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Opinion The Last Word

Acknowledging Anti-Blackness

Anti-blackness in Latinx communities is rooted in white supremacy. Recognizing that marginalized people participate in anti-blackness is sometimes a hard concept for folks to accept. While we know, or at least should know by now, that our entire society participates in anti-blackness through various socio-political and economic ways, it can be especially difficult for people that come from histories of oppression to accept or even understand how they repeat patterns of oppression.

In dominant narratives of the U.S., we rarely learn about the intersections of black and Latinx histories, much less global histories. Because of this, we aren’t able to connect how legacies of colonialism then create white supremacy and reinforce whiteness as the dominant power across racial and ethnic lines.

What is race?

It’s important that we expand our thinking around race and ethnicity for several reasons. For one, connecting to a global history of race can help us see that racism and racist structures extend beyond the U.S. We can also begin to understand how those histories relate to the marginalization of people today.

In a PBS Q&A about his documentary film, Black in Latin America, Dr. Henry Louis Gates, a Harvard University professor of African and African-American Studies, drops some truth about black history in the Americas.

He explains that of the “11.2 million Africans that we can count who survived the Middle Passage and landed in the New World … only 450,000 came to the United States.” That’s a little over 4 percent, meaning that the rest of enslaved people from Africa were trafficked to Latin America and Caribbean regions. Depending on how much of the histories of slavery and colonization you’re familiar with, you might remember maps that charted the “Middle Passage” back in school. I recall seeing thicker arrows that pointed from Western Africa to Latin America and the Caribbean, but apart from that, we never talked about the implications of those arrows.

As Gates points out, part of the reason that we are not familiar with this part of black history in the Americas is due to our lack of global understanding. “Also,” he adds, “it is in part the responsibility of the countries in South America themselves — each of which underwent a period of whitening.”

When Gates says South America, here, he’s referring to Mexico and Central and South American countries. Countries in these regions intentionally put in place policies that incentivized European immigration with the intention to mejorar la raza, or “better the race.” This sociopolitical movement was pushed by their governments to minimize racial and ethnic diversity in decision-making power. These policies were both anti-indigenous and anti-black.

This, too, affects how even black and brown people have internalized racism, because for generations, people have been conditioned to see their Afro-descendance and indigenous descendance in negative way. For example, from a young age, people are taught what is “good hair” and “pelo malo” (“bad hair”). Ideas of beauty center on European traits, such as lighter complexions and straight hair.

Today, there is not a lot of visibility of indigenous people and black people in Latin America. Popular television shows and films center casts, roles, and narratives on people of European descent. So what we see on our screens are people who are of lighter skin. Meanwhile, brown and black people in Latin America are positioned in lesser roles in cinema, which contributes to their erasure. The critically acclaimed film, Roma, is one example in which an indigenous woman is recognized for her work as a leading actor but even then, Yalitza Aparicio has faced a lot of anti-indigenous racism.

In the U.S., we see the erasure of Afro-Latinx people who sit at the intersections of race and ethnicity. The imposed Latino pan-ethnic identity makes us think that there is a single Latinx or black experience. The internalized racism within marginalized groups not only harms what we’re capable of and limits our understanding of race and ethnicity and how it is created, but it is also violent. Latinx people who can be closer to whiteness because of race or class, do so at the expense of black and brown people. Given the real terror and violence implicated through white supremacist people and policies, we need to recognize and name how we participate in recreating oppression.

Acknowledging how we all participate in oppressive structure is one step and actively working to dismantle these structures is another. We can even begin to identify and address these things in our daily lives by reading into the spaces that we engage in, the people we are around, and the voices that we listen to.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

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Opinion The Last Word

Shut Out by the Shutdown

On the 35th day of the partial shutdown, airports along the East Coast experienced significant staffing shortages. Air traffic controllers calling in sick put pressure on the shutdown as flights were delayed in major airports including LaGuardia.

A little over a week ago, federal workers had organized actions demanding an end to the government shutdown. In Memphis, workers rallied outside the IRS’ Memphis Service Center and Downtown at the Civic Center Plaza. More than a thousand IRS workers in the city were told to go back to work without pay.

Serenity Towers

With the partial shutdown now over with the passing of the short-term funding bill, federal employees will be expecting their pay soon, but coming back from the effects of the shutdown will take much longer. As we’ve seen and heard, testimonies have demonstrated how the shutdown has impacted the day-to-day lives of people.

For the residents of Serenity Towers, the shutdown has meant the threat of eviction from their homes. Serenity Towers is an independent living apartment complex on Highland for senior citizens and folks with disabilities. Many seniors living in the apartments receive benefits from the Department of Housing and Urban Development that pay most of their rent. With the shutdown and HUD offices closed, these residents weren’t receiving the assistance that they needed. CNN reported that HUD wasn’t able to renew over 1,600 of the contracts that they have with privately owned businesses, and while HUD claimed that the expiration of these contracts would not mean immediate evictions, residents at Serenity have reported that eviction notices for some had already gone out.

