Guerrerense Diaspora Zine - Volume 2

SEPTEMBER 2021 | VOL. 2

GUERRERENSE DIASPORA ZINE

Cover by Itzel Velasquez

This zine is dedicated to all the people from Guerrero and those who are now in diaspora

Este zine es dedicada a todes les personses de Guerrero y a les queue estan en la diaspora

INTRODUCTION

reflections from the editors When I found out about the Guerrerense Diaspora Zine I was thrilled to see a project come to fruition, especially coming from a young Guerrerense Xicanx deep rooted in community, Maritza Geronimo, founder of the project. I am thankful that we met and were given the opportunity to meet Guerrerenses in the Diaspora to this day.

I was immersed in Guerrerense culture since an early age in Guerrero and was surrounded by community, very proud of our indigenous roots growing up in the Chicagoland Area for about 18 years. One day came, when I moved out of Chicago and arrived to the San Francisco Bay Area. I now have 12 years here and have made it my third home. I would not have done it without my family, comrade, and mentor support throughout the way.

Vanessa Nava

The Guerrerense Diaspora Zine is a space to be yourself, to be confident, to be proud of who you are. I feel much better now that I submitted two pieces dear to my heart. I see the Guerrerense Diaspora project as interlacing through these spaces that I call home and building amongst each other to create new spaces that opens to possibilities of collaboration intergenerationally worldwide.

Growing up in Chicago where you can find remnants of Guerrero on every street corner, I always had so much pride to be from such a glorious land with such rich history & culture. Through Guerrerense Diaspora I've been able to connect with so many other folks in diaspora that like me, have so much love for our people and our stories. I’m incredibly thankful for this platform and the beautiful community of people it's brought together.

Big thank you to Maritza, the mastermind behind this amazing project, who saw something in me and allowed me to be apart of this.

Lastly, tlazo to Vane, Geovani, Angeles, and Joel for their creative contributions.

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Dani C.T

The Guerrerense Diaspora Zine was dreamt up in the spirit of building relationships with fellow Indigenous, Black, Xicanx, and mixed folks from Guerrero Mexico. The response to the first zine was overwhelmingly positive and quickly realized the need to share our own stories. Co-creating this zine has been an immense pleasure and I am so happy to be able to do it with a collective.

The stories in this zine challenge dominant narratives of what it means to be from Guerrero, Mexico. They disrupt the normative and imagine creatively beyond it. This zine is space to share our palabra, visions, stories, art, and creative musings of our worlds. I hope all feel inspired to create and contribute to future projects.

Maritza Geronimo

Thank you to the beautiful Guerrerense Diaspora Collective and Vanessa, Dani, Angeles, and Geovani for supporting this work. They have made this dream possible. Tlazo

The Guerrerense Diaspora Zine came to my universe as a blessing. Guerrerense Diaspora symbolizes resilience. It means to keep and conserve our culture no matter how many years we haven’t visited the homeland or have many generations come after us.

As an undocumented immigrant, the fight for human rights is a non-stop journey, but what keeps us moving is the resilience from our homeland and those memories that we tried so hard to not forget. I was blessed to participate and meet such a powerful Xicanx, Maritza Geronimo, who loves our culture just as I do or even more and is the mastermind behind this project.

I am thankful that we met and were allowed to meet Guerrerenses in the Diaspora from all over the United States.

My goal is to share my little town of Tlalitaquilla de Maldonado en la montaña de Guerrero, so others can see how beautiful our state is.

Geovani Serrano

A very special thanks to all the zine contributors

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TABLE OF CONTENTS 1. Los sonidos de Guerrero by Dani C.T.

2. La Costa by Itzamar Carmona Felipe

3. Sangre Guerrillera by Tohui C

4. What feels like home by Ayleen A.C

5. La Sangre Llama and The Fragmented Road by Jesus Cortez

6. Picaditas de Chile Guajillo by Miriam Ramirez

7. Toward Cautious Representation in Diaspora by Joel Calixto

8. Hogar y Memorias, Los Primos, and Maiz Conversations by J. Itzel Velazquez

9. The Two Sides of Acapulco by Sergio Morales

10. La Veladora by Jose Zuniga

11. I was not able to say goodbye by Geovani Serrano Laguna

12. Corrida by Vanessa Nava

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LOS SONIDOS DE GUERRERO

My family migrated to Chicago in the 1970s which left them 2,000+ miles away from our pueblo, San Jose de Huahuaxtla, Guerrero. It wasn’t always easy to go back home due to man-made borders but we were always able to transcend space & time through music. This is a collective of songs from varying genres that in my book embody what it means to be Guerrerense. I hope these give you all wherever in the world you may be, a feeling of home.

- Dani C.T.

TRADITIONAL Pueblos de Guerrero- Gerardo Reyes Son Guerrerense- Juan Reynoso Gabino Barrera- Trio Los Fierosos de el Estado de Guerrero Las Amarillas- Grupo Nahucalli Por los Caminos del Sur- Dueto Caleta Toro Rabon- Grupo Yolotecuani Guerrero Es Una Cajita- La Milpa de Mexico

CUMBIA COSTEÑA Cumbia Sampuesana- La Luz Roja De San Marcos Arremangala Arrempujala- Los Karkik's Bailando Pegao - Bertin Gomez Jr. Y Su Condesa La Iguana- Los Junior's de la Costa Chilate Revienta- Los Del Sabor Cangrejito Playero- Acapulco Tropical

SIERREÑO Modesta Ayala- Dueto Bertin y Lalo Luna Llena- Los Armadillos de la Sierra Lucio Cabañas- Dueto Castillo 20 mujeres de negro- Los Pajaritos del Sur Coyuca de Catalan- Isma Ortiz & Sierreños M.O. Las flores de Guerrero Los Jilgueros de Pico Real

BANDA Son del Tlacololero- Banda Bullanguera Banda Tierra

Scan in Spotify app for easy access to playlist

Chilpancinguense Guerrero Es- Joan Sebastian Mosaico Guerrerense- Banda Hermanos Mateos El Son del Tigre- La Super Banda de Chilacachapa, Guerrero

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Itzamar Carmona Felipe

LA COSTA I COME FROM PEOPLE THAT USE WORDS AS AN EXTENSION OF THEIR BEINGS DE DICHOS REFRANES VERSOS Y POESÍA LOS DE LA COSTA SE LAS ECHAN SIN PREOCUPACIÓN Y CADA PALABRA QUE SALE DE SU BOCA ES UNA MELODÍA QUE TENEMOS EL HONOR DE PRESENCIAR MY PEOPLE’S LOVE SON LAS PALABRAS CUENTOS PASSED DOWN FROM GRANDPARENTS SITTING EN LA HAMACA HELD BY LA PALMA AND GUAYABA TREE CON LES NIETES SENTADES EN LA TIERRA COMIENDO CUACUYUL WIDE EYE OPEN LISTENING AWAITING LO QUE PASARA LA GENTE DE LA COSTA SON POETAS DE NACIMIENTO SE LAS SABEN DE TODAS DE AMOR Y COMPASIÓN DE DESEO Y LUCHA SE ECHAN LOS VERSOS DE CORAZÓN CON EL ORGULLO EN EL ALMA Y EL DON EN SU SER

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Sangre Guerrillera

by Tohui C.

