Religion & Liberation Issue IV

Religion & Liberation

ISSUE IV

ISSUE IV
Religion & Liberation

Issue 4: Religion & Liberation 1s made possible by the Queens Council
on the Arts with public funds from the New York City Department of
Cultural Affairs in partnership with the City Council.

Contact
info@mujeristascollective.com

mujeristascollective.com
(@mujeristasco

Team

Founder & Director
Stephanie Ahaga
spectrumstudio.works
Magazine designed by Stephanie Alhaga
Cover Art by Paola de la Calle
Illustration below by Ariana Ortiz

Creative Director
Ariana Ortiz
arlanaortiz.com

Content Producer
Denisse Jimenez

denissejuliana.com

Editor

Reza Moreno

sustainthemag.com

Education Coordinator
Yovanna Roa-Reyes

Published by Mujeristas Collective.
All rights reserved 2020.

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12

13

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Catholic School Uniform

Sarah Yanni

Youth Day
Alysa Bradley

DNA
Dara Burke

Soledad

Denisse Jimenez

Not For You
Amy Bravo

I Pray
Reza Moreno

Untitled
Darling Alvia

Altagracia
Alejandra Lopez

Una leyenda negra

Ariana Ortiz

Reverence
Ashley Sanchez

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13

20

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22

ao

24

26

2/

La pobreza del hombre
Paola de la Calle

La posteridad nos hard justicia
Angela Portillo

Tiquani Story
Tanya Leyva

Confiar en la Tierra
Gabriela Hnizdo

The land of milk and honey
Darling Alvia

Indigenous Roots
Victoria Garcia

Decaying self-portraits
Gilda ‘Tenopala Gutierrez

Guadalupe as Liberator
Stephanie Ahaga

Cerro de las Tres Cruces,
Medellin
Banu Bayraktar

SARAH YANNI

Growing up in the Black Church,
women are valued for our appearance
and the monetary support we provide,

CATHOLIC

UNI

penny loafers: you wanted converse, anything else
really. the shiny black leather, ephemeral shine,
racked up mom’s card at the uniform store. your
feet would protest, the shoes too slim, squeezing
appendages on the journey from english to math. it
seemed far-fetched, the notion of needing to erase
variety, all the way down to the enclosure of toes. it
was supposed to subdue class difference, although
everyone knew. the knock-off loafers from target,
one-eighth the price, an instant label. you placed

a copper gold penny in the front for good luck,
knowing you’d need it with the nuns / knee high
socks: buckling knees, your father’s inheritance, the
pain in your body you noticed the most. a choice of
navy or white, the thick wool and cotton covered
your shins, modest limbs. an august heat made
manifest, the socks were non-optional despite triple
digit temperatures. a trail of sweat on your lower
legs, scrunched down near the teachers you know
would go easy, a temporary reprieve, a blessing /
pleated skirt: we took them off to let you in. years
of shortening the thick fabric, hemmed, rolled, and
for what? to look more seductive, i suppose. in
middle school, mom made you wear it full-length,
plaid and coarse, past your knees. you cried on the
first day because you looked different, didn’t look
sexy, didn’t know 13 year olds were supposed to.

it was the beginning of bottom eyeliner and who
did what behind the gym, and you wrote in your
diary and made up scenarios about everyone who
breathed near. you secretly bought a shorter skirt,

wishing to belong, switching out of your long one

SCHOOL

FORM

in the back of your neighbor’s car every morning as
it drove away from home / polo (tucked): baby pink
color, always the favorite. you had a few options
but none as subdued. a girlish pink, adequate and
fitting for your bodies. virginal and fresh! a small
school logo above your breast, a stamp for the
public world to see. you didn’t go to any school,
you went to the one with the convent, only women.
you will get so used to tucking in your shirt that
even after abandoning the uniform, the habit will
continue. scrunching fabric near your tailbone,
visible through all clothes. neckline buttons always
falling off, you learned how to sew them back on
regularly. baby pink yarn to match the polo, no
evidence of disassembly / blazer: heavy shoulder
pads made you feel safe, protected. larger than you
actually were. pins adorned the collar, bright ones,
from tender things that you enjoyed without shame.
golden crosses puncturing fabric, that was the time
you loved church and religion and found comfort
in hymns. soon, you will remove them, put them in
boxes, forget. you'll lose the clips, you’ll lose all
faith. the blazer will assume its place in a plastic
bag in a coat closet that smells like old age. like
those parts of you, gone / ribbon: not an official part
of the uniform, but a common adornment. the top
of the christmas tree. young girls, good girls, soft
ribbon atop a high ponytail. tied into a perfect bow,
usually white silk. you always tried to use one but
it protested against your coarse curls. it fell in the
wrong way or out completely. another way you did

not belong, another way your body did not match.

but not the leadership potential we
have. Women are often taught to
silence ourselves into salvation by
submitting to men.

