An Open Letter to White America...

Or
An open letter to lefty liberals
Or
An open letter to lefty white liberal America who has constantly seen their existence validated in the political process
Or
Have some context my European-American brothers and sisters
Or (and very possibly)
A reality check for my marginalized and of color 'manos y 'manas who are impatient and not being realistic

He is not. Yours. He never was. While he may have been raised by people who share your complexion He is not yours. While he may share your political party He is not yours. While he may share some of your beliefs or political opinions He is not yours. While he may have attended your Ivy League school He is not Yours. While he may have met your criteria in order to become the first marginalized person in US history to make it past the primaries He is still not yours.

and in reality he may not be ours. but what he is holds more significance then who he is.

You may find yourself disappointed with what he has. Or has not accomplished. Over the past two years. We Are just happy He still breathes.

You see, that man’s face. Inspires. More than his actions ever will. Why do you think the t-shirts were so popular? An entire generation of young men of color who see themselves validated on the court, field, or music video. But never in their schools, doctors offices, courtrooms, and most definatly not. The White House. Well, those men question their existence and ability more now than 3 years ago. Opportunity seems like a word that now applies to them. becuase of that man. becuase that man has a face like theirs. has a face like the 10.4%+ of black/african american men in our prisons. because they still make monkey comparisons of his wife. because his daughters wear their hair natural. because his existance questions the innate racism of the media. .

So you and I can have a discussion about health care, foreign policy, bail outs and social security. But my 5 year old can pick out a picture of Barack in heart beat. And name him. And my 3 year old, he says, “ 'Rockabama looks like my daddy”

So when you speak of disappointment I DON’T CARE. Would it have been nice if he had been a great savior? A great change? Yes it would have been nice. But I tell you, from the text of the Haggadah, DAYENU*! Had we voted and elected a black man to be president of a nation founded on racism. DAYENU! And it is.

The idealist in me is always looking for and creating change. So, would it have been nice if he had done more of that? Yes. But his face is sufficient. His skin color is enough to change a generation.


During election year my 4 year old son’s class had a mock election. They made a poster board and pasted pictures of the two presidential candidates on the board and let the kids vote for who they liked better. In a daycare in a part of Albuquerque once called “The War Zone”
(now known as the “international district” shout out to Reyna Luz Juarez) my sons class full of little multi-cultural, melting pot babies, voted overwhelmingly for a man who they could relate to. If he has that effect on 4 year old before he was president imagine the changes he makes every time he gives the state of the union address. Imagine when he has his pictures in text books, on book covers, place mates, dollar bills. He spoke of “hope” and “change” and while politically he hasn’t represented much of either his existence does.

So I tell you stop. Stop telling me how YOU are now disenfranchised because Barack didn’t SAVE this nation. Stop telling me about all the hours you gave to that campaign and how now YOU are disappointed. Because next time I’m going to tell you to go show Eli a picture of our President then my 5 year old can show YOU what “change” looks like.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dayenu

Marcelino Herrera Juarez

You

are named after the man

who raised our father

who's impact was so profound

that dad chose to give you his name

(and he thinks naming kids after people is stupid

ask him what he thinks of your nephews name)



you and i have not always had

the best

relationship

constantly striving for the spotlight

we both

were

are



approval doesn't come easy in this family

and it's a fist fight to recieve it

thats what happens when you're 1 of 8 children

and your parents are just proud

that you're alive



and we are so similar in personality

that the competition is only natural

i mean damn, man,

you tried to take my birthday!



recently i reveald that i never really

got

what you did

and with that said

i still couldn't be more proud of you



we all have dreams

but we're all not

lucky

or talanted

enough to fufill them

and you

have



people pay you to dance

people pay to see you do

what you love to do.

sit on that for a minute

man

they pay me

because i do

something tangible

becuase i produce documents

becuase i stand in a court room for them

they pay you

for the way

you make

them

feel



i couldn't be

more proud.



and for all it's worth

you are the

Bourgeoisie

reminder

of how far this family has come

of how far this

last name has come

your father

dropped out of school

and went to the army

during the Viet Nam War

at age 15

you

dropped

out of school at age 16

and became a professional

ballet

dancer

and i

could not

be

more

proud.

