The Struggles Of Advocacy |
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These pages are compiled of a series of articles that I have written in an attempt to promote understanding and solicit empathy for the plight of those that are less fortunate than we are.
In my attempts of changing my community for the better, I have had to learn the hard way - that it is true - some of the "old guard" that comprise what is loosely called the "leadership" of our local community maintain a strong hold on the prevention of positive growth and the nourishment of positive change. The old guard continues, as those that have gone before have set an example that this is the path to success in local politics and social action. I disagree.
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Redemptive Suffering And the Discovery Of Beauty In A Despised Culture
by
Robert Stanford
This was my fifth Christmas in Little Mexico (Airport District) – Lately, for this year in particular (2008), I have had the adversity of unexpected opportunities to reflect on where I am in my life and my work – My artistry of sociological methodology application – In a word, I have been reflective to the redundant extents of revelry.
The Eve was hurriedly mellow and as the sun set for the next half of just another typical day, I was carried through comparisons which took it upon themselves to span a five year timeline of relationships, sparkling with nothing but growth.
Looking back to my very first Christmas in the Airport District (Little Mexico), the comparison was breathtaking and awe inspiring. A window into the most beautiful moments, I could have ever imagined. Certainly, they were all provided by the Hand of God, Himself.
And as I look about tonight, I see the same players enthralled by a naturally occurring game.
Yet upon the first Christmas, my ears were deaf to everyone there. No one saying anything I could understand. A brand new world and without the assistance of a translator, it was all about creative charades and warm smiles.
Polished black shoes, button downed shirts amended to the very top. White, with black pants – children – reminding me of my best friend, as a child. Immediately connections were made and more than through my merited assistance. I was an in person 211 line for redefined principles of Direct Civil Rights Action through the application of methodologies.
Sporting my NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People) logo, which forever shone gold against royal blue t-shirts – a time, in which a macho Mexican man took my picture using the camera feature of his cell phone.
And tonight this picture hangs on the wall. A Snapped up snapshot of a moment spanning five years into the past of my life. Adorning the homes of those who are now my family.
Tonight I hold this man’s phone and snap a snapshot in time of him. Him, clutching two teddy bear “cousins” to his chest, he looks down at them saying – “Aye, mis bebes”.
An unthinkable act for this man right here, five years ago, when the other picture was taken. But for tonight, with me and many others, its value as a joke has clearly transcended an aspect of his culture. It is the catalyst of a cultural evolution of acceptance for him and those around him.
To redundantly rephrase:
He was solely responsible for the growth of his culture, in that, though it is certainly a joke, anything even remotely referred, inferred, or otherwise to the subject of mach motherhood would have sent this man into a long subdued rage. It would take me three to four more joke charades to get him back to the space where he was most comfortable before.
Everyone laughed heartily.
Five years ago it was all about me being a deaf, mute contemporary American envoy. Self sent – somewhat – but by the time of the first Christmas, my role was well defined throughout a network of many families.
The jokes were mostly joyful - of what I could understand, but through hundreds, if not thousands of hours of interaction spurned by sociological applications of Civil Rights direct action methodologies, there began to be a specific individual evolution of my communication with everyone present then and now.
The language barriers were so intense to me because I could not speak Spanish. And my caseload, of at the point of this first Christmas of 2005 – was huge and consisting mostly of basic domestic educational workshops combining enchiladas set to music that sounded nothing like the Clash’s Sandinista album.
The goals have come face to face within ourselves. So much so in fact, that all the music being played – Norteno y Kumbia is all I listen to now. So much so in fact, that it is so much more close to my heart now then Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song was to me just five years previously.
Now my heart worships those that have walked, like my people, through the desert – for the promised land – like Cashmere.
When before, I was the deaf-mute American - that was a misnomer. I had no idea of what my image was to these new peoples of my community. I only assumed something close to the worse.
And I was just like a welcome wagon lady on steroids and robin eggs. Complete, with innocent misconceptions that may have, in fact been met by the slightest resistance (but resistance none-the-less) of my personal reluctantly self-spoken admissions to naturally occurring ignorances. A mere void to be filled by cross-cultural experience(s).
And some of those things I thought were stereotypical, turned out to be splendidly real and true.
San Tomas – Something I celebrate as having taught me this through a baptism and a rodeo – reminding me yet again of people and my familial heritage. An instant clarification. A moment of clarity. An instant connection is made, yet again.
But the moments I am inscribing for in this writing span not just those few precious minutes in our lives that are truly historically and sentimentally enriched life experiences, but these moments that I speak of are actually several hours long. Hours of splendor and fortitude wrapped in a cloak of bravado – acceptance of the different and new.
I was taught through my life that Cinco de Mayo means two things to two different cultures here in the United States of America. Two things that work together to establish Mexican immigrants, Chicanos, and all other Americans as one people.
Not portraying Mexican immigrants and Chicanos as invaders, but rather that through their own historical merit in our country, they are as opportunities for us to evolve the most significant and necessary aspects of our own diverse American culture.
