early childhood (mis)education

if you parent to control
if you teach to control
a youth’s actions
if you seek to project onto others
your version of themselves
your version of intellect
your version of proper
if your desired outcomes are not self-agency for ones interests, story, or body
you choke the light out of possibility
just b/c someone choked the light out of you
b/c you hold on to your pain so beautifully
so much so
you’ve forgotten what free choice tastes like
doesn’t make your practice right
your way is not the only way
the roads which had their way with you
are not the same roads of our youth
so do NOT normalize self-abnegation
due to your inability to shape-shift
to meet the needs of our youth
to meet the needs of our future
you don’t know everything for everyone
you may not always know what’s best
what may work for you may not work for them
and that’s okay
it’s okay
it’s okay

on student organizing post-Compton Cookout of 2010

Highlighted in this essay is my experiences navigating, leveraging, collaborating, and doing work with an organization on UC San Diego’s campus. I offer a story to all first-generation underclassman from historically under-resourced communities trying to find their way in a sea student organizing post-Black Winter of 2010. This is a critique of an organization I worked with from 2010-2015 as Gender & Sexuality Studies Coordinator, representative for the Raza Resource Centro’s development, and eventually Co-Chair.

A close friend and I had the opportunity of taking part in creating a joint resource center as first years in college. This was an ongoing collaboration with the Black Student Union and el Movimiento Estdiantil Chicano de Aztlan and prior our arrival the project had been born from demands fought for tirelessly on behalf of students organizing around UC San Diego’s most infamous Compton Cookout of 2010. Characterized as a racially themed party, a series of anti-black racist acts would follow and later be re-named the Black Winter of 2010. Informing the creation of Dear White People in 2014, the film highlights issues revolving institutional accountability, racism, sexism, and student affairs in campus climates throughout universities across the nation.

Among ethnic specific resource centers for Native, Black, and Latino students – themed housing programs, diversity requirements, matched funding for the Student Promoted Center for Education and Service, a fully staffed office for a would be Vice Chancellor of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion were also made a reality as a result of students (not administration). Prior the Black Winter of 2010 campus climates held little-to-no importance in relation to access, retention, and graduation rates of historically under-resourced students in the eyes of academic leadership and administration UC-wide. A labor always already spearheaded by the Student Affirmative Action Committee and all affiliated organizations for generations prior and post the appointment of a Vice Chancellor of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion.

I remember sitting in our first meeting with the Black Student Union thoroughly impressed by their vision, mission, and organizing of institutional needs to be addressed by the would-be joint resource center. But, there were tensions from the start. While BSU planned to create a professionally staffed resource center, MEChA felt it was more radical to create yet another student-ran center proceeding to invite organizations outside this union to derail and take part in creating a multicultural resource center instead.

As freshmen, my homie and I were expected to follow blindly. I recall being in meetings outside the coalition where upperclassman strategically spread rumors on how the joint-committee was being “co-opted.” MEChA gauged other organizations to push for a new coalition under the guise of resource centers for all (not just some). All the while halting progress with BSU by dragging committee meetings along with antagonisms like, can I have you redefine what you mean by Blackness, alluding to how this experience is too exclusive to function within a shared mission/vision statements with Latino students.

It did not matter that a plethora of BSU’s committee members were Afro-Latino. It was made apparent that BSU could not hold the best interest of a majority non-black Latino organization (read: anti-blackness). While all historically underrepresented students should have respective resource centers, we risked losing a space fought for under an explicit understanding of a joint resource center within the gaze of administration because of us.

My homie and I began to speak up in fear of losing the space lobbying for what we felt was best for the Latino student body and our relationship with BSU. After all this space wasn’t just MEChA’s as we understood it to belong to the generations that would come. We asked upperclassman to rethink their positions in opening a project already in development, that another student-ran space would only add to the burn-and-drop-out rates on campus, and to start being honest to BSU about what MEChA truly desired out of human decency. Propositions to work with Latino staff, administration, and professors were also thrown out the window with little-to-no context as it was understood to be working with the institution and not against it – a big no for radical student leaders.

