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CHAPTER 1
My Personal Journey:
En Las Milpas Nopaleras
During a midday stormy afternoon, a great unrest was stirring at the pit of my stomach. I found myself standing in the embrace of a dry swirling windy abyss, recently planted as a "Penca in a Nopalera oasis," not expecting to grow in its harsh rocky terrain. I could see the Surcos of the dilapidated project homes, full of virgin weeds stacked along side of each other; allowing cucarachas to fester in the wilderness with an uncontrollable tendency towards violence. The expected quality of life each cucaracha would experience living in the Barrio streets of East Los Angeles depended on what side of the street they lived on. As I floated in the four winds as a jaded seed; I observed the rough terrain. We were prohibited to dig our roots deep into the white virgin earth. We were forbidden to germinate in the sacred white soil. We were forced to grow along side the wild concrete jungle among the thorny foreign wild cactus weeds ... sin sabor y sin tunas.
I came of age in 1968, when I proclaimed my freedom from my parent bondage ... sitting in the chambers of solitude, facing my oppressor, my dad; who was lost in the grips of the torrential storm of bootlegged liquor; blinding him from the truth, copping with his misery of helplessness. I sang my freedom song "Ya es tiempo que me vaya de esta casa! Para hacer mi vida en las calles de Aztlan." Shocked, amazed and bewildered in hearing my battle cry for freedom ... his mouth wide open, eyes blinking and slumping backward onto the safety of the embracing back of his chair. His voice retorting in anger with a menacing deep scary booming voice ... "Que me Dicen?" Si yo le hablaria asi a mi padre, como ustedes lo hacen a mi, el me parteria la boca por faltarle res-peto!" -I was taken back by my bravery as I answered in a tone of a "Caballero" respectfully and liberating. I calmly told him, "Usted No Es El!" and then I saw my dad, this powerful stoic giant recline deep into the safety of his chair dumbfounded. I slowly got up from my chair; exiting out of my sanctuary; allowing myself to be swept away into the prevailing windy storm clouds brewing in the horizon as I stepped outside the front door with my dignity intact. To this date I wonder and ask myself, how did I summon the courage to confront the pilar of my family, my dad. What ancestral spirit entered my soul at that moment? Growing up, just hearing my dad's voice would terrorize us all. I felt transformed speaking to him so calmly, full of conviction and confidence I realized that I had to stand up to his authority; I had to stare into my dad's cold sky blue eyes, I had to face him head on. I had to declare my rights. I realized I was the only one, who could set me free; from his prison.
"Gracias a Dios que no me surré en mis calzónes, (checking myself) ... as the wind lifted me away into the heart of the torrential storm. I never returned back to that cramp dungy prison chamber; of my solitude.
I took to the mean streets of E.L.A. cocky and full of optimism; realizing I had to play some role in changing the future for myself and others. I felt the gentle rippling breeze calling! Urging me to join. I heard voices echoing from the farm fields of Delano, California, Denver, Colorado and even Santa Barbara. Enlisting us to a new crusade, seeking civil rights barrio warriors of peace to take to the streets and protest against the institutions of oppression, of police brutality, the inequities of the discriminatory educational school systems and to endure the alarming death rate count of Chicano's dying in Vietnam. I heard the Humming Birds of my ancestry urging us to stop the bigotry, discrimination and the segregation of our people of color. Our time period demanded that we stand tall and proud and make our voices heard!
Growing up we were blinded by the institutionalized racism of the system, keeping us Ciegos to it's discriminatory practices. I, like many in my generation; did not understand or know why we were being discriminated against. We were in denial, as we gladly were forced to assimilate into the Euro-Anglo Saxon American image; after butchering our identity. I was made to feel ashamed of myself, embarrassed of my name, my heritage and even eating my Comida Mexicana. From the first day of enrolling into the American schools after arriving from Mexico; I allowed my peers and teachers to mispronounce my name "Javier (Ha-e-air)". Many purposely would say my name wrong, just to ridicule me in a demeaning manner using their King Henry's VIII- Euro-Anglo Saxon phonemic pronunciation key. So I became Har-vee, Jar-vee, even Say-vi-air. My cultural identity butchered; I was no one to them, I became invisible to the society. My self esteem eroded in the landscape. Immediately the system translated our names ... renaming us in their image. Essentially robbing us of our heritage and birth right. Like my peers, after suffering numerous harsh experiences. I too denied, who I was ... we so willingly aspired to think we were Euro-Anglo Saxons; "body and soul." Little did I know and understand or even realize of the rich heritage from which I descendent from. I felt embarrassed and stupid; naively I stopped eating my abuelitas' comida (tan sabrosa) ... for the sake of eating STEAL WHITE WONDER BREAD SANDWICHES ... AKA Wonder bread. Sin sabor!