Downtrodden and hurt by the machinations and systemic persecution coming from the capitalist and racist forces that govern our modern world, the fury of this poor and brown indígena on Chicago’s northwest side reached an eventual tipping point at the age of 21, the year was 2012. Tired of the abuse, the injustice, the mental and physical pain wrought on my body, I embraced the Red Star as a symbol that can guide all of us towards the lives we deserve; I became a socialist, a Communist. Specific thought and tendencies aside, I unwittingly awakened something deep within my blood, within my very existence, there since time immemorial. Guided by the history and legacy of my roots, its only natural for me to look to fight for what is right, wherever I find myself. Year La sangre guerrillera fluye fuerte en las after year, so called representatives of our venas de todos nosotros con ráices people here in the US show themselves to be guerrerenses. El legado de nuestros charlatans and thieves. Never keeping antepasados nos habla durante las pruebas promises, exploiting our labor and wages, más difícil que el estado opresivo nos da. Nos selling us out to the highest bidders and dice que sigamos la lucha, que tengamos la getting rid of us as soon as they've taken what valentía de Genaro Vásquez, la conciencia de they can. La sangre guerrillera will flow so clases e instinto de libertad como Lucio long as we live under the oppression of white Cabañas y el Partido de los Pobres, el ánimo supremacy, are bound the chains of de estar en rebeldía y responder como los capitalism, and carry the weight of sexism Autodefesenas y guerrillas del EPR y ERPI among all other forms of discrimination and por ejemplo; y mas que todo nos imparte la exploitation. Those of us who can no longer sabiduría de Vicente Guerrero. Nuestro stand by as we all suffer will call upon our pueblo jamas se ha rendido ante la opresión ancestors and comrades of yesteryear, we will e injusticia. Como hijo de padres rise to the occasion as they did. We will carry guerrerenses, la resistencia no solamente their legacy and continue their fight viene fácil, es un deber. wherever we are, for as long as is necessary until we achieve the lives we all deserve.

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Ser Pueblo, Hacer Pueblo, y Estar con el Pueblo, un dia veremos la justicia y nuestra verdadera libertad.

The title of this mini photo series describes my personal feelings towards Guerrero. “What Feels Like Home” are photos I took during my most recent trips from 2017-2018. My mother is from a town that’s part of el Municipio de Ixcateopan de Cuauhtémoc in Northern Guerrero. I lived with her and my grandparents during my early childhood and I have visited during the summers as often as I could growing up. I recognize the privilege I have (citizenship and disposable income) that allows me to travel between Mexico and the United States, which is why I try to photograph my visits to show my family their homeland. It’s a place I feel at home and these photos represent it.

What Feels Like Home AYLEEN A.C

July 2018 : A photo of my grandpa walking through his terreno filled with maguey to herd his sheep back into their shed.

August 2017: I was visiting the tianguis in Ixcateopan and saw a street vendor selling my favorite snack: nieve (de vainilla) con pan (usually de burro or de vaqueta/baqueta).

July 2018 : Agua de Coco that I’ve been drinking for most of my life from a street vendor near the bus station (usually in front of a pharmacy) in Iguala.

July 2017: Going to Acapulco is really the only time I go to the beach, even though I live in Southern California, and I love it every time.

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The Fragmented Road JESUS CORTEZ

I gather stories from stories told to my mama, or my brothers or my sisters— there are stories of Luisa and Paula dancing without a care, before the pain of leaving Guerrero there are stories of grief and death, and Teresa losing her mother tongue— being mocked for her Indigenous accent there are stories of children, from an unworthy man— fragments of her soul stories about crossing borders, first into Puebla, then across the country— all the way to Anaheim since birth, I carry these fragments, sometimes they hold me together— sometimes Guerrero holds me tighter to my mama, sometimes Puebla holds me tighter to my siblings, sometimes Anaheim holds it all together— Sometimes my mama would remind me of her pride in being from Guerrero, “puro Guerrero verdad mijo, y puro Leal” she’d say, and I would always agree Puro Guerrero, y puro Anaheim mama!

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TOWARDS CAUTIOUS REPRESENTATION IN DIASPORA:

REFLECTIONS ON WATER WARS, COCA-COLA, AND CORPORATE CAPITALISM IN GUERRERO MEXICO WRITTEN BY JOEL CALITXO

Manuel Castrejón (founder of Yoli) & family, 1918. Photo courtesy of Coca-Cola.

INTRODUCTION

As a child, I had many fond memories of relatives from Guerrero who always expressed great pride in the Yoli soft drink. This pride for the Yoli derived from its local history that up until recently has been exclusive to the southern state of Guerrero, Mexico.[1] Usually, a thirst-quenching sip of an iced cold bubbly Yoli happened around celebrations with such joy and feelings of accomplishment after something monumental (i.e., a successful work week selling your crops in Mexico City). However, as I grow older, the the humble origins of Yoli and the regionalism associated with the soft drink has left little room for an interrogation of the contradictory popularization of the Grupo Yoli company in the face of its purchase by the world’s largest commodity corporation, Coca-Cola.

In the past, aficionados of the Yoli were certain that their favorite soft drink was locally produced somewhere in the state of Guerrero. But now, the story of this local product that is usually described as “meramente Guerrerense” (precisely from Guerrero) is sealed with the Coca-Cola trademark of Atlanta, Georgia. In a classic scheme of corporate capitalism,

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the Yoli has thus cleverly remained an intimate product to the Guerrerense imaginary, but at the same time has become a mass-produced commodity that forms part of Coca-Cola, the world’s largest commodity corporation. As cultural historian Amanda Ciafone has documented, corporations like CocaCola over the years has developed the tools and ability to subtly seep into the everyday cultures and lives of communities across the world making the presence of their products and brand ubiquitous. [2] Despite the immense joy Guerrerenses may feel with Yoli, the hydraulic stress levels in the state and across Mexico caused by climate change and water extraction by corporations like Coca-Cola calls for a reflection and revisiting of the Yoli and its familiar Guerrerense history. More broadly, I propose that we all engage in a conversation and interrogation of the different ways corporations and their products become an intimate part of our cultures.

Glass bottle of Yoli with the Coca-Cola logo sported. Image by Hector Muñoz Huerta (hector@superfocal.com)

Guerrero and its multifaceted community have recently gained exposure in the U.S. diaspora thanks to individual and collective efforts like that of the Guerrerense Diaspora Collective (GDC). [3] Pushing back against the popular narrative that the state of Guerrero is only a terror filled zone, the GDC has taught us that our own narratives and storytelling as people of Guerrero extend beyond fatal and depressing stereotypes. By sharing the politicized history, gastronomy, tradition, and arts of Guerrero ( i.e., The Guerrerense Diaspora Zine Vol. I), a community network across the U.S. forged among people who shared similar and parallel experiences across diaspora. However, with the exposure of Guerrerenses entering popular conversations in recent years (i.e., Ayotzinapa, Child soldiers fighting organized crimes, and people finally acknowledging Afro-Mexican communities in Mexico), a caution sign is needed for us to pause and

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reflect on where we want to be represented and what that representation means. I mention this as not only the nation-state, but corporations, and institutions have and continue to co-opt narratives and depoliticize struggles that become extremely popular across the media. In the case for Afro-Indigenous and Indigenous communities in Guerrero (Amuzgo, Nahua, Me’p haa, Ñuu Savi) the fetishization of their languages, cosmologies, and traditions coupled with a geography with a complex historical trade history along the Pacific Ocean has led to corporations ushering in and taking advantage of the multiple histories to diversify the way the profit. I argue that this can be seen with the success and pride of the Yoli soft drink in Guerrero and its diaspora.

