If you've never been, it is one of the most popular blogs on the web today. In fact, the idea itself is genius.
It was a blog created two years ago by Frank Warren as a sort of artistic project. The idea was for people all around the country to mail in postcard-sized images with text on them (which they would create and write themselves) revealing their greatest secrets.
You know -- from serious to sad -- the thoughts you don't feel comfortable telling your closest friends, but somehow need to say.
And what started as a small project blew up into a cultural phenomenon. Thousands and thousands of these secrets pour in week after week. And each week on Sunday (or Saturday night -- if you're lucky!) Frank posts some of the "best" or "most powerful" secrets.
What does this have to do with U.S.-Mexican Border issues, you might ask? Or the Latino culture in general? Well. It's simple.
So many of the problems in this world come down to differences.
You see, within these secrets, everyone seems to be your best friend.
You can't judge the individual by how fat or tall they are, what they did or did not say at the most inappropriate of times, what background or future they have, race, religion or how 'truly' different they are from you. You can't tell whether or not they are legally here... or illegally.
At postsecret, all the differences are washed away and viewers are left to truly discover a part of themselves in someone else's secret.
The secrets are powerful. Beautiful. Heartbreaking. Hilarious. Sometimes, they even leave you speechless.
One of my favorite post-secrets of all time even has Latino roots:
Another one, just posted this week, sparked my interest in writing this blog.
I mean, come on. Who hasn't felt that way? Who hasn't felt as if they couldn't talk to a girl/guy they liked because of something physical about them?
It then makes you start to wonder about the circumstances surrounding the secret. Why can't he talk to her? Would she not date someone of a different race? Is her family racist? What stereotypes is he fighting? Or is he just generally insecure with who he is?
And even more importantly -- who has made him feel that insecure?
I've only spent about 30 minutes at the border in my four years at the University of Arizona.
I know, ridiculous right? How is it that I can work for an online border publication and have such little experience at the border? How can you report or reflect on something you do not truly understand?
I'm not quite sure either.
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My first (and only) trip down to Nogales was in January 2004. It was the beginning of my second semester of freshman year and my best friend, her parents, her brother & her brother's friends were in town for the weekend. We did the usual Tucson attractions, you know, Old Tucson and ...Old Tucson. Then her family decided it would be a good idea to go down to Mexico for the afternoon. The drive isn't that long and it would be really neat to spent some time down there, maybe get something to eat.
Rich, Kristen, Mike, Josh, Kari
So down to Nogales we drove. It's about an hour drive, but the time seemed to pass pretty slowly. Still, with five college kids in the car, we were able to laugh most of the way down there. Finally, we arrived and proceeded to drive over the border to Mexico.
The view from the car on the way down to Mexico.
Now, my friend's dad has always been a character. "Bob stories" are infamous and the things he says can usually catch you so off-guard you find yourself lost in tears of laughter. However, there are moments with him you know will be funny when you look back on them someday... even if that day just won't be today.
And in true Bob-form, within minutes of crossing the border Bob took one look around and decided he wasn't too comfortable in Mexico. It didn't look like there was too much to do.
View from backseat of our van in Mexico.
We U-turned the van around and sat in line for about half an hour, waiting to board back into the United States. We spent more time in line, waiting to return to the U.S., than we did in Mexico thanks to Bob. I thought Kristen's mom was going to hit him.
The vendors, walking up and down the lines of cars who were waiting to enter the U.S.
We never even got out of the car. And thus ended my experience in Mexico...
Until now.
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I've come to realize, the only way to grow and change your perspectives is to physically and mentally push yourself into situations that will help you embrace those changes. How could I possibly even begin to fulfill my duties as co-editor-in-chief of a border publication, when I've never even truly experienced the region we are writing about? Maybe I've witnessed some of the social distinctions and stereotypes in Tucson, since we are so close to those issues, but the region itself I have not even begun to uncover.
It makes you wonder though, how many people get away with writing about something they have experienced very little?
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Thus begins my attempt to do more than I really have time for!
