Reflections #2

I came to the bay area alone. I leave the bay area alone. Packing alone, cleaning out my Oakland apartment alone, seeing myself off. I guess I didn’t come here so much to develop roots, although in some fundamental way this occurred. I came to really understand what roots are. It is a hard lesson to learn. I came to love so many people in the bay area and I learned more about myself by loving these people. I cannot move on without making note of this. Otherwise the pain, struggle, and tears would have been in vain. Although we won’t be living or working within the same physical community, there are very few loved ones who are deeply rooted in my heart for life.
I have learned the importance of loyalty. Being loyal and learning to identify and appreciate those who are loyal are essential to building fam. Loyalty is a major aspect of how a person’s character is determined. Loyalty is defined by the ability to be consistently reliable in their word and action. A loyal person is selfless, yet not foolish. A loyal person does not express companionship only when it is convenient, but understands the importance of sacrifice and giving in moments of need by another. A loyal person who is wise does choose carefully who is considered a loved one, but does not fool others into companionship under the pretense of friendship. A loyal person respects the time, energy, and effort it takes to build trust, and does not allow others to invest in something that does not or will not exist. I am still learning how to identify those who are loyal, and those who seek superficial companionship. Patience, time, and trials are determining factors. So are a person's actions. How do I seek deeply rooted friendships without involving myself in risk, without allowing myself to become vulnerable? I don’t know if there’s a way. And perhaps this is why I’ve found myself alone for most of my life, why I seem to overcome most obstacles that push me to the very edge of life itself- alone. Somehow this strength is a mystery. If it weren’t for purpose- a purpose for living- I wouldn’t have my life.
My faith lies not in religion, but in purpose. Purpose is a spiritual concept. I know that there are meaningful reasons for having come across the people in my life, the conflicts I have encountered, the blessings I have embraced, and the pain I have learned from. I find it truly a miracle to continue to be alive- to choose life. Without purpose there would be no living- only meaningless pain, destruction, disaster, and undermined luck. But with purpose, I am understanding the depth in every course life has taken me, and I choose to find the courage to learn from it- even when it could be easy to give into emotional sway and say “fuck the world” sometimes. So every conflict, no matter how ugly it is, is a jewel- an opportunity to grow and become stronger, to understand the meaning of overcoming.
Life is a war. The victory in each battle is to see where love is hidden and develop a knowledge of self. Understanding the act of loving others and myself in a colonized world is the most challenging aspect of this war. Because so many aspects of colonization are deeply engrained in each of us, the way we develop relationships with others, and how we choose to go about the course of our lives, loving is a decolonizing process in itself. Once I began to see that, I realized the different ways that love can manifest itself in a twisted world. Love with no trust. Love with anger. There are people today who I love, feel a sense of loyalty and respect towards, yet maintain a distance from. Some of them may not know that I love them and recognize their beauty. They may not know that despite their trespasses against my trust, there is still a love that exists despite what I may want to feel.
A deeply rooted relationship then consists of an appreciation and loyalty toward that love- but also toward trust. I may love those who have disrespected me, but developing roots cannot occur in a relationship where respect is lacking. My challenge then is to seek wholesome relationships that contain all the qualities necessary to become sustainable- loyalty, trust, respect, and love. I believe I have grown to understand the weight of such an investment, and so I must invest wisely. I have also understood that I have to expect from myself what I expect in others. I have to be conscious of my own actions as well.

Reflections #1

An incomplete entry I wrote on my first flight to Rochester to go apartment hunting…

While on the plane flying towards my first trip to Rochester NY, where I will be attending grad school for the next year I took the time to reflect on a lot of things. One of the greatest things about 5 hour flights is having that time where we are forced to slow down. But this flight in particular is important. I’m been in the Bay Area since Sept 10, 2001, and it finally hit me that I’m about to physically leave behind the people, places, and cultural elements that have profoundly shaped my sense of humanity, identity, and knowledge of self, for life. I could write a book about these 6 precious years of my life; but I find particularly significant the last two years. Reflection is important for a number of things. It helps me develop and improve as a person in this world, as a spirit going through a journey of self-actualization and holistic growth, and it validates and gives concrete meaning to the lessons I’ve learned (and have yet to learn) so that when similar situations present themselves I’ll be able to identify a frame of reference much more easily.

