Category Archives: Human Rights

The Next Destination This Hispanic Heritage Month: Panamá!

As I continue inviting you to explore the places I have visited in our beloved and beautiful Latin America this Hispanic Heritage Month, I want to bring you with me to Panamá.

A view of Panamá City from the isthmus. The contrast of modernization with tradition is everywhere in the city.

It is possible that the only thing you know about Panamá is the canal. The Panamá Canal crosses the country north to south, opening a waterway for large container ships to cross from the Caribbean Sea to the Pacific Ocean. The Panamá Canal is quite significant for various reasons. First, because ships no longer have to do the difficult navigation around the southernmost point in the continent through Tierra del Fuego, to reach the Pacific Ocean from the Atlantic. Second, because it helped in cutting Panamá from Colombia, from which it was a department prior to its independence. Third, because the canal was USA territory until 1999, and thus, is another palpable reminder of the way in which the United States have had an overarching presence in Latin American affairs. Finally, the canal is also the big scar that divides the American continent, physically cutting the north and south parts of the large landmass that is América.

I have only visited Panamá once. My mentor, friend, and second mother, whom I met while she was a professor at the university I attended, lives there. Her ties to Panamá are strong. When she attended the same school she eventually taught at, she met the father of her sons, who was at the time, an international student from Panamá. Her sons were born there, and currently, her surviving son’s children live there. It makes sense for her, already retired, to live near her grandchildren and son.

A while ago, I decided I wanted to visit her. It had been quite some time since the last time I had seen her, and I felt it was right for me to visit as she had already traveled to visit me while I lived in NYC and she was in Pennsylvania. I also wanted to meet her son, as I consider her a second mother and it would’ve been great to meet my quasi-brother. Up until that time, Panamá had been a layover stop on my way to other Latin American countries. In fact, I had never stepped out of the Tocumén International Airport in Panamá City before. Thus, I didn’t have any expectations from the country, other than meeting my mentor and friend.

The Panamá Canal is the link between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

What I discovered was way more than a beautiful Latin American country! I discovered a country with a complex history, wonderful people, delicious cuisine, and an accent that was so close to my own that I always felt at home.

My friend is a lesbian activist, and as such, I had the chance to connect with the LGBTQ community in Panamá and experience the country through their eyes.

The most significant experience I had in the country, was a visit to the Kuna or Guna people. The Guna are one of the surviving indigenous peoples who the colonizers were not able to erase. Like many other indigenous cultures from around the world, the Guna do not have a strictly binary gender system. In the Guna communities there is a third sex, the “Wigudum”, who play an important role in their societies.

When I visited with the Guna, I had the wonderful opportunity to meet some Wigudum people. Some of them were concerned because, although they had been accepted by the majority of their communities, US-backed Evangelical churches were growing in their communities. This meant that US puritanical and hypocritical mores were being spread throughout their communities, including the marginalization and demonization of the Wigudum. Moreover, the hypocritical aspect of the US puritanical moral code was using Wigudum young people as sex objects in private while rejecting their humanity from the pulpit. At the time, I was serving in parish ministry, and although the church I served is a very progressive congregation, I couldn’t get the guilt off of me. Modern, US Evangelical Christianity is annihilating a culture that survived millennia of colonization.

Still, visiting with the Guna was the most beautiful part of my visit to Panamá. They did not perform for me as a tourist. They did not put on a show to entertain me. I didn’t act as if I knew more than them about their country, their culture, or their struggle. I visited with humility and an open mind, hoping the learn from and with them, even if for just a few hours. I highly recommend connecting with indigenous communities, if possible, when visiting any Latin American country in which there are indigenous communities. Visiting with them will offer a better understanding of their culture, their history, their current realities, and the damage that colonization continues to do.

Sharing with Guna people was the highlight of my visit to Panamá.

Of course, I had the chance to visit the Panamá Canal. It is an impressive view. Watching the huge vessels travel through this intricate piece of engineering is really a sight. It is also an interesting experience to visit the canal zone. The canal was transferred back to Panamá as it was always intended, in 1999. Since then, Panamanians have moved to the zone, while some service members from the USA have also stayed. It is an interesting reality worth witnessing.

