CCTMI: Para todos los Freedom Fighters
4th Edition
Chapter 3

The entire staff at the “Chronicles de La Chicanita Trying to Make It” wish you and your entire family super happenin’ happy holidays, y lots of amor, happiness, tacky gifts (it’s inevitable so learn to love it), paz, health, and laughter. Ya llego otro Ano Nuevo y seguimos aqui. Un super abrazo para todos and best wishes for 2005.
Please be advised that subscription renewal fees are due on January 1, 2005.

La Law School Life
Last Wednesday, December 1, 2004 was the beginning of the end of my first semester of law school. I was going to make cheesy quincenera type recuerdos for this special occasion pero nah. Ahora finals, the first of which is Civil Procedure on Tuesday, December 7, 2004 at 9:00am EST. Then, Property on Friday; Contracts on Tuesday; and finally, Torts on Friday. Two whole weeks of finals.

I feel like a no-name, rookie boxer taking on the heavy weight champion of the world. In my corner I’ve got my te de menta (I can’t afford a water boy) and my flashcards. The Vegas odds are stacked against me. But cheer for the underdog, she’s gonna rock! She’s like a squirrel trying to get a nut, just her fair share, no more, no less. I feel confident about finals; considering that one of the most difficult challenges so far has been the spelling of the word “judgment” as I still think it’s spelled judgement with the “e”, like statement. Good thing that spelling is not graded here. But law school is all about privilege and exclusivity. All the study guides, which is where you really learn the law, cost money (but check your local law library). If you have money, you are sure to succeed, otherwise you have to work twice as hard. There’s an exclusive language that also creates a barrier between the haves and have-nots. And really, once you decode the language, the concepts make sense after lots of work.

Contracts has been the toughest class for me because there are so many details that don’t make sense. Now I am starting to visualize it as getting dressed in the morning. First, your wanna-be contract gets out of the shower and puts on his boxer-brief “consideration” chonies (the basics). But if he feels like not wearing consideration per se, he can wear his g-string “promissory estoppel”, his boxer “promissory restitution”, or his briefs “UCC statute”and still be cool. If he decides to go commando, then, there’s no contract because there’s no consideration. In the exam, I just gotta look for the chones, y si no hay, no hay contract. You can imagine the rest.
I had a dream last week that caused me so much uneasiness. I was in La Estancia, Nochistlan, Zacatecas, Mexico (a tiny 350 person town) for my wedding. Oh, what a joyous occasion! Or not. My husband to be was a friend of mine who I knew I did not love. “How did I end up being engaged to him?” Throughout the dream I felt this immense pressure about going through with the ceremony, “you can’t say no, you can’t say no,” even though I knew it wasn’t right. But I kept fighting with myself, “why do you feel this pressure to marry him? You don’t live in the same city and he’s in school across the country, how is this marriage ever going to work?” Aaaahhh, the agony. But I felt an obligation and I knew I could not back out. As I kept questioning myself, I realized that the pressure wasn’t about breaking this guy’s heart, rather it was my fear of breaching my contracts with the florist, the band, the cakeist, the church, etc. because I don’t get contracts! It was a nightmare! But I woke up laughing because I think it’s hilarious that this stuff haunts me even in my dreams. I am sure Freud would have another interpretation, but what does he know, he’s dead.

It’s official, we have no Latino Professors at WCL. Booo. We are currently interviewing candidates for professorships and I’ve been attending in hopes of finding a great Latin@ to come on board and represent. Does anybody have suggestions? Our law school was probably a former office building, because it only has one access point and one set of elevators for six stories (I don’t even wait for the elevator anymore, I am all about the stairs); making it feel like a little pressure cooker. The newest chismes in the rumor mill are about the law school couples, is it serious? Didn’t he say he had a girlfriend back home? You know, the dating drama. More importantly, who has dropped out and who will be next? Why do I feel their peripheral vision targeted at me? Maybe it’s just paranoia.

