You wonder where the hell these ideas come from, aside from the scabbed soul of White Supremacist thinking. I mean this is how we think of these beautiful women? This proud Indian blood? They want them to be slaves, in polyester skirts, with a feather duster and no mind? With all the history and the skills and the stories Latina's might bring, the warmth they might radiate; the strength they might lend us; the lovely, cinnamon skin; the eyes so warm, the descendants of Maya and Aztec and Mixtec and Toltec and Tarahumara and Olmec, Spanish and Gypsies, themselves? We do not want to revere and elevate them? You want to stuff them in a cheap costume and have them be your "dirty Mexican slut"? Oye, coward: Pick up the sword, why don't you? Pick up the gun. Be brave and upfront about what you want. Stop being sly and subtle when destroying our little girls before they even have a chance to grow. Stop sublimating your hate and conquest and pretending it's desire.

These memes are everywhere, these lessons are everywhere. Not just on a crass pornsite, a tense streetcorner, a lonely lunch table, or a suddenly-dark porch of a house party gone on too late. These cruel lessons too often float into our hands on the gossamer wings of laughter, as we enjoy our night out at the movies. They flutter, like fevered, infected gnats; glowering over our very own foreheads like a sixth, sadistic, sense that has followed us home from a walk past hell. They wrap, like sparkling rings, around our fingers, as we comb our hair and tug at our own, dark roots. Living in this culture, we Mexican@s often internalize these ugly messages whether we want to or not.

Here is what spurred this post. It is an actual casting notice for a film that a friend felt she had to share with me. She is a Chicana actress; a smart, funny, talented, attractive woman. And in engaging one of her joys, acting, she must look at and at least momentarily, consider herself in such roles. This casting call is more subtle than to ask for a "dirty Mexican slut," but an intelligent reader will note the shape of intent, not necessarily the specific words used. This is a piece of that harmful hand always pointing.

The casting call is a student film, so that means that these kids come to the fundamental classes of what will train them to be the media makers of this country already with these ideas in their minds. I've been through film school, and one of the very best (Spike Lee, Woody Allen, Oliver Stone, and Scorcese's alma mater); I've seen and felt the entire process. I have worked with/shot stars you probably know, and was friends with some who are now working with big stars, or becoming stars themselves. It's a very well-known and highly-praised curriculum and degree program. And you know what? Not once in all my education did we study any of the things I'm learning now. About race, about subtle messaging, about reinforcing the terrible typing that hurts so many. Isn't that amazing? Sure, we studied all the cinematic/narrative/visual stuff Bag News talks about, and far more. We studied every single way to make someone feel or think something; every way to convey a theme or plot. Through props, angles, lighting, pauses, dialogue, scenery and every kind of symbolism you can imagine. But in this Ivory Tower, we did not study the very symbols and corrosive memes I write about here. Thinking about that now, I find it very odd. What better place to tackle the media's messaging machine?

Worse, these young filmmakers are not even in a New York school, but in LA, itself, where so many Latinas live and have lived for so long! Even where they are not a minority, they are given roles that continue to show them their place.

I qualify myself to say that I know for sure that once these kids are trained in visual storytelling and scriptwriting and directing, they will learn to get their ideas—racist or sexist as they may be—into the minds of of many, many people, and (if they learn well and have good teachers) with such mastery and finesse they will even have a large portion of Latinas themselves (not "Chicanas," tho) telling you there is nothing wrong with the portrayal. They will have us laughing along with our own demise.

We too often wear the iron cross of the conquistador around our own necks, letting its steel pierce our shell, feeling the blood run over our skin, drip from our fingertips. We think, perhaps, that it is a warm summer rain, and wonder why we grow weaker on these bright, sunny days....

Hey, nothing wrong with that cast! Sounds like a fun, good-time, smart, sexy comedy, hey? A good time at el cine, and at least the Latina actress can land a role and feed herself. Everybody's happy, right?

Right?