“Go back to Mexico!” an enraged woman shouted almost in my face.
That outburst came amid a verbal altercation with her just a few months ago. She imagined I had committed a driving offense in a parking lot. As soon as I parked the woman strode towards me, spewing obscenities.
Trying the classic de-escalation techniques was not going to work. She was in full rage mode.
I responded vigorously with my own rant. “I will f__you up!” the woman shouted. Hearing that, I sensed words could turn into action. My anger became white hot, and I warned her that I would defend myself and she was liable to be charged with assault and battery.
Again, she demanded I go to a country that has not been my home for, and then the woman lumbered away.
Some might say I should have behaved civilly and not stooped to her level. But my DNA and my rough and tumble L.A. upbringing made that impossible.
Several times in my 74 years of life in this country I have had that ugly, bizarre racist order directed to me. I am a third generation United States American. The go back to Mexico thing no longer stings. It is a grim reminder that there are those among us who feel empowered to speak such words.
I have a growing sense that overt racism is being normalized.
Ricardo Chavira Chicano 