Concrete and Glory: The Atlanta Awards Expo Story!

BACK UP IN THE UMX HIZZY, I now pen this missive to thee.

Dear Blog: Thank you for your patience whilst I’ve been flying about the nation, and thank you for all the good blog we is about to do. And let me go no further without also thanking you, dear reader and friend of the UMX tribe, for you (and you know who you are) have been kind and generous in helping your dear narrator, Nezua, to sail through 30,000 foot heights and descend, both feet outstretched, to land happy and hungry in a delicious Mexican restaurant or perhaps sunshine poolside where I be fotographed by La Opinion and interviewed by brilliant journalists about Wut It Iz Nez Do, alone or With Tha Crew.

That is to say, thank you for the donations and the support in all the ways you bring it. Because this world can be lonely and hard, like concrete under ya heed when you prefer fluffed pillow, and sometimes just one sooty warm draft of love makes it all okay. And it’s true that I sealed up a new job or two right before I took off on the trip to Atlanta (including [but not exclusively, oh squiniddy-eyed wordsmith!] new supercool art to be shown soon that I did for Latino Pundit), but the donations that came in while I was on the road brought a huge amount of comfort, and especially on the last night, when there ended up being a lack.

And now the story. And mind you, new readers, this is the story of my trip, of the get up go fly, smile into bright light, come down and hold-on grip. Not the story of The Sanctuary, per se. That one is told on other days and if  you need to catch up on the backstory page, visit The Sanctuary at ProMigrant.Org to see what is at the heart of this award show journey.

So.

How to tell such a story? What is the important part? But there are so many! And so often not what you are thinking, never what you have thought. You fly without a why and even without trying you return with twice as much of what you never sought. OH! I need a beat. But in lieu of this, let me touch upon some moments that may bring the Nezlanta heat.

[BOOMING VOICE] It began….in Oregon.

Oh WHAT? You really expect me to tell the whole story from when I left? Naw…there’s no point in that. Because the story doesn’t even begin there. We are always on the Continued tip. Eh?

But let me just saw WOW it’s a long trip to Atlanta, Georgia from Eugene, Oregon. I got so frustrated with the direction, the wanderingness one must take to get to another place. I know that’s how it works, especially when you don’t live near a major city, but even from PDX to Atlanta, the whole trip takes such a zigzag estilo to get where you’re going it just feels a bit stupid when you’re doin’ it. I took cab to train station and then Amtrak 3 hours north and then a plane south and then a plane East, and so on. But you know how this goes. So I’ll skip all that. But it took me a full day traveling to get to Atlanta. Woke up at 3:30 am to catch a 4:10 cab and didn’t get into my hotel room in Georgia until about 11:30 that night.

Oh, what? You heard me speak in Atlanta on blogging and New Media? And now aren’t sure how to reconcile some of what I said with how I’m running this little copper-wired circus? Well, let me interruptus and say that while I did lay down some general guidelines on What Propels a Blog Forward, there are always exceptions. And a lot has to do with the way you set up your situation and “what line you come in on.” By now, my readers know by now not to expect any hard format, nor do I worry about the length of my posts, nor do I feel a need to write every day so COME ON and just let Nez be Nez!

I met a Xicano in the bar the first night who turned out to be my first useful networking contact (and this is what I wrote on the sticker I promptly stuck to his chest so none of us forgot our places in the story). He works for the US Census and asked me “not to Tweet him” which of course was just his male way of trying to dampen his natural response to my irresistible sexiness and I smiled to show how much I appreciated his self control. I told him I just might consider going door to door in Latin@ neighborhoods for a low price of $16/hr if he would only teach me how to maintain such a suave demeanor in the face of glory. And so perhaps at some point we shall pick up that angle of the story. But for the moment, Nez said lata and took his swirly stomach full of Mini-Chicken sandwiches and scotch and crashed out in his fluffy cotton bed like a moss-covered Oregon stone.

Atlanta was hot.