The final place I would suggest visiting in Panamá — of the places I visited, because I cannot speak for the whole country — is the old town. Contrary to other old towns throughout Latin America, Panamá’s is small and not well maintained. The structures are crumbling, and they reminded me more of Havana than San Juan. The ruins of the old city are also nearby and they are an interesting place to visit to learn more about Panamá’s development. I am not sure about the rest of the country, but Panamá City is a sprawling experiment on US capitalist development. Huge skyscrapers are being built everyday. Hundreds of housing units unreachable for locals are being sold to international investors with no intentions to help the people of the country. However, since infrastructure is still lacking, water barely reaches the units beyond the third floor, and power outages are very common.

Visiting Panamá was a great experience for me. It showed me both sides of Latin America: the side still connected to our ancestors, cultures, and traditions, and the side that is the unsuspected victim of globalization and US imperialism. As a Puerto Rican, it was a great way to know that my people, my Island, are not alone in suffering the impact of invasive US imperialist policies. As the late Panamanian poet Dimas Lidio Pitty once wrote:

Panamá, my beloved land

wounded by the many pains

tomorrow, without invaders

an Eden under the sun you shall be.

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There Is No Pie! A Reflection on Power Dynamics and Racism

There is no pie.

None. I am not writing about food, though. I am writing about power, power dynamic, and how language fails us to explain these concepts and what it is that communities of color demand from our white colleagues and fellow humans. This is a semi-long opinion essay. Here I discuss several concepts and ideas, starting with language in general, some theological concepts, and finally, various sociological concepts related to social dynamics and power. If these things interest you, this will be a fun read. (Or maybe I have a weird sense of humor…)

Language is probably the most important human invention. It is so important that many anthropologists consider language to be the human invention that helped differentiate our ancestors from other primates. Language is important and one of the most powerful tools we have at our disposal. Nevertheless, like any human invention, language is not perfect. Although language helps us to communicate as clearly as possible, there are still limitations. Many of these limitations can be seen more clearly when it comes to explaining, describing, and understanding immaterial concepts.download (3)

As many communities in the United States engage in difficult conversations about racism, anti-blackness, power dynamics, social interactions, and other relevant realities, I thought of sharing my ideas on how language fails us to describe power dynamics.

In many occasions, humans make use of the tools we have within our languages to make sense of difficult immaterial concepts. It is common for us to use similes, metaphors, analogies, and other linguistic tools to explain difficult concepts. Allow me to use some examples from a field I am quite familiar with: Christian theology.

Perhaps one of the most difficult theological concepts to explain is the Trinity. In the history of Christian theology the concept of the Trinity has been tried to be defined and explained by both Trinitarian Christians and those who object to this understanding of God. If you were raised in any form of Christianity, the concept of the Trinity was presented in simple, easy to understand analogies… that probably were far from what the theological concept of the Trinity really is. You probably heard about the Trinity being like water, which can be liquid, solid, or gas and yet it’s still H2O. Or perhaps you are more familiar with the egg analogy, where the yolk, white, and shell are all part of the egg yet not the whole egg. The analogies are many, and none actually explains what the Trinity is without falling into some sort of heresy, according to historical Trinitarian theology.

A good, simple theological explanation of the Trinity is this: a theological mystery that explains the relationship between the three Persons who make up the reality of God as Parent, Incarnate Expression, and Holy Spirit, all three being one while also being separate from each other but never subjected to each other, they each exist from eternity to eternity and are coequal with each other. Simple, right? Ha! Now you can understand why the tools our languages have to express complicated immaterial realities always fails us. There is no simple way of expressing this theological concept and thus, most theologians hold on to the simplest of explanations: the Trinity is a mystery. Period.

Thankfully, if unless like me, you are not a theologian, this mental gymnastics is not going to affect your life. Nevertheless, there are immaterial concepts that are difficult to explain in simple words and yet affect our daily lives. This is where the concept of “the pie” comes into play.

