Inauguration Chronicles By An L.A. Mujer

By Maria Elena Fernandez

The crazy thing is that the inauguration itself is mostly a blur. I do remember, however, that when Obama was being sworn in, tears flowed down my cheeks as I watched the jumbo screen from the back of the mall. Little did I know, the meaning behind my inaugural experience wouldn't reveal itself until the day after.

After braving the crowd and the effin cold to get out of the mall area, my host/friend Mario, his friend Isabel and her two kids headed to Mario’s favorite DC restaurant, Lauriol Plaza, where we met his partner Dwayne. We indulged our Obamanos high on good food and frozen Margaritas (crazy, right?). Buzzed and tired, my homegirl from L.A., Juanita, called to tell me she had an extra ticket to the Western States Inauguration Ball. Score!

It was 6 p.m. and the black-tie event was starting at 8. “Crap, Juanita! I don’t have a long dress! All I have is a black skirt and high heel boots.”  Ni modo, Chicanarella is going to the ball!

Live salsa floated out of the ball as we approached the entrance. Once inside, we realized it was Marc Anthony. I ran up to the side of the stage, ignoring the “Restricted Access” signs and took pictures of “El (Remade) Cantante.”  And like any good Latina, I called my mom in L.A. so she could hear her enamorado on speaker phone.

A couple of songs later, el boricua announced he had a surprise. Out floated JLo, a spectacular vision of glowing femininity that eclipsed her husband to a minor planet revolving around her splendor. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Biden and his wife came on stage later in the evening. (I’m not a huge Biden fan, so I really didn’t care.) The traditional dance he and his wife did was embarrassingly corny. More fit for a wedding, or worse, a prom.

An hour later, President Obama took to the stage. I raced across the ballroom in my high heels to get a better look. I saw a military band in full brass and regalia and got a glimpse of Obama on the big screen. I watched as our new president gave a short speech before he and Michelle embraced and started their dance. They exchanged words, laughed, and gazed into each other’s eyes.  The connection between the two was natural and damn sexy. I went to bed at 2:30 a.m. still in shock from the events that unfolded.

It wasn’t easy getting up the next morning, but I was determined to make it to the immigrant rights march. About 250 people carried signs that read “I Am Immigrant America” and we were immediately handed some of our own to carry.  Others folks held yellow banners that read “Immigrant Roots, Immigrant Rights.”

As we marched toward ICE (the nasty federal agency responsible for all the immigrant raids the past few years) headquarters, steel drums boomed and the crowd chanted and sang. We made as much noise as possible to ensure everyone inside the building knew we were present. 

Religious leaders from all over the country spoke. A minister from San Francisco led us in a limpia (a ritual cleansing) to clear out the evil energy responsible for provoking ICE to hunt down thousands of immigrants and separate families.  As each one spoke, the energy remained high and shouts of “Si Se Puede” were frequent. Each speech had an unmistakable sacred tone.

I’ve been to countless marches in L.A. and never have religious leaders took to the stage. I imagined this was what it was like in the 60s when Martin Luther King Jr. spoke. Imbued with a sense of divine purpose and righteousness, something stronger and more profound supported our human endeavor. I’ve never felt so centered and so powerful at a march.

Most inspiring was when an African American minister invoked the names of activists who have walked before us, some who to this day continue to walk the path of justice: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, Cesar Chavez, Jesse Jackson, and Medgar Evers. After each name, I couldn’t help but say “Presente!” Soon the entire crowd repeated the word passionately.

As the minister spoke, saying it is our work to remind President Obama he is the son of an immigrant and  must respond to the dire need for a just immigration reform, I realized the true meaning of the inauguration. It is our responsibility to advocate for the rights of the most vulnerable in the Latino community: immigrants. It’s not about basking in the glow of the inauguration and the change it promises, but transforming the injustices of the past eight years into equality and human rights for all.

As I travel back home, I’m not sure how I’ll commit to this work, but it is my intention to find a way to do my part. To get involved with the national network that organized the march, visit www.FairImmigration.org.

Maria Elena Fernandez is a writer, performance artist and Cal State Northridge U.S. History professor.