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"Everyone please go see this show! You hear people say “Art is Resistance” . . . well this definitely fits that bill. You are taken on a journey with Irma from childhood, adolescence to adulthood. Her experiences navigating through sexism and racism pull you in because they are so relatable. Your memory is provoked regarding your own personal story about power dynamics and how they relate to your name, identity, culture, gender, ethnicity, immigration status and/or profession. I kept nodding my head at each scene because Irma was bringing truth to power. I felt seen and heard! ~Vicky Castro (Facebook Post) Thanks to the generosity of a handful of friends and the collaboration of 10,000 Degrees, a Bay Area based non-profit, 100 or more high school and college students from low-income families will see my one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? free of charge when I perform on October 13, in San Rafael, California. The Showcase Theater has seating for 315 guests. And if you’d like to make it possible for even more students to attend, please consider a donation in any amount to 10,000 Degrees. If you haven’t yet seen my updated show (I’ve added new material since the El Paso massacre) you’ve got one more chance to see it this year. Tickets are $25 (Early Bird Price) until September 13. Regular ticket price thereafter is $40. The South Central Texas town of Alice, where I grew up with a population of18,000 people had no live theater. The movie theater on Main Street, The Rialto, showed the Hollywood movies everyone was seeing back in the 50s and 60s. Alice had a second movie theater, El Rio, on Reynolds Street a few blocks from our home, which showed Mexican movies (produced in Mexico). I remember the good-looking heartthrob Pedro Infante, dressed like a charro, dismounting his caballo and breaking out into a song. We loved seeing the zany physical comedy of Cantinflas, who later became known to English-speaking “American” audiences in movies like Jules Verne’s Around The World in Eighty Days. The Mexican movies at El Rio had nothing to do with our lives on this side of the border, and the characters and stories in the movies we saw at the Rialto likewise bore no resemblance to anything that happened in our world. People sometimes ask me if I was into theater and drama in high school and college. Not at all, although I did take one drama elective in high school and the only part I remember ever playing was a male role with maybe two lines. What play was it? I have no recollection, but I do remember the teacher gave the best roles to the Anglo kids. I saw my first live play some time when I was already in my 20s. and since moving to San Francisco almost four decades ago, I’ve been a regular theater goer, and little by little I have seen playwrights from the underrepresented communities make inroads in getting the stories of our communities on the stage. But it’s slow going. Our screen time is woefully small. The Annenberg Inclusion Initiative at the University of Southern California released a study, “Latinos in Film: Erasure On Screen & Behind the Camera Across 1,200 Popular Movies,” at the end of August 2019. The study found that of the 100 top-grossing films each year from 2007 to 2018, only three percent featured Latino actors in lead or co-lead roles. Producers and casting executives fared badly, too, with Latinos making up only three percent. And they were equally rare in the director’s chair, helming four percent of movies studied during the 12-year period. In all, only 4.5 percent of the 47,268 speaking roles studied by researchers went to Latino actors. I’m so glad to have discovered theater as a form of personal expression, and to have the opportunity to perform for diverse audiences. Some folks, well beyond the Latinx community report seeing themselves in my work, and other tell me they left the theater with insights about the importance of names, of how discrimination has affected various communities, and even how their actions may negatively impact others. Writing and performing have been a labor of love and I’ve been extremely gratified with my new career. I hear from students and young professionals how much they relate to experiences of feeling like we don’t belong, especially when we see few people who look like us in some of the spaces we inhabit. So pleased to have been introduced to the work of 10,000 Degrees, whose tag line is “creating college graduates who change the world.” The organization’s mission is to help students from low-income backgrounds get to and through college in order to positively impact their communities and the world. I completely embrace its values statement: “Education is the foundation of a just and equitable society. Students and their families as well as schools and local leaders each play a critical role in educating the next generation and strengthening the economic vitality and social health of our communities.” Amen to that. 10,000 Degrees has already helped tens of thousands of students get ready for college and succeed in college with their mentorship programs, scholarships, child care support, and a range of other services. 10,000 Degrees is a 501(c)(3) non-for-profit corporation, and donations to 10,000 Degrees are tax-deductible. Learn more about 10,000 Degrees at https://www.10000degrees.org/ If you want your contributions to underwrite additional tickets to my show for 10,000 Degrees participants you can mail a check payable to 10,000 Degrees, 1650 Los Gamos Drive, Suite 110, San Rafael, CA 94903. Please note on your check in support of “Irma Herrera Show.” Or you can donate on-line at https://donate.10000degrees.org/give/199384/#!/donation/checkout And write, “Irma Herrera Show,” in the “Leave a Comment” section. Thanks so much, for paying it forward. And Bay Area friends, hope to see you there (even, if you’ve already seen it you’ll want to check out the updated version). And please invite your friends. Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? Written and performed by Irma Herrera Showcase Theater, San Rafael, CA Sunday, October 13, 2019 at 7 pm (one hour, no intermission) Tickets $25 (Early Bird Price) through September 13, and $40 thereafter. Available through link on my website: irmaherrera.com #SocialJustice #Equity #HigherEducation #MispronounceMyOwnName #Discrimination #Racism #Latinx

In Alice Walker’s 1983 book, In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose, she coined the term “colorism” to define a form of discrimination: “prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on the color of their skin.” Folks from African-American, Asian, Latinx communities are often reluctant to acknowledge this form of prejudice, knowing full well that it invites comments such as: why the big to-do about our discriminating against them, they discriminate against their own! While colorism refers to in-group discrimination, it is but another form of racism based on white supremacist beliefs. My personal experiences (and documented by ample empirical research) confirm that the lighter a person’s skin, the likelier they are to be viewed as more attractive, more intelligent, higher achieving, easier to get along with, less threatening, and the list goes on. Notwithstanding that people often say “I don’t see color,” the first or second observation we make about an individual is their skin color and whether they are male or female. And whenever we cannot easily place someone into clearly defined categories the “what are you?” question often follows. Those recipients of the question typically find it uncomfortable and offensive. There is nothing wrong with observing these differences and it is something we all do instinctively. Growing up I loved hearing the story as told by my mother about her brother Rodolfo who ran all the way home from the train depot in the tiny town of Realitos, Texas (population 200) where they lived, and excitedly telling the whole family about two men on the train – Mamá estaban mas prietos que yo (they were darker than me). The big reveal was that this was the first time Rodolfo had seen Negros (the name African Americans were called back then). The South Texas world into which my parents (and I) were born was as segregated as the Jim Crow South, only