By JEAN MELESAINE, New America Media
and Silicon Valley De-Bug
My
younger cousin Sana, whom I consider like my baby sister, told me while
intoxicated and leaving for a funeral, “Jean, you have to put your
necklace in my coffin when I die because it always reminds me of you.” The
necklace she spoke of was a gift from my Aunt Norma in New Zealand. It’s called
a “manaia” and is made out of bone that was blessed by the Maori chiefs to
guide and protect me because my Aunt Norma said I would travel a lot in this
life. She also said I am never allowed to take it off, once it’s put on —
something I reconsidered after hearing what Sana said.
There’s
a saying, “experience is the ultimate authority,” which is similar to saying,
“you can’t get wet, talking about water.” I always wondered, though: If
experience is the ultimate authority and you’ve been getting wet all your life,
how do you talk about water when you’re close to drowning? I’ve been lucky. I have
time and space to think about things. I have a camera, and I can write
sometimes. Sana doesn’t have those things. She tries, but I figure it hurts to
be real about life.
May
was Asian Pacific Islander Month, and I’m not sure what that means for me. I guess
it doesn’t seem to mean much, when I look around at what is happening in my
community.
On
the First of May, a funeral service was held for a kid who was stabbed in
Newark, Calif., and a couple of days later, Junior Seau committed suicide. Both
were Pacific Islander. I found out about Seau while standing in an airport
terminal in Texas — the first time I’d ever seen a Samoan on the front page of
USA Today. The media focused on Seau’s football injuries as the cause of his
tragic decision. But I can’t help but think that depression in the Pacific
Islander community needs to be considered as well.
After
returning to the Bay Area from Texas, I went to visit my baby brother’s new
child for the first time. On my way to congratulate them, I couldn’t shake the
thoughts of the stabbed kid from Newark, of Junior Seau, of depression. My head
felt heavy with worry for my new niece and her young parents – teenagers who
had struggled to raise themselves, now responsible for raising another.
One
of my best friend’s is Native American and a social worker. She is always
trying to explain to me why data and research are so important. She gives me
links to programs for my younger brother. She sends me all the new data out
there on Pacific Islander communities, and we compare the issues – trauma,
depression — present in our respective communities. Most of the data shows our
communities in peril. The newest data she shared with me was for Alameda
County, where Pacific Islanders have surpassed the Native American community
for the highest rates of poverty.
Back
to May: Joyce, my cousin’s sister-in-law, a hard working single mother, dies of
a heart attack. The funeral is held on Mother’s Day weekend. Her son, Ola, is
16 years old. At the funeral, my cousin describes them as the “closest
brother and sister you can meet.” After the service, I sit in a
conversation with some of Joyce’s friends, who keep talking about how excited
she was for Ola, who has plans to go to prom.
A
couple days later, another funeral. A younger cousin is shot and killed in the
Sunnydale projects in San Francisco. I hang out with Sana and other younger
cousins, because I usually don’t have the time. It’s sad that it takes a death
to hang out with family.
Shortly
thereafter, it’s time to leave again, this time to Alabama. One of the youth
I’m working with, Tearra, lives in the Forest Hill Projects. The place feels
deep in the country, but it’s actually only 11 minutes away from downtown
Birmingham, the birthplace of the civil rights movement. We’re driving Tearra
through her neighborhood, to drop her off at home and meet her mom. On our way
there she tells me, “I don’t like when it gets violent.” It’s sad, but her
words make me feel at home slightly. I think of my younger cousins.
When
I get home from Birmingham, I go to a Pacific Islander town hall meeting.
Congresswoman Jackie Spiers stopps by at one point, to listen to Pacific
Islander concerns. Health issues, violence, lack of resources, education, and
disconnecting the PI (Pacific Islander) from API (Asian-Pacific Islander) top
the list of concerns.
But
there are good things happening in our community, too — slowly. There are
people doing things to change all of this.
It’s
the end of May. My newphew, Muzik, has graduated from kindergarten. And over
the weekend, I celebrate my sister Chamorro’s birthday. She teaches fiercely in
East Palo Alto, to a lot of Polynesian kids. At her party, I meet a lot of
students from City College of San Francisco, and it makes me smile that alot of
them are Pacific Islander, too.
I
can’t speak or hold responsibility for all Pacific Islanders. I can only tell
you and show you what this month has been like for me, in words and pictures –
work that is done with love, to honor folks like Joyce, Ola, Muzik, Sana,
Brandon, their families and other folks that can talk about water, because
they’re still deep in it.
