The End - Michelle Jahnke

Our classes are over, our papers are (mostly) finished, we're leaving for the final retreat at the beach on Monday. I can't help but marvel at how fast we got here. My Border Studies journey has been especially long; I'm one of the two loquitas who decided to stay for both the fall and spring semester. This has been a life-changing experience. I've experienced the harsh beauty of the borderlands. I've felt anger at the violence and oppression we all live and I've channeled that rage into loud protests and marches. My view of the world has been shattered and I'm in the process of putting back the pieces in a way that feels more right to me now. I've become brown and proud. I've been adopted into two new families and grown closer with my own mamá as I've come to better understand our own migration story. I have been blown away by the strength and wisdom of Guatemalan campesina ex-guerrillera mothers. I want to be a revolutionary organizer midwife farmer. I've fallen in love with the desert. I have walked inside a dream at a zapatista caracol and I will always have that feeling to guide me abajo y a la izquierda, tierradentro toward the roots and the heart.

I just want to express my gratitude to the many teachers who have started me on this lifelong process of growth. Thank you for everything you've done for me.

Border Studies is (finally) ending. Now the real work begins.

Welcome to the United Snakes - Maddie Campbell

This is a movie I made as part of my final project for Riley Merline's "Roots and Routes of Migration" class.

The Guerreros - Kalila Zunes-Wolfe

Last Friday my parents came to visit and took me camping. On our way to northern Arizona, we stopped in Mesa, near Phoenix, to spend some time with some old social justice activist friends of theirs. We met them almost 20 years ago at Holden Village, a secluded Lutheran retreat center that has hosts workshops, speakers, arts and crafts fairs, etc. during summers. (The chaplain there that summer actually happened to live in Tucson for awhile hosting Salvadoran refugees!)

The friends, artists Carmen and Zarco Guerrero, took us to a local Mexican restaurant owned by some friends of theirs and filled us in on their incredible lives (as well as sang some well-known Spanish songs along with the restaurant owners). Carmen was born in Brazil but moved to the United States to escape imprisonment and violence when she was about my age (she’d already been imprisoned a couple of times). Zarco, a Mexican-American, was born in Arizona…and so were his ancestors, “back when this was Mexico.” In Carmen’s words, “we didn’t cross the border; the border crossed us!” This makes it especially ironic that Russell Pearce, who actually grew up in the same neighborhood as Zarco, called him a “dirty Mexican” when they were both young boys. How many generations have the Pearces lived in Arizona?

Carmen and Zarco met in an indigenous village in Mexico when they were in their mid-20s. Zarco was a mask-maker, visual artist, and community arts advocate and Carmen was a photographer and classically trained pianist (and Oberlin graduate!). They shared with and taught each other their passions (Carmen taught Zarco how to play guitar, etc.) and started performing music together. The couple, along with their three now-grown and also musically skilled children, have traveled/lived and performed in Mexico, Brazil, Bali, Japan, and Indonesia, among other countries around the world.

These days, their eldest Quetzal is living in Los Angeles teaching capoeira and making music (he’s produced at least one album). He was in the top 100 finalists for American Idol several years ago and has appeared onstage with Tito Puente. Carmen describes him as their “Native American” son – she says each child has claimed an identity. Tizoc, their middle child, is the “Brazilian,” and always prefers speaking Portuguese over Spanish. Zarina, their youngest, is their “Mexican princess,” who begged for a quinciñera. She is currently studying Justice Studies at Arizona State.

To get an even better idea of their life, I read an article they showed me in the December 2004 edition of Latino Perspectives. The article is titled “Los Guerreros: Art & Activism. Family advocates change through music and art.” It says the family “routinely uses its talents when addressing political and social issues through art and activism,” and quotes Carmen stating “Art is a vehicle for social activism.” She hopes for her family to be a role model for Latino families and encourages others to express their culture. “Culture isn’t something we hoard. It’s something we share.”

The Guerrero family has created Día de los Muertos altars to commemorate the immigrant lives lost while crossing the border as well as border agents killed in the line of duty. (This was actually the first piece of art we encountered upon entering their home.) They are involved in calling attention to violence and staging protests, and have a myriad of Jan Brewer masks and masks of other politicians and often bring them to protests (“protest art”).

Carmen has been involved with the Mesa Community Action Network, which provides technical assistance to community groups, and the Comite de Familia en Acción, which is made up of low-income families focused on improving their neighborhood. She ran for the School Board one year and received accusations that she was a foreigner running for public office. She was the only candidate with a Latino name and rumors were spread that she was not a US citizen (despite having been one since 1992).

