As the mom of Blaxican daughters

 My oldest daughter is into martial arts.  She is good.  She's 11 and regularly the men at her gym complain that she hits too hard.  They joke about how "hard" she is and regularly like to remind the person at the other end of her hits that "she's only 11, image if she was our age!"  

I listen and laugh because well it is funny that they are kinda scared of her.  She is strong.  She is beautiful.  She is just amazing and yes she is only 11.  I listen and I also can't help to think about what her life will be when she is their age.  Will she continue with the martial arts?  If she keeps up her training she really is poised to enter the MMA ring and like be good not just get the crap kicked out of her.

But the possibilities of her MMA career really aren't today's point.  I see my child working hard, hitting hard, learning to speak up and I am 1 part proud and 2 parts extremely aware of how important those skills could be in her life.  Not because of a career but because of life.

She is a girl child who is Black and Mexican.  As I was talking to my husband the other night, I told him, "They joke but she has to be hard."  This 11-year-old child is part of 2 communities that are regularly under attack:  

1/4 of the country wants to deport her (just FYI she is a US citizen)

1/4 of the country wants to kill her for the color of her skin

1/4 of the country wants to abuse/use/sexually assault her because she has a vagina

1/4 of the country is just trying to survive too so fighting the other 3/4 of the country really isn't an option

My baby has to be hard because as much as this momma wants to protect her, I know ultimately she has to walk alone.  Sure I can pull her from MMA but that won't protect her from racism.  Sure I can keep her from facing the gauntlet for her BJJ belts and stripes but I can't stop the looks, leers, and comments about her body.  All I can do is be a soft place to land when she is hurt.  I have to be open to having discussions that break my heart.  I want to protect her but I can't live her life.  She has to be ready for the cruelty of the world.  She is Black and Mexican and has struggles I don't have any experience with but she does have a family that can see all of her wonderfulness.

So yes she leaves bruises.  Yes, she wants to submit all of her opponents.  And finally yes, she has all of my support in doing those things.  Today those skills equal a gold medal in a tournament, tomorrow it could mean saving her life.

Open Letter to Texas Sen Rafael "Ted" Cruz

 Dear Sen Cruz, 

I am writing you today to try and convince you to convict former President Trump.  I know that this will more than likely fall on deaf ears but if I don't try it will haunt me so here goes.

Sen Cruz, I know I am at the bottom of the list as one of your constituents.  I'm not ashamed to say that I voted for Beto instead of you in the last election.  But I voted and therefore I have a voice.  I don't have money or power, but I do have a voice!

I know you are focused on being President.  I know you are hoping to turn those Trump republicans into Cruz supporters but I'm going to be frank with you: it isn't going to happen.  You, Sen Cruz, are not White enough, are not extreme enough, and Trump has previously made fun of your family and you instead of standing up like a Texan licked his boots so you are not strong enough.  Those Trumpist will not back you.  You need to be the counter to people like Sen. Hawley.  A republican who stands on his own feet, on his own morals.

Sen. Cruz, I am a long time critic, I'm not going to deny it.  When you come up for re-election, I will do everything in my power to help whoever is running against you.  I pray that before this session of Congress is over you won't be my Senator but I also recognize that right now you have the power so here I am.

What exactly do I want from you?  A secret vote on to convict on impeachment to liberate everyone to vote their conscience.  Sen Cruz, I honestly believe you have a good moral center.  I'm told time and time again that I'm wrong but sir, I believe in your raising.  I believe that justice is more important than ego.  I believe that deep down you do too but that you are now painted in a corner.  If you publically come out against Trump, you will lose any chance at the Trump crowd and therefore the presidency.  I get it you have dreams and aspirations.  In this country, we believe if you work hard enough, anything you want can be yours.  That is why your dad immigrated, right?  I know that is why my parents left their home country.

Along with a secret vote, I want you to vote to convict Trump.  Do it because it is right.  Do it because it sets a precedent you can use on the Democrats later.  Do it because 5 people died on Jan 6th and they didn't have to die.  People were content to be heard on the mall at the rally.  It was then President Trump who encouraged them to go to Congress and attack.  Sir, please understand I believe in protesting.  It is our right as Americans but attacking public officials conducting the business of America is not protest, it is insurrection.  

As for you and your role, history will condemn you.  People like me will be working to replace you.  But until that time, you are my Senator and therefore I implore you to listen to me.  A secret vote and to vote to convict.  History has its eyes on you.  Choose wisely, your legacy, and the fate of our beloved country rests on your shoulders.

Signed, A Voter from Texas

A New Hope - The Trump Era is almost over

So it is just about 1 month after the 2020 US national election day. It took a few days after election day to finally call it for Biden/Harris. As of today 12/4, the current president, D. Trump, is still filing lawsuits and refusing to concede the election. The headlines since Nov 4th have made me feel everything from dispair, to hope, to joy, to confusing, and to question everything. 

