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Taking My Show to the Land of Enchantment My big news is that I'll be performing Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? in Las Cruces, New Mexico, at The Black Box Theater on Sunday, October 7th: 2 pm and 7 pm. If you have friends, family, or colleagues, in either Las Cruces or El Paso, please let them know by forwarding on this email. I’d be most grateful. They can learn more about my show and watch what folks are saying about it by visiting my website: irmadherrera.com. I'm interested in connecting with social justice activists in Las Cruces as I'd like to invite some to participate in talkbacks after each of the two shows. So do point me in that direction if you know folks doing this important work. Gracias. Working on Two Different Shows It’s been a really busy and productive summer. I’ve been working on two separate shows: my one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? and a second solo play, titled I Want To Sell Democracy, that is part of the Times Unseen Project, a group effort described in a pervious blog. In the Democracy show, I portray a first-year social studies HS teacher from Corpus Christi, Texas, that I have been interviewing over the past 18-months as she was launching a new career. Prior to getting her teacher credential she had spent a decade working in the world of social justice and political activism. I'll be doing the next performances of the Democracy show at the Times Unseen Theater Festival, at The SF Marsh Theater, the weekend of October 19-21, 2018, along with some 20 other performers who will bring a variety of stories to the stage that are based on interviews we've been doing with everyday Americans around the country. San Francisco Run -- October 25 - December 8, 2018 Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? opens on October 25th at The Marsh Theater in San Francisco, for a seven-week run. Tickets are now on sale at: https://themarsh.org/mispronounce-my-name/irma-herrera/ There will be two shows each week, Thursdays at 8 pm and Saturdays at 5 pm. I have already lined up an exciting list of Talkback speakers after each show, among them prominent civil rights lawyers, law professors, social justice activists and artists, who will speak on topics related to the assault on civil rights in the Trump Era. I will be highlighting the speakers and topics in future blogs. Stay tuned.

Please come see my new show (in development) as part of The Marsh Theater’s Times Unseen Initiative. This Wednesday, July 11, 2018 at 7:30 pm at The San Francisco Marsh Theater. Tickets $15 at the door or $17 online ($2 service charge). More info and tickets at: https://themarsh.org/times_unseen/times-unseen-initiative-prepared-pieces/ There are two performers that night presenting for a combined 90 minutes (no intermission). Here are the descriptions of our stories from the The Marsh website: “I WANT TO SELL DEMOCRACY” by Irma Herrera How do we get fair and representative government? By making sure we have well-educated voters. Stacey Barrera, a social justice activist with a master’s degree, and a decade of work under her belt, returns to school to get a teaching credential. As a social studies teacher in an overwhelming Mexican-American public high school in Corpus Christi, Texas, Miss Barrera’s mission is to sell democracy. “ON THE BRINK” by Linda Joy “On the Brink” introduces audiences to people living in “the other California” and contrasts their concerns with that of professional people in the Bay Area. As part of the Times Unseen initiative, for the past two years Linda Joy has been listening to people living in Red Colusa County, the second poorest county in California with an economy based on agriculture. Living at the Stony Creek Apartments for adults over 55, she experiences the challenges of living in a remote affordable housing complex, helping her understand her neighbors to some extent. But unlike the other residents, she brings a sociologist’s eye and ear to her observations of the area. In listening to what people repeatedly talk about without prompting from her, she discovers their preoccupations and worldviews and then brings these characters to life onstage. Artist Biographies IRMA HERRERA is a playwright and solo performer. Her one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name?, explores themes of identity and the importance of valuing cultural differences. Herrera spent five years as a journalist and three decades as a public-interest lawyer promoting gender equality and advocating on behalf of ethnic and racial minorities. LINDA JOY – While spending 16 years as a university professor and researcher with a PhD in Sociology and another in Language, Culture and Cognition, Linda Joy yearned to exercise her spontaneity, imagination and creativity through the arts. So while her academic peers were readying their promotion files and cranking out publications, she spent summers making up scripts for solo shows at obscure venues, doing improv, writing poetry for public readings, and experimenting with video and mixed media. Then she leapt into the unknown. She now brings attention to social issues through solo performance, written commentaries, and lectures for life-long learning programs. She created and leads The Imagination Playshop for Adults with its motto: “Question, Imagine, Improvise, Create.” The Times Unseen Initiative Several performers were invited by The Marsh Theater to participate in the Times Unseen Initiative. This project is the brainchild of David Ford, the award winning veteran creator of stories for over 30 years. He serves as the Times Unseen Initiative Director, with Rebecca Fisher as the Associate Director. It was launched shortly after the 2016 elections ushered in the largest political reversal our country has experienced in the post-World War II era. The following are David Ford’s thoughts on the project, as shared on The Marsh website. Since the election, the news is filled with who is winning, who is losing, and what attention-getting statement a politician has made today. Highly polarized, citizens are passionate about their particular fraction of the political rainbow, regardless of the hue. Beyond the news, Americans fall in love, work, get sick, die . . . experience the drama of daily life. We have decided to take our cue from Russian author Svetlana Alexievich, who proved the power of exploring history through personal stories in her magnificent book Secondhand Time. In what ways are political turmoils affecting the personal life of Americans? This project will chronicle the effect of political change on individuals. One of the stark lessons of the recent election is the ideological divide between regions in America. We have a team of Marsh artists who have personal connections to the