Sunday, May 07, 2017

Practicing Abuelita Medicine When Healthcare is Unavailable: Interview with Yerbetera Andina, La Loba

La Loba Loca
Last Thursday the House narrowly passed a bill weakening regulations that have (despite imperfect guidelines) offered health care to millions, that protect people who have pre-existing health conditions. We have been experiencing a continued dismantling of affordable health care for all.  While this is happening, I want to highlight how Chicanas/Latinas have been, for years, working toward strengthening their knowledge of medicine. Today, we welcome La Loba Loca, a yerbetera, a full spectrum companion and birth worker, a chucheria maker to La Bloga to talk with us about la medicina para nuestra gente.  

Amelia M.L. Montes: Tell us about your name:  “Loba” and “Loca” — In Xicana literature, we have a number of characters named “loca” or “loba” by Xicana authors and these characters are strong and visionary.  What does your name mean to you?

La Loba:  I didn’t necessarily come up with this name myself. A friend of mine in college, Lea Wig, came to my room and asked me, "How do you say crazy she wolf in Spanish?" She was coming up with a radio host name, but that name stayed with me. Personally I have gone back and forth thinking about the name and wanting to change it. I am kind of stuck with the name since there are some people out there who already know me by this name and changing it would be a hassle. I do trust in corazonadas and intuitive feelings, so I think La Loba Loca has been growing on me after 6 years of naming it. In the last years I have started to understand why that name is so significant to the work that I do.

La Loba grinding hierbas
Last winter I was helping out in a garden at a Filipino center. At that point I had already started answering to Loba and not my birth or "legal" name. The garden instructor looked at me and said that in her island, there was a story about a woman called the "black she-wolf."  She went out to seek revenge against the Spanish colonizers who had killed priests who were supporting or "protecting" the indigenous people. I write "protecting" in quotation marks because I do not believe in priests or members of major powerful institutions such as the church as protectors, but anyways that is the story she told me. The story resonated with me since most of my sheroes have always killed colonizers or made it really hard for them to succeed. Moreover, I come from South America and have friends and connections in the feminista movements and groups who use "loba" and "lobas" as endearing terms to refer to free womxn who run in groups, en manada, and are constantly subverting against the mainstream heteropatriarchy. So pretty much revoltosas, malhabladas, bullosas, gritosas, sensuales a su manera, people who sit with open legs, people that prefer to orgasm with themselves or friends than go to church, people who love outside enforced monogamy and heterosexuality, muxeres tercas, peludas, desordenadas, womxn who love womxn, libres, atrevidas, locas, pretty much la peor pesadilla del sistema, una sistema wanting people sad and powerless.

Hierbas
"Loca" is a term that goes hand in hand with "Loba." Someone that is loca is usually a womxn who refused to live up to expectations given to her by the cisheterosystem. Loca is the one who leaves the abusive husband,  the one who kills her abuser, the one who refuses to acknowledge the street harraser, the one who decides to scream if a dude cuts her in the line, or the one who decides to build abortion support networks in the community, or the one who takes off on a trip by herself. I also think a loca is somebody who acknowledges that this world can be super cruel and evil. When I decided to name the project La Loba Loca, I was unaware of ableist language so when I started to read more articles and post about ableism, I felt really uncomfortable with my name. I grew up in a household, like probably most of us, where mental health was never talked about. When I started to ponder about why Loca was in my name, I started this process of realizing that I was, in fact, called loca as a kid, because I would shift moods quickly, or I would do something that was not considered "normal." I have been consciously working with anxiety for a couple of years, so for me using loca has become a reclamation of an identity that is usually policed.

Amelia M.L. Montes: Your website tells us you are Peruana.  Tell us more about your early beginnings.  

