My Life, and Starting RC
I started RC as a young adult in the early 1970s. It was an exciting time to be alive and active. There was much turmoil—opposition to the Vietnam War; the emergence of the women’s, Chicano/a, and Black liberation movements; the War on Poverty. I’d dropped out of college to support our little family.
We Chicanos/as were angry and trying to figure out how to assert ourselves in a system that basically ignored and used us. Some of what was being promoted was an attitude of contempt and even a kind of hatred toward white people. In general, people were passionate and could quickly become emotional on one side of the issues or another. There was (and continues to be) considerable orchestrated confusion among the leaders.
I was learning about our history. I had not been taught how racism was used against us. There were only stories about tragedies or the daily irony that we faced.
We weren’t encouraged to speak Spanish in school. Previous generations had been punished for not speaking English. Those of us with lighter skin pigmentation could “pass,” while those who were darker were often treated badly. One’s command of the English language could open doors or keep them closed.
I’d grown up in a poor and mostly working-class community. I hadn’t known we were poor. I had just assumed that was how life was for everyone. In fact, many white families were poorer than we were.
I was also raised Catholic. The priests were mostly white or Anglo—it was rare to get a Chicano priest. Our family’s life still revolves around the Church.
I was not successful in school. I was easily bored. I only liked the teachers who could make learning fun and interesting. Racism was not discussed—except, occasionally, the racism targeting the Black community.
I decided to join RC when I was twenty-three. It was and remains the best decision I’ve ever made.
I attended one of the last weeklong workshops. It was in Arizona (USA) and led by Harvey Jackins, whom I’d never met before. The venue was like a summer resort. There was a refrigerator filled with beer outside the meeting room [supplied by the site, not the workshop]. I couldn’t understand how that was possible. I really wanted a beer and was tempted, but I did not take an opportunity to drink, then or later. Years later I learned that many Mexican American men were “destined” to die from cirrhosis of the liver.
At the workshop there were three of us of Mexican/Indigenous descent. Some of the women were indignant about sexism and were raising concerns about men’s behavior. It was “intense.” Harvey did a two- or three-hour demonstration with a woman who had been sexually assaulted; he insisted that she could move her life forward. At that point I decided I wanted to learn everything I could and apply the skills in my life.
I was tasked with picking out some questions from my support group for the open questions evening. I asked about the term “liberation” and about police brutality. Harvey spoke for about fifty minutes on the topic. He did not speak against the police or the government or the President at that time, Richard Nixon, who was upsetting many people. Harvey spoke about how we all develop patterns that, through no fault of our own, result in a society that hurts everyone, including the owning class.
I keep learning and thinking. I persist with discharge, despite the distress recordings that would have me do otherwise.
Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA
(Present Time 205, October 2021)