disparate social, geographical, and political regions of America. We are asking them to interview people – Americans talking to Americans about family, love, safety, health, finances etc., in a time of political change. And our artists will bring what they hear back to the Marsh and make theater of it. Times Unseen: because we are in new territory politically, and because politics, for better or for worse, are about promises of a changed future, times as yet unseen. Times Unseen will culminate in a Festival of New Work the weekend of October 19-21, in time for the 2018 mid-term elections, with workshop performances along the way (end of David Ford’s thoughts on the Times Unseen Initiative). I am very excited to share the stage with Linda Joy and to introduce you to her work, if you haven’t already seen her perform. I've watched as she has developed and shaped this material over the past year plus. You will reflect long and hard on the themes we cover. Money back guarantee if you decide it wasn’t worth your time. Really. The San Francisco Marsh 1062 Valencia St. (24th Street BART) Wednesday, July 11, 2018 @7:30 pm #solotheater #civilrights #discrimination #socialjustice #immigrantrights #incomeinequality

I steeled myself before playing the audio of the distraught immigrant children separated from their parents and shipped off to detention centers. I avoid movies with cruelty and violence. It felt important to hear the children’s voices. A few seconds was all that I could bear. I pressed the space bar. It was too painful to listen. I was immediately transported to the first night our son spent with us. He was inconsolable when it was time to fall asleep. We are parents through adoption and Tony was 11 months old when he joined our family. He had been in foster care in the home of an elderly Anglo couple for five months before we adopted him. Herb and June were a caring and loving couple. Tony was the only child in their care. They had a granddaughter close to Tony's age who lived a few miles down the road, they were very comfortable with a baby in their home. The first time I spoke with June her Texas drawl became even softer. “We don’t know anything about the situation that led to this baby being relinquished for adoption, but I think he was really well cared for because he is so open and trusting and loving. He’s a very affectionate little boy. He’s just delightful.” Our future son was 10 months old when we met him, it was four weeks before he was placed in our care. In that month I made two trips to San Antonio to see him. He was not quite yet walking, and busily cruised the living room at June and Herb’s home holding on to furniture. I played with Tony on the floor. He entertained himself with the top part of the shiny silver foil Nordstrom box that had clothes I had bought for him. A game of peek-a-boo had Baby Tony laughing with much gusto. At times he lifted his arms to me so I could carry him. He snuggled up against me as I read to him. June encouraged me to help him feed himself wedges of watermelon; a fruit he loved and consumed greedily; the perfect food to eat on San Antonio's hot and humid summer days. Tony relaxed and giggled in the kitchen sink as I helped bathe him. June and Herb had placed pictures of Mark and me on the wall at eye level on the side of his crib, and several times a day she would tell him, “Tony, this will be your mommy and daddy; you are moving to California to live with them. Under Texas adoption laws, we were required to remain in the state for a week after the date of placement. That first night we were together, I got our son ready for bed, and was holding him quietly when he started crying. Then the crying turned to wailing and he was inconsolable. All I could do was hold him and tell him that we would always take care of him, we would always love him and make sure he was safe and that I was sorry he was scared. He cried and cried and cried. Nothing comforted him. I imagined that he missed June and Herb who had been in his life every day for several months. He was in a strange place, This was not his crib. The smells and sounds were not the same as the home where he lived. He was in a strange new place, and all I could do was to softly repeat these words: you are safe, we will always love you and care for you, and we will always be there when you need us. Everything will be OK for you. But it was obvious that it wasn’t OK for him, at that time. This must have reminded him of being separated from his birth parents several months earlier. How I wished I could turn back the clock and and wave a wand that erased all the experiences that had clearly caused him pain. I stroked his hair and back, I held him tight and offered these words of reassurance. It was a long and painful night for all of us. Eventually he fell asleep. He adjusted well to his new situation and a week later Tony took his first plane ride from San Antonio to Oakland. Several months later we took a short vacation to the Monterey Peninsula, and once again, he had two nights of inconsolable crying. We cut short our mini-vacation; it was just too hard for our muchachito to be in a new place. Hearing the children’s plaintive cries took me back to those nights when there was nothing I did that comforted our son. The few seconds I listened to the audiotape, had me weeping. I cannot imagine the pain these children are enduring, or the pain of the parents who do not know their children’s whereabouts. We must keep up the pressure and the demand that these families are reunited. Using these people as political pawns is a violation of their human rights. It is cruel and harmful and heartless. Photo credit: John Moore, Getty Images #immigrantchildren #humanrights #racism #socialjustice #adoption

When we were young lawyers, a Chicana friend working as a public defender shared this story with me. She needed to interview a psychiatrist -- a potential expert witness on a case. His name was Dr. Fuchs. And unsure of the name’s pronunciation she asked around and was told it was “fee-youks (pronounced as ONE syllable).” Nervous about getting it right and wanting to make a good impression she practiced, but when she introduced herself she called him Dr. F-word. He took it in good humor. I was reminded of this story when I recently heard Allan Fuks on NPR’s Story Corps, recounting the bullying he encountered because of his last name when he growing up. "Even the kids on the lowest social rung didn't want me sitting at their lunch table," he says. "So I would go to the library because I didn't want to sit alone and I remember I read the entire Holocaust encyclopedia. I recognize now that's kind of dark. But I was just such a lonely kid." When he was 12 years old, Allan said he'd call the Nintendo hotline, "to have someone to talk to me. I remember trying to painfully