Today at 18 hours, I happened by a demonstration organized by fellow workers and students on campus. Candles highlighted a large grave site that read "University of California, 1868-2009." White crosses represented moribund services, departments, and institutions: Educational Opportunity Program (EOP), Women's Center, Chican@ Studies, Public Education, Affordable Education, and Accessible Education, among others.
Thirty of us (workers, undergraduate and graduate students, families, and children) gathered with lit candles and reflected on what the University had provided us. Workers shared stories of employment years. One man explained how he had received open-heart surgery with help from health insurance his campus job provided. Students shared personal growth and learning opportunities. I shared how entering the University allowed me the opportunity to study outside the United States, something previously unheard of in my family. I emphasized the importance of such opportunities for students to experience different points of views and expand perspectives, in turn creating more open-minded citizens.
A student facilitated the demonstration in Spanish and English. We passed four tiny bowls around for each person to taste. First, we tasted lemon juice, symbolizing sour experiences. Then, we tasted coffee, or bitter moments, followed by honey, sweet times. Finally, we tasted water--purity.
Following this ritual, we sprinkled the petals of marigolds around the crosses and grave site. The student then sprinkled each of our heads with petals, in order to rid us of the negative energy inherent in the frustration over our dying University.
Later we enjoyed coffee and conchitas, Mexican sweet bread formed in the shape of sea shells. We discussed the transportation to the upcoming University of California Regents meeting at UC Los Angeles on Thursday, November 19. We then walked across campus to view two altars that honored the thousands of women disappeared and murdered in the border city of Juárez, México, as well as more than five thousand people who have died in attempt to cross the México-U.S. border.
Once at home, I set up my own altar to reflect on deaths that have impacted my life. The painting palette belonged to my mother's dad, the grandpa I never met who passed on his artistic talents to me. The Things They Carried book by Tim O'Brian served as the best commemoration currently available to honor my grandpa Gus Elwell, a Navy officer. The full moon provided dramatic lighting for reflection.
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