The watchman feels very fortunate to have a job in El Salvador after the civil war, when so many people are unemployed. It’s boring but easy work, taking care of a new house that belongs to a Salvadoran couple living in Los Angeles. When he thinks about his previous jobs—day laborer, coffee harvester, highway construction worker—he’s even more grateful. All he has to do is water the plants and cut the grass, and of course, keep thieves from stealing all the furnishings. And once a month, he reassures the owners that their beautiful home in their beloved homeland remains in good condition until their next visit. Then one day, everything changes. Acclaimed Salvadoran writer Mario Bencastro examines themes of war, dislocation, and longing in this bilingual collection of stories, poetry, and one novella. Many of his characters are forced to leave their homelands because of violence and poverty. But once in the Promised Land, separated from family and friends and in a country whose language and culture they don’t understand, many find themselves overwhelmed by feelings of loss and nostalgia. In “Dragon Boy,” a group of children orphaned by El Salvador’s civil war band together to survive, even as they are exploited by predators. In “The Plan,” a successful Swiss millionaire returns to his native El Salvador—which he left as a defenseless orphan—and executes his ruthless plan to take revenge on those responsible for the brutal killings of his family. And in “From Australia with Love,” a Salvadoran émigré plans to marry a countryman she met on the Internet, until they realize that they have met before.
By: Jesse Tijerina,
on 6/16/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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Excluding familia, there is only a thing or two which I enjoy equal to or slightly more than books. I was a middle school student the first time I saw a skateboarder. We were stuck in traffic as we entered the San Antonio Zoo and from a distance I became fixated on a thin figure spinning and spinning around in a circle. The length of his hair hovered and spun like the flimsy fan petals of one of those multi-lighted circus toys when pressed at full speed. Later on that evening on our way back to my tia’s apartment, my dad stopped at K-Mart and bought me my first skateboard.
Two Fridays ago I received a voice mail from the mother of a former student, “Jesse this is Stacy Hernandez, Adrian Hernandez’s mom, I was trying to reach you to let you know that Adrian passed away last night. Please reach me.”) I first met Adrian in August of 2009; he had fallen behind at a school in Wyoming the previous school year, and wanting a fresh start his folks decided to move to Greeley and enroll him at Maplewood Middle School. Adrian was the first student I sat down and spoke with at our school’s orientation for incoming students. He caught my eye as he strolled somewhat aimlessly from one table station to the next. I recall our school’s head coach attempting to recruit him for athletics as his size and build resembled that of a quarterback or hardwood center. I made my way slowly to where the coach had him cornered and overheard Adrian mention how he would consider it, but by the insignia on his shirt, the frayed jeans and his worn sneakers; it was obvious (to the two of us) that Adrian’s athleticism would be spent elsewhere. I strategically interrupted the coach’s pitch and introduced myself to Adrian as his new principal.
Before any talk of classes or extra-curricular activities, I probed him on his preference of skateboards for as any true skater knows; the first question targets the types of boards we skate. And as it would be for the remainder of the school year, Adrian would give me the low down on each of his new skate-decks; its pop, weight and shape were forever his key ingredients. These are conversations we shared while on lunch duty or when crossing paths during my hallway sweeps. At least a couple of times a week I found him buying time with the secretaries until I showed up from a scheduled meeting or observation. Before entering my office, he had to prove that he was getting along fine in his classes. The deal was that he’d start the year in the seventh grade and if at the end of first semester his behavior and grades validated a move forward, Adrian would start the eighth grade after winter break.
It took all but a couple of days into second semester for Adrian to find his place among the eighth grade students. Because the skate culture is one of the rare lifestyles that do not discriminate against age, ethnicity, race, and or gender, the company Adrian kept already existed on day one. But the girls, the girls were a different story as one after another proposed that our counselor schedule his classes according to each of their own.
Before either of us had realized it, the end of the school year was fast on our heels. The Tuesday before the last day, Adrian and a couple of his buddies spent the day in my office watching skate videos and eating pizza. We talked about the evolution of skateboarding and where it was headed. Along with the boys, I had agreed to hit the various skateparks throughout our summer break. Adrian was ecstatic that the warm weather had arrived and the books would be put away for a few short months. A few weeks before the end of the year I realized why this young man had made an impression on me nine months earlier. In (those final days) looking at him as he emerged from the front door minutes after the day's final bell, I saw myself as I was so many years ago. He walked by and in what was close to a whisper he'd say, "I'll see you tomorrow Mr. T." For a few seconds he'd hesitate with the street before him, the finger tips of his right-hand
By: Lydia Gil,
on 6/16/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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Some White Editors say Latino Submissions are “SUB-PAR?” WHAT?!
By: Mayra Livingstone Dole
 Many of the thousands of Latino writers submitting to big publishers and getting rejected are intellectuals or academics who write perfect English and Spanish thus I was shocked to read about editors “throwing their doors wide to submissions by PoC” and saying that “the work they're receiving seems to be sub-par, not polished, or in need of more work than they have time for in this highly competitive business.”
Most editors don’t accept unsolicited manuscripts. Writers must first go through agents. I don’t know a single agent in these times who’d present the work of a “sub-par” Latino writer to an editor.