On Power and the Law

I am not fooled by the fact that i am a lawyer. that i am part of "the problem" i do not think that i am any better then any of my counterparts who practice law. (but i do believe that i am happier) i know that most days i am no better then the lawyer who stands across the aisle from me. we both have the same job, to wield the law like a lightsaber, to cause damage, to win.



but i do believe that in a society full of people who feel entitled to...everything, some of us still feel blessed when we walk into a law school, when we are...accepted. and if we have forgotten how lucky we are then we have someone there to remind us that we don't belong there. We don't belong there so when your grades are not as high as your counterparts, when you are dissapointed after a test, remember that you are blessed to just walk through those doors.



On September 27, 2010 i attended a TRO (temporary restraining order) extension hearing with new client. When we arrived we saw that one of the our case managers was there with a client of her own for a TRO extension hearing as well. We all sat together for about 20 minutes and chatted. At some point an elderly man came across the partition and approached the client of the case worker. He asked if he could speak to her, she agreed, and they walked a little ways away and sat down to speak.



Sitting in this semi circle were this elderly man, who turned out to be the opposing party's attorney, the client, the case manager and the court appointed interpreter. I leaned over and said to my client, "it always makes me nervous when lawyers want to speak to clients who don't have representation." I then continued to lightly eavesdrop on their conversation.



it started off ok. he asked her about the incident. said he wanted to hear "her side". He asked questions about the date, time, where the incident occured, who was there. I let this happen until i heard him ask if she was drinking the night the incident occured. she said no. he then asked her if it was true that she had a drinking problem. at that time i jumped up and walked over to them and told the client, in spanish, that the questions didn't matter and she didn't need to answer them. The lawyer got visbly upset, asked me if i spoke spanish, asked me if i told her not to answer those questions and if i had told her that it didn't matter, asked me who i was, and then asked if i was her lawyer. i answered him. I said yes i speak spanish, yes that's what i told her, told him i'm a lawyer, but no i wasn't her lawyer. he then stood up and yelled at me, yelled, in the lobby of the domestic violence division of the 2nd judicial district court house. (word to the wise, if you defend batterers its probably not wise to scream on your younger female (of color) opposing counsel) He said, "then you can get away from here!" I told him, "you know what sir, i'm not her lawyer, but i can be." I walked up to the front of the DV unit and entered my appearance, walked back to them and told him to get away from my client.

We entered the court room 10 minutes later. He asked for a dismissal of the TRO in place of the Temporary Domestic Order that would be entered in the Domestic Matters case he was going to file. I told the judge we were not interested. he made an argument that they were the same. I told him the reasons why they weren't. He then asked for a restraining order only until the divorce was finalized. I told the court we weren't interested. I told the commissioner we wanted an OFP (order for protection) for one year. He then made some arguments about how that was unneccessary and it should be limited. I told the court we weren't interested. We wanted an OFP for one year and if we couldn't come to an agreement we were prepared to have a full hearing. We argued back and forth for a few more minutes and then we got a stipulated order of protection for 1 year.

Afterwards i was so dissapointed in that other attorney. being a lawyer gives you power. you have access and knowledge that so many people don't. that esq. behind your name is a like a cape. you can make, or crush, peoples lives. don't be evil. don't get it twisted i'm not saying we're better then ANYONE else. everyones job is necessary. but ours, well, we effect everyone. everyone needs a lawyer at some point. so don't let people walk away with a bad taste in their mouth over you. don't be "that lawyer" like every other lawyer. don't get...entitled. don't ever feel like the world is yours, treat your last like your first.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErHT5cC5in8

always work hard. always prepare extra. never use your legal counterparts as a scale of how good, prepared, or empathetic you should be. set your own standards. be the lawyer you wish you had.

Borderlands/La Fronter page 68

She has this fear that she has no names that she
has many names that she doesn't know her names She has
this fear that she's an image that comes and goes
clearing and darkening the fear that she's the dreamwork
inside someone else's skull She has this fear that if
she takes off her clothes shoves her brain aside
peels off her skin that if she drains the blood
vessels strips the flesh from the bone flushes out
the marrow She has this fear that when she does
reach herself turns around to embrace herself a
lion's or witch's or serpent's head will turn around
swallow her and grin She has this fear that if she digs
into herself she won't find anyone that when she gets
"there" she won't find her notches on the trees the
birds will have eaten all the crumbs She has this fear
that she won't find the way back