Part of this has to do with the immediate effects of the shutdown and part of it with the management of Serenity at Highland that is currently run by Millennia Housing Management. Early in January, the management sent more than 50 notices to senior tenants, claiming that they owed Millennia money. Many were also sent eviction notices.

Unfortunately for the seniors at Serenity, it is not the first time that the state of their housing security has been questionable, to say the least. For years, under the management of Global Ministries, Serenity and other housing options have left vulnerable populations living in deplorable conditions. The relatively new management of Millennia, which came on last year, brought some sense of hope for change, but in the past months, safety and health inspections of Serenity suggest that not much is changing. That, on top of the shutdown, meant residents were threatened with being unhoused, in danger of not even having a roof over their head.

Residents of Serenity will continue their fight, as they were doing well before the shutdown — and during it. We need to stand with them, support them, and amplify their voices. No one should face housing insecurity. Not in our city and not anywhere else, but that is the reality for many folks. We don’t even have accurate numbers of those who currently are unhoused. The recent Point in Time Count, while it offers some understanding as a snapshot of the population of people experiencing homelessness in Memphis, cannot fully account for everyone, especially when held in one of the coldest days in January.

Those articles that show Memphis as one of the most affordable cities to live? That really applies if you have a salaried job. For example, if you are renting a two-bedroom house for $850, and the cost of one month of housing should be a third of your monthly wages, then you should be earning $2,550 a month (that’s $1,275 every biweekly pay day for 80 hours of work). That means that you should be earning about $15.94 per hour (after taxes) just to make rent on a full-time job. Here’s the thing: Tennessee hasn’t changed its minimum wage since 2008. If you have a full-time job at $7.25 (that’s $1,160 a month) … Well, I’ve never even seen a decent room go for under $400, let alone an apartment or house.

Without going further into the math, I think it’s pretty clear how all these problems add up. It’s hard for people today to find housing, much less to save up and secure comfortable, dignified housing for the future, when they aren’t able to work. We’re already seeing how this impacts senior residents. For those who have no support networks, or no family or friends to reach out to, housing insecurity is even more real. Though the end of the shutdown means federal workers will receive their pay and that housing assistance will be delivered, we need to also consider how to address the stack of problems that were added on because of it. That, of course, can get overwhelming, but we know that folks like the senior tenants at Serenity Towers are already doing the work by making themselves heard and not accepting the unjust conditions created by companies like Millennia.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

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Opinion The Last Word

Free Shipping Isn’t Really Free

If you’ve logged onto your Amazon Prime account the last few weeks to order your holiday gifts, you may have browsed through all of Amazon’s finely curated online deals. From gift guides to “last-minute” deals, the online super-retailer can be overwhelming, sending you through a sea of recommended products and leaving you to explore the site for hours on end. We’ve all probably started with a simple phone case search and ended up reading reviews for heated, battery-powered jackets that are waterproof and windproof. Did I recently learn there’s a market for that? Yes, I did. But in Memphis, where we can experience all seasons in a week (or a day), I doubt it’s a significant one.

Expediency is one of many allures of online shopping. We can browse a site and make quick decisions on what we want to purchase without ever having to get up from our seat. Amazon even has the option for “1-Click Ordering” which I can see as very dangerous grounds for impulse buyers. We see it, we want it, and as we add it to our cart, we can expect it to arrive in two business days.

Generally, you won’t find folks reviewing catalogs of products but rather shopping online through store websites and mobile apps. To be fair, I’ve never been much to review a catalog of anything, except Aldi’s four-page spread highlighting next week’s selection of deals, so I am reflecting on observations of young folks adding to their Urban Outfitters shopping cart during classes and lectures and middle-age folks shopping for matching polos for their partners on Vineyard Vine’s mobile site. For those who find themselves last-minute shopping for holiday or birthday gifts, I get it. “FREE two-day shipping” is a saving grace. But as we turn the pages to 2019, one small thing we must reconsider is what this hot button actually means.

“Free” shipping isn’t ever free. By that, I don’t mean the actual cost of having a Prime account that affords such a luxury of expedited shipping. I’m talking about the human cost. While technology is surely affecting much of the presence of human labor through, for example, self-checkout and other automated-type kiosks, we still find that the on-the-ground movement of products from one point to the next requires people to physically do that work. E-commerce companies depend on this type of labor in warehouses to move and distribute their products. As a distribution center, Memphis’ employers and employees especially know this to be true.

We now expect that our purchases arrive at our doorstep in the same week. We have gotten so used to the ease of one-click ordering and two-day shipping that we forget the work that is required for it get there. For folks working in warehouses, this expectation of expediency has a real physical and mental toll. While we can see that e-commerce companies are becoming successful businesses, the profits of this success do not reach the people who make it all possible.

On the business side, companies speak about the increasing labor costs as dialogue spreads on what should be minimum wage, but the reality is that the cost of labor has always been there. It has just been significantly undervalued because human labor is undervalued. When we talk about cost of labor, rarely do we bring up or question the cost of these massive bonuses that executives and CEOs receive.