Honestly guys, somedays I haven't been able to tell which way it up. Over all, I feel hopeful. Now this has a couple of parts: 

1 - the election of Biden/Harris 

2 - I've been listening to Obama's new memoir

3 - I've been staying off social media

So I'll start at number 3 and work my way up.

I've been staying off of social media.  So as you can see I haven't written any blog posts in a while.  Along with not blogging, I haven't been posting on Twitter or Facebook, or even Instagram as much.  I have done a pretty good job of cleaning my feed of negative people but of course, well-intentioned people post crap as well and their friends start responding and then I feel dragged in.  As a result, I have simply been stay off of it all.  I've been cross-stitching a lot.  I'm really busy with work too.  Oh, and since I work from home 3 days a week, I'm momming more which also keeps me off the computer.  It has been a good break.  I need to blog more.  I have so many feelings but I also like not being on the computer or tied to my phone.  

I've been listening to Obama's new memoir.  I listen to an audiobook on the way home from work.  I have a 2-hour commute so it is a nice escape while I drive.  I got former Prez Obama's book on it's release date.  It is close to 30 hours so I'm not very far in yet, with only 2 days on the road.  I will say this, listening to his voice is soothing.  Listening to life from his view reminds me of the hope and excitement of his election.  Every since I saw him address the 2004 Democratic Convention, he has had my attention.  At one in the book, since it is audio I'm not sure I would ever find a page to give you, but anyway, he talks about Michelle questioning his motives.  His answer to her had me in tears as I drove.  I was filled with so much hope or maybe the memory of young naive hope.  I got home and I was and still am reenergized to change the world.  I still have time to make a difference.  After four years of feeling defeated and like the bad guys always win, now I'm hopeful for the future.

The first move towards hope was listening to Biden and Harris at their victory speeches.  I looked directly at my husband and said, "The good guys won.  I can't believe it.  The good guys actually won."  Now don't take me to mean that I'm a Biden devote or that I think Harris has all the answers.  I believe there is a lot of work ahead and I pray they are up to the task of building a unified American.  But do hear me on this point, since the election of D. Trump, I've been scared.  I've seen/felt an escalation of explicit racism and harm towards anyone that is not White, Cisgendered, and Heterosexual.  I have written it about it before I am a very privileged person but I am also an oppressed person.  With that in mind, the
last 4 years have felt like the bad guy always wins.  No one has stopped Trump seemingly in any way, not Republican, not Democrat, not military, no one has stood up to him and survived.  It felt horrible.  It felt hopeless.  Even now, I can't believe how close the vote was this election cycle.  But y'all it felt like the good guys won.  It felt like all of the conversations worked and we got enough people out to vote and that vote meant change!  It's good.  It feels good.  Come on January 21, 2021!

Shame on you. No wait, shame on me.

If you haven't heard Michelle Obama's podcast then you need to do that, like now.  It is on Spotify.  Go listen.  It was this week's episode that sparked my blog.  Mrs. Obama and her guest Michele Norris put in words how I've been feeling since the whole COVID/BLM thing started.  I feel disillusioned.  I haven't completely lost faith in humanity but pretty close.  

It has made me feel crazy for months.  The constant contradictions:

• All Lives Matter but refuse to wear a mask
• Mexicans are evil but not you Martha you are okay
• Black people are thugs but not your husband Martha
• Oh, you are one of the good ones
• I don't like Trump's language but it's okay because he is a good Christian
• I know Trump doesn't go to church but he's a good Christian

It makes my head hurt but that isn't really the point here.  1 - Fuck Trump.  2 - Repeat #1

To that actual point, my disillusionment.  Me losing my faith in my fellow man.  Me unfriending family and friends because despite knowing me, they believe "being a good one" is protection.

I don't understand.  How can you know me and my husband and my children and still tell me "All Lives Matter."  How can you hear my stories about dealing with racism, my lived experience, and then tell me racism doesn't exist?  

In all that the honest truth, I'm mad at myself because I didn't see you for who you really are.  I'm mad at myself for believing you are a good person.  I'm mad that when you showed me your ass the first 40 times, I turned away and still believed in you.  I'm mad that I am 41-years-old and still wear rose-colored glasses.

There is a saying, "When people tell you who they are, believe them." I need to live that saying.  I always believe in the good in people.  I will see the shiniest best part of people.  I see their deep-down goodness.  I still believe it is there but I don't want to pretend that people will allow it to the surface anymore.  

I have often told my husband that you can't give people what they won't receive, whether that be love, respect, money, or whatever.  You can try really hard to be a good friend to someone but if they don't want your friendship then you can't be their friend.  As someone who refuses to speak to people, I know what I'm talking about.  I know there have been people who wanted to be my friend but I simply refused.  Basically, I need to listen to my own advice.  Just because I know someone is good deep in their heart doesn't mean they will dig deep and try to understand me or defend me.

