Luis Alberto Urrea really said it best, didn't he?
In class this week we discuss the direction in which we believe Chicano/a literature will be going in the future. We read excerpts from Brides and Sinners in El Chuco, we read about Scenic Drive, the days when going to Juarez for a drink before your 21st birthday was a right of passage.
We all nod our heads in agreement as as someone talks about the sorrows of this generation of Chicanos and Chicanas living along the border: the memories of Mexico, dentists/doctors/pharmacies we visited, the places we like to shop/drink/dance/eat, the little half-built, salmon or sky-colored houses we lived in as children, the families we haven't seen in years, the home we cannot return to. Her voice cracks and she says it breaks her heart to abandon Mexico, the shame in giving in, the shame in being afraid.
"I hope this is over by the time I have children, I don't want them know Juarez like this; I want them to know Mexico as I once did, I want don't want this for them."
"Even when it's over," someone adds, "even when it's over, it won't be the same."
We all nod in agreement.
A Community Divided