ours was a brown and white world, where brown people were relegated to subservient status. Back then most South Texans were of Mexican ancestry and our physical appearance could range from dark skin and indigenous characteristics to fair-skinned and blue-eyed gueros. In some instances European ancestry took front and center stage. Rodolfo was the darkest of my mother’s brothers and sisters. As children, Rodolfo and his siblings toiled in the hot South Texas cottonfields, where they got even darker. Tio Rodolfo’s work as a carpenter, was mostly done outdoors, so he retained the status as the darkest in the family his whole life. Like Tio Rodolfo, I was darkest in my family and with it came terms of endearment – la prieta, la morenita – along with plenty of teasing from siblings and cousins. Smile, so we can see you in the dark. The migra is going to keep you and send you to Mexico. My parents’ advice -- ignore them – lo prieto no duele – being dark doesn’t hurt. Sometimes my mother would put up her hand, and spread her fingers wide open, todos diferentes, one isn’t better than the other, they are all just different. Even as we were told that our skin color didn’t matter, it was common to hear comments like, ‘such a pretty baby, her skin is so light.” “That Jorge is such a nice and smart boy, ay . . . but too bad that he is so dark.” “Don’t stay in the sun too long, otherwise you are going to get too dark.” As Mexican-Americans we were second-class citizens, and our citizenship could always be called into question. This was particularly so for those of us with darker skin. Every few weeks we visited our grandmother who lived on a ranchito that bordered on the Rio Grande River in Escobares, Texas. The 135-mile drive from my hometown of Alice, Texas required us to pass through a permanent immigration checkpoint in Falfurrias, Texas – 70 miles from the Mexican border. We usually left Escobares early in the evening and we kids fell asleep in the old station wagon. We woke up when the car came to a complete stop and the immigration agent swept his flashlight beam into the car’s interior. The beam stopped for a brief second or two on each of our faces. Whether true or imagined, it seemed the flashlight lingered longer on my face. Then came a series of questions addressed to my dad. Where are you coming from? Where are you headed? Are you folks US citizens? Where were you born? My mother made a point to carry my birth certificate in case anyone questioned my citizenship. Decades later, alone as I approached a checkpoint near San Diego, this memory that I hadn’t thought about since childhood led to sweaty palms and an increased heart rate. A similar set of questions and I was waved along. I just finished reading Ibram X. Kendi’s excellent book How to be an Anti-Racist, and Chapter 9 is simply titled Color. Although not news to me, here’s some of what he covers: White children attribute positivity to lighter skin and negativity to dark skin. White people usually favor lighter-skinned politicians over darker-skinned ones. Dark immigrants to the United States, no matter their place of origin, tend to have less wealth and income than light immigrants. Dark African Americans receive the harshest prison sentences and more time behind bars. Dark female students are nearly twice as likely to be suspended from school as white female students. And the list goes on and on. I’ll be writing more in future blogs about Kendi’s work. Another of his books, Stamped From The Beginning: the Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America, won the 2016 National Book Award. I recommend both these books to anyone who is interested in addressing racial inequality in our country. If you want to learn more about colorism, check out this article in Time magazine titled, The Difference Between Racism and Colorism, https://time.com/4512430/colorism-in-america/. Please note that Prof. Kendi views colorism as a form of racism, a view I share. A few quotes from the Time article. "Skin color matters because we are a visual species and we respond to one another based on the way we physically present . . . It cannot be overstated that if racism didn’t exist, a discussion about varying skin hues would simply be a conversation about aesthetics. But that’s not the case.” “Colorism is so deeply ingrained in the fabric of this nation that we are all implicated and infected by its presence. And the sad thing is, for many people the lessons of color bias begin in the home.” What messages did you grow up hearing about skin color? Check out this 13-minute HuffPost video conversation with four women addressing how racism and colorism influences the casting of Black, Latinx and Asian-American roles." It is well worth watching, click here. My one-woman show Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? which is very much about identity and assumptions people make about us, depicts some of my experiences with colorism. One last chance to catch my show this year at Marin County Civic Center, October 13 @ 7 pm as part of The Best of SF Solo Series. Tickets available through link at my website: irmaherrera.com. #colorism #IbramXKendi #racism #MispronounceMyOwnName #SocialJustice

The poster caught my eye, so I crossed the street to take a closer look. An outsized young girl sits on top of a yellow bus that looked like a school bus, but the well-dressed grown-ups waiting to board the bus puzzled me. It was an advertising for an upcoming play called Noire. I made note of the theater and the dates. Later that day at the Alliance Française in Paris, a class exercise had each student taking turns describing persons in pictures projected on a screen, in French, of course. Elle a des cheveux blonde, il port des lunettes, she has blonde hair, he wears glasses, and so on. The pictures were of people with different characteristics that reflect the origins of the French people -- Northern European, African, Asian, and mixed ancestry as well. A fellow student raised his hand. Based on appearance and his name -- Israel (pron. Is-ra-el) -- my initial assumption was that he was Latin American, but this middle-aged businessman from Pakistan was learning French because he had recently gotten a job transfer to Paris. “How do you describe a person’s skin color?” Israel asked. The teacher’s face immediately telegraphed disapproval. Her response, in French, “here, in France, it is considered racist (pronounced rah-sist), to refer to someone’s skin color or to talk about someone’s race.” Before going to France I had read articles and listened to podcasts about this very subject. I raised my hand. “Madmoiselle, I understand that the word noir is not used with reference to people of African origin. Can you speak about that.” “Oui, the preferred word is les blacks.” Click here to listen to the podcast, Rough Translation, We Don’t Say That. addressing this very topic. Our teacher adds that in France it is illegal to ask people about their race or religion. (Let me clarify that it is illegal for the French Government to ask). Noire, Tania de Montaigne's One-Woman Show Back home that afternoon, I visited the website for Theatre du Rond-Point and was thrilled to learn that Noire was a one-woman show about Claudette Colvin, who was little-known in the civil rights movement in the United States. The play is based on the novel Black, written by Tania de Montaigne, who also wrote and performed Noire. She is a distinguished French journalist, writer, and actor whom I had the pleasure of meeting briefly after the performance. Claudette Colvin, was 15-years old when she refused to give up her seat on a Montgomery, Alabama bus. This was several months before Rosa Park did the same. Claudette, a pregnant teenager, was in the back of the bus in one of the seats usually occupied by blacks, when a white woman boarded a crowded bus. When Claudette refused to give up her seat for this woman, she was arrested and became one of several plaintiffs in a federal lawsuit, Browder v. Gayle, that challenged bus segregation. The United States District Court and an Appellate Court’s ruling held that segregated busing violated the United States Constitution. The US Supreme Court rejected the appeal of these decisions and a court order was issued integrating the buses in Montgomery. Days later, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. called for an end of the Montgomery bus boycott, more than a year after it had started. Noire was a beautifully rendered and moving production with familiar African-American music and projected still photos and video images. My research on Claudette Colvin before seeing the play proved most helpful and I was pleased to learn that my French was good enough to follow Tania de Montaigne's powerful storytelling on stage. Seeing Noire was one of the highlights of my five weeks in Paris. Even if you don’t speak French, you will understand enough watching the promo video. Click here. Like the United States, France struggles with the issue of racism and racial discrimination, and I could not begin to tackle this topic so I'm providing references to several articles and a some relevant quotes. “Unlike many other West European countries, and very much unlike English-speaking immigrant societies such as the United States, Canada or Australia, France has intentionally avoided implementing “race-conscious” policies. There are no public policies in France that target benefits or confer recognition on groups defined as races. For many Frenchmen, the very term race sends a shiver running down their spines, since it tends to recall the atrocities of Nazi Germany and the complicity of France’s Vichy regime in deporting Jews to concentration camps. Race is such a taboo term that a 1978 law specifically banned the collection and computerized storage of race-based data without the express consent of the interviewees or a waiver by a state committee. France therefore collects no census or other data on the race (or ethnicity) of its citizens. Political leaders are nonetheless aware that race and ethnicity matter. To counter problems of ethnic disadvantage, they have constructed policies aimed at geographical areas or at social classes that disproportionately contain large number of minorities.” You can read the entire Brookings article Race Policy in France (a bit dated since it was published in 2001) here. I also highly recommend Can The French Talk About Race? an article in The New Yorker, click here. La Condition Noire In a television interview, in English, French historian and Associate Professor at the Ecole des hautes etudes en sciences sociales in Paris, Pap Ndiaye, discusses the issue of diversity and representation in France. He is the author of ‘La condition noire: essai sur une minorité française’(The Black Condition. An essay of a French minority. Ndiaye, was born in France of a ‘French’ mother and a father who came to France from Senegal. “The black condition in France is a way to feel French, while being considered as not French. If you are black,” says Ndiaye, “most people in Paris ask you all the time, where do you come from. As a way to tell you, you must be from somewhere else. You must be not French.” Blog post and video of his interview (in English) available here. La Condition Americaine Like our French brothers and sisters, this is an experience that many of us in this country live every day. When asked where I’m from I say California. I usually add that I’ve lived in California for three plus decades and I’m originally from Texas. I’m asked again, where are am I REALLY from, where were my parents born? The answer is still the same, Texas. And, of course, I’ve also been told to go back to where I came from on numerous occasions. I love Texas, but have no plans to move back, California is my home. One afternoon in Paris, we take an uber (no Lyft in France) and get to chatting with the driver, who asks where we are from. His face lights up when we say San Francisco Bay Area. “I lived in Oakland several years.” He also shares that he is originally from Senegal and much of his family is there, but he has lived in France 30+ years. I ask him about his experiences as a black man in both the United States and France. He pauses for a moment and says, “I feel like the French are a bit more two-faced, more hypocritical in their views about race. In the United States . . . there, you know how people feel about you.” And it is becoming more and more the case for so many Americans in our own country. #SocialJustice #Prejudice #solotheater #Racism

Mathilde, s'il vous plaît répètez la prononciation du mot. I ask my teacher at Paris’ Alliance Française if she can repeat the pronunciation of the word she just said. I have the vocab list in front of me. This unit is about the environment and Earth’s physical characteristics. I know she said the French word for jungle, it’s the pronunciation I’m wanting to hear again. Encore. She says it again, la jungle. it sounds like she’s saying la chancla, in a Cory Booker-speaking-Spanish-kinda-way. As a run-on-word -- lachancla. I thank her and maintain a straight face, OMG, inside I’m cracking up picturing la chancla instead of a jungle. On a serious note and digressing to the Democratic Presidential debate and the speaking of a few words of Spanish by candidates (never mind the quality of pronunciation), To my mind this is a shorthand way of saying, we see you, and you are part of this great big American community. Yes, it also had the feeling of pandering. But I'd rather feel pandering instead of the demonization, disrespect, and mistreatment that members of the Latinx community are subjected to everyday since the rise of Trumpism. Some folks are bothered at hearing Spanish. I personally have felt this disdain and on occasion had snide remarks directed at me by total strangers: this is American and people here should speak English. Had I been speaking French or Norweigan, I don't think I would have gotten any such comments. But back to la chancla, that flip-flop that mothers use to mete out discipline in Latinx households. Hearing the word chancla puts fear in little kids’ hearts. Beware of the flying chancla, as mothers aim this projectile with great accuracy. La chancla is fodder for Latinx comedians and has its memes and GIFs. It is also the subject of a podcast with a Latinx therapist that some chanclasos cross the line and enter into the realm of child abuse, more here. Do a google search of la chancla merchandise and you will see that la chancla has found its way onto t-shirts, tote bags, mugs, and keychains. I met up with my long-time Paris friend, Azucena, a retired language teacher, earlier this week, before I left Paris. She set our rendez-vous at a café at the Gare Saint-Lazare. The train station has a beautiful shopping area AND it is air-conditioned, super important – it was and continues to be très CHAUD unusually hot. Azucena and I were speaking about the fun part of making connections between a language you know and one you are learning, and I, of course shared my jungle vs. chancla moment with her. We spoke of the frustration of being in that in-between space, where you catch some of what’s going on -- fully aware -- that you are also missing big chunks. Azucena knows this not just as a language teacher, but also from personal experience, as she was born and raised in Buenos Aires and moved to France as a young woman. Take the word souvenir, I said to her, we are all familiar with it. The French word souvenir, either as a noun or verb, is about memory and remembering. Wow, makes sense that this is what we call those items called souvenirs. So we, or others can remember a place that we have visited, to share an experience that we had. Some words that we use on a daily basis come from other languages, and often we are not aware. I find it quite exciting to learn that sort of thing. When I tell Azucena about my aha moment regarding this word souvenir, she busts out a hearty laugh. May I share my own souvenir story with you? Yes, please do, I say. When we lived in Bordeaux, I was preparing to perform a program based on Carmen, the Bizet opera, for my daughter’s school. The literature and music teachers wanted a simplified version of this opera presented to the 13-year old students. At that time, a young Polish woman worked as an au pair with us. She did not yet know French so we communicated in English. She was an accomplished pianist and would accompany us during rehearsals. At one point we were rehearsing the duetto and much of the song is about sweet memories (les souvenirs chéris) . The word souvenir is sung over and over again. After rehearsal this young woman says to me in English -- souvenir, souvenir, is this duetto about those little things we buy on holiday to bring back as presents for relatives and friends? Azucena was kind enough to provide me this link to the Carmen duetto she references, should you wish to see it. Click here to watch. Being immersed in French for 6-8 hours daily for a month, either in class or doing homework, and being in Paris was a great experience. It will take me many more months to improve my pronunciation and gain the level of fluency to communicate comfortably and to carry on a conversation beyond the most rudimentary subjects, so I plan to continue my studies back home. If you’ve ever wanted to learn another language, take the plunge. You don’t need to leave home, although it is wonderful if you can. There is so much available online, at your local community colleges, and at universities. I guarantee that it will be a mind-expanding experience. #Latinx #bilingual

