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Chicano M105C

Sabrina Peterson

23 August 2021

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"That year was lost to him. At times he tried to remember and, just about when he thought everything was clearing up some, he would be at a loss for words. It almost always began with a dream in which he would suddenly awaken and then realize that he was really asleep. Then he wouldn't know whether what he was thinking had happened or not.":

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"The Lost Year" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra. By Tomas Rivera consciousness, awareness, remembrance, elements of doubt; sets the tone for the thematic develop: no overarching, set, concrete time, but there is a SENSE of yearly time--dependence on internal compass; loss of identity; loss of name; loss of vocabulary

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It always began when he would hear someone calling him by his name but when he turned his head to see who was calling, he would make a complete turn and there he would end up — in the same place. This was why he never could discover who was calling him nor why. And then he even forgot the name he had been called.

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"The Lost Year" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra by Tomas Rivera image of himself spinning, hearing his name, but not sure who's calling; notion of pervasive alienation This sense of confusion and question is tied to their spiritual suffering: asking themselves why they're suffering physically and that draws them to doubt their spiritual beliefs

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He tried to figure out when that time he had come to call "year" had started. He became aware that he was always thinking and thinking and from this there was no way out. Then he started thinking about how he never thought and this was when his mind would go blank and he would fall asleep. But before falling asleep he saw and heard many things ...

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"The Lost Year" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera forms of consciousness and thinking text is about coming into consciousness and it's calling upon its reader to come into that consciousness; come into that congnizance of themselves and of the society around them.

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She always believed that they drank the water and so she continued doing her duty. Once he was going to tell her but then he thought that he'd wait and tell her when he was grown up.

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"The Lost Year" (vignette) from ...y no se lo trago la tierra. by Tomas Rivera Mom always believed the spirits drank the water she left under the bed idea of the loss of religious faith on the son's part, but he doesn't tell his mom because he wants to keep her enchanted with this idea of religion He, however, has gained insight Parallels the book's urge to stir up the reader's consciousness: A. Consciousness of decolonization B. Part of the colonization and the peonage economic system that came with that C. Conscious of decolonization and the incipient (foolish) social transformation that was consequential

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What he set out to do and what he did were two different things. He shot at him once to scare him but when he pulled the trigger he saw the boy with a hole in his head. And the child didn't even jump like a deer does. He just stayed in the water like a dirty rag and the water began to turn bloody ...

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"The Children Couldn't Wait" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra by Tomas Rivera boy seeking agency, but he doesn't have any he's compared to the deer (an animal) and then to a rag (an inanimate, object) He does not even get characterized as an animal, just a thing that can be dispensed. But the story doesn't end with this pathos (quality that evokes pity)

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"You think so?" "Yes, he's already lost the ranch. He hit the bottle pretty hard. And then after they tried him and he got off free, they say he jumped off a tree'cause he wanted to kill himself." "But he didn't kill himself, did he?" "Well, no." "Well, there you have it." "Well, I'll tell you, compadre, I think he did go crazy. You've seen the likes of him nowadays. He looks like a beggar." "Sure, but that's 'cause he doesn't have any more money." "Well ... that's true."

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"The Children Couldn't Wait" ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera Story being told of the man who shot the boy Raises the question of what is true. We have to take their word for it because they're creating a story--they're trying to make meaning out of what is happening. Storytelling as a counter to the dominant way of talking about things Tow characters interrogating what has happened. Story-telling itself is a form of agnecy, as it means taking control of a situation and creating meaning out of these events.

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She had fallen asleep right away and everyone, very mindful of not crossing their arms nor their legs nor their hands, watched her intensely. The spirit was already present in her body. "Let's see, how may I help you this evening, brothers and sisters?" "Well, you see, I haven't heard from my boy in two months. Yesterday a letter from the government arrived telling me that he's lost in action. I'd like to know whether or not he's alive. I feel like I'm losing my mind just thinking and thinking about it." "Have no fear, sister. Julianito is fine. He's just fine. Don't worry about him anymore. Very soon he'll be in your arms. He'll be returning already next month." "Thank you, thank you."

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"The Children Couldn't Wait" (vignette) ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera Here, the speaker is congnizant of the presence of a spirit. The book represents different belief systems; we're meant to view this skeptically - to wonder whether the spiritualist is telling the truth or not.

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Dear God, Jesus Christ, keeper of my soul. This is the third Sunday that I come to implore you, beg you, to give me word of my son. I have not heard from him. Protect him, my God, that no bullet may pierce his heart like it happened to Doña Virginia's son, may he rest in God's peace. Take care of him for me, Dear Jesus, save him from the gunfire, have pity on him who is so good. Since he was a baby, when I would nurse him to sleep, he was so gentle, very grateful, never biting me. He's very innocent, protect him, he does not wish to harm anyone, he is very noble, he is very kind, may no bullet pierce his heart.

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"A Prayer" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera

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Nothing nor no one appeared, nor did anything change. Disillusioned and feeling at moments a little brave, he headed back for the house. The sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees seemed to accompany his every step. There was no devil.

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"A Silvery Night" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera image of the boy coming to the conclusion that there is no devil, which causes him to feel brave but also disillusioned - theme of the balance between gain and loss.

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"But if there's no devil neither is there ... No, I better not say it. I might get punished. But there's no devil. Maybe he'll appear before me later. No, he would've appeared already. What better time than at night and me, alone? No, there's no devil. There isn't."

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"A Silvery Night" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera internal monologue going on in his head. He's claiming these things but he has not fully embraced the reality of the loss of God; it's liberating but it means there's no ultimate order or meaning to life. So he gains bravery, but at the same time, he loses enchantment. He holds on to other illusions, though - such as the illusion that nature accompanies him and genuinely cares about him.