Carmen also used to lead excursions to various Latin American countries. One of her own stories (not in the article) is when she brought some people from the Navajo nation to meet indigenous tribes in the Amazon. She told me how shocked the Amazon people were at how different the Navajo people looked from them and how obese they were, and she had to try to explain to them that the Navajo weren’t eating foods meant for their bodies. The obesity epidemic among the indigenous people of the United States is just one example of how oppressed and trapped they still are.

One story Zarco shared is that he and Carmen have had two other children living with them on and off the past ten years. Two friends of Tizoc’s came home with him one day after school, in junior high, and essentially started living there. In their late teens, one ended up being arrested for getting into a fight. After Zarco bailed him out of jail, the black teen told him “Dad, the only people in prison are blacks and Mexicans!” …The harsh reality of our justice system.

Last random fact I learned? Dom Helder Camara, author of the famous quote “When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist” was a Brazilian archbishop and actually wed Carmen’s parents!

"Oaxacan Chapulín" - Grace Shoenlank

This is one of the many chapulines that Beth, Julia, Maddie and I snacked on while on the beach in Mazunte, Oaxaca. I remember not being able to decide if the little toasted insects were disgusting or if they were delicious.

Connecting Cornel West - Kalila Zunes-Wolfe

On Friday, April 1 I attended the Cornel West lecture at the University of Arizona. The U of A student body president was the first to speak and thanked various ethnic, sexuality/gender, etc. groups on campus who promote diversity, with a lot of engagement and support from the audience. The indigenous man introducing Cornel West talked a bit about the current political climate in Arizona and how a small group of powerful individuals use fear to intimidate those who are different (such as with bills like SB 1070).

Cornel West himself was fun, enthusiastic, engaging and engaged, and funny. He started out discussing male/white supremacy and privilege, issues we have delved into deeply throughout the semester, particularly in Jeff McWhorter’s Identity, Privilege, and Social Change class. One of the first quotes from West that evening was “the unexamined life is not worth living.” He went on to talk about humanity and humility and how we are tied to the earth, on the same human level, and that the one thing we all share is humanity.

He then delved into the negatives: weapons of mass distraction, overstimulation, superficial connectivity, the age of Reaganism, greed and indifference to poor, polarization, I instead of we – all of which are taking away from this humanity. He said indifference to evil is more evil than evil itself, which is something I discussed myself in our first paper for Jeff’s class about Martin Luther King Jr. and social change. Apathy and inaction, which is perpetuating evil, are often so much more frustrating and harmful than simply the evil actively being executed.
West talked about education. He argued that real education teaches you how to live critically and compassionately and causes the fear and intimidation inside you to die. He said people want convenience and comfort, but it is more important to be unsettled. Courage is essential for democracy, as are misfits. However, he also acknowledged that these misfits are told from birth that they are “less than” and “less moral.” He called it “internalized self-devaluation” – a topic we have definitely touched on when discussing privilege and oppression.

West talked about oppression. He said World War I really began in 1492. He gave statistics about the high proportions of nonwhite babies in poverty, especially the indigenous. He criticized the prison industrial complex and the fact that the United States holds 2.4 million people in prison – more than South Africa under Apartheid. He told us how many hundreds of millions of dollars have been spent on the Marshall Plan since the 1970s and the injustice of the budgetary deficit. He brought up domestic violence and homophobia. More specifically referring to the issues in Arizona, he said the business class wants labor and is favored over the laborers themselves, who are dehumanized – something we have explored a great deal this semester. He explained the predominant culture of the colorblind, encouraging us to open our eyes. He referenced the three most important things Martin Luther King Jr. wanted the world to be rid of: poverty, militarism, and materialism. After that, he started talking about Obama. Rather than delving into all his criticisms of the president, he admitted that one “can’t be free in politics.” Unlike West, Obama has a lot of limitations. What West was and is hoping for is that Obama can at least re-prioritize.

West talked about religion. While he referenced the Bible once or twice, he also acknowledged that we have so much to learn from the indigenous people. He said that love for wisdom and justice is something we do share. Encouraging us to share religion reminded me of some of the people we learned about in Guatemala and Mexico who managed to combine their indigenous spirituality with Catholicism.
West talked about hypocrisy and moral inconsistency, including in regards to immigration. Our forefathers claimed to be anti-imperialist but clearly weren’t. The statue of liberty said “Give me your poor” while simultaneously the Chinese Exclusion Act was passed.