The past two weeks have been a bit of a blur. On the school front, many a frustrating hour on the devoirs (homework) particularly when the lessons are hard and there is so much vocabulary to track. Lessons included topics like climate change, building health habits, and renting an apartment. Lots of new words and grammar lessons, drills and memorization required, no shortcuts. The flip side is the excitement and thrill of seeing how words in one language connect to another and putting words together to express an idea that’s actually understood by another person. A handout related to nature and flora/fauna is distributed. I know most words, but I don’t know what le bourgeon is. “Pas de téléphone,” the teacher says, just do your best to complete the blanks. I’m familiar with the word burgeoning, so that the word bourgeon must be the bud of the tree. Voilà, it is correct, my guess paid off. “How many words are you learning a day?” my spouse asks. I have no clue, and every time my eyes see an object, I search for whether it’s a word I already know, or maybe one I’ve seen before but don’t really know. The questions then come up: do I look it up, will I need it again, do I care to know it? And more often than I care to recount, I do look up a word, write it down so that I can remember it, and then I find myself looking it up . . . again and again. Endless possibilities on how to spend time. Imagine the fortitude and strength it takes for people to uproot themselves and move to another country. Even making a phone call can be a challenge. Unlike us, the French give their número de téléphone in pairs, so that 415-212-2386, would be said as 41-52-12-23-86, quarante-et-un (41), cinquante-deux (52), douze (12), vingt-trois (23), quatre-vingt-six (86). For me, French numbers have been difficult to learn and remember. Counting above 80 is overwhelming (still is) because the number for 80 is quatre-vingt (4 x 20) and 99 is quatre-vingt-dix-neuf (which is literally 4 x 20 + 19). As soon as I hear numbers beyond 60, I break into a cold sweat. I can’t write the words fast enough to be able to do the math and figure the number out. “You’ll learn,” the teacher assures me. “It just takes practice.” "Why do the French count this way?" a student asks. Well, they just do. Use of twenty, score, as a unit of measure has been around a long time. Although rarely used now in the United States, we are familiar with the term thanks to President Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address: “Four score and seven years ago . . . “ These opening lines make note that the United States was founded eighty-seven years earlier (20 x 4 + 7). Click here and here to get the score in these two article about the origin and use of this word. Perhaps what most stresses me is when I see that a student struggling with the material in class. When paired up with one such student for team exercises, I do my best to explain what we are doing; beyond that there is nothing I can do except feel empathy. I was a teaching assistant in the Department of Modern Languages University of Notre Dame (during law school) and I have taught several college level courses, so I have been on both sides of this equation. Mostly I enjoy the hard thinking that it takes to tackle another language. One day we were asked to draft ten questions. Things you would ask someone you are meeting for the first time, and then half of our class of 12 was exchanged with another classroom of students at the same level. The two people I got to speak with were 1) a nun originally from Chennai, India who is now living in Paris. Her prior postings have been in her own country and in Rome. She is a professor of Philosophy and Religion with a PhD from Catholic University in DC. After 15 minutes we were each paired with another person – sort of like speed-dating, I guess. Second person was an accountant from Chile, with children living in Europe. At some point each student was given a piece of paper with a destination written on it (a metro station, park, store, school) and without revealing the location we were to give directions (in French) to our companion as we made our way to the destination. Proceed on this street, make a left at rue thus and such, go two blocks then “traverse la rue blah blah blah” and so on. Once we got to our destination, our assignment was to take a selfie, and when done with both destinations return to the class. It was both educational and a fun activity. It turned out another team of students was also assigned Lycee Saint Suplice, so they took our picture, and vice versa. Better than a selfie. Beyond school there has been lots of socializing with Bay Area friends who either live in Paris part-time or who are visiting for various reasons (the Women’s World Cup, International Conferences -- one in Southern France on Energy, another on Democracy and Academic Freedom in Strasbourg). Great to see old friends and to make new ones. Mark and I are very lucky to know such interesting people. And if all this isn’t enough to have kept me busy, last weekend I also went to a fête in support of the handicapped community of France at Place de la Republique, which was a wonderful festive evening made only more exciting by the presence of yellow vests and many police at the same square. Fortunately, there was no or disruption of any kind, save for a few minutes of a major street being blocked by the Yellow Vests. No violence, no tear gas. Seems like at least every other day I come across some demonstration with a heavy presence of police. Last weekend, I also had the great fortune of seeing a one-woman show, Noire, the story of African-American Claudette Colvin, a 15-year old girl who refused to give up her seat on a public bus in Montgomery, Alabama several months before Rosa Parks and the famous Montgomery strike. Colvin was arrested and she and four other plaintiffs brought the suit that led to the US Supreme Court case finding that segregation in public transport was unconstitutional. It was in French but I was able to follow (for the most past), because it had wonderful visual cues, video of American movies, images, music. Even if you don’t know a word of French, have a look at this brief video by clicking here. I will be writing more about this in future blogs. Earlier this week had a walking tour of Paris Noir, learning about ties to Paris of great writers, philosophers, musicians, performers, and academics with African backgrounds, including African-Americans such as James Baldwin, Josephine Baker, Richard Wright, and Miles Davis, to name just a few. I learned that the grandmother of one of THE greatest French writers, Alexandre Dumas (Three Musketeers, Count of Monte Cristo), was a black slave named Marie-Cessette from the island of Saint Domingue (present day Haiti). Dumas’ paternal grandfather was a white French nobleman, who owned Marie-Cessette. Much interesting history in France about race and racism. I am certainly going to be undertaking further research. If your travels bring you to Paris be sure to check out Le Paris Noir tours, click here. C’est tout for now., and because one of my faithful readers asked for pictures of Église Saint Germain des Prés, here they are. It is undergoing major restoration. My friend's email recalled fondly the summers in Paris when she was a young school teacher with summers off.

