When I was a little girl, I remember laying on my grandma's floor watching the news. There was a story where a group had attacked a group of Mexicans. The idea was crazy to my naive and trusting mind. Why would anyone beat someone up just because they were Mexican? I had to ask my grandmother. The conversation opened up a treasure chest of stories of racism and hate that my grandmother had endured all her life. At the time, as a five-year-old, my world spun out of control learning that people were going to hate others simply because of their culture. You see, as I stood there looking up at my grandmother, with her beautiful auburn hair and fair, porcelain-like skin, I realized it didn't even matter if we didn't look Mexican. My relationship with racism would soon grow.
I absolutely adored every teacher I had in grade school accept Mrs. Thomson in fourth grade. That year, for the first time, I experienced racism toward me. We were reading a book that followed a little girl who was bilingual in Spanish and English. I was so excited because I didn't need to look to the margin for translations, I spoke Spanish too. I was the cool kid that day. My teacher asked how I knew those words and I told her, "I'm half Mexican and my family speaks Spanish." She was the only person unimpressed and the look she gave left a cold, dead, void in the pit of my stomach. When my mom came to pick me up, Mrs. Thomson asked my mom if it were true that I was Mexican? My mom explained that she was born in Tempe and her mom was born in Mesa, but that we were Mexican-American. Mrs. Thompson looked at me and then my mom and said, "I'm just shocked because she is always dressed so nice and always clean."
With dignity and pride, my mom smiled at me and we left the room. I wanted my mom to slap Mrs. Thomson for saying something so ugly. Instead, I later learned, ignoring Mrs. Thomson and turning her back on her was more insult than any physical altercation. That was the year that my mom wasn't the top homeroom mom. That was the only year she asked my father to attend all the field trips. It's funny, but that was the only year I didn't get citizen of the month. Throughout the year I had many run ins with that teacher and often my parents and even the principal tried to talk me into changing classes. My way of thinking, at the time, was that she would see how smart I was and change the way she felt about Mexicans. It never worked out that way. Luckily, by year's end, her dislike of me caused her to ignore my requests to go to the bathroom when I was sick. I ended up throwing up all over her, her desk and state testing packets. My happiness with sweet revenge outweighed any humiliation I should have felt.
Now that I'm a mother, I see even more blatant racism that exposes itself to my daughter through media, internet or even walking down the street. The misguided and often intellectually lacking Jan Brewer just signed the ethnic studies bill which takes ethnic studies classes out of our schools. These classes teach children about culture, literature and history. And, because we have a shady history when it comes to Mexicans here in the southwest, opponents say it teaches Latino children that the white culture oppresses them. Oh Horne and Brewer, they don't learn that in class, they see it when bills like this and SB1070 are signed into law. Don't worry, I'll take care of teaching my daughter all of American history, especially the ugly parts.
Here's the thing, I don't support the idea of not seeing race. People who say that are denying our wonderful differences. By taking these classes away from children who, in Tucson, make up 56% of the classroom population, Arizona politicians just poked that sleeping giant already groggily awakening after SB1070. Big mistake, but much needed and long overdue.
People who support SB1070 and this new ban on ethnic studies should take out history books and read up on Hitler. Read about how Jewish children were ridiculed for their beliefs and for who they were. Read on about how Hitler tried to erase their history through burning books, racial profiling and eventual incarceration and murder. Read about racism here in Arizona. Go and talk to elders here in Arizona and ask about segregation. It wasn't just Black-Americans who sat away from whites in the movie theater, it was Mexicans and Native Americans. When you have non-white skin, everyone is "a colored".
These laws may pass, and the hate may rise, but no one is going to keep me from showing pride in my culture and passing it on to my daughter. Nobody. This is not something that is simply going away. These unjust bills have ignited the Mexican/Latino Civil Rights Movement which is long over due. We are talking boycotts because we are human beings and worth more than money. Much like the bus boycotts, those who will be most effected may be those of us we are doing it for. I'm good with that. I will feel great having my daughter see which side of the civil rights movement I stood on. What do you want our future generations to know about what you did for civil rights? As difficult and uncomfortable as it may be, where are you going to stand?
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