I think that has been the hardest lesson.  Some people just suck.  It doesn't matter what their politics are, their skin color, or even their lived experience.  Some people just suck.  They can look you in your eyes and tell you that you matter and then do everything in their power to hurt you.  The worse part has been pointing it out and being told I'm crazy.  

I have had "friends" post horrible things about immigrants and how they should all be sent back.  When I point out that my parents are immigrants, well my parents are good immigrants.  They didn't mean my parents.  When there was talk about trying to send back all anchor babies or any children born to immigrants who were not citizens when the child was born, I pointed out that would apply to me.  My parents were here legally but were not citizens when I was born.  Oddly enough there were members of my own family who were in favor of this.  Their argument was that it would only affect children of illegal immigrants so we were safe.  If one isn't safe then none of us are safe!

Anyways, I'm rambling at this point.  I haven't lost all faith.  I still wear rose-colored glasses because I'm not me without them.  I have to believe in people.  It will probably be the death of me.  I'm going to trust the wrong person at some point.  I have told more than one person that I would have been Jeffery Dahmers' bestie asking him all about his boyfriends that never seem to last too long and would have been actually shocked when he was arrested. I'm just that person: too trusting and at this point just a little bit heartbroken.

Hey lady, check your privilege!

Post about Black Lives Matter written over on my other blog.

So I wrote a post over on Wheatless Mama about doing the work of becoming "woke" so this post is a little bit different. You know I don't post here too often. Actually, the things that really get under my skin tend to end up on Twitter as rants but anyways. Checking your privilege is like not easy. While I do know that I have many privileges in my life, it wasn't until I took the Buzzfeed Privilege Quiz that I even thought about some of my privileges so here goes.

 My privileges: 

 1 - I am cis-gendered. I was born and looked like a girl. I feel like a girl. I present as a "traditional" female. I have gone through my tom-boy phases but by and large, my tits and ass put me strongly in the female category. 

 2 - I am heterosexual. I am a female who is sexually attracted to men. No parts of me are into having a sexual or romantic relationship with a female. 

 3 - I have children. I procreated and therefore I am not harassed about my decisions in relation to my "womanhood" or fertility. It took me a long time to finally get pregnant with DD1; I was 30 when I had her. Then a miscarriage about 2 years later left me seemingly unable to have more children. I was constantly tortured about when would I have another baby while longing in my heart for another child and mourning in secret the I had lost. Then by some miracle, DD2 came along 7 years after DD1. I am so privileged. While people ask about me having a son, for the most part, they leave my uterus status alone now. 

4 - I am educated, like very highly educated.  As I have stated before, I hold several degrees: BA - History, MLIS - Library and Information Studies, MEd - Curriculum and Instruction, EdD - Educational Leadership.  So many doors are open for me because of my degrees.  My degrees mean that during all of this Covid stuff, I haven't missed a paycheck.

5 - I am fluent in English with only a Texas accent. My parents came to this country during a time when learning English and using it without an accent was paramount.  Over the phone, you cannot tell I'm Mexican or that English is actually my second language.  

6 - I have an "American" last name.  This goes hand in hand with #5.  My last name does not give away my ethnicity.  There have been a few studies that show people with foreign-sounding names get different opportunities from those with "American" or "White" names.  I actually use both of my last names professions because I do not appreciate people's reactions to a Brown face showing up when they were expecting a "Doctor."

7 - I have a job with a salary.  Like many people in higher education, I have a salary.  Now, most weeks, I work well over 40 hours but even if I don't hit 40, my paycheck is still the same.

8 - My parents are both alive, relatively healthy, and live with me.  I have 24/7 childcare.  My girls love my parents and they love having the girls all the time.  In fact, this partly the reason I commute almost 2 hours each way to work.  My parents don't want to move and my girls refuse to live without their grandparents.

9 - My look is a bit more racially ambiguous.  I feel that I look very Mexican, especially in the summer when I am quite brown but I have more than once been told I was lying about being Mexican.  I don't look Mexican, they say.  I think they think this is a compliment.  So it takes people a while to decipher my background which means I am usually treated as a tan White lady or pretty Indian lady.

10 - I have a working car.  I have had ex-friends leave the country for political reasons.  While I understand their reasons, it is 100% privilege.  A privilege that I to can indulge in.  More than once I have toyed with the idea of moving back to Mexico or going north to Canada.  This is something I can do because I can just hop in my car and go.  I am not dependent on public transportation.  I can get a wild hair and just go.  

11 - I do not have any visible or invisible disabilities and am quite healthy.  If you look at me I'm just normal.  I stand straight.  I walk on two feet.  I do not have any major health issues.  