In many Black Churches, the pastors,

reverends, and pulpit associates
are predominantly male when the
congregations are largely female.

Speaking and preaching as a woman
in the Black Church is always political.
I imagine performing a poem is even

more political.

Listen to Alysa Bradley's spoken
poetry performed at First Calvary
Baptist Church in Brooklyn below.

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by Dara Burke

Soledad

Denisse Jimenez

The funny thing about my connection to the
Catholic faith is that no matter how much I work
to distance myself from it, it always seems to be

there.

But a Catholic identity reaches far beyond one’s
participation. My dad grew up as a poor Catholic
in Dublin. My mom grew up as a poor Catholic
in San Juan and the South Bronx. My parents

are reasonable, relatively progressive people—yet
both defend the institution of Catholicism in a
way that appears wholly incompatible with every

other aspect of who they are.

My dad says the faith is in his DNA, a tagline
that reminds me that Catholicism is not a
political party I can simply choose to support
or disavow. It’s woven into the fabric of

my heritage and family history, along with
famine, alcoholism, and the other maladies that

perpetuated poverty for generations.

I’m disgusted by the fact that Catholicism

is so entrenched there, too. This disgust is
compounded by the fact that my ancestors were
forced into a faith that continues to be used to
cut me and others off from fundamental rights.
I hate the brash culture of conservatism and
anti-intellectualism that permeates the Catholic
community. Brett Kavanaughs were a dime a

dozen on Sundays.

When my parents outgrew their marriage, we
steadily began to sit farther back during mass,

and eventually sat awkwardly on a staircase

behind the rest of the congregation. This broken
system that has gaslighted generations of my
family is like an extra organ sprouting inside of
me. It sits in my innards, a lump of coal that fills
me with guilt, regret, and self-loathing. I resent
my family for refusing to allow themselves to
detach from the church. But really, I resent that
I can’t seem to either. This brave new world is

a secular one, but part of my spirit still rests in
the faith along with its history of abuse against
the people that made me. I unplug from science
and ethics for the comfort that is my faith in an
omniscient, inherently merciful being. In true
Catholic fashion, I feel great guilt about the fact
that I still feel connected to the Christian God I

was raised to believe unquestioningly.

I sometimes wonder if I can ever come to terms
with my Catholic identity and reclaim it as a
point of pride. Perhaps someday I’Il be able

to discuss my experience of Catholicism in a
way that does not make me feel heavy. The
trouble is, I don’t think that guilt and shame are
compatible with pride. I believe that any sort

of acceptance of my inner Catholic kid will
involve forgiveness: forgiveness for my parents
for baptizing me into a religion that promulgates
hatred; forgiveness for the church community
for not providing the support and acceptance my
family needed and deserved; most importantly,
forgiveness of myself for my inability to detach
from my Catholic roots. To be honest, I’ve never
been good at forgiveness. Hopefully God is, if
all I was taught turns out to be true. Otherwise,

I’m pretty much screwed in terms of the afterlife.

:

NOT FOR YOU

I found this framed drawing of the
Virgen Maria on Washington Avenue
in Fort Greene. ‘The painting was
behind glass which meant I could
easily paint a new layer onto the image
without damaging the original piece. I
knew that this image had to have been
made by someone else who was Latin
American, and I was interested in the
idea of collaborating with a stranger
in my neighborhood who exists within
my culture. I painted over the figure
with white and left the face drawn

by the stranger revealed, along with
the linework and drawing of Jesus in
the background. ‘This piece feels like

a representation of my whitewashed
upbringing but raises questions about
whitewashing of religious figures
throughout history.