Marcela Landres, ex executive editor for Simon & Schuster says, “If you are a Latino writer… all you can reasonably expect from your publisher is for them to simply print and distribute your book. Do not expect your publisher to invest more than the minimum of time and money in promoting your book….Don’t assume your publisher or agent will actually tell you this. Most people are unwilling or unable to convey bad news; they’d rather point fingers when things go wrong. It’s just human nature.”
Who are the editors stating these comments?
In my view, the remarks seem racist and are hurtful to Latino writers. Shame on you!
1 Comments on Guest Post: Mayra Livingstone Dole, last added: 6/16/2010
By: Rene Colato Lainez,
on 6/15/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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For more information visit The Américas Award is given in recognition of U.S. works of fiction, poetry, folklore, or selected non-fiction (from picture books to works for young adults) published in the previous year in English or Spanish that authentically and engagingly portray Latin America, the Caribbean, or Latinos in the United States. By combining both and linking the Americas, the award reaches beyond geographic borders, as well as multicultural-international boundaries, focusing instead upon cultural heritages within the hemisphere. The award is sponsored by the national Consortium of Latin American Studies Programs (CLASP). The award winners and commended titles are selected for their 1) distinctive literary quality; 2) cultural contextualization; 3) exceptional integration of text, illustration and design; and 4) potential for classroom use. The winning books will be honored at a ceremony (fall 2010) during Hispanic Heritage Month at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
2010 Américas Award Winners
Return to Sender by Julia Alvarez. Knopf, 2009. 318 pgs. ISBN 978-0-375-85838-3. What Can You Do with a Paleta? / ¿Qué puedes hacer con una paleta? By Carmen Tafolla, Illustrated by Magaly Morales. Tricycle Press, 2009. 36 pgs. ISBN 978-1- 58246-289-9.
Américas Award Honorable Mentions Gringolandia by Lyn Miller-Lachmann. Curbstone, 2009. 280 pgs. ISBN 978-1- 931896-49-8. I Know the River Loves Me / Yo sé que el río me ama by Maya Christina González. Children's Book Press, 2009. 24 pgs. ISBN 978-0-89239-233-9.
Review: Stella Pope Duarte. Women Who Live in Coffee Shops. Houston: Arte Publico Press, 2010. ISBN 9781558856004. Michael Sedano Stella Pope Duarte's Vietnam war/Chicano movimiento novel, Let Their Spirits Dance, tells a powerful story that merits reading, both for its view of movimiento organization around the Vietnam war as well as Duarte’s skillful writing. I know some readers--I among them--were put off by Duarte's stridently nationalistic stance at the conclusion of her Vietnam novel, the roll call of war dead Duarte limits to dead Chicano soldiers, to the exclusion other names. That was her author's prerogative, signalling that Jesse's life and death in Let Their Spirits Dance was the story of all those dead Chicano soldiers whom history and United States literature would otherwise ignore. All the men I trained with at Ft. Ord—not just raza--who followed orders and went off to die in Vietnam deserved to be noticed, not ignored. To me, the only color that mattered was the green uniform we all wore, hence my discomfort with Duarte's politics. Ultimately, Duarte’s strategy proves prescient, doesn’t it? PBS’ WWII series planned to burn us out of our role in that history. Texas pinheaded textbook writers are erasing us out of US history. In today's Arizona, its "breathing while brown" law would stand Jesse and all those names up against a wall and demand they prove their citizenship. All those names Duarte omitted could walk past whistling Dixie without a care in the world. My apologies to Stella for resenting her insight. It’s unlikely Duarte’s work in Women Who Live in Coffee Shops will engender even a whit of rejection from readers based on their ethnicity or Duarte’s focus. The thirteen stories feature either very young or very old people, and in addition to Chicana Chicano characters, Duarte peoples her tales with Italian, Polish, and Appalachian Anglos. Here are Arizonans trapped in their own lives by poverty and its pernicious economic culture. But Duarte isn’t writing some bleeding heart tales of woe, but rather how hard scrabble people find ways to earn hope, or just a soupçon of satisfaction. The title story, which comes fourth in the sequence, for example, has a host of locals—Chicana, black, Anglo--unite to protest the arrest of an Italian coffee shop owner. Duarte suggests Sal is guilty of something, maybe the revenge murder of a jewel thief, or something else. The piggish cops earn no respect from the locals, who relish poking a sharp stick in officialdom’s eye. When the child narrator’s mother hands Sal back the inciminating evidence she’d absconded in advance of the search warrant, it’s a measure of justice. “Homage” shows how women and men readily close ethnic and class-based gaps. The first-person narrator is a clerical factotum in the county courthouse. Overdrawn and perpetually broke, she’s painfully aware of the fancy cars in prime parking spots, and the expensive consequences from the letters she and her co-worker stuff and put into the mail. She catches the eye and, owing to a studied vocabulary, the ear, of a mid-level manager. They flirt. He turns a cold shoulder to a needy Chicano couple. She nags. He has a change of heart. The couple will profit, and the clerk and the boss will have a date and who knows, a happily ever after future. Readers will note how efficiently Duarte uses her words and material. In the coffee shop story, for example, a colorful bagwoman called Margaret Queen of Scots, is good for a couple of paragraphs, then forgotten as the plot turns to the central action. But as the collection closes, Margaret�
By: Daniel Olivas,