At the national level in Mexico, the co-optation of marginalized narratives brings into question the continued depoliticization and negation of water rights across the country. [4] Organizations focused on political reports in Mexico such as the Laboratorio De Periodismo y Opinion Publica (POP LAB) and American initiatives like the World Resource Institutes Aqueduct Alliance (WRIAA) have similarly observed the increased hydraulic stresses in Mexico (and quite frankly a majority of Latin America along the Pacific Ocean). By compiling empirical data and applying it to interactive maps and prediction graphics, they have shown the need to take action and address the issues of water stress levels and climate that seem to intensify every day (most recently felt with the 7.1 magnitude earthquake in Acapulco). [5] In Guerrero, the urgency for clean water has manifested through specific processes of social and structural violence, like extortions by organized crime of Coca-Cola production plants and the inaccessibility of clean water for most of the residents in the state. As a result, protests and calls for boycotts on Coca-Cola products began to surface across the internet. [6] Marginalized Mexicans in southern states like Guerrero have organized and struggled in the face of human rights violations and unnatural disasters caused by corporations like Coca-Cola, yet these contemporary experiences have been largely erased or disregarded in the romanticized past of its products, like that of the Yoli.

THIS REFLECTION IS DEDICATED to all the Guerrerenses in diaspora and what we are witnessing with the growing visibility of our communities through the geographies, foodways, traditions, and iconic items of our home state (chilate, tecuanis, sombreros calentanos, etc.). This is also a historical revisiting of corporate capitalism and the complexities of struggle for water in Mexico during the twenty-first century. What is the connection between one of Guerrero’s most iconic soda pop drinks Yoli and corporate capitalism?

How far can we extend our pride in a product without reflecting on its connection to a global crisis of water? And what are the complications of a company merging with Coca-Cola in a country where there are more CocaCola products than clean drinking water available for its general population?

I argue that the rise and regional pride of the Yoli throws these questions into relief.

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A BRIEF BUBBLING HISTORY OF YOLI & COCA-COLA IN GUERRERO

Taxco, Guerrero (MEX) located in red. Image provided by Wikipedia.

After Mexico declares independence from Spain in 1821, government officials recognized that Mexico as a young nation needed to join the global economy to be successful and “modern.” Some of these efforts manifested

by Mexico absorbing and using existing mining sites established by the Spanish in places like Taxco, Guerrero. Although this absorption proved to be profitable, the presidency of Porfirio Díaz (1876-1922) amplified efforts of modernization during the pre-revolution period by reorganizing public lands. [7] Beneficiaries of this effort by Díaz were companies who were prioritized to aid Mexico in its quest to modernity. Some of these companies included Spanish-owned soap factories that exported a series of oilseeds which was the case of Manuel Castrejón, founder of the Yoli soft drink. [8] As the chaos of the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) scourged the country in 1918, Manuel Castrejón, a soap vendor and owner of two mines created the original recipe for the Yoli, first named “La Vencedora” in the historical mining town of Taxco Guerrero. As it has been well documented, Guerrero (or what becomes the state of Guerrero) was one of the first mining regions established by the Spanish after the fall of the “Aztecs.”[9] In the twentieth century however, it also became the region where la Vencedora was conceptualized as a drink that was simply crisp and refreshing for its sweet lime peel flavor. With this successful formula, the soft drink quickly became iconic amongst those in Taxco and Guerrero not only for the Yoli’s

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ability to satisfy thirst but for its iconic bottle aesthetic and marble ball which needed to be shaken to open (similar to the Japanese Ramune soft drink). The accumulating success for the company that followed meant the attraction of global corporations seeking to solidify its presence in Mexico during the twentieth century as Mexico becomes one of the countries with the largest population of soft-drink consumption.

Yoli Publication, 1950. Photo courtesy of Coca-Cola.

The success of La Vencedora gave Castrejón and his family the opportunity to move to the iconic city of Iguala in 1925. Access to the large population of Iguala aided in the surge and popularity of La Vencedora which led it to be consumed across the rest of the state. Eight years later, “La Vencedora” formally changes its name to “Yoli” in honor of Don Castrejón’s daughter Yolanda Castrejón. In sequence, the Grupo Yoli (Yoli Group) was also formed to formally represent Yoli as a company in 1933. The move from Taxco to Iguala was monumental for the Castrejón family as the Yoli became an intimate symbol and product of Guerrero.

With its humble beginnings and organic growth, the popularity of the Yoli came under the cross arrows, bribery, and collaboration of Coca-Cola.

In 1938, only twenty years after Don Manuel Castrejón first created the Yoli, the first franchise was granted to The Coca-Cola Corporation. This collaboration between the rather small Grupo Yoli company with the

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largest commodity corporation in the world nationalized the Guerrero business in Mexico. The partnership and revenue collected with Coca-Cola led to Grupo Yoli’s move to Acapulco in 1950 where the first production plant was established. [10] Using the momentum and prestige of Coca-Cola’s popularity in this tourist trade hub, the success Yoli led to an additional production plant in 1981. However, success for Yoli and its partnership with Coca-Cola would come with public tensions for water rights. The people, collectives, and organizations that would counter the damage Coca-Cola and its partners caused would become more public at the turn of the new century. Critics denounced and labeled Coca-Cola and its quest for profit as environmentally damaging and resulting in the loss of public access to clean drinkable water.

CAUTIOUSLY REVISITING GUERRERENSE PRIDE THROUGH THE WARS FOR WATER

“Liters of water extracted annually” Photo courtesy of POP LAB.

It is important to interrogate how the convergence between Yoli and CocaCola connects to the national discourse surrounding water rights conflicts, health inequalities, and climate change (mainly along the U.S-Mexico borderlands). According to POP LAB, Coca-Cola along with Pepsi, Nestlé, and Bimbo use about 133 billion liters annually to produce their beverages in Mexico. [11] The water that isn’t used for production is introduced to local aqueducts and water supplies which has created public outrage and a contradiction amongst Guerrerenses who find immense pride in Yoli and Coca-Cola. [12] In a country that ranks second in Latin America for hydraulic stress levels and where 23 percent of homes do not have access to clean drinking water, the reverence of Yoli should come into question amid Guerrerense pride in the homeland and its diaspora. [13] For multiple social, political, and cultural contributors in Guerrero, the meritocracy and pride of Yoli as being Guerrerense ignores and romanticizes the impact of Yoli-Coca-Cola on the national and global population.

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“To make half a liter of Coca-Cola, 35 liters of water is needed.” Photo courtesy of POP LAB. The text translates to: “Junk food companies extract 133 billion liters of water a year. They discard more than 119 billion liters [of water] after industrial processes, dirty water that then is returned to basins and aquifers. The extracted water could provide enough water to the entire population of Guerrero for 1 year.” Photo courtesy of POP LAB, 2019.

