Blog #3: God of the Oppressed

            Today, Professor Datcher posed an important question. His question was something along the lines of: Do all people share the same image of god? Majority of the class agreed that most people have a different perception of god, but no one was able to thoroughly explain why at that exact moment. I felt as if I had a compelling argument, but for the sake of time I chose to hold off and layout my beliefs in this week’s blog post.

            I asked my sister in law, who is Mexican, to answer Datcher’s question. Leslie responded, “We can’t all share the same God because we all go through different things.”  I then asked her to expand on that, and she replied, “What do you mean? It’s self explanatory.” Like Leslie, a lot of people address the difference in historical backgrounds on the surface level, but never dive deeper into the discussion. Therefore, I’d like to use the remaining 534 words to do so.

Not all people share the same image of God. Different groups of people experience and view God differently as a result of history. The racial tension between black and white people is the perfect representation of this theory. In Sisters in Wilderness, Sarah Williams discusses the story of Sarah and Hagar. Hagar is a black slave and Sarah is a white housewife.  Hagar and Sarah held similar beliefs in terms of religion, but experienced God differently because of race. On page 150 Williams writes, “The reality of suffering and evil challenges the affirmation that God is liberating the oppressed from human captivity. If God is unlimited in both power and goodness, as the Christian faith claims, why does God not destroy the powers of evil through the establishment of divine righteousness? If God is the one who liberated Israel from Egyptian slavery, who appeared in Jesus as the healer of the sick and the helper of the poor, and who is present today as the Holy spirit of liberation, then why are black people still living in wretched conditions without the economic and political power to determine their historical destiny?,” (Williams 150). Hagar had trouble believing God wanted the best for her because he was also the God of her oppressor. In the text Hagar and Sarah share the same God, but Hagar doesn’t feel represented or protected. The same God that allowed Sarah and Abraham to exile her is the same God telling her to return to them. Therefore, when speaking to God the two can’t be referring to the same image because they are speaking from different positions.

James Cone’s racial background also shapes his personal experiences with God. In God of the Oppressed, Cone talks about the importance of the black church. As a child Cone attempted to attend a white church, and although they never out right said he did not belong, he could feel that his presence was unwanted, leading him to the black church. Being black made Cone’s experience with God very personal. In the black church he grew extremely close to God because through God he was given strength. God represented the oppressed, which Cone was. Cone’s experience of God differed from whites in all aspects, but mostly in prayer. On page 18 Cone states, “Black prayers are not the same as white prayers,” (Cone 18). Whites pray to God in a position of authority, and they ask for more wealth or prosperity. Blacks on the other hand pray to God in hopes of freedom and empowerment. In black prayer the people pour their heart and soul out to God because they are speaking from a position of inferiority. The people look towards God to guide them to be what they were destined to be. Cone believes that there are different realities when referring to God because he does not feel represented through the white Jesus.

In conclusion, all people experience and view God differently. Every individual has a personalized image of God because we view him from different positions and social standings. 

I bite my tongue

My parents were never easy people, but I guess the world made them that way. Both of them were immigrants from Israel and came to the states with nothing. My dad was working for my mom’s brother as an electrician when they met. There definitely was no love in my household. Now my parents weren’t like some authoritarian dictators, disavowing love and emotions, forcing siblings to exchange silent hugs in secret corners, but there was none felt. Growing up, my dad would tell us “Listen, marriage is a business arrangement” (NP). So it shouldn’t have surprised me when they revealed that they were homophobic.

I can’t say that they haven’t grown more accepting now, but it has never been enough. I can call back every argument we’ve had, every Old Testament line that my mom would throw at me or the stupid “next people will be marrying dogs!” argument my dad favored. I had grown so sick of my mom saying “I had a gay friend once I’m not homophobic” (NP). I still feel the sting from every single time that they asked me, “Why do you care?”