School Days, School Daze Week two in Paris I started a new level of French class, and on the first day with this new group, I did not know the room assignment so I stopped at the office of Alliance Française with a simple question: classroom number, s’il vous plaît. They could not find my enrollment, due to some glitch in their computer system, which was resolved but I got to class a half-hour late. By then most of the students (there’s maybe 14), had introduced themselves so it’s taken me a bit to figure out who these folks are. The students are from Brazil, Lebanon, Venezuela (she left several years ago), China, Russia, Mexico, Vietnam, two other native Spanish speakers (who don’t come to class every day) and whose countries of origin I haven’t yet discovered, and three of us from the United States. Mostly folks in their 30s-40s. Two are in Paris enrolled in MBA programs (conducted in English), and others live in Paris. A few people, just like me, here for a few weeks interested in learning French. Class meets from 9 am -1 pm with a 15-minute poz. It took me a while to realize that Mathilde, our very fine teacher, was saying pause, as in break. The pace of this class is much faster and more demanding than the group I was with the first week. It is very humbling to sit in a classroom feeling completely lost (vexed by relative pronouns for the better part of two days). Over the weekend, after studying at least ten hours, and still overwhelmed I felt like quitting. There are moment when it is NO fun. I spend at least three hours a day on homework. So many new words coming at me like snow during a blizzard. They are hard to to say, and too many to remember. And then there are those words that we use in English, but which mean something totally different in French. These hurt my brain. When I see the word canape, I’m holding a glass of chardonnay and looking at the fancy finger food at a party. In French a canape is a sofa and a canape-lit is a sofa bed. Reading a menu and seeing entrée, I wonder why these are so much cheaper than plats. Well because in France the entrée is what you eat before your main dish. It is exciting and frustrating to engage my mind in this way. I thought I would have plenty of time to play tourist, but my schedule leaves little time to do much beyond go to class, study, have a nice leisurely lunch with Mark, go to my exercise classes, and occasionally visit with friends who live here or are passing through. In spite of it being hard work it is nonetheless very rewarding and class can be a lot of fun as we seek to make ourselves understood. Today in a conversational exercise with the student sitting next to me (another American, from LA no less). I posed a question that called for a oui or non answer, and my classmate hesitated and then said, well "oui-ish" sort of yes but not totally. We both burst out laughing, Oui-ish was the perfect answer. Beyond the Classroom Fortunate to connect with several Bay Area friends who spend part of the year in Paris, and yesterday we had a delicious two plus hour lunch at their apartment. Started with appetizers of white asparagus and prosciutto-type ham, followed by one of the tastiest pork dishes I’ve ever had served with mashed sweet potatoes. After that a green salad and a cheese course followed by dessert and coffee. I failed to mention there were two different wines, of which I barely partook because I had homework to do that afternoon. The food is delicious, and Mark and I enjoy going out for a nice lunch after my class to have the main meal of the day and we eat something light in the evening, usually at home. So much good food, at markets and at restaurants at varying price levels. Visit to The Louvre My first week here, I met an American woman, who came to Paris at age 19 and never left. Deanna trained as an art historian and her coursework was both at the Sorbonne and the Louvre. She occasionally leads private tours at The Louvre and has special entry privileges that allow her to bring a guest on some particular days, so she invited me to join her last Friday evening and we toured the Museum from 5:30 pm to 9:30 pm. Although there were plenty of people, it was much less crowded than during the days. Towards the end of the evening (say after 8 pm, the crowds were much thinner). Just seeing the I. M. Pei pyramid and the grand historic building is spectacular. I had visited years back, but having a private guide was quite special. And the place is enormous., I don’t know how anyone would navigate on their own. Thrilled to see the beautiful statues, paintings, jewelry, furniture, and other art objects. It was quite spectacular that toward closing time, we had the place almost to ourselves. Here is a link to highlights of the Louvre by Rick Steves that shows many of the great pieces in the Louvre’s collections. Click here. I don’t understand the desire of folks to take selfies with the Mona Lisa, and there was a lot of that going on. It really slows down the line of people waiting to see one of the world’s most famous painting. I never took an art history course, so this is an area where I have very limited knowledge. Thanks to Deanna, I learned that the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre in 1911 and was lost for two years. This incident really boosted her popularity. If you are interested in learning more about this check out this link. Random Observations of Paris Street Life When I’m not studying or having long leisurely meals, I’m probably out walking, in part for exercise and also because I see so much that piques my interest. Am I imagining or does it seem that there is so much more smoking and vaping here than in the US? Well I looked it up and France has one of the highest smoking rates in Europe with 27% of adults smoking as compared with 7% of Swedes. By comparison, smoking rate in the United States is 14%. Efforts are being made by the French government to curb smoking rates, through public education, the health care system, and by huge increases in cigarette taxes. I love reading the street signs and knowing who is being honored by having a street or boulevard, named after them. It is often writers, painters, inventors, public servants -- people who have done good deeds. I noticed in two instances one afternoon that a sign had been slapped on the original street name and substituted in its stead was the name of a woman. I asked about it and was told that it was part of a campaign started by a feminist organization, Osez le Féminisme, which loosely translates (I think) to Dare to be a Feminist. (Fluent French speakers correct me if I’m wrong.) It is interesting to learn about these women whose names I saw on the street signs. This movement to bring attention to the disparity in naming of streets extends beyond Paris to other European cities. You can read more about it here. If you haven’t yet been, come see Paris, and if you have been and are wishing to get back, make a plan and voilà before you know you will be in The City of Lights.

Living a Dream The first time I came to Europe I was 30, and I had already been a lawyer for several years. I had dreamed of travel since I was a muchachita. I checked out books at the two-room public library in Alice, Texas and had travelled the world and through time -- thanks to the written word. On my first trip to Europe I visited Paris and Rome, and I fell in love with both, but I somehow felt more at home in Rome and two years later I quit my law job at MALDEF (Mexican-American Legal Defense Fund) and went to Rome for several months to study Italian and to . . . become Italian, which of course I did not. All this was made possible because I had met a young researcher from Rome, Michele (pron. Mi-ke-leh) who was at UC Berkeley’s Center for the Study of Social Change for one year. I became friends with this Italian writer/academic who told me his apartment in Rome was vacant for the year he was in the SF Bay Area and I was welcome to use it (free of charge) while he was at Berkeley. At that time, I lived in San Francisco, and for several weeks, Michele stayed at my apartment while he looked for a place to live. Note this Michele is a male name, although it is also the spelling of a woman’s name. I saved my money, quit my job, and went off to Rome. I studied Italian several months and my Italian was good enough to do a radio program on Chicanas in the US. Michele’s friends, including the one with a radio program on women’s rights, were activists interested in minority rights around the world. Michele wrote about African immigrants in Italy, and about genocide in Bosnia. Michele and I have remained friends for decades, and after Paris we are heading to Rome to visit him and his family -- his Japanese wife Rika (who has lived in Rome for decades) and their four children (now all young adults). We expect to make a stop in Torino to visit with other friends. After Rome back in the early 1980s, I decided to become a writer. I had published one piece at that point. When I was at MALDEF, I had penned an op-ed piece on bilingual education which the NY Times published. Actually, that was my second published piece, I had written an op-ed for The University of Notre Dame’s newspaper when I was in law school, in support of affirmative action. Great, I thought, I’ll