Arguments against living wages that keep up with inflation suggest that increasing wages of workers will hurt the business, but these company executives know that increasing wages won’t necessarily affect the cost for the consumer but will instead cut into their personal bonus checks. The real cost to the consumer happens when wages stay below the living wage measured for a specific city and state. We as consumers and taxpayers pay for what companies such as Amazon refuse to because it cuts into their profit margins, but in particular, the individual executive profits. When workers aren’t compensated fairly and their wages aren’t adjusted like those executive salaries, then their dollar is stretched thin. They have to carefully choose where to put their money, whether it be food, housing, health, or savings. Putting more into one bucket may mean needing to find available public services and programs to help out with the other. I say “available” because at the state of where many public programs are now … well, they could definitely be better. We still do not allocate adequate funds in the city’s budget to address homelessness, and for folks who may have access to forms of housing, the conditions of the housing are not necessarily livable (i.e. slumlords and section eight housing in Memphis).

The one-click options for fast shipping distract us from the many steps that happen between placing our order and receiving it. The influx of warehouse job positions, similarly, are appealing, but we must question how companies are not only compensating their workers but also treating them. At the end of the business day, and into the late shifts for many warehouse workers, what happens in the warehouse and in other sectors of the labor market, the violation of humane working conditions, wage theft, lack of concern for worker health and safety, affects us all.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

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Opinion The Last Word

Immigration Struggles: What Gives You Hope?

Three weeks ago, I sat down with three inspiring folks in a panel on activism and advocacy. Chris Sanders had driven in from Nashville to represent the Tennessee Equality Project. Shahidah Jones from the Official Black Lives Matter Memphis Chapter sat to my right, and next to her was Justin Davis from the Memphis Bus Riders Union.

It felt like home, as if we were just about to have a regular conversation, the only difference being the 50 or so students sitting in rows in front of us and the fact that we were sitting next to each other instead of across a table or in a living room. Home, of course, is relative. It was not the physical elements of that space that made it home but rather the shared ánimo (energy) that I felt being in conversation with them and the students in the room, all of whom are involved in community service.

Latino Memphis

Everyone should have a reason to hope.

We covered a range of topics. Mostly, we defined activism and advocacy and were speaking on privilege, allyship, and sustainable change in order to problematize community service — because community service, particularly in higher education institutions, is often over-simplified. In other words, we are not grappling with historical and systemic conditions that create, and most importantly, sustain, inequity, but rather we engage in a short-term exchange of services through which, typically, while not intentionally, we as outsiders of xyz community are receiving greater benefits through knowledge and/or experience. All of that is to say, it was an incredible conversation that could have gone on for hours, especially given the breadth of experiences we could have pulled from through our various, intersecting backgrounds in community organizing.

One of the things that I left with that evening, that continues to linger in my mind, was this question that one of the students presented to us: What gives you hope?

I wasn’t surprised by this question. I even think that I expected it. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it asked at a panel or guest speaker event, and I would venture to say that it won’t be the last. We get asked about hope a lot. By “we,” I mean folks like the ones in the panel who are queer folks, black and brown folks, women, queer women, queer women of color, queer women of color who are immigrants, etc. The combinations of identities in just our four-person panel are probably endless if we go further into experiences shaped by race, ethnicity, gender, sex, sexual orientation, ability, and so on. But I list just a few to offer a glimpse into the intersectionality of identities that shape our experiences and thus shape the work we do in fighting against dominant systems that negate if not erase these experiences.

I think that’s why that student asked this question about hope. How do we keep pushing when there are larger structures, laws, and policies that continue to qualify structural racism and gender violence and limit our economic and physical mobility? The student didn’t add that much to the question, but that is what went on in my head and what I believe went on, if not in some form or variation, through the minds of Chris, Shahidah, and Justin.

We sat on that question for a little bit longer than the rest. The thing is, there’s no simple answer. Hope is complicated. It’s not as if we exchange our cup of coffee for a cup of hope each morning and we’re good to go. If anything, I would say that survival kicks in every hour, every day more than hope. When we lobby in Nashville, for example, it’s not because we’re passionate about politics. We understand the immediate effects that politics and policy have on the lives of people, and so we will travel miles to address immoral and unjust laws.

For the past month, both of my parents, along with about 50 volunteers in the Migration Is Beautiful group, have been getting up as early as 4 a.m. to meet refugees who have been recently released from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention centers. Each day, they’re gathering and organizing supplies and resources for individuals, adults, families, and children who come into Memphis on Greyhound buses, many who haven’t had a real meal in days and are ill-equipped for cold temperatures. Folks in the Migration Is Beautiful group are responding to a crisis created by unstable refugee and asylum policies with no foreseeable end in sight.

While hope motivates many, the immediate response to this crisis is to offer support as much as possible for people to make it through in a healthy and safe way to the next city in their stops.