segue from a conversation about video games into just like, 'So how's it going in your life?' And he's like, 'What?' That's basically my childhood," he says. Fuks, the son of Russian immigrants recalls that when he was 16, his parents decided to change their last name to save their kids the endless teasing. Given their light skin color they opted for an Irish last name. They threw a bunch of Irish surnames into a hat, and drew the last name Finn. But, says Allen, it was too late for him. None of the kids would let go of the teasing and continued using his last name. His younger sister did get the benefit of the name change. I read somewhere that the shortest distance between two people is a story: it is the door to understanding and compassion. I love listening to the recorded interviews of Story Corp and find it equally gratifying to read the collection of stories that have been put into print. Do take a listen to Allan’s painful and still wonderful story as told to a friend from his childhood. https://www.npr.org/2018/06/08/617691679/he-grew-up-with-an-unfortunate-name-he-hated-now-hes-owning-it Several generations back, the changing of last names among immigrants was much more common. “The rationale was straightforward: adopting names that sounded more American might help immigrants speed assimilation, avoid detection, deter discrimination or just be better for the businesses they hoped to start in their new homeland.” This according to a New York Times story from 2010. https://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/26/nyregion/26names.html The NYT reviewed 500 petitions for name changes filed in New York City courts and found that only a half dozen of the applications were filed by immigrants from Asia and Latin America with the intention of Anglicizing or adopting some abbreviated version of their last name. In fact there were more petitions to revert back to an original last name (like Allan Finn going back to Allan Fuks) than taking an Anglicized name. Today, most experts agree, that traditional immigrant gambit has all but disappeared. “The vast majority of people with clearly ethnic surnames who applied to change them did so as a result of marriage (belatedly adopting a spouse’s surname or creating a new hyphenated one) or childbirth (because they were legally identified when they were born only as a male or female child or were adopting a parent’s name).” NYT article. We are all familiar with famous actors who changed their “ethnic” names. Tony Curtis (Bernard Schwartz), Lauren Bacall (Betty Joan Perske), Alan Alda (Alphonso Joseph D’Abruzzo), Natalie Wood (Maria in West Side Story was born Natalia Nikolaevna Zakharenko). In a three-minute You Tube clip, Martin Sheen (Ramon Antonio Gerard Estevez), shares his name story. His son Emilio Estevez chimes in with his experience of agents telling him he should not use his identifiable Hispanic names. Encouraged by his Dad, he kept his names. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_oMkQY2ico). According to the NY Times article. “Sociologists say the United States is simply a more multicultural country today (think the Kardashian sisters or Renée Zellweger, for instance, who decades ago might have been encouraged to Anglicize their names), and they add that blending in by changing a name is not as effective for Asians and Latin Americans who, arguably, may be more easily identified by physical characteristics than some Europeans were in the 19th century and early 20th century.” I am gearing up for a seven-week run of my one-woman show (October 25-December 8), Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? and am starting to use social media more often. If you are on instagram please follow me: irmadherrera, and I’ll follow you back. I’ll be using instagram, twitter @irmadherrera, and of course my facebook account to keep you informed of my theatrical goings on. As y’all know I am a storyteller and love hearing your stories about names, so please do share them. #discrimination #prejudice #racism #Latinx #soloperformance #storytelling

My one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? will have a 7-week run at The San Francisco Marsh Theatre, the Bay Area’s premier showcase for solo performances. Two shows per week: Thursday 8 pm and Saturday 5 pm from October 25 to December 8. I am so excited, and am already giving lots of thought to the guests I want to invite for post-show talkbacks on a variety of social justice issues, so topical in these challenging times. Many of you may have seen the obnoxious tirade directed at customers and staff that were speaking Spanish in a NYC restaurant. The complainant, caught on video, threatens to call ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) on these folks. It went viral, and twitter users identified the racist culprit as NYC lawyer Aaron Schlossberg. Hundreds of folks, offended by his tirade, showed up for a festive street party featuring Mariachis and tacos in front of Schlossberg’s home. It was heartwarming to watch the outpouring of support. And I love Mariachis. https://tinyurl.com/ychkjtyy Schlossberg's law firm website notes that they can serve clients in several languages, including Spanish, French, Mandarin Chinese, Hebrew, and of course English. The racist barrister, who has now issued a lame apology (hell no, we don't believe you) may find himself subjected to disciplinary action from the New York State Bar. Here's hoping. https://tinyurl.com/ycxrrmfs All this reminds me of growing up in segregated South Texas, where it was not unusual to hear white kids telling us “this is America, speak English,” or “if you can’t speak English go back to Mexico.” Well duhhh . . . we spoke perfectly good English and our families had been in S. Texas for generations, since before Davey Crockett ever laid eyes on the Alamo. This is ground that I cover in my one-woman show. Seen my play already? First, thank you, and second, please come again. Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? is always evolving, and has already undergone big changes from last year's performances. I am certain that new material will find it's way to my play between now and opening night. If you live outside the Bay Area, how about making that visit to San Francisco you’ve been thinking about? The temperatures in late October through early December are quite nice and range from the low 50s to mid-60s. There’s so much to see and do: San Francisco, Berkeley, Marin, the Wine Country -- all beautiful this time of year. Look forward to seeing you at The San Francisco Marsh Theatre sometime between October 25 and December 8, 2018. Tickets not yet on sale, and you'll be the first to know when sales go live. I have been enormously gratified by the sold out houses and the warm reception my play has gotten. Muchismas gracias. #racism #immigrantbashing #discrimination