These are just 11 off the top of my head, with the help of Buzzfeed.  Now I'm a 41-year-old Mexican woman married to a Black man raising biracial children in deep East Texas so I have a lot of issues that I deal with on a daily basis but y'all I'm so lucky.  Yes, I have a ton of student loan debt.  Yes, I am underpaid by comparison to most people with my level of education and experience but am fully employed at a job I love.  I live such a privileged life in comparison to so many people.  If I can make a list of my privileges and know I still have even more that I could list then you can too.  Privilege is real.  Many of the things I listed I didn't do anything to get.  Some of them are the result of a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. I survive and I fight.  I advocate and I try to be an ally.  I'm so far from the perfect BLM advocate or LGBTQIA ally but I am willing to say I have benefitted from being "normal" and I'm going to use that privilege for good.

Why do you always talk about race?

So I follow a great writer who goes by Ally Henny.  If you follow "The W American" facebook page, I often repost her daily insights.  She has a great way of condensing down the massive topic that is race relations in America to a quick but powerful read.  If you don't follow her work and you believe in progress then go find her.

In recent months, my DH has also started a new project: Tattooed With Children.  He, Flava Ray, and his blood brother, The Dred Pirate Benjamin, have been friends for about 9 years and are just able to have conversations that most interracial friendships can't withstand.  They are a great listen but I often find myself arguing with them.  While my husband is willing to talk about race relations, he always seems to pull back on the topic.  That being said, in their last episode: Patterns, DPB mentioned that people had mentioned to him that they FR and DPB spend way too much time identifying people as Black or White.  I saw red and flushed with anger.

Poor Flava Ray has been hearing my thoughts on this one little phrase for hours.  Now, I understand that FR isn't pulling back on race talk.  However, I needed to talk it out and since he is who I have easy access to well he gets the ear full.

My first inquiry/assumption was Who is saying you spend too much time on identifying people?  Are they White?  I ask this for a couple of reasons, Wight (as Ally Henry spells it) people are quick to shut down conversations about race.  If we don't talk about it then it is obviously not a problem.  You can't help to talk about problems ergo if we can avoid the topic of race then race isn't an issue.  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?  Just because it isn't a "problem" for you doesn't mean that it is not a problem or issue that others face.

Flava informed me that the majority of listeners are European.  Dude I went off.  Fucking We Don't have Racism here that is an American problem Europeans!   Once upon a time, a former friend told me all about her English cousins' favorite pastime, Paki Bashing.  In this game, you drive around with a bat and beat the shit out of any Pakistani person you come across.  Maybe 15 years ago, France was closing the immigration route for people from Angola because they were taking French jobs.  Do we need to talk about the Germans?  The final solution?  But of course, Europeans aren't racists.

My second inquiry/assumption: Why are you trying to change anything about your podcast unless you think it needs to change?  Now Flava did set me straight.  They were having a conversation not making changes and conversations are just that.

I saw red for many reasons but the top one is that I'm tired of the conversations being shut down.  I understand that one of the privileges of being Wight is not having to think about race much.  In the United States of America, the standard is White.  Flesh-colored anything means peachy/beige.  Unless you put "Black" or "Ethnic" Google search results for haircuts, skin rashes, and so many other things pull up images of White people.  There isn't any extra effort involved.  White just is.

I am a Mexican woman, married to a Black man, and raising 2 beautiful Blaxican daughters.  When my oldest breaks out in a new skin rash and I want to try to confirm what that rash might be, I have to work to find an image of a rash on darker-toned skin.  I know when buying nude colored pantyhose that the bitches are going to give me beige legs rather than highlight my beautiful brown legs.  I know that unless I tell people my husband is black or they see him with me, people will assume they can talk shit about Black people.

Unless a person of color opens a door to discussion, the standard of White is the standard.  Why make band-aids in darker colors, they will protect the same, right?  We need Hello Kitty and Disney du-jour but a professional person of color needing to cover a wound can just use a highly visible "flesh-colored" bandage.  Maybe I don't want to explain that I got my flu shot or cut myself shaving but shit I have an exclamation mark on me so of course people are going to ask.

Look, dear Wight people, race is not a dead issue.  If the conversation makes you uncomfortable, then ask yourself why you are uncomfortable?  Dig deep.  Dude, I still struggle.  I'm still evolving in my own thought and feelings on the topic.  I catch myself making assumptions and have to stop and go, is that true? is that prejudice?  Did that thought just jump out of my thoughts?  I thought I was better than that.  Guess what I'm not.  I progressing but am far from perfect.  As Ally says, "progress not perfection" is what we are striving for.  Let's talk.  Let's roll in the shit storm and then hug it out.

Brown professionals working in a White standard

"She has to work twice as hard as others to meet the standards of the dominant culture which, have, in part, become her standards." - Gloria Anzaldua  Borderlands pg. 71

I started this post a few weeks back and just had not come back until today.  Why today?  Today, we got official word that SACSCOC is pulling Bennett College's accreditation and essential putting the dead nail in her coffin.  Who is Bennett College?  They are one of the few single-sex colleges created to educate Black women. 

