The bad thing about being a double major in Sociology and Chicana/o Studies and a minor in Spanish on the 4-year track was that I had to be very strategic about my courses. I’d often enroll in a class I had minimal interest in it and ignore classes I would have loved to take. Continuing graduate school at UCLA has given me the opportunity to go back and take classes related health and law related to my current research. The geek in me loves this.

This quarter I’m taking a class on health in the Chicano/Latino population with Dr. David Hayes-Bautista, director of the Center for the Study of Latino Health and Culture.

I feel like a nerd in his class not only because it makes me think of my role as a researcher (e.g., what if my findings prove the negative stereotypes right?) but also because his research is fascinating. I thought I knew a lot about my community, but my knowledge of health issues was minimal. I’d only heard and read the negative stuff in the mainstream media about high rates of diabetes and obesity. Few people talk about the Latino epidemiological paradox.

Basically, Latinos have higher risk factors such as lower income and educational levels. On top of this we are less likely to be insured and have less access to quality health care.

But get this, we’re actually healthier than whites and African Americans. We have lower age adjusted death rates, lower rates of death from heart disease, cancer (excluding cervical cancer), and stroke. We do have higher rates for diabetes and cirrhosis. Our infant mortality rates are also lower.

The most interesting thing to me was about Mexicans. According to the studies I’ve read for class, Mexican immigrants are healthier than second generation Mexicans. Yes, the longer we’ve been here, the less healthy we are. Assimilation is bad for our health! (Take that, Arnold!)

What’s the cause of this? Could it be the tortillas, frijoles and chile?

I don’t know. Some people downplay the Latino paradox and insist that we just can’t be that healthy. They say Latinos are misclassified on forms or that we return to our homelands to die. Others might argue that it is no surprise that immigrants are healthier since you’re not likely to have sickly migrants trying to cross the border.

It’s times like this that I really miss Grandpa Bartolo. I’d love to pick his brain about this. He wasn’t a doctor, but he was a sobador and always had health advice to give.

Do you have any explanations?

One morning I entered the CPO to find a small bundle of sage tied together with red yarn. I looked around and saw three identical bundles on Rose, Paul and Nieema’s desks. Molly didn’t have one. Maybe we would be able to all get along and work together despite our rocky start.

From day 1 of directors training and one-on-one sessions with Henry, the outgoing director, I knew I’d need the professional and personal support of the four other SRC directors. “They’re the only people who will know what you’re going through,” Henry told me. “You’ll need them if you want to keep your sanity.” Henry had it easy. He and the four other directors liked each other. They were a team that could work together and spend a weekend camping in Zion National Park.

Our personalities were the biggest obstacle, but the SRC work space certainly didn’t help. Our desks were crammed into an area no larger than my living room. There was a good side to the tiny space. I didn’t have to leave my desk to talk to the other directors. I’d spin around to the left to watch Homestar Runner and Strong Bad cartoons on Paul’s computer then look to my right and ask Rose a question about the budget proposal I should have been writing. Our staffs of 4 to 14 students didn’t fit in the space, let alone our egos.

We felt pressure from anyone with authority over us to get along. The director of the office, student funding committee, and retention project advisor all wanted to know why the directors didn’t get along. They came to director’s meetings, spoke to us individually, and made us honestly address the problem. In the CPO, a place where the collective is valued more than the individual, it wasn’t enough for each director to be successful with his or her project. We had to work together, and like each other.

By February, seven months after we had started working together, everyone realized they had pushed too hard. Molly got up in the middle of a weekly directors meeting and left us with a few expletives. She grabbed her things and angrily stomped out of the office leaving behind more kind words. We never saw her again nor had the opportunity to make peace and heal our fractured relationship.

According to Adrienne Borden and Steve Coyote, “the botanical name for “true” sage is Salvia (e.g. Salvia officinalis, Garden Sage, or Salvia apiana, White Sage).” The term comes from the Latin salvare, to heal. It sounds and looks like salve, a remedy that heals or soothes. Sage is used in smudging ceremonies to drive away bad spirits, feelings and influences.

If I would have known this as an 18 year old, my first encounter with sage would have made more sense. I was about to leave to a MEChA conference in Phoenix with several other Mechistas. As usual, we had a short “talking circle” before leaving and folks would pass around the sage. I followed the lead of the older students who fanned the smoke from the sage toward their bodies starting at their feet and going up to their heads. Then, each person would say a few words hoping for a safe and productive trip. It wasn’t a smudging ceremony, but we were doing the same thing. We wanted to drive away any negative energy or feelings that could spoil our trip.

Three years later, I still have the sage Molly gave me. I’ve burned it lately in the hopes that it will help me heal. I need to rid myself of feelings of anger, sadness and resentment.

Sage brings me a sense of peace and calm, yet the women who gave it to me made my life more stressful and ultimately left it in a violent and abrupt manner. Ironic, isn’t it?