I began to sense a change about me early on in 1964, after my dad sent me to Oxnard to work in the agricultural fields. To pick strawberries in an effort to make me a man! Then I felt another great change when I was getting ready to start throwing my daily newspapers. It was on a early, rainy Sunday morning while listening to my pocket transistor radio; introducing a new musical group called the Beatles; singing their latest new hit "It's a Hard Days Night" for the very first time. I chaotically, struggled strapping my excessively bulky-heavy newspaper bags onto the handle-bars of my 20" Schwinn bicycle; dropping the heavy loads several times. In my desperate frustration, I yanked, tugged and cursed at the torrential rain drenching me as I rode away on my awkwardly off-balance bike into the storm to deliver the news. I took my job serious and I was determine to carry out my duties. In light of my helplessness. I had to complete with my job obligation as the number one paper boy. My day seem to last all night long. All the while listening to the Beatle's music. Their arrival into America radicalized me and the other youth of this nation. Hearing them sing in my tiny radio energized me, until I finished my route ... I felt my heavy load get lighter as I began to sing along with them after tossing the last newspaper. My desperation was quickly soothe away; even though I was completely baptized by the rain; leaving me all soaking wet from head to toe. But I completed my dubious task all alone ... singing "Help I need someone". My anger at times, overtook me as I thought of my dad sleeping sounding in the warmth of his bed; while his car laid parked undisturbed in the drive-way, that rainy day. I cherished my job, it afford me the economic freedom and luxury in finally buying my own clothes. It even allowed me the opportunity to read up on the latest breaking headline news of the times.
I was enlighten by my newspapers, as I read about the plight and struggles in the farm fields and about our country's military involvement in Vietnam. I often became overjoyed after reading certain articles about the great exploits and sacrifices Mexican-Americans were making in the San Joaquin Valley in Delano. Here is where I first learned about campesinos organizing themselves; that they were forming a union under the banner of the Virgin de Guadalupe and a "Huelga" flag featuring a black Aztec Eagle sown onto a white circle cloth; which was laid in the center of a red cloth. The union was being lead by a Mexicano, a small dark Mexican-American, who was honorably discharged from the Navy. Wow! His name was Cesar Chavez, and spoke very softly. Little did I realize he would eventually become larger than life. He and Dolores Huerta, (a woman?) were co-founders of the United Farm Workers union. With the UFW they lead the first grape boycott against the Di'Gorgio Agricultural giant in the San Joaquin Valley. His call was for justice, fair pay and safe working conditions for field workers eventually their actions transformed their struggle into a civil rights movement impacting workers and the oppress. He inspire changes nationally for all Latinos.
Just before graduating from Roosevelt High School in 1968 ... a tidal wave of activism ignited in our school as we tried to ride the wave of protest. We were swept by the currents dragging us out onto the rough streets beyond the football fields as Brown Beret stormtroopers paraded before us as our guardians ready for Chingasos! Our school was invaded by hungry whaling pinata bashing paramilitary police Angels; rookie cops brought into my school to practice smashing the holy frijoles out of innocent brown eye children of the sun. Cesar Chavez gave us the voice and courage to confront insurmountable odds and persevere. I was swept up into the movement, I became one of his many disciples as a young hungry Chicano college student. My friends and I joined the many union farm worker boycott marches in our communities; by targeting the giant supermarket chains especially "Safeway's."
I learned to be an invisible follower, doing the work that was needed; carrying out the goals and actions to insure our success for the "Causa." We did not seek recognition, praises, awards, or even monetary compensation. El trabajo, in "La Causa" was our focus and only responsibility.
My college years, was period of building bridges and long lasting partnerships between my peers, professors and the community at large; as we collectively experienced a new spiritual movement overtaking our barrios in Aztlán. A new era was ushered in and I was fortunate to ride the waves; marching in the streets.
In 1969, Corky Gonzalez's Crusade for Justice in Denver, Colorado organized the first youth conference where they helped chartered El Plan Espiritual de Aztlán. It created, adopted and defined a new consciousness of the "Chicanismo spirit". Thanks to "Alurista" an idealistic, 22 year old visionary who wrote a poignant poem outlining the Chicano Manifesto.
El Plan de Santa Barbara further defined an educational plan; addressing the ideal scope of pedological pathways of studies that would address a Latino students needs for success. New leaders surfaced inspiring and uniting Latino students. The vast university, college and high school Latino clubs came under one umbrella called MECHA; el movimiento estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán.
Our Chicano Civil Rights movement was sparked by the actions of the 1967 Crystal City Cheerleaders/ Comadres recalling the Education board of Trustees. Sal Castro's actions at Lincoln High School in the 1968 student high school walk-outs demanding education reform, a movement lead by UCLA Chicano College, high school students and David Sanchez and the Brown Berets; they organized and lead the protest-Walk-Outs. Bert Corona in Los Angeles working for social and union justice, Jose Angel Gutierrez from Texas founder of "El Partido de La Raza Unidad," Reis Lopez Tijerina de Nuevo Mexico reclaiming our stolen lands, Luis Valdez using the arts to give voice to the voiceless through the farm-workers theater; "El Teatro Campesino" that metamorphosis from the farm fields flatbed trucks to the theatrical stages of Broadway and into the film industry; showcasing the Latino experience; Chicano Culture Exploded! The blurring music of trumpets sounded as we march out in the streets.
