The Chicano-Latino Leadership & Unity Conference was the point of departure for everything that I'm doing now. Although my arrival in Houston for the conference came about as a sort of cosmic accident (someone stole my bike and I ended up leaving Austin a week later than expected), my attendance allowed me to connect with and learn from both the upstart and mature activist crowds.
I took four things from the conference, the first of which was a more in-depth understanding of the DREAM Act (see A Real Halloween Scare and a Note on A Real Halloween Scare) over at www.theborderedmind.blogspot.com.
The second was realization of the widespread impact of the Minutemen across the United States. We see burgeoning groups as far north as Michigan, patrolling the Canadian border. Other groups exist in California and, of course, my home state of Arizona where it all started.
In Houston, local organizers formed the Coalition Against Intolerance & For Respect when Minutmen announced that they were going to patrol local city streets, taking video of the day labor sites as part of their patrols for what they feel is an "invasion". Seasoned activist Maria Jimenez, along with other coalition members, immediately held a press conference, created groups that went to schools and churches, and staged protests so as to educate and bring awareness about the Minutemen's intents. They also worked with day laborers to document any cases in which their civil rights have been violated. I don't know how active the Minutemen are in Houston currently (as of November 8th), but I know that people are at least informed.
The next thing I took from the conference was a simple phrase from a great corrido musician, Jesus "Chuy" Negrete. At the end of his performance, he said that "when people sing together, they stay together." In light of the coalition's title above--Against Intolerance and For Respect--this was an important realization to make. With protest and peace-building, the efforts must be balanced. If people can shout, they can sing. If people can fight for their rights, they can also work in other ways to create a more harmonious world.
This means that we can connect the ear to action. I once heard Dolores Huerta, the yang to Cesar Chavez's yin, speak in Arizona. She said that "those who are educated become louder"--literally that there is more force and conviction to their words. We shouted vivas in return--"¡Viva Dolores Huerta!, ¡Viva Cesar Chavez!, ¡Viva la Raza!"--and she left to the sam thunderous Chicano clap that she and Cesar used to start their meetings. The clap slowing began in unison, gradually grew faster and soon erupted into a ubiquitous roar. Action to ear.
The last thing I took from the conference was a new direction to this journey. A quick history lesson: in the Chicano Civil Rights Movement of the 60s and 70s, there were four main figures--Cesar Chavez, Reies Lopez Tijerina, Corky Gonzalez and Jose Angel Gutierrez. Of these four, Gutierrez is the only one still alive, and I was fortunate enough to sit down with him for a conversation. Actually, I interrupted his lunch and almost forced him to listen to me, but we'll get to that.
He just finished speaking with passers-by after his keynote address, and he was sitting down to a much-deserved meal. After patiently biding my time to lure him into a verbal onslaught, I asked if I could sit with him for a "couple of minutes". He graciously consented, so I then emptied my salvo of 5,000 questions specifically designed to keep him from eating. Lorena Lopez, another attendee to the conference who woudl actually end up putting me up for the night, came to his rescue, asking to join into the "conversation" and effectively distracting me. "Sure, go ahead," he said. "It doesn't look like this guy is going to quit any time soon."
Having swallowed a dose of insta-humility, I left the man to eat and entered into an actual conversation. I explained to them both my project--where I was from, how I got the idea, etc. Lorena was very excited and asked me question after question, while Don Gutierrez listened intently. After a time, he offered the following:
"She didn't say it, but I will," he said. "You don't look Mexican... You have unearned white privilege."
"Who can ride the border?" he continued. "Them?", meaning to say many of the Hispanic community. His eyebrows raised and he pointed at me. "You."
"You're doing this because you can ride the border, and you have to confront that. They can't ride the border. Some of them are living day to day." His eyebrows raised again. "You aren't."
"You can walk into a Minuteman meeting and they'll let you walk right in." They wouldn't even bat an eye. They wouldn't even look twice. "And if you looked a little bit different?"
"We can't pick our parents," he said. I happened to be born to a Mexican-American mother of olive complection and a Caucasian father. Everyone in the conversation knew this. We also knew that it meant a particular sort of responsibility.
I'm still trying to figure out what exactly that responsibility is, but for right now, this is it. I'm giong to ride a bicycle two thousand miles, learn, and educate others about the issues of social injustice along the border and what some are doing to change them. This is part of my resposibility, and this is what I took from the conference.
Can you sing these words?
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