one voice in the revolution

What happens when you've grown up in the company of individuals who freely exchanged racist jokes without any recognition that you might be personally hurt, fundamentally offended by their "humor" at the expense of "people like you"? What does it mean to have been taught to check Hispanic/Latinx on every form you've ever filled out but to have never had to worry about racial profiling?

What is the role of someone now who is very privileged but also not of utmost whitecismale privilege?

I've spent a lifetime coming to terms with the nuances of my identity and my belonging; embracing "who I am" to myself and to the world (thus I will never change my last name, but that's a story for another day). And somewhere around thirty, a sweet, knowing acceptance seeped in. Hallelujah! Yet the hard work very much continues. Because I was born into an obscenely unjust world, with racist systems and dark histories and normalized oppression.

We all were.

I cannot speak to what it feels to be white right now because I am not U.S.-white; though I have regularly been mistaken for being so, and have definitely benefitted from those assumptions (see: white privilege). Nonetheless, those of us who are not-Black need to take on the uncomfortable tasks in this moment of deep pain, trauma, and loss that's been compounded by centuries of more of the same.

We must use our collective power to transform this broken world of ours. Tu lucha es mi lucha. Below, a few actionable ideas from the U.S. I welcome your ideas, too.

• Protest this weekend! If you're able-bodied, and are able to safely assemble where you are, please get out there, know your rights, and march/rally/kneel/lie down/cheer in solidarity. Search a local blog or news site to find a protest near you.
• Can't protest? 26 Ways to Struggle Beyond the Streets.
• Acknowledge your racist biases, and then, unlearn them. It's on you to do so.
• A fellow accomplice (met on the yoga retreat pictured above) invited me to join a book group. How to Be an Anti-Racist is up first. Want more? Some recommendations by HTRAAR author and scholar, Ibram X. Kendi.
• Watch (or re-watch) Ava Duvernay's 13th and so many other films that tell untold Black stories and provide a broader context to the rage we should all feel.
• Listen to Black voices generously ushering us forward. Some of my favorites as of late: Scene on Radio's Seeing White, NPR's Code Switch, WNYC's Come Through with Rebecca Carroll, The Ringer's Higher Learning with Van Lathan and Rachel Lindsay, and Good Ancestor Podcast with Layla Saad.
• Have tough conversations. A resource for speaking with elders. A resource for speaking with kids; and another, for kids, because futures depend on their understanding. A resource for speaking with colleagues. A resource for "casual" racism. And a starting point-resource for all those least willing to engage.
• Donate effectively. Some places doing good work, and some more, on behalf of Black Americans. Supporting mental healthcare is beyond essential; and the Southern Poverty Law Center is always a good idea.
• Also, pay special attention to support Black artists and creatives and farmers and restaurants and makers and small business-owners. As we know, BIPOC communities have been disproportionally impacted by the Coronavirus pandemic, well before this most recent assortment of murders.
• Vote. Vote. Vote for local officials that promote racial justice and ensure all citizens are registered to do so.
• Rest and restore. We are, culturally, in the eye of the tornado. Our lives have slowed down to the point that society's most horrific ills can no longer be ignored by those of us not directly experiencing them. This perfect storm has seemed to have activated more people than ever before to bring transformational change to life. Take care of yourself, still. He couldn't breathe. You can. Find a restorative practice so you're best able to "keep your foot on the gas." (For me, that’s been yoga with aforementioned retreat instructor). We're in this for the long haul. Sending love.

the other side of the border

"You should write this down," he said, "your thoughts, your observations, this seems like the kind of thing you'll want to be able to remember."

Last week, I came back to San Francisco from... San Francisco. I'd spent six days in my dad's Mexican hometown. It was not, as so many assumed, "fun". But it wasn't not fun. Instead, as another friend told me after listening to my recap, "it sounded so beautiful, and so special that you can connect with that side of you, and it's so close generationally, still." Yes, exactly. It felt like that.

My brother and sister hadn't been there in ~22 years. They hadn't known what to expect. They haven't pursued post-grad studies and application of Spanish in my same way. I might assume then that the experience we shared might be more poignant to them. For all intensive purposes, they saw and heard, for the "first time", the world my dad was born into. They had more questions. While he re-embraced his original norms, they observed (more often than not) with reverent curiosity. I imagine there was distinct magic to it.