Collectively, and independently we worked on local, national and international levels, the plans served to inspire a new hungry generation seeking answers to uncover their stolen identity and destiny. Many working on a grass root level to promote and showcase our gente through positive programs focused on empowerment; guiding our youth to reach their full potential. Throughout America our gente was planting new seeds and tending to the countless surcos of flowers through cultural, health, educational and social services. Their individual and collective efforts impacting our generation to step forward, to join in the cause ... united we would have a lasting impact.
The past generation generated the rebirth of more talented, knowledgable, visionary and creative leaders. They emerged in all spectrums of our communities; full of energy to assume leadership roles; like a rippling effect fostering a new future.
Reflecting back, as I tended to my garden on a daily bases; raking each surco full of flowers and nopal leaves, I could savor the moment of their maturity. Their sweet aroma carried by the winds; their nectar full of flavor, energized and enriched my soul. I took solace in the fact that out of the whole surcos of plants, one bloomed into a beautiful flower; carrying away it's richness. Leaving behind the spoiled seeds yearning to be re-planted ... waiting to inspire hope for a better tomorrow.
Our constant challenge is mirrored in the worn out soles of our huaraches; exposing our sensitive flesh to natures soil, full of contaminated nutrients polluting it. A continuous effort must be maintain to cleanse and purge our souls of the dangerous toxins spilled into the atmosphere; returning in the form of a steady stinging midst; re-blinding us to the harsh realities of the rough terrain's bigotry and historical genocide leaving us to our false vanities of greed and despair drinking DDT lattes.
It is essential to accept one's own destiny in the scope of time allotted to them; learning to take on the role as a servant for others, without the need of praise, monetary and recognition. The reality in most barrio gardens, the dominating virtues prevailing are the seven deadly sins effecting us at the slights momentum; envy, greed, pride, sloth, hate, gluttony and lust. They over shadow the good souls that truly inspire civilizations to greatness. As jardineros we must care for our sacred crops; preparing to bloom before being strangled up by the wild weeds soaking up all the nutrients, braking through the concrete jungle; rotting the purity of the virgin garden's most healthy nopales full of young penquitas with delicious sweet tasting tunas.
Sadly, it is heart breaking to find so few tunas blossoming in the vast barrio community gardens; filled with the sweet nectar to feed the masses of people; reinvigorating their spirits with hope.
The dubious task for those wearing traditional huaraches is to insure not trampling on the ripe crops, feeding the world. Stepping ever so carefully leaving huellas behind paving the path for others to follow into the gardens as flowers begin to bloom. Simultaneously as their pollen falls into the prevailing wind; floating into the atmosphere, before slowly descending upon us; waiting for the budding tunas to reach maturity.
Seeing the sunset blanketing the landscape with a bright orange horizon with a thin misty cloud; setting over the entire region with the remanence of the Sun's color palette before it slipped into it's nightly slumber of dreams, my body rocking back and forth allowed me to reflect on the changes yet to unfold. As an optimist I believe a better world can be created before my face wrinkles away and my body lingers in its eternal resting grounds. Sitting there it hit me, I too will eventually have to assume the role of my ancestors floating in the unescapable universal order of dreams. My eternal soul remains young as my human shell decays and deforms before me, I never believed I would get old. All I can do now is accept the "Calm" setting; allowing me to breathe. As I slow down from confronting the strenuous challenges of the negative forces of the times. I am blessed to enjoy the aroma and beauty of each blossoming tree; bearing ripe fruits, glimmering with color and oozing with delicious flavors; awaiting to feed the masses of young hungry souls seeking their liberation.
I could feel the stillness of the night caressing my face; allowing me to relax and replenish my strength, allowing me to dream the impossible dreams; full of solutions, achievements, advances and improvements in creating a new reality full of unlimited opportunities for all of us. To dream is to find hope and the answers; in confronting the Negative forces trying to tear us down, to force us to conform to their destructive hateful image.
Henceforth, as I walk among the surcos of nopales in my garden, I am relieved to bare witness to the rebirth of the new seeds planted, blossoming as new flowers; full of promise, staring back at me with an intoxicating, infectious smile for the world to see the beauty in them.
"Our soul is eternal as our body returns to dust. Yet we remain forever young and alive in memories." Nuestras huellas imprinted on concrete jungles are a remainder; for our gente to witness and to be enlightened.
I was baptized that day! I was forced to find the courage and tenacity to persevered over insurmountable odds and to become the Victor. I was blessed to have been mentored by humble, courageous, unselfish, and unassuming leaders, who thought of others first before themselves and had the wisdom to know when to lead others to greatness. They taught me humility, respect and dignity.
"A Great Leader, I learned ... is one who knows when to follow, knows when to obey orders and knows when to question the leadership' or their authority."
The Sleeping Giant has Awaken! He/She has discovered his/her Inn "Ixtli Inn Yollotl"
Holding the sacred "Smoking Mirror"
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Mr. G's Battle Cry! La Causa de La Raza Wants You"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Javier Gomez.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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