A novelist among marchers - By N.L. Belardes
Chingpea and I drove down Oak Street in Bakersfield, California. I wore a white T-shirt, jeans, had just grabbed my straw cowboy hat, then headed toward Beach Park for the May 1st ‘Day of Action’ rally. We waited during a stoplight at California and Oak. I could see the road ahead curve over railyards. Just a few blocks further north lay a massive protest, possibly the largest in the history of Bakersfield.
I was dropped off at an alley at 18th Street near Jake’s Tex Mex Grill. From there I walked past people heading off to lunch from the rally. I wondered if most of the people had left the park. What if the park was empty? I was supposed to give a poem. Would anybody be there to listen? I had just read on the local paper’s website to stay away from the Beach Park area, as roads had been blocked and there was a heavy dose of traffic congestion. Now why would the local paper try to divert traffic from the protest? A subtle message perhaps?
I passed several roadblocks and police cruisers, saw past car lots and the Kern County Board of Trade. The park was filled with thousands.
The El Salvadorian flag... Carrying flags for cultural pride.
The majority of protesters filled the middle of the park along a lengthy strip of trees where picnic tables made for resting areas in the shade. Most of the people stood, many of whom were draped in flags, carried flags of many sizes, or signs. I wondered how much love and preparation must have gone into such sign-making. Some protesters crowded the front of a makeshift stage area while lines of people also hovered under shade trees along the Oak Street side of the park. More people gathered behind the stage, along a fence bordering a baseball field where grounds were perfectly raked, while others watched their kids play on toys in the sand-covered playground.
Alex Nunez shows off his grandfather's book of poems.
I walked around the park to experience the crowd, the park, to get a feel for different perspectives of the stage and people. Then I phoned longtime friend, Bo Caballero. He had helped Dr. Gonzalo Santos and others organize portions of the event. He and I also volunteered to read poetry to the crowd. He answered his phone and told me he and Dr, Santos were under a shade tree just east of the stage. I saw him while we still spoke on the phone. He waved. I walked up and greeted a small group of people. Dr. Santos was there in a white shirt, jeans and straw hat with a white cloth tied around it. Bo wore a similar shirt, but with a pen noticeably protruding from his pocket: the tool of many a poet. A lady stood next to Bo who I don’t know, and then next to Dr. Santos stood Dr. Michael Ault, also from CSU Bakersfield.
Gonzalo greeted us. He was ready for us to fire up the crowd through poetry. Right away I handed everyone in the small group my poem. I wanted some feedback. I had just written the poem and wanted thoughts on “Interrogation Immigration” from folks who didn’t take the opposite views as my own. Gonzalo said, “This is a powerful poem. It will affect people." I then gave Gonzalo and Dr. Ault copies of Lords: Part One which they asked if I would sign. It’s a book meant to raise social consciousness about the ills of media and political corruption. It was a fitting day to pass such words along.
Right away Gonzalo took Bo and I to the stage area. The stage was small, with just enough room to fit a band and a few speakers. Bo said, “You might have to hold the microphone for me.” He was nervous. So was I. But we didn’t have time to think about bowing out. We each prepared to speak and to give specific poems for the event. No way out of it.
Bo Caballero reads to the crowd
N.L. Belardes gives an interactive non-poem
Bo spoke eloquently, softly (Stay tuned for Buck City where you can hear Bo speak his entire poem). I handed my camera to a UFW representative then turned up my own volume for “Immigration Interrogation”. My non-poem was loud, interactive and the crowd responded by chanting along with their parts. I heard a few boos in the thousands. But counter-protesters are always expected.
Dr. Gonzalo Santos reads notes with a copy of Lords: Part One
Afterwards a few people came up to me and I handed out copies of my poem. I interviewed Gonzalo and Bo under a shade tree where at the end, Gonzalo promised that his wife Oralia would bring Tortas. I also met Pablo Rodriguez, director of the Dolores Huerta Research Institute. I watched him in an interview on local television that morning and told him he gave a good interview. We spoke for a while about how he was ‘red baited’ by opposition during the interview. We had a nice conversation where he argued immigration rights from the 'Right'.