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He fell asleep gazing at the moon as it jumped through the clouds and the trees, as if it were extremely content about something

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"A Silvery Night" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera Nature can't understand him. Nature is indifferent! But to the boy, it's as if nature understands him and is responding to him.

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The first time he felt hate and anger was when he saw his mother crying for his uncle and his aunt.

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"And the Earth did not Devour Him" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera He does not find an answer to this question of what is the meaning of the world if it's not religion. But he does get angry and this anger can be a form of transformation; powerlessness leads to anger.

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"What's to be gained from doing all that, Mother? Don't tell me you think it helped my aunt and uncle any. How come we're like this, like we're buried alive? Either the germs eat us alive or the sun burns us up. Always some kind of sickness. And every day we work and work. For what? Poor Dad, always working so hard. I think he was born working. Like he says, barely five years old and already helping his father plant corn. All the time feeding the earth and the sun, only to one day, just like that, get struck down by the sun. And there you are, helpless. And them, begging for God's help ... why, God doesn't care about us ... I don't think there even is ... No, better not say it, what if Dad gets worse. Poor Dad, I guess that at least gives him some hope."

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"And the Earth did not Devour Him" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera this realization of being buried alive; meditation of God's relation to the poor. It feels like they're being buried alive--these people, as they function in consumer capitalism, they are being consumed by these capitalistic things. They are equated to those who suffer without purpose; and religion cannot alleviate that.

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Each step that he took towards the house resounded with the question, why? About halfway to the house he began to get furious. Then he started crying out of rage. His little brothers and sisters did not know what to do, and they, too, started crying, but out of fear. Then he started cursing. And without even realizing it, he said what he had been wanting to say for a long time. He cursed God. Upon doing this he felt that fear instilled in him by the years and by his parents. For a second he saw the earth opening up to devour him. Then he felt his footsteps against the earth, compact, more solid than ever.

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"And the Earth Did Not Devour Him" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera realization that the earth is not swallowing him up; there is a sense of release because there is no punishment from God even though he has cursed God's name; there's a freeing that takes place, but what comes with that is an awareness and although he has not figured out what the meaning of the world is, he gains empowerment or agency instead of relying on a supernatural power. Here he has an agency of his own; an awareness of living in the physical world and even the awareness of his own mortality

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A stroke left the grandfather paralyzed from the neck down. One day one of his grandsons came by to visit with him. The grandfather asked him how old he was and what he most desired in life. The grandson replied that what he most wanted was for the next ten years to pass by immediately so that he would know what had happened in his life. The grandfather told him he was very stupid and cut off the conversation. The grandson did not understand why he had called him stupid until he turned thirty.

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Vignette after "And the Earth Did Not Devour Him" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera Question of what kind of consciousness should one have? One that is alive, one that takes agency, not just passively let life happen to him.

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The priest always held First Communion during mid-spring. I'll always remember that day in my life. I remember what I was wearing and I remember my godfather and the pastries and chocolate that we had after mass, but I also remember what I saw at the cleaners that was next to the church. I think it all happened because I left so early for church. It's that I hadn't been able to sleep the night before, trying to remember all of my sins, and worse yet, trying to arrive at an exact number. Furthermore, since Mother had placed a picture of hell at the head of the bed and since the walls of the room were papered with images of the devil and since I wanted salvation from all evil, that was all I could think of.

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"First Communion" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera there's an ironic, ambiguous relationship to this situation of sin altogether; he's attracted to sin but expected to repulse from sin

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The nun liked for us to talk about the sins of the flesh. The real truth was that we practiced a lot telling our sins, but the real truth was that I didn't understand a lot of things. What did scare me was the idea of going to hell because some months earlier I had fallen against a small basin filled with hot coals which we used as a heater in the little room where we slept. I had burned my calf. I could well imagine how it might be to burn in hell forever. That was all that I understood. So I spent that night, the eve of my First Communion, going over all the sins I had committed. But what was real hard was coming up with the exact number like the nun wanted us to. It must have been dawn by the time I finally satisfied my conscience. I had committed one hundred and fifty sins, but I was going to admit to two-hundred.

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"First Communion" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera This is a humorous, ironic representation of first communion; all the nun wants to hear about are the sins of the flesh

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I remember that when I went in to confess and the priest asked for my sins, all I told him was two-hundred and of all kinds. I did not confess the sin of the flesh. On returning to the house with my godfather, everything seemed changed, like I was and yet wasn't in the same place. Everything seemed smaller and less important. When I saw my Dad and my Mother, I imagined them on the floor. I started seeing all of the grown-ups naked and their faces even looked distorted, and I could even hear them laughing and moaning, even though they weren't even laughing. Then I started imagining the priest and the nun on the floor. I couldn't hardly eat any of the sweet bread or drink the chocolate. As soon as I finished, I recall running out of the house. It felt like I couldn't breath.

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"First Communion" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera Now he wants to know more and more. Nothing has changed except his awareness

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rubbing alcohol on their chests

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"The Little Burnt Victims" ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera

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She walked to where they had pointed and entered the store. The noise and pushing of the crowd was worse inside. Her anxiety soared. All she wanted was to leave the store but she couldn't find the doors anywhere, only stacks and stacks of merchandise and people crowded against one another. She even started hearing voices coming from the merchandise. For a while she stood, gazing blankly at what was in front of her. She couldn't even remember the names of the things. Some people stared at her for a few seconds, others just pushed her aside. She remained in this state for a while, then she started walking again. She finally made out some toys and put them in her bag. Then she saw a wallet and also put that in her bag. Suddenly she no longer heard the noise of the crowd. She only saw the people moving about — their legs, their arms, their mouths, their eyes

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"The Night Before Christmas" ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera This image of alienation. The only things that have agency in this passage are these consumer objects that she hears speak; all she can see are legs, mouths, eyes...even the human beings are fragmented. It's this labyrinth or maze of consumer capitalism; the mother gets lost within this world of consumption; kids end up with nothing; organized religion as an idea for these kids also fails them. Failure of these systems of meaning!