My part of Atlanta was cramjammed full of smart, energized, accomplished people. It was very heady because of that, not to mention all the free wine and accolades heaped upon your for simply saying a few true things when it’s your turn in the light. These things mean a lot to me. The heat, the wine, the light. But don’t you ever think that Nezua doesn’t keep in mind the rest of the picture. Oh, you can forget it if you want, it’s not your job to narrate, it’s mine. But I’ll remind you. Part of the reason I play such a joker is because I know the joke’s on me when I don the King’s robe and finery. And I lean toward the Queen’s fur(s) and I cannot help but purr when the glint from her orbs paints reflections on my spurs—don’t be scurred!

But let me be mundane-grimey and a bit unrhymey for a moment and say that what I mostly got out of this trip was a) gratitude for having a home (perhaps a bit on this later, perhaps not, we’ll see) and an appreciation for the movements happening and people involved in “Ethnic Media.” We could say “Ethnic Media” but what I saw were lots of smart, dedicated, with-it, restless, happy activist-human types. Yeah, true, they gave off a different air than some of the bastions of progressisivsm® I’ve seen floating through the pie-crust blogostrata, but was this due to ethnicity? Well, perhaps indirectly. Meaning perhaps due to mindsets/convictions/agendas born from a marginalized experience in this culture. Perhaps not. I can’t rule on that. I know in some cases it surely couldn’t be that factor. But from all corners, I saw sparkling eyes and heart pouring forth. I felt it. I listened to an older woman talk to me about her filmmaking in the south, she lilted fire in a very gentle way, but there was steel in every syllable. She was ‘white’ and determined to expose the ICEcrimination going on in her state.

I met Kai Ma, who was another award winner who writes of the Korean American experience. Clearly a person bristling with electricity and joy and bound to keep shaking things up in the world. She spoke to me, too, after my panel on New Media about blogging. She and her compas will be busting out into blog world and it sounds like they are jazzed up enough and understand the blogosphere enough that they are gonna max it out. I’ll be looking for her work. Mostly because people with a certain energy in their eyes draw me in, and it has nothing to do with gender.

That look was in a lot of eyes there, energized by the possibilities—”winners” or not.

The two cats who create Debug Magazine (“Culture Without Borders”) had that same light in their eyes, and we’ll be hooking up, as they want to mix up blog with mag, and I told them I was down cuz I am! So….all of this. Energy, truth, lucha, media, self-empowered writers and truth-seekers and it had everything to do with feeling the change you want to see in the world is actually and literally within your reach. Hearts respond. And recognize one another. I know I’m gushing! Don’t harsh my joyful debriefing!

I’ll be watching Claudia Nuñez, whom I had never heard of but am now fully impressed by. Not just for her important and laudable work of uncovering a labor trafficking ring that ran from México to the US, but for her methods. She is the quintessential “intrepid” reporter, not taking no for an answer, not whining or slowing down when gaps open up in her plan, but leaping forward and tracking down anything she needs to to make that story happen. I love this…energy and determination and lean toward the DO in a person, regardless of where or how I see it. And I know from her award-winning story that she embodies this, but I did see a micro example of this in my personal meetings with her. So let me tell you about that.

After we all spoke at the banquet, (I’m told that) her boss at La Opinion told her that they “must” do a story on me and how I came to the Sanctuary situation, and having no idea of where to find me or anything, she shows up at midnight or so on the 70-something floor of a rotating bar in Atlanta where I was chilling with Roberto Lovato, Zach Taylor, Erin Polgreen, (the accomplished and dazzingly beautiful) @NeelanjanaB, y otros, and arranges an interview with me. (I have to admit, strong Chicanas who know what they want and move for it without excuses or appearances/pretenses of vaguery definitely disarm me, but that’s a side note.) So the next day, I don’t hear from her at the time we set and I thought that’s odd, but just went out on the Cigar Terrace and began reading and, well, Twittering! I was just killing time before my panel on New Media.