So who cares?  Well I do.  I attended Hollins University an all-women's university.  My husband attended Howard University, the HBCU.  I work at Wiley College, which is a HBCU.  Between undergrad and grad school, I have spent 12 years in institutions of higher education as a student and I had 1 Hispanic professor.  ONE! 

Again, so?  Well a recent survey of recent college graduate conducted by STRADA tells us that college students want mentoring by their professors.  Those who were mentored where more likely to finish/graduate and go on to graduate school/work.  Students thrive on relationships with faculty and guess who the faculty are?  The majority are White, middle to upper class men.  While I did have a White Middle-Class Male professor to mentor me as an undergrad, I also attended a small private college.  I was not completing with many other people.  I was a History major at college with a strong department.  Even with that, my dreams were to be a public school teacher.  I didn't really think I could do more.  Just finishing my BA was going to be a huge achievement.  I couldn't dream bigger.

What if I had had that 1 Hispanic professor during my undergraduate days instead of in my 2nd year of doctoral work?   Meeting him, having him as a professor, was the 1st time I realized I wasn't so alone in my pursuit of a doctorate.  REPRESENTATION MATTERS!  Would he have changed my path?  Doubtful but maybe I wouldn't have been so afraid all of the time. I saw people of color cleaning the colleges and universities I attended, they did not teach or run them.  I saw limits not opportunities.  Having Dr. SME was the 1st time I saw a limit shattered.  He had crossed a line and survived.  I did not know we could do that.

Okay back to the title, I am a Brown profesional woman and thankful for the moment I am working at a college that is majority colored people.  But I haven't always worked in that kind of an environment and even now I worry if I am living up to the standard of professionalism before me.  Are those standards self-imposed or are they in reaction to the standard of "White" colleges and we just trying to keep up?   We are told to dress the part so that our students know how to dress when they are out there.  We know that out there means the Standard White American World.  I don't just wake up and dress in my starched white collared button up and black slacks and head in.  No, I need to do my hair and now I have an added make-up routine.  With this comes the question of what is professional hair and make-up?

See if you grew-up watching Mexican Telenovelas, like I did, you know curly headed women are crazy.  (This is a different topic to go into so just roll with me for the moment.)  So until I started here at Wiley, I straightened my hair daily.  I had to look like the professionals I had seen on TV and even on standard American television, the standard for professional female hair is straight. 

The make-up is a horrible thing to tolerate.  I don't like wearing any.  I feel like it is a mask.  But if you read blogs and articles about professional female dress, they all say foundation, lipstick, and mascara are the minimum.  On a good day (around here that is Tuesday - Chapel Day), I wear black eye-liner and red lipstick.  I can't stand foundation and I rub my eye so much that mascara and I don't mix.  But who set this make-up standard?  I am beautiful without the crap and I am still under pressure to wear it. 

Until the majority of the professionals we see are representative of our nation's actual make-up then I argue those of us who are professionals of color are just trying to catch the bus by "looking" as white as we can.  The standard in this country is White.  My look is measured by how close to pulling off Ivanka Trump's look I can get.  If I was in Mexico, I know I would still have to live up to some standard but maybe it would feel less oppressive if the standard was a little darker like me and had natural curls and waves that they would let fly every once in a while.

This picture is from the day I interviewed with Wiley.  Note the straight hair and lipstick.  Now a days I sport crazy waves and curly on the days my hair works with me.

Running and Reflecting

Trigger Warning: Rape, Rape Culture

I tend to scroll my Facebook feed to give myself a mental break and I'm usually just scrolling looking for interesting news items and good things happening for my friends.  Today as I quickly scrolled past a posting and then backtracked a moment and then burst into tears right at my desk.  I'll post the drawing itself at the bottom of this post so you can see it or avoid it if you think it will trigger you.

Like a said I was crying at my desk and it was 15 minutes until my lunch.  I couldn't help it.  I finally got myself under control and then it was lunch time.  I usually run/walk during my lunch break so I headed out ready to move and the post came back to mind.  I was running and crying and trying to figure out why.

The post/drawing is about rape.  That in and of itself is sad and traumatic.  But the post eludes to babies being raped.  Even now, I'm on the verge of tears.  The hurt, the horrible things that people do to the smallest and most vulnerable.  It makes me feel powerless.  How do you protect babies from the people who are supposed to protect them.

So why was I crying?  Maybe for my girls who I know I can't fully protect and that more than likely at least one of them will have to fight and protect herself from an attempt or deal with the fallout of being raped.  Maybe for the women that are silent even now, maybe silent even more so now because the fallout of telling is more traumatic than the rape/assault itself.  Maybe for myself and my #metoo moments.  I ran and I cried and I fumed.

What can we do?  We women can learn self-defense.  I am supposed to teach my daughters to fight back and dress right and on and on but there isn't a movement to teach people not to rape.  The fault lies in the woman.  She was asking for it.  She didn't protect herself.  What about the ones, the little ones, the disabled ones, that can't talk, defend, fight off?  If you don't/can't say no then free-for-all? 