These action and response movements that exist locally, nationally, and internationally aren’t rooted as simply passions, extracurricular activities, or hobbies for people who are in some way connected to communities that consistently are under attack. This is about surviving this day in order to see the next. This is the ánimo that carries us.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

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Opinion The Last Word

Dia de los Muertos is About Honoring Those Who Came Before

My first memories of Día de los Muertos are of the long hallways of an elementary school over on Winchester Road. I was 12, and having never witnessed a Day of the Dead celebration of any sort before, I took my time walking down the hallways of the school. With a book in my hand, I walked and found myself stopping at each altar and studying them. There was so much information to take in all at once. I didn’t open up my book much that day.

Altars were placed up and down the hallway on tables and the floor. The ones on the floor rose high above the ground because of the tiers that were shaped by a mix of large and small cardboard boxes and covered by cloth. Pan de muerto, sweet rolls of bread topped with sugar, sat next to collections of candy and bowls of fruit. While the types of food differed between each altar, they each had unlit wax candles or those small battery-operated candles that you find in the dollar store.

As I walked further down the hallway, I looked at each framed photo that appeared to have come from family photo albums. Some altars had images that I could recognize like famous musicians, artists, and actors. Others were prepared by organizations, and instead of having individual photos of people, they would have ofrendas that represented images of people. One table had materials that symbolized construction workers with bright orange vests, hardhats, and work boots. This altar remembered the lives of workers who died while working in construction due to unsafe work conditions.

Krookedeye | Dreamstime.com

Further down the hallway into the main lobby of the school I saw an altar by Danza Azteca Quetzalcoatl, one of the Aztec dance groups in the city. Like the other altars, it had multicolor papel picado, breads, food, and candles. It lay on the ground with incense bowls and was much larger than all other altars in the hallway. Cempazúchitl (marigold) flowers painted the white tile floors in a sea of yellow and orange.

I later learned some of the different elements and significance of Día de los Muertos. The celebration pulls aspects from Catholic Church rituals and pre-Columbian religious traditions going as far back as 3,000 years. The Aztec deity Mictecacíhuatl, or Lady of the Dead, is the protector of the dead and is more commonly referred to as La Catrina, whose image was popularized by Mexican printmaker José Guadalupe Posada. Traditionally, the dead were honored during the month of August. Along with music and processions, altars celebrated their life with the favorite food and drink of deceased. The month of celebration was condensed to November 1st and 2nd, All Saints Day and All Souls Day, with the arrival of Spanish missionaries who, realizing a resistance in the forceful converting of Native people to Christianity, could not do away with all aspects of indigenous culture and tradition.

Today, across cities and regions in the U.S. and Mexico, the traditions of Día de los Muertos take on various interpretations. Since walking down the halls of that elementary school many years ago, my understanding of Día de los Muertos has grown along with the reach of these celebrations across Memphis. This year, there are at least four public Día de los Muertos events around our city organized by or in partnership with Mexican and Latinx people and organizations. The Memphis Day of the Dead that was once held at an elementary school and other venues will now be held for the second year at El Mercadito on Ridgeway on November 4th (1p.m.-7p.m.).

Because I didn’t grow up celebrating Día de los Muertos in my home, it took a few years of listening and observing to learn, and I continue to learn each year. Día de los Muertos has taught me to value not only the people in our life but also to honor those who have passed on from our life — to value and celebrate what they have taught us and what they continue to teach us beyond their own lived years. The lives de los muertos, the lives of the dead, that we remember on these two days in November and beyond teach us how to love and that we should extend that love to everyone. We extend that love to our folks like the TPS Journey for Justice Caravan that visited our city. We welcome you. We extend that love to the caravan of the south, the caravan of refugees from Central America who, like many before them, are seeking asylum in Mexico and the U.S. To the people walking hundreds of miles on foot with their children and to those walking alone, we welcome you.

And following Día de los Muertos, we recognize where we have failed at the lessons of love and growing taught to us by Día de los Muertos, among its many lessons.

Of utmost importance this Día de los Muertos, we must remember all those folks who were not welcomed and loved, those who were not given the chance to live their life to the fullest and to teach and grow with us. To Roxana Hernandez, a transgender woman and asylum seeker from Honduras who died in ICE custody, one of nine people to die in ICE custody this year … we failed you. And, in the spirit of this beautiful holiday, we will hold your name and your life with us, remembering your legacy, recognizing that we need to do better. Who will you remember to honor this Día de los Muertos?

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

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Opinion The Last Word

Culture, Not Costumes

October is a month of terror.

Aside from the pumpkin spice, the candy corn, and the premature Christmas tracks, there is a real terror we never look in the eye.

That terror is that of the erasure of Native culture and history that Native people are reminded of yet again, and that terror is violence.

Take last week for, example. Yandy.com, an online apparel retailer, promoted and immediately removed the Brave Red Maiden costume from its website after receiving criticism on social media for sexualizing the characters in The Handmaid’s Tale. Users on social media were quick to express their anger over the costume, and Yandy soon released a statement to claim it was not their intent to offend.