La Loba:  I was born in Peru and I migrated to Santiago, Chile in the early 90s due to the Pinochet dictatorship.  I then immigrated to the U.S., then to Chile, then to the U.S. again to go to college.  I attended the University of California, Berkeley.  I majored in Interdisciplinary Studies with a focus on sterilization on Quechua women around the Fujimori Dictatorship (late 90s to 2000).  I stayed in the U.S. after finishing my thesis and graduating. I currently live in so-called Los Angeles but I am also diasporic so a lot of my work is heavily influenced by my friends and lesbofeministas in South America. Most of my work is around feminist sexual health, reclaiming our bodies and health through herbal medicine, documenting herbal and traditional knowledge in my family and where I am from. I am also a seed saver and plant caretaker. I currently do online and in-person knowledge shares on feminismos, calderones, pocimas para la cuerpa y destruir el sistema, abuelita knowledge and more. I also host gatherings for people, especially Spanish speaking groups and specific "only for" Brown/Latinx and other People of Color to come together and share about herbal medicine and tradition. I think these gatherings are important because the times I have organized them, there are many friends who come out and facilitate a portion of the share, and then the people who show up start sharing about their medicine. There is a beautiful knowledge exchange that happens that is not top-down like many other "learning spaces." For me Abuelita knowledge and holding passed-down knowledge is sacred, is very important to dismantle a system that tells us that knowledge creation is mostly white, cis, hetero, upper class and educated through a western system. A while back I wrote a piece on Abuelita Knowledge (click here for article) and I recently came up with a little definition for it:

"Bodies of knowledge that have been oppressed, stolen, 
silenced, gone underground, hidden themselves in
between spice jars in kitchen cabinets, locked away but
remembered and restored when necessary. Abuelita 
knowledge is understanding and recognizing that there is
much knowledge and medicine in our elders, our
ancestors, ourselves, and in this old mama we call earth.
Abuelita knowledge came to me as a way to resist the
current monopoly on education and information sharing.
As a migrant, Queer, Brown Peruvian feminist, Abuelita 
Knowledge has helped me understand that there are
many resources and bits of knowledge left that exist, 
way beyond the current narrow, classist and white 
supremacist confines of academia and other 
knowledge-generating-documenting-spaces."

Elder Mujer hands preparing herbs
Amelia M.L. Montes: Did your own family practice what is sometimes called in this country, "alternative" medicine? 

La Loba:  To start, I do not like the term "alternative" or "complementary medicine" but I am happy you brought that up! I think that we have been told that herbs, massage, energy work, and all those ancient healing modalities are only "complementary" when in fact they are way older than the current allopathic system. These are not alternative medicines.  They are medicines in their own right.  In fact there are more people in the world only using so-called ‘alternative’ medicine to care for all their health needs. Going back to the question about my family practicing medicine, I get this question quite a lot actually. I did not think my family used more herbs than other families, but when I facilitate sharing circles and I talk about "cruzadas, geraneo, frotaciones," people even from Peru tell me that they did not have access to this growing up. For me, documenting my family medicine and traditions has become super important. The last times I have visited my family, I take a notebook with me at all times and write down with words and drawings what my grandmothers remember about medicine and the people in their families that did curaciones. I’m from Southern Peru—and there’s a lot of traditional Andean medicine and cosmology that is weaved into my family even if it is not stated as such. One time I was reading about Andean anthropology and about wrapping the baby to protect the belly button and one of my grandmothers was saying “Oh yeah—we did all that to you, we put a dry fig on your belly button.” Last month I was reading about the killing of Andean witches to my grandmother, and she went on to tell me a whole story of this indigenous elder she saw being burned alive in her town. I think a lot of the medicine that my family carries, I have been recently learning it, or at least giving it the importance it deserves. I also believe in memories stored in the body, medicine passed down through dreams, through being with plants that have crafted strong connections with past blood relatives…. Those are other ways I have learned.