Much has been written on Coca-Cola’s power of cultural production and ability to globalize and assert itself in the daily lives of people in India and Colombia. [14] Parallels and differences can be drawn with Coca-Cola’s effect in Mexico through its products asserting itself in the daily lives of communities like that of the Yoli in Mexico and specifically in Guerrero. In 2013, the Yoli Group company took their relationship with Coca-Cola further and formally joined the Fomento Económico Mexicano, S.A.B. de C.V. (FEMSA) Coca-Cola based in Mexico City, Mexico. FEMSA currently produces the highest margins of Coca-Cola soft drink in the world distributing to major cities in Guatemala, Costa Rica, Brazil, and Argentina. [15] By joining forces with FEMSA, the conflict, pressure, and opposition against Yoli and its Coca-Cola partner amplified and bubbled across Mexico. Organizations such as POP LAB began to use empirical data and propaganda to demonstrate the material impacts Coca-Cola and other major corporations had on the everyday lives of people in Guerrero.

The struggle for water rights in northern Mexico water rights function as a mirror image of water inaccessibility in places like Guerrero. Examples of these water struggles include efforts by Indigenous communities in the U.S. such as the Lakota and #NoDAPL, as well as as the Yoeme (Yaqui) who recently won the battle for water sovereignty in the state of Sonora after more than 80 years of negotiation and conflict with the state.

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In addition, social movements like Mexicali Resiste and their call to boycott all Constellation brand products (Modelo, Pacifico Victoria) in which Mexican American and Chicana/x/o communities in the U.S. have responded to in recent years has taught us all the importance of water and the power of corporations. [16] As Guerrerenses in diaspora, it is important to see ourselves in these struggles and think about the connections and parallels that we can draw in this national, hemispheric, and global struggle for water amongst marginalized communities, including our own. An analysis of Yoli, amid the exposure our community is getting through its traditions and products is worth our consideration as the world continues to be impacted by climate change. Quite frankly, potential solidarities for a good tomorrow outweigh the investment in regionalism that has propagated over the years with Yoli and Coca-Cola soft drinks.

Image courtesy of the Aqueduct Alliance’s year 2040 projected water-stress countries

Remembering that by the year 2040, Mexico will be in the “high risk” category of water stress levels if the “Business-As-Usual” scenario continues forces us to reconsider how we convey ourselves and through what products. Pride and exposure to the world (especially the U.S.) of who we are will not matter if our families and communities are without water in Mexico and across the world. Beyond the myopic answer of “there is no ethical consumption under capitalism,” an analysis of capitalism itself is needed to better historicize and contextualize the complexities of corporations like Coca-Cola. What is capitalism and how do we understand capitalism if there is no ethical consumption under it?

And if there is no ethics in our consumption, well, are there other ways we can struggle as a diaspora for a better tomorrow? These are only questions that I am beginning to think about as we continue to be drowned by “diversity and inclusion” efforts in the universities we study,

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Coca-Cola plant in Guanajuato. Text in circle reads “United Like Never Before this Christmas” Photo by Juan José Plascencia.

Thus, I propose a disintegration of the “good” and “bad” binary of how we understand corporations and their products. Using CSR, Welker makes clear how mining corporations in post-authoritarian Sumbawa such as Newmont Inc. have taken on creative tactics to suppress and depoliticize mobilization efforts against their operations in communities that oppose them. By integrating themselves in the critiques and by using racialized bodies (usually their workers who come from the same community in Sumbawa) companies have become witty in their “diversity” efforts to remain operational. Using this tool and history, we can see that it isn’t always the suit and tie Anglo or American who suppresses and does away with community efforts, at times members of the community themselves who find themselves invested in the company’s presence and existence (for whatever reason that may be). Moving forward, a cautious interrogation of our loyalty and regional pride needs to constant, especially through products like Yoli.

Being critical of Yoli and Coca-Cola is beyond simply being “critical” for the sake of being critical. Rather, our critical comments are for our survival as a community and for those who struggle too simply be.

Members of the Otomí community in Mexico City protest in front of the National Palace, in support of various organizations in Mexicali that organize due to the lack of water. Photo by Luis Castillo, 2021.

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Now more than ever, the Yoli and FEMSA partnership should encourage people to build and connect with water movements across the country and the hemisphere with Guerrero by linking the historical past with the present.

Movements for water such as Mexicali Resiste #NoDAPL, and with the Yoeme along the U.S.-Mexico borderlands aren’t too different in struggle to what is going on in Guerrero and struggles to access clean drinking water. Working to divest and be in communication with water movements not only in the U.S. and Mexico, but across the hemisphere and world requires effort on our behalf. Thankfully, as Guerrerenses, we can look to our own communities and history of anti-capitalist movements that have existed in the recent past like that of the Partido de los Pobres (PdlP) and the Asociación Cívica Nacional Revolucionaria (ACNR). Learning about the PdlP and ACNR movements can prove useful to recognize that our people were struggling with theory and imagining a good tomorrow for all. [18] In addition, learning about the PdlP and ACNR struggles against the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI) and Mexico will help us gather the language and generate ideas to ensure that we do not fall into the traps of neoliberalism as we continue to receive recognition in diaspora. Further, I propose that we interrogate how corporations or institutions that ultimately cause damage to our communities in the name of representation “should” or “ought” to be the end goal for us. Learning from the past may prove useful and collaborative to build solidarities with movements for water and life from Anishinaabe people stopping Line 3 in Canada to the efforts by the Coordinadora de las Organizaciones Indígenas de la Cuenca Amazónica (COICA) struggling against deforestation in the Amazon basin. Perhaps, maybe perhaps these potential solidarities should supersede the nationalism and regionalism we have through a particular product like Yoli and Coca Cola—perhaps.

Again, how far can we extend our pride in a product and corporation without reflecting on its connection to a global crisis of water? There is no doubt that Yoli is just as iconic as the beaches and chilate that symbolizes Guerrero. However, the story of Manuel Castrejón and the romanticized story of naming a soda pop company over his daughter quickly becomes less about local or regional history when the introduction of a global corporation comes into the fold. If we are Guerrerenses in diaspora using history, traditions, and products to describe who we are to the world, well, what products should we highlight and what traditions should we let people know about who are not familiar with who we are? And what contradictions should we be comfortable with living amongst global corporate actors that are at times more influential and ubiquitous in our daily lives than the nationstate? In the case of Yoli and Coca-Cola, I propose that we expand on what Yoli was and has become for people who desire or seek to know more about who we are as a community, in diaspora or in the homelands. I also propose that we in the diaspora remain vigilant and complicate our celebrations of corporations living in the U.S., especially if we stand in solidarity with movements across the hemisphere and globe. This is all for a better

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tomorrow that rests in the uncertain hope to live and smile with our future generations in a world that is constantly changing and intensifying.

Ultimately, there is no good representation in diaspora if we aren’t willing to engage with capitalism. Without an analysis or at least a recognition of the problem, we become vulnerable to co-optation by corporations that will leaves us with nothing but recognition.

