We have so many illuminating conversations with our 7-year-old grandson Jackson.  Many happen in the car.  Wherever we go, he’s in the back seat chatting away about something.  He’s always looking for new words.  He sees them on the signs going by out the car window.  We’re trying our best, as a Central Oregon community, to build affordable housing.  So, when driving around with Jackson, we regularly pass  affordable housing projects, many under construction.  Last week, we came upon one of these projects, and he read aloud, “Viva Aqui.”  “What’s Viva Aqui?” he wondered.  He read it off a big sign in front of this development, advertising homes available to lower and middle income families.  “What’s ‘Viva Aqui!’”  Then Gramma, Grampa & Grandson said it together: “It means Live Here!”  Wow!

I thought of our friend Minuro Okubo, a Japanese American raisin grower and member of the Sun-Maid Cooperative in Selma, California.  He was renting ground to farm to grow grapes when Pearl Harbor happened. As he left home to fight in the War, the rest of his family were incarcerated at Tule Lake.  The landowner told him she would hold the land for him so he could buy it from her after the war.  She kept her word.  When the war ended, Minuro married his childhood sweetheart, who had been at Tule Lake.  The day they bought the farm, they moved their belongings from their rental house in town to the farmhouse saved for them on the land.  Since they didn’t have time to unpack that day they spent one more night in the rental.  That night someone set fire to their house on the farm and they lost everything.  It’s a too familiar story. 

Viva Aqui?  Really?  It is part of our history that we denied 120,000 Japanese American citizens the right to “live here.”  We rounded them up and deported them by (Executive Order 9066).  By Executive Order in our own time, we round up brown-skinned citizens and send them to Alligator Alcatraz or to other countries unknown to their families.  Over the long haul, welcome is a process we learn together.  Or refuse to learn.

Among our historical messages of hospitality was “Kill the Indian, Save the Man!” And by that order we rounded up (kidnapped really) 25-35% of all tribal children and sent them to Boarding Schools.  The “Whites Only” culture of Jim Crow and racist red-lining policies of lending institutions have determined where people can and cannot drink water, where they can and cannot live.  And here we go again!

Those our system defines as the worst human beings or non-human? They and their people live in places most vulnerable to pollution, poor education and economic opportunity and the worst impacts of climate catastrophe.  Viva Aqui would be a welcome sign in all those places…in Gaza, in Ukraine, in Portland or Chicago.  These are life-changing words on a sign most anywhere now, banned by the forces of anti-DEI.  They will be very much in evidence as millions of us show up again at the next “NO KINGS” protest in 3,000 different communities across the U.S. this Saturday, October 18.   When Jackson saw these two small words out the window, we realized just how revolutionary they are, especially when backed by community resolve to provide housing for all and a huge investment in people “living here” where we all belong.  We like the sign a lot!  It reminds us who we are.

We worry for Jackson and his generation and the Executive Orders they will surely have to face if this home-wrecking legacy of ours continues as it most certainly will.  I mean he’s a privileged white kid, but his mind is filled with what he sees and hears because he lives in a family that cares.  He and his dad were going to go out to eat at one of their favorite eateries a few months back and Jackson got to choose.  But he just couldn’t decide and he was getting pretty upset even though his dad was super patient.  Joel did encourage him that any choice would be OK and all that.  He finally said to his father: “Dad you don’t understand.  My head is so full of everything.  I have to choose where to eat, I have to pick our socks for school, where to go for a play date, what words I can say, where to go to college and then there’s global warming!”  Funny now, but he was a mess in that moment.  It is confusing for him as a graduate of First Grade now starting the Second.  It is for all of us.  Jackson loves to draw and he made this great painting for a school unit on oceans.  He loves dolphins too, so this is what he painted with the words:  “Climate chang is ciling fish, wich means less food for dolphins.”  When you do messages of consequence, spelling is the least important thing.

A few weeks ago we were driving somewhere with him and his BFF in their seats in the back.  They were doing the normal 7-year-old boy schtick, doing farting noises with several different body parts, when, all of a sudden Jackson, is asking Finn if he knows about climate change.  Finn is like, “WELL YEAH (of course who doesn’t know about that we’re second graders right?).  Jackson goes into this serious/funny diatribe about how it’s not just about global warming, that experts have now “pin-pointed” that in 2050 the North Pole is going to melt.  Like all-at-once-in-that-year kinda thing!  He pleaded, “No, you have to believe me.  Technically…it will happen then.”  Like for sure.  After he was done, they went back to talking about poop and butt cheeks.  But later he asked what “technically” actually means.  He loves those adverbs: “literally, actually, technically.”  Together the three of us tried the word in sentences: “A tomato is technically a fruit!” “Jackson’s bedtime is technically 7 pm.” “Technically our Constitutional rights include life, liberty and property.”  “Technically we have an actual President.”

We try to take him to rallies and protest events once in awhile.  See him here a few months ago holding a sign to stop the expansion of the GTN Express Pipeline.  And I took pictures of these two protest signs from our last protest event, because they carrying messages he might understand:  1.  Trump Is A Lying Sack of Cheetos! 2.  Time To Use the F-word. FACISM

The 7-year-old loves himself some Cheetos.  See the actual treats taped on this sign?  He would eat them until his whole face and all his internal organs turn that gnarly Cheetos orange.  And he for sure knows about the F-word.  I think he won’t have any trouble understanding peaceful protest when the time is right for him.   And I’m going to suggest it’s a good thing whenever we can help any of our kids find F-words they can actually use any time in any place.  Especially when they help us discern what’s true, who’s authentic and who we can trust with our lives. 

We were lying on the living room floor the other day with Jackson drawing pictures of villages on a mountain.  The people were all different skin colors and occupations all differently, uniquely abled.  (We’ve gotten really good at sketching wheel chairs).  In a very simple way, it was an image of what the beloved community might look like, where all are welcome to live and thrive…you know, welcome to live here (Bienvenido a vivir aquí!).  Jackson often hums and sings while drawing or building things and he was humming a tune that day, over and over.  I asked him what it was and immediately he started singing: “Enter rejoice and come in, Enter rejoice and come in.  Today will be a joyful day.  Enter rejoice and come in.  Don’t be afraid of some change!  Don’t be afraid of some change, today will be a joyful day. Enter rejoice and come in.”  Such a clear voice and a clear message.  I leave it with you today.

Bienvenido a vivir aqui!  Bienvenido a vivir aquí! Hoy será un día alegre aquí. Bienvenido a vivir aquí! Click on the link and take in the message.  Enter rejoice and come in.  You are welcome here.  Live here!