Amelia M.L. Montes: Tell us about how you became a “yerbetera," a “chucheria maker,” a “full spectrum companion and birthworker”—

La Loba:  I’ve gone to lots of training. I am kind of a nerd always preparing for the end of the world. After graduating from Berkeley, I realized I did not learn a thing. The idea of autonomy became really important to me, I wanted to learn how to support myself, family and community. I wanted skills that had been taken away from us, such as abortion support, pregnancy support, herbal medicine, etc. My community is Queer Trans People of Color (QTPOC) and I saw a lack of information and resources that have been taken away from us. I slowly started training with different groups.  I took a bunch of classes. I started to grow a garden, save seeds, talk with other people doing the documenting work I was doing around autonomous health, etc.  

Amelia M.L. Montes:  Tell us more about the term “chucheria”—

La Loba:  “Chucheria or Chucheria Maker” --- When I first started, I was making earrings out of bicycle inner tubes.  “Chucheria” here in Peru is also known as “chinches.” When I started making things, I called what I made chucheria fine arts because so much of the art world is dominated by white upper class people when in reality I find art in the way a Señora del Mercado positions her fruits, or songs people make up after working with a plant, or a crafter making usable art from trash. To me, this is a way to decenter the ways we have been taught about art production.

hand milling with stone
Amelia M.L. Montes:  On your website, you say:  “La Loba Loca mixes the knowledge acquired in academic institutions and also non-western studies and personal research throughout the region.”  Why are all of these important in healing and personal growth?  

La Loba:  It’s important because analyzing knowledge production is important. We have been taught that important knowledge comes from institutions, published books, etc. For me, knowledge productions happen in the kitchen at dinner, a day out in a garden, looking how a plant grows, or sitting with people in circles and sharing.  There is so much more about knowledge productions than just within academia. That is why I think it is important to recognize that knowledge comes from non-western studies and research. Plants have taught me so much about learning. For example, when you’re learning how a plant will work for you—you can read in a book about that plant’s action but you do not know the plant until you work with her and make a connection. I think that for me to learn and create connections with plants, I had to relearn how to learn.  In the academy, going to school as a Brown person, you train yourself how to ask questions, how to talk, how to seem smart so people don’t think you are there just because you are brown. You teach yourself how to fit in a learning system. This does not work with plants.  You can read all the books you want, but you will not meet a plant until you are ready or until that plant chooses to connect with you. An amazing teacher and elder of many had a huge impact on how I relate to plants.  Her name is Olivia Chumacero—from Everything is Medicine (click here for Olivia Chumacero's website). If you are ever able to come to her classes or invite her to your school or community she will blow your mind!

I consider myself a ‘documentarista’ or somebody who researches and documents. For the past few months I have been in Peru and Chile. I had to come here to take care of my grandmother and while I was here I created an online space, that you can still access, called the “Andean Intergalactic Feminist medicine” (click here for link). I am documenting some of the medicine in my family, my community, and interviewing people. There is beautiful feminist and resistance work happening in the Andean region, as well as so much medicine in the food and herbs there. This is my way to document and share some bits of knowledge.

Amelia M.L. Montes:  Thank you for sharing this knowledge with us, Loba.  Is there anything else you would like to tell La Bloga readers?  

La Loba:  
First-- The importance of autonomous organizing outside of non-profits and organizations is especially important now more than ever.
Second-- Recognize the importance of Abuelita knowledge (passed-down generation to generation).  Sit with your elders if this is possible for you, ask your familia/community about remedies.  Document "secretos de familia."  Hold this knowledge precious.  Share it with your young ones.  Talk to Abuelitas about their lives.  Listen to the Abuelitas.  

You can follow me on the following social media sites:
Instagram:  @lalobalocashares
Website:  www.lalobaloca.com
Facebook:  www.facebook.com/lalobaloca
Tumbler (blog): lalobalocaart.tumblr.com
Online Store:  lalobaloca.bigcartel.com

Also-- bring me to your community or college!  You can check out some of my work on my website.

STAY HEALTHY IN THIS UNHEALTHY SYSTEM!!



