Our ancestors migrated to the United States hoping for a better livelihood and the prospect of planting generations of family trees.
During the 1970s, the mothers of East LA were starting their lives with their families. Freshly in their twenties, young and in love. They put their trust in the American medical system to deliver their newborns with ease, barring any complications. None of these women spoke English; USC Medical Center was one abuser of this language barrier, causing women to lose their ability to grow their families.
No Mas Bebes
I watched a documentary sharing the personal stories of these Latina women who spent their early twenties in East LA. Pregnant and in love. “No Mas Bebes” by Renee Tajima-Peña exemplifies the Latina women who were coerced into involuntary and forced sterilizations.
Midst of labor, they are told that they can undergo a cleaning of the womb, a limpia. Who wouldn’t want that, right? Instead, their tubes were tied without them understanding what they just signed off on.
Or, “Your baby is in danger; we must perform emergency surgery. Sign this, or we cannot save your baby.” Knowing well enough, they didn’t read or write in English. It was a lie curated to eliminate the ‘overpopulation’ of Latinos in Los Angeles. These xenophobic and racist villains were the same doctors happily birthing those 19 kids and counting.
I rewatched this documentary with my mother, who lost her mom in January 2023. We froze when my mom said she was born at USC Medical Center in 1975. We immediately burst out of our seats to find her birth certificate, just to see who delivered her.
Could they have been a culprit in these forced sterilizations? The signature was by an intern, not a doctor. So, probably not? But the fear struck us for the few minutes we couldn’t find that piece of paper. Making this one hell of a realistic experience for us.
My mom and I sat with the thoughts we procured from the documentary. We were torn by these women who easily could have been my grandma. As we sat with our thoughts, we were obligated to reflect on my grandma’s life and make intimate connections to these women.
Ofrenda
My grandma never spoke English. She was the bridge that united her loved ones and the glue that rarely kept us apart. She was the person who brought the meaning of community to life. She was a force of nature who laughed so loudly you could hear the echo in the street.
Born in Tecomán, Colima, in 1956, accompanied by 11 siblings in her lifetime. In 1973, she arrived in the U.S., where she met my Grandpa. She spent most of her life in East LA, where she raised her family and stood with her sisters.
She loved her café con galletas in the morning. She enjoyed eating different types of food. She always picked me up from school when I didn’t want to be there and took me to eat pizza.
I still dream about her and always talk to her. I wear her jewelry every single day. And I always remember her love for frogs because they brought luck.
East Los
Because East Los Angeles is an immensely dynamic city that thrives off community, camaraderie, and culture, it unequivocably meshes with its history of societal hurdles. And even though these people faced adversities, they didn’t let it define their community.
Those born and raised in East Los are hardworking, independent, and strong. All qualities align with the women in the documentary. All qualities that aligned with my grandma.
East LA continues to mend its wounds and tighten its relationship to unity and peace. In this neighborhood, you’ll find mothers who devote their hearts to their children and children who take as many steps as needed to fulfill their big dreams. It’s a city of unstoppable forces and the strength to change the world—pure culture.
And we thank nuestras abuelas for that.