Are we supposed to reward the men that do the right thing?  Are they being congratulated for being men or do other men look down on them for not finishing the job?  I am reminded of a time I did all the wrong things.  I was at the club alone, I walked out of the club alone, I had flirted with a dude I had zero intention of ever going home with, I'm sure I was dressed in some version of sexy.  All the wrong things and nearly paid for it.  The guy followed me to my car.  I was half a block from the club.  I was on the street in clear view of everyone and he followed me to my car and then I did the exact wrong thing, I opened the car door and all he had to was push me in.  He instead pulled me out of my car.  He saw the fear in my eyes and suddenly let go and left.  I see how close to disaster I was only years and years later.  What if anything does he remember?  Should I congratulate him for not raping me when he had the chance?  Hey dude, you saw me as a human, thank you!  Does he wish he had pushed instead of pulled?  Does he have shame for not finishing equal to my shame in having done all of the wrong things?  Rape . . .

Between the World and Me

Today, I finally started listening to Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates.  I obtained the unabridged version read by the author.  I'm going to be honest; I have been avoiding it.  I work at a HBCU and this book is the chosen Freshman reader so I need to read it.  I was avoiding it because after reading the summary, I knew there would be new truths about life in American I could not escape.  Coates did not disappoint.

I am about half-way thru Disc 1.  I've already dried many tears.  I have already begun to internalize and re-evaluate some past life experiences, reconcile the new information with the experiences shared with me by my husband, and project forward for life for my own biracial children.  I wonder if I am strong enough to raise strong Black women who can survive not only being Mexican in American but Black as well.  If my experiences are of otherness then theirs even more so.  I can turn to the words of Gloria Anzaldua for comfort; who do they have?

Not only do I worry about my girls but I think back on the past 17 years of marriage with my husband; share life experiences that of course root in our lives before each other.  Coates provides visuals that are real and graphic that mirror those experiences my husband has shared with me.  However, Coates does not know me so he is not holding back the bed stuff.  I know my husband is.  I know he knows I can only handle so much of his pain as a Black man in American so he shares selectively. 

As Coates is based in Baltimore and my dissertation research had me in Baltimore, I am realizing that my husband was ready to move to Baltimore when John Hopkins came calling but he knew I was not.  He was raising to survive on the streets and I was raised to survive on a rancho.  I am already ready to lend a hand, trust anyone who approaches me, I was not raised to protect myself at all times.  I would not have survived.  Even now, I am probably not ready for the big city.  I'm a small town girl without an every present coating of protection.  I say I want to move to Houston but would I really ever be okay with that move?  I don't know.  For now, I'll continue with Coates and try to listen for lessons that I can use to help my daughters.

Negative Comments

So I decided to spend a few bucks on ads on Facebook for the Pain in our DNA post and not surprising, I got some negative feedback.  2 people took the time to leave some feedback on the Facebook page.  DH told me to engage them with some negative feedback of my own but that really isn't the point of this blog.  I'm tired of being negative.  I want dialog.  The comments, "BS" and "Violence is the primary tool of the incompetent" are not asking for dialog.  They are trying to tell me I'm wrong period. 

I'm sure you guessed those were left by White men.  No research to back up their views.  The guy with the "BS" comment didn't leave more information as to which part of my argument is BS.  The lack of credible evidence?  The general idea that we can write on our DNA?  The idea that a brown woman can be educated?  There are so many points to call bullshit on, he didn't leave me more information.  According to DH the other comment is actually a miss quote. 

This really just made me turn and lean into my Brene Brown reading.  Those people don't count.  They are not in the arena taking punches while expressing their views and laying their heart on the line.  They punched at me and ran.  They decided they had the privilege of yelling at me and running and more than that, I deserved to be punched and yelled at because I expressed something different from their views.

I am privileged.  I am educated.  I have access to resources and studies, as well as the skill, to find hard science to back up what I am saying.  I have an extra $10 to buy my domain.  I have enough skill on the internet to write and publish my musings.  I know this is privilege.  I am also highly educated.  I am part of the 2% of Americans with a doctorate.  So yes, it actually is Dr. Wetback American.

More than any of that, I come from a background that means I have pushed and pulled myself out of poverty.  I am married to an amazing Black man and that gives me access to yet another group of people.  I have access and privilege but I don't have the level of privilege as most White men.  I can and will continue to express my experiences, views, and most importantly my fears.  Why my fears?  Because Dr. Wetback American lives surrounded by danger and at the end point of hate.  Why?  I was born brown in American and then had the audacity to reach for the American dream.

I have been held back from my father at the US/Mexico border.  I have lived terrified of the "Migra."  I have watched as back-up was called on my husband because we were lost in the wrong part of town.  We have been questioned and asked to prove we own an iMac by the police. 