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"When we arrive, when we arrive, the real truth is that I'm tired of arriving. Arriving and leaving, it's the same thing because we no sooner arrive and ... the real truth of the matter ... I'm tired of arriving. I really should say when we don't arrive because that's the real truth. We never arrive.

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"When We Arrive" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera Negative image of the journey, but that repeated phrase "when we arrive" continues. It brings a sense of hope.

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Little by little the crickets ceased their chirping. It seemed as though they were becoming tired and the dawn gradually affirmed the presence of objects, ever so carefully and very slowly, so that no one would take notice of what was happening. And the people were becoming people. They began getting out of the trailer and they huddled around and commenced to talk about what they would do when they arrived.

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"When We Arrive" from ...y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera the light is beginning to reveal objects here. The people are coming together, which creates a re-humanization; their experience remains invisible to the majority of us - and yet through these stories, the reality is made real to us because of the moral elements of story-telling.

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Smiling, he walked down the chuckhole-ridden street leading to his house. He immediately felt happy because, as he thought over what the woman had said, he realized that in reality he hadn't lost anything. He had made a discovery. To discover and rediscover and piece things together. This to this, that to that, all with all. That was it. That was everything. He was thrilled. When he got home he went straight to the tree that was in the yard. He climbed it. He saw a palm tree on the horizon. He imagined someone perched on top, gazing across at him. He even raised one arm and waved it back and forth so that the other could see that he knew he was there.

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"Under the House" from .y no se lo trago la tierra Tomas Rivera mutual recognition; feeling of being recognized y somebody else as a way of attaining some kind of identity; no identity without reliance on someone else; it's an image of self-acknowledgement - he knew he was there and now others know he's there, too.

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It is Christmas Eve in the year of Huitzilopochtli, 1969. Three hundred Chicanos have gathered in front of St. Basil's Roman Catholic Church. Three hundred brown-eyed children of the sun have come to drive the money-changers out of the richest temple in Los Angeles. It is a dark moonless night and ice-cold wind meets us at the doorstep. We carry little white candles as weapons. In pairs on the sidewalk, we trickle and bump and sing with the candles in our hands, like a bunch of cockroaches gone crazy. I am walking around giving orders like a drill sergeant.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People by Oscar Zeta Acosta A self-conscious syncretism is going on-- a coming together of different religions; draws on moche culture sacrifice and the Catholic church; construction of religious and moral iconography; in many ways the Chicanos become equated with Jesus--they become the means of human salvation through sacrifice (which is what the cockroach people have to suffer). -- this idea of finding purity in violence

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From the mansions of Beverly Hills, the Faithful have come in black shawls, in dead fur of beasts out of foreign jungles. Calling us savages, they have already gone into the church, pearls in hand, diamonds in their Colgate teeth. Now they and Cardinal James Francis McIntyre sit patiently on wooden benches inside, crossing themselves and waiting for the bell to strike twelve, while out in the night three hundred greasers from across town march and sing tribal songs in an ancient language.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta image of the civilized as barbarous; symbolic for U.S. colonization of Mexico.

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Three priests in black and brown shirts pass out the tortillas. Three hundred Chicanos and other forms of Cockroaches munch on the buttered body of Huitzilopochtli, on the land-baked pancake of corn, lime, lard and salt. Teetering over our heads are five gigantic papier-maché figures with blank faces, front-lipped beaks, stonehead bishop dunce caps. A guitar gently plucks and sways Las Posadas to the memory of the White and Blue Hummingbird, the god of our fathers. We chew the tortillas softly. It is a night of miracles: never before have the sons of the conquered Aztecas worshipped their dead gods on the doorstep of the living Christ. While the priests offer red wine and the poor people up-tilt earthen pottery to their brown cold lips, there are tears here, quiet tears of history.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Romantic moment; affirmation of indigenous heritage; the construction of Chicano identity as an indigenous people; as if Chicanos were a part of the land before anything; romanticized vision of the performance of this meztisaje--the mixing of Spanish and English (Calo); mixing of this identity

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We were at the home base of the holy man who encouraged presidents to drop fire on poor Cockroaches in far-off villages in Vietnam. From behind these stained glass windows, this man in the red frock and beanie, with the big blue ring on his knuckle, begs his god to give victory to the flames.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Awareness of the struggle that is taking place within the United States

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What they really fired me for was my new name, Buffalo Zeta Brown. General Zeta was the hero of an old movie classic, La Cucaracha. A combination of Zapata and Villa with Maria Felix as the femme fatale. It suits me just fine. And Brown Buffalo for the fat brown shaggy snorting American animal, slaughtered almost to extinction. I feel right at home. So now a frog asks me to a Blow Out? It may be something or nothing, but why not? I am a free buffalo in a horrible place, looking for a little excitement. I still don't believe a damn thing.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta meditation on how he got his name; drawing from icons (Maria Felix and Zeta)--why does he draw on Maria Felix for a guy who's macho? Slippage--overarching narrator showing us his subconscious feminine component

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Boom! A solid uppercut to the pig's jaw. Then a scream. He hollers, "Sergeant Armas! Sergeant Armas!" Black Eagle finally opens the front door. Gilbert takes one in the stomach. Vato Numero Uno, Warrior Number One, does not move. The lawyer stands and watches.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta He feels like he's part of the action but at the same time feels apart from the action.

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All around me is a new breed of savages, brown-eyed devils who shout defiantly to the heavens. And what am I to do? Is all this just to write some story? Do up-and-coming great men march at the command of a wretched voice over a bullhorn? Is this the place for a lone buffalo? Will they bust me for passing out Camels? I am divided against myself, torn in two

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Divided sense of self that is a part of this movement, but he's also the one in charge of this movement; his power as lawyer is ambiguous -- it gives him social power, but also a sense of unease because it separates him from the people.