Remember your ancestors and our people for their resilience, but also for their rebellion and the “bad” trouble they offered to create a better tomorrow. Remember Lucio Cabañas and the struggle of the Partido de los Pobres (PdlP) who imagined and forged a rebel Guerrero against bad and greedy government and corporations. Their rebel memory never died and won’t and should not die with us in diaspora. Proceed with caution, please.

-------Acknowledgements: Many thanks to my Compas Kristian Emiliano Vasquez, Maritza Geronimo, Jayson Maurice Porter, and the Guerrerense Diaspora Collective for inspiring me to write this piece. Much gratitude to Annelle Maranan Garcia for allowing me to expand my ideas on corporations and the environment through our casual talks. Being able to hear them share their ideas on how the Philipinx community makes sense of their diaspora through corporations and representation in the United States was a teaching moment that gave me the direction I was missing for this reflection. Tlaxtlaui.

About the author: Joel Calixto is a Guerrerense from Tres Palos and Ixcateopan de Cuauhtémoc who is currently in Northern California on the traditional homelands of the Patwin Communities: Cachil DeHe Band of Wintun Indians of the Colusa Indian Community, Kletsel Dehe Wintun Nation, and Yocha Dehe Wintun Nation. He is a member of the Chicanx World Making & Futurities Project and Xicana Tiahui, as well as a cook who recently started playing FortNite. Joel is currently a graduate student in the Department of History at the University of California, Davis where he studies the intimacies, complexities, and environmental impacts of gold mining corporations in Latin America and across the Pacific Ocean.

-------FOOTNOTES FOR THIS ARTICLE CAN BE FOUND AT XICANATIAHUI.WEEBLY.COM

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ITZEL THE CREATOR Hogar y Esculturas, 2020 medium: video There’s a story that comes with the things we bring back home from a trip to another place, whether that be to your parent’s pueblo or a new location to venture. So many things are brought back home from Mexico whether that be inanimate objects or my favorite, delicious traditional foods.

The food sculptures made imitate the goods my abuela mamá espe takes time out of her day to make to pack in my luggage or sends me to enjoy back home in Chicago all the way from Guerrero!

Hogar y Memorias, 2020 medium: video

in its streets. From living there in my early years of The Neighborhood Belmont Cragin holds many memories life to visiting my mother's family to my mother’s boutique being there for more than 4 years. Belmont Cragin has always made me feel at home as most of their residents looked like me and probably went through the same experiences. This neighborhood has played a significant role in growing my relationships with my mother's family in Chicago. In this video, I have documented my old home on Marmora + Fullerton and other places from my childhood in which some I still visit. The voices are my cousins who have either lived or still live there or spent a lot of time there visiting family. I hope you feel at home and enjoy.

Maiz Conversations, 2020 Medium: Acrylic Paint

Maiz Conversations highlights the intergenerational matriarchal comida tradicional de Guerrero, México. I asked my Abuela, Mama Espe, from Ojo de Agua, Gro. about the traditions of some of my favorite foods she prepares...she stated that they both needed the presence of maiz. Maiz is a staple item in having food security in many indigenous communities/many pueblos. Therefore, In these regional dishes, you will find Maíz being an ingredient.

This painting takes place at my grandparent’s home, on the patio. Our family hangs their clothes here and lets the chickens roam. I painted me, my mother and grandmother all desgranando the maiz. Prepping the maiz for tamales de calabaza y frijol and tlaxcales dulces, my favorite foods my grandmother prepares.I wanted to create a sense of familiarity even for the people who are not apart of my maternal family, and nostalgia when viewing this. QEPD Mama Espe.

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The Two Sides of Acapulco

BY SERGIO MORALES Arid air engulfed me as I exited the noisy bus terminal into the harsh sunlight of my hometown. As the sunlight heat pierced my already sweating skin, all the ruckus from the nearby beeping cars and people’s chatter made me smile.

“Wow. I am really back,” I quietly gasped to myself.

It has been more than seven years since I last was in Acapulco, and I was terrified of the possibility of never coming back. What I was scared of the most was not necessarily never being able to come back, but childhood memories slowly fading away and my connection to this place disintegrating into the abyss. And worse—the erasure of the sense of who I am and where I come from.

As I gazed to the other side of the busy street, I looked up to see a spiky, colorful, and spherical structure welcoming me back. I always called this giant sculpture “La Piñata,” since that is what I assumed it was, and it was one of my favorite parts of visiting el Parque Papagayo. Many of the times when I would go to el Parque Papagayo as a child it would be painted differently, and I really was fascinated by all of the different colors, stripes, and designs it had each time. Behind “La Piñata,” Papagayo’s flourishing trees loomed in the distance, drowned out only by voluminous crowds of tourists flanked by an unceasing flow of traffic. The sight uncovered so many forgotten memories...

Walking around the park with my grandmother and cousins...

The happiness when she bought us bubbles or candy...

The little zoo inside part of the park...

I remember I used to like seeing the peacocks and their colors...

A boat at the shore of the lake...

And of course, the little fair on the side of the park facing the beach...

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"¡Ya llegó el taxi, vente!” my mom alerted me as I popped out of my little daydream.

We put our luggage in the back, and we noticed there were already other passengers in the cab. However, my parents, sister, and I still fit.

Seven people into one little taxi, but we all made it work! The taxi then drove uphill, where I was able to have a better look of La Costera. The turquoise waters of the city’s humongous bay came into focus, topped by white fancy yachts and surrounded by powdery sand dotted with energetic beach-goers. Overlooking the beaches, metal stalagmites masqueraded as tropical resorts intertwined between luxurious shopping centers and expensive restaurants for prosperous visitors.

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I was taken away by the beauty of the bay, but at the same time became a bit frustrated by the sight of tourists. I knew there were wealthy white Americans among there. I was thinking of the different reasons families would emigrate: forced displacement, economic reasons, US imperialism, the violence from local governments, etc. Then I thought of the various factors that complicate returning to one’s hometown, such as time, money, immigration status, etc. Taking this into account while seeing the wealthy white Americans who can easily cross back and forth between the border and treat your hometown as just a weekend destination is irritating and enviable. Yet, the comforting sound and feeling of the wind blowing through my face soothed me as the taxi zoomed uphill.

"I should just be glad to be back,” I thought.

I glanced again at the tranquil bay as it was vanishing on the horizon. I was proud to be from here. Yet, as the taxi reached the other side of the hill, the landscape unveiled another world, and the stereotypical Acapulco dwindled behind. Descending into Las Cruces, I could not help but notice the stark differences between here and the stereotypical touristy Acapulco.

Hiding in the greenery of emerging foothills, concrete buildings with withered aluminum roofs struggled to stand. Old trucks replaced modern cars.

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Littered sidewalks substituted freshly paved avenues. The crowded and narrow informal markets replaced the spacious shopping centers.

These markets bordered the streets and almost every building, where noisy shoppers were shoulder-to-shoulder as they ventured. The taxi eventually stopped near Bodega Aurrera, where my family could switch to another taxi that would take us straight to our pueblo. As we were waiting for a taxi to pass by, my eyes darted around to see all the movement around me.

The sight and scents of different fruits in the loud informal markets...

People strolling through the bridge above me...