Humility: Always stay self-critical. Of course many people could read this and agree that it is a great thing to be. But I’ve encountered situations where I’ve lacked humility and stagnated my own growth. I’ve finally come face to face with the significance of this principle and how this self-checking mechanism also develops the character and maturity of individuals. Humility also helps me become better at being myself; better at anything I practice, better at developing relationships with others, better at assessing any situation. Humility allows me to be honest with myself and develop knowledge of self. Humility is a spiritual principle as well. It allows me to ask whether I’m being true to the spiritual journey I have accepted to take and whether I’m moving in the right direction.

Character over reputation.: This is a principle adopted by one of my mentors. Although I believe it’s geared towards self-reflection, to me it’s is particularly significant in developing relationships with others both in personal intimate situations, but also in assessing people who stand out as leaders within the movement for social change and justice for oppressed folks. As a developing educator that views my line of work as developing a world of critical thinkers, I tend to look out to others who are more experienced, actualized, and successful leaders in education. It isn’t enough to judge a person by the accomplishments they’ve been recognized for. I’m the type of person who a lot of the time learns the hard way: by fuckin up, big time. I’ve been seriously wronged by attempting to develop intimate relationships with others, trusting that their character (what they do when nobody is looking) will coincide with the work that they have been recognized for. I’ve also blindly trusted my judgments upon people based on their relationships with others I trust. It takes a lot of time and close evaluation of others before feeling like I can begin to develop a relationship with them. It’s a dangerous thing to place somebody in a bubble of romanticized greatness as many do with revolutionary leaders like Che Guevara, Malcolm X, and Toussaint L’overature. All of these people have been brave enough to take risks to defend humanity, but they’ve also had their share of human faults. I think this is a lot easier said than done, and so my goal is to be conscious about the reasons I choose to trust others.

Loyalty: This is a principle I’ve been learning about all my life and each stage of my life presents itself with a more developed appreciation for this virtue. It’s always been one of the first tools I use to assess others with. At this stage in my life where I am seeking further grounding, I’ve become conscious of the importance of loyalty in developing relationships that last. Loyalty is a major quality in assessing the character of others as well as my own. It is also something I should be careful about. I can honestly say I’m usually (though not always) a person who’s loyal to a lot of people who haven’t been necessarily loyal to me. This can be a strength. It can also be a trap. There’s a serious need for me to assess who I choose to trust by evaluating their level of loyalty. Sometimes I’ve also found that people reveal themselves unexpectedly in good and bad ways by their actions around being loyal. Some have kept their loyalty after serious fallouts when I expected them not to, while others I’ve been hurt by due to their inconsistency around this principle. Assessing loyalty is a sifting mechanism- one of the ways we can make choices about who to keep near and who to keep at a distance.

…

What's Rochester Like??

A city I'm still tryna figure out..

Anybody who's Latino is Puerto Rican

Black folks don't head straight to the back of the bus like they do in NYC and in the Bay Area

The bus lines run about two hours apart

The ghetto is seriously dilapidated

The white suburbian areas have sprinkles of dilapidated vacancies (and dilapidated occupied houses) - I walked in the middle of a process of gentrification (in a dying city as I was told??)

White folks think the suburbs is still the city

Black folks say white folks live in the suburbs

White folks are dead scared to drive in the hood even during the day (nothin new here)

Puerto Rican folks still hang their flags outside their houses, just like they do in NYC and the Bay Area when you find them

The suburbs are flooded with USA flags, I get mean mugged on those streets (nothin new here either)

The cops disturb the peace in white neighborhoods when they're disturbing the Black folks who live in them

Most white folks have issues saying the word ghetto.. as if it were the "N" word

Renting homeowners talk about gentrification as if it was the greatest thing, and refer to the new "Boulders Coffee" on the block as a sure mark of it.. what's with coffee and gentrification??

The Media, White Terrorism, and Education

Immigration is a Womanist Issue

Via BrownFemiPower.

Women of Color Surviving Sexual Violence

Check out In Solidarity posted by BFP, who's focusing on sexual assault survivors.. There are a couple of interesting ideas for validating the experiences of sexual assault. I particularly like this idea of a 24 hour blog vigil.