In 2014, when people ask me how I became such a bad ass attorney, I am gonna say, “It was my amazing study group. For Torts, I studied with Jose Alfredo Jimenez, Chente, Kanye West y los Red Hot Chiles; for Contracts with the men of Depeche Mode and Inspector; for Civil Procedure con CafeTa, La Maldita, The Cure, and the entire collection de La Ley; and for Property with Elvis Crespo, Olga Tanon, Dr. Dre, Snoop, and Tupac.” There’s no going wrong with that bunch.

DC Livin’
I am still jogging against Bush; great for my health, but not so good for the health of the country. hhmmm, let’s weigh individual interests v. community interests. Our kids will continue being left behind in education; forget about green cards unless you want to be in the army; and our economy will continue to deteriorate, but my solace is that I will look hmm, hmm good in my summer outfits.

Oigan (listen you guys), what’s going on in Aztlan? I leave for three months and all of a sudden, it’s late November and I am getting reports that the West Coast is way colder than the East Coast. Weird. What’s that about? And then, they lift the embargo on Mexican aguacates. And then they’re trying to make Arnie president. And finally, when did Adam Sandler become chicano? And who gave him the right to make a movie called Spanglish, which should really be eSpanglish, que no? I don’t know what to expect upon my return to San Jo on December 18th. All I need is for my momma to greet me wearing an “I love Bush” t-shirt and her NRA member cap.

El brrrrr sabroso that we enjoyed through November has become an artic chill. I am expecting to see penguins when I return from winter break cuz it’s getting colder by the minute. The leaves have turned all sorts of spectacular colors and are now decomposing in pumpkin colored trash bags. And their falling has given way to the real satanas winds. It usually takes me about 5 minutes to walk to school but lately I’ve been forced to slow down and look on as the wind swing dances with the leaves, falling branches, and small cats. Ok, the wind is not so strong as to pick up cats but if I were a cat, I would stay inside and not take any chances.

We share the vents with three undergrads that live in the first floor apartment and those homies are always smokin’ out. So ofcoarse we’re always getting the smoke and the munchies. All we need is a raid to be disbarred, even before we get barred. (My biggest fear is that the ABA (Am. Bar. Assoc.) will bar jaywalking, which would absolutely crush my career.) In one of my many munchie manias, I found a great place that makes licuados de nuez, walnut milkshakes. But they don’t have licuados de melon, which are my favorite, estilo DF and Doreens. A friend of mine brought me tamales, with the perfect amount of manteca, from his trip to Aztlan for turkey day. I was reminiscing about taco Thursdays at the little place in front of MALDEF and made my own taquitos de papa con guacamole, hhhmmm good but they weren’t the same. I miss the grease. I dream of Cali…

I’ve been living in a bubble but I am really grateful for this semester. I’ve really appreciated the pleasures of slowing down. I’ve learned so much about myself through chilling and focusing on one thing but I need the madness back in my life. Next semester I am planning to get back into the mix. I am going to be more involved with the Hispanic/Latino Law Student Assoc. b/c we need to do more as a community of future Latino attorneys. This year’s governing body has left much to be desired… I am looking into possible internships at Ayuda, a non-profit working with domestic violence issues and immigrants’ rights; Casa de Maryland, which is part of the DREAM Act campaign, also works on immigrants’ rights; and ofcoarse MALDEF in DC. But there’s no going back to the UCLA burn out days. Life is too short.

Drum Roll Please…
2004 has been a memorable year. You never know where the wind will blow. I am thankful for the upcoming holidays with la familia. Thanks to all of you for listening and thanks for all your responses. Imagine a huge purple ribbon around this email, which contains all my wishes for you and your loved ones.

Exciting news: I have a new freckle (which is weird cuz I am always indoors)… and will be celebrating the “welcome to the face” party soon. You’re all invited! In addition, I just decided that I am gonna have a marimba band play at my wedding (insert Flippo comment, “if you ever get married”). Now that that has been decided, I can focus my full attention on law school.
Start sacrificing chickens and making mole or BBQ, or whatever you enjoy but please pray that the universe will be with me on every Tuesday and Friday for the next 2 weeks. Your collective prayers are much appreciated.