Friday, May 05, 2017

The Beat Continues

Melinda Palacio

New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival Welcomes Cuba



My post for today will be short and sweet. This week I am traveling back to California in our recovered Honda Element. (In case you missed the story on La Bloga, read all about it). Considering our car insurance company was only going to give us at most four thousand dollars for our old car, we feel fortunate that our stolen car was recovered. This means we don't have to think about spending forty thousand for a new car. I always forget how challenging it is to write a post while traveling from coast to coast. Don't get me wrong, I have much to report on, such as the first week of Jazz Fest in New Orleans and the crazy people guarding the monuments. The confederate statues in New Orleans are coming down, but there are some who feel the need to leave candles and confederate flags because they don't want their history of slavery erased. Also, this year, the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival celebrates Cuba with non-stop cuban music and yummy cuban food. If you go, make sure you try the ropa vieja. At jazz fest, the food is almost as important as the music. Today, you can get your Cinco de Mayo on with Mariachi Jalisco at 1pm at the Jazz and Heritage Stage or Earth, Wind, and Fire at 5pm at Congo Square, or salsa and rumba all day at the Cultural Exchange Pavilion Celebrates Cuba. Here's the complete line-up for today. Tomorrow, the day belongs to Stevie Wonder and the lucky ticket holders. I, unfortunately, will not be there for the closing weekend. I'm already setting my sights on next weekend, when I will be reading poetry with Mark Fabionar (Back Home: A Clean Purple Haze and Radical Spaces of Possibility) in Orcutt at the Core Winery, May 13, Saturday at 7:30 pm in Old Town Orcutt.

Thursday, May 04, 2017

Buses, Pobladores, and a Lost Alligator

Daniel Cano

When people ask me where my stories come from, experiences or imagination, I often answer, “Yes. Both.” The question is a good one. Not all experiences make good stories, and imagination, often, falters. The well runs dry, so to speak. It is those times, I hit the road, like the band Steppenwolf says, “Looking for adventure.”

Sometimes, I return to find the adventures not so adventurous nor the imagination so imaginary. But, then, something strange happens. Given time, like a good mole ranchera, I allow the ingredients time to blend and simmer. Little by little, they, often, acquire the right taste. But unlike mole, for me, this might take years.

Recently, as I re-read Cervantes, a line leaped out at me. After Quixote’s victory over two herds of sheep he saw, not as sheep but as marauding enemy armies, the narrator told us: “In spite of this, however, the worthy gentleman contrived to behold in his imagination what he did not see and what did not exist in reality.” So, do we really see what we think we see?

September 11, 2001 had just passed. The U.S. was still raw. I’d planned to take a bus from the corner of Venice and Sepulveda boulevards, near my home, and head into Mexico to see how far I could get, and, of course, search for a story. Two and a-half weeks later, I reached the guitar-making capital of the world, Paracho, Michoacan.

I’ll start at the beginning. The 333, Orange Line, took me east to the downtown L.A. bus station. Really, I didn’t even know if there was still a bus station anymore, or if the Gray Hound or Trailways were still operating. So, I figured I’d just jump onto the local Metropolitan bus and go to the end of the line. Of course, my wife wasn’t happy with my plan—or lack of one. How could I go to a bus station I didn’t even know it existed?



I’m an existentialist by nature. I reasoned that of course it must exist. People take buses all the time. So, you can understand how relieved I was when the 333 pulled into the L.A. bus terminal, and I saw the long-distance buses lined up.

I bought a ticket to Hermosillo, via Nogales. I had breakfast and talked to a few backpackers, mostly Europeans. We left the station around 2:00PM. I began to question my plan when it took us three hours to reach Riverside, where we stayed for 15 or 20 minutes, just enough time for a snack and a cup of coffee. When I returned to my seat, I spotted a Chicana, probably in her 40s, a bit hefty, sitting in the seat next to me. (It had been empty.)

As we pulled out of Riverside, the woman asked me where I was going. “That sound like fun,” she said when I told her my plan. She said she was on her way to Miami, and since 9-11, there was no way she was flying. I said, “Miami is a long way.” She said, “You don’t understand. I have the worst luck in the world, worse than anybody. If I had been flying on 9-11, I would have been on one of those planes. That’s how bad my luck is.”

