The 1619 Project The 1619 Project is an ongoing initiative from The New York Times Magazine that began in August 2019, the 400th anniversary of the beginning of American slavery. It aims to reframe the country’s history by placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of our national narrative. Click on image to take you to site.

I am the Lamb ​ By Verónica Zambrano Esquiuel I am the lamb I can see the trap You are the lion Just looking who is the next on your map I can see your lies I know your intention You only want to hunt And I never have your attention ​ You just like copper When you can have gold I don't know what you are thinking But now my love is old ​ I'm looking around Seeing you disappear in the shade Feeling my soul shine Forgetting the promises you made ​ I'm going to stop waiting for you I have give you lots of hints I have lost my mind But now my body is not marked by your fingerprints

Excerpt from Creaex Flex ​ by Desmond Ugoji ​ “I don’t want any trouble at all.” I slowly brought my hands to the air and gave him my most innocent smile. “Relax,” I told him and myself. It was a bright sunny day, perfect for a stroll. The enormous trees of the forest surrounded us and I remembered passing by a dazzling pond. Of course, I would have loved to have taken full advantage of this beautiful day but with the patch of grass still on fire next to me, and a very unstable man with his hands ignited with fire in front of me, it was impossible to do. His skin was similar to mine, a coconut-colored brown. He had short, black hair that was cut in a mohawk and a sharp nose. He wore a black hoodie with ripped jeans, which looked more like this guy made the holes himself because they looked like the size of melons, and he finished the look with some grey, leather boots. I didn’t really know his name or why he was throwing fireballs at me. I was just walking casually through the forest till he started yelling. “Don’t try to hide it! I know who you are” he growled as he launched a barrage of fireballs. I shifted my body to the right to avoid one to the arm. I turned around and sprinted away from more fireballs heading my way. It had been a couple of months since I’d run anywhere close to as fast as right now. I’d been told that my speed put a cheetah’s to shame and since Primary 2, I’d been in a bunch of statewide races, winning gold in the 100 meters, the 1 mile, and the infamous 400 meters where, as a 14-year-old, I completed it in 10.7 seconds. I scurried up a short tree and lifted myself onto a long, sturdy branch. I leaned toward the bole of the tree and grabbed my heart. I haven’t run for at least fifteen seconds but I was already covered in sweat and my breathing was out of whack. I took out a small photo from my pocket of me and Leeb when we were eleven or twelve. I sighed in relief. “Good, the picture is safe.” Because of the flash from the camera, I was frowning while my left hand covered both my eyes. In contrast, Leeb was smiling widely as he always did. I put the photo back in my pocket and jumped down from the tree. I didn’t see any more fireballs so I thought it was safe, more or less. I’d love nothing more than to continue sprinting away but I left my bag back there. How am I gonna get my bag with that homicidal lunat—? “Found ya!” The crazy guy hollered. Around twenty feet in front of me, he stopped at a dime, and in his right hand, he held a fireball the size of a bicycle wheel. It looked just like a spitting image of the sun if it were smaller and way less bright. He took the stance of a major league pitcher and gave me a bitter stare. I put my hands on my knees to stop them from trembling. It’s like being held at gunpoint. I could either run or be a hero and fight. Of course, running is always my first option but I couldn’t afford to lose my bag. I sweated ferociously, so much that it stained my green sweatshirt and my grey sweatpants. A bird flew near the Fire Man and immediately combusted into a fire. I still heard the rapid pounding of my heart despite the loud cackles of the miniature sun. Suddenly, one by one, trees combusted as well. I’m used to heat, heck, I used to light stuff on fire when it was like 110 degrees. But when I tell you the heat the miniature sun was emitting, it was like living on the sun with another sun blasting a heat ray. It got hotter and hotter as more and more trees and birds combusted, and his miniature sun increased to the size of a truck tire. He finished his pitch by chucking the bigger miniature sun straight at me, and, in half a second, my feet moved before my brain could think. I sprinted toward the miniature sun. Now I had one option left and that was to use my own creaex. As I got closer to the miniature sun, my clothes cemented onto my simmering skin, and my right boot combusted on fire. I couldn’t breathe. At this point, it couldn’t be called sweating anymore; I was melting, dripping, possibly evaporating, and anything else ice cream did on a hot day. In a matter of seconds, I stood a few feet away from the miniature sun, showing why having speed can be considered both a blessing and a curse. I saw its ugly, fiery face. I also saw that if I messed up my estimation on the spacing between me and this giant fireball, if I missed one single second and if I overestimated how much heat my body can take, I will die painfully. “Die,” he snarled. I slid my hand to my butt and a thick, green tail, a couple of inches taller than me, appeared. At the base, it started a couple of inches wide and as it curved up it got wider and wider. Leeb used to tell me all the time that it looked like a green chili pepper from his grandma’s garden, which when I thought about it, was a really good comparison. I pivoted 360 degrees and with an immense swipe of my tail, the miniature sun instantly dispersed, leaving only fragments of cinders. To be quite frank, I didn’t know what to expect. I was just as surprised as the guy who threw the fireball. He was frozen stiff as a board and his eyes were wide, bitterly staring at me. I gave him a stare of my own that lasted a couple of seconds, just to show him he ain’t as tough as he thought. I exploded off my left leg and ran straight toward him at top speed. He tripped over himself and closed his eyes, probably thinking, I’m gonna get my head popped off, and he’d be exactly right. I leapfrogged over him instead and continued running because I was on fire. “Hot! Hot! Fire! Fire!” I screeched. I patted down my shirt and pants. I didn’t feel anything but heat. Just the thought that I could be engulfed in a fire had me shook. I ran frantically to the pond I walked by earlier. My tail wobbled up and down and, as usual, the tail felt a little uncomfortable and threw off my balance. But after a couple of seconds, I got used to it. “Ahh—” I was about to scream till I remembered that fire had smoke, and smoke was a big no-no to the lungs. So I held my breath and continued running. After about a minute or so, I spotted the large pond about twenty feet away. Just seeing it made me run faster. I’m not usually the religious type but I could only thank the Almighty up in the sky because I did not think I was going to find it, especially in such a small amount of time. I made it to a small beach and I felt the sand on the sole of my right foot, which was weird because my boot was supposed to be there, but I can solve that mystery another time. As I was at least eight feet away from water, I belly flopped into it and created a huge splash that scared some fish. The water immediately extinguished the fire. I’d never been so thankful for water. I couldn’t care less if the water was contaminated or had sharks. I floated on my back and swiped my tail through the water like it was a paddle. I drifted farther and farther away from the coast. I picked up my head and smelled a toxic scent of smoke coming from the forest. It burned fiercely. Wow. I thought it was just a saying, but fire did spread quickly. I don’t know how to feel about the forest burning. I was happy that I was not in the forest anymore, but I kinda felt bad for the trees that the animals used as their homes. And the burning forest, in a way, looked as if it was painted on a portrait. ​ ​ I looked at my favorite green sweatshirt that I knitted myself. The sleeves were burned off of my shoulder so it looked less like a sweatshirt and more like a tank top. I looked at my grey sweatpants and from the height of my knee to my ankle, it burned off and turned into shorts. I looked at my black fleece boot that I had also knitted as well. The sole of my left boot disappeared and my right boot was completely gone, probably somewhere in the burning forest. The sole of my right foot and toes could’ve been seen through a huge hole in my sock. I lifted my arms over my head and inspected them. I sighed in relief. “Ok, good. Only blisters.” I grabbed my chest. It felt like it’s on fire. But that’s nothing my good ol’ inhaler pump couldn’t fi—, I covered my face with the palms of my hands. “Crap. I forgot my bag.” I take my palms off my face. “I forgot my bag!” I cringed. I forgot! I forgot! I forgot!” What the heck?” ​