You want to call Bullshit?  Okay, let's talk.  Don't believe White privilege exists?  Okay, let's talk.  You are a wonderful color-blind White person?  Okay, let's talk. 

I'm not saying I'm right.  What I am saying is let's talk.  I have lived experiences that you haven't.  I want to hear your experiences.  I want to remove the shame of past experiences and promote healing.  I want to engage in dialog in the arena. 

Do we exist?

I feel like life has been slowly radicalizing me.  I started my doctoral work refusing to work on "Latinx" subjects because I didn't want to be pigeonholed as a Mexican researcher who only studies Latinx people and yet here I am refocused and refocusing my work on Latinx subjects because I was handed Borderlands by Gloria Anzaldua.  It wasn't until I was literally crying from suddenly feeling connected to something in my class at such a deep level that I realized I hadn't connected to any research that way.  I read research and researchers and connected but on the surface.  I can understand where they are coming from but they didn't make me feel naked and raw.  No one was "Killing me softly with" their words until Gloria.

I'm going to be honest, I haven't finished Borderlands yet.  I stop and read it in chunks but she reveals me so much that I can't stand the pain of reading of her words at times.  My dad just had major surgery to remove cancer from his body.  After 5 days in the hospital, he is home but I'm still on edge waiting to have to rush him back.  So today I turned to Gloria to help me find focus and a bit of self.  She knows me.  Here were today's words,

     When I saw poetry written in Tex-Mex for the firs time, a feeling of pure joy flashed through
      me.  I felt like we really existed as a people. (p. 82)

That is why I'm refocusing my work.  Because I felt that when I read her words for the first time.  My struggle was not unique and solitary but a way to connect.  Others had walked this path!  I want to make sure that other Latinx people find Gloria and others like her.  We aren't alone.  We exist. 

Tear gas and diapers

So if you've been following the news at all, Trump's newest sin is allowing troops to use tear gas on caravan of immigrants at the US/Mexico border.  There are images of babies/toddlers in diapers running or being held as people run from the gas.  Tell me how that will be internalized by those children?  What do I say to my 8-year-old who sees those images and sees one of those babies that looks just like her baby sister?  Does my almost 2 year old deserve to be tear gassed?

It makes me mad.  I makes me sad.  I feel helpless.  I honestly don't have any idea what to do to actually help.

I understand the people who are trying to cross into the US are not Mexican but from further south in Central American.  They are seeking asylum status.  They have walked the miles with their possessions and small children on their backs.  From what I've heard from other Central Americans who have made the journey, Mexico and Mexicans aren't exactly welcoming nor nice and helpful as they journey north.  They suffer trauma in their homeland.  They suffer trauma on their journey.  They suffer trauma trying to reach their goal. 

We are told that we have to be objective.  We don't need their kind here.  We have x people out of work.  Those people will steal jobs from "Americans."  Those people are numbers not actual people.  They are objects.  I can't see them as objects.  Those people have suffered and are doing exactly what most of the people who make "America" have done - pulled themselves up and are ready to work hard to make a home here. 

I see reflections of my own family.  There but for the grace of God go I.  If my parents had been born further south.  If my parents hadn't gotten their citizenship when they did.  So many wonderful turns of fortune have me here today.  Why is my 2 year old worth more than their 2 year old?  Just because my baby was born here across a political border to parents who were also born on the correct side of the imaginary line.  That imaginary line . . . 

Writing pain into our DNA

So as a degreed researcher, I do try to find actual research to backup my random rants.  The evidence as to trauma changing our DNA is still a little hazy at this point so take this rant for what it is, a rant.

Ever since I heard about the concept of trauma changing our actual genetic makeup, my mind has been obsessed with it.  Hearing John Leguizamo list atrocity after atrocity that the "White" people rained down on the peoples of the Americans, the original Latinos/Indians/American, I felt like I understood "Ghetto Rage" better and that in fact I am entitled to feel Ghetto Rage.

Okay so I just threw out a lot of stuff in that last paragraph so I'll break it down just a bit and hopefully stay somewhat on topic.  According to John Leguizamo, ghetto rage is the internal rage we Latinx people feel after surviving countless microaggressions while being invisible and unable to express ourselves.  The message we have gotten our entire Latinx-American lives is clear: YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!

The list of atrocities: the list is long and sad and overwhelming and horrible.  While before John's special I didn't know the specifics, as he laid them out I could feel them in my bones.  It was an odd sensation.  If you haven't seen the special, go do it.  Seriously, it is well worth your time.  Latinx people come from a people of survival against the odds.  Our land was stolen, our people were decimated, and even today we are unwanted but yet we resist, persist, and every once in a while, succeed.

It seems that 100s of years of trauma in our DNA made us fighters.  Who do we fight?  Well I think that is up for debate.  Sometimes ourselves, each other, "the man,"the White man, the other colored people, hell sometimes we just fight shadows.  When all you know is a punch, before you do anything you punch.  Your bones know what to do to survive.