We talked for a while. The sun had set as we passed the Colorado River. She pulled out a magazine and reached up to turn on the overhead light. I could hear the button click, but no light appeared. She kept clicking the button. Nothing. She turned to me and said, her tone dead serious, “See. It’s already starting.”

We entered Nogales around 3:00AM. Those heading east stayed on the bus. Those of us traveling into Mexico crossed to the Nogales side of the border. A bus waited for us, and we headed to Hermosillo, where I spent the rest of the day and night, getting the kinks out of my body. I bought a book, Narcotraficante, by a Mexican writer, and a CD of Chalino Sanchez to keep me entertained.

The next day, I made it to Alamos, Sonora, a town that had captured my imagination since I interviewed Fred Machado a few months earlier. Fred was a descendent of the Westside Machado family. He told me his relatives had been with the first party of pobladores who left Alamos in 1779, or thereabouts, to settle Mission San Gabriel.


In the late 1700s, in the Mexican mind, nothing existed north of Alamos. Except for Fray Crespi’s earlier expedition, white men considered Alamos the end of civilization. Anything north was the heart of darkness, a primitive, mythical land filled with images of fantastical people, animals, and death.

Fred told me that the pobladores, composed of soldiers, their families, Indian and African guides headed into this god forsaken desert in the hopes of settling this new land. Two parties left Alamos, one party crossed El Golfo de Mexico by ship, and the other by land into what is today Arizona.
The Machados left with the overland expedition. Some place near Gila Bend, running low on supplies, the expedition leaders decided to split up. Half the group, mostly women and children, continued into San Gabriel. The other half, mostly men, stayed behind hoping to be resupplied. As the story goes, Indians who felt threatened by intruders, attacked, and killed them all.

By the early 1800s, the Machado family and other relatives, the Lugos and Talamantez received grazing rights to settle Rancho La Ballona, which covered what we know today as Marina Del Rey, Venice, and Culver City.

I hit Alamos in time for their annual fiesta. I had a good time, though I was disappointed that no monuments existed telling the history the town played in settling Alta California and Arizona. When I talked to a few old-timers, none of them knew anything of their town’s place in history. So, finding nothing adventurous in Alamos, I once again boarded the bus and headed into the wilds of Sinaloa, through Culiacan, birthplace of the Sinaloan cartel. My next destination was Rosario, Sinaloa, sister city of Santa Monica, California, my mother’s place of birth.

Rosario, the birthplace of La Grande, Lola Beltran, is a small town an hour or so from the coast. The people are friendly and mostly everybody has been to the States. There are few restaurants or hotels but plenty of pictures of La Grande, her house now a museum.



I wasn’t sure of the town’s attraction until some older men insisted on telling me the best places to visit. They argued about location and directions, which they never did get straight; though, they seemed satisfied with their attempt, as if sincerity carried more weight than correct information.
After visiting ruins, like the Portal Colonial, which one woman claimed had been a store and another remembered as a bus terminal, I walked to what appeared to have been a basilica, today in a slow process of decay. A plaque on the wall noted the date as 1760. A gardener working on the grounds told me the townspeople destroyed the church looking for gold, which was said to be hidden underneath. “Did they find it,” I asked? “Yes,” he answered. “And they are still finding more, not just gold but silver and ore.”

A traveler must be skeptical. Who knows what to believe, what is real and what is imagined? Could a herd of sheep in all actuality be a marauding army?


The swankiest restaurant in Rosario is located at the top of a hill, overlooking a lagoon, surrounded by trees and vegetation. More hungry than tired, I made the trek to the top. As I walked to the entrance, I noticed a five or six-foot alligator—or crocodile (I don’t know the difference, something about the snouts) splayed near the main doors. When I looked closer, I saw part of the head had been destroyed. My imagination took flight. Maybe the owner of the restaurant was a big game hunter and the alligator a trophy from Africa or Malaysia, at the very least Cancun. What I did know was that Sinaloa wasn’t home to either alligators or crocodiles.

