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.