A post-affirmative action baby

Posted on March 20, 2007 by cindylu

Ward Connerly is going to be on campus for a debate on affirmative action and the impact of Proposition 209 sponsored by KPCC.

Connerly was the main man behind, SP-1 and SP-2, policies that banned the consideration of race, ethnicity and gender at the University of California in 1995. He was strongly supported by ex-Governor Pete Wilson he wanted to make a highly political move on the Board of Regents and gain national prominence in an expected bid for the Republican nomination for president.

In 1996, Connerly’s California Civil Rights Initiative (or Proposition 209) was passed by a majority of California voters and banned affirmative action in other state agencies.

Connerly killed affirmative action in California. And then he took his show on the road to Washington and other states. Most recently, he supported an initiative that was passed by the Michigan electorate. He’s also going to another half dozen states.

Connerly’s actions have strongly shaped my own experience and political development. If he would have never backed 209 and SP-1, I would not have been part of the first class admitted in the University of California without the consideration of race. In the spring of 1998, I’d read the newspaper every morning and was well aware that eliminating affirmative action would mean that my class at UCLA or UC Berkeley would have much fewer Chicanos/Latinos, African American and Native Americans. I also wasn’t admitted to UCSD, a place I surely woud have been admitted to prior to the elimination of affirmative action. (By the way, I cried a lot when I got that letter because I felt that it would mean I wouldn’t be admitted to the much more competitive campuses, Berkeley and UCLA.)

To make a long story short (and ’cause I need to leave so I can get to the debate on time), without Connerly and 209, I’m not sure I would have ever come to this point where I’m at now. I work a lot on college access issues and have read a lot of the research literature on the importance of structural diversity at colleges and universities. I do research on what keeps underrepresented minority students in college at a place where they might feel like they don’t belong. And I wholeheartedly agree with Roy’s t-shirt (above). 209 is f***ed, and needs to be overturned.

El día de San José

Posted on March 19, 2007 by cindylu

It seems like every time I call my mom, I get ahold of her as she’s thiking of me. She answers, “I was just thinking of you!” and then proceeds with the latest announcement or question she needed to ask. So-and-so’s pregnant, your cousin is getting married, pencil in X date for some super-important family event. I’m not sure if my mom thinks about me a lot, or if we’re connected in such a way that I know when to call. I’d like to think it’s a little bit of both.

On Tuesday when I called her, she told me that we’d be having a family get together for el día de San José on Sunday. March 19th is St. Joseph’s day and is always celebrated by my family because it’s Papá Chepe’s santo.

“We’re having a carne asada on Sunday,” she told me.

“Oh, is it for el día de San José?” I asked.

“Yeah, you know what he did? He went and invited everyone [her siblings] and told me last. I just found out. I need to tell Lori, Adrian and Danny too. We’re gonna have carne asada. Do you think you can make it?”

“Yeah. Sunday afternoon, right?”

“Yup. Invite, um, Victor.”

“No. It’s Ralph! Why do you keep wanting to call him Victor?”

I thought it was funny that my mom was the last to know about a mini-party at her house. She does the same thing to me and the siblings all the time. And no, I don’t know why my mom insists on calling el novio Victor.

Yesterday afternoon, I arrived in Hacienda Heights sans novio (he had to stay home, his tonsils grew back and he has tonsilitis). I greeted the my aunts and uncles. The crowd was a lot smaller than the usual family parties. As we ate carne asada and pollo asado, my mom noted that as we got older, the family got smaller. I guess it’s harder for all the cousins to show up now that they’re married and have their own families.

After a great meal, we got together to pray the rosary in front of the nicely decorated altar with an old picture of San José holding a baby Jesus surrounded by votive candles, flowers and a portrait of Mamá Chila, my great grandmother. Saying the rosary with the family is always a little amusing. My cousins and I try really hard not to laugh at each other or get distracted by a baby or dog. This time, we giggled at the site of Papá Chepe’s big sister, tía Antonia, insisting that she would kneel for the rosary.

My mom tried to tell her 91-year old aunt that not even the young people were going to kneel, but she did it anyway. As soon as the rosary was over, she got up easily.

Later that afternoon, we played the NASCAR version of Monopoly (my sister’s boyfriend is a NASCAR fan). I lost.

