Canto CDX: Replenished, Recommitted, Repeat

Gentle cabrones:

There are many books I’ll never write, and one of them is about conventions.

I’m absolutely fascinated by them (Canto CCLVIII).

Almost every profession in the U.S. has some type of regular gathering for their respective Juggalos, which each profession amping up who they are in the day or days or week that they meet. Political conventions are an orgy of networking and hooking up. Librarians do parades and races with book carts. The Texas delegation of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists used to hold parties at their hotel room so raucous that they would take it as a badge of pride when they would finally get booted — that was literally their tradition.

The best article about conventions, of course, is Hunter S. Thompson talking about the cops in Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts in “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” The second-best is a Harper’s one about the National Religious Broadcasters having it at the Anaheim Convention Center with James Dobson and his son beating the shit out of everyone at table tennis in the basement.

Me? I only go to conventions if I’m a speaker or covering one.

I don’t belong to any groups because I’m a Marxist of the Groucho variety, so there’s no opportunity for me to gather with my own kind. Journalist conventions inevitably descend into drunkenness or whining about our industry — and while I like to do the first (I once got tossed out of a bar at an NAHJ convention — like, literally thrown down the stairs as told in Canto CCCLX). Besides, I’m also an eternal lone wolf when it comes to self-growth and development, the ostensible reason for conventions. I don’t need to hang out with people I don’t already hang out with. I prefer to do all of that it in battle instead of going somewhere to hear people talk about how to get better.

I find my fountain of inspiration and motivation through gardening (a great tomato crop this year in the back, a dud in the front and a BUNCH of lychees for the first time) and the WERK. But I also always follow the maxim to surround yourself with people more brilliant than you, so that’s how I ended up at a mini-convention these past two days.

It was the second iteration of “The Border is a Story”: people from different disciplines who are working on mmigration one way or another brought together to vibe. All you need to know about the genius of this idea is that three of the hosts are three of the Macarthur geniuses I know: filmmakers extraordinaires Alex Rivera and Cristina Ibarra, and UCLA profe Kelly Lytle Hernandez. Their premise: all inviteds got to hear each other talk about what they do in 20-minute bursts. Two full days, breakfast through dinner, with one break in the afternoon.

Um, can’t I just read about all this somewhere? Or do a columna about the folks? Or connect with them for a lunch?

That was my first reaction, of course. But you don’t say no to Profe Kelly and Alex and Cristina, so I accepted the invite. The theme: Rebels and Rebellions: Past, Present and Future.

The gathering was at the old Herald-Examiner building in downtown L.A., now owned by Arizona State University and home to the ever-great Zócalo Public Square and the SoCal outpost of ASU.. The opening reception was in the building’s rococo’ed-out lobby — if you ever see it and think it looks like the Hearst Castle, you’re on the right track: it was basically a test run for it because the Herald-Examiner was a Hearst paper. Folks got their name badges and made small talk as we slowly felt each other out, then went across the street to Cara Cara, the rooftop restaurant and bar of the Proper Hotel that I remembered having good cocktails and food and was glad to find it hadn’t changed.

We got a bit more comfortable with each other there. There were a couple of East Coasters who wanted to know about L.A.’s Graffiti Towers, so I told them that we were able to see them even in the 8 o’clock light and I spun its sordid tale. Some people knew each other already; others had mutual friends. Others were strangers.

“I’m kinda a shy person who doesn’t really like to socialize,” I confessed to Profe Kelly at one point.

She smiled. “Oh, I’m not going to let you do THAT.”

Whenever I stop my work for even an afternoon, I begin to get fidgety and feel guilty. News never sleeps, as I always tell young reporters. Besides, hanging out with people right now is a privilege that too many people I know can’t experience in our Andor regime (Canto CCCXCIX).

What the hell were we going to do?