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I know that for twenty-five days now, Cesar has not tasted a morsel of solid food. He has starved himself like Ghandi. He believes that physical resistance to oppression only produces lesser men. Self-defense by design only creates violent characters. A revolution accomplished by brute force generates but another brutal society. By way of example to his followers, he gives up his flesh and strength to their cause. The height of manhood, Cesar believes, is to give of one's self.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Chavez' vision of manhood is about giving up the self, one's own ego, one's own body. (There was a spiritual side to the UFWM - Chavez took these cleansing fasts to revivify himself and focus on the spiritual aspect of these)

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"Look," he says, a little stronger. "I know LA is a graveyard for organizers. You, personally, Brown Buffalo, a Chicano lawyer, have got to help those kids. Nobody else is going to do it. The Militants are doing a terrific job. Aren't you satisfied?" "Oh, yeah." I think about his philosophy of non-violence. "I didn't know if you would approve," I say lamely. I don't know how to explain to him where I'm at. "Listen, viejo. . . It doesn't matter if I approve or if anyone approves. You are doing what has to be done. ¿Qué más vamos a hacer?" "It's not exactly what you do. . . " "So what? I'm a man, just like you, no? Each of us has a different role, but we both want the same, don't we?" Role? Want the same? "I guess. . ."

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Ascosta The idea that Chavez blesses the activism of the militants is fantasy because Chavez was all about pacifism; but, nevertheless, it's about achieving a revolution; a reimagining of what the movement could and should have been.

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La vida no es la que vivimos, La vida es el honor y el recuerdo, Por eso mas vale morir Con el pueblo vivo Y no vivir Con el pueblo muerto (Life is not as it seems. Life is pride and personal history. Thus it is better that one die and that the people should live, rather than one live and the people die)

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta The Spanish-to-English mistranslation is pointing to the mistranslation that the book is partaking in: turning ideas into something else. Translation and mistranslation is a kind of emblem of the kind of problem going on in the book: violence, oppression, exploitation - all of these things are being entangled and mistreated. Thematizing the impossibility of translation

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I know then and there that nothing matters anymore. It no longer matters to me what I have been or not been, whether ashamed or evasive or alone. It does not matter that I have fried my brains with dope or never touched a brown skin in tenderness; it is unimportant that I poisoned brothers in Panama with the gringo's venomous Christ-shit. The toilets I washed for black liberation, the handbills, the doorbells and registered voters, everything I knew then had nothing to do with me, now really doesn't. Those battles are nothing to me. I feel somehow that, this afternoon, I have met my destiny. But its terms are not Cesar's. I decide to accept some of the misdemeanor cases from the Garfield Blow Out. I figure it will take maybe three months to do the job. After that, I will split to Acapulco, write about the whole struggle and get in touch with my Chicano soul.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Says he's going to go through the process to attain his real self, but he never does - there is no sense of completion by the end of the book.

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I drive with my eyes blurred from the smog and the news. My heart is beating furiously. I am sweating like a pig when I arrive at the downtown Police Sty, Parker Center, only four blocks from my hotel. They call it the Glass House because the blocksquare building looks like solid glass, a cute architectural trick. But behind the glass there are concrete walls and iron bars. The prisoners cannot see the daylight.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta illusional transparency - the correctional institution seems to be transparent, yet it has these iron bars behind it. Institutions that are there but also are not there - they're only there when you're inside of them.

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"So, it's up to you. This is a political set-up. They're trying to f*&# up the election in LA and put the Chicanos out of action at the same time. If you guys want to fight back, let's do it along those lines. This is a fight against the government, the Grand Jury, the judges, the DA and the Chief of Police."

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Fear of being manipulated; they know something is up, but they don't understand it. This idea that that there are these invisible hands at work that are controlling them . Paranoia of awareness of power residing somewhere, but that it's invisible. There's no way of really knowing if it's true or not true

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"Just relax, esa. It'll come to you. You'll know when it takes you," I tell the woman of my dreams and my fantasies. I have known her since I first came to the infernal city. She was with Black Eagle then, though I didn't meet him until the Glass House caper. I told both of them about acid and they told me about Chicano culture. Black Eagle is a former guard for the USC Trojans who now teaches English as a second language to the Chicanos in Watts. I had been away from my people for so long that I had forgotten many of our tribal rites and customs. But over the months they have not ceased to instruct me. In the course of our discussion, I found that some Chicanos in the city have a misconception of gringos that we farmworkers could never have. They don't quite realize they have an enemy while, in the country, the Chicano knows from birth he is a lowdown cockroach. In the cities, only the lowriders, the vatos locos, are in tune with this. Which is why I have spent all my off-duty hours drunk with the likes of Gilbert, Pelon and the Chicano Militants, all politicized lowriders.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People by Oscar Zeta Acosta Zeta's idea that he's being instructed in these tribal rights and in this Chicano identity There's a desire to reach back into his community and learn authenticity; this idea of White vs. Brown--it's racialized politics that he constructs for himself; there's an essentialization of race that is central to politics.

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"Come on, Brown, come on!. . . I'm trying to tell you. . . I'm telling you, that picketing thing is over. . . All you're doing is getting your own people in trouble. Now look. . ." he leans over toward me and lowers his voice, "the blacks picketed for years. . . for years. They marched and they did the very things you people are doing now. . .but you know something, and this is the honest-to-God truth. . . they didn't get a thing until they had Watts! That is a fact! And I'm telling you, until your people riot, they're probably not going to get a thing either! That's my opinion." I stare directly into the wrinkled narrow green eyes of Sam-theStraightshooter, a short John Wayne with a sincere simple honest smile. He is not blinking. He is telling me the truth. But I do not know why he is telling me the truth.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta He is telling him that only through violence can political transformation happen. On the one hand, violence is meaningless and ineffective. But on the other hand, it's a way of changing the social structure. Violence as necessary for social change?