Also I am putting together a compilation of pieces by WOC artists/writers who have survived sexual violence and outright systematic oppression as women of color:

Attention women of color writers and artists:
This is a call for submissions for an anthology of very original and compelling short stories (fiction and non-fiction), testimonies, poetry, plays, photographs, and artwork! The theme of this anthology, titled Quiet Wars, will be about women of color's experiences in being faced with and surviving systemic oppression through interpersonal experiences. How has sexism, racism, classism, homophobia, ableism, ageism, nativism, etc., experienced through interpersonal relations violated women of color? Do you have a story on experiences dealing with rape, domestic violence, hate violence, or being humiliated/marginalized physically/intellectually/culturally in social settings (job, school, family, etc.) as a woman of color? How have you/do you (or generally women of color) survived these experiences? How are women of color pressured to not speak about these experiences? What does healing around these issues look like? Is healing something hard to conceptualize?

Submissions need not be actual testimonials although these are definitely more than welcome. As long as they creatively and compellingly engage and explore the theme they are welcome. The idea for this anthology came about through the (very personal) realization of empowerment and initial healing through naming and talking about our experiences. The goal of this project is to create an awareness of the issues specific to women of color against power imbalances (within our own communities of color as well as within the larger dominant society). This awareness also allows for the validation of other women's experiences who have gone through similar encounters with power. It will be a conversation with the many "faceless" women who come into contact with power and have difficulty naming their experiences.

Deadline for submissions will be June 17th note the date change. Email me at: "RosaDominicana at gmail dot com" with submissions or questions.
Please forward this selectively to other women of color writers/artists!

East Oakland meets Palestine.

See what's going down with my Street Photo Journalism Class in East Oakland, and our recent trip.

Who IS this woman?

Makin me wanna rock the mic once again..

QUIET WARS

To whom it does concern:

You have a certain way of doing it. It began with the identical set of questions you had asked other women, students, about their personal lives. One woman who spoke didn’t let it get past the questions. I was in a slightly different position. The people I trust, the people who had changed my life have close relationships with you. I was familiar with your work in the community and had personal relationships with those who collaborated with you or worked under you. Students were ready to risk their university degrees for your cause, because they believed you were deep in the struggle. I was caught up in the fabricated glory of you. So I answered your questions without a second thought, and asked some myself, not knowing yet where this was going but not feeling threatened at all.

Each night, once a week on the same weekday after class you’d come upstairs and into my door or we’d go out to dinner, and the plan was to go over some work. This only happened two or three times. Other nights were continuations of the questioning with drawn out conversation. Flirting. You asked me about my general intentions. I told you I wanted nothing short of commitment. I was moving into a new cycle in my life, where I wanted to be patient with the next person. To wait a while. You said you were glad I was 25 at the time. That I had a certain maturity and certainty about my path. There was a clarity that developed through the late night conversations and the short moments of physical closeness.

There was that first night. Before a trip to some academic conference you were flying out to. We agreed it was cool for you to spend the night, so we could continue our talks. The late night came and went, and then came tiredness long past midnight. You told me to bring an extra pillow. I figured there wasn’t any harm. I reminded myself that there was a given mutual trust and respect.

Your hands. They caught me by surprise- attempting to find their ways into places I was not yet ready to give. I wanted to be held. But I was not asking for more than this. I pushed your hands away- several times. Eventually you stopped, turned around, and fell asleep facing the wall.

It was that second night. We studied at your house. The place that you were so thrilled to show me. This was yours. Your accomplishment. Your big privilege. Not mine. At times you would say we were privileged, that we could do whatever we wanted. Clearly you misunderstood who I was, and you were immersed in your acquisitions. There was an obsession about you. Always wanting to get published. To out-publish this person or that institution. Naïvely so, I got caught up in the glory of this world I confused for my own. I slipped outside myself to become enraptured with the idea of co-publishing with you. Of thinking that this was going to become part of what was going to define me. This was your way of doing things. It was not long before I discovered that your vision was never to incorporate my valuable thoughts into what was to be your accomplishment. Your big privilege. To have someone run around and look things up for you. Your academic maid. Xerox copies. Research. I was too busy for this. I had to defend my time. And even that night I couldn’t finish my own work, because yours needed feedback, processing, analysis, refinement. When I said I had work of my own to do, I caught you stopping yourself before you said my work was insignificant in light of yours. Blinded by the glory, I doubted that this was what I heard. But I look back into the image of that time, and that's exactly what was said.