First time reading this newsletter? Subscribe here for more merriment! Feedback, thoughts, commentary, rants? Send them to [email protected]

We gathered Thursday morning in what used to be the Herald-Examiner’s printing press, now transformed into a meeting room where I’ve hosted many a Zócalo panel. There were about 20 of us in total, seated in two pools of chairs. We were urged to sit in the one right in front of the stage where we would present.

I sat in the one farthest away from everyone because I’m like a cholo nerd like that.

Profe Kelly acknowledged what I had felt the night before without me even bringing it up — it’s what everyone was feeling. No rest in the revolution, you know?

But she said two profound things right off. She said that even in the hardest of times, it’s important to take some time to meet allies/friends/colleagues/fellow travelers (my slashed paraphrasing, not hers) to connect and take sense of what’s before you.

The second Profe Kelly insight: The work everyone is doing might not pay off within our lifetimes — but we’re not doing it for us or even the moment. We’re doing it so that it pays off eight generations ahead (she cited someone whose name I forgot as the originator of the idea).

BOOM.

Hearing her two points was the release valve all of us needed. The first point reminded me of something my dad always tells me: el trabajo no se va ir. The work is never going to go away. So it’s important to step away, even for two days, and appreciate whatever you do in those two days.

The second point is something that Andor so brilliantly captured. When you’re up against seemingly insurmountable odds, you can’t give up but you also must reconcile yourself with the good possibility that you won’t see a victory or a payoff in your lifetime. But it’s not about you. It’s about the deontology of it all (Canto CLXIII): You do what you do because you know the fight is righteous, and you’re doing it for others above all.

Off to the presentations we went. I’m not going to reveal who my peers were just yet or what they said besides Profe Kelly and Alex and Cristina, because I ain’t beating them at their own reveal. But I can say that another reason why conventions are a bore is because most of the presenters tend to be, well, boring.

Not here.

Every single person was magnificent. Not one short lecture was the same. There was laughs, there were tears, there were snapping of fingers and applause. There was silence, there were short breakout groups where a moderator gave us prompts to discuss.

If everyone hit a home run, I was the only bloop single, of course. I offered a shitty PowerPoint with random clippings of stories I had done or clippings I found fascinating under the argument that activists need to know the pioneers before them who fought the same battles in sometimes-worse circumstances, the allies of today that were enemies in the past, and to the intellectual roots of the other side.

At one point, I made a comparison to a Dungeons and Dragons 24-sided die — pinche Guti always rambling smh. But if the cost of admission to “The Border is a Story” was that, it was worth it.

We ate lunch together and had dinner together. We got to know each other more and more until it was time to leave and we didn’t want it to end. It was less a convention than a convivienca — a small gathering where everyone participates in everything. A convention can become atomized almost instantly. There’s no way you can meet everyone, and you’ll usually end up with people you know and the people they know, so you really don’t learn everything.

Here, we were learning nonstop. The “The Border is a Story” hosts not only picked the brilliant people, they picked nice people. Nice goes a long way in life, Jack.

There’s supposed to be videos of our speeches posted online soon, so I’m not going to say what was discussed. But what I can say is by the end of our official two days, we were already exchanging emails and phone numbers and basked in the awe of each other’s uniqueness and commitment to a grander cause.

For our last group chat, the moderator asked us to express our takeaways. People gave heartfelt farewells and offered more insights. When it was my turn, I said three words:

Replenished.

Recommitted.

Repeat.

And then I said I’d expound on this in my newsletter because I’m forever a shameless self-promoter — but in my defense, Alex and Profe Kelly kinda did the same!

But when I was searching for words to describe how I felt after two days, those were the three words that meant the most. It’s important to replenish yourself with people who do what you do. Commiserate. Conspire. Congrat.

The best conventions remind you why you signed up to your respective profession or discipline or thing in the first place. All our respective gigs go through their ups and downs, but we continue until we can’t continue anymore because we love what we do, as damned as what’s before us may seem. But when you’re with a bunch of like-minded people, it not only makes the struggle worth it, it makes you want to do it more.