“Why do you care!?” In the moment, I struggle. Do I tell them? They assume I’m straight due to the past girlfriends I’ve brought home, but they don’t know that I really don’t have a sexual preference, I’m one-size-fits-all. But I bite my tongue, not from fear, I stopped caring what they thought of me years ago. But I would never tell them. That would invalidate every argument I ever made to them. Their thick skulls would reject every word, they’d be blinded by the shock that they somehow raised a pansexual son (little did they know that my sister is a lesbian and my other sister is bi). So I would yell back that I care because that’s what people do, that they’re wrong not to care. I would ask them what happened to their hearts but I’ve spent the last 20 years watching them turn to stone and I know better.

My sister finally told them, but she is bad at communicating, courtesy of our parents. She says shes gay and my mom scoffs, waiting for the punchline. She looks sick to her stomach, later asking me if I was surprised. “I knew” I said. She sighs, another piece fits back into the puzzle of our broken family as she begins to understand that she is the one out of the loop of our lives, she is untrustworthy. The next piece of the puzzle proved far too difficult to her. As quickly as the understanding set into her mind, it was rejected as she asks me “do you think it’s a phase? Maybe she hasn’t met the right guy yet” (NP). I again ask myself if I should tell her, perhaps in solidarity. But I watch the wisdom she has gained from the last hour of conversation begin to fade again. All progress is temporary. We build the sandcastle of understanding in their minds only to see the tide wash it back away. Their minds are oceans of ignorance, and not even concrete can withstand the sea. I think back to the time that I finally convinced my parents that gay marriage should be legalized. They had no further argument, they conceded, I won, we won. But somehow the next day it was as though they had forgotten the entire conversation.

So I bite my tongue. Joke’s on them, ¾ kids so far aren’t straight, and my little brother is only 16

so we’ll know soon enough. But even if my other sister and my brother do end up coming out to my

parents, I will bite my tongue. Not from fear or uncertainty, but because it is a waste of time. They do

not deserve the truth. So I bite my tongue.

Heartbreak

Heartbreak

At times, the end of a relationship can be an excruciating experience. Whether it is a romantic relationship or a friendship, letting go of someone you love and care about is tough. I unfortunately experienced the loss of both a friendship and a romantic relationship at the same time. I was in my final month studying abroad in Madrid, Spain when I received the text from my former friend Madison that read, “I have something to tell you. I have been wanting to tell you for a long time but I wasn’t sure how to.” I did not think much of this message at first. I just thought she might have had something personal about herself that she had not been willing to tell me until that moment. “Hey, what’s up?” I replied in a very unassuming manner. It was the next text message I received that completely changed the life I had known for the last five years. “A few months ago on my birthday I got way too drunk and Michael and I hooked up. I am so sorry. I didn’t’ want to ruin our friendship, which is why I never told you.” My heart sunk to my stomach and my mind went into a whirl of confusion. Michael and I had been together for nearly four years and Madison and I had been close friends for five years. I was completely distraught. That night was the end of my relationship and a friendship with someone who I considered a very good friend.

According to an article by Laura Schwecherl, “Heartbreak is a term used to describe crushing grief, anguish, and distress, often due to the pains and strains of love. The experience of heartbreak can be so intense that some scientists suggest it can feel the same as physical pain.” At the time, I knew the sensation that Schwecherl describes all too well. I felt like I had my heart broken by two people at the same time. I was a complete mess for the weeks (or months it’s all a blur now) that followed. It was like having the floor ripped from underneath me and falling. Falling into what seemed like darkness. I felt empty and hopeless. It was like being kicked in the back of my knees, forced to buckle down and collapse to the floor.

Today, I recall something significant that my mother said to me in the midst of my painful healing process. She said, “There is a lesson to be learned from this and one day you’re going to see this as a blessing.” Of course at the time, I could not imagine ever being able to consider what had happened to me a blessing. But now looking back on the situation I can happily say that my mother was right (as she always is) and I can point out the lessons I was able to learn from the entire experience. I learned that even after the worst of times you can heal, there is always a lesson to be learned from pain, and most importantly, I realized my self-worth. 

