Living and Breathing History at Work
Apr 24, 2023- 5 min read
There he was, on a usual gloomy Saturday, the captain of the Black Panther Party of the Seattle chapter. As odd as it sounds, no one (including me) even noticed such an important figure had just sat on the 7th table in our patio. There was a rush of people inside, and my main task (among many others) for this seven hour shift was to constantly make sure I welcomed every new table with water cups. So, I did. I was inside on a normal but horrible lunch rush. I have been working since the beginning of winter and I have not experienced the hot weather yet. But even during cold times and when the restaurant is packed, the air inside of the restaurant gets so musty that those of us who work begin to sweat. Our usual quick solution is to go to the patio and check on our outside tables.
Thank god for the hotness inside and my urge to get out of the nightmare of white customers' whining. I finally escaped only to notice that all the tables on the patio where looking at me ready to deposit all their little requests into my brain. Every table complained or asked for something, except table P7, where a lonely, older Black man was sitting. He already had a banana in hand and a plate of pancakes ready to be devoured but no cup of water in sight. I couldn't believe it. I missed a table! I could tell he had been there a while for how comfortable he looked sitting.
So I rushed to fill up a new cup of water, walked up to his table and said, "Hi! how are you? here is some water. I'm sorry I missed your table, I see your food order is even here! Can I get you anything else to drink?" He smiled and said "no thanks, just some more maple syrup, please." So I ran upstairs and into the restaurant to get him what he wanted. It is so crazy that up until that moment I did not recognize the face that stared back at me from my bookshelf. Maybe it was because how much older he looked from the book cover, or that my brain has learned to only prioritize orders. Thank god for Wyatt who came to me and said "Oh you'd like to know this." right while I began pouring the maple in a nice little ramekin. All Wyatt had to say to make me drop the maple onto my pants was "...the founder of the Black Panther Party is here."
I hate getting maple syrup on my clothes and hands. I hate getting even more sticky than what the sweat accomplishes at work. But this time it did not matter. At first I thought he was talking about his brother Elmer, who I have been so close to finally meet in assemblies or protests I attend but never do.
I said "Wait! Elmer Dixon is here?!" At this point all I had in mind was the maple I just needed to deliver, but I really wanted to know where Dixon was sitting.
"No, it's Aaron Dixon. I am not completely sure but I think it's him.", Wyatt corrected me
"Oh shit that's true the oldest brother was the captain!" the splash of the dishwasher hose on my hands finally reminded me of this maple syrup "Fuck I gotta get this to table P7"
Wyatt's eyes widened and he said "Elo... that is him. Aaron Dixon is sitting on P7"
There he was, waiting patiently for his maple syrup. A legend that I only learned about in my search for Seattle's Central District History that I brought to the Black and Brown youth I was teaching robotics to in 2021.
It was only two years ago when I was looking everywhere for pieces of radical history around Seattle to inspire and fill my curricula with. My main goal was to make sure my kids knew they are part of Black and Brown resistance in the land they inhabit. I wanted to tell them about the amazing history they were inheriting and how powerful they already were for surviving everyday. I had grown up this way in Mexico City. I used to think that I was important when my teachers would tell me about the history of the land I was born from. I wanted the same for my kids. My classroom ground rules were inspired by the Black Panther Party's Ten Point Program. Instead of setting arbitrary rules, I wanted them to practice demanding for their needs and then setting any boundaries and support networks based on those. I wanted them to have learning in a space where their demands and curiosities were centered.
In the summer of 2021, right when I was halfway through leading the 10-month robotics program, I had gone to a Mutual Aid Books pop up where I picked up Dixon's book, MY PEOPLE ARE RISING. I read and learned about Black, migrant, and Seattle history through his eyes in this memoir. Throughout the robotics program, I showed quick interviews of Marcia Arunga, Elmer Dixon, and Aaron Dixon talking about their fight for liberation to allow my kids to have their questions asked. My kids would ask why groups like the BPP had even started and why (what U.S. history textbooks called) violence was acceptable when defending your life. I did not have answers, but I had Dixon's memoir and some short interviews to share. It was important for us to know that the technology we were creating was designed to defend our lives as People of Color and why.
During my time teaching, I followed my kids’ questions as my lead to find answers for us in the classroom. That is why, when my boss coldly and unlawfully fired me for organizing my coworkers to demand for better pay and more financial transparency, I thought I had lost it all. As a young immigrant and someone who had just moved from Texas, I knew the struggle to survive a new city would mostly bring loss to my life. I had nothing else to lose the moment I arrived to Seattle, until I met my kids. Losing my job meant more than losing my income. It meant breaking the bonds I had created for myself and my community. I thought I had lost a connection to my new community. I thought that without my kids' curiosity I would end up as defenseless as I was in Texas.
It has been a year and a half since I was abruptly cutoff from my kids‘ learning lives and although they found their own ways to reach out to me for my birthday and other good news, I still am dealing with a lot of grief.
Last weekend, while I was wiping and serving tables, I did not know I would continue the work my kids started when they entered my classroom. When I finally got the guts to talk to Aaron Dixon and tell him about my kids, in his eyes I saw their curious smiles and in his voice I heard the crumbling of the system that keeps us divided.
Picture taken on the street car from Capitol Hill to First Hill on July 7, 2021. Seattle, Washington.
