A journal of transformation
06/16/20
By Stephanie Manriquez
Stephanie Manríquez as remote teacher, a notebook portrait by Marina Resende Santos. Stephanie is teaching the first cohort of the Communities Amplified radio production workshop via videoconference this summer.
“All that you touch You Change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth is Change. God is Change.”
― Octavia E. Butler
Uncertainty may lead to a transformative process. It starts with a reevaluation of yourself according to your current circumstances, and leads to adaptation; it will take time, but change will happen, as long as you are willing to accept it. Uncertainty led me to record some random thoughts, those first reactions towards the pandemic that fell over humanity. Rereading those thoughts from 12 weeks ago, I found affliction, hardship, despair, but looking deep into those words I also found a rooted desire to transform.
“We are not going to be the same people as we were when we went into quarantine”, I tried to repeat that phrase over and over, believing in change, and readjusting into the mindset that this was the time we needed to rest, to recharge, to allow ourselves to feel more, to empathize more, to direct our attention to what really matters; us, our health, our well-being. I failed at it many times.
Quarantine was an intensive detox and discomfort for all, to unlearn. How many times did you scream, cry, hide under your blankets? How many times did you call your friends and family for comfort, for a connection, for a smile? How much did you hate looking at yourself in a video call, and why? Or how many times did you force yourself to think outside the box trying to continue working, studying, creating? How many times did you dare to do something that you had never done before?
I had never kept a journal. But it was the perfect moment to do so. I didn’t do it alone, we did it as a community, as a group, as a whole, in representation of each individual's moments, pains, self-reflections, ideas, memories. In a vulnerable time, we practiced letting go of of our futures; we stopped in the present to think alternatives; we told our stories, we built our stories; we remarked the deficiencies of the system, the inadequacy of resources and the lack of empathy of institutionalism, we called out for change and even for taking out and replacing the whole engine. Those were our Tuesdays during quarantine, a collective effort to uplift ourselves, to slap our reality together, as POC teaching artists, creators, freelancers, youth, queer, undocumented people or DACA recepientes, immigrant and low-income communities, and beyond.
Chapter 1
Remember the beginning of spring; the democratic primary elections 2020, shocking as they were, crashed against this health crisis that took a toll on our communities. The pandemic disproportionately impacted Black and Latinx migrant communities from Chicago’s South and West sides. This crisis, piled on top of all struggles and injustices that low-income communities face everyday, including foreclosures, skyrocketing unemployment, scarce health services, and lacking access to public transportation.
A discouraging landscape is portrayed by two young writers and residents of Little Village, Melissa Regalado & Giovanni Macias, showing the reality of their neighborhood: Tales of Una Villita Perfecta, at a time when a lot of their parents were still going to work. The young authors throw questions such as: Are we ignoring the facts? Are we trying to live in normality without a pea size of precaution? Or are we just passing through fear because we don’t have the support and the safety measures available? In our community, there’s no choice other than going to work. You either work or you can’t afford rent and food.
As undocumented we worry about our financial situation—we are not able to receive financial aid and definitely do not get a stimulus check. We are strong and resilient, but the toll this takes on our mental health, and the trauma we carry with us, is often left unspoken. To finally express this to the public, Brian Herrera, an artist specializing in design and illustration, made a mental health graphic design campaign called Juntos Sanaremos / Together We Will Heal.
Meanwhile, a multidisciplinary artist, educator and DACA recipient, Joseph Josue Mora, brought attention to the effects of the pandemic and the economic depression against undocumented people and immigrant communities. Through Undocumented Projects and his voting wristbands, he gives disenfranchised people who do not have the privilege to vote a chance to say: if I could vote, I would; with his Reassuring Dispositions drawing series, Joseph focused on the process of gaining resilience and overcoming these times of uncertainty.
Chapter 2
Remember the Route of Silence and emptiness, the devastation of a silent night. What happened there? Are you nostalgic for a life you used to live? But is that life we all used to live what got us to this virus? Can I control my thoughts for the better? Is destruction the only way to open a path for a revolution? Do I need conjured abundance?
Shhhhhhicago was captured on a desolate night by Carolina Sánchez, a freelance photographer engaged with Chicago’s Latino music community. She captured the impact and effects of COVID-19 in the city’s live entertainment world. Carolina knows that she is not the only one suffering the economic consequences at this time, so many more people are—and what some may not realize is that there’s a large industry that matters, waiting patiently to be reconnected with humanity, to be heard, to be appreciated.