Eventually, push came to shove. As we dragged out MEChA and BSU resource center committee meetings over how/who would be running the space and minutia around language in our mission/vision statements, BSU decided to end the coalition. They gave us the space where the would-be joint resource center would have been housed and advocated for one of their own. By now, my homie and I were labeled problematic by upperclassman for wanting to preserve a healthy relationship with BSU, seeking council outside of the org, and desires for professionally staffed as opposed to a student-ran resource center. I remember being in meetings when my homie was not present in which their Chicanidad was put to question because they were mixed-race. Although I decided to stay, they were very much pushed out strategically much like many close friends who held opinions against and outside of the inner circles of the space.

I would go on to serve the organization as their Gender & Sexuality Studies Coordinator. But, why perform programming highlighting the histories of queer/trans people for a space not invested in my communities reality? While the space was being student-ran, I decided to build a coalition within the Latino community on campus in efforts to push for a budget. If we were going to have programs we would need solidarity to achieve an active budget and administrative commitment to develop a resource center. But, again, MEChA felt this was not needed and although a coalition among the Latino body on campus was formed, I decided to leave the space for good to organize my healing with other non-binary femmes metabolizing the ever present brunt of communal neglect and academic rigor. Still to this day I’ll never understand how some of these upperclassmen call themselves “allies,” “Black” or “queer” so freely without living these experiences first-hand. Ethnic Studies doesn’t preach I know therefore I am but rather: Know history, know self. No history, no self.

It was exhausting trying to bridge between what a select few upperclassmen wanted and what the rest of the Latino community needed (in my eyes). My desires for something tangible to hand generations to come were derailed by liberal and white-ascending self-ascribed activists hijacking social justice spaces, taking up the most space, using a newfound language of social justice to get laid, and police the margins of exclusion. A normalized trend whereby queer/trans and/or femmes being pushed out of ethnic specific social justice based organizations was apparent. While at the same time relying on us for programming around such gender, poverty, the undocumented, and our collective experiences. Milked to meet quotas of diversity at the hands of an institution so far removed from the material conditions of communities like mine, no thank you.

Learned to weed out snakes more concerned with building resumes and social justice credibility than tending to each other’s stories (read: differences). Seen more organizations on campus rally to defend macktivists, rapists, racists, and sexual predators than reaching out to people dropping out their own communities like flies. Most of whom are survivors of sexual violence, femmes, trans, poor, undocumented, and psychovariant –  becoming hauntings like we often do in the communities we hail from on campus.

Heading into my 5th year I was approached by a fierce individual and undocumented student organizer to run with her as Co-Chairs. Our incoming board inherited an organization in debt due to irresponsible predecessors, reputation in strife, space for a Latino resource center being threatened to be stripped due to negligence, and themed housing programs yet to be fleshed out. With an incredible team we accomplished our yearly programming, got out of debt, restored relations among Latino staff, admin, and professors as well as negotiated an administrative commitment in developing themed housing programs alongside BSU. The Raza Resource Centro would open few years after the Black Resource Center with the guidance BSU’s leadership and El Concilio making sure the advisory board center the voices of those it will serve in solidarity. Sure, we were far from perfect as a board but it was my dream team with no toxic self-proclaimed activists to slight the leadership, professional, and personal development of younger organizers.

What are the limits of nationalist spaces when addressing campus climates? How much labor has gone unrecognized on behalf of our queer/trans femmes in such spaces?

So, question graduate students who won’t leave undergraduate organizing alone. Question leadership, hold them accountable, and challenge them. Remember why you decided to apply to college in the first place, what is at stake for you personally, and hold those who call themselves activists with no involvement on the ground, outside of UCSD. Organizations uninvested in local issues while centering programming exclusively on campus are not radical, they’re elitist. The issues our ancestors have been fighting have only become compounded with time and while we learn to fill incredibly large shoes – I’m more interested in how we hold one another accountable in the coming times of racial and gendered strife.