West talked about the powerful market forces on this new generation, saying “Facebook is gangster activity far beyond anything I’ve seen in the Hood!” And finally, he reminded us that no culture has a monopoly on truth, telling us “find your voice; I see too many echoes.”

"In order to learn how to live, you must learn how to die." - Kaitlin Morris

Cornel West says that in order to learn how to live you must learn how to die. I have been learning how to die, or at least parts of me have. My assumptions, my beliefs have been unlearned. The foundations that held my world together have been lost, my world has been shattered over and over. I have lost my belief that law and justice are the same, that the authority is always is right. I no longer belief that our government is a democractic one, even though I long for it to be one.

And today? Today I lost my faith in education.

We do not learn in schools how to think for ourselves and critically examine the world. In schools, we have learned how to follow orders and jump through hoops, to regurgitate whatever the authority says because the authority is always right. The education system is a just tool for the government to separate the labor force into the workers and the bosses, so that we can join the assembly line.

I remember in high school, taking classes, working hard in them, getting As and then not remembering what I had learned afterwards. I remember teachers who would punish you with low grades if you dared to challenge their ideas. I remember complaining to my parents about this one teacher who was absolutely terrible and my dad telling me to jump through the hoop, just to do it and get the grade. That way, I could go to a good college and be successful. I believed it, I believed it with all my being. When the teacher said jump I would ask ‘How high?’. And so I got the high G.P.A, and when I applied to colleges I got the academic scholoarships and acceptance letters. But for what?

For the longest time, I have kept hope in the idea that colleges are places of higher learning and education, where I can learn anything that I could imagine. The purpose of Colleges and Universities though is not to educate. They are finishing schools, to teach you how to act, walk and talk- they prepare you for your place in society. I still do not remember most of the classes I have taken, the professors still punish you if you disagree with them, and I have jumped through so many hoops that I struggle with thinking that there is more than the hoop.

What more will I have to lose before this program is over? How many more pieces of my world will collapse? And how long will it take me to rebuild my world?

Walking Free - Carmelle Kniss

Last Friday began with a pretty comical school bus-like trip up to Florence. Several of the FIRRP staff were in a minor car accident the night before, so we all had to carpool up to the office today. We listened to John Legend, read fancy food magazines, and chatted before we arrived at Florence, ready to combat detention yet again. I spent the morning continuing my research on homophobia and persecution in El Salvador, finding only a bit more information about specific cases in which gays have been targeted. A few of the cases were incredibly disturbing, however, which helped me humanize the situation again.

In the afternoon, Sam and I went to the infamous Pinal County Jail to conduct interviews for Sam’s research project. Christina, my FIRRP supervisor, has been in contact with PCJ officials for over a week now, asking permission for our presence and reminding the staff of our arrival. Person-to-person visits at PCJ are extremely uncommon; they are almost exclusively reserved for large Know Your Rights presentations by the Florence Project. The fact that Sam and I were even allowed to bypass the video chat booths and actually meet in one of PCJ’s “recreation” rooms was pretty incredible.

Walking down the long, daunting hallways to the pod was admittedly a bit frightening. If the Florence Project is the only outside human contact these men are allowed, what will it be like meeting with them? When we arrived at the first pod, the officer asked me IF I WAS UNDER EIGHTEEN, and then proceeded to shout out the names of the detainees marked on our list. The way he called their names made them seem like animals. One by one, the men emerged from their dorm rooms carrying huge stacks of all their legal documents, anxiously waiting to talk with us about their struggles. Sam and I looked at each other, disheartened by this cruel reality. We were not there to listen to their individual cases. We were not there to offer them legal advice or help them fight for various forms of relief. We were not there, in fact, to help them at all.

We pulled ourselves together and walked into the cement enclosure that serves as the prisoners’ only access to “the outdoors.” (Its window, it is worth mentioning, is roughly twenty feet long by five feet high, and is the only natural light in the entire pod.) The rec room has one table that is large enough for five or so people, so we all sat in a circle on the concrete floor. We introduced ourselves as students engaged in research, regretting to inform them that we were not lawyers or even true legal assistants. Sam started by asking each person where they were from, how long they had been detained, and the amount of time they had spent in the United States. The men were from all over the world—Latin America, the South Pacific, Africa, Asia, and even Europe. The amount of time spent in PCJ varied from two months to two years. The majority of the men had been in the United States for nearly their entire lives. The shortest amount of time was nine years, though most of them had spent thirty or more years in this country and had immigrated as an infant. One man showed us a piece of paperwork from the Bureau of Indian Affairs that indicated he was born in Yuma County on a Native American reservation in 1958. He is allegedly a U.S. citizen.