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We are walking down the hall, past the secretary, past the guards at the entrance. Black Eagle is leading us with the Mexican Flag held up over his head and we keep shouting "Viva La Raza!" over and over as we march out of City Hall while suited lawyers and busy people are suddenly confronted with this Hollywood madness.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People It's all a show--a tactic without strategy. Notice the way the narrative convets that idea of information--it's part of the narrative technique

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Such incidents didn't win us anything you could point at, but at least we had some fun and kept our spirits alive.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Diminishing support from the very community that Zeta seeks to empower

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For two years now I've sniffed around the courthouse, I've stood around La Voz waiting for one of these sun children to come down on me, to open up to my huge arms and big teeth. And yet I've not scored once. How many times have my pants been hard? How many times have I gone to bed wet? Alone? How many times have I shouted "Viva La Raza!" waiting for a score? And how many times have I desired to taste of that same warmth that is Lady Feathers, my mother, my sisters, my aunts and my cousins? And now, thanks to the Pope, thanks to the media and thanks to the revolution, at last I have a brown babe for my hurts. Three of them under the same blanket!I caress a leg and it holds still, waiting for my hand. It is firm and soft and warm. I reach for a soft arm. It comes into mine easily. There is no hesitation. And then a moist lip to my ear. Zingo! I laugh. "You're too much, Buff," one of them says. "Scoot over," another orders. Jesus, but this can't be. This can't be happening. I reach for a breast. It is small. Wonderfully small and firm. It fits into my palm. A brown pear in my hand. God Almighty! This is the revolution!

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta The objectification of sexuality metonym: a sideways substitution of a part for a whole This is the climax of him finding an identity Consumption of the other Body parts are fragments, which reveals the objectification of these bodies

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Ah, you anarchists can say what you want," I say. "But without that man and his organization, there ain't no chance for us anymore. . ." "What do you mean, man?" "He was the last hope for the Chicano. . . I don't mean him, personally, but the whole white liberal bit, it's dead now. McCarthy lost tonight, too. It doesn't matter who killed him; liberals choke at violence. You watch and see. This will insure the election of that motherf*cker Nixon." "Jesus, you're right, ese," Gilbert says. "What are we gonna do, ese?" "What the **** can we do?" "Sh*t, I feel like throwing a bomb or something," Gilbert says. "Who you gonna bomb?" "What the **** does it matter?" Pelon says. "That's the way I feel, too." Gilbert says. "So what are we gonna do?" Pelon says. We drive and listen to the live broadcast from the Ambassador Hotel. The reports make it pretty clear that Kennedy has only a few hours of life left. We drive in silence. Tears are in my eyes. My chest is heaving air in gulps. "Sh*t, ese, there ain't nothing we can do. Let's go get some weed from this ruka I know up in Lincoln Heights." "That sounds better than nothing," Pelon says. I drive in the darkness and I know, I can feel it in my bones, that the ante has been upped.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta About the murder of Kennedy. He's just another white politician, but Zeta sees the importance of Kennedy. But their response is to do drugs and have sex. Their other response is to respond violently--tactics with no strategy.

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A hefty woman with solid arms and thick mascara burnt into her skin is talking. She says her name is Lupe. She is the spokesman, the eldest child in a family of nine. The woman beside her is the mother, Juana, an old nurse. Juana is still in shock, sitting quietly, staring at Gilbert's paintings hung on the wall. John, Lupe's husband, sits on her other side. His arms are crossed, bright tattoos over corded muscle. He wears a white T shirt and a blue beanie, the traditional garb of the vato loco, the Chicano street freak who lives on a steady diet of pills, dope and wine. He does not move behind his thick mustache. He too sits quietly, as a proper brother-in-law, a cuñado who does not interfere in family business unless asked.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta manifestation of the identity; the mascara being burnt into her skin. Tattoos as a marker of identification. The very body of the working class becomes a marker of their identity; identity lives through the material world (not only in an abstract sense). Through the physicality of identity we construct a vocabulary for ourselves.

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On the day he died, Robert had popped reds with wine and then conked out for a few hours. When he awoke he was ready for more. But first he went down to Cronie's on Whittier Boulevard, the Chicano Sunset Strip. Every other door is a bar, a pawn shop or a liquor store. Hustlers roam freely across asphalt decorated with vomit and dogshit. If you score in East Los Angeles you score on The Boulevard. Broads, booze and dope. Cops on every corner make no difference. The fuzz, la placa, la chota, los marranos, la jura or just the plain old pig. The eternal enemies of the people. The East LA Sheriff's Substation is only three blocks away on Third Street, right alongside the Pomona Freeway. From the blockhouse, deputies come out in teams of two, "To Serve And Protect!" Always with thirty-six-inch clubs, with walkie-talkies in hand; always with gray helmets, shotguns in the car and .357 Magnums in their holsters. The vato loco has been fighting with the pig since the Anglos stole his land in the last century. He will continue to fight until he is exterminated.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta There's a political element to identity as well Vato loco is not just a criminal but an object of resistance to oppression; these are not thinking about the lost land; it's the narrative that is granting historical context to these characters/identities

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The office has black leather couches and soft chairs, a thick shag rug and inscrutable art work.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Associated with Mexican identity as difficult to parse But there's also this identity Zeta shares with Naguchi, the one who changes his identity in front of the media as a tool

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Yes, yes! Now we pull back the head. Scalpum this lad here. Whoops, the hair, the full head of hair, now it lays back, folded back like a halloween mask so we can look into the head. . . inside, where the stuffings for the. . . Jesus H. Christ, look at those little purple blotches. . . You can tell a lot from that, but you got to cut it out. . . Then cut the ****ing thing out, you mother****er! This ain't Robert no more. It's just a. . . no, not a body . . body is a whole this is a joke. . . Cut that piece there, doctor. Please!