I need underclassman to not place upperclassman on pedestals. I need readers to understand that there is nothing inherently radical about a resource center professional or student-run. What a radicalism entails is a dismantling of the academy and a disseminating of knowledge into the communities we hail from with an explicit understanding of how experiencing the institution is privileged. Access work shouldn’t be merely about joining the ranks of our oppressors as academics, but rather access to other aspects of life which build a more holistic, healthy, and accountable movement of compassion with those most marginalized at the center. I refuse to let the memory of this would-be joint space be warped into something that could have been, but rather understood as an incredible failure in bridging gaps of solidarity and compromise to learn from instead.

on witches who fight to heal

what good is a witch who cannot heal

as good as a witch who cannot cast a hex

who cannot make do when the devil comes knocking on their door

a kind of witch who bare their wounds to the world in desperation

forgetful of times of war

forgets that healing hurts too

when wounds are spread open and salted

cross a wall of fire to find power on the other side

behind an intent to heal must come a will to fight

dig into rotting parts

vomit all the vile poured in our mouths that we’ve called love

a pound of flesh to force the hand of God, would you do it

you’ll be surprised what you will do when you’ve played all your cards and nothing worked

make back alleys your home

your mouth a credit card

cornered in, would you bare your teeth

lay in your fangs, bite, hard

they’ve always called us crazed

cleansed us in fire down cuz we took matters to our own hands

plucking off my sisters one by one

what would you do huh

worship the dirt underneath our fingernails

who to make room for the blows that give you life

the blows which are to come

the blows you’ve yet to launch

blessed hairy brown femme

they ask me to shave for them
to wax everything in between my thigh
to clear landings for pounds of flesh who wont
uplift my people

to hide the most beautiful
parts of me you gain pleasure in secrecy
as fetish, in kink

since when did body types get cast in menus
that leave slim-thick hairy vers bitches outside
the dessert section

(A Quick) Autobiography of Self

I was raised in the San Fernando Valley in a mixed-status immigrant family. Being that some of us had citizenship and others did not, it proved to be a peculiar situation for my mother, two older sisters, and I. At 22 years old, my mother broke the Mexican and U.S. border in half escaping domestic violence and third-world conditions. When I turned 22 I dropped out of university the last quarter of senior year because I could not bare the weight of graduation day knowing my family became homeless. I will forever be from North Hollywood, CA, but from one day to the next my family was fragmented and my sense of community politicized.

I joined Public Allies to learn what building community looks like beyond the ivory tower, but unintentionally found a cohort full of incredible talent. In a training our director once stated, “Whether you know it or not, you came to Public Allies to heal.” Here, I was challenged to be real about where I am, to seed, nurture, and transform the context of a very personal despair: the reality of being gender nonconforming and a mixed-status family member in the face of an anti-trans and anti-immigrant national climate. Organizing collective healing and transformation of both undocumented and queer/trans communities is a space I draw power from. In my most darkest times I learned to be held by a community of people willing to support my family and I in a world where individual security trumps communal responsibility.

However, in June 12th, 2016 this country saw a horrific massacre of queer/trans Latinx people of color in Orlando, Florida leaving 50 dead and 53 injured. While the media speculates whether or not Mateen was actually gay, use his ethnicity to incite an agenda against muslim people, completely overlook his history of domestic violence or aspirations of becoming a police officer – what becomes displaced are the lived experience of my people. Mothers who will learn their children are queer/trans the day they are murdered, victims with no family members and/or citizenship to have their bodies claimed. Uplifting queer/trans people of color through writing, ancestral memory, collective healing, and policy is where I see myself in the future. In the wake of instances like this I hope people realize how much violence is normalized and expected when you’re an unapologetic gender nonconforming hood fag like me.

Ultimately, I seek to effectively nurture and sustain the personal and professional development of people because I understand the art of holding space for another to be a practice I like to learn from this second year around. Although I understand I can never save someone else, I saw as a first year how we can empower one another to have us help ourselves. After the program, I wish to finish my undergraduate career, begin my transition from Jason to Yaneli, and pursue work in mental health, art, and law one small step at a time.

immigrant parents

so much pain between siblings
for mistakes of our parents
b/c of things they could not shield us from

absent birthdays
broken promises
tired working-class souls

the irreconcilability of it all

we cannot be afraid to salt each other’s wounds
always shared the same nakedness outside the womb
the same scars and traumas too

this was always ”tough love”
for brighter days and fatter paychecks
always mourning, always grateful, always full

seeing love in dark places

I appreciate the way
this world turned her back on you too
sucked the air out of each lung w/o asking
left you for dead, queer, immigrant child
I never really ran away from my pain
it just got caught somewhere in my esophagus
lost beneath the cords of survival
we’ve known each other for years
died and came back twice
just to appreciate the way you look up at the moon
and hold me down like gravity
you’ve set me on fire