Good luck to everyone taking finals, especially the first timers. Lionel, hechale ganas! GO Lorena! Rachel, how’s law school treating you? Jorge, como va todo Senor PhD? Anita, how’s the weather in Sacto? Carri, I haven’t gotten any stories from ya, what’s up mi fellow chicanita? Achukma Cool Arrow. How are my NYC folk doing? Mireya, you’re still a Bruin en tu corazoncito, right Trojan? SteveO, I miss PDFing with you. Rosie Rose, winter break is right around the corner, girl, hand in there!

This (2 weeks of finals) is for la raza,
Lucero :)

PD

Check out his great short story. It’s one of those things that make you go hmmmmm…
Talking God
Tony Hillerman
Through the doorway which led from her receptionst-secretary’s office into her own, Catherine Morris Perry instantly noticed the box on her desk. It was bulky-perhaps three feet long and almost as high…
“Where’d that come from?” Catherine asked, indicating the box.
“Federal Express,” Markie said. “I signed for it.”
“Am I expecting anything?”
“Not that you told me about…” …
With her free hand Catherine Perry was slicing the tape away with the letter opener. She thought that this box was probably a result of that story in the Washington Post. Any time the museum got into the news, it reminded a thousand old ladies of things in the attic that should be saved for posterity. Since she was quoted, one of them had sent this trash to her by name. What would it be? A dusty old butter churn? A set of family albums?
“You got a message from somebody in the anthropology division. I put her name on the slip. Wants you to call. Said it was about the Indians wanting their skeletons back.”
“Right,” Catherine said. She pulled open the top flaps. Under them was a copy of the Washington Post, folded to expose the story that had quoted her. Part of it was circled in black.
MUSEUM OFFERS COMPROMISE IN OLD BONE CONTROVERSY
The title irritated Catherine. There had been no compromise. She has simply stated the museum’s policy. If an Indian tribe wanted the ancestral bones returned, it had only to ask for them and provide some acceptable proof that the bones in question had indeed been taken from a burial ground … She glanced at the circled paragraph.
“Ms. Catherine Perry, an ATTORNEY for the museum and its spokesperson on this issue, said the demand by the Paho Society for the reburial of the museum’s entire collection of more than 18,000 Native American skeletons was ‘simply not possible in light of the museum’s purpose.’
“She said the museum is a research institution as well as a gallery for public display, and that the museum’s collection of ancient human bones is a potentially important source of anthropological information. She said that Mr. Highhawk’s suffection that the museum take plaster casts of the skeletons and rebury the originals was not practical ‘both because of research needs and because the public has the right to expect authenticity and not to be shown mere reproductions.’”
The clause “the right to expect authenticity” was underlined. Catherine Morris Perry frowned at it, sensing criticism. She picked up the newspaper. Under it, atop a sheet of brown wrapping paper, lay an envelope. Her name had been written neatly on it. She opened I and pulled out a single sheet of typing paper. While she read, her idle hand was pulling away the layers of wrapping paper which had separated the envelope from he contents of the box.
Dear Mrs. Perry,
You won’t bury the bones of our ancestors because you say the public has the right to expect authenticity in the museum when it comes to look at the skeletons. Therefore I am sending you a couple of authentic skeletons of ancestors. I went to the cemetery in the woods behind the Episcopal Church of Saint Luke. I used authentic anthropological methods to locate the burials of authentic white Anglo types … and to make sure they would be perfectly authentic, I chose two whose identities you can personally confirm yourself. I ask that you accept these two skeletons for authentic display to your clients and release the bones of to of my ancestors so that they may be returned to their rightful place in Mother Earth. The names of these two authentic—
Mrs. Bailey was standing beside her now. “Honey,” she said. “What’s wrong?” Mrs. Bailey paused. “There’s bones in that box,” she said. “All dirty, too.”
Mrs. Morris Perry put the letter on the desk and looked into the box. From underneath a clutter of what seemed to be arm and leg bones, a single empty eye socket stared back at her. She noticed that Mrs. Bailey had picked up the letter. She noticed dirt. Damp ugly clods had scattered onto the polished desk top. “My God,” Mrs. Bailey said. “John Neldine Burgoyne. Jane Burgoune Weren’t those— Aren’t these your grandparents?”