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta it's meant to horrify at the same time that there's a childlike quality that's creepy. He's the man in authority that leads to anxiety in his part--in him as a character. He has no training, yet he is ordering people to destroy this power. The body as a physical thing that is being performed upon, which is a violation of the body; and this violation of the body parallels relation to power and this leads to a transformation in Zeta.

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I see the tattoo on his right arm. . . God Almighty! A red heart with blue arrows of love and the word "Mother." And I see the little black cross between the thumb and the trigger finger. A regular vato loco. A real pachuco, ese. And when it is done, there is no more Robert. Oh, sure, they put the head back in place. They sew it up as best they can. But there is no part of the body that I have not ordered chopped. I, who am so good and deserving of love. Yes, me, the big chingón! I, Mr. Buffalo Z. Brown. Me, I ordered those white men to cut up the brown body of that Chicano boy, just another expendable Cockroach.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Again, physical manifestation of his identity--these tattooed markers of him The Vietnamese, prostitutes (anyone who is disempowered) is a cockroach in this book. He insists on himself being at the center of this moment

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Forgive me, Robert, for the sake of the living brown. Forgive me and forgive me and forgive me. I am no worse off than you. For the rest of my born days, I will suffer the knowledge of your death and your second death and your ashes to my ashes, your dust to my dust. . . Goodbye, ese. Viva la Raza!

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta This living Brown; he's turning Robert into a martyr for the cause He, as narrator, is transforming that body--Robert--into a martyr; He's consuming Robert's body as this figure of revolution--as the locator/agent in this book, he has the power to do it, yet there's always this anxiety about power.

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I follow Lieutenant Simpson and Sergeant Lovelace into the gray complex, my hands still handcuffed behind me. The New County Jail is a monstrous structure, a square block of granite and concrete and steel. You enter through the back, with iron at your wrists, and the door clanks shut behind you and you are in an institution, a world unto itself. The floors are slick cement. The bars on all doors are painted gray. The prisoners are dressed in dark or faded blue jeans and pale blue work shirts. The shirts are stenciled across the back shoulders with the words, "LA County Sheriff -- Prisoner." At the entrance, men are jammed into holding cells. They stand back to back, face to face. These men are still in regular street clothes. They have just come from various courts throughout the county and are now being processed and booked, fingerprinted, scrubbed and deloused before being given their new garb and a bed. Deputies in pressed khakis and short-sleeved shirts strut around and shout orders. Prisoners are lined up, fifty at a time.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Setting: imprisoned by the system; an underscored sense of permanence--absolute permanence. Moments of closure, containment--actual shackles on you. This setting highlights imprisonment within imprisonment--physical imprisonment within the institution. Their bodies themselves are under control--they are being controlled and processed like meats. They are being made a part of the system and are being made less individual.

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You know, all my life, all my professional life, I have fought the battle of. . . I have been against nationalism from my earliest days. My father was Irish and my mother was Mexican. . . They would both agree with those backstage who would have me call myself a Mexican-American. . . And I have called myself that all my life. . . I have acted every part, every race, every religion. . . I've been Japanese, Italian, Pole, White...

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Complicated notions of what nationalism is--nationalism as a kind of representation of fixed identity.

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: "VIVA QUINN -- VIVA QUINN!!" "VIVA LA RAZA -- VIVA ZAPATA!!" "VIVA EL ZETA -- VIVA CESAR CHAVEZ!!" "¡QUÉ VIVAN!" And the crowd melts into one consciousness and no man is alone in that madness any longer.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Transformation from national unity of being positive to a fascistic vision of national unity; idea of one consciousness--there is only thinking ONE way.

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She climbs out of her Rolls Royce and walks into the house as if she owns it. She hits her hard heels on the wooden floor to make them clack-clack. She chews gum, loud and brassy. She twirls it with her fingers while we talk. And then, when I reach for her left tit, she makes her green eyes go zing-zong and twitches her beak like Donald Duck. "What are you doing?" she says. She is absolutely crazy. We hit it off again and she too decides to move into the house.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta cartoonish description of this female character. He asserts a kind of power over a sexualized female power.

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Some of the men look at me strangely. They know I'm no wimp, but here I am, running around the world, talking of writing and revolution and women and death. Everyone in the room is committed to death. But my commitment to death is different, larger than theirs. It is a night for interrogation and I catch them wondering in the corners of their eyes. I'm different.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta But there's also a political aspect to the construction of his identity. We get this notion when Zeta keeps narrating his anxiety for being a part of those Chicano people. In the end, he continues to reveal this positioning of himself as separate--different from the people.

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Corky has on his usual red shirt and black pants. He comes in cagey like the top professional boxer he used to be. He knows the men are here to run him through some tough questions. He knows he is still considered an outsider to the vatos on the streets. Tonight, here in LA, he knows the mistrust one Chicano has for another. He understands the fear in the room toward a leader from another barrio, suspicion of a strange leader because. . . because Santa Anna sold us out to the gringos. . . because Juarez did nothing about it. . . because Montezuma was a fag and a mystic who had the fear of the Lord for Cortez or for Malinche. . . because anybody who has so little is afraid to lose what he just barely has got, saith the Lord.

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The Revolt of the Cockroach People Oscar Zeta Acosta Mexican history as a history of betrayal; viewed as inheritance of this already conflated history.

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We didn't always live on Mango Street. Before that we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler it was Paulina, and before that I can't remember. But what I remember most is moving a lot. Each time it seemed there'd be one more of us. By the time we got to Mango Street we were six—Mama, Papa, Carlos, Kiki, my sister Nenny and me.

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The House on Mango Street Sandra Cisneros The memory that begins this book is intersected with this idea of place--self and place. Showing the importance of locale, the domestic, the home. She emphasizes the homeless quality of it. Home is a temporary residence. She's lives in this restless, peripatetic world of moving a lot--no stability.