on 6/13/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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 Rigoberto González is the author of eight books and the editor of Camino del Sol: Fifteen Years of Latina and Latino Writing recently published by the University of Arizona Press. The recipient of Guggenheim and NEA fellowships, winner of the American Book Award, and The Poetry Center Book Award, he writes a Latino book column for the El Paso Times. He is contributing editor for Poets and Writers Magazine, on the Board of Directors of the National Book Critics Circle, and is Associate Professor of English at Rutgers—Newark, State University of New Jersey. Rigoberto kindly agreed to take time out of his busy schedule to answer a few questions about the Camino del Sol anthology: DANIEL OLIVAS: What role has the Camino del Sol series played in Chicano and Latino literature? RIGOBERTO GONZÁLEZ: Whether the University of Arizona Press was aware of this or not, by championing this literary series devoted exclusively to publishing Chicano/Latino authors for the past sixteen years, the press has been keeping a cultural record of Chicano/Latino literature in the new millennium. The extensive and distinguished list of authors in the series is a veritable who’s who and this has made it an attractive place for early career writers to submit quality work. Thankfully, the series has always kept its doors open to new voices, fomenting an incredible community of artists that will sustain a dynamic and energetic list of talent as the press moves into the next decade. The reputation of Camino del Sol titles continues to grow, solidifying its place as one of the most important and visible Chicano/Latino literary series in the nation. DO: How long did it take you to compile the poems, stories and essays that were eventually chosen for the anthology? RG: I had read or reviewed for The El Paso Times most of the titles by the time Patti Hartmann (the acquisitions editor of the University of Arizona Press) approached me about undertaking this project. But I did have to reread most of the titles (close to 50 books) with the help of my graduate assistant Diego Báez. Together, we read, selected and retyped all of the entries within one year. Few of the authors had any idea this anthology was being put together and none had any input on the selections. I wanted to create a narrative of sorts, reflecting the political and social changes that were in the air, and as editor I made the choice to strategize independently. But I was guided by the power and beauty of the writing. This was, I felt, the true testament of the series--how the authors’ language, voices and ideas remain relevant to the times and environments we live in. DO: Did you notice a difference between the earlier pieces and the newer ones? RG: Whatever I come up with in terms of an answer is immediately proven false. About the only thing I can come up with is that the series eventually owned up to the inclusive term Latino. From 1994 to 2001, the series published exclusively Chicano writers, but then came the Caribbean writers like Virgil Suárez and the late Rane Arroyo, and more recently the South American writers Braulio Muñoz, Kathleen de Azevedo and Marjorie Agosín. There’s still room for other traditions and nationalities, and it will be exciting to see what will come next. <
By: tatiana de la tierra,
on 6/13/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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by tatiana de la tierra
“La madre es lo más sagrado que hay, madre no hay sino una, papá puede ser cualquier hijueputa.” (The mother is most sacred; there is only one mother, any motherfucker could be the father.) –from No nacimos pa’ semilla by Alonso Salazar J.
Colombia is a firefly in my mind’s eye, flickering in phosphorescent magic for a moment before disappearing into total darkness. Colombia is inside of me, yet it is nowhere to be seen. I think of her as mine by birthright—those are my mountains, my vallenatos, my dusty winding roads, my chontaduros, my Shakira. But really, it’s the other way around. I am the one who belongs to her.
Colombia is my motherland, my matria, my entrance into the planet of Earth. That tiny spec of earth where I was born has defined me forever. Forget the fact that I don’t even remember Villavicencio because I went to live in Bogotá when I was a few months old. Forget that I came to Miami with my family when I was 7 and visited Colombia countless times since yet haven’t been there in 9 whole years.
 Forget that some things have faded, that I latch on to old memories—eating fresh fried snapper on the beach in Santa Marta, getting nauseous on all those curves while driving through the mountains in Tolima, licking the walls at the Salt Cathedral in Zipaquirá, plopping into a pew inside the church in Villahermosa after being overcome by a drastic change in altitude, taking the long walk to visit my ancestors at the cemetery in El Libano, dealing with that prickly reality of guerillas that came to extort us at my family’s farm in Palmira, hanging out in nightclubs when I was 5 with my Abuelita Blanca in Bogotá, burying my 38 year-old brother in Barranquilla. These memories at my fingertips are just a few of many more that exist in circular time. I am here now and I was there then yet in a way I am here and there simultaneously. Memories of my homeland intercept the reality that I live in Long Beach, California, approximately 3,480 miles from Bogotá.
My brother’s death put my romantic relationship with Colombia on hold. Why go back to the scene of the crime, to the site of indescribable pain of the end of my brother’s life? Yet Gus loved Colombia and lived there in the complexity of our identities. He was born in Bogotá, grew up in Miami, and relocated to Colombia when he was 29. I interviewed him once in Santa Marta and asked how he identified. He said, “You know, I’m here but I don’t feel like I’m Colombian. I feel more like American-Colombian and when I was in the United States I felt like I was a Colombian-American.” When I asked him what he thought about being Colombian and living in the U.S. he said, “I was proud to be Colombian… I love my country.”