Fee increases give me canas

Posted on March 15, 2007 by cindylu

I’m glad I was an undergraduate in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Back then our fees decreased and even remained stagnant. And I feel kinda lucky. I was poor enough to get a lot of financial aid. I had work study, university grants, scholarships, Pell Grants, and Cal Grants. I took loans too, though I probably didn’t really need them, but I didn’t know it. I graduated after 4 years with about $10,000 in student loan debt.

If I was an undergraduate now, I think things would be tougher, ’cause funding for higher education has changed greatly since I graduated in 2002.

Yesterday, the Regents of the University of California voted to increase fees again by 7%. Since 2002, the fees have increased 79% for undergraduates, 84% for graduates (me!) and up to 131% for professional students.

I’m tired of this. I need to pay for those fees myself, I don’t get financial support from my family anymore. Last summer, I was really worried. On the one hand, I was questioning whether or not I wanted to continue in my PhD program. On the other hand, I feared that even if I did want to do it, I wouldn’t be able to afford it because my tuition and fees were about $8,000. Once you tack on rent, transportation, and other costs of living and my total cost of education was estimated at $26,000 by the financial aid office.

I decided to stay in school and took out a Federal Stafford Loan to pay for my fees. I may have been able to do it without the loan, but I didn’t want to worry about money. Early on in the fall quarter, I got a research assistant position. Graduate student researchers (GSRs) who work more than 10 hours a week and are enrolled in at least 12 units will get their tuition and health insurance paid for. Plus we get paid an hourly wage. It’s a nice deal, but GSR positions are coveted, especially in a field like education where faculty have limited funding.

I’m doing okay right now. I just don’t get to see the people (and dog) I love very often. Despite the fee increase, I’ll probably be okay next year too.

I just hope the stress of graduate school, a couple of jobs, being a student government officer, and trying to have a life won’t give me any more canas.

Links: LA Times article on fee increases and my post over at blogging.la. The comments are more interesting than the post itself. I like people who disagree with me (well, sometimes).

Showin’ some love: Rio, artist and photographer

Posted on March 15, 2007 by cindylu

Members of the Okayplayer messageboards used to regularly make appreciation posts. The initial poster would start a thread and rattle off a list of things that made the subject of the post worth of appreciation. Others would chime in and add other great things about their online friend. I always liked appreciation posts since it was a welcomed break from all the hate on the boards.

In the vein of the Okayplayer appreciation post, I’m starting periodic appreciation posts of fellow bloggers, friends, family and anyone else I want to publicly acknowledge.

First up?

rio Rio Yañez

Last week, Rio emailed me telling me about an idea he had for a new digital drawing. He asked for a photo to use as a proxy for a model. Once I sent him a few that met his criteria, he got to work. A few days later, I found a cool portrait similar to the Jesus/Mary is my homeboy/homegirl drawings in my email inbox, except I’m the homegirl (finished “cindylu is my homegirl drawing”). Rio was also nice enough to make a lotería stlye card from a self-portrait I took at the beach (link). It was the first time he’d made a portrait of someone he’d never met. A couple months after that, we met up for ice cream and shopping at H&M in San Francisco.

I appreciate Rio not only ’cause he’s a badass artist. He also has a great sense of humor (check out his blog); knows how to tell a hell of a story (check out the ghetto Frida series); makes the best Valentine’s Day cards; makes time to get the best ice cream ever at Mitchell’s; and offers his protection from shady guys on the street.

I hope he does get some of his work printed on t-shirts. I’d be the first to buy one with the simple yet poignant illegal is beautiful piece.

Oh yeah, have you seen his work (and here)? I’m sure you’ll appreciate him too.

I like my genes (most of the time)

Posted on March 13, 2007 by cindylu

There are lots of things my parent’s have passed down simply by contributing to my DNA. I have my mom’s nose and smile. I got my dad’s lips and gray hair.

I love that I’m not completely my own person. I’ve been created and reared by two amazing people. But my parents aren’t perfect, and I have some of those imperfections too.

Example?

My dad has a bad back. He’s had several problems over the years. In his 20s and 30s the injuries were the result of foolishness and poor judgment (or being drunk). He tried to move a couch, and threw out his back. He got thrown off a raft while exploring the Kern River and the was thrown against a boulder. That wasn’t good either. My dad is now well into middle age. He’s 53 years old, and his body knows it. A few months ago, I found him lying in bed on a nice Sunday afternoon. Earlier in the morning he had hurt his back as he reached to one side of his closet to pick out a tie. I’m a horrible daughter. I laughed at how ridiculous it was that my dad hurt himself while picking out a tie.