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The house on Mango Street is ours, and we don't have to pay rent to anybody, or share the yard with the people downstairs, or be careful not to make too much noise, and there isn't a landlord banging on the ceiling with a broom. But even so, it's not the house we'd thought we'd get

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The House on Mango Street "The House on Mango Street" by Sandra Cisneros The idea of possession that is also a dispossession. The expectation was that the houses would be like the houses on TV. But the house becomes a sight of expectation and failure instead. The house becomes the embodiment of their failure and position in society. Their house it their epitome of economic failure.

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Everybody in our family has different hair

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The House on Mango Street Sandra Cisneros "Hairs" Hairs become a meditation of the distinction of identities. She places herself in relation to her family and their identities

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But my mother's hair, my mother's hair, like little rosettes, like little candy circles all curly and pretty because she pinned it in pincurls all day, sweet to put your nose into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, is the Sandra Cisneros smell when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the rain outside falling and Papa snoring. The snoring, the rain, and Mama's hair that smells like bread.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Subject and verb agreement is deferred My mother's hair...is.. This serves to emphasize the meaning of the passage. Within the subject and the verb there is a simile and a metaphor. The repetition of the simile forces us to pause and the metaphor creates a domestic image. The subject and verb is separated and the verb is nestled within the sentence. This sentence mimics that position of interiority (her placing in the family). This generates a nesting sense of safety that is counterpoint to the danger and threatening violence in the outside world. So being pushed back to occupy the domestic space is not entirely negative, as it is an oppressive sphere. but at the same time, it's a place of safety.

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The boys and the girls live in separate worlds. The boys in their universe and we in ours.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros the world - it's a world of distinction, separation of genders, and girls can't be recognized in the outside world

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My brothers for example. They've got plenty to say to me and Nenny inside the house. But outside they can't be seen talking to girls. Carlos and Kiki are each other's best friend ... not ours. Nenny is too young to be my friend. She's just my sister and that was not my fault.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros this world of gender segregation is part of the family obligations/expectation it's synonymous with the gender expectations: she is EXPECTED to take care of the younger girl

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Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to. One who will understand my jokes without my having to explain them. Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Esperanza as a red balloon: image as an object of desire, but also something that draws attention to itself; there's an ambivalence about belonging and wanting to be away.

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And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros (talking about her great grandmother) Self-identification of living in two languages and an awareness of gender oppression; incessant framing that is a kind of containment by sitting by the window. The idea that she inherits the position and then just sits there.

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I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the real me, the one nobody sees. Esperanza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X. Yes. Something like Zeze the X will do.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Zeze the X is evocative of Malcom X (the advocate who rejected his slave-name) baptizm evokes ritualized renaming--she doesn't just want to take on a new name but wants to recreate herself.

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And then I don't know why, but I have to turn around and pretend I don't care about the box so Nenny won't see how stupid I am. But Nenny, who is stupider, already is asking how much and I can see her fingers going for the quarters in her pants pocket. This, the old man says shutting the lid, this ain't for sale.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Esperanza moving into the world--she's in the community (the junk store--the leftovers of consumer capitalism). the community as a world of failed expectations; it's the site of consumerism and disappointment; expectation and disappointment that they can never have it. The failure of materialism to satisfy their desires.

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Louie's girl cousin is older than us. She lives with Louie's family because her own family is in Puerto Rico. Her name is Marin or Maris or something like that, and she wears dark nylons all the time and lots of makeup she gets free from selling A von. She can't come out-gotta baby-sit with Louie's sisters-but she stands in the doorway a lot, all the time singing, clicking her fingers, the same song: Apples, peaches, pumpkin pah-ay. You're in love and so am ah-ay.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Dislocation of identity; but she occupies these prescribed gender roles; she has to take care of the family in this world where gender roles are being reinforced.

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Marin screamed and we ran down the block to where the cop car's siren spun a dizzy blue. The nose of that yellow Cadillac was all pleated like an alligator's, and except for a bloody lip and a bruised forehead, Louie's cousin was okay. They put handcuffs on him and put him in the backseat of the cop car, and we all waved as they drove away.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros Louie represents a free figure; he's doing what he wants to because he's a male character. BUT his gender freedom doesn't ensure a societal freedom; So, even though we're looking at gender oppression, there are broader social forces that restrict freedom.

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Those who don't know any better come into our neighborhood scared. They think we're dangerous. They think we will attack them with shiny knives. They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake.

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The House on Mango Street "Those Who Don't" by Sandra Cisneros there's an awareness of isolation

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But we aren't afraid. We know the guy with the crooked eye is Davey the Baby's brother, and the tall one next to him in the straw brim, that's Rosa's Eddie V., and the big one that looks like a dumb grown man, he's Fat Boy, though he's not fat anymore nor a boy.

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The House on Mango Street "Those Who Don't" by Sandra Cisneros familiarity of them is a marker of alienation from anybody outside The power of the narrator is to emplot individuals within the community; she knows the nature of the community

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All brown all around, we are safe. But watch us drive into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and our eyes look straight. Yeah. That is how it goes and goes.

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The House on Mango Street "Those Who Don't" by Sandra Cisneros Community embodies alienation of other; what one thinks of community can well be alienating to others

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But after a while you get tired of being worried about kids who aren't even yours. One day they are playing chicken on Mr. Benny's roof. Mr. Benny says, Hey ain't you kids know better than to be swinging up there? Come down, you come down right now, and then they just spit. See. That's what I mean. No wonder everybody gave up. Just stopped looking out when little Efren chipped his buck tooth on a parking meter and didn't even stop Refugia from getting her head stuck between two slats in the back gate and nobody looked up not once the day Angel Vargas learned to fly and dropped from the sky like a sugar donut, just like a falling star, and exploded down to earth without even an "Oh."