A country is an odd thing to love, considering that we are all children of mother earth, which has no delineated territories. Pachamama is the alchemical mixture of soil, seed, ash, rock, water, fire and flower that gives us our bones and our first breath. We are born through our mother’s wombs to be gifted with the citizens
By: Rudy Garcia,
on 6/12/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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This, my third unemployed Saturday searching for a teaching position. The Denver Post affirms my future is as uncertain as many others' in the Great Recession that may become our Permanent Condition:
"Education Secretary Arne Duncan has been warning that 300,000 school teachers may lose their jobs if the federal government doesn't bail out public school systems."
But if I despair, I can watch my daughter Marika's video of kids performing this May at the Barnum Elem. Talent Show. It covers the most important loves I nurture in my students: Love of animal and plant life, the Earth, the arts, their culture and fellow man, education and lastly, family.
A poem, a chant and a song. The performance won't win any competitions--they're just first graders--but I share it in case you need something uplifting, something to inspire you to keep searching for what your life lacks at the moment. For faster download, click the Small version. More info about the video content at the bottom of this post.
Biblioteca de Cuentos
A friend Juan V. sent me a site called Biblioteca de Cuentos.
There you will find a list of authors and stories or passages from larger works, all en español. Isabel Allende, Carlos Castaneda, Octavio Paz, Edgar Allen Poe y más. You click on an author's work and a screen open with a graphic and the stylized text for you to read. As my friend said, "Para los que tengan el tiempo de pasar en la compu aqui les va algo divertido." The Castaneda passage spoke to my search for a new job:
"Un camino no es más que un camino.
Que lo abandones cuando tu corazón así te lo indique no significa ningún desaire a ti mismo ni a los demás.
Pero tu decisión de seguir esa senda o apartarte de ella no debe ser producto del temor ni la ambición.
Luego hazte esta pregunta: ¿Tiene corazón este camino?
Todos los caminos son iguales, no llevan a ningún lado. Atraviesan la maleza, se internan o van por debajo de ella.
Si ese camino tiene corazón, entonces es bueno. De lo contrario, no te servirá de nada …
de "Las enseñanzas de Don Juan”, de Carlos Castaneda
about the poem, chant and song:
Children love many things. These activities touch on some of the most important. Performed by forty of Mr. R. Garcia's first grade students from this and prior years. [BTW, 90% of these kids attained grade level or advanced in reading.]
 First poem, written by the 15th century prince of Texcoco, engineer and poet, Nezahualcoyotl, appears in microprint (in blue oval) on a 100-peso Mexican note. It refers to the love of the arts (music), animal (bird) and plant life (flower)
By: Manuel Ramos,
on 6/10/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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We soon may see copycat versions of the notorious SB1070 in several states, but not everything coming out of Arizona is bad. (Hey, I got family in the Phoenix area.) As proof, here are a few books scheduled for publication later this year, all from the University of Arizona Press. Now if only the rabid anti-Mexican Arizonans would read some of these ---
[text from the University of Arizona Press Fall/Winter 2010 Catalog]
Each and Her
Valerie Martínez
September
In 2004 twenty-eight women and young girls were murdered in Ciudad Juárez and the surrounding areas. The tragedy escalated to fifty-eight murders in 2006, then again to eighty-six in 2008, and current estimates top four hundred deaths. Now poet Valerie Martínez offers a poetic exploration of these events, pushing boundaries—stylistically and artistically—with vivid poems that contextualize femicide.
Martínez departs from traditional narrative to reveal the hidden effects and outcomes of the horrific and heart-wrenching cases of femicide. These poems—lyric fragments and prose passages that form a collage—have an intricate relation to one another, creating a complex literary quilt that feels like it can be read from the beginning, the end, or anywhere in between. Martínez is personally invested in the topic, evoking the loss of her sister, and Each and Her emerges as a biography of sorts and a compelling homage to all those who have suffered. Other authors may elaborate on or investigate this topic, but Martínez humanizes it by including names, quotations, realistic details, and stark imagery.
The women of Juárez, like other women around the world, are ravaged by inequality, discontinuity, politics, and economic plagues that contribute to gender violence. Martínez offers us a poignant and alarming glance into another world with these never-before-told stories. Her refreshing and explosive voice will keep readers transfixed and intrigued about these events and emotions—removed from us and yet so close to the heart.
Valerie Martínez is the author of several books, including World to World, published by the University of Arizona Press. Her poems, essays, and translations have also appeared in The Best American Poetry, American Poetry Review, Puerto del Sol, and The Latino Poetry Review. Martínez is the Poet Laureate for the city of Santa Fe for 2008–2010.
