurt and
destruction, and how do we heal?
Manuel Ramos
For the
students, I would only suggest two things:
1.
We
can’t give up hope. Sometimes hope is
all we have.
2.
Remember
the lessons of history. As Frederick
Douglas said: “If there is no struggle,
there is no progress.” The march forward
is never easy, never a straight line, never without setbacks and detours. But it does move forward eventually.”
Michael Sedano
Dear Friends,
Hard work is its
own reward, but only when the job’s complete.
The recent election illustrates there’s a long row to hoe. The work, the job, they are not done, but
only begun. I was a college student in
the 1960s and worked for Eugene McCarthy who was that era’s Bernie Sanders. We
lost. Then Nixon drafted me and I was
none the worse for the wear. Hubert
Humphrey would have drafted me too.
Later, the job was the re-election of Jimmy Carter. Reagan won.
Then the job focused on getting Bill Clinton elected. We retired GHW
Bush. Gore and Kerry came and went in
short order. ¡Ajua! We got Obama. Make
of that what you will, better than a sharp stick in the eye, but nowhere near
as good as we thought.
On the eve of
another misbegotten presidency, here’s perspective: Nixon, Reagan, Bush, Bush. We dreaded, we chafed, we hurt, we
healed. Take a breather, focus on
immediate goals of life, school, your own well-being. Look to the mid-term elections. Run for office. Make the Dean’s List.
Regards,
abrazos, and peace.
I end this
posting with a beautiful poem by Xánath Caraza
Hoy mujeres y hombres
Ciudad con
campos de flores rojas.
Cada pétalo
lleva
El nombre de
estudiantes que conoci.
Hoy mujeres y
hombres.
Ya no niños
inocentes
Ni adolescentes
rebeldes.
No hubo tiempo.
Hoy mujeres y
hombres que demandan justa causa.
El derecho que
no se debe de prohibir.
Derecho a ser
educados.
A ser parte de
la ciudad.
En las ciudades
Donde los
derechos
De igualdad no
han nacido.
Donde la voz de
aquellos que atravesaron
La frontera sea
tan válida como la de los demás.
Las calles están
vacías.
Quiero recorder
el color rojo
De los campos
floridos.
El reflejo del
sol y del agua.
La fuerza de sus
palabras.
Ya no hay niños
inocentes
Ni adolescentes
rebeldes.
No hubo tiempo.
Sólo mujeres y
hombres forzados a crecer.
Today Women and Men
City with fields
of red flowers
Each petal
carries
The names of the
students I met
Today, women and
men
No longer
innocent children
Nor rebellious
adolescents
There was no
time.
Today, women and
men demanding a just cause
The right that
must not be prohibited
The right to be
educated
To be part of
the city
In the cities
Where the rights
Of equality are
not yet born
Where the voice of
those who cross
The border must
be as valid as that of everyone else
The streets are
empty
I want to
remember the color red
Of the flowery
fields
The reflection
of the sun and the water
The strength of
their words
No longer are
they innocent children
Nor rebellious
adolescents
There was no
time
Only women and
men forced to grow.
*“Hoy mujeres y
hombres/Today Women and Men” is included in Poetry
of Resistance Anthology: Voices for Social Justice
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| Protest in Los Angeles |
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