Even still, I'd consider myself distinctly privileged to have some familiarity, recalling my last visit and remnants of the nearly annual childhood trips. El rancho always feels far "from home", but it's not quite as foreign to my heart. I was able to recognize their experiences and that of my father, and dare I presume, appreciate both.

What was new, this time around, was my full-circle understanding of the following truths:

• My dad grew up rich; if we consider rich surrounded by extended family, nourishing locally-sourced food, clean and clear skies, respect for hard work matched with active leisure (read: soccer) and convivial rest.
• My dad accepted the fact that he loved his home but wouldn't find the opportunities for financial success that he desired.
• So my dad left; he haphazardly entered the cruel American grind with a weak grasp of English and the kindness of a few friends/family who'd arrived before him, and he figured that sh** out. I imagine some days, and weeks, and months were harder than others--they had to have been--but he did it. He worked multiple jobs and went to school at night and fell in love with mother and started a family and then his own business. He achieved the American dream. He said so out loud last week, while visiting his parents (who live on the same property where he and his eight siblings were born, by the way, but now with two new houses and a multitude of modern amenities) with his three college-educated children, two of whom also have master's degrees. What's even more amazing, if such a concept is at all possible, is how he built this life with as much generosity of spirit and faith in humanity as he continues to possess. My mom sometimes call it naïveté. My father is certainly a flawed man, as any one of us are, but my gosh how I aspire to embody and pass on such wholeness.

close to home

I grew up around kids. My mom watched all ages: 3 months, 10 years. My brother, sister, and I learned how to change a diaper, make a bottle, keep an eye on and entertain. We helped, though not always happily. We often didn't have access to our bedrooms until so-and-so got up from his or her nap. So, we'd keep an ear out for crying. We came to understand what it stood for--whining, frustration, discomfort.

The cries I heard on this recording were different.

At this point, I expect you're well aware of the crisis taking place at the U.S.-Mexico border. You know that last month: 2,000+ children were taken from their parents, that every person to cross the border without legal documentation was prosecuted as a criminal, that AG Jeff Sessions tried to use the Bible to defend the zero-tolerance policy, and that President Trump signed an executive order to discontinue family separation, an act that was put in place with his blessing. Hopefully they'll make their deadline? And still, one can only imagine the pain and suffering that continues through trauma.

Decades after my grandfather ventured to Central California with the Bracero Program, my dad crossed that same border for that same economic opportunity. He stayed longer though. He sent money home, supported siblings as they, too, came over. Years later, once my dad had met my mom, after my siblings and I came to be, my dad became an American citizen.

It's no wonder this feels personal, and yet... nobody risks their own life, let alone that of their child, unless they have to; unless doing so feels like the only viable option for safety. If they make it, their family might come to know the opportunity that comes after. Maybe.

Who do we think we are to dehumanize fellow human beings by labeling them illegal? A descriptor of an action, by the way, not an existence. Do we not share the same value, the same entitlement to human rights? Dignity, let alone decency? This administration appears not to think so. How quickly we forget our origins.

I am the child of an immigrant. My father achieved "the American Dream." This has afforded me the privilege to move across borders and oceans without any apprehension a.k.a. the entire premise of this silly blog. The magnitude of these truths are enough to paralyze me with guilt sometimes. I'm trying my best to do more. I hope you are, too.

P.S. For some levity whilst giving a damn.

about charlottesville

I remember how it felt, at the age of 9, to learn racism still existed—to "realize" that to be Mexican meant something, and it wasn't good, not here. I was stunned, shaken into a shame that took years to release; and from which many an admissions essay was inspired.

Since then I've become more critical of my privilege that existed throughout and the guilt that followed. I may have grown up in a bigoted country (albeit quietly), but I wouldn't argue individually-targeted oppression. I've been very fortunate; my parents' hard work and sacrifice literally paid off. And all the while, systemic inequalities continue to persist. To have felt ostracized and to have unabashedly been marginalized is an entire spectrum of nuanced experience. Valid, real, true. Bless this fractured America of ours.