During the late afternoon Likhy2 performed. I called drummer Rafa by the wrong name of George which I think is their percussionist’s name. Their band went onstage and performed until their bass went out, burned up. Sal in his brown beret stood on top of the stage holding an immigration rights banner while the band performed. I asked Sal a bit about his brown beret movement and he said a local chapter was beginning who would perform charity work. LIKHYD2 eventually fired their music back up…
Sal holds banner while Likhy2 performs
Eventually I got my Torta and quietly ate it while Dr. Santos sat and spoke with a family about political topics. I could tell the family looked up to him as an educated leader for human rights. He spoke in Spanish as I munched on my sandwich and bread and wondered about the daily lives of so many families in the park.
UFW workers hung out around the stage area while a mariachi band performed. Later, Mento Buru also got on stage. Dr. Santos seemed to really like the local Spanish Rock and ska king band and made mention as I snapped a photo of him with a protester. I thought the music was important to help rally people together.
Drummer Cesareo Garasa's family immigrated from Chiapas. Listen to his interview from the day along with Lydia Gonzales of Mas Magazine in an upcoming episode of Buck City.
The Ska King blows a whistle and performs!
That night Dr. Santos led a march from the park onto the Kern Recreational Bike Path. I wasn’t expecting the protesters to snake their way per my poem, but here we went again, this time to Yokuts Park and Bill Thomas’ office.
The march organizes to leave Beach Park
I ran to the front of the march and began taking photos. I could hear Gonzalo talking to the UFW president Arturo Rodriguez about who I was. I eventually interviewed both for an upcoming podcast. I then marched some as a protester myself, standing at the front just behind the main flag, with handshakes and hugs for the understanding between brethren that such moments are both historic and necessary.
At the local skate park some kids stopped to watch the procession. Others continued to leap their bikes in cool 360s. I wasn't sure how slippery it would be to get down into the bike pit. "How do you get down this thing?" I said out of breath. One kid said, "You walk," as if I was stupid in his comfortable land of trick bikes and trick moves. I listened. I walked. It was easy!
The crowd moved more quickly than past marches. This protest seemed the most deliberate thus far, with leaders and followers determined to reach their goal and make a statement to the people taking part, and to others who might learn of the event. “Sí Se Puede” they yelled among other protest slogans.
Leading the march...
Just before entering the tunnel below Highway 99
In the tunnel along the Kern River
Shadows of marchers...
The march soon made its way beneath Highway 99. Echoes of voices were an awesome cacophony of chants. The movement of so many people in such tight quarters made it hard for me to stop and take photos. I tried to take a photo of a flag gleaming past river reflected light and tunnel shadows. Along Yokuts park the crowd moved. A little girl was pulled in a wagon at the front of the pack making for a delightful moment of innocence as the wagon crawled along, and media people in front of that.
The march passes through Yokuts Park
And then there came moments of disorganization.
Chaos broke loose as the crowd rounded a corner to the offices of Bill Thomas. The marchers, meaning to turn into a complex of offices and snake back to Beach Park found itself in a dead end. Rally-goers circled a plaza, chanted, and sang, while behind the plaza the tail of the snake continued along the bike path to the plaza. The only way back to the path through the plaza was a steep dirt trail. The marchers were bottlenecked.
In the courtyard at Bill Thomas Headquarters
Bottlenecked... The marchers declined marching up this hill
For a while I stood on a rock behind the American flag being held up. While some protesters chanted, one lady tried getting the crowd to sing. The song failed as chanting overran her voice. I stood and talked to Dr. Santos. We both wondered if the crowd would get confused, impatient. Yet the marchers were patient, cordial. Soon the crowd realized it was stuck and so while people still filed into the plaza, another group formed and began the march back to Beach Park. This was the most chaotic moment of the day, but the confusion seemed ‘meant to be’ as it the march being detained led to a beautiful candlelit vigil and march along the Kern River as the sun fell.
A new group leads the march out of the courtyard
The marchers moved even quicker this time. I saw another professor I hadn’t seen earlier in the front of the march. I took an ethics class with him once. He wore a hat and seemed pleased to be contributing to the movement.