Is it in our DNA, in our bones?  Did my grandmother's move from middle Mexico to the Mexican border change my DNA?  Did her trauma of burying 8 children, rewrite my own approach to motherhood at a genetic level?  What about the trauma of the rape of our ancient people?  Did watching and living the destruction of our civilization at the hands of a Spaniard fundamentally write something in our genetic code?

Each year, Nacogdoches hosts a Day of Dead festival.  For the last 3 years, we have watched the Aztec dancers.  The first year, Gymgirl saw them, she told us she felt their dance in her soul.  In that moment I believe she connected to an ancient self.  A little Aztec girl watching her family dance for the gods.

Internal rage and pain in my DNA

I just watched John Leguizamo's Latin History for Morons.  Watch it.  The language is rough and the talk is raw but the display of rage and how it got into our Latinx DNA is worth the journey.

He is far from boring and the books he pulls from are soon to be delivered to my door.  As this blog evolves and content grows, I think that special will come back again and again. 

I need to learn my people's History in order to have more than just a family tree on Ancestry to pass on to my girls.  I need to explore the trauma in my DNA.  Give a voice, remember it, and try to resolve and work my way through it.

Why bother to speak to the "Trumpeters"?

So I know a lot of people have just unfriended people who love Trump.  For the most part I don't engage them.  I mean really what is the point you can't change their mind.  You approach them but they are on the defensive because they know you don't agree with them.

I've seen people post things to the effect of, "Wrong is wrong so don't bother."  Honestly I've seen it from all sides and I just can't give up hope that maybe we can talk to each instead of yell.

With that in mind, I engaged a friend from my MEd days.  She is from a very rural area of Virginia.  She is super sweet and loving.  She posted about birthright citizenship.  Some meme that she had found about how it was decided 120 year ago or something like that.  So I engaged her.  I asked her why she found me so offensive and why she would want me to leave the country?

Her response was typical - Not you, just the bad people.  The ones that just want to live off the system. 

Instead of attacking, I decided to leave at, "I just want you to remember that the policies you advocate and support would hurt my family."

I just wanted to put a human face to her policy.  Remind her that there are real people who are going to be affected by her advocacy of trying to redefine birthright citizenship.  Did it do any good?  She didn't respond again.  I hope she thought about what she was advocating.  It is easy to toss out numbers and objectify people.  In fact I would argue objectifying people is essential when you want to strip a person's rights. 

I am not a number.  I am not a statistic.  In fact, for me to be where I am today makes me a unicorn and statistical anomaly.  With my start in life I should be at home barefoot and pregnant.  I'm not.  You don't get to use me as a number as a stat.  If you want to strip me of my rights, you have to look me in the face and tell me why.

    

A New Era of Boldness

I started the Wetback American as a place to for me to vent about race and politics back in 2011 during the height of the Affordable Healthcare Act fight.  Once that was over, I felt better about the world in general so never posted here.  Then I got a job that really required me to keep my mouth shut on social media so I never posted even after Trump was elected.  Now, I have job that allows me the freedom to be me and the political climate is such that I need to vent and express myself.

So why the "Wetback American"?  I picked this title because that is how I felt and feel.  People impressed with my degrees still feel they have the right to treat me like I'm a parasite because of my 1st-gen American status.  I'm an American but sort of conditionally.  At the moment there is talk of stripping birthright citizenship from children of illegal immigrants.  In that way, I'm safe.  My parents had papers when I was born!  But how long before the talk turns to strip people like me?  Do you honestly think a Neo-Nazi or White Supremacist is going to care about my parents legal status or mine for that matter if they get a chance to harass and/or hurt me, they are now "safe" to do so.  The national conversation says, "Question the brown people.  All of the brown people.  They are stealing from us.  All of the brown people are bad."

I am writing within this blog because there are many people out there who don't know my story and stories like mine.  They push and advocate agendas mindlessly without thinking about the people those policies seek to hurt.

I had been keeping my mouth shut; hoping this wave would pass me and my family.  I was wrong to do so.  That quote from James Baldwin is why I'm writing and speaking up now.  My silence makes be a part of the problem and adds power to the oppressor, fuck that!  If you want to know my story, my fears, my thoughts on what the climate of the world is then you'll find that here.  If you want fluff and stories about my girls, roller derby, running, or gluten-free life then read that over at my other blog: www.wheatlessmama.com  It will not hurt my feelings if you choose to ignore my pain.  I just can't keep swallowing it and then wondering why things don't get better.  I may not change a single mind but mine will be more at peace and that can change the world.

New Blog

Okay so I have started a new blog.  This blog is more rough and political than my other blog (http://www.wheatlessmama.com/).  Sometimes I just need to talk about things that don't have anything to do with being a mom, being wheatfree, or being crunchy.  Sometimes I need to vent on things like politics and race or whatever so here we go . . . the Wetback American.