By Ivon Gabriela Favela, Deputy Director of Training

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Everyone at home called me Gaby (pronounced: Gah-vee). It’s my middle name. But when the office lady in first grade who registered me for school ignored my mother and asked me what I preferred to be called, I said, Ivon. I was only six, but had been exposed enough to know that Ivon sounded less Hispanic than Gaby. Was it wrong to be Hispanic? I wasn’t sure. I only knew that the words “beaner” and “wetback” were used exclusively for people who looked, sounded, and had similar names to those in my family. Perhaps ‘Ivon’ would distance me from the words I didn’t understand and keep me safe from how they made me feel.

That was the year I began to straddle the line between earning the nickname Ms. English by annoyingly correcting everyone’s grammar and the young girl who sought praise by speaking Spanish better than my sibling. Outside, I armored myself with distance, and inside, I tried to belong within the walls of my heritage. Integration seemed dangerous, and so I wore masks. And time only complicated the issue. Meeting my future in-laws, I came to understand the meaning and shame from being called “pocha” (pocha/pocho= derogatory term meaning whitewashed). Finding love for my skin, culture, and heritage has been complicated. In truth, I still feel prickles of toxic thinking. When someone assumes I speak Spanish, I can’t help but wonder what features ‘gave me away.’ The white passing pill that micro-aggressions made me believe I needed to swallow, got stuck in my throat.

This blog can turn into page after page of contemplation and reflection, culminating in a warm hug of ultimate acceptance. But what I can’t help but jump to is the current state of affairs. Yesterday, the Supreme Court essentially gave ICE a nod of approval toward racial profiling. Insert sigh here. What I was tempted to do around this point in the blog was to tell you about all the progress we have made over the course of time by accepting, valuing, and progressing as a people and culture. I have the stats at the ready… I can tell you about how L.A. embraced Cesar Chavez in 1994 and renamed Brooklyn Street to honor him. I can tell you about DEI programs launching in organizations nationwide and so much more. But what matters now is embracing what matters most.

I embrace you. You, my BIPOC brothers and sisters. You, my Caucasian friends and allies. You, my piñata swinging, fruta with limón and tajin and cara en el pastel on your birthday family. We are all under threat. There are some with power rallying people who want to harm us by spreading propaganda.

But hold onto our heritage. The heritage I’m speaking of goes beyond Latin or Latin/indigenous awareness. Heritage refers to things passed down over generations of cultural or historic value. The culture I am speaking of is that of progress. Incrementally, we have as Americans come a long way. And now some would like the pendulum of change to swing hard and fast the other way. Embrace our heritage, not only as Latinos, Californians, but as a people who value others. Now is a good time to collect each voice of the past who have fought for rights, equity, and fairness and let them echo in our hearts. Go back in time and harness the civil rights voices, the LGBT voices, the artists, activists, and leaders. Unless we do that, we will not only lose their voices but our own and with it, our language, our pride, our differences as we aim to hide in sameness to avoid scrutiny, deportation, violence, and other abuses.

Sing together or whisper alone. Canta como ‘Chente, “como una piedra en el camino, me enseño que el destino era rodar y rodar…no hay que llegar primero, pero hay que saber llegar.” IYKYK.