Still, that second night you had your way of doing things. Between the work, there was the continuing conversation over tea. You said this could work. This secret affair. Someone would have to make compromises when it came time for me to make the decision to move back home, but we should try it. See if it’s worth it. See what comes out of it. You were seriously into me. You were feeling me. You were feeling this. You said this. And I reiterated what my intentions have been. I was not a fling. I was looking for the real thing and you responded saying you were looking for the same. I believed you. Caught up in the glory of it all. That second night continued. The drowsiness came in, but we were caught up in your bedroom. I was not so reluctant as the first night. I had your words with me. Still, it wasn’t easy. There was kissing and stopping. Touching and blocking. Reaching, and grabbing, and pushing away. Thinking. I had your words with me. Your words that so many had relied on for validation. Your words that were inquired into by academic experts supposedly in the struggle. Your words that have compelled others to question, think, and reason in new ways. Your words made it okay. They were worth something. They were worth all the faith I had in the work you do and the people who have worked with you. And so it happened your way. I took you for your words. This was your big accomplishment. Your big privilege. Your words have given you all the access. Power. Money. Sex. Reputation. Status. This was your way of doing things. And then came morning and the rest of the day as it usually comes to me. Work. School. Home. Sleep. The quiet war had started, yet I still didn’t know.

The next morning you had made your decision. You picked me up from my books and took me out to breakfast. Crepes, coffee, and home fried potatoes. This was your way of doing things. You said we couldn’t do it anymore. It was too risky. You could loose your place in the game. Your accomplishments. Your big privileges. The cause that you had everyone else so worked up for. We could just be friends. That morning you tried to dishonor the names of those who have been loyal to you, loyal to the struggle. You projected yourself onto them: saying that they’re caught up in their own privileges, that they’re not consistent with their words, that they don’t “ride” for you. We could still work together, you said. I looked at you. I had no words. You tried to draw them out of me, but I had not yet formulated cogent thoughts. I only knew I felt defeated. Back-stabbed. Used. You wanted me to be okay. Okay with this. Your decision.

The next week I had taken myself out of the glory of you and your world. I had slipped back into myself, finding myself angry at having abandoned my self. I looked at what had come over me. Recited your words in my memory. Replayed every action. Remembered every response you had for every word I said between us. Re/dis/covered your way with things. I called you. Texted you. There were no longer the prompt responses. I had some thoughts I wanted to share. You were too busy now. It was important, the words you tried to draw out of me- I found them. You called me from the doctor’s office, in a hurry. But, my words needed time. Respect. Space. Serious consideration. I was about to tell you something about yourself you couldn't see. Or so I thought. Something that called for reflection. Change.

Months went by with no replies. Days came and went with the usual school and work business, but now with this quiet war in my mind that I tried to ignore. Until a woman came up. She had her war too, and she had it with you. She was a random woman I didn't know who had spoken. I listened. I decided to speak too. Through this act of self-love, of speaking, of naming, I learned from other women who knew you closely, that this quiet war wasn’t just about me. There were a list of women who had their quiet wars with you too. I was enraged. Disgusted. Feeling more defeated than the morning you had made your decision. This was a way you had with other women too. It was systematic. I had been a bent up cog in your machine used to fabricate the false power you exude. My existence, my QUEENDOM had been diminished to that. And there was the struggle: a chariot used to carry you across the world with women of color for horses. I saw things now as they had been before me, as they continue to be for other women who fight these quiet wars. I spoke. Made it known. Swept the pile of dust from under the rug and into the wind of the world you share with your closest ones. The ones who validate you. The ones who should challenge you and your way with things.