A newspaper headline catches my eye; allegations that the mayor of Driscoll, Texas, is under investigation for racial slurs and sexual harassment. Driscoll is a small town in the Corpus Christi, TX metropolitan area. I am spending this week in South Texas, doing interviews and research for some theater pieces. The mayor of Driscoll, Marcos Zavala, is charged with making sexually suggestive comments to female employees and openly commenting about his sexual encounters with various women (not his wife, the newspaper notes). Several female employees have complained that his comments made them uncomfortable. The women also complained of Zavala's use of a racial slur for black people while at City Hall. The story goes on to note that one of the women has biracial children, and the other was raised by a black man. According to one complaint, when the women confronted the mayor after an incident earlier this year, he told them it was "no big deal" because he had relatives who used the word "often." The article goes on to report that the city’s governing body voted to permit “Zavala to come to City Hall to fulfill mayoral obligations . . . but must notify city staff when he is coming to City Hall in order to allow female employees an opportunity to be somewhere else.” I read and then re-read the lines, "allow female employees an opportunity to be somewhere else," presumably unable to do their jobs while the mayor is at City Hall. All I can do is shake my head. I'm offended on ALL counts reading about this pinche idota, and I know there is work to be done to check racism within communities of color. Being on the receiving end of racial slurs, as I am certain Zavala has been, did not sensitize him and create a sense of kinship or protectiveness toward other people of color. A brown man in a position of authority is an enforcer of white supremacy and misogyny. Hijole. Offensive comments and behavior of the sexual nature described are usually the exclusive domain of men. To be clear, I am not saying ALL men act this way, many men do not, but when you read about this behavior you can bet a man's name is attached to it. Within nanoseconds my fingers tap the keys on my computer and the following names appear on my screen: Harvey Weinstein, Donald Trump, Silvio Berlusconi, Clarence Thomas, Charlie Rose, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Bill Cosby, Brock Turner, Roy Moore, Tony Mendoza, Bill Clinton, Eric Schneidermann, Alex Kozinski, Sherman Alexie, Junot Diaz. I know why some of these seemingly random names found their way to my computer screen, I've been listening to Rebecca Solnit's The Mother of All Questions (audiobooks are great company when I'm out hiking alone). Men abusing their power in entertainment, judiciary, journalism, public office. A notorious college student's name crops up often and these are authors whose work I admire who have been named in the firestorm phenomena, #MeToo. The acts of some of the above men went far beyond sexual harassment: assault, rape, strangulation, death threats. Stories about men abusing their power are everywhere, and right now many women are emboldened to come forth, but sadly most women still stay silent, knowing they could lose their jobs, that opportunities they deserve may be withheld, or worried that they will be blamed and publicly excoriated and ostracized for daring to complain about mistreatment. Worse yet, that threats against their lives could well be carried out. Thank you sisters for coming forth with the stories that have led to the downfall of so many prominent men. This is some serious stuff, we must continue to speak up, take action. How do we clean up the mess these guys have made in so many sectors? Would the nasty, crass, creepy, and perhaps even unlawful activities taking place in boardrooms, courtrooms, the White House and the United States Congress be happening if we had a fair representation of women in all these places where great power is wielded? Me thinks not. A great place where we can make change is via the ballot box. Given that most people begin their political careers at the local level, what can we do to increase the pool of women candidates for city council, school board, district attorney, mayors, state representatives? Why has the number of women elected to the California Legislature declined rather than increased in recent years? Come hear about the important work of close the gap CA (CTGCA), a campaign to recruit progressive women to run for the California Legislature. Honored that CTGCA asked me to join Ayelet Waldman for a conversation on the way that gender, power, and culture collide and what this could mean in a year of extraordinary political opportunity for women. Ayelet Waldman is the author of A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life, the novels Love and Treasure, Red Hook Road, Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, and Daughter's Keeper, as well as of the essay collection Bad Mother: A Chronicle of Maternal Crimes, Minor Calamities, and Occasional Moments of Grace and the Mommy-Track Mystery series. She is the editor of Inside This Place, Not of It: Narratives from Women's Prisons, and Kingdom of Olives and Ash: Writers Confront the Occupation. She was a Federal Public Defender and an Adjunct Professor at the UC Berkeley Law School where she developed and taught a course on the legal implications of the War on Drugs. She lives in Berkeley, California, with her husband, Michael Chabon, and their four children. Please join us. When: Thursday, May 31, 2018, 6:00 – 7:30 pm Where: The Berkeley Mills Showroom 2830 Seventh Street, Berkeley (between Grayson and Heinz Streets) Tix: https://tinyurl.com/yc3se98p For additional information contact Cynthia Brantly Pierce, cynthia@closethegapca.org or 510-704-1657. Your presence supports a really good cause. #racism #sexism #sexualharassment #MeToo #closethegapCA