Amy Bravo

I Pray

Suffocated with guilt

Judgement day 1s all around us when religion pours through our veins
If religion is going to separate us as brothers and sisters and put borders
between us, then I want no part in that

But I still find sanity when I close my hands real close to pray to a God I
can’t seem to see or hear, even if this God doesn’t exist, they take away
my fears and anxieties

I find security inside a church because it reminds me of my parents that I
seem to be lacking
If this same church is going to throw hateful words around, then leave me

be
If I ever feel the need to force feed my children these hateful words that
somehow end up in Christ’s children’s mouth then tie up my hands and

throw away the key: please, I pray that I never end up like my parents.

Growing up Catholic in my family meant saving myself for marriage,
that a man would never want me if I was tainted.

Growing up Catholic meant I was not allowed to explore different ideas
or beliefs.

Growing up Catholic meant I was shackled to a bible that preached no
form of liberation for the humanity it was trying to control.

This is why I pray, I pray, I pray. I pray for those blinded by spirituality to
one day see.

Reza Moreno

10

Darling Alvia

11

"ie ay et rrr?
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Tank
fs i So a amy

dy
a
4 oy
—
-
-
:

The base layer of the photo is my grandmother's passport when
she immigrated to the United States in 1963 from Dominican
Republic. Her middle name was Altagracia, which is the patron

saint of Dominican Republic so I made her into a more modern,

pastel version of Altagracia.

Alejandra Lopez

una leyenda negra

those who need to know, know:
the old magic still runs hot, underpaints
air, ground, the sunspots that fleck the wall

in weak, irreverent moments,

I hope its echo limns my body, too,
helps guide yours closer,

thready pulse at my back

though the true binding—the names, the
knowledge—

has long since been sapped from our heads,
wrenched from our mouths

but what are matters of truth when la virgen,
crowned, brownskinned

smiles at me warmly, her dark eyes leading me
to love?

arlana ortiz

REVERENCE

on Sunday I

looked for god in the mirror.
unbraiding my hair,

I paused because

Mary doesn’t have thick eyebrows,
her face is smooth and hairless

and it doesn’t look like mine.

angels dont look like me either,

they are peaceful and they are pale and blonde.

they do not carry the reality of brown womanhood on their shoulders.

not like me. they have nothing to lose.

so, it only made sense, on that Sunday morning,

that god wouldn't look like me.

god cant look like me,

a brown woman with a halo of black hair,

and dark eyebrows and dark peach fuzz and dark eyes to match,

because god wouldnt be told to stay in the shade and god wouldnt be told to
silence themselves,

god wouldnt be told that she bleeds every month because the first woman on earth
was a sinner,

god wouldn't be told that she came from the rib of man,

god wouldnt be told to compromise.

on Sunday I
tried to talk to god,
remembering:

I was six when my mother taught me how to talk to god.
with our right hands outstretched she showed me,

first touching the temple,

then the center of the chest,

then each shoulder.

she told me our conversations were holly,

god would protect me because I, too, am a child of god.

I was six years old and I remember I tried to speak to god that night.

god knew my name because when I was too young to remember,

my parents took me to church, and I was bathed in holy water and

my grandmother cried,

then in the third grade I was clothed in white once more

and my grandmother cried

when I consumed Jesus's flesh and blood.

that night, god listened until I fell asleep,

and I was calm, and my mother was calm because she had showed me the way.

when I was old enough to hear the story

of my grandmother’s immigration to the united states,

she told me that it was thanks to god that she did not die in the desert,
thanks to god that she is here now, in her apartment,

now a citizen of the country that raised me.

and in that apartment, above the dining room table, is Jesus himself,

painted sitting at his own table, at his last supper.

for as long as I can remember Jesus has watched us eat,

for as long as I can remember crosses hung above my grandmother’s door,

for as long as I can remember she has lit prayer candles in times of need.

god listens to my grandmother, and god listens to my mother,

and that makes me think that maybe god

is a brown woman.

because god listens and understands, and god made sure that my grandmother made it here
safely. she looks out for her own.

and maybe the painters had it all wrong,

maybe Mary was brown like me and her upper lip also had peach fuzz,

maybe her eyes, too, were brown infused with the gold that was ripped from the earth,
maybe her mother told her to stay in the shade and that is why she made sure that

I was born with the same brown skin, because she wasn’t allowed to celebrate her
brown-ness and she wants her daughters to be able to.

maybe they had it all wrong:

maybe god didn’t want riches all in her name,

maybe god didn’t ask for invasion and colonization of my parents’ countries.
I wonder,

does she look at the empire on which the sun never sets and
feel pain,

does she see the phrase “holy war”

and laugh at the thought,

does she hold her breath and wait for liberation,

does she ache for restoration like me, does she

cry when she watches over us.

something tells me god just wants her creations to be appreciated.
something tells me she is tired of conquests and steel and smoke.