Crowds gathering to enter one of those covered pick-up-truck-taxis that have seats behind...

Vendors venturing in the streets to sell chilate, chicharrón, flanes/cremitas, and much more...

The smell of gasoline as endless beeping vehicles roamed the rubbish streets...

I then wondered why does this part of the city not appear when you search “Acapulco” on Google? Do white American tourists even know this side exists? I started to reflect more. When I say “I am from Acapulco” why do I always show people pictures of La Costera or Acapulco Diamante? Is the other side—where I have fond memories as well—not worth showing?

Was I too embarrassed to show US Americans that my family and I are from el pueblo? Is the tourist part of the city, for me, the only acceptable and palpable form of what Guerrero or Southern Mexico is to other people?

A taxi with a “30” sign soon came, and we zipped through the rest of the Vicente Guerrero Boulevard. As I was looking out the window, I saw the Cinépolis where I used to come with my family as a child. In front of the movie theater, there would sometimes be little carnival rides, a circus, or small tianguis markets. I randomly remember one time there were stands outside where vendors sold cheap pirated movies, and I remember my mom and I bought Cloverfield to see on our little TV at home. I then turned to the right, where I saw the small food stand where my aunt, cousins, and I would frequently go to at midnight to order tacos al pastor.

I still remember the contrast between the partially illuminated hills and the dark, night sky in the horizon as I ate there. As the taxi exited the main city and started to navigate through the pueblos, I peeked back to see that hill with the antennas—the one that separates the two sides of Acapulco.

Which side am I really from?

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The journey was over upon recognizing the octopus-shaped hill atop our pueblo, El Kilómetro Veintiuno. Exiting the taxi, we walked towards my grandparents’ house on the upper hill. The feral dogs circled around us as drain water covered the dirty streets and drifted downhill. The colorful old houses each had tinacos on top and one could hear the racket from the parrots, roosters, and dogs from the inside. Hearing gleeful chatter, I finally spotted my grandparents’ house, where my younger cousins were joyously playing and my grandmother was tending the clothesline. Beside my grandmother’s house was my aunt’s tiny miscelánea, where my aunt smiled upon seeing us. Her enthusiasm catapulted me into good memories: Climbing that octopus hill with my uncle to see the entire pueblo and the landscape...

The annual little festival in December...

The way I would run away scared when people lit up castillos and toritos...

Playing hide and seek in abandoned houses with my cousins...

Helping my grandma make relleno de puerco to sell to the community...

Going downhill to play in the river...

I then thought again about the stark contrast between La Costera/Diamante and our pueblo. Two worlds united under one name, Acapulco, where one is purposefully erased because it does not fit the white narrative. It did not surprise me when learning about how the urban planners of the city purposely tried to hide the non-tourist part of the city, not wanting to drive out wealthy white tourists. I thought about the implications this carries with me as a migrant in diaspora and reflected on how I present myself to white US Americans, Mexican-Americans, Mexican nationals, Guerrerenses, and even other Acapulqueñxs. I talk too much about Acapulco, but at the same time, not enough about the real Acapulco. Is this a result of embarrassment of where I am really from or to appear “cooler” to my US peers? Most likely. However, I am erasing a significant part of myself, my family, and my community. Most importantly, this exacerbates my fear of losing a sense of who I am and where I really come from. A huge part of my childhood memories and connection to this place hidden behind a façade...

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As I am looking around our pueblo and thinking about the childhood family photos I have back in Houston, I appreciate more the specificity of my family’s background. The way my aunts and parents in diaspora would speak fondly about our pueblo to other Mexicans moves me. In the battle against the homogenization of Mexico and “Mexican culture,” it is important to highlight each of our communities’ specificities and this has changed the way I present myself in front of others. Although most people think of the beaches of Cancun or San Miguel de Allende in Guanajuato when hearing Mexico, or Diamante when hearing Acapulco, they do not really represent my family and I. Despite the touristic wonderland a few miles away, I am more comfortable strolling around the area that actually shaped me. With a cheerful grin, I am proud to consider this pueblo as home.

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La Veladora

by Jose Zuniga

“Oye primo, I have a good story to tell you” “Scary?”

“The scariest” The hot and humid summer night at my abuelita’s house in Los Bajos, Guerrero, was perfect for such stories. A cool breeze would make the trees whisper as it went through them.

There was an endless darkness beyond the gate, and we would hear the sounds of animals crawling around la huerta two houses down. It would be just Angel and me with the gate open talking all night, until one of us spoke too loudly and one of our tios would come out to yell at us to go to sleep. Angel loved to scare me with his stories. He knew them all, La Mano Peluda, Cañitas, La Lechuza and many more. “…People have said they often see her by the river at the other end of la huerta. Always crying out Ay mis hijos, donde estan mis hijos? If you hear her close your eyes, because if you meet her gaze you will be frozen in fear. She will grab you with her ice-cold hands, jabbing her sharp long nails into your arms. And when she sees that you are not her children, she will drown you just like she drowned them”

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La Veladora

by Jose Zuniga

I sat there staring at Angel. My ten-year-old self didn’t know what else to do. Angel, seeing the fear in my eyes began to grin. I knew that grin, I had seen it many times before. He was messing with me. Just as I took a sigh of relief strong wind started to blow from la huerta. Shaking the branches of the banana trees in the front yard, and with it I heard a whisper. A whisper that carried the pain of a mother who committed an atrocious unforgiveable sin.

Ay mis hijos I figured it was my imagination. I looked to Angel for reassurance, expecting to see him holding in his laughter. He wasn't laughing, he wasn't even smiling. His body was tense like stone, with his eyes glued to the front gate. It wasn't my imagination, he heard it too.

Ay mis hijos. The wind croaked again I couldn’t breathe my chest felt as if a cold hand was squeezing my heart. My shirt was soaking, and I couldn’t tell if it was the humidity or me.

Every muscle in my body was screaming at me to run but I was petrified. I looked at Angel and he was just as frozen as me. We stayed that way for an eternity. Our heads were screaming at us to run, call for help, something, but we had accepted our fate and were waiting for her to appear at the front gate in her dirty, white, elegant, dress. Her bony frame and her demonic face that personified death and despair.

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La Veladora

by Jose Zuniga

The wind died down and the whispers disappeared, but we still couldn’t move. We knew she was getting closer. The wind picked up again, only it didn’t bring whispers with it but, a wail of immeasurable pain. As it hit my ears, I felt a chill slowly crawl up my spine, as if her hand was walking up my back.

She must have been behind me, but I couldn’t bear to turn around and look, so I just sat there waiting for those cold bony hands to grab me and drive her darkened claws into my soft innocent shoulders. The wind kept blowing until an empty bottle of beer, left on the porch by one of our uncles fell, on the floor and shattered.

The deafening sound of the bottle broke our trance. Angel and I looked at each other with panic, unsure of what happened.

“Chamacos, ya abuelita came the bottle had silent, staring “Que paso?”

es noche. It’s time for bed” Our outside to tell us. The sound of woken her up. We just sat there at her, trembling in our seats.