Guatemala

There
On the cobblestone streets
In front of 16th century churches
I saw
A self constructed memory
Of indigenous ancestors
Pulling apart
Their most sacred temples
To create new ones

There in the Mercado
With the women
Yelling “Buena Ropa”
Selling 2nd hand merchandise
To first time buyers
I saw
A stream of
Bleached blonde
News anchors
Siempre estan tratando a ser algo
Que nunca puede ser
As they usher in
The future
Smiling
and waving
At the faceless
soon to be deseparecidos


There on a deserted beach
With black sand
Pacific waves crashing
And palm trees swaying
I saw how easy these waves
Ushered in
The first visitors
From the Far East
Long before
A Spanish word was mumbled in this place

As I stepped into side street
Tiendita
And see a girl
No older then 9
Selling cositas for tourists
I saw how easy
Third world
Becomes New World
Ordered
Into maquilas

I can not
Turn off
The colonizer/d
In me
And it is more prevalent
In a Spanish speaking place
Funny how a chicana
From seattle
Who didn’t learn Spanish until 20
Can feel at peace among
A people
She has next to nothing in common with

The only thing we do share

Is a colonizer

on my childhood, el centro de la raza, and re.membering

Sometimes I take my childhood for granted. When I was in college I got really upset with my classmates, often, but this one time in particular, for being lazy, for not dedicating themselves to the reading and really giving of themselves in discussion. For not wanting to create change within themselves. And I met with the professor of that class, Julie Helling, and she told me I shouldn’t be so upset, the problem was me, I expected too much from people.



I walked away pretty pissed off. I felt like it was her fault, she expected too little from them. We were getting a great opportunity, the lot of us, to even be in college and to be in the program we were in and they were wasting it!



And it’s only now after many years do I often sit back and realize my place of privilege. I was raised by a collection of people who were hard working, proud, fuertes, intellectuals, revolutionaries. And in a time when revolution was passé. I was born in 1983 and my elders were heavily involved in the Sandinista Revolucion in Nicaragua. This is where my name, Maria Esteli, comes from. Seattle’s sister city is Managua, Nicaragua and a group of young Chicanos took it upon themselves to create safe place for the people who were forced to flee. One of those men was a singer, Carlos Mejia Godoy, he wrote a song called Maria Esteli about the town of Esteli. The first town to declare is freedom from the Samoza dictatorship. But that is not why we’re here.



I was rasied Chicana, in every sense of the word. Raised to have a deep understanding of my familial history, my social history and the history of my people in this country. Raised to see injustice and fight against it. In law school they teach you “issue spotting” or “how to think like a lawyer” they didn’t know I’d been doing that since birth! I remember being no older then Eli and being on my father’s shoulders at a rally screaming “hell no, we won’t go” I wore a t shirt to school, in the second grade, on Columbus Day, the picture had Native’s on a shore looking towards 3 ships, it said, “Who discovered who in 1492?” One of my earliest memories is being in the house of my Nino’s, Boca and Tina, and looking up at a black and white poster of Emiliano Zapata, my favorite revolutionary (that should tell you something about my childhood, lol, I have a favorite revolutionary) and the one my youngest son is named after. I did a report about Diego Rivera in the 3rd grade, read Bless Me, Ultima at age 7, and my favorite movie as a child was Zoot Suit. I was raised…different.



With the passing of Roberto Maestas today I got the opportunity to speak to two of the other founders of El Centro; my father and Boca.

My father recounted the story of the take over for me. Walked me through the loss of ESL program at what is now South Seattle CC. My brothers mother, Nancy Gonzales as well as my other nino, Roberto Gallegos taught there. He told me about how they spent time trying to find a right location, how they organized the take over and how they spent months, in that building with no power, until they won. He told me there are pictures of him studying for the bar exam by candle light, told me about how my Abuela, La Santa Ramona Juarez de Padilla, would come and bring food, and how they would play hearts in the basement for hours. I try and imagine my grandmother much younger, and my father and Tio’s too. And then he told me how it changed. And how people’s ideas of what el centro should have been changed. And people stepped away. Then he told me how he had spoke to my nino, Roberto Gallegos, recently and how the both of them had a had a chance to speak to Maestas in the last few months.