Continuing with the interview process, we began to ask about problems the men have encountered while being detained in PCJ. The most abundant issue was the cost and use of the phones. We learned that if you do not have money from outside the facility, you will not be able to make a phone call. Picking up the phone costs a minimum of $2.50, and local calls with a 520 area code and “27” beginning can cost around $10 for a few minutes of talk time. One man told us that he deposited $60 into his phone account, called his family in New York, and ran out of money after talking for five minutes. These men are brought to this horrible facility, disallowed contact with their friends and family, and supposed to fight their cases with the limited—yet expensive—available resources.

The next major problem we encountered was regarding PCJ’s “Law Library.” The Law Library, in H-unit, contains three computers, one printer, for which the detainees can almost never receive paper for, a phone book, and two outdated “Legal Resource” books. In E-unit, there are five computers, two printers, and two phonebooks. Other than Lexus Nexus, there is no legal material available. Nearly everyone had trouble understanding any of the material available in the library. There is no one available to explain how to use the Lexus Nexus or the law books.

The complications grew as the interviews continued. Some of the information was shocking. Knowing that we were only there to document their complaints and learn about PCJ was difficult. I wanted to help and stay there all day, listening to their individual cases and trying to help them in any way that I can. I wanted to sit with them on the concrete floor and hear about how hard they have tried to fight their case without a lawyer, and how rough it is to spend months in this facility. But once again, after just three hours of talking with these men, Sam and I passed through the huge steel doors and left the jail. We will most likely never see any of those detainees again, and nearly all of them will probably be deported to countries that are just as foreign to them as they are to the Deportation Officers.

Walking out of PCJ that day was particularly difficult for me. After hearing about all of the problems these men face on a daily basis and only being able to sympathize with them, I felt awful leaving. These men can barely survive the day; how could they possibly fight their difficult legal battles on their own? These men are locked up away from the outside world. Cramped, overwhelmed, and exhausted, they try to live each day in the hopes that they might be released from this abysmal County Jail.

Yessenia Aguirre

Trying to figure out who I am under everything that I have been conditioned to be


I know nothing of anything, the more I learn the more I have to question what is being kept away from me. Yet, I feel so free..realizing that I have never been free.. I feel so strong knowing that all of this was organized to make me weak. I can feel the truth so close, even though I have nothing to compare it to but lies. Historical amnesia may blind us from he truth, but like how it has been said, everything under the sun will be revealed at its due time. Our people have suffered enough. We need to let everyone know that the "voiceless" have been screaming for centuries...we just have chosen not to hear. Lets lose our comfort and fall in love with curiosity, land,freedom, truth, and the genuine human spirit.


Prayer for our Mother Earth

Oh Sunshine! You are the smile on my lips. Your land is my freedom, my food, and my life. The land, water and wind are all yours to keep but in the meantime please let me explore you; let me be curious about you. You are naturally beautiful. My strength comes from you. I live because of you. My heart will forever sing all the songs that you carry through a chilling breeze. You are the perfect mother, the perfect home. Please lead us back to you. Mother Earth we need to come back to you. It’s time to take care of you and protect you..."because you can live without us, but we could never live without you."

Prayer for Hope and Faith to Wherever Life may Lead Me

Lord, thank you… Thank you because here on earth I can learn to live. Maybe it will be a hard and unjust life; but I am ALIVE and that is so beautiful. Thank you for giving me a path that constantly teaches me about other truths. Truths that make me feel free. You will always be the wind and I will always be a seed and I trust you and have faith that you will carry me to soils of all types...helping me discover what and who I should be living for.

Truth

Different realities;

All immersed in what they feel should be the only way to define morality.

What is morality?

Each world within the world living in contradiction to one another other;

All trying to find out the reasons why the stars shine, why do struggles come, why do the seasons change, why do some things remain the same, why does a flower bloom, why do things end, why do we breathe, why do we die , why doesn’t anything make sense… why does it matter?

Why? Why? Why?