Power dynamics in the USA live in the context of a complicated history. I will not go into historical details, but I believe we can agree on certain general points that are accepted for most people. First, the USA has a history of racism with which it has not dealt appropriately. Second, racial relations – as well as other power dynamics – permeate pretty much every interaction among people in every social context, from shopping to parenting to education and politics. I would argue that even those hegemonic contexts in which everyone belongs to the same perceived racial background are not exempt from these racial realities. White people assume their superiority based on their socialization regardless of whether they have the chance to interact with people they have been socialized to believe are inferior. On the other hand, communities of color are always aware of these social and power dynamics regardless of whether we are in the presence of white folk or not. In fact, it has been my experience that even in non-academic, family interactions where all are Latino people, we implicitly or explicitly engage in conversations strategizing how to survive and thrive in the majority white contexts in which we interact. Take for instance, when my own family engages with the youngest members of our family to encourage them to be successful in school and life… making use of the patterns, systems, strategies, goals, and mores established by the white majority. We do not have to name the systems and who developed them in order to engage in conversations on how to move within them. Finally, a capitalist and an historical European, Protestant work ethic permeates these power dynamics. Those who can adapt to this socio-religious-economic ethic will have more chances of survival than others.

imagesHere comes the “pie chart” that characterizes most conversations about resources. Power is, in my opinion, another resource. It can be used by those who have it in order to advance, or to access opportunities, or to affect change – good and bad – in society. The problem is that, what I call “the pie understanding of sharing power” negatively affects the way in which we engage in conversations about what it is that minority communities demand from the majority.

In the European Protestant work ethic, resources determine success. The person with more resources has earned the favor of God, therefore, it is their right to continue amassing power. Moreover, since power is a resource granted by God, and salvation is an individual transaction between a human and their God, it is expected that individuals continue finding ways to gather power, even at the expense of others who will lose their power. This is, I believe, at the core of capitalism. This is also a self-preserving system. The more power you have, the more you show that God has favored you. Therefore, you need to continue amassing power in order to show how much God has favored you. Those with no power have the option of finding ways to obtain power, and with it, show that God has also favored them. Since power can be amassed, those who have it present themselves as an example of how you, too, can receive and amass power if you only work hard enough for it. The problem comes when everyone starts thinking that power is finite. There are several ways to obtain power, but in this context only two are relevant: you earn power by buying it from others, or you fight for it at the expense of others who will lose it to you. Or in simple terms: some people will have large pieces of the pie, others will have slimmer pieces, and others will have no pie whatsoever.

Therein lays the problem with the pie analogy for power. There is no pie! None!

The recent conversations on racism have revolved around how to divvy up the pie. It seems like for the most part, people think that communities of color and other minoritized peoples have been trying to get a piece of the pie that majority groups have been cutting for themselves. To many people who noticed that their pieces of pie were larger than that of others, this is a problem they want to fix by either redistributing the pieces of pie, or – in my opinion, the ones that are a bit more advanced in their understanding of the complex racial realities we live under – they try to share their own pieces in order to show solidarity. Both of these approaches are honorable, as those with pieces of the pie have never experienced any other way to interact with their power. They are, in my opinion, a bit closer to understanding the demands of oppressed communities. Nevertheless, I reaffirm: there is no pie.

The pie analogy is one of the ways in which language fails us. It tries to simplify a very complex concept in order to make it more digestible (yup, pun intended!) Power is, like the Trinity, a complex, immaterial concept that cannot be explained in simple terms. Just like the Trinity is neither an egg nor water, power is neither a pie nor a table in need of more chairs to accommodate minoritized communities. Although these concepts can help us start the conversation, they cannot be the ones used to engage in deep, comprehensive, and serious conversations about systemic change and power relations.       pie-fight-group-cartoon-people-cream-pies-46001112

Marginalized, minoritized, and oppressed communities are not asking to share the pie. In fact, for many of us, is not even about being able to bake a pie! At the heart of the matter is what types of systems are needed to share power in order to identify the needs of the whole. It is also about coming up with solutions that address the very complex realities in which we live. It is about sharing power in all of its complexity, without taking power away from anyone. That is something the pie analogy doesn’t address. Moreover, it is this flawed analogy of the pie the one that makes it scary for the majority to engage in conversations about power dynamics. The thought of losing a piece of the pie is scary, especially when you have been socialized to believe that the piece of the pie is the seal of favor and success from your God.

Language will continue being the most important tool in human history. It is also important to know how to make use of it. Language affects the way in which we interact with each other and whether we can advance in our understanding of each other’s needs and wants. Using analogies will help us start conversations, but it cannot be the end of it. In fact, when an analogy doesn’t help frame the conversation in the best way, perhaps it is time to stop using it. My suggestion is to stop framing the conversation in relation to how the pie is to be sliced and shared, and instead talk about the nuances of shared power and systemic structural changes that will allow for more people to collaborate. The conversation can be framed in ways to collaborate and learn from each other. Instead of scaring people by suggesting that they will lose something in order to share with others, let’s start talking about the infinite amount of resources that exist in our social contexts to help collectively solve complex problems. Besides, I have never liked pies anyway…

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Seven Words of Christmas

Word ArtThe news have reported that the current White House administration instructed the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) from using seven words on their budget documents. With seven days left for Christmas, I decided to take the time to write a piece each day highlighting one of the seven words.