become a writer. Foolish and ignorant, but that was just as well, as I just followed my heart and started writing about things I cared about. I did that for several years and thanks to Mary Jo McConahay, my first writing teacher, I was introduced to Sandy Close at Pacific News Services. Sandy hired me to do two pieces a month. I am forever grateful to both these amazing women. Check out Mary Jo's website, and if you've not read any of her books or newspaper pieces, learn more about her here. Studying French But I digress. Another dream of mine was to live in Paris and study French. One month here this summer is getting my feet wet. My spouse Mark and I are in Paris for a month, although he is not here the entire time. He is headed for a European conference on Energy Efficiency most of this week. I enrolled last week at The Alliance Française for four weeks of French classes. I’m not a true beginner, but it has been decades since I formally studied French. It is so humbling to write like a 3rd grader. Still, I am enjoying my classes, and start a slightly more advanced level on Monday. The students at Alliance Français are from all over the world. Ismael I thought might be Latinx given his name and physical appearance but he’s Pakistani. This middle-aged man comes to school in a suit so I surmise he is a businessman. Madonna from London tells me she was born in Ghana. An Asian-American woman from San Francisco is a project manager in technology and her husband, a programmer. They have moved to Paris and are looking for jobs. A young woman, originally from Peru, is a graduate of San Diego State and has lived in the US since she was a girl. Her husband has a job in Paris. Others in the class include a psychologist from Buenos Aires, an architect from Venice, and an MBA student from Shanghai. It’s definitely an interesting group, and EVERYONE speaks excellent English. I joined a gym not far from my place to continue my HIIT classes (Hi Intensity Interval Training). It seems like everyone speaks around me speaks good English when they realize my French is, shall we say, weak. No question English is the language of the world of business and technology and everyday life for many. Yet, here we are, hundreds of folks enrolled in various levels of French study. French continues to be an important language for commerce and within international organizations. I just completed my first week of school and it is both exhilarating and challenging to spend four hours in class (one 15-minute break half-way) learning a language. The hard part of being a student is offset by being in Paris, where there’s always something interesting going on in public, whether it’s just observing people enjoying a picnic at Champs de Mars by the Eiffel Tower or demonstrators bringing attention to their issues. Although I haven’t sees the Yellow Vests, the previous weekend, I did saw hundreds of police officers in full-riot gear storming and getting in formation blocking the entrance to The Opera at the Place de la Bastille, a few blocks from our house. At that time I did not know what occasioned the heavy police presence, and it was frightening to see hundreds of police cars, buses, and motorcycles. Many of the police covered their faces with black baklavas, only their eyes showing. They were equipped with full riot gear, sticks, machine guns, and shields. Only later did I learn the police presence was in response to the Yellow Vests marching towards the Bastille. Two other demonstrations last weekend, one I couldn’t determine what it was about. The other was to celebrate and thank the French people for lending a hand to the people of Biafra. Beauty Everywhere and Keeping Memories Alive My friend Leonard Pitt, from Berkeley, who lived in Paris many years and who has written several books about Paris, www.leonardpitt.com, (do check out his website) says the best time to see Notre Dame is in the early morning when the light is so beautiful. So today at 6 am I headed out the door and walked there. Police officers with machine guns are posted at every entrance for worker crews restoring the Cathedral since the terrible fire several weeks ago. Even behind the scaffolding Notre Dame Cathedral is a site to behold. Paris inspires awe. At this time of day, few are around–some joggers and of course the municipal workers cleaning the streets. (All the ones I saw were men and one woman of African ancestry). Like in the US, dark skinned people doing the work of cleaning and caring. Brown women pushing carriages with light skinned children, and brown men cleaning streets and delivering Uber eats. I am struck by the sheer number of beautifully maintained parks tucked away in the various neighborhoods. Many a park is named after a writer, or philosopher. Some honor children from that neighborhood, deported and killed at Nazi death camps with the complicity of the Vichy government. I read their names: Albert Fefer, 3, Lejzer Fefer, 2, Paulette Fefer, 2 months. I imagine their parents were killed too. The word deported so heavy and ominous, and my thoughts turn to the thousands of children separated from their parents at the Mexico-US border. What a terrible thing to do to these families. I meander at random and a see a plaque in a large building where Arnaud Marty-Lavauzelle, an AIDS activist, had resided during his life. So important to remember, and pay tribute. I am so lucky to have the opportunity to take several weeks from my day to day life and pluck myself away from the Bay Area and to experience something totally new. Someday, if and when your life circumstances permit, give yourself this gift. A bientôt!

Identity Definition Merriam-Webster 1. a: The distinguishing character or personality of an individual b: The relation established by psychological identification 2. The condition of being the same with something described or asserted Cambridge Dictionary Who a person is, or the qualities of a person or group that make them different from others. Collins Dictionary Your identity is who you are. What are you? Your race, ethnicity? Gender/Sex? Where do you live? Religious preference, if any? What do you do for a living? Level of education? Where did you grow up? Where did you go to school? These are some of the questions we are asked when completing forms, or that come up in chit chat when we first meet people. Our identities are tied up with all this and so much more. Who Am I and Who Are YOU? When I think of my identity, the list of descriptors is long: Chicana (which of course also identifies me by gender), feminista, madre, writer, activista, Tejana, Californian, malcriada, spouse, sister, tia, multilingual, hard-worker, lawyer, lifelong learner, helper, friend, storyteller, hiker, adventurer, world citizen . . . and I can list many more characteristics that are part of my identity. The above, to my mind are positives, I didn't list the negative traits, like criticona, that are also part of my identity, but they are there as well. And who are YOU? Take a few minutes and jot down the characteristics that are the key to your identity. What might these tell you about the influences that shaped you? How has your identity changed over the years? I have several friends who were raised in one faith, who now embrace a different religion, how does that happen? Others whose gender is different from that assigned at birth. I am glad to be living at a time and place where we can express our true identities, where we have more freedom to find our place in the world. Sadly, we also live in a world of intolerance where those threatened by differences and by change can and do act violently toward others. Trans women experience high levels of violence, and of course, we have read about the large number of missing and murdered Native American women. We hear the word “identity politics” uttered with disdain as if there is something wrong with people, who have been historically excluded from opportunities, to band together to press for changes that would allow us the chance to be our best selves and to fulfill our potential and our dreams. These are some of the things that are front and center on my mind. I read about these topics in books, scholarly journals, popular press, social media. I discuss them with friends and colleagues. I often read and hear things that give me pause, “hmmm, I want to understand more about this.” These are the themes in my one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? and in presentations I make to lawyers about being more aware of our biases and thoughts about how to reduce them. And it is what I blog about. Prejudice and Bias I bet you’ve heard people say I don’t have a prejudiced bone in my body, I treat everyone equally, I don’t see race, I don’t judge people by their backgrounds. Right . . . Donald Trump has repeatedly said, “I am the least racist person you have ever met.” Well, we all have biases and if you want to learn more about how we get them and what we can do about not acting on these implicit or “unconscious” biases, I highly recommend Jennifer Eberhardt’s book, Biased. Dr. Eberhardt, a professor at Stanford is a MacArthur Genius Award recipient. The book is an enjoyable and very accessible read with valuable information about stereotyping and how it works and the devastating consequences it is having on our lives and in our communities. Check out her talk to the National Academy of Sciences, by clicking here. Podcast Conversation at Attorney Heart I recently spoke with Fernando Flores on his podcast Attorney Heart. Our wide-ranging conversation touches upon issues of identity, community, and how we can make the world a better place. You can listen to the podcast by clicking here. I’m heading off to Europe for six weeks. I never had a semester abroad in college, so I’m giving one to myself. I'll be studying French in Paris, and I look forward to sharing some of my adventures with you over the next few weeks. I'm already bracing myself for the “you don’t look like an American” comment, which annoys me, no matter where I hear it. Thanks so much for reading my blog, and if this is the first time you receive it, welcome. #Bias #Prejudice #SocialJustice #Identity