In a colorful dusk they returned, some lighting candles as they re-entered Beach Park. From a distance they looked like fireflies settling into the park, as if descended from trees as they filed down a small hill. Slowly the night darkened, and slowly more and more candles were lit as some in the crowd made their way home or to listened to more speakers talk about unification and immigration rights under the dusty haze cast by bright soccer field lights.
Finally I left the park. I walked and saw a few people on a nearby corner, standing and waving two small flags there in the darkness. For some people, their thoughts of illegal immigration are darker than that night walking along Oak Street. They’re filled with thoughts of hatred against criminals—and there is nothing wrong with hating criminals. I recently wrote in a comment to a blogger who couldn’t logically separate the word criminal from ‘illegal immigrant’, “…you would not call people criminals unless they were criminals, or unless they were convicted of being a criminal. If all illegal immigrants were criminals, why would anyone employ them at all? Who wants to employ people you can't trust? Do you think the majority of people who come to America don't want to work and don't want to be trusted? Is that why people come to America? Because it's a land of criminals and no trust? Most people want to work and to be trusted. Criminals don't work on trust.”
I saw again the curve of the Oak Street overpass and watched people file quietly away, while chanting from the brightness of Beach Park still reached my ears.
(read more about the Bakersfield protests)
I was dropped off at an alley at 18th Street near Jake’s Tex Mex Grill. From there I walked past people heading off to lunch from the rally. I wondered if most of the people had left the park. What if the park was empty? I was supposed to give a poem. Would anybody be there to listen? I had just read on the local paper’s website to stay away from the Beach Park area, as roads had been blocked and there was a heavy dose of traffic congestion. Now why would the local paper try to divert traffic from the protest? A subtle message perhaps?
I passed several roadblocks and police cruisers, saw past car lots and the Kern County Board of Trade. The park was filled with thousands.
The El Salvadorian flag... Carrying flags for cultural pride.
The majority of protesters filled the middle of the park along a lengthy strip of trees where picnic tables made for resting areas in the shade. Most of the people stood, many of whom were draped in flags, carried flags of many sizes, or signs. I wondered how much love and preparation must have gone into such sign-making. Some protesters crowded the front of a makeshift stage area while lines of people also hovered under shade trees along the Oak Street side of the park. More people gathered behind the stage, along a fence bordering a baseball field where grounds were perfectly raked, while others watched their kids play on toys in the sand-covered playground.
Alex Nunez shows off his grandfather's book of poems.
I walked around the park to experience the crowd, the park, to get a feel for different perspectives of the stage and people. Then I phoned longtime friend, Bo Caballero. He had helped Dr. Gonzalo Santos and others organize portions of the event. He and I also volunteered to read poetry to the crowd. He answered his phone and told me he and Dr, Santos were under a shade tree just east of the stage. I saw him while we still spoke on the phone. He waved. I walked up and greeted a small group of people. Dr. Santos was there in a white shirt, jeans and straw hat with a white cloth tied around it. Bo wore a similar shirt, but with a pen noticeably protruding from his pocket: the tool of many a poet. A lady stood next to Bo who I don’t know, and then next to Dr. Santos stood Dr. Michael Ault, also from CSU Bakersfield.
Gonzalo greeted us. He was ready for us to fire up the crowd through poetry. Right away I handed everyone in the small group my poem. I wanted some feedback. I had just written the poem and wanted thoughts on “Interrogation Immigration” from folks who didn’t take the opposite views as my own. Gonzalo said, “This is a powerful poem. It will affect people." I then gave Gonzalo and Dr. Ault copies of Lords: Part One which they asked if I would sign. It’s a book meant to raise social consciousness about the ills of media and political corruption. It was a fitting day to pass such words along.
Right away Gonzalo took Bo and I to the stage area. The stage was small, with just enough room to fit a band and a few speakers. Bo said, “You might have to hold the microphone for me.” He was nervous. So was I. But we didn’t have time to think about bowing out. We each prepared to speak and to give specific poems for the event. No way out of it.