In the Christian tradition there is the sharing of the Seven Words. These are phrases that Jesus shared while being crucified. Many Christian churches share and preach on these Seven Words during their Good Friday liturgies. The Seven Words are the climax of what Christian theology calls “the story of salvation.” The last words that Jesus shares are: “it is finished” (John 19.30) and “into your hands I commend my spirit” (Luke 23.46.) After these words, Jesus expires.

According to the timeline of events, after Jesus expires on the cross he is placed into the tomb and on the third day he is resurrected. This is the hope of the Christian person: no matter how difficult the journey is, no matter how painful the culmination of life is, there is always the hope of resurrection. This is the message of Holy Week.

Why am I writing about Holy Week on the season of Advent leading into Christmas? Because the Seven Banned Words of the CDC are a mirror of those other Seven Words of Holy Week.

The current federal administration has been crucifying the remnants of the facsimile of democracy that the United States had. With each carefully orchestrated move, the current administration tries to diminish the people’s confidence and trust on institutions serve the country. They are intentional in the use of words to describe the institutions that keep some resemblance of democracy. The administration’s furious attack on the free press, their obsession with political rallies a year after elections, their systemic appointment of people completely unprepared and unqualified to lead the agencies they are appointed to oversee, their deliberate construction of lies disguised as truth, the unashamed use of FOX News as state propaganda television, and a myriad other big and small actions that undermine democratic processes are just the tip of the iceberg. The United States democracy is being crucified.

Diversity

Fetus

Transgender

Vulnerable

Entitlement

Science-based

Evidence-based

These words represent all that society stands for when they are on their way to progress. French philosopher and founder of Sociology, Auguste Comte, wrote about the stages of human progress. In Comte’s theory, societies move towards progress. There are three stages of society: theological, metaphysical, and positivist. A theological society looks at an unknown occurrence and places all responsibility on unseen beings that control our destinies. Any possibility of progress is thwarted by the society’s fear of angering their mythological beings. A metaphysical society is in the middle stage. Societies in this stage begin to understand that there are certain things that have an explanation. The understanding of actions and their consequences are part and parcel of this society’s natural development. Neither one of these two types of societies is inherently corrupt or ignorant. You cannot know what you do not know. However, these are not ideal societies. The ideal society is one in which members are exposed to a systemic way of understanding truth. To this Comte called a “positivist society.”

Although Auguste Comte’s positivist approach to explaining society is not ideal, it does have merit, especially taking into consideration the banning of words in certain official documents by the current administration. A positivist society understands that humanity is on a journey forward. This journey cannot be contained, no matter how much the powers that be may try to stop it. Resurrection is the conclusion to the crucifixion. Progress is the conclusion to temporary repression.

Democracies are vulnerable entities. They can suffer from the ego of leaders who place power over service. Interestingly, Christmas is the time of vulnerability. In the Christian tradition, Christmas commemorates the birth of a vulnerable child, from a vulnerable family, who was threatened, even as a fetus, with destruction by its enemies – political, economic, societal, cultural, and religious, among others. Christianity proclaims that this child that was born transcended what humanity understood at that moment about the relationship between humanity and its divine sovereign. Some theologians propose that this transcending experience of God made Sophia, the common image of God as Wisdom, take the form of Christ in the person of Jesus, thus making God a transgender reality showing humanity how close the Divinity is to all of humanity. The diversity of opinions that ages of science-based social studies and evidence-based conclusions have shown us, is evidence that societies do tend to move forward towards progress and positivism. It is our responsibility, our duty, and even out entitlement as engaged members of a functional society, to be in solidarity with the vulnerable democracy that we are so desperately trying to save. Resurrection is the conclusion of crucifixion, even during the time of Advent and Christmas.