This letter is not for you. This letter is for all the other women who fight these quiet wars. Every time I must face other students, other women, caught up in the glory, speaking about how great your lectures are, how innovative your academic articles are, how great it must have been to study with you, independently, I fight that quiet war. For every word I do not speak in these instances, my existence dissipates into the abyss hidden beneath the disillusionment of academic glory. I wish I could tell the world about what you do after your reputation is done doing its flaunting for the day in the ivory towers. How your integrity should be called into question. How that detailed letter you wrote to the colleges for me was not about me, but a copy and paste unfounded story about a different student. I bet you thought I wouldn't speak. How long would you think this game would play for? How long before you'd mess with the wrong QUEEN? But I know there is no design in place for healing and accountability. There is only punishment. And within revenge exists no change. No transformation for a colonized man of color in a white colonial system. No healing for the women of color who fight these quiet wars. I’m not interested in apologies. I won’t answer to any phone calls, letters, or emails about your excuses for the truth. I was there. The other women were there. Your character has already been determined by your actions. The conversation you must have is not with me or the other women you have dishonored. The conversation you must have is with yourself.

Sincerely,
Rosa Cabrera

P.S.
From the 5 Mindfulness Trainings you say you observe, the one you will not post on your big windows and walls:
The Third Training: Aware of the suffering caused by sexual misconduct, I vow to cultivate responsibility and learn ways to protect the safety and integrity of individuals, couples, families and society. I am determined not to engage in sexual relations without love and a long-term commitment. To preserve the happiness of myself and others, I am determined to respect my commitments and the commitments of others. I will do everything in my power to protect children from sexual abuse and to prevent couples and families from being broken by sexual misconduct.


(This is a first draft of a work in progress. Constructive criticism welcomed!)

Letter to EOC and Avenues Project Leaders

Dear East Oakland Community and Avenues Project,

When I was about 5 or 6 years old, I used to look down at my feet and notice how near they seemed to my reach. I was well aware that in time that would change, and that with this change will come a number of phases and events in my life. I always tried to imagine in my head, as if looking back into a memory, what those events would look like and how I will respond to and become shaped by the challenges I would face. I knew at an earlier age that life was going to be hard, and that the choices I would make in my life would not be for my own selfish benefit. Today I look down at my size 9 feet, 5 foot 5 inches below, and look back at the years I’ve survived and how I’ve lived my life. As I break myself open, I count the rings and marks like a severed tree trunk, remembering the moments that have challenged and strengthened me throughout my life.

I’ve survived growing up in a home of unchallenged domestic violence, I’ve survived teaching for years in New York with no guidance and no support, I’ve survived cleaning bathrooms, floors, and windows in the San Francisco SOMA district in exchange for rent at a hostel after leaving my family and a crying mother in New York City at merely 20 years old, I’ve survived a physically abusive lover for two years, I’ve survived three universities through sacrificing having a life to keep up a damn 3.7 GPA, I’ve survived being sexually manipulated by a naïvely trusted professor and a high regarded community member, I’ve survived being a queer woman of color in a straight white man’s world. While all of these experiences have helped me, in harsh ways, to gain some of the strength and wisdom I need to stay unafraid to walk towards freedom, no event in my life has challenged me more, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually, than East Oakland Community High School and the Avenues Project.

The opportunity came about in a way that felt unmistakably predestined along the proper path in my life. I went to a conference in Oakland on education and immigrant rights to meet Luis Garden Acosta of the Young Lords Party, and was drawn to Cesar Cruz and the Richmond Making Changes Freedom School instead. I knew right away that I wanted to see the dream I had been in the process of imagining when I learned about the grassroots movement taking place on a family’s backyard in Richmond. It was a necessary and fulfilling sacrifice to take the Bart twice a week from San Francisco to Richmond to learn what it meant to participate in creating my own freedom. Cesar then told me about a job offer he had in Oakland, and asked me about 4 or 5 times to come join him and teach during the school day and after school. I was an overtime student at San Francisco State and I didn’t think I’d be able to carry the weight. I’m glad though, that Cesar didn’t let me say no. I didn’t know at the time that this was the school that Jeff Duncan-Andrade, the professor I had admired for his dedication and expertise in urban education, had been talking about teaching in himself. I also didn’t know, that I would come across a number of community members that I would hold in high regard for the rest of my life. A lot of things seemed to have fallen into their places for a significant reason.