Neither hate nor violence is new to this world, and yet... the events that took place in Charlottesville were viscerally sickening; as is the lack of poignant and morally sound leadership. Hearing about Barcelona and seeing Detroit this past weekend (however imperfect a film) further emphasized my disillusionment. I can't imagine a more necessary time to be reading Rebecca's Solnit's Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities. Nor to stumble across a horoscope such as this one: "It’s easy to take on the imagined weight of this whole world, more and more, until you can hardly stand underneath it. Don’t imagine away your own power, this week. Don’t imagine away the strength you have to keep moving, to keep living, to make the changes on the ground that matter." What does that look like you, too, might have asked yourself. It's not too late:

Get informed about what exactly happened in Charlottesville. Understand the why. Sit with your discomfort while doing so.

Make a donation to organizations that are making a difference now. Regularly fight passivity as well as hate.

Show up, because... yes, there are still points to protesting.

Do not stop paying attention, please.

These days, it’s especially important to have a great source of news and push yourself outside your bubble. Two podcasts we highly recommend: Code Switch, an eye-opening weekly NPR podcast hosted by journalists of color who address the trickiest questions about race in America. And The Daily, a 20-minute weekday podcast from The New York Times. (Yesterday’s episode included first-hand footage from a correspondent in Charlottesville; and today’s episode detailed a city councilor’s experience during the fight over the Robert E. Lee monument, and the chain of events that led to this weekend’s violence.)

It’s Been a Minute is another podcast to add to your playlist. Host Sam Sanders took on the topic of “Charlottesville and White People” in his latest episode. For his part, Sanders sees the hashtag #ThisIsNotUs, which went viral in the aftermath of Charlottesville, as unhelpful. “Even if we don’t think we’re part of the problem, we’re part of the system that has a problem,” he says. “That means that every day we have to ask ourselves what we’re doing to make things better or worse. And a hashtag like #ThisIsNotUs… that’s just a cop-out. -Cup of Jo

No matter your defined race at this moment in time, recognize white privilege. white supremacy, white male terrorism.

Positively influence the next generation—whether or not you're a parent or an educator.

Take better care of yourself and those you care about (as an ally, if applicable).

thursday in honolulu

Recently, AG Sessions declared his amazement that a judge "on an island in the Pacific" could block Trump's immigration order. He was referring to U.S. District Judge Derrick Watson, a federal judge hailing from the state of Hawai`i, who indefinitely extended the court order against that revised travel ban on Wednesday, March 29th.—the day before I flew to Honolulu for the very first time.

Being able to go to Hawai`i for work was a treat (those flights are expensive!), but I didn't expect to love the Pacific isles annexed by the U.S. in 1959. I've seen too many cheesy movies and shows; and I'm hardly the ideal candidate for personifying that "Aloha spirit".

But... then I touched down into retro-humidity and glanced out at the cloud-topped mountains and gasped in gleeful relief. The real Hawaii! I was *faraway* yet still within the bounds of my home country, and it was unlike any place I'd ever known or been.

My heart was content even after the costly stay in Waikiki. And my fascination that bilingual meant English and Japanese (versus Spanish) was exceptionally humbling. 1.5 million Japanese people vacationed in Hawaii in 2015; duh—the proximity, the history, the cultural exchange for which I am so clearly uninformed about. I learned, too, that peaceful politesse is expected and that the well-publicized pride for Hawaiian culture is beautifully sincere. When I flew from O`ahu to Kaua`i with three leis graciously bestowed upon me by my client (after we raised a great thousands for programs for girls that encourage courage, confidence, and character), I cannot even tell you how eager I was to discover more.

friday in seattle

I used to pride myself on being able to blend in well. I'm pretty intuitive and can navigate new with an innate sense of cautious yet curious direction. I've been mistaken as French/Dutch/Italian/Turkish in the corresponding country that I entered seamlessly with my American passport. What I haven't regularly recognized, is that this natural skill is actually a privilege I happened to be born with. Perhaps I learned to understand its utility while socializing with "white" kids on the playground or taking summer leadership courses with those who hadn't gotten full scholarships to do so, but I played no part in acquiring my light-to-medium skin or soft brown hair or relatively slender figure; I did not choose to be born into a religion that doesn't inform my daily wear; I had no control over the fact that my parents' cells combined, aligned, and duplicated "normally" nor that I ended up having crushes on boys, not girls. Besides the fact that I'm clearly a woman, I'm conveniently able to hide most markers of identity (difference) that some might consider less than.