The Good Rainbow  Road
By: Lydia Gil,
on 6/9/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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UT Press announces the publication of: Mexican Women and the Other Side of Immigration: Engendering Transnational Ties by Luz María Gordillo
Weaving narratives with gendered analysis and historiography of Mexicans in the Midwest, Mexican Women and the Other Side of Immigration examines the unique transnational community created between San Ignacio Cerro Gordo, Jalisco, and Detroit, Michigan, in the last three decades of the twentieth century, asserting that both the community of origin and the receiving community are integral to an immigrant's everyday life, though the manifestations of this are rife with contradictions. Exploring the challenges faced by this population since the inception of the Bracero Program in 1942 in constantly re-creating, adapting, accommodating, shaping, and creating new meanings of their environments, Luz María Gordillo emphasizes the gender-specific aspects of these situations. While other studies of Mexican transnational identity focus on social institutions, Gordillo's work introduces the concept of transnational sexualities, particularly the social construction of working-class sexuality. Her findings indicate that many female San Ignacians shattered stereotypes, transgressing traditionally male roles while their husbands lived abroad. When the women themselves immigrated as well, these transgressions facilitated their adaptation in Detroit. Placed within the larger context of globalization,
Review: Bernardo and the Virgin by La Bloga Guest Columnist Nina Forsythe
Silvia Sirias. Bernardo and the Virgin. Chicago: Northwestern Univ Press, 2007. ISBN: 9780810124271 0810124270Ever since the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and especially since the attack on the Twin Towers by Al Queda in 2001, the attention of Americans has shifted from "Communist threats" to "Islamic fundamentalist threats." The Nicaraguan Sandinista revolution of the 1970s and the Contra War of the 1980s, including the Iran-Contra scandal, which provoked such alarm about the peril in "our backyard," have receded from memory. Most of us never had any idea how the events of those turbulent decades were perceived by Nicaraguans, but it's a perspective worth appreciating, both for its own sake and for what it might imply about the complexities of the Islamic world in today's conflicts. One of the most fascinating news stories that hardly got any ink in the U.S. was a series of visitations by the Virgin Mary reported by a poor tailor and sacristan in the back-of-beyond village of Cuapa. The effects of the apparitions, beginning in May 1980, less than 10 months after the Sandinistas had finally toppled the Somoza dictatorship, reverberated throughout a deeply divided, war-ravaged nation. This real event is the basis for a novel by Nicaraguan-American Silvio Sirias. Bernardo and the Virgin tells the tale of the seer, the apparitions, and how they touched the lives of the people of Nicaragua. At the heart of this work of fiction is the real-life tailor Bernardo Martínez, but woven around him are the stories of numerous fictional characters whose lives intersect, in one way or another, with his. And what a motley crew they are. They run the gamut from a giddy, young girl impatient for love to an abrasive seller of religious supplies and her womanizing partner, from a right-wing crusading priest (and CIA operative) to a hardened Sandinista National Security agent, from a devoted 4’11” nun who carries around a 2” statue of the Virgin to a professor having a devastating mid-life crisis. They even include the ex-pat Nicaraguan community in the U.S. Some try to distort the Virgin’s message in various ways, either to undermine the church or to undermine the government, but most are preoccupied by their personal troubles. The stories range from deeply moving to humorous. One of the most hilarious chapters is, believe it or not, about a self-absorbed literary theorist. The cast of characters, varied as it is, does not become unwieldy because their stories eventually intertwine. As a result, the reader gets a different perspective on an earlier character. Sometimes a later story undermines a previous interpretation; other stories provide a fuller understanding of an earlier event. Not all the characters are equally fleshed out; Father Damian Innocent MacManus, for example, seems more caricature than real. While there are such seemingly two-dimensional people in life, they don’t seem to fare will in fiction. Nevertheless, what we come away with in the end is an understanding of Nicaraguans during the latter part of the twentieth century: their suffering and longings, their losses and hopes, their mysticism and bawdiness, their idealism and resignation. The author writes that he hopes to “give readers some insight into what it has meant to be Nicaraguan during such tumultuous times.” In this entertaining and moving novel, he has done so splendidly.
By: Daniel Olivas,
on 6/6/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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 Guest essay by Álvaro Huerta
What does the State of Arizona have in common with PB, the British global energy corporation? Well, let me count the way.
First, both have been spewing toxins into America’s environment since late April. In the case of Arizona, on April 23rd, Governor Jan Brewer signed into law an unconstitutional and racist measure (SB 1070), whereby criminalizing undocumented workers and legalizing racial profiling against Latinos. As for BP, on April 20th, this corporate mammoth, in the spirit of the “drill-baby-drill” mantra, caused the largest oil leak disaster since the infamous Exxon Valdez oil spill over two decades ago.
Secondly, both have been grossly inaccurate regarding their data to rationalize their claims. The supporters of Arizona’s immigration law, for example, argue that since undocumented workers account for the “rise of crime” in this state, the state government had no choice but to pass a law aimed at curtailing these so-called criminals. Yet, recent reports show that crime has actually declined in the desert state and the cheerleaders of this draconian law have yet to produce any legitimate data correlating recent immigrants with crime.
On the contrary, recent research shows that undocumented immigrants on average commit less crime than native-born Americans, especially once we take into account for age, gender and other factors to make valid comparisons. We need to compare apples to apples and oranges to oranges. For example, if we know that recent immigrants are younger (and most likely male) compared to Americans, then we can’t compare these two groups equally when it comes to crime, especially since we know that young people are more likely to commit a crime than older folks.
Writing for the American Conservative magazine in a recently published essay, Ron Unz does an excellent job of examining the complex nature of Latinos (and other groups) vis-à-vis crime rates where he analyzes hard data to debunk myths perpetuated by Republicans and others in this country about the so-called Latino immigrant menace. Despite being a leading force against bilingual education in California in the 1990s, Unz actually puts his Harvard and Stanford educational background to some good use by closely examining the complex relationships between ethnic groups (whites included) and crime in this country.