Bo Caballero reads to the crowd
N.L. Belardes gives an interactive non-poem
Bo spoke eloquently, softly (Stay tuned for Buck City where you can hear Bo speak his entire poem). I handed my camera to a UFW representative then turned up my own volume for “Immigration Interrogation”. My non-poem was loud, interactive and the crowd responded by chanting along with their parts. I heard a few boos in the thousands. But counter-protesters are always expected.
Dr. Gonzalo Santos reads notes with a copy of Lords: Part One
Afterwards a few people came up to me and I handed out copies of my poem. I interviewed Gonzalo and Bo under a shade tree where at the end, Gonzalo promised that his wife Oralia would bring Tortas. I also met Pablo Rodriguez, director of the Dolores Huerta Research Institute. I watched him in an interview on local television that morning and told him he gave a good interview. We spoke for a while about how he was ‘red baited’ by opposition during the interview. We had a nice conversation where he argued immigration rights from the 'Right'.
During the late afternoon Likhy2 performed. I called drummer Rafa by the wrong name of George which I think is their percussionist’s name. Their band went onstage and performed until their bass went out, burned up. Sal in his brown beret stood on top of the stage holding an immigration rights banner while the band performed. I asked Sal a bit about his brown beret movement and he said a local chapter was beginning who would perform charity work. LIKHYD2 eventually fired their music back up…
Sal holds banner while Likhy2 performs
Eventually I got my Torta and quietly ate it while Dr. Santos sat and spoke with a family about political topics. I could tell the family looked up to him as an educated leader for human rights. He spoke in Spanish as I munched on my sandwich and bread and wondered about the daily lives of so many families in the park.
UFW workers hung out around the stage area while a mariachi band performed. Later, Mento Buru also got on stage. Dr. Santos seemed to really like the local Spanish Rock and ska king band and made mention as I snapped a photo of him with a protester. I thought the music was important to help rally people together.
Drummer Cesareo Garasa's family immigrated from Chiapas. Listen to his interview from the day along with Lydia Gonzales of Mas Magazine in an upcoming episode of Buck City.
The Ska King blows a whistle and performs!
That night Dr. Santos led a march from the park onto the Kern Recreational Bike Path. I wasn’t expecting the protesters to snake their way per my poem, but here we went again, this time to Yokuts Park and Bill Thomas’ office.
The march organizes to leave Beach Park
I ran to the front of the march and began taking photos. I could hear Gonzalo talking to the UFW president Arturo Rodriguez about who I was. I eventually interviewed both for an upcoming podcast. I then marched some as a protester myself, standing at the front just behind the main flag, with handshakes and hugs for the understanding between brethren that such moments are both historic and necessary.
At the local skate park some kids stopped to watch the procession. Others continued to leap their bikes in cool 360s. I wasn't sure how slippery it would be to get down into the bike pit. "How do you get down this thing?" I said out of breath. One kid said, "You walk," as if I was stupid in his comfortable land of trick bikes and trick moves. I listened. I walked. It was easy!
The crowd moved more quickly than past marches. This protest seemed the most deliberate thus far, with leaders and followers determined to reach their goal and make a statement to the people taking part, and to others who might learn of the event. “Sí Se Puede” they yelled among other protest slogans.
Leading the march...
Just before entering the tunnel below Highway 99
In the tunnel along the Kern River
Shadows of marchers...
The march soon made its way beneath Highway 99. Echoes of voices were an awesome cacophony of chants. The movement of so many people in such tight quarters made it hard for me to stop and take photos. I tried to take a photo of a flag gleaming past river reflected light and tunnel shadows. Along Yokuts park the crowd moved. A little girl was pulled in a wagon at the front of the pack making for a delightful moment of innocence as the wagon crawled along, and media people in front of that.
The march passes through Yokuts Park
And then there came moments of disorganization.
Chaos broke loose as the crowd rounded a corner to the offices of Bill Thomas. The marchers, meaning to turn into a complex of offices and snake back to Beach Park found itself in a dead end. Rally-goers circled a plaza, chanted, and sang, while behind the plaza the tail of the snake continued along the bike path to the plaza. The only way back to the path through the plaza was a steep dirt trail. The marchers were bottlenecked.