I hope “The Border is a Story” goes on. There are so many people I know who would benefit from such a convivia, who deserve to have their WERK heard or seen by other brilliant people. And if it goes on, I hope to be in the audience and cheer on the newbies, welcoming them into a movement nothing can stop.

I ended up sitting with everyone else. I can’t wait to do it again. And when I said my goodbye to everyone at Guelaguetza (some were off to a nighttime tour of historic anarchist spots near Olvera Street; others were going to a bar), Alex summed up my two days the best to Profe Kelly:

“Gustavo is actually still! He never does that!”

I’m glad I did.

**

Enough rambling. This was the semana that was:

IMAGE OF THE WEEK: The latest convening of Guti’s Fookin’ Ingrate Book Club. We met to discuss The American Song Bag, the collection of tunes by Carl Sandburg — you missed out! I’m going to announce my next book tomorrow, so sign up already and don’t be a fookin’ ingrate follower!

QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “I just became dean, bro.” — Peter Murrieta, the newly minted associate dean of Arizona State’s Herberger Institute for Design and the Arts in Los Angeles. Also, the The Most Important Chicano In Hollywood That You Don’t Know About — follow his Substack NOW.

LISTENING: “Any Day Now (My Wild Beautiful Bird),” Chuck Johnson. One of those songs you’ve heard forever and always liked but didn’t exactly rise up compared to others but grows on you with every year until you realize it’s a masterpiece — and OF COURSE it turns out to be a Burt Bacharach song. Deep, vulnerable voice with sharp violins and a mournful organ — underrated oldie. Hence included in Gustavo Arellano’s Weekly Radiola of Randomness YouTube songlist, where I’ve included every song I’ve ever featured in a canto — give it a spin!

READING: “Ulysses”: I need to get into more Alfred, Lord Tennyson…

BUY MY NEW CO-BOOK! People’s Guide to Orange County tells an alternative history of OC through the scholarship and reporting of myself, Elaine Lewinnek, and Thuy Vo Dang. There’ll be signings all year — in meanwhile, buy your copy TODAY. And, yes: I’ll autograph it!

Gustavo Events  

Sept. 4, 7 p.m.: I’ll be speaking to the Democrats of North Orange County at Sizzler’s, 1401 N. Harbor Blvd., Fullerton. It’s probably members only, but show up and give them a donation and I’m sure they’ll let you in! 

Gustavo in the News

“Why Los Angeles Can’t Back Out of Hosting the 2028 Olympics”: This publication seems…interesting…but they did plug a columna of mine.

“How to Use drug test in a Sentence”: Merriam-Webster must be hacking into my computer because they’re picked the most, um, random, of columnas to cite me.

“The Summer America Tried to Replace Migrant Workers with Teens—It Was a Disaster”: I appear on The Smerconish Podcast podcast (actually, I was on his SiriusXM show) to talk about a columna of mine.

Gustavo Stories 

“Grítale a Guti”: Latest edition of my Tuesday night IG Live free-for-all.

“Bribes, corruption: OC Democratic powerbroker faces jailtime”: My latest KCRW “Orange County Line” commentary talks about Melahat Rafiei.

"LA Times’ Gustavo Arellano on California and Texas Redistricting Battles”: I appear on KPFA to talk about a columna of mine.

“In Texas and California redistricting battles, Latino voters hold the key”: My latest L.A. Times columna talks about the new American un-civil war and rancho libertarians. KEY QUOTE: “California Latinos have helped to torpedo liberal shibboleths at the ballot box more often than Democrats will ever admit.”

“Slain L.A. Times columnist Ruben Salazar matters more than ever, 55 years later”: My next latest L.A. Times columna talks about one of my legendary predecessors. KEY QUOTE: “Because in a year that seems to get worse by the day, we need to remember Salazar more than ever.”

You made it this far down? Gracias! Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram while you’re down here by clicking on their logos down below. Don’t forget to forward this newsletter to your compadres y comadres! You can’t get me tacos anymore, but you sure as hell can give them — and more — to the O.C. Catholic Worker!