#barriostories

[extraordinarylegend]

Come out this Saturday at 10am to 2:00pm and work on a community mural with local artists David Martínez, Scarlett Flores, Thick Vato Tries and neighbors. RAIL CDC place makers Carolina Aranibar Fernández and Jen Gastélum will be collecting stories and poems. Community Organizer Augie Gastélum will invite you to other community events and actions. This Saturday 12/11 at 10:00am at Thick Vato Tires & Wheels 41 E Broadway Rd, Mesa, AZ 85210 . Come one, come all, bring a friend for food, community art, and fellowship. ALWAYS #DoItForTheNeighborhood! #RAILCDC #SouthSideMesa #commUNITY #barriostories #artlotera #davidmartinez #scarlettflores #carolinaaranibarfernandez #augiegastelum #jengastelum #ryanwinkle #barriosunidos #razaculture #iheartmesa #liscphx #statefarm #rivernetwork #asuker (at Thick Vato Tires & Wheels) https://www.instagram.com/p/CXQHQVpLDMe/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mexica-yaotl-chicahua-blog]

My voluntary submission...

When I was a young teenager, I was first introduced to gangs at my sister’s quinceńera (a traditional coming of age celebration for Latina women). I didn’t know too much about gangs at the time other then to stay away from them. That particular day, I saw close to about two dozen gang members at my sister’s quince just hanging around. I didn’t know any of them except for one of them who participated in the quinceńera, and whom was most likely to have invited the rest of these gangsters.

I looked up to this guy with a tremendous amount of respect and awe. And to this day, I can respectfully say he played a huge role in who I was. I was not only fascinated and intrigued by the demeanor of these guys and the way that they carried themselves, but more importantly, I was embraced by these guys.

In the weeks that followed they took me in as one of their own and I was quickly accepted amongst them. At first, I had no knowledge of what the gang was about or what they even stood for. The only thing I knew through my own observation, was that red was the choice of color and “Norte’” (Spanish for north) was what they claimed. I had no knowledge of known enemies or rivals. That part of my knowledge came one day while at the local shopping mall with my family. The man that participated in my sister’s quinceńera (whom I will refer to from now on as Joker) happened to be there with us. We wandered off, away from my family to walk around the shopping mall alone.

At this point I was already beginning to dress like one of them. An old school button-up short sleeve cotton shirt was hanging around my neck, over my white pristine t-shirt with a pair of creased up dickies dressing my bottom half that were so sharp they could pierce a piece of paper. I also had the classic shoes of lore, the infamous black and white suede Nike Cortez. Joker too, had the dickies, but bore a traditional white wife beater along with a red belt that trophied an “N” at the buckle. Joker and I walked around the shopping mall proudly with our chins up as if we we owned the place. Eventually, we would be tested of that ownership by whom to me, at the time were unknown rivals.

Joker and I were parting ways, saying our goodbyes, when suddenly we realized that we were surrounded.  There were about a dozen older men surrounding us in what I could easily describe as being a death circle with nowhere to run. Not that running was an option available to us in this crazy, committed life. 

One of the men stood out from the crowd and approached Joker with the most common phrase and question that thousands of gangsters nationwide are familiar and adamant with; “Where are you from!?” In that moment, Joker proudly shouted back to the men the neighborhood that we claimed to be ours, then like lightning and thunder, came the barrage of clenched up fists. The fists came on strong and swift, knocking Joker to the ground and leading to a fury of hard kicks and punches from the men. As this happened, I had a split decision to make. Back up this man I considered to be my homie, or stand their and be a coward. I took flight (meaning to act on violence) on the closest man that was next to me, and from that moment on, I voluntarily took a step further toward a life that I would later dedicate so much of my life too.

[mexica-yaotl-chicahua-blog]

In the Beginning...

In the beginning I loved my brothers. I loved what we stood for. I loved the heart that we had..

However, in the end, with my closest friend’s death I soon realized so many of the values that I believed in, were not there amongst my peers. In its place, stood nothing but a thick smokescreen. The trickery and the mockery of this brotherhood was disheartening and saddening. 

I will never forget where I came from or what I have been through, but I intend to better myself and continue to do so, so that I could help others just the way that all of the originals intended. 

A part of me died the night my best friend was murdered. But still, I will always be a northerner, that fact shall never change. To be a northerner should not be about fighting others, adhering to social normalities or even succumbing to the justice system. It’s not even about north or south. It should be about education, equality and embracement. Something that the originals had put outright, but so many have failed to uphold and enforce.