Two-Day Hangover

It is no secret that alcohol is part of the social culture in college. Most of us have been to a college party where the main objective is to get drunk and let loose. For some of us, our first experience consuming alcohol occurred in high school.  For those of us that started drinking in high school, myself included, by the time we got to college, we believed we held a bachelors degree in drinking and partying. Unfortunately alcohol abuse is a prominent issue on college campuses. According to the National Council on Alcoholism about 80% of college students drink alcohol. Also, about half of college students that consume alcohol engage in binge drinking, which is drinking excessive amounts in a short period of time to get drunk. Why do young teens and adults like getting drunk? I asked my friend Mariah this question. She responded that, “it’s an escape; it brings people out of their shell to let loose and just have fun.” The fact is we get drunk as we believe it will bring about a good time.

When we were freshman, we all had to take an online course about alcohol abuse. This course was to inform us of the dangers of abusing alcohol in hopes that when we did drink, we would drink responsibly. Personally, me being my stubborn self, I found the course useless at the time as I felt I already knew all the information. I felt I knew my limits and I would never go overboard with my alcohol consumption. I was wrong and had to learn the hard way.

On New Years Eve of my sophomore year in college, I rang in the New Year at a party with friends from high school. We were partying on a college campus near my home in Northern California. That night consisted of taking pulls of Honey Jack Daniels, playing beer pong, and drinking champagne frankly like it was water. Never I have I ever consumed so much alcohol in one night in my life. My self-control that I had always trusted was gone. Random friends of friends that I never met before were pouring the vodka down my mouth and I gladly took it. I officially took it too far. Throughout that night and heading into the morning, I found my self violently and uncontrollably throwing up in the basement of my friend’s house. I threw up a total of 7 times that night. I woke up the next morning in excruciating pain that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. It felt like a blood pressure cuff wrapped around my chest that just kept squeezing me and wouldn’t release. I experienced dizziness like the world was moving around me and lost the appetite to eat. These symptoms went on for two days. I refer this as the 2-day hangover. During this time I couldn’t drive at all because I continually felt dizzy. I ultimately went to the doctor and got blood work done to make sure everything was okay. Never had alcohol done this much damage to my body. At the time I thought this pain would never go away.

            The truth is alcohol abuse in college is very prominent. Never did I think I, myself would take it too far to the point where I had to get blood drawn and explain that night to my doctor. As much pain as I was in for those few days, I was very lucky. Not everyone is lucky as I am a because according to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse, about 1,825 college students between the ages of 18 and 24 died from alcohol-related injuries in a seven-year span. Most college students want to have a good time, and drinking has become part of that culture. But it’s important that we drink responsibly so that we stay safe. 

"Those People"

“Those People”

            I knew it was going to be bad day because I had not been home all week. I had not answered my mothers or fathers phone calls. I had texted them where I was and that I was okay but still it’s as if they knew that I was with my boyfriend all week. Sure, enough I got home and all the lights were off and I could already hear the lecture I was going to get. I ran straight upstairs to my room. But my parents heard me and called me into their room. I was trying to mentally prepare myself for the lecture I was about to get. Although I thought I was prepared I truly wasn’t.

            I walked in unable to look at my mother and father who were sitting on the edge of their bed. I swear I could feel my heart falling out of my chest because it was beating so fast. I tried to make the situation into a funny one and tried to make a joke. I said “Haven’t seen you guys in forever.” There were no laughs and not even a smile. I was looking around the room unable to meet their gaze. My father didn’t even wait for me to sit down before the questions came.