The morning after the 2016 election, I flew up to Seattle for work. Two days following, Leslie joined. We walked through Olympic Sculpture Park to the Elliot Bay Trail. We—the daughter of a Mexican immigrant, the grandchild of Jewish refugees—were perfectly safe and thoroughly devastated. Nearly every signature coming out of the White House this past week has validated our response then.

Yesterday, the ACLU won a case to issue "an emergency stay", halting deportations under the President's executive order to ban entry to the U.S. from seven predominately-Muslim countries. The simplified rationale: sending these immigrants back could cause them "irreparable harm". Although hope is not lost, there are still so many reasons to be horrified. Screw blending in.

• Exercise your right to protest.
• Confirm your solidarity with refugees.
• Pledge once, twice, monthly to the ACLU.
• Learn more about Islam, and declare yourself a Muslim ally.
• Volunteer your multilingual skills to those defending immigrant rights at airports now.
• Also...become a better news-reader.
• Write a letter to the Army Corps by February 20th as they prepare an Environmental Impact Statement against #DAPL.
• Call your local Congress(wo)man at 202-224-3121 to urge a NO vote on HR7, support for the Global HER Act, and opposition against President Trump's most controversial cabinet nominees.
• Support the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists.
• Remain informed and continue to take action.

sunday in california

"At first sight, the visitor is surprised not only by the purity of the sky and the ugliness of the dispersed and ostentatious buildings, but also by the city's vaguely Mexican atmosphere, which cannot be captured in words or concepts." That's Los Angeles for ya.

Mind you, these photos are from Northern California, Half Moon Bay, to be exact--because I thought it to be simultaneously romantic and incredibly creepy (Happy Halloween?), what with the pervasive fog and agricultural sprawl and imperious cliffs... but I digress.

I'm writing from Sacramento (where I first delighted in California's fall) and reflecting on my annual visit home (to see autumn in all its glory) and contemplating the frequent "so how's L.A.?"-s I received there. I wish I could tell you (them) I love L.A. Not quite.

But when my Aunt MaryAnn pressed the explanation further, and I mentioned that its the city's very Mexican-ness (as Octavio Paz described above) that makes me love being there, I realized the extent to which that's true. From there we went on to finish two bottles of wine and discuss the disgusting comments Donald Trump has made and inspired towards Mexicans. Apparentlys she's reminded her sons (my cousins) that he might as well be speaking about me, my father, my siblings. A fact that has not been lost on me.

I'm sure I noticed difference as a child, but I didn't understand it; not like I was made to learn later. How could I have possibly known that inner city-dwellers are black, and black men are to be feared, and Muslims are natural terrorists, and Mexicans are to be hunted?!

I ask the facetious question above in agitation to emphasize that what we desperately need, here and now, throughout this country, (Universe), is neither political correctness nor meek tolerance but the acknowledgement of our shared humanity. And a vote.

When I then told my aunt how it felt to grow up monolingual in our Italian-American town where Central American landscapers were "Mexican" and when Latina meant gold jewelry and outspoken sex appeal, she was surprised. She hadn't realized. She couldn't relate.

And of course this would be news. Although I expect each one of us feels the pressure of a world that dictates "what we are" and "what we are not", the sentiment is obviously felt on an individual basis. It can just as likely incite ambition as it can resentment; and understandably so. We are at the same time such resilient and fragile beings. And nearly every morning, when, from my L.A. home, I overhear my neighbor speaking Spanish in a familiar accent, I'm put at ease.

I'm reminded why immigration policy as well as higher education and reproductive rights are so important to me. We are the products of our experiences, our experiences matter, and so are the issues we're unequivocally drawn to as a result. November 8th, save the date.

je préfére

I wonder, sometimes, if and how we're predisposed to preferences.