“You have a moral obligation, a mission and a mandate, to speak up, speak out, and get in good trouble. — Congressman John Lewis Last month, one Saturday afternoon, we celebrated the life of an amazingly talented civil rights lawyer and all around good human being, Joaquin Avila. This was in Watsonville, California, at a community center located in a Mexican-American neighborhood, The next morning I boarded a flight to San Antonio, Texas and that evening I was at a funeral home paying tribute to another remarkable friend, Roy Robbins, whom I’d known even longer than Joaquin. A common thread emerged: these were men who made good trouble, and as we mourned their passing we celebrated two lives well lived. Joaquin Avila I met Joaquin Avila in 1980 when I was hired to work at the National Office of the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund (MALDEF) then located in San Francisco. Thirty years ago, Joaquin was already a renowned leader in the voting rights field. As a young attorney I was to split my time between voting rights and education cases; eventually my focus turned to education law but my relationship with Joaquin as colleague and friend continued. Speakers recounted the many ways their own lives, and those of their communities, were shaped by Joaquin’s work as one of the nation’s top voting rights lawyers. Lawyers and activists came to Watsonville from the agricultural valleys of the Golden State, the Bay Area, the Pacific Northwest, and as far away as Mississippi. Speakers reminded us of the many ways and in the many places (Utah, yes Utah) where Joaquin’s work had shaped the political landscape of this country. Joaquin was the recipient of the prestigious MacArthur Fellowship (known to the world as the MacArthur Genius Award) in 1996. He had served as President and General Counsel of MALDEF. His cases had been argued (by him) in highest court in the land, the United States Supreme Court. Beyond those notable accomplishment, we also heard about his engagement and support of Mexican-American small business owners, farmworkers, union organizers, school teachers, and members of LULAC chapters. These people knew that without political representation in every governing entity (school boards, city councils, and state and federal legislatures) our communities would continue to be denied the opportunities to develop to our fullest potential. Many of the speakers, most of them Latinxs, are the products of the successes recounted on the yellowed newspaper clippings on the community center’s bulletin board’s about Joaquin’s legal victories in the Salinas Valley and elsewhere. We recalled Joaquin’s humility, kindness, patience, and persistent unwillingness to give up, even as the US Supreme Court guts the protections afforded disenfranchised communities. The warm remembrances, and the smiling photographs of Joaquin helped me recall his infectious laugh, and gave us the chance to give thanks for this mighty champion. Joaquin did all this work at great financial sacrifice to himself and his family. The legal battles he pursued are expensive to investigate, cue up, bring to trial, and to sustain as they wend their way through lengthy appeals. But the fruits of his labors are everywhere. Remember him next time you go to the polls. Joaquin Avila, PRESENTE. Roy Robbins The following day I flew to San Antonio to attend funeral services for Roy Robbins, married 40+ years to Margaret Guzman Robbins, a good friend since our college days. I sat quietly and peacefully on a wooden pew in a funeral home’s chapel, as people of varying ages (many millennials) offered condolences, then approached the open casket, knelt, and paid their respects. The evening ended with the recitation of the Holy Rosary. All this was so familiar, the ritual of funerals I attended during my childhood in South Texas. Still there was some cognitive dissonance: the person we were mourning in this very Mexican-American ritual was an Anglo. Roy Robbins was born and raised in The Rio Grande Valley of South Texas where throughout his (and my) childhood Anglos ruled and Mexican-Americans were considered inferior. Back then, kids from these two groups rarely interacted with each other. But Roy made friends with Mexican-American kids and rejected these messages of white supremacy. He cared deeply about fairness and justice, and responding to his first calling he became a Methodist Minister. As a Minister he was active in making good trouble by participating in the integration of white churches in the Deep South. But he left the ministry and began working on economic development programs established during President Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty, which eventually led him to pursue a degree in economics and to his career as a Professor of Economics at St. Mary’s University. It took Roy several decades to earn his PhD, as working full-time teaching, mentoring students, illness, and life events, made it difficult to get that dissertation completed. On my trips to South Texas, Roy and Margaret were the friends who always picked me up at the San Antonio Airport and immediately delivered me to a favorite Tex-Mex restaurant before dropping me off at the home of a family member. Last year they called with great excitement to tell me that one of his brightest students had been accepted into UC Berkeley’s PhD Program in Economics. As Monica knew no one in the Bay Area, they wanted to connect the young Latina to someone with Bay Area roots. They knew I'd be interested in meeting her, and it’s been an absolute pleasure to know this exceptional young woman. I met several of Professor Robbins’ students, as they called themselves, the evening of the Visitation and Rosary and the next day at the Reception that followed the Funeral Mass. These former students came from Dallas, Michigan, Houston (and places in between) to express their gratitude for the support they had gotten over the years from both Roy and Margaret. Their stories of Roy’s generosity towards his students were unknown to me, but they did not surprise me: paid DACA fees for young Dreamers, bought textbooks to students in need, and gave most generously of his time and attention. The only speaker at the Funeral Mass was their daughter Jenny, who knew firsthand her father’s love for teaching and his students and his steadfast belief in equality even when it meant bucking tradition. “He raised me to know that he would never give me away at my wedding. But it wasn’t because of sentimental or protective reasons; it was because he wouldn’t participate in anything that made it look like I was his property to give away.” Near and dear to my heart, Roy was always encouraging students to be proud of their ethnic heritage, and stressing the importance of pronouncing their names correctly and including accents and tildes or whatever other diacritical marks their names might have. Roy Robbins made good trouble challenging students, taking them outside of their comfort zone and helped shape the lives of many young people, the vast majority of them first generation Latinx college students whom he would see graduate and begin careers doing meaningful work, and in some instances pursuing advanced degrees. Last year, two of those grateful students -- who met at St. Mary’s and later married -- endowed the Roy Robbins Professorship in Economics with a one million dollar gift to the University. The couple, who went on to earn advanced degrees, returned to Mexico where they are successful entrepreneurs. In establishing the fellowship, one of the donors, Marisol Arteaga Gonzalez, echoed the words of other students I met. “Dr. Robbins has left a mark both in my personal life and in my professional career. He has been a mentor who motivates me to believe in myself and to strive for what is right. I think the most important thing I have learned from him is to love the subject of economics – a great instrument that can be used to help achieve a better society.” Roy Robbins, PRESENTE. The picture above is a tapestry in The Guadalupe Chapel at St. Mary's University in San Antonio. My alma mater has an undergraduate student body that is 85% people of color, 70% Latinx. #socialjustice #votingrights #discrimination #Latinx #MALDEF #StMarysUniversity