“Why do you think you not being home all week is okay? I mean you were hugging this kid in front of my house and I don’t know what you do outside of my house.” I couldn’t help but look at him crazy because of what he had just said. They finally asked me if he was my boyfriend. I couldn’t answer that even though he was my boyfriend. My father asked “Why does he have to be black?” In that moment, it was as if I had been slapped with the reality that my parents had a prejudice against a group of people that they did not even know. I was so upset but I let him talk and say everything that he was feeling. He said that those people weren’t good and that I should be smarter than that. I was so shocked but I finally snapped out of it and I tried to remain calm but my hands were shaking. It was probably the first time I had ever cried in front of my parents. It wasn’t because I was sad or hurt I was just angry. I finally looked up at him and said “What’s wrong with you. You act like you know him when you don’t. the fact that you’re judging him because of his race is disgusting because you hate when people do it to you.” At this point I was yelling, and in my family, no one ever yells at my father since he is the head of the household. I finally just left because I felt like I was suffocating on my own tears.

The next few days weren’t easy either because I had to take my mother to work and there was complete silence in the car. Until she broke the silence. She said “You know we only want what’s best for you.” I was still angry so I argued “No you just want me to end up with a Mexican man, and for what so he can treat me like shit but you don’t want me to be with someone who is from another race who actually makes me happy. You don’t care about my happiness you just care about how this is making you look.” She just sighed and there I was with tears in my eyes at 6 am.

It was about a week later and my oldest sister Griselda saw me doing homework at home and she asked “So what happened I heard dad screaming at you.”  I tried to explain calmly to her what happened but I couldn’t help but to cry. She looked at me with tears in her eyes too and said “That’s literally what broke my relationship up.” She began to tell me her story of how she introduced her boyfriend who was also black to my family and how they completely rejected him and how it made her relationship even harder than it should have been. She said “If it’s worth it you need to make it work, because at the end of the day any man that our father will meet he will not accept, it will just make it more difficult because he is from a different race.”

A month later as I look at the argument and how my parents reacted to it I am still disappointed. But I now look at them and at how they were raised and what experiences they had ad why they think the way that they do. I am still trying to explain my relationship to the and they have become more accepting. This is actually very reassuring since interracial couples have had to take their relationships to the supreme court. One example is the Loving vs. Virginia case where interracial marriage was illegal until the Supreme court ruled it unconstitutional to not allow couples of different races to marry. It is evident that interracial couples are growing according to a lovetoknow statistics there is now an 8.4 percent increase in interracial couples compared to a .4 percent of couples in the 1960s. I know that it will take time for people to still find interracial couples acceptable but it is a good thing that the acceptance rate has gone up drastically since the 1960’s.

New Look: The Possible Gentrification of Hub City

New look: The Possible Gentrification of Hub City

Small businesses are quite emotionally uplifting I can literally spend hours contemplating the unique artifacts in small businesses through the exquisite lively ambiance in Los Angeles from vivid colorful renowned places; La Placita Olvera, Plaza Mexico offer instantaneous gratification of art hanging from walls, bookshelves, and ceilings. Or on the other hand, opt for online shopping, another phenomenon-- a more practical way to get folks both interested in products and buying more conveniently. Meaning, avoiding the intricate streets and heavy load traffic on fwys by relieving folks from worries about traffic, parking, getting your car hijacked, receiving a ticket--no mas (no more). Besides, the only concerns of online shopping are usually shipping cost and time of arrival. And not to mention the feeling of excitement you get when you open your mailbox, open up the package to find that your item is wrapped in beautiful paper mache, a postcard is included and you’ve received a small little gift inside an organza bag--this is quite fulfilling. See I’ve done this without becoming addicted to this form of shopping and I’ve had great experiences. When I shop online I feel special as if I actually received a gift from a significant other and I fall into a repentine love spell at first sight.

Now back to non-online businesses, my favorite are places where I can buy handmade jewelry, purchase hand-crafted soaps, or simply buy what I call “recycled clothes.” Small businesses are by definition the long term success of a city’s development but not just any city. This is my city we are talking about. A place like Compton where businesses consist of; auto shops, recycling centers, Tobacco shops, liquor stores, gasoline stations, donut shops, and 99 discount stores. Not so impressive huh?