My back issues today are probably punishment for laughing that day. I have no clue how I hurt my lower back today. I was fine when I woke up, showered and got ready, but as I left for class I felt a sore pain in my lower left back. I decided to tough it out and go to class. In class, I shifted seat as we did check-ins and the pain got more intense. I made a face and my classmate asked what was wrong. I left campus later thinking of how much I’d love to be able to see Grandpa, who was a well known sobador in Boyle Heights, and have him fix whatever is wrong. He’d probably give me lots of advice and then say, “eres igual a tú papá.”

I can’t go to Grandpa and have him give me a quick sobada. I called my mom and asked her advice. She said I might have aire in my back and told me about the time Grandpa treated her for that (it’s hard to describe, but he used a glass, rubbing alcohol and a match).

I do have my dad. He’s on his way to my apartment as I write this. The pain is too much. I’m glad he doesn’t remember that I laughed at him.

Question of the week: el cucuy, la llorona, brujas y diablos

Posted on March 12, 2007 by cindylu

Last week while staying up late doing school work, I had an IM conversation with another contributor to blogging.la, David. He complimented my post on legends and rumors of supposed occult activity in Turnbull Canyon and the actual very scary murders that have occurred there. I admitted that just researching the piece creeped me out. I’m a miedona and have always hated ghost stories. David said he envied me and wished he could get creeped out, but had become desensitized to stories of the occult.

I haven’t. I’ve been a miedona since I could understand what the stories were about. It’s even in my genetic code. My mom had nightmares for weeks after watching The Exorcist, avoids horror films, and telling scary stories.

My parents may have spared us stories about el cucuy, but they couldn’t keep kids from being kids. We’d go camping with their compadres’ families. And you know what happens around the campfire?

Yes… we told Mexican stories about Llorona sightings, lechusas y brujas, and el diablo showing up at some baile disguised as a handsome and mysterious músico. Those stories were always true and the storyteller swore it had happened to him or that he knew the person who experienced said sighting/encounter.

La pregunta: what’s your favorite Mexican “ghost story”?

The angry woman of color

Posted on March 11, 2007 by cindylu

Sometimes I struggle to keep my angry woman of color attitude in check. It was at its strongest when I was younger, probably when I was about 20 or 21. That was at the height of my involvement in MEChA and in student government. I saw an injustice and evidence of racism everywhere I looked. I changed sometime after I started graduate school and was in a very welcoming and supportive educational program.

Three years in to my graduate program, I still see injustices. There are many things that make me angry, but I think about them differently. My first instinct is still to react the way I did when I was 21. But now, I try to wrap my head around my opponent’s point of view. For instance, I hate the fact that our fees (tuition) keep increasing, but I understand the point of view of administrators and the regents who favor the decisions.

But every once in a while, like today, that 21 year old comes out. To be honest, I don’t even struggle too much to keep the attitude in check. I like it. I can’t just be silent when I hear something that is completely wrong and misguided in regard to something I care deeply about (e.g., fighting for increased ethnic diversity at the University of California).

And you know what? I think it’s kinda fun to bring out that 21 year old, with her big mouth, big attitude and big ideas.

Ninth week notes

Posted on March 7, 2007 by cindylu

One
I’ve gone two weeks without tortillas, tortilla chips and tostadas. The most difficult days were the first few when I was at receptions where they had quesadillas, tortilla chips, and tortillas to make tacos with fajitas and carnitas. Both of those receptions were on days where you’re required to abstain from meat too, so it was even more difficult because I couldn’t just have chicken fajitas or carnitas with arroz y frijoles. I think I miss tortilla chips more than tortillas.

Two
I’ve conducted four interviews for my study on Latino science students. I need several more students, but just thinking about having to transcribe their interviews makes me lazy about doing some more recruitment.

Three
I went to Houston a month ago. I miss it. Rather, I miss my cousins and taking shots of tequila with my tía Nellie and tío Jesus. There’s just something really nice about being with people who you feel completely at home with yet rarely see.

Four
My mom is already back at work and has already bought our tickets to Cancun for our family trip. Woo hoo.

Five
I spent a lot of time late last night reading up on Turnbull Canyon for my contribution to blogging.la’s list of Top 25 LA Legends (here’s the post). Can I just say it’s not a good idea to read creepy stuff right before going to bed?

