Tales of una villita “perfecta”

04/21/20

by Giovanni Macias Valadez and Melissa Regalado

The COVID-19 pandemic has put many people out of work, affected education, increased health scares, and sold out hygiene supplies, exposing the ineffectiveness of the system and the oblivion of the people under unfamiliar circumstances. The stay-at-home ordinance has been built to protect us from the unknown, but at the same time has shaken the social pyramid. As always, the resilience of the Latinx people of our communities has stayed intact, who continue working in factories and service industries, or as some of our nearby grocery stores, corner panaderías, tortillerías, and taquerías remain open in Little Village.

Nevertheless, sadly, there’s still some small businesses in this neighborhood that had to close because they were considered “unessential,” like Silvia’s beauty shop and other salons and barber shops, as well as many clothing and quinceañera stores, ice cream parlors, our beloved Azúcar and Los Mangos, and the majority of the Mexican restaurants, not to speak of our street vendors, eloteros, and tamaleras.

Members of the La Villita community rely on each other. Commerce is bought and sold from the same places as an expression of unity. Our little “Mexico of the Midwest” is like a tight knit spider web where we stand in solidarity, but have the possibility to break if we stand alone.

Little Village is a remarkable community of hardworking people who live or work there, from our ambitious mothers and fathers to students who never give up on a neighborhood that suffers from all types of injustices and inequality. Moments like these, when we see the world change before our eyes, can take a heavy toll on us.

1. Superheroes

Everytime I think about the phrase “not all superheros wear capes,” I think of my Latinx community; my family. My father is a factory worker in the tortilla industry in the southwest side of the city; my older brother works at a McDonald's four days a week; and I work at a coffee shop on weekends, while I now take my classes online. My mom has the most important job of all of us; she is in charge of our home, takes care of my two younger siblings, and keeps the family together—without her, we wouldn’t be as close of a family as we are today.

Being from Little Village doesn’t limit us from providing for our families, but we have to go beyond. My name is Giovanni Macias Valadez, I’m 19 years old, chicano, and a college student at Columbia College Chicago.

During this pandemic, the people in my community can’t take any breaks, they need to go out, risking their lives, and try to to make enough money at a minimum wage job and under shorter hours in order to afford rent, utilities, other essential expenses, and then scrape enough money to have food on their plate. While some people are able to receive financial help benefits or a stimulus check, a lot of immigrant families in my community can’t.

My father wakes up for work at 5:30 am everyday except Sundays. He picks two of his co-workers on his way to the tortillería so they all arrive at 7:00 am. Social distancing isn’t what comes to my father’s mind when picking up those two newly arrived colleagues, but rather getting them on time for work so they can earn their livelihood and a roof over their heads.

In my case, in spite of the fact that my father, brother, and I together are the support of the household, we are thankful that we still have a chance to work, even though our working conditions are still not ideal. We are exposed by having direct contact with customers and co-workers, and utilizing public transportation to get to work.

In a neighborhood like Little Village, the people’s character is defined by prioritizing work; the solidarity that surrounds it by helping each other and riding together comes naturally to us. My father has always given rides to those in need; he doesn't hesitate if someone from the same factory doesn't have the means to get there. That’s simply how we are; immigrants tend to sympathize with others because we have all been in a similar situation at least once our lives.

On weekends, on my way to the coffee shop using a car service instead of public transportation, I constantly think about what is keeping us safe and if we need to trust in others for that. Some members of my community can’t afford these services and depend on carpooling to get to a far away factory.

The fact of having direct contact with customers also scares me; my brother and I are aware of the importance of wearing face masks and gloves during our shifts, keeping our distance to stay safe. But my father in the factory has a whole other struggle; he has to be very cautious and make sure to cover up from top to bottom: boots, masks, gloves, and other additional protective gear, following all the safety regulations. His place of work is extremely hot due to the machinery overheating, everyone is close to each other, and all the protective gear adds on to the worker’s sweat.

Every day, after a long work journey, my father comes home the same way he walked out in the morning, and like many other immigrant fathers and mothers in my neighborhood that work in similar factories, takes the safety measures to not expose his family. Every night since the quarantine, he tells us a different story about someone who stopped going to work, finding they got the virus, and later died from it, or a factory closing for the same reason, or about how they lay off or accommodate the remaining employees in other locations and reduce the other employees’ hours, trying to be fair to all.

I am starting to fear that the workers are becoming more and more exposed to the virus. A report says that the increase in exposure is of 64% in most Latinx ZIP codes in Chicago, making them the most affected communities—just for the sake of providing for their families.

Hearing my father’s stories makes me realize the extremes between my father's job and my brother and I. He always closes the night saying, “Todo por darles lo que necesitan, o aunque sea para sacar a la familia adelante.” It’s a relief when my father picks up my older brother from work at 11pm and I see them both arrive home. My mom and I know the effort and challenge of the outside world nowadays. Yet we know that we can all go to bed, sleep stress-free for at least a couple hours until the next day, when the heroes in my neighborhood wake up again to risk their lives just so you can have an overstocked fridge.

2. The perks of being a Little Village teen

On the first days of being quarantined, I enjoyed having some free time. I desperately wanted a break from the mountain of homework. During the school year, you can never fully relax because there’s always that lingering thought of being on the brink of failing your math class and imagining the wrath of god your parents will give you.

