To Dolores Huerta:

To Dolores Huerta:

Mi hermana. Mi tia. Mi abuela. 

But mostly, today, my sister.

My sister in the pain of separating from our children.

When I read the article on Thursday morning, I was devastated.

I immediately thought of the poster on my wall. I can see it right now. 

This poster. This poster of César and Dolores. This poster that my first (birth) father Michael Guerra gave to me when I was 19 or 20 years old. His mother, my grandmother Cindy, gave it to him. She had received it when volunteering in Chicago for UFW in 1993. César had signed it about a week before he died. He had addressed it to my father and all my tias and tios, my aunts and uncles. His signature in black marker.

Denise Jacqui Andi Marcus Michael. – Best Wishes César Chávez 4-15-93

Originally it was in a shitty plastic frame, hanging in my college bedroom, where my daughter was conceived in 2001. Above the mini fridge. Next to the window that I would sometimes climb out to sit on the roof and drink beer. 

I didn’t truly understand how important it was at first. It became more important to me as I fully stepped into my identity as a 5th-generation, mixed-race, light-skinned, transracially adopted Chicana from Chicago. It didn’t matter as much to me when I got it as it came to matter to me later. But I moved it every time I moved. To Iowa, Chicago, California. 

In my late 20s I paid to have it professionally mounted and framed. My brother from my birth father pounded the nails in the walls to hang it.

I came to refer to it as my family heirloom.

I came to refer to it as my family heirloom.

I now understand it to be part of my family legacy.

Activism, darkness, la huelga, rape, familia,incest, resilience, birth, adoption, bystanders, trauma. Adoption. Adoption. Mothers. Mamas. 

It has come with me to all the places I lived since, proudly hanging near the front door or in a treasured space. I held my last baby, minutes old, below this poster, surrounded by Indigenous and Black midwives and doulas. 

This poster was a way of claiming and belonging for me. To say to people entering my home, this is me.

Now, this poster feels both like a lie, and a truth.

It is forever tainted. But must my memories be tainted? Am I tainted?

Dolores, you are a first mother. You are also a mother. You are also a leader and inspiration. You are also a survivor.

César, you were a first father. You were also a father. You were also a leader. You were also a rapist. You are both my people, from my people, for my people.

For now, the poster remains in my living room. I have temporarily covered up his face and name with Valentine’s Day photos of my children and granddaughter. Love above all.

Please hold with care my Latinx community, people who devoted their lives to the struggle, survivors of rape, and the adoption community, especially adoptees and first/birth parents.

Rivers of tears,

Susan Dusza Guerra Leksander, LMFT

Transracial Adoptee

First Mother

RJiA Co-Founder

Executive Director of Pact, an Adoption Alliance