Six
I had a dream a few weeks ago. In the dream I was shamelessly flirting with Marcos, one of my parents’ ahijados (godson) and long time friend. At one point Marcos made a move and I freaked ’cause I couldn’t kiss him since that would be cheating. The dream was weird on a few levels and I told my friend about it. She told me not to worry since being a flirt was simply a part of my personality. I heard the same comments later. I think that bugs me.

Seven
I’ll be going to Chicago and DC in April. Who wants to hang out? If the Chicago bloggers made time for HP, I hope they make time for me.

Eight
I think it sucks that the LA Times cut La Cucaracha from the comics page. It’s definitely one of my favorite comics. They also cut another one of my favorites, Candorville. Lalo Alcaraz, the author/artists behind La Cucaracha, was rightfully pissed and his plea for help was on LA blogs on Monday. By Tuesday afternoon, the LA Times had responded by bringing La Cucaracha back to the funnies. Woo hoo. (more)

Nine
I have two presentations next week, two papers due the week after, at least three interviews to finish transcribing and lots more to do. I don’t want to do any of it. I’m tired of school.

Question of the week: Great gift-giving

Posted on March 6, 2007 by cindylu

El novio celebrated his 31st birthday on Sunday. He was out of town for his brother’s bachelor party/fishing trip, but I still spent most of the weekend focused on his birthday. I made one part of his present (with LOTS of help from my wonderful sister). Even though making his present took several hours, I preferred it over the pain of trying to find the “perfect” gift at the mall. But I don’t think I can go the creative route again, especially not so close to finals. So I need ideas to store away for the future.

What was the most creative gift you received or gave? If you can’t answer that, any tips on finding a great gift?

P.S. Brenda also celebrated a birthday on Sunday.

Revisited: I don’t write fiction, just think it

Posted on March 5, 2007 by cindylu

Note: More from the old blog. And no, it’s not that I’m getting lazy.

i don’t write fiction, just think it
07.15.05 // 3:14 p.m.

David (Phenom Feat) asked four questions. I answered the first last night.

His second question:

Have you ever written any fiction?

I don’t write much fiction. I really don’t know why, but I think it’s mainly because I find starting difficult unless I have a good prompt. I think a lot of fiction. I make up stories in my head all the time, but I never write them down. Part of the reason most of what I write is non-fiction and autobiographical is because the only writing instruction I’ve ever had has been in academic writing (essay format) and in autobiographical writing.

I dug up the last piece of fiction I wrote in November. A friend gave me the prompt: eagle on a sundried cactus.

***

most people didn’t assume that blanca was mexican. she didn’t have the nopal en la frente and dark hair that shone like the feathers of an eagle. no, whites and mexicans always confused her pale skin, freckles and reddish-blonde hair as a sign that she was in or out of their group.

blanca didn’t let it bug her too much. she took pride in the fact that at mexican restaurants, after she’d had a few cervezas and a couple of shots, she could sing with the mariachis. they were always surprised that she knew the words. when she took trips to her grandparent’s house en la capital, she spoke perfect chilanga spanish. the cab drivers and shopkeepers who tried to overcharge were always amazed that she sounded just like them. the language and songs were just one thing, but blanca loved the fact that she had dual citizenship. that piece of paper proved what her skin, hair and freckles sought to disprove.

on one of her trips, blanca bought a small flag for 5 pesos. the street vendors were capitalizing on the upcoming fiestas patrias, and cheap flags were easy to find. she stuffed the small red-white-green flag in her backpack and forgot about it.

a few days later, she arrived in los angeles, her home. as she unpacked things in her room, she found the small flag in her backpack. rather than put it right next to her figurine of la virgen de guadalupe and makeshift altar of all things mexican, she took it out to her car.

blanca removed the small stick and added a string to hang the flag from the rearview mirror. she wasn’t concerned about confirming any stereotypes… in fact, it would be different since she was always breaking them.

two days later, blanca sat in the driver seat with the keys in the ignition. she eyed the red, white and green flag. her gaze settled firmly on the eagle perched atop a nopal with a snake hanging from its mouth. rather than smile or reflect on her most recent trip, blanca began a tradition she’d continue before her morning commute for several years.

she looked at the flag, and let out a grito that sounded like it came from a man twice her size. ¡ajúaaaa!