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The House on Mango Street "There was an Old Woman" by Sandra Cisneros this story is about the failure of community--why they fail to take care of each other. One of the reasons the community fails is because people feel exhausted of having to take care of each other; there's too much that needs to be done. Donut and falling star: diametrically opposed--"Oh" ending with a sound of emptiness/hollowness--notion of neglect and resignation--part of the fabric of societ.

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You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Here there is too much sadness and not enough sky. Butterflies too are few and so are flowers and most things that are beautiful. Still, we take what we can get and make the best of it. Darius, who doesn't like school, who is sometimes stupid and mostly a fool, said something wise today, though most days he says nothing. Darius, who chases girls with firecrackers or a stick that touched a rat and thinks he's tough, today pointed up because the world was full of clouds, the kind like pillows. You all see that cloud, that fat one there? Darius said, See that? Where? That one next to the one that look like popcorn. That one there. See that. That's God, Darius said. God? somebody little asked. God, he said, and made it simple.

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The House on Mango Street "Darius and the Clouds" by Sandra Cisneros The sky is a place that can help you when you're sad; living beyond--transcendence; internal rhyme and rhythm of childlike story--phallic - even this foolish character can see the holiness of the world; he has the capability of seeing the holiness in the quotidian - even in this world of want, there is still the possibility of imagining beyond.

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It was her own fault too. When I got back, Sally was pretending to be mad...something about the boys having stolen her keys. Please give them back to me, she said, punching the nearest one with a soft fist. They were laughing. She was too. It was a joke I didn't get. I wanted to go back with the other kids who were still jumping on cars, still chasing each other through the garden, but Sally had her own game.

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The House on Mango Street "The Monkey Garden" by Sandra Cisneros it's a game of sexuality - a game of flirtation asymmetrical power relations the boys have control over sally the keys themselves are a phallic symbol

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Those kids, she said, not looking up from her ironing. That's all? What do you want me to do, she said, call the cops? And kept ironing. I looked at her a long time, but couldn't think of anything to say, and ran back the three flights to the garden, where Sally needed to be saved. I took three big sticks and a brick and figured this was enough. But when I got there, Sally said go home. Those boys said, leave us alone. I felt stupid with my brick. They all looked at me as if I was the one that was crazy and made me feel ashamed.

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The House on Mango Street "The Monkey Garden" by Sandra Cisneros Esperanza wants to serve as a savior, but she ends up looking like a fool. This become a moment of dislocation - loss of connection to herself.

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Sally, you lied. It wasn't what you said at all. What he did. Where he touched me. I didn't want it, Sally. The way they said it, the way it's supposed to be, all the storybooks and movies, why did you lie to me?

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The House on Mango Street "Red Clowns" by Sandra Cisneros magazines, media, and culture has lied to her. Here, she loses her innocence and identity

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I was waiting by the red clowns. I was standing by the tilt-a-whirl where you said. And anyway I don't like carnivals. I went to be with you because you laugh on the tilt-a-whirl...I like to be with you, Sally. You're my friend. But that big boy, where did he take you? I waited such a long time. I waited by the red clowns, just like you said, but you never came, you never came for me. Sally Sally a hundred times. Why didn't you hear me when I called? Why didn't you tell then to leave me alone? The one who grabbed me by the arm, he wouldn't let me go. He said I love you, Spanish girl, I love you, and pressed his sour mouth to mine.

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The House on Mango Street "Red Clowns" by Sandra Cisneros Moment of betrayal that becomes a moment of recognizing she doesn't know who she is.

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They must've known, the sisters. They had the power and could sense what was what. They said, Come here, and gave me a stick of gum. They smelled like Kleenex or the inside of a satin handbag, and then I didn't feel afraid. What's your name, the cat-eyed one asked. Esperanza, I said. Esperanza, the old blue-veined one repeated in a high thin voice. Esperanza...a good good name. My knees hurt, the one with the funny laugh complained. Tomorrow it will rain. Yes, tomorrow, they said. How do you know? I asked We know. Look at her hands, cat-eyed said. And they turned them over and over as if they were looking for something. She's special. Yes, she'll go very far.

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The House on Mango Street "The Three Sisters" by Sandra Cisneros evocative of the three faiths The sisters have a kind of knowledge - a mystical faith They articulate a different form and authority: a sense of vision and revision.

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When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget what you know. You can't forget who you are...Then I didn't know what to say. It was as if she could read my mind, as if she knew what I had wished for, and I felt ashamed for having made such a selfish wish

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The House on Mango Street "The Three Sisters" by Sandra Cisneros Sense of having a new kind of vision

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I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much. I write it down and Mango says goodbye sometimes. She doesn't hold me with both arms. She sets me free. One day I will pack my bags of books and paper. One day I will say goodbye to Mango. I am too strong for her to keep me here forever. One day I will go away. Friends and neighbors will sat, What happened to Esperanza? Where did she go with all those books and paper? Why did she march so far away? They will know I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot out.

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The House on Mango Street "Mango Says Goodbye Sometimes" by Sandra Cisneros creates meaning out of her stories - her stories gave her the power to become the writer she has become. Purpose of narration: to make sense of what went on. She forces us, the readers, to become engaged with the sentences/syntax. The reader goes on to create meaning of her stories.

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Darius, who doesn't like school, who is sometimes stupid and mostly a fool, said something wise today, though most days he says nothing. Darius, who chases girls with firecrackers or a stick that touched a rat and thinks he's tough, today pointed up because the world was full of clouds, the kind like pillows.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

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You all see that cloud, that fat one there? Darius said, See that? Where? That one next to the one that look like popcorn. That one there. See that. That's God, Darius said. God? somebody little asked. God, he said, and made it simple.

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The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

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Reggie, Elizabeth, Lisa, Louie ... You can do what you want to do, Nenny, but you better not talk to Lucy or Rachel if you want to be my sister.

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