We have made it all too complex

Each seeking a universal answer, which will be a lie to another.

If we could just accept that the mind is too large to oppose any truth,

That in a way I COULD be right, you COULD be right, we all COULD be right,

Or all wrong.

Seeking our own truth, letting ourselves explore the depths of our mind,

Letting our curiosity take over to teach us about other truths;

These truths broadening one reality, one true morality: Love.

Protest in Oaxaca - Yessenia Aguirre

Daniela and I ran into this during the Mexico portion of our travel seminar in Oaxaca's Zocalo. The protest was for a teacher that has been disappeared. The man reading his own poem is a friend of the disappeared teacher. The teacher's family is there too. For me this was a powerful experience and proof of the drastic measures the government takes when people start demanding there needs and rights.

Nogales - Beth Lowry

In Joseph Nevins' 2006 book, Dying to Live, he states "In a world of profound inequality, there are few if any nations that share a land boundary with the level of disparity as wide as that between Mexico and the United States. Which side of a boundary one is born on - something that is permanent and one cannot change - profoundly shapes the resources to which one has access, the amount of political power on the international stage one has, where once can go, and thus how one lives and dies." (186)

As a volunteer with No More Deaths this spring, I have had the opportunity to cross this land boundary on numerous occasions. On the mornings that I make the hour-long drive south from Tucson to Nogales, Arizona, the process of passing through that boundary is a question of a single moment, a few paces through the maze of metal and machine that is the Immigration and Custom Enforcement facility. These mornings I feel my privilege sitting heavily in my pocket alongside my passport as I emerge into Nogales, Sonora.

I travel to Sonora with the purpose of documenting the experiences of recently deported and repatriated migrants. Folks from No More Deaths have been doing this work for years now: filing reports that testify to the systematic abuses committed against migrants by Border Patrol and ICE agents during their apprehension and detention, be it as they attempt to cross the desert into the States or in towns and cities that are hundreds of miles from the border. Once the stories are collected, they are broken down into data that we enter and process and sculpt into an official document – page upon page of claims of the denial of food and water, of verbal and physical abuses, of wives being separated from husbands when they are sent to differing detention facilities.

I have spent enough hours translating narratives into raw data that the shock of reading the abuse reports has ebbed somewhat. But the act of collecting those stories, to sit down with migrants in Nogales and talk with them is an entirely different experience. “Nos trataron como animales” I have been told more than once by migrants with whom I have spoken – they treated us like animals. While each component of this semester has served to open my eyes the injustices that are reproduced within our global world system, the profound inequality of which Nevins writes is most clear to me when I must meet the gaze of these men and women.

In Memory Of... - Grace Schoenlank

I attended a Tucson protest and press conference last Friday in memory of Carlos La Madrid, a man shot by a border patrol agent while climbing the fence near Douglas last month. The facts of Carlos’ murder are hazy and confusing, as can be expected when if comes to crimes in the desert involving authorities and civilians of color, documented or not. At this point in time, eyewitness reports, a construction crew’s video, interviews with Carlos’ family and statements from border patrol spokespeople best recount what happened.

It appears it went down like this… a border patrol agent shot 19-year-old Carlos, a U.S. citizen, three times in the back and once in the shoulder – at arms length – as Carlos fled from the agent. Carlos fell and was handcuffed and dragged on the ground by the agent (who has yet to be named). The ambulance arrived too late to the scene and Carlos died.

Carlos’ family, his friends, and representatives of organizations in Tucson working for social change in this warped region called the borderlands attended the press conference held in front of the federal building on Friday afternoon. One by one, people approached the microphone to not only express their anger and sadness for Carlos’ death but also for the broken system and the unofficial, racist war underway that his death blatantly represents.

Carlos’ uncle was one of the people to speak to the small crowd amid the hundreds of cars speeding by (some “honking for justice," some yelling raging expletives and giving the finger).

He explained that Carlos is not the first young man of color to be murdered by border patrol in the name of secure borders, the war on drugs and the war on terrorism in the past several years. A 17 year-old boy was killed in the desert in January and a 15 year-old boy was killed in El Paso last June. In fact, Border Patrol agents shoot and kill people on the border every year while the gun owners and perpetrators continue to live their lives in the name of protecting virtuous U.S. citizens. Carlos’ uncle said he knew of incidents like these prior to Carlos’ death. He said, however, how he could never have imagined the paralyzing pain he and his family now experience at the loss of their brother, son, nephew, and grandson.