We didn’t answer. What did happen. Stared at her and after a while I was able to muster enough never to mutter “La Llorona” Abuelita frowned “Angel! Why are you trying to scare your cousin? Ya te lo dije. Aplacate cabron”

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La Veladora

by Jose Zuniga

Angel didn’t try to defend himself. Abuelita sighed from exasperation and said “Ya estuvo bueno. Time to go to sleep”. We followed her inside the house, and she herded us into our rooms. Angel just walked to his room still wideeyed and speechless and abuelita took me to mine to tuck me in.

“Abuelita” “Si mijo?”

“I’m scared” “No pasa nada. There’s nothing to be scared of” “But I heard her, abuelita. She’s coming from la huerta” “Esta bien” She grabbed a candle with an image of the Virgin Mary, lit it and put it on the nightstand next to my bed. She prayed an Ave Maria for my protection. “There la Virgencita is going to protect you now. La Llorona can’t get you as long as this candle stays lit. If it goes off call for me and I’ll light it again.” She then kissed me in the forehead “Buenas noches mijo” and left.

Even with the candle on I felt uneasy. The flame flickered with the wind and cast shadows on the walls of wild demons trying to get me. The wind kept bringing the whispers of La Llorona into my room. She was outside my window. I tightly shut my eyes. If I don’t meet her gaze, she can’t get me.

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La Veladora

by Jose Zuniga

I felt a hand make its way through my window inching its way closer and closer to me. The light from the candle shone through my eyelids letting me know that La Virgencita’s was still protecting me. Time lost its meaning, and I didn’t dare open my eyes.

A rooster crowed. Sunlight sneaked through the trees and my window into my room. I woke up in a panic, checking my arms to see if I had any claw marks on them. I didn’t. I turned and looked at the nightstand. The candle was still lit, with only a little sliver of wax left. As soon as I saw it, it went out, leaving a thin trail of smoke dancing in the air. I looked at the picture of the Virgin Mary and kissed it with my hand “Gracias Virgencita”.

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I was not able to say goodbye

By Geovani Serrano Laguna

7 am, 2 am, 12 pm It could be any day, any week I just hope it never comes true I did not receive a call I was not informed until...

Those words slip out of their mouth “Death” My tia passed away My tia “Ponciana” was gone The only thing I have to remember her by Is just the image of her in my memory.

And few pictures of her A memory of 12 years ago A blurry memory But not forgotten.

This is the major sacrifice Our undocumented community faces everyday Leaving home was not an option It was for survival.

Countless calls throughout the years Breaking our community apart Because we are in pain But we can’t go home The last image of our loved ones is either a photo Or just memory that is fading away Because we do not have the luxury To leave this golden cage And give our proper goodbyes

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Our pain, our sorrow, our tears Are inevitable We have a family but we are still alone I am still waiting and hoping to never Get a call of my bisabuela passing away There is nothing to prepare us From feeling helpless of not being able to be en la velada Of not being able to see their face one more time It is an agony that kills It is our greatest sacrifice.

Adios tia Aunque este miles de millas lejos de usted.

Your strength will live in me Your audacity and courage will transcend for generations to come.

In loving memory of:

Ponciana Serrano Chavez

Even though they are blurry I will preserve all those countless stories.

Of your adventures of bravery, hope, and wildness.

Those stories will remain alive and I will share them.

So they can motivate the next generation of Serranos.

Just like how they motivate me.

To my fellow undocumented folks Be strong, our fight is constant But will be rewarding.

Even if we can’t say goodbye We might be able to bring them flowers one day.

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Corrida

By Vanessa Nava Flashes of memories come and go.

Distant glimmers like an approaching flashlight in the distance.

Then the rocking wooden chair pauses for a brief moment, as a sudden dormant numbness, rolling from the feet to the thighs, to the heart, to the realization of the power of words and their poder within each one of us.

A same feeling I had when a pariente mentioned that Lu and I would be leaving for the United States.

It was a place that I did not know and espantada to know what it was.

I remember Lu packing her turquoise dress with matching aretes, to bring to the United States.

When we were leaving Tonalapa del Río, I felt like the vestido, squeezed into a compartment of space with no room left to breathe.

We were at the house patio with our maletas and boxes ready to be loaded into the corrida.

We received bendición by ama Cari and ama Tere, who cared for us, while my parents were away, with flores de Jamaica. The bright red petals followed us, gently and somberly towards our exit.

We hugged, cried and kissed.

Tears of longing, tears of joy, tears of love, tears of hope, tears of unavoidable change.

We had a long journey ahead.

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I had only seen mi Ama's picture when she was carrying me as a baby. not mi Apa’s, so I was anticipating the moment.

When I saw them both for the first time, I saw myself in them.

I felt a tingly feeling of inspiration all throughout my body as we hugged, kissed and cried. Tears of joy, tears of hope, tears of love, tears of becoming complete once again.

Lu and I began unloading our belongings and gifts from our long ride.

Sometimes it was a surprise, sometimes it was a request through a letter, a call or a message between my relatives.

Each regalo was wrapped carefully in papel de estraza.

It had the name of a relative: semillas tostadas de calabaza for Nico, bolitas de bonete for Meño, panes borrachos for Hermi, queso cincho for Chabe, guajes for Viz, charales y cuatetes secos for Nati.

It was my parents' first apartment of their own.

Some of our family members lived a great distance from us and some in proximity. Las calles de Chicago became familiar as we cruised together on a '83 Crown Victoria heading to the garra de la canal.

Los rides were timeless and would forever become a flash, imprinted in mi memoria. A timeless ride, with no end and no beginning.

That same month when we arrived to Pilsen on 17th Street, mi Ama took me to mi tia's place. Mi tia José was a curandera.

Her apartment smelled of a variety of herbs, especially of hierbabuena. She wanted to make sure if I had espanto, I would come back to heal.

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Mi primo Veni, who was my walking partner, laid out the direction of the cuadras - las subidas y bajadas like the walking caminos of Tonalapa del Río.

I recognized mi primo Junior, the first day of school.

I was not alone, I saw many faces like me, with similar, familiar look in their eyes. A distant memory of a distant flash, that reminded me of home. I felt at home. I fell in love.

Valoré lo caminado through time.

Now the rocking wooden chair continued to rock back and forth.

Admiration of these grown hands, how time has aged this body.

With its timeless memories, flashes of light like chispitas sparkling and bursting everywhere, like cohetitos pirotécnicos, into the hand, into the circulation of our veins, to the ground roots, to give fruit of what has not been tended.

Of what yet has not existed, or of what has existed but reborn into a new form, to add to the light, where our flashes and sparkles go to, in the afterlife. Tears of unity, tears of peace, tears of change, tears of becoming otra again.

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CONTRIBUTOR BIOS

DANI C.T

Dani C.T is a Chicagoan with Nahua roots in Huahuaxtla & Temaxcalapa Guerrero. They are a 3rd year Psychology major and Latin American studies minor. Being a danzante, curating content with Guerrerense Diaspora, and engaging in decolonial work with their community on Chicago's North-West side is what they enjoy the most.

