Linda and the Mockingbirds

 "Linda and the Mockingbirds" is a film that chronicles a voyage my students took last year with Linda Ronstadt to her grandfather's pueblo in Sonora, Mexico. We brought 22 members of Los Cenzontles, a cultural-arts academy in a working-class neighborhood of San Francisco's East Bay, to perform in the cradle of Linda's family culture.

I founded Los Cenzontles (the Mockingbirds) in 1989 to teach young people traditional Mexican music, dance and art with an emphasis on rigor, responsibility and social connection. We instill in them a sense of belonging to our Mexican heritage and to our country, the United States. At our Academy, they are hosts and stewards. They take pride in its upkeep and cultivate its productive, respectful internal culture. Most educational institutions treat minority students like invited guests, however politely. But a strong sense of belonging is what best benefits children and a democratic society.

From San Francisco to Tucson, and across the Sonoran Desert to the Rio Sonora Valley, we never left lands that Mexicans have called home for longer than the United States has existed. And yet, we Mexican Americans are treated like strangers in our own country.

"Linda and the Mockingbirds" is not overtly political. It focuses on music, culture, identity and belonging through personal stories and songs. But politics surrounded our production like storm clouds, feeding its underlying emotional tension.

The day our bus entered Mexico — Feb. 15, 2019 —  a national emergency was declared at the border. The declaration was not a response to any real threat, but political theater designed to stoke White fear about a 'foreign invasion' by Mexican and Central American migrants. As such, it did not target us American Latinos, but we know that our citizenship is a thin shield against its true purpose: racial intimidation.

In 1993, we found an advocate in Linda Ronstadt, whose mariachi recordings brought widespread visibility to and pride for our traditions. For many, like Fabiola Trujillo portrayed in our film, hearing Linda's music as a child growing up in our neglected neighborhood gave her a sense of hope. At that time, as marginal as we were, I didn't imagine we would meet a person as famous as Linda. Yet she saw us and heard us. For nearly 30 years, Linda has provided us encouragement, guidance and introductions that expanded our opportunities.

In the plazas of Banamichi and Arizpe, Sonora, our children performed alongside young local Mexicans during the afternoons. At night, we adults sang Mexican rancheras and American popular songs with fellow traveler Jackson Browne, Linda's longtime friend and Academy supporter. The experience underscored the enduring power of music in challenging times, and offered us respite from the political acrimony at home.

As a Mexican American, I know well the corrosive impact of being treated as the other. Historically enforced by land theft, terror, derision, and the denial of opportunity, exclusion has hindered our progress. But we progress nonetheless.

My grandparents walked north across the border a hundred years ago. They and their descendants cultivated this land, built its economy, contributed to its culture, and served to protect it. My parents taught me to take pride in my Mexican heritage and to defend my rights as an American. Our student Verenice Velazquez once told me, in response to anti Mexican discrimination, that she did not feel that this was her country. I admonished her to not let such thoughts get into her head, echoing the words of my father.

America's identity myth, framed by white supremacy, does not include us, and many others. Its selective exclusion infects our national consciousness like a virus, propagated by intransigent institutions, stagnant cultural icons, and opportunistic politicians. And its destructiveness is no longer confined to minority communities. It is destroying our nation.

In August 2019, when we filmed our students' families at their homes in Richmond and San Pablo, we grieved for those who, days earlier, were massacred at an El Paso Walmart by a domestic terrorist for being Mexican. It was a deep open wound that provoked unusually emotional, candid interviews by our reserved community members. But almost as quickly as news reports flooded the media, they receded. Even after this year's mass protests against racial discrimination, Latinos are still largely invisible in public discourse. And when we do appear, it is to discuss only those issues that define our otherness.

We Mexican Americans know that we must work harder and be smarter to get ahead in this environment. Even though I resent it, I work through it with the hope that my son Emiliano will not have to. I have believed in, and championed, America's arc of social justice.

But the unbridled bigotry of the last four years has shaken my faith, and my father is no longer alive to reassure me. Yet, I continue to teach and make music and media that brings joy, reflection and, most importantly, nurtures our children's resilience that will serve them throughout their lives.

I can only hope that white supremacy has finally been exposed for its corruption and incompetence.  And that white Americans are beginning to understand the sense of beleaguered exclusion we minorities have long suffered.  Clearly, a system that excludes more than it includes is unsustainable.  We must realign American identity to reflect its reality.

"Linda and the Mockingbirds" captured our stories and cultures in a moment in time, but its sentiments and traditions are ancient. I hope it allows more Americans to better know Mexican Americans. But more than that, I hope it inspires a greater sense of shared belonging that will help allow our country to heal, unify, and survive.