As for BP, when the corporation first estimated the magnitude of the oil leak, corporate officials dramatically underreported the amount of oil being released daily in the ocean and, consequently, U.S. states in the Gulf of Mexico. For instance, corporate officials, according to news agencies, originally calculated the leak 5,000 barrels (210,000 gallons) per day, while U.S. Government officials estimated it at 12,000-19,000 barrels (504,000 to 798,000 gallons) per day. Other scientists, based on video evidence, have estimated it at 70,000 to 100,000 per day.
Thirdly, the actions of both the Arizona government and BP corporate leaders have caused more economic hardship for the residents of the already economically depressed regions. In the case of Arizona, the growing national boycotts against this financially struggling state have resulted in the loss of revenue (both current and future) that will further damage the fragile economy caused by the housing crises, loss of jobs, credit crises and, overall, current recession.
Th
By: Olga Garcia Echeverria,
on 6/6/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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by Guest Blogger Andrew J. Peters
 Alex Sanchez has blazed a trail in YA fiction with honest, fresh and matter-of-fact portrayals of American gay teenagers. His début novel Rainbow Boys (2003) was selected as a "Best Book for Young Adults" by the American Library Association. His subsequent novels have been bestowed with the Myers Outstanding Book Award (Getting It, 2006) and the Florida Book Award Gold Medal (Bait, 2009).
While attitudes toward lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people remain a polarizing force in the adult world—California's Prop 8 and the Pentagon review of 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' for example, young people increasingly accept teenagers declaring themselves gay, starting Gay/Straight Alliance clubs and attending prom with same-sex dates as benign, inspirational or even commonplace events. Accordingly, YA has changed, broadened to include an LGBT fiction niche, and seen a squall of critically-acclaimed publications such as Peter Cameron's Some Day This Pain Will Be Useful To You (2007), Brent Hartinger's Geography Club (2003) and Leanne Lieberman's Gravity (2008).
With seven books published in as many years, Sanchez stands out as a singularly steady YA voice, and his books have become a sort of anthology of the contemporary gay teen experience. Coming out, with all its internal and external challenges, is his standby theme, but his stories reach beyond into many topics – dating, divorce, AIDS scares, which have resonated for young readers, gay and non-gay, for nearly a decade. For older readers, there's the added draw of the subversive. Imagine Judy Blume with all the main characters gay and a sprinkling of non-gay characters on the periphery.
As a longtime advocate for LGBT teens, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to talk to Alex about his work.
Andrew Peters: Alex, thanks so much for stopping by La Bloga. I think of you as a real pioneer. You're one of the first YA authors to launch a successful series with gay teen characters front-and-center. Given the conservative tendencies of the publishing industry, many gay-themed stories have not been embraced so whole-heartedly in the mainstream. What do you think made the difference for your books? Alex Sanchez: I think much of my initial success came from writing the right book for the right time. Rainbow Boys, my début novel, portrayed characters dealing with issues that so many young people—both gay and straight—face in high schools today: safe sex, HIV, homophobia, along with the perennial teen struggles of figuring out identity, love, friendship, trying to fit in... I think that combination of timely issues and perpetual themes appealed to publishers. AP: Your parents are Cuban and German. You were born in Mexico and moved to the United States when you were five. In past interviews, you've talked about the challenges of growing up in the States as a non-English speaker, receiving anti-Mexican taunts, and the ability to blend in as a light-skinned boy. How have these experiences shaped your personal sense of cultural identity?
AS: On one hand, I feel lucky to have two cultures—Latino and Anglo. I think that creates more empathy and an ability to see situations and issues from different perspectives. On the other hand, I never feel completely Latino or completely Anglo. Sometimes I have to work to feel I fully belong to either group.
Teaching in U.S. public schools isn't a job or just a career; it's a lifestyle. Those unfamiliar with the work envy teachers their summers off and Xmas holidays. But what comes with the job are 10-12 hrs./day and weekends and holidays spent preparing lesson plans, grading papers and filling out forms. Plus, summer hours preparing for the coming year. For a starting teacher in Denver this works out to be $15/hr. With a master's it goes up to $16.50. Excluded from this is what can easily be $3k out-of-pocket that doesn't get reimbursed. We're not in it for the money; we even pay to be a teacher.
In this Great Recession, having any job is good. I know because I'm presently out of work and seeking a new position with such ridiculously low pay. Like Joe Navarro below, teaching is my passion and calling.
Navarro's letter is a great overall treatment of what's wrong with how the country educates our children. Given the direction of the education discourse nationwide, what he writes about California is significant in that it will likely spread to encompass the remainder of the country. That's his letter's importance.
I won't summarize here my last three years working in one Denver inner city school; maybe I'll write a novel about it one day. I'll just tell you about one student who wasn't one of my bilingual students.
Let's call him Pacifico, because his name is antithetical to his school life and role in it. Pacifico's small for his age, white as a snowflake, unassuming, and worse, sports the thick coke-bottle glasses that should have been outlawed decades ago. I never witnessed any of Pacifico's disruptive behavior, but staff would tell me about various incidents. I've no reason to doubt so many testaments.
I'd often see Pacifico sitting waiting in the office for the principal--in trouble again for hitting, cussing, throwing something, somewhere. I'd talked to him a couple of times in passing, but when I saw him repeatedly eating alone in the cafeteria one week, I went over to him. I assumed he'd been separated from others because of his lunchroom behavior.