While the costume based off of a fictional dystopian narrative is no longer sold in their online store, Yandy, as other costume markets, continues to carry “sexy Indian costumes.” In 2017, Yandy’s chief financial officer Jeff Watton said that the company made $150,000 per year from the Native American “costumes” and would not stop selling them because they were very profitable.

Unfortunately, Yandy and other similar companies will continue to profit from the exploitation and trauma of the Native American community, in particular native women, despite native communities calling for these products to be taken down. But these calls are not answered by the public — by us — and these recent events have only further shown that “selective” feminism, which is exclusionary and best described as just maintaining white supremacy, would rather prioritize and protect the image of fictional characters than recognize how the fetishization of indigenous women contributes to the sexual violence that they experience.

According to the U.S. Department of Justice and many federal government studies, Native American women have the highest rates of rape and sexual assault — and are more likely to experience sexual violence — than other women in the U.S. Ninety-seven percent of the sexual violence committed against Native women has been by non-Native persons. However, tribal courts for many decades have not been able to prosecute crimes committed by non-Native people. Often, rape cases were passed to the U.S. Justice Department, but there wasn’t much hope that the cases would be investigated. In 2011, 65 percent of rape cases passed to the U.S. courts were, in fact, not prosecuted at all. A provision in the Violence Against Women Act in 2013 gave some jurisdictional authority to tribal courts to prosecute these crimes committed by non-Native people, but this jurisdiction was still limited. Many tribal courts couldn’t exercise this jurisdiction because of the regulations under the act that require funding that tribal criminal justice systems do not have.

So how does a retail company based in Arizona have anything to do with this sexual violence against Native women? These “costumes” are more than just fabric put together that someone believes they innocently wear one day of the year. They support the hyper-sexualization of Native women’s bodies. This fetishization contributes to rape culture. It enforces the idea that Native women can be commodified, which not only points to the way that people who perpetrate this violence think, but also the normalization of a legacy of violence against Native people’s bodies and lands by settlers.

Yandy is not an isolated company. It is one of many companies that use aspects of Native culture for the sole purpose of profit. From clothes associated with Native culture to sage, dream-catchers, and other items incorporated into non-Native popular culture, these pieces contribute to the idea that Native culture is a monolith and is something of the past that can be “borrowed” for non-Native consumption. This erases the lived experiences of Native people today, whose lands, water, and other resources continue to be stripped from them. Additionally, these practices contribute to growing rates of Native women who experience sexual violence and are going missing.

As we enter October, we must remember that this is an ongoing trauma and re-trauma that Native people are experiencing. At the same time, Native people are engaging in an ongoing resistance that is often overshadowed, or in actuality, ignored in the mainstream coverage of activism and social justice work. The attention that Yandy gave to the backlash of the The Handmaid’s Tale costume shows that we need to continue to challenge feminist movements, as they have historically been exclusionary to black, brown, and Native struggles, and this past week has shown that it hasn’t changed. If feminism does not include indigenous sovereignty, it is synonymous to white supremacy.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes.

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Opinion The Last Word

Break the Cycle of Forced Prison Labor

In high school, I remember being tested on my ability to recite the 27 amendments to the U.S. Constitution. Our recitation was basically a two- to six-word summary of each amendment that we memorized from Quizlet flashcards, because who can bother with all the legal jargon, right? I haven’t sat down in one of these high school classrooms recently, so I don’t know what U.S. history and U.S. government classes look like today. Students might well be using the same flashcards we used back then, writing down those same brief summaries of the amendments.

Considering the nationwide prison strike in protest of prison conditions going on right now, I am thinking here about the Thirteenth Amendment, often summarized as the “abolition of slavery.” But those three words don’t really tell us the whole story. In fact, they ignore a significant loophole that has allowed for the expansion of prisons and mass incarceration as it provides a growing workforce to pull cheap labor from.

Lastdays1 | Dreamstime.com

Prisoners at work

Amendment XIII Section 1 more fully states that slavery and involuntary servitude is unconstitutional “except as a punishment for crime.” That is, if you are able-bodied, then you must work. Following the Civil War, this meant that the country that institutionalized the exploitation of indigenous peoples and lands and the enslavement of black bodies now needed another coded way of continuing to do so.

This led to penitentiaries replacing plantations and to the rise of forced-labor programs. The Equal Justice Initiative, a co-collaborator in the design of the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, writes: “As the end of slavery left a void in the Southern labor market, the criminal justice system became one of the primary means of continuing the legalized involuntary servitude of African Americans.”

So, the more people who are incarcerated and “punished,” the larger the available pool of unpaid workers. At that time, the convict lease system was a way of further controlling black bodies by preventing formerly enslaved folks from establishing themselves as workers with rights.