It’s a sense of guilt that many first generation kids, like me, experience, knowing that your parents sacrificed everything for them. The panic fills you up with the cheap excuse you have given your parents: “everyone in the class had the same grade” or “it’s an honors class so TECHNICALLY it’s a high D in a regular class.” Besides, I still need to participate in extracurricular activities, but tying all these elements can really affect my mental wellbeing.

Being isolated can be a moment of reflection and observation of our surroundings. My name is Melissa Regalado, I’m a 17-year-old junior from Little Village Lawndale High School.

After a week of isolation, you may start to get bored. Like any angsty, unaware teen, you go out of your way to make it apparent that you’re inherently bored, and complain on social media. But now this might be a special bunch of kids, including me, that are unaware that the COVID-19 pandemic is dangerous and heartbreaking. Especially living in a low-income community like Little Village, where a lot of our parents are still going to work.

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.

The priorities of some of our people betray that they simply can’t accept the reality, and culturally think they’re invulnerable to it. I don’t know what pedestal you have to be on to think you are repellent or can count on a superior immune system against COVID-19. But in all honesty, that our family and friends working during a full-blown pandemic concerns the moral imperative we have as a society. This shows how products are valued more than a life of any human being.

As of right now, I have the choice to stay at home and not go out to find a job, because my family can afford bills. But for a lot of adolescents in my school, it’s common to study and work at the same time. One of my friends still works at Mariano's and is basically following her normal schedule, and another friend continues to work at McDonald’s on the drive-thru.

Both have to deal with the grimiest, most entitled customers who are basically on crack right now because of sheer panic. My friend tells me that sometimes customers get mad at them because they have to bag their own groceries, failing to acknowledge that minimal contact is preferred and safest. “It’s tough on all of us, we don’t want to be there as much as you don't want to roll out of bed and get your La Croix.”

With all that, I have appreciated so much the privilege of being inside my home and staying far from the virus and from the toxic chemicals lately released by the implosion at the Crawford Coal Plant. And again, I can’t ignore that’s not the case for others.

The stay-at-home order adds another layer to the youth’s lives. My free, relaxing time ended when school went on lockdown. E-learning started on April 13. I don’t know if I’m the only one here, but I despise it. It’s not the same as learning in a classroom, obviously, and I think it makes it difficult for any student. For me, the hardest is any math-related subject. I’m already not the best in math and having to Google search every step just annoys me.

I can also speak for a good amount of my classmates that have short attention spans that this just adds to our procrastination on assignments. I just have the strong belief that e-learning won’t captivate the attention of most kids. Besides, it’s stressful. I will be taking AP tests by computer in May; guiding me is my AP English teacher who acknowledges our priorities at home and considers the amount of assignments we have now.

At a Google Meet class last week, only 10 kids showed up out of around 80. It was awkward and the teacher finished earlier than expected. I assume some might not have wanted to join, but others could have had better reasons.

Since many parents are working, the eldest children (like me) tend to be in charge of their younger siblings and might not have time to start class immediately. I had instances, in my first week of e-learning, when I did not connect because I needed to complete something else, or my brother had to attend his own classes first, and there’s only one computer at home. Some working adolescents might take morning shifts and can’t connect at the time the teachers require.

Although being quarantined and having to distance ourselves from others might look like there’s no hope, it’s still important to have a positive mindset which can help us live our lives day by day. My advice would be to appreciate everyone that’s in your life and to never lose hope, although sometimes it might seem like there’s none.

3. Una mañana

When I wake up everyday, I thank my ancestors for keeping me safe and giving me a new morning to start with. My routine hasn't changed. I still take classes, they just happen to be online, I still eat three meals a day, I still get to see my family, and I still get to be outside. Every morning, afternoon, and evening my mom and I take our dog out for a walk around the block. This time is for us to connect with the outside and for our dog to use the bathroom and bark at all the neighborhood dogs. Through our daily walks we meet new people from our neighborhood and while we practice social distancing, wear masks and gloves, we still get to have fun conversations with our neighbors. Social distancing has caused a common anguish simply by silencing us from talking to one another in person. Everyone is excited to have someone to talk to when they leave their houses which opens people up to finally get to know each other. It’s almost as if socializing with others has become a necessity for us to get through these hard times.

But another Saturday morning, I woke up to a gray blur around my house. Since I live a few blocks from the Crawford Coal Plant site, it was clear that the demolition almost completely fogged and dusted the nearby homes. That day everything looked so vacant and dull. And once again Little Village was under attack.

Photo series Una Desoladora Villita “Perfecta” by Melissa Regalado, Giovanni Macias Valadez, and Roberto Balderas

Melissa Regalado is a young creator who uses radio, journalism and painting as her mediums of expression. She has been part of Yollocalli Arts Reach since 2018, joining the audio, radio and journalism program, “Your Story, Your Way!” and the “Street Art” Class. She was part of the Social Justice News Nexus Fellowship at the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University, covering the 2019 aldermanic elections and reporting on sexual education in Little Village.

Giovanni Macias Valadez is a young reporter, radio producer, LGBTQ+ activist and makeup artist rom Little Village. He has been part of Yollocalli Arts Reach’s Youth Council’s“Your Story Your Way!” radio production and journalism group since 2018. His reporting focuses on the Latinx and LGBTQ community in Little Village. Currently, he is studying Entertainment Marketing and Latino Studies at Columbia College.

Giovanni Macias Valadez and Melissa Regalado worked on this piece with Stephanie Manriquez, the Quarantine Times Tuesday editor. Each week, Stephanie selects a Chicago to share a commissioned response to the pandemic.

Tales of una villita “perfecta”

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