       Over the years there has been a transformation in Compton in terms of construction for condominiums and new businesses; thus, sweeping away raggedy looking businesses those which fill me with wonder. That by appearance could fall apart. But, when you walk in there it makes your head turn 360 degrees by all the weird, interesting products they hold and you go out the doors with a

smile on your visage (face). Mind you, I like thrift shopping or going into small outlets, the few I can find nearby—are exciting and therapeutic. Locavesting, an online site dedicated to sharing Local Investing News, Education & Resources, states that “the inner city was a recurring theme in the presidential campaign in which Trump called inner cities a “disaster” Locavesting however, expressed that cities have undergone a renaissance in recent years and housing prices have risen. Yet,

a lack of jobs and poverty are still stubborn issues in some core city neighborhoods.” Slowly but surely big brand name corporations are creeping into the city and residents will soon begin to wonder or complain about the cost of housing.

In 2008 a shopping center was built close to Greenleaf and Alameda, where stores like Best Buy, Marshall’s, Ross, Target, Party City, Jamba Juice and a few others are all found in one common place. The other shopping center is found on the East side as well, located by Compton blvd. and Willowbrook next to the Metro Station and two fairly new apartment buildings. And about a year ago or so, A Wal-Mart was built in the same area where the Compton Fashion Center once stood and ran the business for thirty-two years. The iconic Swap meet was a platform that allowed Asians, African Americans, and Latinos an opportunity to make a source of income, while to others it was to sell their music and be heard. For this reason, the death of the Compton Fashion Center better known as the Compton Swapmeet has left an empty space in the heart of many residents.

According, to the Southern Association of Governments people that work in Compton, make up 10% of the population compared to 40% that work in other unknown areas, and Los Angeles which makes 26% of the population. Prior, to the opening of Wal-Mart, the corporation offered 300 job openings. This means that all other businesses within the 10 or 15-minute parameter may be affected in the long term especially businesses aligned along Long Beach Blvd. Just a week ago in the light of day, I noticed the Mega discount store on Compton blvd. wasn’t opened and so many discount stores may begin closing within the next six months to a year. So, what happens then to family owned businesses, restaurants, independent 99 discount stores?

The Mayor and other developers are missing the bigger picture; small businesses are about sympathy, community, and love. Let’s not lose our sense of community that existed for thirty-two years and lose the future development and patrimony of our children. Intentions are there but money is not what we need in exchange for the helping hand of corporations that will only crush the dreams of  future families to come.

X-ing Out the Diseases

In the early 1800s, Hawaii became a place where diseases flourished. Foreigners came to colonize the islands and brought diseases that killed Hawaiian people every decade. Thousands of people would die from venereal diseases, typhoid, smallpox  and “Mai Pake,” which was also known as “the genuine Oriental Leprosy.” Leprosy was one of the diseases that caused Hawaii to “decide a policy of mandatory quarantine because it was the only way to stem this disease, which was falsely considered highly infectious” (The Daily Beast). This isolation led thousands of Hawaiian Leprosy patients to a 8,725 acre area. The area was a valley on the peninsula of one of the tiniest and least-populated islands, Molokai. It was called Kalaupapa.

At the time, Hawaii was still under a monarchy, and the King did not provide food for the community, and expected the patients to farm off of the land. Over 8,000 patients were taken away from their homes and families to relocate to Kalaupapa. The patients shared everything from water, to blankets and raggedy clothing. It was only until 1969 that the quarantine was lifted. It took a decade after Hawaii became a state, and it took more than two decades after drugs were developed to treat leprosy, known today has Hansen’s Disease (The Atlantic). Although they found a treatment, the experience of being exiled, and the traumatizing abandonment of these people was the ultimate problem. It was unfair to these Native Hawaiians to be treated as strangers from the rest of the community and the state.