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The Lazy Spic

10400503_18166125619_9115_nYesterday I worked a twelve-hour workday. The day before I had worked for thirteen hours straight. The day before was nine hours. I had taken exactly two days off in four months since I started my new job. I have worked on weekends and even when I have given my staff a day off, I have gone to the office or worked from home to finish a project or start a new one. My staff is always supportive and they have, on more than one occasion, asked me to take it slow, to pace down, and even encouraged me to take a day off. The Board of Directors of my organization expects me to work hard, but they have also encouraged me to practice self-care, to take time off, and to work at a healthy pace. I can show you emails, texts, and social media messages I have gotten from staff and Board members encouraging me and reminding me of practicing self-care. Yet, I continue to work.

Why do I do this? Sure, I love what I do. I thoroughly enjoy administration, management, strategic planning, and all that comes with this. But there’s a second, equally important reason why I work so much… and it is not because I am a workaholic.

The first new world in learned when I moved to New York City in 2000 was “spic.” There was a definition attached to this term. The spic is a lazy person; they live off of government handouts, they despise work, they are irresponsible, the have moved in droves to New York City and had made the space less livable, less desirable, less safe. The spic didn’t speak English and didn’t want to assimilate to the evidently superior “American” culture.

People – especially USAmericans – have been enraged with President Trump’s comments about how Puerto Ricans have not done enough to help ourselves in light of the major natural disaster we have just experienced. For Trump, we are lazy people who do not want to work collaboratively. This is what he was taught about our community in the New York City of his early childhood. For the USAmerican public, for the most part, these are atrocious accusations. For the Puerto Rican community, these are just the same comments we’ve been hearing since our community started migrating to the mainland in the 1950s.

Although I commend and welcome the rage that Trump’s comments have sparked among my USAmerican friends, you must understand that his comments are not made in a vacuum. Trump is talking about the lazy spic that I have been told I am.

As a Puerto Rican living in exile, you are taught that you are part of a group of people who are, at once, “job stealers” and “lazy people.” How is it possible that we steal “American” jobs and don’t work enough at the same time, I have no idea.

Perhaps for many of you it was a surprise that the President of the United States depicted the people of Puerto Rico as lazy people who do not help ourselves. However, this is what we have heard as a community since the 1950s when our people started migrating in droves to the USA due to the economic realities of the Island cause, precisely, by the USA’s policies towards its colonies. It is this message the one that is still ingrained in my head, to the point that I work and work and work, lest someone accuse me of being lazy and not doing enough.

This is not something I am making up. Neither is this something that happened a while ago and certainly not in so-called “progressive” spaces. On the contrary. This thinking that Puerto Ricans, and Latino people in general, are lazy is still alive. Take, for instance, what happened to me for four years while I served a progressive congregation in one of the most so-called progressive cities in the USA. A woman who self-appointed as the leader of the church would call my office at random hours of the day, just to check that I was there, just to make sure I had come to the office that day. She wouldn’t want to talk to me. She just wanted to make sure that I was there. Her excuse was that she had heard I had not been active in the community, or doing enough home visits to the folk in the congregation. She used her self-appointed status as a leader of the church to let me know that “there were concerns” in the church that I wasn’t being effective. Of course, like any good oppressor, she couldn’t notice the flaw in her argument: I had to be in the office so I could demonstrate that I was doing my job of being in the community and visiting folk.

When you are confronted with this reality every day, you learn to navigate the system. You know that you must be perfect, perform beyond what people’s perceptions of your abilities are, and work twice as hard as anybody else. No wonder the great Nuyorican poet Pedro Pietri wrote about our community:

They worked
They were always on time
They were never late
They never spoke back
when they were insulted
They worked
They never took days off
that were not on the calendar
They never went on strike

without permission
They worked
ten days a week
and were only paid for five
They worked
They worked
They worked
and they died
They died broke
They died owing
They died never knowing
what the front entrance
of the first national city bank looks like

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow…[1]

[1] Pedro Pietri, Puerto Rican Obituary, 1969

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The Church Is Not A Safe Space

The last time I was in church was for the installation service of a close friend. I attended because she invited me to preach and that was a huge honor. The last time I attended church before that was the Sunday after election in the USA. Having been raised in the Church, I often relied on this community to be the safe space where I could bring my fears into with the hopes of being healed.

