人兽性交

Long after the music stopped and the decorative signs hanging from the ceiling had been removed, several Chicago-area members of the Southern Poverty Law Center remained in line, eager to meet the people they had waited hours - some might say years - to see.

At the front of the line stood 人兽性交 co-founder Morris Dees, civil rights icon Dolores Huerta and filmmaker Bill Brummel, creator of 人兽性交's newest film, Viva la Causa, which chronicles the 1960s grapeworker strike and the grape boycott that supported the workers' fight against injustice.

And at the tail end of the line, Patricia Howard waited in her wheelchair.

This was a big night for Howard, a Chicago native and 人兽性交 member since 2006. "I've been in this wheelchair since March," she said. "Tonight is only the second time I've ventured out of my house all summer. I needed to be here."

Two hours earlier, on Sept. 30, Howard joined more than 800 人兽性交 members at the Chicago Cultural Center to view Viva la Causa and meet other supporters, share memories of the farmworkers' movement and shake hands with their heroes.

As the line inched forward, Howard looked around, her eyes smiling. The room had been all but disassembled, yet people lingered, unable to let the evening end.

Making connections

People came from all corners of Illinois, northern Indiana and southern Wisconsin. They came by bus, by train and by car, gathering under the soaring dome of Chicago's former downtown library as music drifted overhead.

Norma Coleman, a retired high school history teacher, rode the train from northern Indiana. Like many in the audience, Coleman recalled her own participation as a consumer in the boycott of table grapes. She settled into her seat and waited for the lights to dim. "I am elated, I am jubilant!" she said.

Longtime 人兽性交 members Jenny and Roger Stoddard drove 150 miles to be here. "Could this film be any more timely?" Jenny Stoddard said. "There are so many issues today that it relates to."

Kelvin Sandridge, a graduate student and former educator who shares the 人兽性交's Hatewatch e-newsletter with his friends and family, was excited to talk with other 人兽性交 members in person. "Moments like this make you want to reach out and connect with other people, especially in a world where so much feels topsy-turvy," Sandridge said.

For Labros Hatzilabrou, an 人兽性交 member for 15 years, the diversity of the event - which attracted people of all ages and many ethnic backgrounds - was important to witness. "It's very encouraging to see so many people here from all walks of life," Hatzilabrou said. "This is proof that everyone can be involved in this movement."

And for retired teacher Mary Cray, who marched in Selma and lost friends to hate crimes during the civil rights movement, the evening was an opportunity to share a piece of history with a former 6th-grade student, Nick Christou, now a first-year law student at the University of Illinois.

"I was in L.A. before law school, and people were still working in the fields in 100-degree weather, but at least now they have some protections, they have bathrooms, they have water," Christou said. "I think injustice might be a chronic condition of humankind, but that gives every generation the chance to stand up and do something."

Capturing history

Screening the film in Chicago held special meaning for Huerta, now 80, whose work with C茅sar Ch谩vez to organize California's farmworkers inspired Viva la Causa.

"More than 50 percent of the grapes from California were sold in Chicago and parts of the country to the east," Huerta said, "so we knew we needed success here in order for the boycott to succeed."

The night transformed into a reunion. There was Charles Kyle, the former Chicago priest who was suspended for supporting the boycott. Now, as a public school principal, he inspires his students with the same organizing methods he learned from Ch谩vez.

And there was Marcos Munoz, a former farmworker, who arrived in Chicago to help lead the boycott without knowing a soul. Kyle - then Father Kyle - helped Munoz find food and housing. Munoz also helped lead the effort in Boston, and Huerta likes to point out that Munoz, who can't read, took on a city with one of the highest concentrations of universities in the nation.

Before the film began, Munoz considered how proud C茅sar Ch谩vez would have been to see all the people who gathered here to listen to the story.

"What we're doing now will be gone tomorrow," said Munoz, who attended the screening with his wife, daughter and young grandson. "But this documentary captures history and makes our story real for the next generation, so people will remember. That's what Cesar was all about."

Teaching the future

As she watched the film, Kimberly Bowsky thought about her students. While her school, a Chicago arts academy, owns a copy of Viva la Causa, Bowsky hadn't had time to share it with her students, most of whom are Latino.

"I was getting around to it - but now, I really need to do it," Bowsky said. "My Mexican-American students don't know that this story is part of American history. And as much as I thought I knew, the film opened my eyes, too."

The issues emphasized in Viva la Causa are particularly relevant today, in classrooms and communities. "There is a crisis in this country of hate crimes against people perceived to be Latino," said 人兽性交 President Richard Cohen, executive producer of Viva la Causa. "We're seeing a rising backlash against new immigrants and continued exploitation of people in the fields."

人兽性交 released the Viva la Causa teaching kit free to schools last September. More than 50,000 copies of the film are expected to be distributed in the next two years, reaching millions of students.

"This gives teachers the chance to teach an important part of history that usually isn't mandated," said Lecia Brooks, director of the 人兽性交's Teaching Tolerance program. "Kids write to us to say how appreciative they are to be in a class where their history is taught. Seeing people who look like them can be transformative."

Meeting heroes

A few minutes before 11 p.m., Patricia Howard reached the front of the line. Morris Dees reached down and clasped her hands in his. "I'm so glad you came tonight," he said.

For a moment, Howard was speechless. Then she beamed. "I thank God for the work you do," she said.

As Howard turned her wheelchair toward the door, she captured the feeling of so many who had shared the room.

"It's beautiful to know there are other people in the world who feel the same way, who believe the mistreatment of all people is wrong," Howard said. "People who go the extra mile to help others are my heroes."

This article was written by Carrie Kilman, a former writer of the Teaching Tolerance program.

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