Best Selling Author

It’s been six years since I became a best selling author along with other very inspiring women. Together we wrote an anthology and I became part of a community of greatly inspiring, amazing women. And I earned a badge! Of course, I lost the JPEG or GIF. It’s burried in some hard drive, I’m sure.

Here’s the chapter that made me a best seller:

In the early afternoon of August 3, 2019 my world came to a screeching halt. I received a message from my six-month pregnant baby sister that she was in the chaos caused by the mass shooter who targeted a Walmart in my hometown of El Paso, TX. Several people had rushed into the Sam’s Club she was in when shots started, and she didn’t know if the shooter was in the Sam’s with them. I had a hard time breathing. The four hours until she and her not yet one-year old were evacuated were tense. Our family constantly texted and I was glued to both Twitter and the national news.

As news about the incident developed over the following days, I prepared to introduce our district’s administration to a yearlong series on racial equity. I struggled knowing that I would speak to a predominantly White audience that I needed to treat gently lest I create too much discomfort. In doing so, I could jeopardize the work. I knew that before we even started our equity work, I was already at equity fatigue. Vu Le has termed this “equatige” and he defines it as: The feeling of exhaustion, frustration, and occasional hopelessness experienced by systemically marginalized individuals and communities after prolonged periods of thinking and talking about the oppression they face (2017). I wore an El Paso Strong t-shirt under my blazer and implored my audience to help me stop the hate even though what I really meant was racism.

I have found myself struggling to engage in racial equity work because of the reminders of how close racial hate came to change my life forever. I sobbed the day the list of victims was published. I felt guilt that I was happy that the list didn’t include Anna B. Gutierrez, Kaleb V. Reyes, and baby boy Reyes. However, each of the twenty-three names represents multiple lives changed forever by a national climate that supports hate towards specific groups of people of color.

I felt anger that another one of my sisters had to provide security for the shooter. He would have killed her for who she is, and she is charged with protecting his life. She told us how the jail where she works as an El Paso County Sheriff must be shut down any time he moves. Other inmates must be secured so that the shooter isn’t killed while moving to the clinic, for visits or to meet with his lawyer. When she mentioned mental illness, I automatically thought of how White privilege affords such a defense. And I am tired.

I began engaging in deep equity work in 2007 while working within the Portland Public School District. I deeply admired the consultant that worked with our district to help us along our journey to be racial equity warriors. I would one day become one of his racial equity warriors and would heed his advice to “live the work”. I was mocked nationally and received death threats doing the work his way. He encouraged and praised me until my “living the work” impacted his bottom line. Then I understood that the color that matters most is green. Despite the work I had done using his tools he told me that I was “unworthy of doing equity work”. I stopped doing so for two years because I believed him.

I know I don’t want my baby nephews, or my nieces and older nephews, to live in a world where lock downs for mass shootings are normal. I don’t want them to be hated, targeted or marginalized because of their beautiful brown skin. Instead I want them to attend schools where they are valued, encouraged, empowered and where conditions have been created for them to thrive. I know such schools are possible because I have created them.

As principal of a K-8 school I created a school where we engaged in deep racial equity work. We prioritized our historically marginalized communities. I had the audacity to focus on Black and Brown boys. Despite the significant push back from my White community and White staff, I held strong to the importance of decentering Whiteness. We were successful in creating a space in which students felt valued and empowered. It was the place students went to after witnessing a shooting because they knew they would be safe. Due to the work we had done, the students were willing to be witnesses because I promised them that they would only speak to cops of color then I made sure that Portland PD delivered. They sent me a Black cop, a Latino cop and an Asian cop.

My school was also a space that students didn’t want to leave because they were seen. We created opportunities for them to thrive. Students took risks because they knew there was a safety net of support to catch them. I realized the impact of our work the day three of our roughest eighth graders would not leave the grounds on the last day of school. They broke down when I teased them that they were high schoolers now and didn’t attend our school anymore. They were brutally honest in expressing their fear that no one would care about them or “see” them once they arrived at the high school. I knew they were right, and it broke my heart.

So, I get tired and I want to be unconscious again. Then I do some self-care and get over it. I know that my life’s purpose is to continue to dismantle systemically oppressive educational systems. Reminders of my why come often through Facebook messenger in the form of pictures and videos of the beautiful next generation of my family. The historically marginalized students that are served within my current district are someone’s why and they deserve to attend schools where they are valued, encouraged, empowered and where conditions have been created for them to thrive. Given the amount of work to be done, it’s time to get to work.