Itzamar Carmona Felipe was born in Cruz Grande, Guerrero, Mexico and moved to Huichin Ohlone Land (Oakland, California) at the age of seven. Migration, mental health and exploring their queer identy are main themes of their poetry. They write to remember and to make sure the stories of their family and home are not lost with the years

TOHUI C

ITZAMAR CARMONA FELIPE

My name is Tohui, as far you know. I was born and raised in a rough neighborhood on the Northwest side of Chicago to a working class family that never shied away from our Indigenous and Guerrerense roots. Life was and continues to be an ongoing challenge as we try to overcome the structural and generational problems that threaten us as well as many others in our community. I find hope in Leftist politics and activism in the community and i'm motivated to see a better world built with equity and fairness in mind. I have a small Teespring store where you can buy some t-shirts I designed, and my other links are there as well. https://tohuis-dungeon.creator-spring.com/ 40

CONTRIBUTOR BIOS Ayleen (@arrndc) was born and raised in Southern California. She was raised mainly in Guerrero (and a bit in Queretaro) during her early childhood before coming back to the U.S. She is working towards her B.A. in Spanish and a minor in Chicano & Latino Studies, which she is expecting to graduate with this school year. Coffee and traveling are what she enjoys the most.

AYLEEN A.C.

Jesus Cortez is an undocumented writer and poet from West Anaheim, California. His work is inspired by his upbringing by a single Guerrerence mother during the 1990’s. Through his works, he hopes to shed light on the people and stories about the city that tend to be ignored by the mainstream.

JESUS CORTEZ

Miriam Ramírez is a Chicana from Anaheim, California and is currently a graduate student at Wilmington University with a focus on Administration of Human Services. Her mother is from la Costa Chica of Guerrero and has continuously instilled in her a love of their culture and roots.

JOEL CALIXTO

MIRIAM RAMIREZ

Joel Calixto is an undocumented migrant, a cook, and a lover of all things Cumbia currently living and studying on Patwin lands (Davis, CA). Originally from Tres Palos (Acapulco), Guerrero (MEX), his work revolves around topics of autonomy, mining capitalism, and the environmental impact of gold mining corporations along Guerrero and Latin America’s Pacific Coast. He hopes to write and connect historical struggles for life in Guerrero with the world and build amongst differences.

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CONTRIBUTOR BIOS Hello all, I'm Itzel Velazquez a multi-disciplinary artist and hopefully future art educator, born and raised in Chicago, home to a huge population of Guerrerenses! My work can sometimes be about documenting my life in hopes that my family and those after me have something to remember me by. I also hope that there will be people who can relate or feel represented to some part of the story if not the whole story told in each piece whether that be in the now or in the future.

SERGIO MORALES

J. ITZEL VELAZQUEZ

Sergio Morales (he/him) is a queer migrant from Acapulco now living in Houston, Texas, and he is currently a fourth-year student at Soka University of America. For his senior capstone, he is exploring the connections between tianguis markets and food access in Central-Southern Mexico and how its translation in diaspora is changing the US food justice landscape. Sergio is a big fan of his grandma’s bolillo con relleno de cuche, and he enjoys making memes about his friends during his free time.

I'm Jose Luis Zuñiga, 28 years old, born and raised in San Diego California. My family is from Los Bajos Del Ejido Guerrero and we have a lot of family from el pueblo here in San Diego. As for myself I am currently striving to establish myself as a writer.

JOSE ZUNIGA GEOVANNI SERRANO LAGUNA Geovani Serrano Laguna is from Tlalixtaquilla de Maldonado, Guerrero but currently lives in Duluth, Georgia. He is a community organizer at the Georgia Latino Alliance for Human Rights (GLAHR). He wants to continue sharing the history, culture, and power of the state of Guerrero with other guerrerenses in the diaspora.

VANESSA NAVA Vanessa Nava is a Xicana, raised in Tonalapa del Río, Guerrero and Chicago and now resides in the San Francisco Bay Area.

She is the founder of Xiquihuitl Media (@xiquihuitlmedia), a community media production service.

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tierra y libertad press ABOUT US: Tierra y Libertad Press is an autonomous, self-managed, and memberorganized zine press that publishes zines connected to Chicanx/Xican@, Black/Afro-descent, and Native/Indigenous people from Las Américas. Our aim is to collaborate, design, create, publish, and disseminate zines that draw from various mediums of creative and analytical expressions. In the spirit of do-ityourself (DIY), rasquachismo, and Punk sensibilities, we create zines to spark revolutionary imaginations and possibilities. We desire to create a radical community of creative, cultural, and artistic practitioners and zinesters.

HOW WE SUPPORT ZINESTERS: Tierra y Libertad Press collaborates with BIPOC zinesters to develop zine projects. We support through visual design, small printing funds, promotion, and distribution. We provide design support in the form of transmitting the skills of cut 'n' paste or digital methods of zine-making. Furthermore, we offer small upfront printing funds to ensure the first print of a zine project. From there we promote and distribute the zine on our various social media platforms. To learn more about the process of creating and publishing a zine please contact us at xicanatiahui@gmail.com.

PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS: ORDER YOUR ZINES TODAY

Get in touch if you are interested in publishing your own zine project! email: xicanatiahui@gmail.com

KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR OUR FUTURE ZINES COMING SOON: - Oaxacan Diaspora [Vol. 1] - Lucha por la Vida: Water [Vol 1] - Xicanista Radicalisms [Vol. 2] - Pueblos Libres [Vol. 2]

BUY ZINES TODAY ON XICANATIAHUI.WEEBLY.COM 43

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We would like to dedicate this zine to the 43 students of La Escuela Normalista Rural Raúl Isidro Burgos de Ayotzinapa, Guerrero on the 7th anniversary of their forced disappearance Abel García Hernández Abelardo Vázquez Peniten Adán Abrajan de la Cruz Alexander Mora Venancio Antonio Santana Maestro Benjamín Ascencio Bautista Bernardo Flores Alcaraz Carlos Iván Ramírez Villarreal Carlos Lorenzo Hernández Muñoz César Manuel González Hernández Christian Alfonso Rodríguez Telumbre Christian Tomas Colon Garnica Cutberto Ortiz Ramos Dorian González Parral Emiliano Alen Gaspar de la Cruz.

Everardo Rodríguez Bello Felipe Arnulfo Rosas Giovanni Galindes Guerrero Israel Caballero Sánchez Israel Jacinto Lugardo Jesús Jovany Rodríguez Tlatempa

Jonas Trujillo González Jorge Álvarez Nava Jorge Aníbal Cruz Mendoza Jorge Antonio Tizapa Legideño Jorge Luis González Parral José Ángel Campos Cantor José Ángel Navarrete González José Eduardo Bartolo Tlatempa José Luis Luna Torres Jhosivani Guerrero de la Cruz Julio César López Patolzin Leonel Castro Abarca Luis Ángel Abarca Carrillo Luis Ángel Francisco Arzola Magdaleno Rubén Lauro Villegas Marcial Pablo Baranda Marco Antonio Gómez Molina Martín Getsemany Sánchez García Mauricio Ortega Valerio Miguel Ángel Hernández Martínez Miguel Ángel Mendoza Zacarías Saúl Bruno García

Le mandamos fuerza a los seres queridos de estos 43 estudiantes en su lucha por la justicia. Siempre nos faltaran 43, pero siempre vivirán en nuestros corazones y en nuestra lucha colectiva contra el estado malvado.

Tierra y Libertad Press