Russell Contreras |
- Wislawa Szymborska
winner of the 1996 Nobel Prize in literature
In writing my last column as an undergraduate at the University of Houston, I have already done five rewrites in order to make sure I say what I want to just right. This journey began January 1994, when I was given the grand opportunity to start writing columns in this spot. The first column I felt very strongly and passionately about - but in many ways, it was pure nothingness.
My girlfriend at the time expressed uncertainties, arguing that this growing dedication to column writing might "take away time from our relationship" and I should reconsider this "silly idea."
I almost did during a battle with writer's block one evening. But the next semester, I wrote again, my ex-girlfriend flunked out, I lost 30 pounds, and three and a half years and eight editors later, here I am.
Nothing stopped me. Not the "you're a racist" or "you're a sellout" claims, nor the racist phone calls to my home.
If one were to look back at my earlier pieces, one would find a sharp shooting, angry, all-out progressive Chicano with a cholo-style attitude, leaving no one spared to criticism. I dogged white racists, the cops, religious nationalists, Republicans, militia members, colorless UH departments, sexists, sellouts and the like.
But my style changed. I evolved from a straightforward shockist to a writer attempting to use satire to convey points.
However, I would never gotten to this point had it not been for a number of people who have constantly supported me.
The immutable words of encouragement through e-mail, my answering machine and in the elevators on campus made my undergraduate career much more memorable. I could have been having the worst of days, but then I would have those moments when you stopped me and told me you liked a certain piece, grabbed my hand and told me to give 'em hell. This encouragement made me get up every morning.
I must also thank a group of women known as the Latina Coalition, who were not only very influential to me, but are brilliant, intelligent and helpful in showing me the world through the eyes of a Latina. Their friendly courses in feminism helped me realize oppressive struggles are not limited to race.
Of course, I cannot forget my family. As Gloria Anzaldua and Cherrie Morraga wrote in A Bridge Called My Back, "The Revolution begins at home." My mother and father allowed me to grow up in an environment where I could not only eat and live comfortably, but where I could think; where I could understand; where I become politically conscious; and where I could love. Then they gave me a little brother during my freshman year. I can never repay them for this.
I also have to thank my culture. It is such a pleasure to be a part of - not because we have great foods and beautiful mestiza people, but because our familia persona offers humanity hope (something it is in dire need of).
Hope is evident in Sandra Cisneros' House on Mango Street, in which her character is named Esperanza, and in our songs. Deportations, death, welfare deform, racism and demographic genocide have not killed us yet and never will. You are the source of my politics and humor. Te quiro mucho por mi vida.
Then there was you. Yes, you. As I wrote this column in solitude and you read it in solitude, we have pissed each other off, threatening boycotts and fights, only to end up at the same spot the next week. Thank you friend.
So, to all the Latino student groups ranging from the Hispanic Student association to Mexican American engineers and scientists; Dr. Tatcho Mindiola; Dr. Maria Gonzalez; Dr. Russell Curtis; James Anderson; Center for Mexican-American studies; African-American studies; the Latina janitors at the Law Library; the eight Daily Cougar editors; the squirrels; Lorenzo Cano; my friends Claudia, Jennifer, Marcela, John, Marlon, Steve, Laura and Regina; and to the woman I met one rainy evening who kindly drove me to my car in a distant parking lot (and told me a column I wrote was the first thing to make her laugh two weeks after her mother passed away), I thank you.
I sign off my last undergrad piece on this special day, 135 years after a poorly armed Mexican garrison defeated a royal French army at Puebla, 23 years after I was baptized and 12 days before I graduate.
But guess what? I have two more years until I finish my master's degree in history at UH.
Contreras is a senior history and English major.