After I ordered my food, I asked the waitress, a matronly woman, about the alligator. She told me that it was caught and killed in the lagoon. “Maybe it made its way up from the beach,” she surmised.
I didn’t think that was very likely, the beach being an hour away by car. I didn’t recall alligators hatching in oceans, anyway. She was busy and didn’t show much interest in my curiosity.

Before I left the restaurant, I took another gander at the alligator. It looked sad, like it didn’t belong here.

Near the town, I saw a young man I’d met earlier, Miguel, a security guard at La Grande’s museum. He was in his yard swinging in a hammock, shaded by palm and banana trees. I asked him about the alligator. I knew there just had to be a story there.

Miguel told me that a man had brought the alligator, at the time no bigger than his hand, to his home. He built a pond in his yard and let the kids come around to see it. When the alligator reached two-feet in length, it escaped from the yard and made its way to the lagoon. The man went down, and with the help of some weekend fishermen, he caught the overgrown lizard and returned it to the pond in his yard. The incident got attention. People now could say they got to view the alligator that had escaped captivity.

Time passed and the alligator grew. The man’s yard was no match for the monster. Once again, it escaped and found the lagoon. The man looked for it, but the “thing” had gotten too smart, outwitting him at every turn. Still, nobody seemed to care much since the lagoon had become polluted and kids no longer swam in the water. But when fish started disappearing, the rumbling began. Of course, everyone figured it was the alligator having its way. But the situation didn’t seem enough reason to cause any great alarm, so they let the creature slide. Of course, the beast continued to grow.
Then chickens and roosters began disappearing. People who lived near the lagoon did grow alarmed. The last straw, was when Senora Mendoza couldn’t find her suckling pig. If the alligator could down a pig, what would stop it from devouring a child?

Miguel described how each night, the boats filled the lagoon. Flashlights and lanterns lit up the night, night after night, the alligator hunters out there trying to bring in the wily monster, a scene right out of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Just when it seemed that they would never find it, they all heard a shotgun blast, one single blast. That was it. They’d killed the terrorist, which was really a giant lizard.

Folks argued what to do with the body. The skin wasn’t fine enough for boots, belts, or other quality leatherware. So, the owner of the restaurant put in a bid to buy the beast. Nobody could top his offer. He had the animal stuffed, and set it at the entrance of his restaurant, a curiosity piece, of sorts. He figured, it would draw out-of-towners to his establishment, and business in Rosario would boom.
Miguel said, “But that was a long time ago. Most people don’t even remember the alligator is up there, and for sure, most of them don’t remember how it got there.”

The next day, I woke early and walked to the bus stop, nothing more than a bent sign at the side of the road, a hungover, but talkative, young beauty keeping me entertained for the three-hour wait. I didn’t care. I wanted to catch whatever bus came my way.

Like I said earlier, I made it as far as Paracho, where I had something of an emotional meltdown, which had nothing to do with the alligator, or crocodile, whichever you prefer.

Or maybe it had everything to do with the alligator when I began to realize, the deeper into Mexico I travelled, the more of a foreigner I became. Like the alligator, my home was elsewhere, and no matter how Mexican I thought I was, something kept reminding me that I was just a visitor.

From Paracho, I caught the next bus, northeast, heading towards Jalisco, where I still had some family living out on the ranchos. With luck, I could make it to Parral de Chihuahua in four days and visit the corner where another execution had taken place, that of general Francisco Villa.



Wednesday, May 03, 2017

I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter




By Erika L. Sánchez


  •             Hardcover: 352 pages
  •             Publisher: Knopf Books for Young Readers (October 17, 2017)
  •             Language: English
  •             ISBN-10: 1524700487
  •             ISBN-13: 978-1524700485



The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian meets Jane the Virgin in this poignant but often laugh-out-loud funny contemporary YA about losing a sister and finding yourself amid the pressures, expectations, and stereotypes of growing up in a Mexican-American home. 