In the courtyard at Bill Thomas Headquarters
Bottlenecked... The marchers declined marching up this hill
For a while I stood on a rock behind the American flag being held up. While some protesters chanted, one lady tried getting the crowd to sing. The song failed as chanting overran her voice. I stood and talked to Dr. Santos. We both wondered if the crowd would get confused, impatient. Yet the marchers were patient, cordial. Soon the crowd realized it was stuck and so while people still filed into the plaza, another group formed and began the march back to Beach Park. This was the most chaotic moment of the day, but the confusion seemed ‘meant to be’ as it the march being detained led to a beautiful candlelit vigil and march along the Kern River as the sun fell.
A new group leads the march out of the courtyard
The marchers moved even quicker this time. I saw another professor I hadn’t seen earlier in the front of the march. I took an ethics class with him once. He wore a hat and seemed pleased to be contributing to the movement.
In a colorful dusk they returned, some lighting candles as they re-entered Beach Park. From a distance they looked like fireflies settling into the park, as if descended from trees as they filed down a small hill. Slowly the night darkened, and slowly more and more candles were lit as some in the crowd made their way home or to listened to more speakers talk about unification and immigration rights under the dusty haze cast by bright soccer field lights.
Finally I left the park. I walked and saw a few people on a nearby corner, standing and waving two small flags there in the darkness. For some people, their thoughts of illegal immigration are darker than that night walking along Oak Street. They’re filled with thoughts of hatred against criminals—and there is nothing wrong with hating criminals. I recently wrote in a comment to a blogger who couldn’t logically separate the word criminal from ‘illegal immigrant’, “…you would not call people criminals unless they were criminals, or unless they were convicted of being a criminal. If all illegal immigrants were criminals, why would anyone employ them at all? Who wants to employ people you can't trust? Do you think the majority of people who come to America don't want to work and don't want to be trusted? Is that why people come to America? Because it's a land of criminals and no trust? Most people want to work and to be trusted. Criminals don't work on trust.”
I saw again the curve of the Oak Street overpass and watched people file quietly away, while chanting from the brightness of Beach Park still reached my ears.
(read more about the Bakersfield protests)
This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on
Thursday, May 04, 2006.
You can leave your response.
Beautiful write Nick :) Sorry my back kept me from participating.
Great stuff as usual, my fellow Chicano! - Matt
My mom was from Chiapas, Mexico and my father was from Zaragoza, Spain. I had to make sure both sides of my heritage were represented.
Gracias, Nick, for writing your powerful poem for the occassion - for rising your poetic voice for and with the people for so long voiceless, invisible, yet here. You know, the greatest moral leader of Latin America since Ché was Archbishop Oscar Romero... and they called him, after he was martyred for speaking up for his Salvadorean people, the voice of the voiceless... I think poetas del corazón like you and Bonifacio, and musicians like Matt Muñoz's Mento Buru and the brothers of Likhy2 added that special quality to that wonderful day of immigrant self assertion: full lyric, rhythmic expression!
I'm enjoying reading your unique chronicle of the day and watching the special pictures you captured. You honor me greatly with your kind words and pictures of me. In the meantime, my wife Oralia keeps saying to me me encanta la novela de Nick -- you see, she always goes first in all truly important matters of the heart... so I'm patiently waiting my turn. But already both of us treasure your dedicated novel.
Thanks for being our writer friend & comrade-in-arms! Carry on your appointed rounds in the blogosphere and the page and the camera on behalf of the people of the color of the earth.
Another world is not only possible, another world is being born.
Gonzalo Santos
INSPIRING! You have a special gift with words and photography. No te eches para atras. Mis respectos por todo tu trabajo.
SAL "JOAQUIN MURRIETA"
Bakersfield 'Brown Beret' Chapter
This is great work!!! Every itme i see images and words that talk about the movemnet and our people, I feel proud of who i am and where i come from... Thank you so much for your work and your words...
they are beautiful
Tanya X. L.
Thank you all for such kind remarks. I wonder what the next day of unification will hold for us.
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