Claudia tracks me down, even though I never told her where I was staying or anything. I felt bad that I had not seen my voicemail notice and had put her out of her way. But again, was impressed by her P.I. work. And suddenly felt that anything she was looking for in the world would not be safe from her eyes; she is like an eagle! And that is to our benefit, all of ours. Not because she is writing stories on self-important Xicanos who embrace their heritage and try to make change for raza, but because she is uncovering dangers and exploitations in the world and clearly, very effectively. But yes, I sort of fell for her, as you can tell. It was the heart, again. She didn’t hesitate to ask me controntational things like “Don’t you worry people will think you are in a gang?” because of my ink and elements of my dress. But at the same time, she also wasn’t afraid to spill her heart in words about my blogtivity (en español for a torrential paragraph of sincere comment and I was lucky that my Spanish is “good” enough to be able to keep up with what she was saying) and let me see it in her eyes. That soul shining through again.

There was a lot of this energy in Atlanta (I even ended up laughing and hugging the bouncer at a club one night, this is a whole other story!) and I drank it up like it was sunlight. Claudia impressed me as she interviewed me because she didn’t just ask bullet-point questions or easy followups, but was connecting thoughts deeper and indirect and all content/agenda-related and then thinking forward and hitting me with a question that demanded honesty simply because I was unprepared for its orginality. By the time we reached the end of the interview, I knew I was in very competent hands and I was not being careful, but just engaging. It felt like being interviewed by a sculptor who was shaping a piece hands flying, smeared smock on, crazy vision dancing in the eyes. Beads and sky and blood and sand and US woven Mexicana pride.

I mention Roberto Lovato and he is another fount of soul-power that I refresh and recharge on. He wastes no time in appeasing ignorance or catering to fools, but all the while he is fueling his fuego, there is a smile playing on his lips. El gato is at home in his world, he is finding joy en la lucha. He dips calamari and spits historical on characters in his current book, on the “guevara prototype” and a wise person hears him out. He is one of the few men I know worth listening to at length. Hey, what can I say? I’m biased in a few ways. Anyway, we work together on the regular as it is, but connecting in that human way does so much and I’m convinced it doesn’t make sense to pronounce ANYONE a serious compa or even antagonist without first meeting and chewing on some Calamari. But then again, that’s my bias regarding virtual relationships, too. It’s just what I’ve learned and keep learning. For me.

I could go on. And on. I have a fistful of business cards and I’ve already written the list of them. I did not take home a card that I was not excited to hold, and I was excited about getting each one. From the director of La Noticia to Roshani Kothari of OneWorld to David Kobia of Ushahidi—these meetings are undoubtedly one of the most valuable resources that can come out of events like this. It’s like shopping for sweeteners and skimming directly to the mapled-down essence atop a tubful of sap. Oh, don’t take that the wrong way, my superfine sugary friends who weren’t at the Expo; the converse is most definitely not implied.

And now let me close out by saying muchisimas gracias and stank you one last time to New America Media for the honor and award, and the recognition bestowed on our little group The Sanctuary. It really is a fantastic accolade and we are all very proud of it.

And of course—when life sees fit to pump up your shoes with hot helium neon halo juice, mama nature will be sure to stroke your hair kindly and then kick you to the curb to keep you humbly.

Which is how the magnificent story ends of course. With me walking all night in a strange city with 45 pounds on my back, except for an hour I slept on the concrete. I won’t be one of those whiners, because of course, I knew from the first day I had no ride home from the return flight airport. There was really nothing I could do. It was, in the end, the most sensible ticket to buy. Watcha gonna do? It was part of the deal, and I used the night to reap gratitude, although as a friend reminded me, no: I really had no idea how it would end. But I’m ready for the flux and again, this is why awards and events like this—while so good for the soul in certain amounts—are only part of a recipe. Breathe deep en la cocina. Keep the nostrils open, keep the mind open. Good with the bad, big shot with the stinky midnight lowlife, glare of flash and click of shutters vs. 4 am reflux and muscular exhaustion and desire to weep you’re so tired.

And it’s good to be home. It’s good to have one. Peace! But not before Justice.