"Why are you sitting alone? You being punished?"
"No, I don't like being with the other kids; they pick on me."
"You don't want to sit with your friends?"
"I don't have any."
After that I'd occasionally talk with him, advising him that he at least needed to learn how to stay out of trouble. Sometimes I'd just wish him a good morning--this to a six/seven-year-old who seldom seemed to have few good mornings in his school life. He always acknowledged me, sometimes even breaking out with a crack of a smile, but not often.
My final week of school, having joined the ranks of the not-coming-back-next-year, I tended to avoid staff gatherings and talking with anyone, but on the final day I had to go through the office to hang up my room keys for the last time.
Pacifico was there, possibly not in trouble. He came up close, looked me in the face. "I'm going to miss you." He hugged me like we'd always been the best of buddies, now parting, the message being that he too was leaving.
I don't know that Pacifico hugged everyone that day. Or only me. It doesn't matter. Nor do I know where he's going. Like Navarro below, I don't even know where I'm going.
I do know that should Pacifico grow up to be a sociopathic Columbiner and enter my school, his aim will at least hesitate when it turns on me. On the other hand, he may carry the memory of our moments as something positive that eventually contributes to his not entering a school in such a fashion.
Joe Navarro will tell you now about his torment of retiring as a teacher. I won't, and not because I'm nowhere near retirement. It will be because $15-16 an hour is worth it when it comes with the benefits of Pacifico moments. I
This will be quick - too much going on this week, sorry for the short post. And I know this may be too local - but it's what I got. Here's the latest entertainment schedule from Rick's Tavern, the best place in Denver to enjoy the music our parents and abuelitos listened to when we were young kids, and that we dance to now as older kids. This month features Dwayne Ortega and the Young Guns as well as a Festival of New Mexican and Tejano Music. Great sounds para tirar chancla. If you can't read the poster, click on it for a better view.
A few other miscellaneous notes - the latest batch of music I brought into the house made me think I was missing a class or two up in Fort Collins at good old CSU. 1968 all over again. New music from Jimi Hendrix (Valley of Neptune - the album that was going to be next), and "lost" music from the Rolling Stones' epic Exile on Main Street (10 "new" songs.) Meanwhile, gente is in the streets, marching, protesting, and getting busted. The suddenly very warm weather reminds me of too short summers hanging around the campus, a party every Friday night, Chicana students mesmerizing me with their creativity and pride, and lazy days where nothing gets done, and yet we all survived and thrived in what now seems like a soft-edged, ephemeral world of dreams and illusions and hope.
Speaking of the old days, and ancient news, I came across a very strange note about my new book, from some obscure online discussion group. The message thread was entitled Novel by Brown Supremacist Glamorizes Chicano Terrorists - obviously the guy hadn't read King of the Chicanos. The weirdo said: The timing of this novel, like the trailer for the movie Machete, seems targeted to inspire race riots by young La Raza (THE RACE) militants. Give me a break.
Jesse's post yesterday mentioned "The Chief" - Ubaldo Jimenez. Cy Young candidate. All Star. Best pitcher in the majors. I admit it, I am a fan. This young pitcher is the real deal. As Jesse said, ¡Claro que sí!
Come back soon - there's much more in store here at La Bloga. Author interviews. Reviews of new books. Literary news. Poetry - weapon of love - aimed at SB 1070 - weapon of hate. ¡Ándale!
Later.
By: Jesse Tijerina,
on 6/2/2010
Blog: La Bloga
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 When skimming the pages of, Heredities, and reading the blurbs, a few random expressions and words caught me off guard and sent me to the dusty OED hibernating on my bookcase. Additionaly, I must mention that the copying and pasting of vocabulary like Corporeity and Occipito has not been a familiar habit of mine when reviewing Chicano poetry books. Fortunately, the wonderment of whether I would enjoy or simply comprehend J. Michael Martinez’s book was short lived as I returned to my senses while reading the fourth poem titled, He Name Me Miklo. In it I discovered the vibrant lenguaje of a modern Chicano scribe destined to find his place in the fraternity of America’s finest poets.
In, Heredities (LSU Press; 2010, $17.95), J. Michael Martinez surgically dissects Chicanismo into three sections; Etymology, Corporeity and Archetype, each which translates into an authentic and more modern examination of the mental and physical existence of Chicano identity. In the poem sub-titled, To Possess Identity, Difference Must Be Gathered, Martinez writes, “I said. I am Mexican, next I can be a Chicano, she with the hole at the end of identity.”
