As our country dissents into chaos and civil unrest, the calling of my ancestors’ pounds to the beat against my chest. Every deep breath that I take to calm the heat rising from belly only temporarily holds a moment of stillness, as I see images of hate and injustice; the destruction of principles and laws from the country that I have loved since birth, the dismantling of my federal government, and yet within all of this chaos I hear the whispers of my ancestors…calling. Reminding me where I come from, whose daughter I am. I am the daughter of immigrants whose parents were immigrants, whose parents’ parents were immigrants, and so on. I come from indigenous cultures spread far and wide. I am the granddaughter of political activists.
My grandmother came from a small puebla whose only way of freedom was to marry young so that she could later set herself free. She was a pioneer, a vocalist, a writer, a curandera, a healer to many, a woman of divine spirituality, a single mother who lost her children to the system and met a man (my grandfather) who chose to help her in one of the most delicate and vulnerable times in her life.
Most importantly, she was a woman who knew the importance of kindness and lending a hand to those in need. She was a woman who leveraged her business as a restaurateur to address socioeconomic issues that were happening within her community to local political leaders. This is how she brought change into her community. She knew the power of her voice, but most importantly she knew how exactly to bring people to the table to talk about these important issues.
In the same fashion as her mother, my mother used and leveraged her position as a plant manager to help others in need by hiring people who were seeking a better life in this country. Many who were undocumented and who had nowhere else to turn to. My mother put herself out on a limb by giving these people a chance to change their lives and the lives of their families. But she didn’t just stop there, for the majority of her workers she helped them further in helping them start the process of obtaining their permanent residence so that they could stay in this country and continue to provide for their families.
This is my history. This is my DNA, something that is not to be ignored or brushed off. It is part of my identity. It is why I cannot stay blind to the things that are happening to my nation, my community, mi gente. This is why I love and studied the law for so many years. This is why when someone comes to me for help, I cannot say NO. This is why my Mom always called me a pelonera. I carry these women in my veins wherever I go. I am a fighter, just like them, and I speak my mind whenever I feel there needs to be something said. This is why now more than ever we need to remain close as a community and hold tight to our roots.
I am and have always been a believer of political discourse. I believe in civil liberties and the right to express yourself freely. However, I believe we have walked the fine line far too long. We have unanimously legitimized the use of hate speech by blanketing it as part of those civil liberties by electing people in leadership who use this rhetoric for their own political gain and power. In doing so we have also legitimized the manipulation of interpreting the law so that it bends as far right leaning as those political leaders see fit. This is what fascist do. This is NOT ok. This is NOT normal.
Now more than ever we need to remind ourselves where we come from, we need to reacquaint ourselves to our culture’s history, but most important to our own family history. Get to know where you personally come from, how your parents got here, how your grandparents got here, and so on. This is how we humanize, empathize, and show compassion for others who are going through these atrocities that are happening around us. We must be able see ourselves in each other, as our brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles, primos and primas, abuelos y abuelas. This is the only way we can start to come together in unity so that we can begin to heal and rise together.
And as I sit here writing this, on my desk are photographs of my mother, my grandmother and my great grandmother staring back at me, and tears begin to roll down my face, because all I can hear them say is, “okay mija, what are YOU going to do.” In every journey where there is a path towards something greater there is catalyst that propels you into a higher stratosphere. There is an inflection point where we all must decide what direction to go towards. This is that moment for many of us during this time. So I reflect back to you what my ancestors are calling me to do….What are YOU going to do?
Pot of Love 