Today, we see this continued thinking embedded in the maintaining of white supremacy through policy that disproportionately incarcerates black folks. Prior to and well after the Civil War, black people were seen in contradictory ways: as a danger or threat to established systems, that is white supremacy, and yet also as a resource, a source of expendable labor. As Angela Davis wrote in 2003, “Whether this human raw material is used for purposes of labor or for the consumption of commodities provided by a rising number of corporations directly implicated in the prison-industrial complex, it is clear that black bodies are considered dispensable within the ‘free world,’ but as a source of profit in the prison world.”

In federal prisons, prison labor is a requirement, and in multiple states, this work goes unpaid. Prisoner workers in the federal prisons industries program, UNICOR, have earned a minimum of $0.23 per hour and a maximum of $1.15, according to UNICOR’s Annual Report in 2001, for making things such as office furniture and clothing and textiles. UNICOR also reported in 2001 a revenue of $583.1 million from prison-made products.

Some may argue that any wage is better than no wage — though, again, Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, and Texas don’t pay for their prison labor, and don’t try to convince anyone that a multi-million-dollar industry isn’t able to match state wages for prison workers. For folks who may have limited or no access to financial support from outside of the prison, these wages are all that they have, and if you’re only paid a few cents an hour, it would take weeks to buy a phone card or a box of menstrual products.

This is one of many reasons why prisoners are engaged in work stoppages, hunger strikes, and commissary boycotts across the U.S. The recent prison strike is not the first of its kind, as prisoners have organized strikes in the past, but its success is picking up due to the prisoners’ strategic media organizing. Beginning on the 47th anniversary of the execution of Black Panther organizer George Jackson, the #August21 prison strike was in part a response to the deaths in the Lee Correctional Institution in South Carolina, this year. Violent conditions are created due to lack of funding for rehabilitation and development programs in prisons, and further, prison guards are active in maintaining if not advancing this violence, as was the case in South Carolina, when prison guards did not intervene for hours, which resulted in seven deaths and multiple hospitalizations.

Given the growing call for civic engagement and political participation, we must demand to know the conditions in prisons across our country. The summaries to the amendments we once recited years ago do not tell the stories of prisoners today. I hope that educators are helping make this language of our laws accessible to students, encouraging them to take a closer look and to draw connections to the relevance and impact of these texts today.

And as for our politicians, their silence and lack of response to these poor prison conditions should be seen as what it is: active participation in preserving injustice. Today, we demonstrate solidarity with prison strikers. Soon we will vote. See you at the polls.

Aylen Mercado is brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. She is researching Latinx identity in the South.

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Opinion The Last Word

Breakfast With Books

On Sunday mornings, when the Memphis sun blesses us with just the right amount of brilliance, my parents will have breakfast in the park. They’re regulars now, and along with their small dog, they’ll take a walk around the park before sitting down to read, eat pastries, and drink mate. (Yerba mate, as it is otherwise commonly known, is a pre-Columbia tea that is consumed in several regions in South America.)

Some days, I’ll join them and hear about what they’ve been reading recently. Papá is reading the anthology ¡Presente! Latina Immigrant Voices in the Struggle for Racial Justice, and Mamá is reading La Transmigración de los Cuerpos, navigating through the Mexican vernacular employed in the borderlands narrative.

Books have always been invaluable treasures in my family. Somewhat ironically, this affinity for books was sparked by a blown fuse in an old TV we had growing up in Argentina. To fill the time, my folks subscribed to the Thursday and Sunday newspapers, the two days of the week that promised the most content for the buck. From there, they found a list of best-selling books, and in the late 1990s, Harry Potter was at the top of the list. And so, a single copy of Harry Potter y la Piedra Filosafal rotated around the family and was read and reread.

Back then, buying books was a luxury we could not afford. As a photographer, Mamá would take my 7-year-old sister and a 3-year-old me to the photo shop to get her rolls of film developed. While we waited, we went to the bookstore nearby where my sister and I would read any and all books that we could reach — well, my sister would actually read, and I would mimic her. The commute to the shopping center was $20, so we could never drop another $20 for books.

Mamá recalls that the first thing she bought with her first pay in Florida was books, which included Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. After work, she went straight to the Barnes & Noble that was on the route home. She passes me the mate. “I remember they were hard-covered books, too,” she tells me. “We never could buy a hard-covered book in Argentina.

Today, books are stacked in mix-matched shelves across the hall in their home. My collection drawn from my frequent trips to the used bookstore in the Memphis public library is in there, my favorites: Baldwin, Kumashiro, Morrison, and Ehrenreich. There are a few sets of German and French language learning cassettes and books, too. Do I know how to speak German or French? No, but I can count to 20, which for now is good enough for me.

Today, I can bring books to them as they did to me when I was young. It’s a beautiful switch in roles in many ways. Together, we also bring our love of reading and learning to Desayuno con Libros, a free breakfast and literacy program organized by Comunidades Unidas en Una Voz, Centro Cultural, and the C-3 Land Cooperative. The volunteer-run program, like its sister program Books and Breakfast in Westwood, receives donations of books, which then are given to families in the community. These books range in genres and many include books with Spanish text that may often not be found in public libraries with limited resources. For young children growing up in spaces that often discriminate against their mother’s tongue, this visibility is important in order to pass on their language and knowledge.