I love the hustle and bustle of New York, but that's probably because it's the city I first knew, and I knew it as the city; not to mention that the commotion reminds me of my childhood home, what with the nature of my parents' careers and social lives. I love the melodic elegance of the French language, but so does my Colombian grandmother, as she's repeatedly told me; and much of the whole wide world has a reverence for Paris, however imagined or misguided. But I didn't expect to love the cultural landscape of Los Angeles.

En fait, I'd hardly known one existed... and I'd be grateful if you could please excuse such a truth. This is a place to become. There's freedom in the space, in the undefinedness, in the beautiful excess of palms and bougainvillea across miles of unruly concrete.

Then again, this is also a place to drown--overlooked, forgotten--in the oppressive sunshine that blurs months into empty "nice days".

Do I love L.A.? Not quite, though I do really like it. I'd like to stay, too, for the right reasons. And leave when a move is due.

Recently, as I was commuting with TED Radio Hour on Identities, it occurred to me that after "what do you do?" and "what are you?" (a careless and annoying way to inquire about race/ethnicity), the most common question exchanged when meeting new people is "where are you from?" Too often I refer to myself as a "New Yorker in L.A. by way of Paris". A true response that reveals so little.

To be fair, declarations of identity tend to be oversimplified that way. And I'm only just beginning to understand the nitty gritty of myself. Thus these thoughts with these photos.

whatta snob

You know what gets to me? The distinction between high and low culture. The former tends to be accessible to (and acceptable for) a select few, those who can afford it with either education or wealth. I don't like it. This may stem from the fact that I happen to very much enjoy museums, literature, theater, poetry, classical music, wine, and haute cuisine, and understand such tastes do not bring about superiority. I also appreciate street art and dive bars. As such, one of my favorite things about Paris is the frequency with which exhibitions and performances are advertised around the city, right alongside posters for blockbuster movies and popular concerts. I pointed it out to Leslie to support my 'blurred line' theory. Culture instinctively adopts a more democratic spectrum.

Stumbling across photography exhibitions in parks like the Palais-Royal (or any public space, really) doesn't hurt the cause either. Nor does knowing the loveliest opera singer and classical harpist. They both work with a chamber music organization and invited me to an affordable Cocktails and Conversations recital a few weeks ago. The spectacular combination alone secured my RSVP, ha.

The performances by musicians from around the world was phenomenal. As was the space itself. Marissa just reminded me how much I'd like to return to the Finnish Institute for coffee actually. The caffeine would support thesis dedication and enjoyment of my limited-time-only 'under 26' status a.k.a. free/discounted entrance to most cultural venues. Je ne suis pas snob (<--too funny).

la mer et la femme

One of the many challenging things about studying a Romance language as a native English speaker is learning (and rationalizing) which nouns are female and which are male. Though the United States has a lot of work to do when it comes to gender equality, most places and things are expressed as gender neutral (German, anyone?); except for Mother Nature, and 99.9% of all ships/boats.

Leslie and I arrived to a windy and wet Biarritz last week. The ocean was incredible from a distance. We watched in amazement as it violently thrashed about, and we weren't the only ones. Residents gathered, too. The scene reminded of my least favorite descriptor of women: crazy. We appropriate "crazy" when describing disagreeable, emotional, and otherwise 'unstable' ladies far too often. It's neither nice nor accurate. With all the word's negative connotations, it's also unnecessarily offensive. I wish that'd just wash away.

La mer was crazy though. And Leslie and I temporarily ducked into un café to wait out the rain in the luxurious seaside town. We also took refuge in a spectacular resto of basque moderne cuisine before visiting other Pays Basque destinations in better weather.

I look forward to re-living that meal super soon! Until then, some further reading inspired by International Women's Day...

• On International Women's Day: Working to make it right.
• For those who think I rant about the patriarchy and misogyny too much.
• International Women's Day: In defence of feminist dissent.
• It’s Woman’s Day In Ukraine. Here’s What That Means For The Mothers And Daughters Living With Revolution.
• Sheryl Sandberg and Anna Maria Chávez on 'Bossy,' the Other B-word.