I am a Brown brother and somehow I feel as bad or even worse off than Afro-pessimists who have every right and reason to feel they’ve not just been abandoned but brutalized. I realize it’s not an empathy-sympathy competition. I realize it is not a logical feeling.
The skin of my Black brothers and sisters has long felt the length of racism’s arm, its bony fingers aiming and pointing, pulling and pushing, hard. I’m thinking we’re beyond pessimism, though. Maybe I’m weak but my only response, my only defense is love. I’m an idealist but not a fool. I remember Obama and I miss him every day.
Context: I remember the pre-election “Si Se Puede” (yes we can!) excitement of the 2008 election. Latinx from coast to coast hit the streets with banners and hope in tow. I can still feel that adrenaline flow and those crazy, hopeful smiles. If Brother Obama can live in the White House, well then, it won’t be long before our taco trucks are a part of the daily cultural scene. Just seeing Michelle’s smile and feeling Barack’s warmth.
I’m feeling more like a committed realist, living for my own definition of love, right now. I have to believe in who I am and that happens to be a mix-Mex (half Mexican, half Polish-American) and what I’m capable of in this multi-race America. It’s like I have 2 cultural selves, 2 distinct identities, one of which is the RubenAvilio who just has to get his ass to work each day and give his heart and soul to his students and do what I can to help them SEE and FEEL the beauty of who they are.
My work as a special education teacher of students with cognitive impairments is all about guiding them to who they are, what makes them happy and joyful and how they can use that joy to create a life, make work, find work, be a vibrant part of their communities. Connected. That’s my daily work, my one identity.
The other Ruben Avilio is the quiet one who dreams, and writes and creates, and hopes that my art is making space, creating a safe place for other Brown brothers and sisters to not be afraid, to sing, to dance, to write about who they are and what makes them feel so alive. Being seen seems to be half the battle. But being read, being listened to, that’s a dream we’re all working on.
Juntos. Siempre juntos. It’s the only way.
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This post was previously published on Medium.com.
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