As I write this and struggle with what I actually hope to relate in this short blog, I can picture the faces of Carlos’ sisters, mother, aunts, uncles and grandparents. I’m reminded again of how many thousands of families have been devastated by what our government is falsely calling "securing our borders." I am saddened knowing that many more lives and families will be ruined in the years to come. That is, if nothing is changed.

Tucson, Arizona - Irhad Strika

Since the start of the program I have been thinking a lot about the reasons behind me actually spending a whole semester in the city of Tucson. However, soon enough I realized that, even though I am going to have to leave pretty soon, it is very important for me just to live my experience and learn as much as I can. In the end, being human and realizing that our lives are made up of all the small, intertwined butterflies is what makes this life, and this particular place so beautiful. Honoring our lives and living them with dignity is what really matters, and nobody can take that away from us.

Just as it is important to be able to find a niche in a certain place, it is also necessary to find space for this city inside ourselves. Our lives are what we make out of them. I have been very lucky to have a chance to live in this city and do all the small things that make me a Tucsonan, even it is only for few months. Here is my story.

I live in South Tucson. My family, like many of the families in this area of Tucson, immigrated to the United States from Latin America. It is a very quiet neighborhood filled with one-story houses. I really enjoy the fact that I live outside the city, where I get my peace and comfort.

My host mom is an awesome cook, and a wonderful human being, regardless of how fast she talks and how much time she spends on the phone with her family. I speak Spanish to her all the time, as she speaks only some English. We go shopping, wash her car, chat while she cooks about her family, about my family and my country, and she buys me chocolate.

My host dad works landscaping, roof specialist. He is just soooo chill. We watch a lot of TV together, and talk a lot about politics, history, sports, food, language, law, you name it. Sometimes we make fun of Americans. I speak English to him all the time.

My host bro is a thirteen year-old teenager. He is a very smart, unique kid. He wears skinny pants and Vans. He has long hair, and loves to play with his Nintendo and iPod touch. He is wiser than most of the kids of his age, and has pretty high self-confidence. I enjoy watching movies and getting McDonald's with him. It also happens that very often we’ll be in his room and I will be reading while he will be playing on internet.

The next big part of my life in Tucson is taking a bus every day. I bike around 10 minutes from my home to the transit center, and then I get on the bus that takes me North on 6th Ave. I have done this so many times that I already know most of the route by heart. The fun part of it is the fact that I have had a chance to see so many different people. I have always believed that the best way to get to know the place and the people who live there is by simply using public transportation. The buses are pretty good, cheap, and I have not encountered a single problem since arriving in Tucson. I think some of the oddest people I have seen on buses were the bus drivers themselves.

Every bus ride takes me either to my class or to my field study placement. I have three classes that I have to attend in The Historic Y offices, close to downtown. I really enjoy my classes, regardless how intense they can be. We do have a lot of work, and no matter how unhappy you are about it, it still is a part of the learning process. I guess, the biggest reason I enjoy my classes is because of the impact those classes have on me and my previous knowledge. It often happens that while sitting in my class, my thought process will be challenged so much that I will feel like I just discovered the bloody continent of America all over again. Sometimes my only reaction will be either WOW or WTF! Just blows your mind away.

But then, as much as I enjoy my classes, I enjoy my field study even more. I love working at the Coalicion de Derechos Humanos. I am usually the only male in the office, except when we have abuse clinics, when one or two more show up to help us out. I am just there to learn and experience having a chance to help or feel helpless where there is nothing you can do to better someone’s situation. Besides living with my host family, this is the most real part of the program. It is a real world job, and we deal with human issues of major importance on a daily basis. You can re-write your essay, but you cannot re-write someone’s life. What I really love about this internship is the fact that I have been given a responsibility and the only way I am judged is how I use that responsibility. I am learning how to help myself by helping others. I am learning that being an ally and an agent of change means sacrifice, trust and a conscious mind. If you are fake in the environment of change, then you are going to suck at what you do.

I have not really answered the question about my position in Tucson. At this point, I am more concerned about telling my story as a building block of the change and lucha I strongly stand for. I like this city a lot, and I hope I will have a chance to come back. I enjoy having to take a 25 minute bus ride every day to get to my work, and then another 25 minutes to get back home. It is simple things like these that make us human. It is simple things that make us understand other humans. And all those simple things make me a Tucsonan; they make me a part of the system. And we are all together in this thing. We are all Arizona.