I think god is a woman.
she is tired and
her work is taken for granted.

maybe god is brown like me, maybe angels are brown like me,
maybe god made us bleed because we are ferocious and powerful,
menstruation a reminder that we can support life, a reminder that we are divinely human.

maybe she knows the secret that women did not sprout from man’s rib because
us women belong to ourselves and nobody else.

the force of creation lies within me,

and god made it so.

maybe I, too, am holy.

on Sunday I

looked for god in the mirror.

she smiled back at me,

brown eyes the color of earth and honey.

ASHLEY SANCHEZ-GARCIA

(

LA POBREZA DEL HOMBRE COMO
RESULTADO DE LA RIQUEZA DE LA TIERRA

— EDUARDO GALEANO

ETpar Overs COUT UINORE: U0 Sak = YC Sep eee A +

hy i
(\)'*
)

SUSY SR Re. Liberation ‘Vheology insists that we center the poor in our
= ees WL2.WA NW, Sees — t+
es BE VAAN :

s

~ y. struggle for liberation. ‘This mixed media collage, which

SS 7 a 1

ON AAS 3 St so Th | FE sits on top of a map of South America, urges us to look at
2 : 1 capitalism, colonization, and the exploitation of America

Latina as the root cause of poverty and migration.

\

Paola de la Calle

* "The poverty of man as a result of the richness of the land

17

Angela Portillo

19

Confiar en la Tierra

Gabriela Hnizdo

‘Tanya Leyva

20 21

The land of milk and honey

Sunday mass, sermons about the promised land.
The rules to get us there.

I was promised a land of milk and honey.

A lane paved with gold.

Finding serenity in His kingdom.

‘The rules to keep us pure.

‘Til judgment day, kingdom come.

Why go to heaven, when heaven is here?

I found the promised land in her words.

The lane paved with gold rest down her belly.
The kingdom between her thighs.

Her lips taste of milk and honey.

‘There are no rules to reach her.

Come as you are she whispers in my ear.

I fall to my knees.

‘The quiver in her voice is the Holy Ghost.
And I feel a revival.

Now Sunday mass feels like an extra task.

A pointless act.

I know how to find the promise land.

I hear it in every good morning.

And I can taste it on my tongue.

I can feel it in her fingertips, while they glide across my body.
She is the kingdom.

The promise.

‘The land of milk and honey.

Darling Alvia

22

As we discover the history behind “Catholic” beliefs and practices within
Latin America, we end up connecting with indigenous roots. There are
still so many traces of pre-Columbian culture in our present-day spiritual

beliefs.

Victoria Garcia

uo

DECAYING

SELLE PORT RAT i

tie de) , 7
ae mle oe ne

Gilda Tenopala Gutierrez

20

Expanding the liberation image of Guadalupe in a decolonial and pro-indigenous womanhood

La Virgen de Guadalupe s “cinnamon brown” skin and her Aztec (of Nahuatl) tongue gave the
indigenous people a symbol of freedom after the European Catholic conquest of the Americas and
gave Mexican-Americans a cultural and religious identity and also a symbol of liberation in social
movements. pale pei dressed in traditional clothing and appearing to be an Indian or mestiza

shows tl aly OL) a we i of _.
However, r n skin gets | tional and popular images

and loses her ae of being an indigenous or mix Me ale that gave the conquered
people a desirable image to identity with. In order to réclaim The érasure of the racial history
of La Virgen de Guadalupe, we must reframe a liberating, anti-racist, sex positive, pro-brown
and indigenous womanhood imagery of Guadalupe in these traditional and popular images. Artists
and theologians have bgen constructing their own representations of Guadalupe inspired by their
own experiences — sexual identity, but what about addressing the westernized images of La

Virgen de sii: 3 TTC
COATLICUE AZ,

Before jC agate of La Virgen de LEC in a ‘FON: 1S Kou
female deities and Were closely connected to the energy of the eartl Y). ents

and human life yoomedicuc, which translates from Nahuatl to “shirt of snakes,” was the goddess
of the cosmos, sacred guardian and mother image for the Mexican nation and Mexican motherhood.