Many communities of faith have days of celebration, reflection, atonement, and forgiveness in the Spring. Christians observe Easter and Jews gather for Passover. There are also important dates for followers of Jainism, Islam, Hinduism, and Native Americans, to name but a few. A very interesting list of these important days is available here. As a Catholic kid who went to parochial school, I dreaded Lent. After mass on Ash Wednesday the sisters would ask each of us “what are you giving up for Lent?” Talk about pressure. Some kids gave up movies, others candy, or watching tv. Each year I gave up Coca-Cola, a drink that I detested and never drank, but the nuns didn’t know that. I wasn’t exactly the model parochial school student. Easter was a joyous occasion, my mother would make me and my sisters pastel colored dresses we would wear to Easter Mass. And after Mass there was a picnic with family and friends where we kids searched for the Easter eggs the grownups had hidden. We had so much fun at that picnic, chasing each other with our arsenal of cascarones, which are colorful eggshells filled with confetti, and painted with the same dye we colored Easter eggs. Throughout Lent we kids begged our mothers to make eggs (anytime possible) requiring that they carefully remove the contents thought a 50-cent piece sized hole on top of the egg, leaving the shell intact. The shell was washed and put back in the egg carton. On Saturday before Easter we painted the eggshells along with the Easter eggs. We then filled them with confetti and covered the hole with tissue paper and put our beautiful cascarones back in the egg cartons, just as you see in the picture. Geez, while searching for images of cascarones, I learned that you can buy them on Amazon. Will wonders never cease. Easter always brought fond memories, but an exchange with a friend around her Annual Easter Brunch and Egg Hunt 25 years ago, was so unpleasant that the memory still stings. I recently recounted the experience by telling this Easter Story, Have You Ever Wanted to Un-read or Un-know Something? on stage at San Francisco’s Solo Sunday. It’s a 20 minute video, have a look. Easter is a time of celebration and renewal and as we celebrate all that is good and hopeful in our lives, let us remember those whose life circumstances are bleak especially the migrant families in detention or separated from their children. Give generously to causes that assist individuals and communities in need. Wishing all a wonderful weekend ahead, whatever you may celebrate or observe. #bigotry #lgbtq #Easter

March is my birthday month, and I recently came upon this photo of last year's b'day cake with a line from my show -- you can remember my name isn’t UR-ma by thinking of “Ear-muff.” My one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? completed a successful 5-month run and closed last weekend at The Berkeley Marsh Theater. Thank you to all who attended. I was so pleased with the full houses both Saturday evening and on Sunday’s final matinee. An absolute thrill to receive standing ovations from both these audiences that were undoubtedly feeling extra generous given that it was my closing weekend. If only, every performance could be on a closing weekend! When my show opened in San Francisco in late October 2018 for a seven-week run, I was a bit nervous about whether folks would come. True, I had drawn strong attendance at earlier shows when I performed two weekends in a row, or on a single evening, and during the SF Fringe Festival. Would my work appeal to folks beyond my network of friends and Marsh Theater regulars? But came they did, and people told their friends and colleagues, and folks kept showing up, some coming to the play more than once. These audiences garnered me a six-week extension through the year-end holiday season. Again, I wondered if holiday parties would minimize attendance. But audiences did not disappoint, and folks showed up. I performed 12 weeks in San Francisco and then my play migrated across the bay to The Marsh in Berkeley. The Berkeley Run opened on Super Bowl Sunday, and naysayers (including my spouse) thought that attendance would be low. Since I know lots of people who don’t watch football, my play offered an alternative to Super Bowl Sunday. Plus . . . I had the good fortune of having Betty Reid Soskin, one of the Bay Area luminaries as my inaugural talkback speaker. Betty’s fan base did not disappoint, and my Berkeley run got off to a great start. Big shout out to my friend LaNon Gillins who brought Betty to my show in San Francisco and introduced me to her. If you don't know who this amazing woman is, click here to read why Glamour Magazine named her one of 2018 Glamour's Women Of The Year. Wonderful story and beautiful photos and videos of Betty. You can now watch the low-tech iPhone video of the 35-minute conversation Betty and I had about her remarkable life when she was one of my talkback speakers. It resides on my website, just click here. Betty is beloved and respected well beyond the Bay Area. Here’s a picture of Betty with singer, songwriter, producer, actor and all-around amazing human being, John Legend, (can you tell I’m a fan) and the former Mayor of New Orleans. When Legend and Mitch Landrieu found themselves in the same venue with Betty, they marched right over to get their picture with her. It was an honor to perform Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? 19 times in San Francisco and an additional 15 in Berkeley. The issues addressed in my play remain as relevant today as they were when the events recounted in the play were unfolding decades earlier. Recently Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was mocked on Fox News for pronouncing her name correctly, accused of exaggerating how she says it, doing that “Latino Thing.” She promptly hit back hard on twitter schooling Fox on what the Latina Thing really is. More here. This past week an elected official in Houston, Judge Lina Hidalgo, was criticized by Mike Tice, an elected official from a neighboring county for speaking Spanish at a news conference. Judge Hidalgo used her bilingual skills when addressing English and Spanish news media covering a massive chemical leak that presented a public health emergency to the residents of Houston, Texas. The Commissioner called Judge Hidalgo “a joke. English, this is not Mexico," Tice wrote. He further added in an interview, “it’s real simple. This is the United States. Speak English. If you come to this country, learn the language or get an interpreter.” For the record, Judge Hidalgo was speaking fluent English and Spanish in the press briefing, she did not need an interpreter to communicate with the press. More info here. My play is not going away, it is just on hiatus for several months, as I work on other projects and pursue performance opportunities at several universities and some theater venues outside of the Bay Area. I will keep you posted. I am also taking some time off and traveling in Europe, and brushing up my French in language school in Paris for a few weeks, something I have wanted to do for decades. Seize the day. Profite de l’instant present. Carpe Diem. All those reminders about not waiting for tomorrow are really speaking loudly to me. Upcoming Bay Area Performances of Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? If you missed my play, or if you want to tell others who might be interested in seeing it, I will be one of the featured performers in Brian Copeland’s The Best of SF Solo Series, with one show in San Rafael on October 12, 2019. Next spring, as The Best of SF Solo Series continues, I will perform in San Leandro on March 6, 7 & 8th. Info and tickets will be available here. A Special One-Off Mini Show Excited to be performing at Solo Sundays on Sunday, April 17, a new stand-alone 15- minute piece called Have You Ever Wanted to Un-See or Un-Know Something? This show has nothing to do with names, it’s about the disappointment and anger that comes with learning that someone isn’t as fair-minded and accepting of others as you believed them to be. It’s also got a lot of humor. I’ll be sharing the stage with three other performers, Kelly R. Kelly, Steve Budd, and Evelyn Jean Pine. If you’ve never been to Solo Sundays at StageWerx on Valencia Street in San Francisco, you are in for a treat. I’m looking forward to seeing what my fellow performers are bringing to the stage. More info and tickets at solosundays.com. New to My Newsletter? For those of you who are receiving my newsletter for the first time, thanks for reading this, and if you enjoy what you read, share it with friends. I look forward to staying in touch. Now that my run is over, I’ll soon be turning my attention to writing on issues of social justice. So stay tuned for upcoming blogs. #activism #socialjustice #MispronounceMyOwnName #AOC #LatinaThing #respect