The process of revising my one-woman show for a run this fall at the San Francisco Marsh Theater is both exciting and challenging. (I'll announce dates as soon as they get finalized). It’s hard to let go of a scene or even a small part of a scene; I do become attached to my lines. Still, as I put the material on its feet and rehearse with my director, I can feel when something no longer works. I look at her and she looks at me. “But I really like this, Rebecca, and it’s important.” “Yes, it is both those things, but it doesn’t work here.” Darn. This can happen for any number of reasons: when the sequence of scenes is rearranged or new vignettes introduced the flow of the story may becomes awkward, the material tangential, and sometimes it feels like I’m beating a dead horse. (Jeez, I’m struck at how awful this expression is, who would beat a horse to death and then keep beating it? The origin of that expression requires some research, but speaking of tangents, I’ll let this go for now). The consolation prize for taking out this material is that I can share snippets of script and provide some backstory in blogs. Here’s a now deleted scene. Scene Outtake I’m watching the news one evening. News Anchor: Today in Sacramento, California Attorney General Ex-avier Becerra announced . . . Me: (yelling at the TV) EX-avier Becerra! That is NOT his name. It’s HA-vier. How can you NOT know how to say the name of California’s Attorney General? Dude’s in the news all the time, suing the Trump Administration. And where the hell are the news editors? They would never let someone mispronounce a French name. But Spanish names, doesn’t matter. Would this happen if they were Latinxs in the newsroom? Annoyed with the news anchor’s pronunciation, I google the station’s website, and find her email address. I write a snarky email, and then delete it. Take Two. Dear Ms. Anchor, please note that the California Attorney General pronounces his name Ha-vier. I spell it phonetically, it’s Ha-vier not EX-avier. Please call me if you need assistance with this pronunciation. Think of me as your personal Name Whisperer. Sincerely, Irma Herrera. I attach a digital name card that allows the anchor to hear the correct pronunciation of my name (should she choose to do so) by simply clicking on a link. An hour later I receive a very nice email from the anchor thanking me for bringing this to her attention. She wants to get it right. End Scene Outtake I am really annoyed when I hear newscasters mispronounce Spanish names, because I know they take great attention to pronounce French names correctly. Aren't we entitled to the same level of respect? In fact, EVERYone is. As to the Attorney General's name perhaps I feel protective because I first met Xavier when he was a Stanford Law Student and he spent the summer working as a law clerk at the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund's National Office in San Francisco where I worked as a lawyer. I have followed his career with interest from afar: after law school he worked as a legal aid lawyer and then public service, eventually serving in the United States Congress representing the people of Central Los Angeles for 20+ years. I have great respect for his intellect, his decency, and his humanity so I was very pleased when Governor Jerry Brown’s nominated Becerra to serve the remaining term vacated by Kamala Harris' election to the United States Senate. Attorney General Becerra is running for the post he currently holds in the upcoming election. The lesson in this exchange with the news anchor was simple, the incorrect pronunciation of his name was nothing more than she just didn’t know, and she willingly and gladly accepted the information I provided her. Yes, we could argue that she or someone at the station SHOULD have known the correct pronunciation, but you don’t know what you don’t know. You know the motto See Something, Say Something, well it’s equally applicable to our names. Unless we speak up when folks get it wrong it will never be corrected. Unfortunately it is not uncommon that people will avoid saying your name if they fear mispronouncing it. Those of us with “challenging” names appreciate that folks make the effort and we also understand that folks aren’t always going to get someone’s name exactly right. After all we too struggle with names that are difficult. My mother had a very hard time with Jennifer, always reverting to Yen-i-fer. And I kept prodding her. It used to bug me when the news media referred to Tom Perez, former Secretary of Labor, now Chair of the Democratic National Committee, as Tom Purr-es. The correct Spanish pronunciation of the last name Pérez is pretty similar in sounds to the English last name, Pettus. So if you can say Pettus you can say Perez. But then I learned that this is how Tom Perez pronounces his name Purr-es, so I defer to his preferred pronunciation. I admit that it still irks me a bit, and as to anyone else with that last name, unless I know otherwise, I opt for the Spanish pronunciation. So I get how confusing it can be. The best guide to the pronunciation of someone’s name is to ask the person to tell you (yes sometimes repeatedly) and ask for their help if you find it difficult to say their name. A friend whose first name is Paven is often called Pave-en, Pah-VEN, Pah-VON. He offers a simple and memorable tip -- it’s like “oven” with a “p” in front, Poven. Easy peasy. Today technology allows us to tell the world how we pronounce our names. I’m partial to Name-Coach (https://cloud.name-coach.com/) which allows you to record your own name and to include it as part of your closing signature or in social media. I’m looking forward to interviewing the founder of this company, Praveen Shanbhag, for a future blog. He created the software after attending his sister’s college graduation and hearing her name mispronounced so badly as to make it unrecognizable. This software is now being widely used by K-12 schools and universities to help teachers with the names of their students, and at commencement ceremonies. Of course it has many more uses than that. Check it out. In closing, my thanks to all of you for reading my blog, and for sending me stories, articles, quotes about names. A name is a reminder of where you’re from; it’s also a reminder of your parents’ hopes for you in this world. — Francisco Cantu, author, The Line Becomes a River More about Francisco Cantu and his writing at: https://franciscocantu.us/ “Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone give your daughters difficult names. give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. my name makes you want to tell me the truth. my name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right. — Warsen Shire, Named in 2013 as London’s First Young Poet Laureate Read more about Warsen Shire at: http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-london-24375551 #LanguageStatus #TellMeYourName #civilrights