As you will find in this collection, Martinez does not waiver in his quest to define and or revise the Chicano state-of-being. And although la voz del movimiento reverberates loudly inside his corazon; Martinez (by delving deeper) abandons traditional salutations to the likes of the plumed serpent, las curanderas, and the warm tortillas often found inked within stanzas of many a Chicano poeta before him. “I said light peels from the sky like callused skin. You said the last name must be sung: Martinez, mar, teen, is, mart, I nest, mar I nest, which is to say the nest is to is to I to nest to mar the I,” writes Martinez. “The words unfold from your body. I winter there from noun to verb beneath your maiden name.” I venture to say that Martinez has both revealed and given identity to a once nameless organ forever belonging to the anatomy of Chicano heritage. In the end my initial assumption proved ridiculous as I happily read and read over the poems of Chicano literature's very own Whitman.
pensamientos al azar / random thoughts
Finished the King of Chicanos on my road trip to Las Cruces, Nuevo Mexico on Friday; enjoyed the libro so much that minutes after reading the final sentence I called Manuel to extend a verbal high five. So I am sweating profusely through the plaza in Old Mesilla and as luck would have it, the shop I decide to cool down and take a breather in is filled w/ books. Even luckier, nearly 100% of the stock is Chicano material, but the true prize was discovering that the beautiful lady standing behind the counter is none other than Denise Chavez. What ensued included an hour conversation w/ Denise about Chicano giants, the purchase of (late artist) Walter Baca’s uncommon, Chicano Heritage Coloring book, an early Editorial Justa publication of Rivera’s, Y No Se Lo…, Paul Martinez Pompa’s chapbook, Pepper Spray, and a “Honk If You’ve Seen La Llorona” bumper sticker. Muchisimas Gracias a Doña Denise para la platica, los libros, y las paletas. A copy of Daniel Alarcon’s recent editorial venture, The Novelist’s Handbook, arrived by mail yesterday. After reading Alarcon’s introduction, I look forward to what contributors such as Danticat, Llosa and Fresán have to say about the writing life. Can’t help but be excited for Friday’s movi
Congratulations to all the authors who were recognized by the International Latino Book Awards. My bilingual book René Has Two Last Names/René tiene dos apellidos received Honorable Mention in the Best Children's Picture Book (Bilingual) category. ¡Ajúa! I received the great news at my Facebook page. My friend Yuyi Morales posted the link of 2010 International Latino Book Awards Winner List. My friend Linda Rodriguez also congratulated me for the honorable mention. This was a great birthday present for me.
René Has Two Last Names/ René tiene dos apellidos has received three recognitions this year. Thanks to all the readers and award committees. - Honorable Mention: Best Bilingual Children's Book- International Latino Book Awards
- 2010 Skipping Stones Honor Award
- 2010-2011 Tejas Star Book Award List
To learn more about René Has Two Last Names visit the book's website at www.renesbooks.com Also my new books have their own websites. Take a look at The Tooth Fairy Meets El Ratón Pérez and My Shoes And I websites and learn more fun facts and ideas for the classroom and home. ***
If you are in Los Angeles Area, don't miss my author reading at Tia Chucha's Cafe Cultural
Sunday, June 6th 1-
June 1 Poets Respond to Arizona 1. "Invocación al Sol" by Maria del Carmen Cifuentes 2. "The Ghost Dance" by Hedy Trevino 3. "I Am From Two Different Homes" by Itzie Alarcón 4. "La regla de los ladrones / The Law of Thieves" by Avotcjia 5. "Scavenger Dreams" by Jeanette Iskat de Aldana 6. "Hierba Loca: The Children of Aztlan" by Lorenzo Herrerra y Lozano 7. "Three-Ten to Tule" (Mixtek, Spanish, English) by Octaviano Merecias-Cuevaso 1. "Invocación al Sol" by Maria del Carmen Cifuentes
invocación al sol arizona-coral, the rocks, tenacious, we face uplifted toward our ancestors’ spirits; amethyst, the furled ravines, deepened witness of our grounded stance; brown, the wrinkled earthen flesh, crackling under solar touch. tonatiuh, we are yours ya'áí, we are yours taawa, we are yours inya, we are yours somos hijos del sol crispened ivory, the strains of our history herniated by stampedes in the pursuit of— somber, the starred manta upon our shoulders settles to ease the rupturing borders; musky, the prominence of sweat evaporates in the drought of others. than, tuyos somos ‘anya, tuyos somos tavaci, tuyos somos gui, tuyos somos we are children of the sun from the hours gardening their dreams, green, my nopal palms; and magenta, now, its flowering, resolute, along my vessels overflows: my soul shall be released from the venom their infection seeks to mold. yaqui, ndikandii, shá, giizis, kìsiz, k’in, anchü, inti… somos tuyos, somos tuyos ¡cuidado! this prickly pear heart in my grasp resounds— it bursts the bounds of penned thorns, consumes the irons branding. my children vein this arid terrain in the succulence of mixed languages; through us, this maize land of bronze breathes; red as the clay, golden as the sun we are nascent. Sun invoked in Nahuatl, Western Apache, Hopi, Maricopa, Tewa, Mohave, Ute, Triqui, Taa’a, Mixteco, Navajo, Ojibwe, Algonquin, Maya, Mapuche, Kichwa… 2. "The Ghost Dance" by Hedy Trevino
THE GHOST DANCE By Hedy Trevino Boots at the door, ya vienen por allí. With baton in hand the sound of metal crashed thru the door. Ya vienen for allí. But we fear not the tempest for we know this journey well a long long time ago as we stood by the shore and we welcomed our own destiny in 1519 the year of reed 1 remember, but here we are, look, here we are, forever more. There by the door where you keep your memories at the ready is the little bag con tierra santa that abuelo gathered before you were born combined with cornmeal from the milpa he tended with such care. Can you hear the rustling of the corn like a symphony in the air guiding you and lifting you like a feather in the air. We are the children of the ghost dance, we are here, we are here. A new nation has risen we are the prophesy of the ghost dance fulfil
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