Growing up, we had a few children’s books, but we read those books over and over again, wearing down the binding each time. Seeing children sprint to the tables with books reminds me of our trips to the bookstore, except here, they can actually take the books home and read and come back for more. These books can take them to other worlds, exposing them to lives that aren’t always visible to them on television. They can imagine themselves in the experiences that they read about, and even create new ones on their own.

If you want to be a part of this, of expanding the worlds that young people can experience, you can contact Desayuno con Libros Memphis on Facebook. Books are the tools, and these kids are the future.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

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Opinion The Last Word

ICE: An Immigration History Lesson

It’s a Thursday, outside of the U.S. Capitol. Around 100 women are blockading a major intersection. Traveling from 20 states across the country, these women were prepared for the risk of arrest in this act of nonviolent civil disobedience. They represented the National Domestic Workers Alliance, CHIRLA, NOW, UltraViolet, America’s Voice, The Black Institute, 9 to 5 Working Women, and the Tennessee State Conference of NAACP. Some of these women were undocumented immigrant workers and organizers. They all wore red shirts that read “Women for Fair Immigration Reform,” and together, they took over the streets in front of the House of Representatives calling for long-overdue comprehensive immigration reform.

Rocio Inclan, the director of human and civil rights at the National Education Association, spoke: “We cannot build a strong country when children and families do not even know what tomorrow will bring. … The time is now for fair immigration reform that treats women, children, and families fairly.”

This wasn’t one of the Families Belong Together rallies from last week or the Women’s March of 2017. This rally took place in September 2013. About a year later, during a surge of unaccompanied minors arriving from Central America, the Obama administration considered revisiting practices of separating children from their parents, but instead proceeded with a mass expansion of family detention centers for asylum seekers. Not so long after, Hillary Clinton said that Central American refugee unaccompanied minors should be deported.

Fast forward to today, and — well, we all know. The Trump administration, with some help from the groundwork laid out by past Democratic and Republican administrations, is restructuring the U.S. immigration system, piece by piece.

Many of these changes happen under the radar and through various government agencies that are not highlighted in major news reports. Unless you are directly affected, or know someone who is, or do your part in learning about the process, you are typically unaware that these changes are even happening or are connected.

What many could not ignore this time, however, were the images, videos, and audio recordings of children separated from their families at the U.S.-Mexico border as a result of the Trump administration’s “zero-tolerance” policy. This sparked more than 700 Families Belong Together rallies in June calling for an end to family separations and family detention, as well as the abolishment of ICE.

In 2013, I could not have imagined the #AbolishICE movement would have the coverage it does today. Back in 2013, most folks outside of black and brown immigrant-organizing communities didn’t recognize “ICE” as an acronym, much less an aggressive threat to communities.

ICE was created in 2003 under the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) along with the U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services (USCIS) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP). The former Immigration and Naturalization Service essentially had all three roles prior to 2003, but expanding the work to multiple agencies made room for Congress to funnel significantly more funds to immigration enforcement.

In 1996, two major legislations set the stage for the expansion of the use of detention and further criminalization of migration. Under these laws, asylums became much harder to apply for and receive. Opal Tometi, executive director of Black Alliance for Just Immigration and co-founder of Black Lives Matter, explained this legislation also meant immigrants, even those with legal residence, could be deported for “non-violent offenses, including relatively minor ones, such as marijuana possession, jumping a subway turnstile, or selling bootlegged DVDs.” Today, as Congress green-lights anti-immigration bills, DHS is signing contracts with private prison corporations that lack proper regulation and have a history of inadequate health services, sexual abuse, exploitation of labor, and inhuman living conditions. Some may refer to these places as processing or detention centers, but we’re going to call them what they are — prisons. These private prison corporations, the largest two being CoreCivic, Inc. and GEO Group, Inc., contribute millions of dollars in lobbying and campaign contributions in support of strict immigration enforcement policy because they depend on immigrant detainees to fill their prisons in order to make a profit.

If you have a prison but no people to put inside, what do you do? Fabricate the crime, create the “criminals,” and pay for your rules to be enforced. We’ve heard of supply and demand? These private prisons are acting as both. People detained and put in these prisons are exposed to human rights violations. As Tometi has commented, the 1996 laws and the more that followed also targeted black immigrants at higher rates. Undocumented immigrants of African descent would be targeted by local police for being black and then be sent to ICE for deportation for not having papers.

These are some of the narratives often pushed to the margins. Our conversations need to expand to include these those voices. “Abolish ICE” is not a message for politicians to now co-opt for votes and then water down. It is a call to make evident those connections between immigration justice and matters including reproductive justice, racial justice, LGBTQ+ justice, criminal justice, and health care access.
Alyen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona and Memphian pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College.