The place of worship for the deity Coatlicue was located on the hill of Tepeyac in Tenochtitlan,
Mexico City (Peterson 14). Spanish conquistadors destroyed the place of worship at Tepeyac to
impose Christianity on the tte but they weren t able to destroy the birth of La Virgen

de Guadalupe “C Oa’ Tl Tio fe beliefs.
NICAN MOPOHUA

On December 9, 1531, a Nahau Indian man named Juan Diego was on his way to his categhism classes

when he heard birds singing at the hilltop. He then heard Q and when
he followed it to the top of the hill of Tepeyac, he saw -Onant 0 7in e Nahuat 1
language and gdentified herself as Mary, the mother of nd She asked Juan Diego to go to the
bishop of uan Zumarraga, to build a shrine in her name on the hill of Tepeyac.
Since Juan Juan: indigenous man, the bishop did not believe him. After the third time
of going to > bishop, the bishop finally believed Juan Diego when he dropped his tilma and roses
fell on the ground and the image of Guadalupe was imprinted on his cloak. The Nican Mophua is the
most popular version of Guadalupe’ s story written by Luis Laso.de la Vefg in 1649. It is also
argued that Don Antonio W&eriano wrote it.

What’ s so significan ek ©: Guadalupe is that 6 ek, a lowly Indian

Or mestizo when she co ave’ aasylY-appeared to a noble Spanish ruler or a respected

official. Her physical appearance resembling Juan Diego’ s brown skin made indigenous pet “ee
represented and closer to Guadalupe. Her location on Mount iis was the ancient sit

Aztec goddess Tonantzin that had been worshipped for decade i
“The Spa ha OF hay
The Spanish “yo Hernan Cortés Madonna with higeden

searching for g and encountering the indigenous peoples of Mexico (Kilroy-Ewbank). Tel White
(European) VirgS
to the New Wag te
GUADALUPE AS A OL OF LIBERATION oy
In 1764, Guada became the patroness and national symbol of Mexico’ s liberation. }=—/-jed
Mexican War of oo in 1810 to 1821, Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla chose Guadalupe’ s
image to ral los ton tron indigenof®s peoples while changing “Viva Guadalupe.”
1

During the rath fee mee trom V7 & ve ff Possature was carried with the
C.': P¥n beginning of 1960s in California,

peasant fighte oP os Emiliano Za
the National FartfWorkers Association led by César Chavez and Dolores Huerta chose Guadalupe
as a labor ee eigen for farmworkers i led 1Ousands of campesinos to strike against
exploited work ‘a ae represent n : alin . The power of Guadalupe S
dark complexion owed nes ge WAC a symbol to rebel ‘against
the rich, upper ay middle class >~@gainst their subjugation - he poor and the indio.” These
examples show t the representation of La Virgen was able to unify in Mexico and the United
States, stephanie aliaga
FEMINIST ART

Latinx feminist artists and writers began reframing a sex-positive and queer
representations of Guadalupe, coming from their own sexual identities and experiences of their
sexuality in their culture. They also challenged the passivity and sexuality of Guadalupe. In Alma
Lopez s digital art piece, “Our Lady challenges the patriarchal concepts of womanhood and a
women $s sexuality such as queerness and to have control over our bodies and identity. Which pone
against the concept of marianismo and the controlling image that the Virgen Mary can be perceived.
In 1973. Evelvn P. Stevens. coined the word. marianiema which hac ite rante fram the Raman

r the “black virgin” of Spain was transformed and appropriated am
‘eh 169).

Concédeme la serenidad para aceptar
las cosas que no puedo cambiar

el coraje para cambiar las cosas
que puedo y la sabidurta para

reconocer la diferencia.

Banu Bayraktar

In Religion and Liberation,

Mujeristas Collective addresses a vital part of Ada
Maria Isasi-Diaz’s vision of mujerismo: liberation
theology, a grassroots Christian movement that
emphasizes action to achieve freedom from social,

political, and economic oppression.

Containing visual and written works by women
of color and Latinas across the U.S., “Religion
and Liberation’ explores our layered relationships
with spirituality and organized religion itself, and
confronts the entangled natures of politics and faith.
It delves into the question of whether there is a future
in religion as a means to liberation, and where

that might begin.

Published by Mujeristas Collective

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