Welcome to The Cancer Café: A Journey From Diagnosis Through Stem Cell Transplant, written and performed by Judith Dambowic. At age 58, Judith Dambowic was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, an incurable blood cancer with no clear and accepted treatment path and a limited life expectancy. Judith who worked in the medical field as a physical therapist is no longer the medical provider. She is now the patient and enters a community shared only by others faced with similar dilemmas and choices. I met Judith some years back on a four-day whale-watching trip in Baja California organized by mutual friends. A group of 20 nature-loving women with backgrounds in law, medicine, education, and the non-profit sector, camped at an eco-lodge along the shores of San Ignacio Lagoon in Baja California. Although our ages ranged from 20s to 70s we greatly enjoyed getting to know each other and playing some spirited games of Scrabble, Bananagram, and Quiddler. Both the kinship and the whales were magnificent. Through our mutual friends, I heard of Judith’s multiple myeloma diagnosis and subsequent stem-cell transplant. A reminder of life’s fragility. I don’t know a single family who hasn’t been personally affected by cancer. I was pleased to learn that Judith was doing well and studying with David Ford, the esteemed dean of the Bay Area solo performance scene (so named by the SF Chronicle’s Theatre Critic). I too got my start in the world of solo performance by taking classes with David Ford and he directed my first one-woman show, Tell Me Your Name. I saw an early installment of The Cancer Café and I was so moved by Judith’s story. Her perspective and experiences (besides being good theater) are educational tools which have much to teach us about illness, wellness, and the importance of community and faith, when we in crisis in the face of illness and loss. Don’t miss it. Both performances are fundraisers to support worth causes. Following each show, Judith will have an on-stage discussion with her partner Rabbi Chaya Gusfield, Palliative Care Chaplain. Saturday, May 12, 7 pm Beth Chaim Congregation 1800 Holbrook Drive Danville, CA Suggested donation of $18, cash or check. Thursday, May 17, 7:30 pm Kehilla Community Synagogue 1300 Grand Avenue Piedmont, CA Suggested donation of $20, cash or check. Tickets available at the door. I've worked for 30 years with people who are writing and performing their own stories. In that time I've heard a lot of people give witness to the trials of having a life threatening disease. Judith Dambowic goes further than anyone I've encountered. She gets the awful contrasts of fear and courage, agency and impotence, armor and vulnerability.” -- David Ford, the "dean of solo performance” More information about Judith's show at https://www.facebook.com/events/362320200938278/

I just finished Luis Alberto Urrea’s magnificent novel, The House of Broken Angels. The book is beautifully read on Audible by the author. It touches mi alma y mi corazón to hear the characters' names and many other Spanish words said in ways that are familiar. Listening to Urrea’s pronunciation of his own name reminded of how often the common and beautiful Spanish first name, Luis, is mispronounced. Many folks say it as two syllables, Lou-ease. My family says I have thousands of pet peeves, and this is one of them. It’s quite possible that folks who say the name are not aware they are mispronouncing it. Here’s how to test yourself: say Luis, out loud. If it sounds like the woman’s name Louise, then you could use a wee bit of coaching, which I happily offer free of charge. Think of me as your personal Name Whisperer. NERD ALERT: first, some background about sounds. Beyond having an absolute love of language and its many quirks, I was a teaching assistant at University of Notre Dame, Department of Modern Languages, that’s how I how I put myself through law school. In that capacity I had to learn a little bit about phonetics along with various tips for helping people learn to say Spanish words. Luis is pronounced as one syllable, because the “ui” is a diphthong. That’s just a fancy word to describe a combination of vowels that blend together and make one sound. A couple of examples of diphthongs in English words: “oi” in the word toilet, pronounced as one sound “oy.” We don’t say to-i-let. Then there’s book, the “oo” has a long single u sound, it is not boo-ook. You can learn more about diphthongs here: https://www.ebcteflcourse.com/english-diphthongs/ One last tip to help with the pronunciation of Luis. Think of the word oui, yes, the French word for yes. Even if we’ve never studied French, somehow all of us know that oui is one sound: we. We don’t say ou-we. That combination of vowels blend together to make one sound, just like the ui in Luis. So put an "L" before saying the French “oui” and add an "s". Voilá that will give you the proper pronunciation of Luis. Surprise your friend Luis next time you see him by saying his name correctly. Now back to The House of Broken Angels. In an article that appeared in the Chicago Tribune, Urrea was called "the literary conscience of the border.” The book is rich with history and captures so accurately the experience of being treated as outsiders regardless of the fact that as mestizos, (descendants of the mixing of Indigenous and Spanish peoples) our ties to America, los Estados Unidos, is centuries old. Check out this story and the video where you can hear Luis Urrea’s great storyteller’s voice, http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifestyles/books/ct-ent-luis-urrea-0311-story.html. It pleases me to no end to see our stories on the page and on the stage depicting us not as stereotypes, but as real life human beings with all the complexities and contradictions that live within all of us. Many of us grew up reading books devoid of characters who bore any resemblance to us. Slowly but surely the landscape of American literature is growing more inclusive, not just of Latinxs, it also reflects the racial and ethnic diversity that is America. Do you have a mispronunciation pet peeve related to a person’s name? Please send it along.