EOC/ Avenues has been the only place that has challenged me to the utmost depth thus far. It was the only place that had allowed me to push harder than ever to give birth to visions for curriculum structure, putting theory into practice, and become myself: an educator who uses text as AK47’s against the intellectual apartheid of this oppressive society. For years I had dreamed of building a space for young soldiers of color to grow intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally, and here I found that someone was dreaming the same dream, and there I was participating in it. I was dead scared. What if I would face a challenge I could not overcome? What if I couldn’t yet give my students the education they deserve? What if I would find that I wasn’t strong enough yet to be the person I had wanted to be? EOC was the only opportunity I’ve had thus far to put my inner self to the test. It was not only the space that has helped me grow as an educator, as a leader, and as a person true to herself, but it has also taught me how to grow. For this I am grateful. I am also grateful that this movement challenges what many say is unlikely or impossible. Because of somebody else’s dream, my own dream feels like a tangible reality. I no longer feel that I would doubt myself in my ability to realize my goal. I am not only more aware and have a clearer sense of what my weaknesses are, but I’ve gained a set of tools and truths that will help me continue the process of self-transformation and building strength. EOC has truly helped me understand that it is only through facing my weaknesses that I will rediscover myself in the process of becoming.

Through EOC I’ve also come to understand how symbols of power can co-opt or stagnate a movement. Being an overtime student confuses you. It tricks you into thinking you are gaining truth, through acquiring false power. Veracious truth and power come through the conquest for freedom, and there is nothing that taught me this more than understanding what it means to conquer the oppressor through the minds of our youth. Every lesson taught with success was a battle won. It is an amazing privilege to observe the transformation I helped create within my classroom. I don’t know many people in my past who would ever think that Black and Brown students would be able to apply Frantz Fanon, Paulo Freire, Stephen Haymes, Andrea Smith, and concepts of structural violence and symbolic violence to their everyday lives, let alone visual documentation. I’ve begun to discover the power of critical art. Because of my experience in this movement, I have already proven many people I will encounter in my future wrong. The EOC movement has pushed me to take a giant leap down my chosen path.

I am not looking forward to graduate school. I face the same frustrations that my students do in transitioning into an institution usurped by systematic intellectual apartheid. I know that no university institution in that system will push me further along the path of freedom more than the community of EOC can. I’m infuriated that so-called educational institutions that perpetuate sexist, racist, and homophobic notions are allowed to exist while EOC and Avenues are being allowed to shut down. I was counting on the fact that the continuing progress that EOC and the Avenues Project make would be a testament to the survival of my own dream. But I am also furious at myself when I choose my own work at SF State over my work at EOC. And I’m enraged at the fact that I’m choosing my family and community in New York over my family and community in Oakland; that I am not choosing to stay to take a leadership role in continuing this effort. Today, I am still not sure if I am making the right choice, and I continued to think up ways to stay another year, thinking maybe I could defer grad school for a year to support the transition for EOC and Avenues. I thought up ways that I could try to convince my mom, who has been trying to flee an abusive husband, to come live in Oakland with me for a year. Still, I don’t know if this would have been the right decision to make. But it seems that for some reason(s) unknown, our leaders have chosen to conclude the dream of EOC and Avenues. This decision breaks my heart and I am truly deeply affected by it, although I feel that I am not in a place to push one decision or another, due to the fact that I’ve committed myself to be bound for New York.

Still, I am grateful to have had the privilege to be a part of this movement. This is a legacy that will, without question or doubt, continue with me back home. It has instilled in me a sense of the realities I will face in birthing my own dream. It has given me the opportunity to begin understanding the discipline needed to sustain such a dream. I have become aware of the variety of skills and support needed to nurture such a dream, and most importantly, EOC has taught me not to doubt my own ability to manifest into being visions stemming from my own conviction of freedom as a destined journey for my people. I thank the leaders and the community of EOC and Avenues for the right of passage from a naïve dreamer and visionary into a more aware and better mentally and spiritually equipped warrior for freedom. Whether it be through the “South Bronx Community High School” or the “Harlem Making Changes Freedom School” my future challenges will not have been successful without the love, wisdom, and risk that it took to build East Oakland Community High School and the Avenues Project. With all my heart and soul I thank you.

Love,
Rosa Cabrera

EOC Documented.

Testinomies from Da Town

EOC, Unstoppable!

They can take a building away,
but they cannot take away our community!
http://kron.com/
www.ktvu.com/video/11140325/index.html

Oakland Unified Attacks Education

KTVU Coverage
KRON Coverage