When I spoke to Boca he reminded me that “asi es la vida” and while I have fear for the mortality of my elders it is the way it goes. We also spoke of remembering. Re-membering. I was raised to believe that those embraced by this society are ultimately of no help to us in trying to change this society. If they like you then you’re not doing enough. Maestas’ death brings about many memories. Memories of him, of his family, of those instances in our history. I think my father said it best, “it is selfish but it is that piece of me that he was that he takes that saddens me.” And I hope that in his re-membering we will get a clearer picture of the person he was.



I cannot lie. I am sad about the loss of history. I feel empathy for my familia that has lost someone so close to them. But I view him differently. I mean no disrespect but we all have different relationships with people. The people we can touch, the ones who are so close to us, the Boca’s, the Santiago’s, the Gallegos’, Dolores, they hold our history. And if we don’t ask them for it then the stories are lost to us. And the history they hold is lost to us if we don’t access it. If we don’t make them tell us their stories.



I also got to speak to Moe Maestas today, I called to offer my condolences. With that phone call I remembered something. I remembered what El Centro has become to this generation. That whatever people feel about their time there, what el centro is, was, or will become, it has brought people together. I went to law school in new mexico with a dude who spent time at el centro. And I didn’t even know that until today! I went to Guatemala on vacation and my host had worked there too. I became friends with Moe because of el centro. Countless friends of mine from college have passed through those doors and given of themselves there at el centro. And still do. El centro is a piece of our history and a piece of power we have in that rainy city. For those of us idealists of this generation, for those who struggle for something better for our children, that place has become a beacon, a gentle reminder that change is possible. That sometimes our demands get met. But like everything else it is our job to keep them good. It is our job to keep working towards something better.



So, it is days like today that I am reminded of my privilege. That I was raised special. That I was raised in a special place at a special time. To me ideas of justice, of change, of fighting for something better, those were not things I learned, they were instilled in me. As they will be in my children. Last week Eli wanted a toy and reminded his younger brother that since he, as the oldest, is the leader he should get the toy. And sweet Tony handed it over. I pulled Eli aside and reminded him that yes he is the leader but good leaders share with those who don’t have that power. And he gave the toy back to his hermanito. Someday my children will expect too much from people.

5 years

Read this one first.
http://yourchicanapresident.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-soldier.html

A 5 year reflection

Well, son,
Things didn’t turn out the way I planned

The things I had hoped you would learn
From Sammy and I
Patience and respect
Well,
You weren’t going to learn them
With us together

So, I took you and your brother
Out of that situation
Because the dreams I had for you

They were dying there

And here we stand

5 years from your birth

And you
Are amazing

You remind me of me
So much
So eager to learn
And to lead
So smart
And curious

And we have a new dad
He’s a good one
And you really love him
Remember this in 10 years
When he embarrasses you
In front of your friends

You admire him
And you should
He’s a good man
And a good example for you

And your dad and I
We try to feed your brain as much as we can
But I know we bore you sometimes
But we love you
And appreciate you so much

You give us a lot more then you’ll ever know

I had hopes when you were born
About war
And violence
And not much has changed m’ijo

The last combat troops were sent home from Iraq in August of 2010
But it seems like we’ll be sending them some where else soon

And I work
At a non profit
Helping victims of violence

So, the world could be better
But it could be so much worse

You have changed my life
For the past 5 years
I’ve continued to grow with you
And as this year for us comes to a close
I’m impressed by all we’ve accomplished

You and I
We’ve been through it all, Eli
You have been there
When so many have faltered
And I
Try not to love you too much for this
It hasn’t been easy for you either
But you son, are a trooper
And you are strong
Even when you shouldn’t have to be
And I’m sorry that you’ve had to be

And now when I see you
Vulnerable
Like today when you cried for your daddy in my arms
I still want to give you the world
Or at least what you’re asking for
Because you ask for so little

You are a great big brother
Te das tanto carino y amor a tus hermanitos
And no one can teach you that
You just do

I am a little more grown now
Then I was this time last year
I never thought I was too young when I had you
But now as we grow together I do see
That I had
And I have
Much more to learn
And thank you for helping me do it

And you son
You are so funny
You have a brilliant sense of humor
It’s probably because you are so smart
But your grasp of sarcasm is impressive for such a young child
And your ability to make the adults around you
Honestly laugh at jokes
Is amazing

I just wanted to say ”thank you
For choosing me
To come through unto life to be
A beautiful reflection of his grace
Because your love is one
Only God could create.”
I wouldn’t be the same without you
Here’s to 5 years and another 5 more.