My most recent attempts include reading the following two books I purchased off of Amazon.com:
The first one has been heavily recommended by my professor since day one, and I keep passing it in the bookstore on campus. The second book, A Home on the Field, was recommended by Olga Briseño who I wrote about last week; Olga hopes to have the author speak sometime this semester and it would be really fascinating to read his work before hearing him speak on the issue.
Besides, I love reading. Probably more than I love many other activities. Unfortunately school has tainted my passion for reading by sucking up my entire life and spitting it back out again with very little room (or desire) to read beyond the required textbook list. So this semester, I have been trying to read as much as I can for pleasure -- even if a book takes me a couple weeks to get through. Hopefully I will be able to make a lot more time for these two books, as I work my way through my semester. I am sure there is an endless amount of worth I can gain from both of them.
Other attempts I have made this past week include food, which I also happen to love.
Amanda Hines and I traveled down to one of Tucson's most famous Mexican restaurants El Guero Canelo to video tape our visit for Borderbeat.
I don't want to give away too much, because I'd like to leave some information for you to read in the article Katrina wrote and in the video Amanda and I captured... but it was quite the experience.
Sonoran hotdogs!
Maybe it's not exactly like being in Mexico... but any reason I can use as an excuse to go back as often as possible is a reason I am willing to accept!
Speaking of being in Mexico... that is the next trip I currently have in the works.
My friend Karla, who I referred to in my first blog, is from Nogales and is planning on taking Amanda and myself down there for three days in the beginning of March. Her parents already have an agenda planned, but Amanda and I are hoping to bring back lots of videos, photos, interviews and insights into Borderbeat upon our return.
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Not that a couple of books, Mexican food and a three-day trip to the border will make me an expert on the issues that we are covering, but then again -- ANY great work does not simply come together in the matter of a day or even a year. The things we can truly be most proud of are the collaboration of years worth of effort and intrigue. In ways, it is sad that it is already February. Time works against us, as deadlines come and go and work never ceases to pile up. I'd better be careful -- I may just blink and find myself in line at graduation.
I'm not going to lie -- there are times when I even wonder what we are trying to do here. But then I look back and think about the things in my life that I have been most proud of... and sure enough, every single one of those events (at one time or another) I seemed to have lost a little faith in. Yet more importantly -- every single event also forced me to carry on, even when I was unsure. And carrying on, even when you are unsure of where you are headed, can produce the most satisfying of results.
As journalists, we have a lot to take into consideration.
It’s not specifically the information, but more importantly it’s how we choose to handle the information that matters most.
Our voice, our writing has the possibility of influencing opinions far more than we may even realize at times. Simple words or phrases can trigger anything from a stereotype to a powerful emotion or image.
It was probably the biggest lesson I would learn this week. And it was a lesson I didn’t even think I needed to learn; but I did.
This week, I sat down with Olga Briseño, the creator and director of the Media, Democracy and Policy Initiative at the University of Arizona. I had originally scheduled a meeting with her in order to connect myself with possible interviews of people I might not otherwise have access. Olga is a fascinating woman, one I instantly had respect for the moment I entered the room. However, the people she has encountered and befriended not only stunned me, but really intimidated me. It made me question whether or not I was getting in way over my head.
From Pulitzer-prize winners to tragic childhood stories, the names and histories she discussed with me fully opened my eyes to the significant issues Latinos are dealing with in the media today.
You know, there are very few times I can recall here at the UA when a faculty or staff member sat down to spend almost an hour and a half with me – especially when they really had no reason to do so. Olga was not my professor, not my mentor. But even within the period of time we spent together it felt like she became one.
Olga made it clear from the beginning she wanted to make sure I understood the significance of the issues we were trying to uncover. Every story has an angle that can be spun, every piece has a way it can be written to influence readers.
Simple words can manipulate.
She started with the basics. “Illegal aliens.” The term is not only widely controversial, it is extremely offensive. To compare human beings with something so foreign that they are not even of the same world is us is not only offensive – but disgusting.