“Your play reminded me of two stories that have stayed with me throughout my life. Both happened when I was 14." This is from an email I got earlier this month from Rose, after she and a friend saw my mini-show at Marsh Madness weekend in San Francisco: "My Mexican cousin Blanca came to stay with us to spend a year learning English. She was enrolled in school and the first thing her teacher did was scoff at calling her Blanca and announced she would now be Blanche. I remember we didn't quite know what to do about that and had various reactions. My mother, like most familias Latinas, never challenged the teacher's authority, I thought the name Blanche hysterical and Blanca was conflicted between having an ‘American’ name and losing her identity. Back in Mexicali, Blanca's best friend Osvelia, a light-skinned, blue-eyed, dark-haired beauty had her own name experience when she visited the US for the first time. Some teenage boys approached her and started calling her Maria. My name is not Maria. Why do you call me that? All the Mexican girls we know are named Maria. Well my name is Os-ve-li-a, she said pronouncing her name with deliberate emphasis. Aw, that's too hard to say, we'll just call you Maria." Many people in the United States, prefer to Anglicize the pronunciation of any name they consider . . . hmmm, how to say this . . . not a ‘real American’ name. Ir-ma becomes UR-ma, and when I offer assistance to help someone pronounce it correctly, I might be asked, can I call you something else? And so it is that Yesenia becomes Yesi, and Blanca becomes Blanche (which ironically enough is a French name). The Blanca/Blanche email came just days after the death of renowned French fashion designer, Hubert de Givenchy. (Stay with me people, there’s a connection). I listened closely to the news, knowing that the newscasters would do a pretty good job with his name. They did NOT call him HUE-bert dee GIVEN-shee. Instead, they honored the correct and elegant French pronunciation – Ou-behr duh Gee-von-she. Good on them. Pronouncing French names correctly (or well enough) presents us as well-educated, sophisticated, worldly. And if you are in the news business, your editors want you to look smart and credible. I just wish they did that for other people’s ‘foreign’ names. Such attention is not typically given to Spanish names. Au contraire, mes amis! Several years ago, Vanessa Ruiz, who grew up speaking both English and Spanish, secured a coveted anchor spot on a Phoenix news station, and was harshly criticized for correctly pronouncing Spanish words on air. The story made it to the NY Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/04/us/latina-arizona-news-anchor-vanessa-ruiz-spanish-pronunciation.html Recently, I was watching the evening news on KRON. News Anchor: Today in Sacramento, California Attorney General EX-avier Becerra announced blah, blah, blah. I didn’t hear the rest of the story I was so distracted by the mispronunciation of the AG’s name. I wrote an email to the anchor telling her that the Attorney General pronounces his name HA-vier, not EX-avier. To my pleasant surprise she responded within the hour thanking me for bringing this to her attention, she wants to get it right. At the station, she tells me, she helps others with pronunciation of names of foreign leaders. We should not hesitate to offer guidance when someone does not know how to say our names. Whether someone makes the effort to get it right is on them. Have you had similar encounters? I’d love to hear about them. #LanguageStatus #Latinx #discrimination #prejudice

A Tejano friend shared this story with me in response to a blog I posted some months ago. CH: “Hello, my name is Candelario Huerta.” New Person (NP): “Oh, I don’t speak Spanish.” CH: “That’s OK, I’m just telling you my name.” NP: “Can I call you something else?” CH: “No.” So many of you have shared your name stories with me, and it's been a privilege to hear them. Some stories are finding their way into my performances, and others will be in a companion book to my one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? I'll be using them with your permission, of course. Candelario's story is in my new mini-show, Your Name is WHAT? Gracias, compañero. A Brown And A White Mexican Take The Stage! A proud and righteous Chicana and a White Mexican get you to thinking..."what makes us who we are?" Theresa Donahoe's "Confessions of a White Mexican" and my piece,"Your Name is WHAT?" provide insights into the assumptions we make about others based on our perceptions of who they are and where they fit into society's pecking order. You'll CRINGE and LAUGH and leave a tad bit more enlightened and informed. I’ll be presenting this new material at the Marsh Madness Festival in San Francisco Saturday, March 10 at 1 pm (yes that’s 1 pm!) If you live in the SF Bay Area come on out and support Theresa and me. Gracias!! Buy your tickets $10 at the door or you can also get them on-line $12 (service fees and guarantees against a sell-out crowd. We should be so lucky) https://themarsh.org/civicrm/?page=CiviCRM&q=civicrm/event/register&reset=1&id=2288 Please keep those name stories coming. And remember, you don't have to be Latinx, African American, Asian . . . or from any particular group to have an interesting name story.