When Republican Party enthusiasts, emboldened by the rhetoric of President Trump and Republican leaders in the USA Congress, led a group of white supremacists, Nazis, and Ku Klux Klan sympathizers to march on the streets of a public university in Virginia, I felt the need to return to Church. I woke up on Sunday with the idea of finding a nearby congregation to attend. Somehow, I had equated church with healing and community and restoration. But then, I started to doubt it. I stopped to think about what Church had really been for me. All throughout my life, Church had not been a welcoming, healing, restoring community. On the contrary: Church was the people marching on the campus of the University of Virginia with torches, threatening many of my communities with violence and death.1374087_10152239912835620_459114692_n

Since my childhood time in Church, I had only heard hatred and violence against “sinners.” The goal was to rid the World from the sinful; to establish God’s kingdom, where the violent will reign with Christ and the Earth would be transformed into their playground. The images of fire and destruction were the ones used to exemplify this future. The King will stand to divide the crown and send some – the goats – to the pits of hell to rot for eternity, with pain and punishment unimaginable. Others – the sheep – will be lifted up to heaven to be with their Ruler.

I have been in several churches throughout my life, both as a parishioner and as a pastor. Every church has been different: my rural Baptist church in Puerto Rico, the underground Metropolitan Community Church also in Puerto Rico which I led for a few months before going to seminary, the urban, large Baptist church that sent me off to seminary, the suburban, white, moderate Baptist church that ordained me, the small, urban Hispanic Baptist church in New York City that welcomed me as their pastor, the multicultural, urban Methodist church also in NYC that provided refuge and welcomed me as a leader, the urban, liberal, white church in Seattle that made me question my call to ministry and which proved me that liberal churches are no safer than conservative ones, and the little suburban Episcopal church in Wisconsin with a worship service in Spanish that offered a few months of refuge while I served other ministries.

Here is what Church has done to me:

Church was the place where my first conversion therapy sessions happened. It was the place where I was made ashamed of my sexuality. It was the place where I learned to be secretive and embarrassed about liking men. It was the place where people gossiped about their neighbors throughout the week while coming to pray together on Sunday.

Church was the place where I had to hide my sexuality even as I was both on the ordination process and as I served as a pastor. It was the place where I was asked not to be creative with liturgy as this was not welcomed. Such experience was once again relived as I was invited to write for a white denomination’s worship resources and my work was deemed too “intimidating” because it didn’t fall within the liturgical styles of the white church. Both homophobia and white supremacy were present this weekend in Virginia. Both homophobia and white supremacy were present in this church experience for me.

Church was also the place where the white visitor who saw me walking down from my office responded to my greeting by saying “Are you the janitor?” No, I was not. I was the preacher that day, and perhaps that’s why you didn’t come back?

Church was the place where, behind closed doors and without ever telling me, the congregation had the excellent idea of paying for speech classes for me to become a better speaker of English… instead of learning how to accommodate their ears to a different accent. But that’s OK for them, because they are “liberal” and they “get it.” They too were present at the demonstrations in Virginia.

Church was the place where the fragility of the person who bullied me was most important than my safety. It was the place where I approached with caution because each time I pulled over to the parking lot, my hands started to shake and my heart started to race as the bully’s car was parked there too. It was the place where her dismissal of my leadership was encouraged; the place where they welcomed meetings with her behind my back to talk about the supposedly weak pastoral care I was providing the congregation, without ever knowing that I was often visiting, listening, calling, and praying with the elders who had asked me point blank to please keep this woman away from our household because they were afraid of her too… But I could not tell her that without facing the doubtful stares of cheering crowd. Church was the place that didn’t allow me to fall asleep from Friday night to Sunday night just because of the fear I had of coming to worship on Sundays. Even after trying different prescriptions – yes, prescriptions from my doctor – and relaxation methods, I could not do it. The bullying was that strong, and the lack of support was too much. This white fragility that didn’t allow this bully to recognize the leadership of a Latino man in church also marched in Virginia this weekend.

Church was the place where the priest addressed the violent rhetoric of the election season and the overwhelming support of white supremacists for President-elect Trump by calling the small group of Latino and Latina people by asking us… us… to come together with our oppressors and to find unity.

This was the last drop. I had tried long enough to make the Church a place of respite and community. The Church has not been such a thing for me. I need to break from this abusive relationship for good. Church, you are not safe for me as long as you march with torches and hatred.

Perhaps Church has been different for you, and for that, I am glad. Perhaps you will send a few words of “encouragement” and some apology on behalf of the Church. Don’t. I do not need them, nor do I need to explain more than I had already expressed here. Theology as a discipline and a field of study will continue to be a passion for me. The Church as a place for community, on the other hand, will not.