Perfect Mexican daughters do not go away to college. And they do not move out of their parents’ house after high school graduation. Perfect Mexican daughters never abandon their family.

But Julia is not your perfect Mexican daughter. That was Olga’s role.

Then a tragic accident on the busiest street in Chicago leaves Olga dead and Julia left behind to reassemble the shattered pieces of her family. And no one seems to acknowledge that Julia is broken, too. Instead, her mother seems to channel her grief into pointing out every possible way Julia has failed.

But it’s not long before Julia discovers that Olga might not have been as perfect as everyone thought. With the help of her best friend Lorena, and her first kiss, first love, first everything boyfriend Connor, Julia is determined to find out. Was Olga really what she seemed? Or was there more to her sister’s story? And either way, how can Julia even attempt to live up to a seemingly impossible ideal?





Erika L. Sánchez is a poet, a feminist, and a cheerleader for young women everywhere. She was the sex and love advice columnist for Cosmopolitan for Latinas for three years, and her writing has appeared in the Rolling Stone, Salon, and the Paris Review. Since she was a 12-year-old nerd in giant bifocals and embroidered vests, Erika has dreamed of writing complex, empowering stories about girls of color—what she wanted to read as a young adult. She lives in Chicago, not far from the setting of I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter. Erika is fluent in Spanish, Spanglish, and cat. You can find out more about her at erikalsanchez.com or @erikalsanchez.


Tuesday, May 02, 2017

Guest Columnist: Sandra "Pocha" Peña: Mental Menudo Is Back

MENTAL MENUDO: The Next Incarnation
By Sandra “Pocha” Peña
Fotos by Msedano

foto: Pocha Peña. Menudo bowls hover above Mental Menudo participants: Sergio Hernandez, Naiche Lujan,
Susan, Michael Sedano, Manuel Urrutia, Victor Payan

On a balmy night this past week, Mental Menudo ignited anew in the heart of historic Los Angeles. As the Santa Ana winds cleared the air, a group of true believers in the power of community-building discourse gathered at La Plaza de Artes y Culturas to continue the circle of charlas created by the late great Gilbert “Magu” Lujan.

A Los Angeles-based painter, sculptor, and muralist, Magu was a founding member of “Los Four” and a beloved creative force. He drew sketches for seminal Chicano Art zine “Con Safos,” designed the Hollywood & Vine metro station, and inspired thousands with his fanciful depictions of Magulandia, a utopia of vibrant Chicanismo fused with nostalgic Americana.

Early in his college days, Magu saw a pattern of dysfunctional communication emerge from his fellow artists and activists. People in the movimiento were tearing each other apart when discussing everything from fine art and folk culture to science and social issues. Worse yet, vicious gossip and petty broncas were keeping some groups from even speaking each other. Magu recognized that these ideological &social divisions keep Latinos isolated from each other and disempowered. He set about to analyze and address the issue, creating Mental Menudo in the 1970’s.


Mental Menudo: Dinner and de-brief. Foreground, Victor Payan and Naiche Lujan,
middle, Sandra "Pocha" Peña, Susan, Mario Trillo
back, Diane Hernandez, Manuel Urrutia

Much like the soup these meetups were named after, “Menudo” a mix of cow entrails and vegetables, the ingredients need to be carefully cleaned and simmered before the mix can become a nourishing meal; similarly, the MENTAL Menudo needs volatile ideas carefully presented, transforming them into nourishing discussions.

In fleshing Mental Menudo out, Magu devised ground rules based on indigenous customs and non-violent communication, and created the3-part structure, led by 2 moderators, followed by a post-discussion feast. The result is a discussion that is far more dynamic than contentious. Many times, former adversaries emerge as allies, strangers often become friends. The post-discussion Mental Menudo feast is an equally important component of each session, where many great breakthroughs and connections happen.

Flash forward several decades and the impact of these gatherings is evident. Countless professional relationships, torrid romances, creative partnerships, political alliances and treasured friendships were fueled by these ideological feasts. Los Angeles, Pomona, San Diego and other host cities have seen great benefit from the networks Mental Menudo helped forge within the Latinx community.