Simply searching the term “illegal aliens” can bring up several news publications around the country – including The Stamford Advocate and the Washington Times as just two examples. Imagine, instantly being able to google "illegal aliens" and two publications popping up right away who, as recent as last month, used “alien” to describe illegal immigrants. Quoted or not – the term is being repeated by the media and reinforced in everyone’s minds.
Also imagine how much it stung when I reread some articles we had been editing and realized I too had overlooked some reporters’ use of the term. I guess I had just heard it so much that in simple editing, it had gone unnoticed – by the reporter, the copy editors and myself.
Next Olga asked me how many times I had heard “packed” to describe immigrants. For example, it has been said before there multiple times in the news that a truck was found packed from top to bottom with illegal entrants crossing the border. But, she asked me, do you pack meat – or people?
Without even realizing it, we are treating them again as something less than the human beings they are.
Yet when terms like that slip in, it is hard to erase it from the average person’s mind. I had even grown somewhat accustomed to it.
She also used the term “herded.” We’ve all heard it before too (no pun intended.) We’ve actually heard that “illegal entrants were herded up” by police as if they were some sort of cattle being brought in for slaughter. Human beings cannot be herded… especially back across the border.
But these mindsets we allow to slip in through journalism have a ripple effect across the nation; an effect that will only grow until someone puts a stop to it.
Last week, when my interview fell through, I headed out across campus to interview random students, faculty and visitors about their thoughts on illegal immigration. The opinions/viewpoints were pretty much what I expected. Some greatly supported the immigrants, while others claimed a fence would solve all of our problems. Some even claimed illegal immigration wasn’t even a problem at all. But some of the people who claim a fence would solve the problem, really just got under my skin.
Although my first interview is still in the process of being set up, I feel as if I’ve already learned more than enough from my meeting with Olga to help better Borderbeat. Now that I have had my eyes opened a little more, I will be able to more critically analyze what information is being gathered, how it is being used and how it is being interpreted.
They are not illegal aliens, herded up and then packed into the back of a van. Legal or not, they still remain human just as we all do. And all humans deserve even just a little bit of respect.
Procrastination is what has driven me through all 13 years of elementary, middle and high school -- that and talking, which is probably why I ended up procrastinating so much.
And I talk a lot.
I’m not going to sit here and say I don’t procrastinate anymore, now that I’m in college.
That would somehow imply I’m not normal, because pretty much everyone in college procrastinates. Just in the same way everyone in college naps. God, I love naps! I just took one tonight, even though I’ve been a tad busy.
See? Even in a blog entry I can procrastinate… even while I’m actually writing it.
And the point I was trying to get around to making (before I started procrastinating, which reminded me of naps, which I really wanted to take today and never got the chance to take) was this: sometimes, procrastination is frustrating.
I had my first interview set up for my first “Faces” profile. It couldn’t be until Tuesday afternoon, because of scheduling conflicts, but I figured I could handle Tuesday.
When is the story due? Wednesday. But I figured I could devote myself to the story that day – really dive into the interview, pull it together and pump out the material. After all, I had no other choice. My source could only meet that time and as a journalist, I have to make it work.
…Until the source called and left a message on Sunday night, saying we couldn’t meet on Tuesday because something came up.
Fantastic.
Now, where procrastination used to drive me, it now terrifies me. I live a busy life, I have a lot of responsibilities and a lot of times where I dedicate myself to things I really don’t have time for. But I make them work. I adjust my life and throw things around and come up with the time.
Since high school, I’ve become a much better judge of my time. I’m always on time for work (even if I always feel as if I’m running late) and I always have assignments turned in. I keep my commitments because I believe in them. Yet in journalism, I know commitments cannot always be kept and sources sometimes flake out.
So here I am, two days from deadline with a full day ahead of me on Monday; a day which holds pretty much no time for throwing together a story.
I guess we’ll see how the story unfolds. Maybe I’m just meant to tell a different story, or tell the one I was planning at a different time.