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Filed under Church, Culture, discrimination, ethnicity, Gay, Human Rights, Identity, LGBTQ, ministry, Philosophy, Queer, race, racism, Sociology, Theology, United States, USA

I March For My Niece

My niece, Emely, is nine years old. She is bright, and funny, and loves to read, and loves math, and wants to become a singer and actress. A couple of years ago she had a list of books she wanted me to buy for her. Of course, as a bibliophile, I complied and bought all the books she asked me for and more. When I visited her again, she told me about one of the books I had given her.img_7249

I still remember when Emely started school. Since Emely grew up in a Spanish-speaking household, when she started school she didn’t speak English. She learned the language from her teachers and her classmates. On one occasion, when I asked her to speak Spanish with us and use English for other conversations in order to help her stay bilingual, she said something that shook me to my core. “Spanish is UUUUGLY!” she said. With a heavy heart, I asked her why she said that. She said that everyone in school said it. Spanish is ugly. English is beautiful.

I have talked with Emely about the importance of learning as many languages as she can. I have told her about the importance of using both English and Spanish to communicate, and to take any opportunity she might have in the future at school to learn other languages. I have told her how proud we are of her. I have continued to make sure that she is proud of her Mexican heritage and that she understands what it means to be a USAmerican too. I have shared with her my own Puerto Rican culture and heritage and have encouraged her to adopt what she might want to adopt from it. I have shared with her how wonderful it is to have a non-traditional family, and what a blessing it is that she has a wonderful, supportive, caring mother, and two dads, and so many uncles and aunts, and siblings who live in different homes, and a madrina and a padrino who care deeply for her.

img_7149Today, as a white supremacist, xenophobe, and sexual predator took the oath of office as President, I worry about Emely and her future as a Latina woman growing up in the USA. I know I cannot protect Emely or her brother all the time. I also know that her parents’ immigration status prevents them from providing all the protections that she – both of them, my niece and my nephew – deserve. But there are some things I can do. I can join the RESISTANCE and stand up for my niece.

And so, Emely, I will march tomorrow, Saturday, January 21st. Emely, I will answer the invitation from other women around the USA and the world to stand up to injustices against women. Even though you might be too young to understand, I will march because I love you, because I respect you, and because I believe in you as a woman.

There are also other reasons why I march in solidarity with my niece tomorrow. These are not the only ones, but here are some reasons to march:

I march because I believe that my niece Emely’s brown body is hers and only hers. No one, no matter what position of authority they might have, even if it’s the Presidency of the USA, has the right to touch your brown body, let alone grab it violently and without permission.

I march because I believe that you have the right to education, and that you have the right to make choices as to how far you want to take your education and what profession to pursue or not pursue. You have the right to access a job that is suitable to your abilities and your passions, and to be paid fairly and at the same rate than any male who will do the same job.img_9337

I march because, when the time comes for you to make choices about your body, it should be you, and only you, who make those decisions. Because your brown body is yours and deserves to be respected and honored. Because your brown skin is beautiful, and normal, and is neither “exotic” nor a stereotype to be paraded at the whim of those with power.

I march because I know that your parents can’t be exposed to deportation and because I want to continue being your uncle, not having to be your foster parent should something were to happen to my brother- and sister-in-law.

I march because I believe that, although you have been raised Roman Catholic, you should have the right to make the decision that makes YOU comfortable. I march because, if in the future you want to wear a hijab, you should be able to do it without fear of intimidation. I march because if in the future you choose not to believe in anything, you should not be punished for having no religion.

I march because I believe that you should feel safe in wearing whatever the hell you want to wear in public. I march because I believe that you should feel safe walking down the street and that no one should be cat-calling you, or intimidating you, or threatening your life and safety.

I march because I believe that you should be free to choose to love whomever you want to love, just as I love your uncle who gave me the blessing of being welcomed by this wonderful family that now both you and I, as outsiders, call “nuestra familia.” I march because I believe that you should love as many people as you wish to love and not being condemn for it.

I march because, if I march today, I know… I know… that by the time your Quinceañera comes, this will be a safer place for you and all your loved ones.

I could continue listing reasons to march, Emely, but I can’t. My eyes are filled with tears – you know how much I cry – and I can’t write anymore. But be sure, sobrina, I will march for you. I march for you, mi querida sobrina. I march because I know that staying home is not an option.

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