Mental Menudo de-brief: Mario Trillo, Susan, Sandra "Pocha" Peña
back, Naiche Lujan, Victor Payan

Today, Mental Menudo is poised to relaunch after falling dormant after Magu’s death. In a Getty-funded initiative, LA/LA, which spotlights Latinx contributions to contemporary art, Gilbert Magu Lujan is in the spotlight once again. The Getty is extending its celebrated Pacific Standard Time initiative into the Latinx Arts & Culture, celebrating the impact artists have made to contemporary arts in Southern California. This Fall, Magu’s UCI retrospective will become an important milestone for a body of work, returning to its creator’s alma mater in glory. Continuing the artist’s legacy, his son, Naiche Lujan was invited by the Getty to advise on Magu’s exhibit and incubate a new Mental Menudo cohort that will stage a live demo in October.

“The central idea is to communicate, inform and network with other artists.” – Magu Lujan

Stay tuned for Mental Menudo: The Next Incarnation, a multi-generational convening of Mental Menudistas this October 2017 to coincide with Magu’s UCI show. Not only will the Getty showcase a new group of Mental Menudo moderators, but also stage a full demonstration of a traditional gathering. Mental Menudo practicioners believe that in consciously connecting our youth, peers and elders through nurturing platicas, we help our community survive & thrive beyond any difficulties ahead.

Help your community blossom, have some Mental Menudo!

For more information on Mental Menudo, visit the Mental Menudo Facebook page or contact Naiche Lujan via the Facebook Mental Menudo page. https://www.facebook.com/mentalmenudo/

Mental Menudo April 2017
front, Susan, Diane Hernandez, Sandra "Pocha" Peña
back, Sergio Hernandez, Naiche Lujan, Manuel Urrutia, Mario Trillo, Michael Sedano, Victor Payan

About today's Guest Columnist: Sandra Pocha Peña


 Sandra Pocha Peña is a multi-disciplinary artist based in California and Texas. Growing up Chicano and Bolivian in the shadow of Disneyland cultivated her skill at subverting pop culture. She produced a music video for OC punk band The Vandals that aired on MTV and went on to study video art in Spain. Peña received two BA’s, in Sociology and Visual Arts from UC San Diego and completed the prestigious UCLA School of Film MFA program.  Throughout the ‘90s and 2000s, Pocha worked in Spanish-language television, producing game shows, variety shows and promos for Univision, Telemundo and Fox Latin American. She was also one of the producers on hit indie feature East Side Story written/directed by Carlos Portugal, creator of the Hulu hit series East Los High.

Peña went on to program/direct film festivals in Los Angeles, San Diego and San Antonio's CineFestival, the longest-running Latino film fest in the US.  A dedicated writer,Peña is best known for her seminal film essay, "The Pocha Manifesto" published in Jump Cut film journal, reprinted in Film Manifestos and Global Cinema Cultures by Scott MacKenzie and featured in Chon Noriega’s classic Chicanos and Film anthology.  She has also written features for La Opinion, the OC Register, Tu Cuidad, Frontera and Chicano Art magazines among others.

As a fine artist, Peña won a Warhol Foundation prize for video/performance; a NALAC artist fellowship for her textile art; Woman of the Year for the 46th Congressional District; University of Washington diversity speaking fellowship;and media arts teaching residencies from LULAC, the James Irvine Foundation, San Anto Cultural Arts, OCCTAC, as well as directing the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center “Cine en el Barrio” program.

Pocha currently serves as Vice Chair of the Santa Ana Art Commission, continues writing, teaching, and lecturing on matters of race, silent cinema and women in the arts.



Rola After Rola: A New Latinopia Feature


Tune in to all day raza rock and otras rolas at Latinopia. You can run it behind your other screens and dig the sounds.

Click this link: http://latinopia.com/blogs/this-week-on-chicano-music-chronicles-dr-loco/