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On the road with the librotraficantes #3

The book smugglers conclude their seven-day road trip in the heart of Arizona, where a law has banned Chicano and world literature classics from high schools.

This is the third report in a three-part series. Read the first, and second parts.

On our fifth day on the road — after San Antonio, El Paso, Albuquerque and Mesilla —, we finally reach our last and most important destination: Tucson, Arizona, where the school district decided to ban Mexican-American Studies from high schools, along with a number of Chicano and world literature classics.

"Migra sheriffs will never see so many Mexicans to arrest all together," jokes Galveston educator and poet Lupe Mendez. There is some tension on the librotraficantes bus; crossing this region only brings back bad memories for many. Two years ago, the approval of the dreaded SB 1070, the harshest anti-immigration law on the planet caused nationwide scandal. And a number of caravanners had at least one dark-skinned relative arrested on these roads, only because he or she wasn't carrying a photo ID. From immemorial times, Arizona has had the reputation of a Hate State — obsessed with taxes and illegal aliens, stronghold of the darkest extremist conservatism, hatred for everything "public", with a longing for Reaganomics, and a touch of Mormon-brand creationism.

From an economic standpoint, Arizona has been on the verge of bankruptcy since 2010, but the idea of raising taxes is considered blasphemy by Republicans, who prefer to shift emphasis to the defence of the ultra-militarized border and of Americanism in the schools. If this diabolical Tea Party laboratory were to become a national model — as Ken Silverstein wrote in Harper's — "the country might start to resemble the right-wing desert that Arizona has become."
A table displaying some of the books which were banned from high schools in Arizona
A table displaying some of the books which were banned from high schools in Arizona
Yet, looking at the statistics, the area seems to be an extravaganza of diversity. Illegal immigrants make up 10% of the population, something unthinkable for any European nation. Here can be found the largest Navajo language community in the 48 contiguous states, and Hispanic population reaches 30%.

Twenty-eight year-old high school teacher Michelle Fealk tells me that Tucson residents are traditionally quite moderate. Immigration has brought new votes to the Democrats. The rivalry between progressive Tucson and conservative Phoenix is well known. There is a relaxed and vaguely familiar atmosphere with the art galleries and hipster bars in the 4th Avenue area.
<em>Librotraficante</em> Dre Avila in Tucson
Librotraficante Dre Avila in Tucson
At the John Valenzuela cultural centre, which opened in what was once the infamous South Tucson neighbourhood, we are greeted by some multi-ethnic classes from the Chicano Barrio school; support for our cause by the local middle-class seems solid. After the press conference and the opening of an underground library housing forbidden texts, we even meet Occupy movement kids — almost all Chicanos — who came to pay their moral respects.

Why doesn't the ethnic and cultural diversity of this area affect politics? Why don't migrant children count? "There is no cohesion in the Latin community," explains Tony Diaz, the soul of librotraficantes. "We are too reactive and not proactive enough. This will require a "phase 2", that can go beyond this "testimonial" trip, to help overcome distances by improving collaboration among the various political and cultural associations that until now have been so scattered and disconnected."
Two years ago, the approval of the dreaded SB 1070, the harshest anti-immigration law on the planet caused nationwide scandal. And a number of caravanners had at least one dark-skinned relative arrested on these roads, only because he or she wasn't carrying a photo ID
Obama supporters in Tucson
Obama supporters in Tucson
Historically a territory of passage for dusty armies and pioneer caravans, Arizona has witnessed at least three clashes of civilizations: Native Americans, Spanish colonial and Anglo-Saxon. This clash is also reflected in the architecture. Typical Tucson dwellings are built around a Spanish-style courtyard to ensure a cool and intimate space. The colonial legacy can also be seen in the adobe walls, red tile roofs, the small number of windows, and in the preference for locally sourced materials that can adapt to a hot, dry climate.

The home of the Canadian couchsurfer who hosted me for two nights is a mixture of native and Mediterranean styles: a single-family structure with a small front yard, decorated with desert motifs — cactus, sand, fence — and a small patio with chickens and rabbits in the back. Inside, a curious mixture of materials in the walls: stone, brick and wood. The windows are tall to offer a better view of the magnificent mountains, sky and desert. A detail: in one of the most fear-ridden states, the owner never locks the door.
The <em>librotraficantes</em> are greeted by some multi-ethnic classes from the <em>Chicano Barrio</em> school; support for our cause by the local middle-class seems solid
The librotraficantes are greeted by some multi-ethnic classes from the Chicano Barrio school; support for our cause by the local middle-class seems solid
The seven days spent in the company of the librotraficantes seem to have worked as a mending operation. With the caravan like the eye of a needle stuck in the cracks of the desert; a suture between the two sides of a border; an invisible hand that follows the dried wound of the Rio Grande, and to the west touches the most painful places in an area that prefers, on the one hand, extreme isolation, with all of its forms of fear and selfishness; and on the other, the desire to create new comunitas, autonomous yet supportive and interconnected in the awareness of its roots.
A tumbleweed, a desert plant that, after having reached maturity, detaches from its roots and is pushed by the wind, spreading its seeds somewhere else
A tumbleweed, a desert plant that, after having reached maturity, detaches from its roots and is pushed by the wind, spreading its seeds somewhere else
The word roots is central to this trip; with its complicated connotations — basic, origins — it is something that evokes a sense of "stillness." But from the word root derives the term radical: a desire to change the state of things from its foundations. A battle at the origins of evil. Not a certainty but a path. A journey, an adventure. Perhaps this is Chicano culture: radical adventure.

Like desert plants that, after having reached maturity, detach from their roots to become tumbleweeds, pushed by the wind so they can spread their seeds somewhere else.

For a new ecology of living

Ada Bursi’s legacy is transformed into an exam project of the two-year Interior Design specialist program at IED Turin, unfolding a narrative on contemporary living, between ecology, spatial flexibility, and social awareness.

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