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

4,645 Boricuas: Exploiting and Ignoring Puerto Rico

Last week, a Harvard report estimated that 4,645 people died from Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. Since the hurricane hit the island in September 2017, various studies have also reported high numbers, in the thousands, that drastically surpass the official count. Eight months after Maria, the official government death toll is still at 64.

But these numbers didn’t matter much to most of the America that woke up to yet another racist and Islamophobic tweet from Roseanne Barr. Her racist comments are not much of a surprise, given her past comments and years of dehumanizing black folks, Arabs, and Palestinians, and yet Barr’s small jump to less tolerable racism garnered more attention than the death toll of Hurricane Maria. Fox News, CNN, and MSNBC covered the Roseanne story for more than 10 hours, total, according to Media Matters. They spent about 30 minutes on the report of 4,600 Hurricane Maria deaths.

Scroll through the tweets under the hashtag #4645Boricuas, and you’ll see all the stories that cable news is ignoring. Puerto Rican journalist Andrea González-Ramírez has been amplifying these stories by retweeting and sharing the names and stories of those who died from Hurricane Maria and the U.S. neglect of Puerto Rico.

REUTERS | Alvin Baez

People look at hundreds of pairs of shoes displayed at the Capitol to pay tribute to Hurricane Maria’s victims after a research team led by Harvard University estimated that 4,645 people lost their lives, a number not confirmed by the government, in San Juan, Puerto Rico, June 1, 2018.

To this day, many Puerto Ricans continue to live in the dark, without electricity, without clean water, without adequate food, and without appropriate medical access. As I read through people’s account of life in Puerto Rico — again, many folks living in the dark and multiple island-wide blackouts well into eight months after the hurricane —I began to feel all these emotions. How can the U.S. wash its hands as Puerto Ricans are dying? How can it accept so much neglect toward human life?

Those questions lingered for a few minutes, and then I checked myself: As with Roseanne’s tweets, I am not really surprised by the U.S. response — or lack of — toward Puerto Rico. Just check the receipts. Flint still does not have clean water; thousands of immigrant children continue to be separated from their families, many of whom are escaping from U.S.-backed state violence; and black, brown, indigenous, and LGBT+ bodies are attacked each day by people and policies for simply existing.

In that case, is the U.S. neglect of Puerto Rico just part of what makes it the U.S.?

Before letting that question spiral too much, let’s go back to the U.S. relationship with Puerto Rico. When I tried to fight the question of “Why should the U.S. care about what is happening to Puerto Ricans?” I used to think that “Because Puerto Ricans are Americans” would be a sufficient answer. Then I started to wonder, what is “American,” since certain folks are treated differently than others.

That’s when I found the words of Jacqueline N. Font-Guzmán, professor at Creighton University Graduate School — and a Puerto Rican. She says the problem with the narrative of “Puerto Ricans are American citizens” is that it assumes that, in her words, “the solution to Puerto Ricans’ colonial predicament is U.S. citizenship.”

Here’s what our history books don’t cover. Puerto Rico is a U.S. colony. After more than 400 years under Spanish rule, Puerto Rico was invaded by the U.S., which then took the island under the Treaty of Paris in 1898. In 1917, Puerto Ricans were given official citizenship. However, they have limited rights and voice. They can’t vote for president, and they have no voting representation in Congress.

For years before Hurricane Maria, Puerto Rico has been a U.S. “colonial subject,” used for its resources. As Nelson Denis, author of War Against All Puerto Ricans, wrote in an essay in 2017, “Puerto Rico has been little more than a profit center for the United States: first as a naval coaling station, then as a sugar empire, a cheap labor supply, a tax haven, a captive market, and now as a municipal bond debtor and target for privatization. It is an island of beggars and billionaires: fought over by lawyers, bossed by absentee landlords, and clerked by politicians.”

Since the hurricane, pushes to privatize the island’s economy have intensified. Disaster capitalists claim that privatization is the solution to improving the economy of Puerto Rico, even though there is no evidence to prove privatization would do any good. Efforts to privatize education, water, roads, the government-owned electric utility system, and other services have grown, which threaten the self-determination of Puerto Ricans.

After enduring the blatant neglect for decades, Puerto Ricans are demanding to be seen and heard. Last week, more than 1,000 pairs of shoes were set in front of Puerto Rico’s Capitol building in remembrance of those who died from Hurricane Maria, and to call for administrative transparency over the hurricane’s death count. While 4,645 deaths is not an exact number, it has brought forward the need for the U.S. to acknowledge and deal with the injustice and oppression that the island and its people experience. No matter how many miles away we may think we are from the conditions experienced by the people of Puerto Rico, we must amplify their voices and follow their lead towards decolonization and liberation.

Aylen Mercado is a brown, queer, Latinx chingona pursuing an Urban Studies and Latin American and Latinx Studies degree at Rhodes College. A native of Argentina, she is researching Latinx identity in the South.