But what day was it when the nightlife lost her jobs? Governor Pritzker had issued an order that all bars and restaurants be closed for dine in purposes. While Betty Heredia, who works in the industry, was upset, she was also relieved. It was St. Patrick’s weekend. She asked herself: Now what can I do? I can start with my own revolution. How will that look? What does that involve? I can begin by questioning my conditioning. I can begin with confronting myself, even the part of me that is a beast at the trough. This amazing multimedia artist envisioned an imagined museum, created her own history, made impractical masks and centered herself in gratitude.
In the long days of quarantine, Be Thinking About Nothing was probably an escape. That's how Todd Diederich, a digital and light artist, found himself in a dreamy montage, where a train of consciousness was combined with footage made from a pre-quarantined Chicago with its spirit in full bloom. It’s a feedback loop of remembering and forgetting and remembering to forget. Past, Present, and Future. Somewhere it all meets at a single point that is hollow on the inside holding everything and nothing.
Other times, we needed to be there to celebrate and honor our existence, communal care, and beauty. Art educator Sarita Hernandez, after being tossed aside as a “nonessential” museum worker, reminded herself that she had so much to offer, an overflowing heart and an abundance of printmaker, zinemaker, and piemaker skills. She started to sell queer vegan pies more intentionally during queerantine to be able to make rent. “It has offered me so much healing in return. Everything is so absolutely uncertain all the time. The only certain thing is how temporary everything always is."
Chapter 3
Remember we are still in 2020! And it has by no means been the year anyone could have ever expected.
As they continue to be as committed to sharing their love for vintage Latin sounds as when they started 10 years ago, the Sonorama crew embraced the music community. Armed with a weekly radio show, their focus shifted from strictly playing vinyl records on air to shining a spotlight on the musicians and DJs that were directly affected by this pandemic, not only on the radio, but also on their YouTube platform. Conversations were filled with laughter, doubt for what's to come, exploration in the form of daily practice and musical experimentation. Ultimately, this work helped connect the musicians with their fans while staying up to date with what is coming from future releases and other side projects. The B side of the pandemic.
David Chávez, a music ambassador, reflected that one thing was for certain: when the shit hit the fan, we, as a creative class of 2020 were not ready. It’s not that we just didn’t think about our future. It’s that we were busy hustling, at times for peanuts, most of us living gig to gig or check to check, trying to make ends meet. At a time like this, we identify our community, the people who we share a struggle with, and the questions of how the doors open for us; we think through how we can move towards economic justice and environmental justice, and how we can protect ourselves from the innate corruption of a capitalist system that values profits over people. This is the time when we fight for each other, as a creative class, for the benefit of everyone.
The youth, the new visionaries, including Gloria ‘Nine’ Valle, have reminded us that now the focus is on them. The attention is on destroying the lines of generational trauma to create a new future and dismantling the power of authoritarian bodies. For a moment, people were exercising their feelings toward their oppressors, and challenging those in power with control over the people. Anger and destruction catch attention; they make noise and it commands by force, redirect authority, release restlessness, and much more. Simultaneously, the destruction triggered manifold intensities in many. Resentment cultivated thoughts of “enough is enough” and temptation to partake in these invalidations of a broken system. Still, a part of me knew that chaos wasn’t what I had hoped to occur. Nevertheless, it’s today’s reality.
Change is not coming, change is here, said a wiseman, el maestro William Estrada, as he talks about acceptance and learning from this time. We cannot attempt to heal our wounds without first acknowledging that they exist, without first acknowledging what created them. And the problems we face can’t be dealt with through reform, thoughts and prayers, or white papers. They need action. We can’t continuously create the same systems and structures that got us into this in the first place. We must radically reimagine what we want our lives to look like.
Sometimes writing and accepting is painful, but it is a process. Some of the community members I worked with on Quarantine Times healed, and some started their healing journey, and we did it together. It was beautiful. We connected, we reflected, we reimagined and reevaluated, we hoped. I hope we did. I want to believe that we are not the same people as before the quarantine, and that we will never be. We woke up in the present and the present is change.
Now, what’s next? What's life after quarantine times? I want to leave my quarantine behind as a more aware individual, an individual that accepted her past, present, and embraced her transformation process, a new role, a new challenge, meaning that it does not end here, because this is just the beginning.
Stephanie Manríquez is the Quarantine Times Tuesday editor, a storyteller, builder, caregiver, guide, visionary, and weaver.