To redundantly paraphrase:
When Mexico shows off their victory of independence here in this country, they say “Viva Mexico!” and they show us, as though they were the most magnificently painted peacock in the world, as they spread their spiritual and cultural plumage for all to see. With those hues that can only be derived from agony, struggle, oppression, strife, war and thousands of years of passionate human cultural and spiritual evolution.
For all the good as well as the bad, its value is priceless to us as a Nation of Americans.
For us Americans, Cinco De Mayo is an outstretched hand of nothing less than Mexicano/Chicano culturalism saying to us “Viva America”. It is an opportunity to embrace a rich and worthy culture as part of our own. As if for us to say, “Viva Mexicanos – Viva Chicanos”. For me, it’s an instant connection.
Three bottles of tequila rest on a table surrounded by closely huddled crowd of people, struggling to keep closing the door after the children run in and out, playing and looking out for several stray dogs that are now our neighbors.
Our strays Remind some of Mexico and others, such as myself, of our Airport District’s (Little Mexico’s) prestigious number one place in stray pet statistics for the current animal shelter facilities here in Stanislaus County.
This year there was not one person from the gathering that drove away after consuming alcohol. Didn’t even need to have a designated driver.
Not one child was offered alcohol. Not one joke or inference to such an act was ever made this year – Now – Right here – right now, we are all part of a socio-cultural evolution so positive, that this evening it was guaranteed that no one would be affected by trauma or death due to, what the law would define as - their own negligence.
And the children have another layer of protection. Granted through a new taboo – a necessary opportunity to wait before they are encouraged to drink. Making the decision from a more advanced place of maturity and wisdom.
Of all the adults, I was the only one that did not drink. I am also the only one that smokes. Rolling my own from a Bugler pouch makes the running joke that it’s marijuana I smoke – better than tequila – that’s why I never need any alcohol.
Five years ago the only way I knew that this was a joke, was that every time one of these individuals finished a drink, they would offer me one as they took another. That is when, I, would every single time without fail, offer them a hit from my joint-looking cigarette.
It was one of the jokes that would endure now for five years, having been told with an encyclopedic collection now of other types of social interactive jokes. Yes, it works on so many levels. Yes, it’s an inside job.
Among many of it’s benefits of this particular joke, is that it provides reassurance to them and our relationship that my views of prohibition of alcohol and traditional Mexican spiritual plant qualities are safely contained within parameters which have naturally erected themselves by my admiration and adoration of their historical culture to the point of being willing to risk my personal safety to preserve it.
And frequently it also lends itself to me as doorways of perceptual conversations regarding Mexican man, myth and magic.
Mama en Mexico called me specifically from her Christmas family call list.
If I do not immediately move to Mexico, she will make me a dish of Iguana – TONIGHT!!!. My American cultured imagination pictures an old Mexican woman roasting an iguana on a stick. And I believe she knows this too. She believes there is nothing more revolting to me then to eat an iguana.
She says if I come and live in Mexico, she will make me enchiladas every day for the rest of my life.
It’s the same thing she has told me two to three times a moth for five years. It works on so many levels for our relationship and ourselves as individuals.
Like the macho Mexican man daring to motherly nurture two teddy bear “cousins” for a snapped up snapshot.
More than just a joke, these are complex sociological dances – communications of evolution solidarity and growth (in a word – Love). Jokes within which expression is demonstrated like a children’s puppet show – A truly “inside” joke which weave while it strengthens the very fibers safely bonding us to one another uniquely.
Just for us and our souls as family.
Oh, did I mention that I had never met this woman? Letters and phone calls built a relationship developed through families I had met for no other purpose than Direct Civil Rights Action applied by methodologies.
Only in so much of the brief phrases she taught me during our correspondences, the relationship was borne of my intensity in my work. Mama en Mexico –
aye carumba – a calling card I have used for five years (except for that all too brief run of Tigres del Norte).
There is no presumptuousness here. No second guessing. No competition. Everyone holds their own place in the community, the neighborhood, the Familia del Airporto. Our lives. Our life. Together.
It’s a place where everyone casually plays first responder to corral the children.
Children now, including some new arrivals are being blessed by our struggles which have yielded little or no affordability for harnessing the evil propaganda of Comcast Cable TV – so much easier, now, for us to control what they are soaking up through the TV monitors.
And with no more internet access currently allowed to them other that that which is controlled by supervision through their respective schools, Orville Right Elementary and La Loma Junior High…
Q: That, and take away one cup of sugar in the morning and, well, well, well, what do you have now?
A: A reduction in Attention Deficit Disorder diagnosis and much higher grades (and less violent acting out and the list goes on and on).
Equality reigns this year. Everyone takes care of everyone else – The conversations rise above slap stick humor only in satirical descriptions of new circumstantial every day life problems. No debates, no arguments, no upstaging – nothing but Mexicano and Chicano cultures manifesting and evolving inside the heart of a proud to be American citizen.
And now from my heart to you and yours as well.
todo para que Dios
And God Bless Each And Every One Of Us.
Copyright 2008 by Robert Stanford, all rights reserved
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