March 8 -- it's International Women's Day, and women are leading and have been leading the way in so many arenas, too often without recognition. So pleased that my talkback guests this weekend are two women leaders. Saturday, March 9 (5 pm showtime) Navigating Disability: Trump Era’s Clarion Call for Advocates and Activists to Come Out of the (Inaccessible) Closet with Ingrid Tischer The Disability Rights Movement is an important part of this nation’s civil rights history. And Berkeley has always been a hot-bed of activism. Ingrid Tischer is a disability rights activist, writer, and blogger at Tales from The Crip, https://talesfromthecrip.org/author/ingridtischer/ (yes, that’s what she titled her blog). She is the Development Director of Disability Rights Education Defense Fund (DREDF). I had the pleasure of working with Ingrid when she and I were both at Equal Rights Advocates. A talented writer and thought leader Ingrid brings lots of heart and passion to her work. Read more about Ingrid here. Sunday, March 10 (2 pm showtime) The 50th Anniversary of Ethnic Studies: Its Influence beyond Campus, with Juanita Tamayo Lott The debate over ethnic studies is still alive and well. Some propose that ethnic studies be part of all school districts’ K-12 curriculum. Others take the position that ethnic studies create antipathy towards whites and should be abolished. Fifty years ago, Juanita Tamayo was among the leaders of the student strike at San Francisco State University. This movement, started by The Black Student Union and The Third World Liberation Front, led to the creation of ethnic studies departments. Juanita Tamayo Lott went on to a distinguished career as a demographer and statistician and has written extensively about identity and race. Juanita will be signing copies of her memoir, Golden Children: Legacy of Ethnic Studies, SF State, following the talkback. Read this interesting article about Juanita here. One of the biggest rewards of doing my one-woman show Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? is what happens right after most shows. These talkbacks are on-stage conversations with civil rights leaders who share the important work they are doing with the audience. These 30-minute conversations have been videotaped, and once the run is over, I’ll have time to see them and to reflect on the conversations. I will be sharing these videos on my website over the next few weeks. A few are already available at https://www.irmaherrera.com/video Looking forward to this weekend’s shows and to hearing from Ingrid and Juanita. And what have audiences been saying about Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? Here's some of the buzz: “Humorous, clever, poignant, and very revelatory of the social experiences and interactions of many Mexican-Americans with American institutions and non-Hispanic whites. I would say it is a must see: very enjoyable yet so informative.” ~Norma "Irma Herrera's exploration of confronting racism on her path as a first-generation professional is moving and revealing. Herrera's decision to give up a career as a leading civil rights lawyer to become a performance artist turns out to have been a shift in method, not message or calling. SEE THIS SHOW! ~ David Oppenheimer, UC Berkeley, Clinical Professor of Law Irma’s thoughtful, humorous, challenging, personal presentation, reminded us how racism can creep into daily crevices of life. It was an hour well-spent . . . though her thought-provoking, live memoir sticks with you long after the lights go down.” ~Steve Thrush Here's the 411: The Marsh Theater Berkeley 2120 Allston Way (between Shattuck & Oxford, ½ block from Downtown Berkeley BART) Student Discount: $10 for ALL shows with use of discount code: “law”. Tickets start at $20 at http://bit.ly/BklyMarsh #civilrights #ethnicstudies #disabilityrights #MispronounceMyOwnName #activism #womenleaders

It has been such an honor and joy to present my one-woman show, Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? in the San Francisco Bay Area these past four months. I am now entering the homestretch with two performances weekly: Saturday at 5 pm and Sunday at 2 pm at The Berkeley Marsh Theater. Although the show previously had two extensions, I have other commitments including travel plans, so it is definitely closing on Sunday, March 24th. The Marsh Theater describes my show this way: “What’s in a name? A minefield of misplaced notions – comical, sad, demeaning. Irma’s observations from the front-lines, notes from American history, and laugh out-loud humor allow us to consider what it will take for all of us to get along.” I have been very gratified by the positive reactions from audience members and the press: “Put @irmadherrera's theater piece, "Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name?" on your to-do list . . . Personal and deeply thought-provoking on issues of identity important for us to think about today." ~Prof. Marsha Cohen, Hastings College of the Law (tweet) “Irma’s stories mix truth with humor, sadness with joy . . . heartfelt and spreads the understanding we sorely need today." ~Theatrius Review "You hear people say "Art is Resistance". . . well this definitely fits that bill! You are taken on a journey with Irma from childhood, adolescence to adulthood. Her experiences navigating sexism and racism pull you in because they are so relatable. Your memory is provoked regarding your own personal story about power dynamics and how they relate to your name, identity, culture, gender, ethnicity, immigration status and/or profession.” ~Vicky Castro (Facebook Post) “Speaks volumes about the ingrained power structures in American society.” ~Mercury News Yep, it’s all that and more. Here's a clip from an earlier show: Talkbacks During the run in San Francisco, I had 30-minute talkbacks on various social justice themes with invited guests. For these last shows, I am mixing it up a bit. After some shows, I look forward to hearing any name stories you wish to offer. It’s always interesting to hear your experiences with respect to your name and identity. I am also happy to answer any questions or hear your comments about the play. March 2: No invited talkback guest March 3: Environmental Justice and Civil Rights with Yana Garcia Yana Garcia was appointed by Governor Edmund G. Brown Jr. in June 2017, to serve as Assistant Secretary for Environmental Justice and Tribal Affairs at the California Environmental Protection Agency (CalEPA). She has spent her legal career working on environmental justice. Click here for more info. March 9: Navigating Disability: Trump Era’s Clarion Call for Advocates and Activists to Come Out of the (Inaccessible) Closet with Ingrid Tischer Ingrid Tischer is a Bay Area–based fundraiser and non–profit manager at Disability Rights Educational Defense Fund (DREDF). She is also a fiction and non-fiction writer and hosts the website, Tales From The Crip. Click here for more info. March 10: The 50th Anniversary of Ethnic Studies: Its Influence Beyond Campus with Juanita Tamayo Lott Juanita Tamayo Lott was one of the student strikers at the historic 1968 SF State BSU/TWLF strike. The distinguished demographer and statistician is a thought leader and has written extensively about ethnic and racial identity. Click here for more info. March 16: No invited talkback guest March 17: No invited talkback guest March 23: Lawyers Writers: People of Color Making an Impact Through Fiction, Non-Fiction and Poetry with Sara Campos & Adam Smyer Sara and Adam are recognized not just for their legal skills, but also for their writing chops, and they participated in two previous post-show talkbacks in San Francisco. The conversations were so interesting and engaging that I invited them a third time and they accepted. Click here for more info. March 24: No invited talkback guest on closing night Best of SF Solo Series – Coming in October 2019 The only other Bay Area performance in 2019 of Why Would I Mispronounce My Own Name? will be on Sunday, October 13, 2019 at 7 pm at The Marin Center in San Rafael. My play is one of the five featured shows in Brian Copeland’s Best of SF Solo Series. For more information about the Best of SF Solo and to buy tickets visit http://bestofsfsolo.com/marin-19-20.html. Delighted to be part of this series along with solo performers Diane Barnes, Marga Gomez, Brian Copeland, and Steve Budd. The 411 for the Berkeley Marsh Run Two shows a week: Saturday 5 pm and Sunday 2 pm. Ends March 24th. The Marsh Theater 2120 Allston Way (between Shattuck and Oxford Streets) ½ block from Downtown Berkeley BART $10 Student Discount with use of discount code: “law” for all shows Tickets start at $20 + $2 service fee Purchase at http://bit.ly/IrmaHerrera_Berkeley #respect #MispronounceMyOwnName #socialjustice #ImmigrantRights #discrimination #equality