The isolation of this indigenous community of Native Hawaiians is similar to how the people felt with AIDS in the 1980s. I believe this is a trend that we see with many stigmatized diseases. These Native Hawaiians were looked at as sick and could not be with the rest of the community, hence why they sent off thousands of the patients to be quarantined. Rather than helping these patients, it was easier to just let them slowly die off and be gone with the population.

I asked one of my fellow colleagues who is a Women Studies major here at LMU about her thoughts on AIDS in comparison to what happened in Hawaii, and she said, “I’ve noticed that it is something our society does. We have an idea in our heads to stigmatize the disease and treat these poor people differently. Everyone should be treated the same regardless.”

Because AIDS is so stigmatized, Leprosy was treated the same way. Since AIDS was looked at as a disease associated with queers, whores, drug users, or people of color, it was as if these marginalized communities deserved it. These Native Hawaiians didn’t deserve the disease and also didn’t deserve to be exiled. The way that our society works can be so disheartening. Even today, people who have such diseases are still looked down upon. It is not entirely their fault, and we as a community, and a nation, should do everything possible to help one another.

A Cubana and the Embargo

The relationship between Cuba and the US has been on the rocks ever since Fidel Castro created a socialist regime that allied with the Soviet Union. Ever since, the US has Sanctioned and held an embargo over Cuba longer than any other country. More recently, Cuba has been given more attention in the media for when Obama spoke alongside Cuba’s President for the first time in 90 years, according to US News, and said, "The list of things we can do administratively is growing shorter…The embargo's going to end – when, I can't be entirely sure”. So, now more than ever, cubans who had fled their home during the revolution and found sanctuary in the US are speaking up and many are not here for it. 

My family was one of the many who fled Cuba and headed to America to flee from the poverty and violence that struck Cuba during the regime of Fidel Castro. My grandparents and aunts slowly, one by one, made their way to the US and my mother, Sandra, who had grown up surrounded by these stories of horror had very strong opinions about the embargo. “Look, I would love to open relations with Cuba WHEN there is a regime change. As it stands, Cuban people have no future, have no rights, Are hungry and living in poverty.” she said. 

But won’t lifting a ban on tourism help the economy of the people? This is the question that many ask throughout the media but Sandra says “First things first, we need to demand basic human rights and freedom for the Cuban people. Encouraging Tourism and lifting the embargo will only help the government become richer. It's not being passed along to the people”. And she’s not alone in this thinking, according to The Atlantic, 60 percent of Cuban Americans who left between 1965 and 1973 and 51 percent of those who left between 1974 and 1980 also oppose engaging the Cuban government. Many cubans, my family included see Fidel and his family as a dictatorship and believe they are being portrayed more positively than they deserve in the US. “Media paints a picture of an island that gives free education, free healthcare. A utopia...People need to think...Why would Cubans risk their lives, jumping in sharks infested waters on a make shift raft if Cuba was so wonderful?” Sandra says. She continues on by saying “Americans bury their heads in the sand and have selective hearing. They are only interested in the stories that move forward their agenda. Honestly, it's pure ignorance and elitism. Media paints a different picture of Cuba. Celebrities go and take pictures of old cars but Cubans are not free people”. 

So what now? Under a new presidency, Cubans are nervous. Life wasn’t so certain before and now cubans are in a reality that forces them to worry about their relatives back home due to the uncertainty of it all. According to CNN, In January, Cuban President Raul Castro said his government wished "to pursue a respectful dialogue and cooperation on topics of common interest with the new government of President Donald Trump”. Its made apparent that no answers or plans will be coming soon and the ability to go to their home is now gone due to poverty and destruction. So what does the daughter of a man who fled the violent revolution have to say to those who don’t know much about Cuba? “Don’t have a romantic idea of a "Cuba, frozen in time. They’ve never lived under a dictator. What they don't show, is that protestors are arrested, hospitals are dirty and don't have linens or light bulbs, medicine is scarce, only available in black market, the media shows you only a sliver of the truth”. So heres to the optimism of the future, cigars, and cuban sandwiches.