The last few weeks I have been reflecting on language, its power and its intent. I recently accepted a position as an Assistant Professor of Spanish at West Los Angeles College which has taken me back to one area of my educator roots: teaching Spanish to non-heritage language speakers. I immediately went from teaching my last summer course at UCLA in Chicana/o Studies to changing institutions and adapting my pedagogy to a new student population. My future projects and research ideas are now working towards focusing on how they will translate and work with my new campus, colleagues, and students. One of the last projects I had my UCLA students do was tied to the digital visual project I spoke about in my last post, which received a mostly positive response from my summer students. We discussed and dissected a variety of issues, including discourses (or lack thereof) by the current presidential candidates, which have mostly been exhausting, to say the least. One word that came up in the classroom was the use of the term “wetback” by Chican@s and non-Chican@s alike. I discussed its usage, linking it to the Mexican government sponsored film, Espaldas mojadas (1955), while also talking about its historical usage to categorize Mexican and Mexican-American populations as foreigners, disposable objects, and non-desirables. Our conversation was fruitful, so much so that one student spoke about subverting the term and how we can pull agency from it, even though historically and presently there have been and are multiple attempts to continue this practice. Below is my student’s submission for her visual project, and I hope that it helps us to further reflect upon the power of our language:

“My father works two jobs, six out of seven days a week. His fingers and toes are calloused; his body is weak. He suffers from high blood pressure, but never complains about feeling sick, at least not until he’s hospitalized. My mother works just as hard, fulfilling a domestic role while juggling a full time job. Though she is petite, small and dainty, she carries boxes twice her weight – bruising her body and ignoring fatigue in order to keep food on our family’s plates. My parents are hard workers. They crossed the Sonoran Desert by foot, withstanding treacherous conditions and hiding from circling helicopters for two days and three nights just to build a life in a country where they’re not valued or measured by the content of their character, but rather criticized for having “WETBACKS”. Like other Latinx and Chicanx people, my parents overexert themselves physically, in hopes of making ends meet. They budget like crazy and put aside their wants, as well as their needs. Their health comes second and children come first; they don’t ever have time to worry about feeling tired because they only have time to provide for our family. Earlier today, my mother, older sister and I, were targeted by a black man for being “WETBACKS”. We were called “lazy”, “uneducated” and “broke”. The cherry on top was being accused of depending on the government for financial support – a government which we contribute to through our paying taxes, so even if we did, what does it matter? This image is dedicated to the black man who judged my family based on our complexion, on our exterior that reflects the Anti-Immigrant/Anti-Latino Sentiments Republican Party Nominee, Donald Trump, proudly promoted. This image is dedicated to those who make a living off of their sweat in order to survive, to my undocumented brothers and sisters who feel caught in the in-between, en la frontera que divide nuestras identidades. Let’s never dry our backs for there is no shame in having a wetback when the same sweat that drips from our bodies is the same sweat that nourishes us.”

This summer my partner and I were fortunate to travel to Oaxaca for our vacation. He and I had gone through a hard summer last year and we were both gravitating towards visiting Oaxaca after such a grueling handful of months in Los Angeles. Upon arriving, we immediately drove into the city and noticed many people gathering at different buildings and sites along el centro. We were told that the public education teachers had suffered “un golpe de estado,” a coup by the Oaxacan governor who had stripped union power from the teachers hence eliminating the little power they had as a voting unit for any kind of educational reforms. There was also economic news, as the Mexican peso that week had devalued to over 16 pesos for every U.S. Dollar, probably further exacerbating the recent imposed changes. Oaxaca has historically suffered from state violence, the last major occurrence had happened during the 2006 protests where lives of leaders, teachers and activists were lost. We not only saw protesters, but a strong police presence, as five-to-six helicopters would fly overhead multiple times a day and in the barrio where we were staying at, federales were guarding one of the Oaxacan radio stations along with their riot gear. When I first visited the state in 2007, the remnants from that protest were seen on the walls outside government buildings and banks, the encampment at the Zócalo, and the many makeshift banners with slogans like “¡No a la Guelaguetza capitalista!” or “El APPO (the Popular Assembly of the Peoples of Oaxaca) es Nuestro”.  Witnessing how after almost ten years, somethings had remained nearly the same, hit a nerve, especially witnessing a vocal manifestation taking place throughout the city’s streets, as others prepared for the annual Guelaguetza at the multi-million dollar stadium overlooking the Oaxacan Valley. As an educator, I kept asking myself how this resistance would look like in the United States, a powerful nation who’s own public educational system is riddled with complex issues. Would I, like others here, also sit in protest for days, possibly weeks on out, demanding justice and risking possible violent retaliation? One only has to turn an eye to Ferguson, MI to see that the U.S. also practices a form of police-statehood. After seeing Oaxacan teachers, administrators, children, and allies guide their walking protest towards the Zócalo, I came across this tagged slogan on the side of one of the colonial buildings. At first I smiled, thinking “Sí, Zapata sí vive“, but then I took a closer look and found a second set of script, “lejos” right below the original tag. This realization instantly changed my smile into an ironic laugh. There it is, ese estilo mexicano, the use of dark humor to remind us all that with hope and resistance we will also find a biting and undeniable social realism. Maybe Zapata crossed the border, who knows, but in the Mexican imaginary (for now) he continues to exist.

Welcome to my website! It has been divided into two components, one provides an introduction into my professional life as a newly minted Ph.D. and the second half exemplifies a creative element, which I am labeling as “Opticourses”, images I capture with my iPhone mostly around my city of Los Angeles that provide visual messages and mostly one sided discussions in public spaces. Enjoy and feel free to contact me.