Representation matters. I hear these words a lot these days and they are absolutely true. As I think about representation, I can’t help but reflect on my own professional journey and the role representation, or lack thereof, has played in my career trajectory. ​ Over the years, many colleagues have told me about experiencing imposter syndrome. That nagging feeling that they are “faking it” in their professional lives, and any day they will be found out for the imposter that they really are. I have had enough of these conversations to feel confident in writing that many people, regardless of race, gender, or background feel like imposters. I can honestly say that I have never suffered imposter syndrome because I know there is absolutely no way I would have achieved what I have achieved in life without having a certain level of skill, intelligence and drive. I know that because I grew up in a community where there were very few professionals that I could emulate or even people who encouraged me to go farther in my education and career. The fact that I had completed high school was more than enough, so anything beyond that was gravy and I treated it as such. If I wanted something, I tried for it. If I didn’t get it, well, I shrugged it off as not for me. ​ What I have felt, though, was lack of belonging. When I have entered certain spaces as a Puerto Rican woman, who grew up poor and left high school before finishing, there were certain assumptions around what I could expect to achieve. When I dropped out of high school, I vividly remember the social worker who asked me why she should help me find a job when I would most likely get pregnant and become a welfare recipient anyway. Those low expectations heavily weighed on me even as I did eventually finish high school, earn a bachelor’s degree, master’s degree and, most recently, a doctorate. Low expectations were sometimes set by my family because they didn’t know what was possible. More often they were set by others outside of my family or community because of strong narratives about people like me (see previously mentioned social worker). In either case, I entered a lot of spaces alone and without a road map. As I moved up in my career, I saw fewer and fewer people who looked like me or who had similar experiences to mine. There was a lack of representation at all levels, and it caused me to hold back and go the safe route for fear of standing out or, worse, for fear of failing and causing some folks to continue to believe negative narratives about people like me. Stereotype threat, anyone? ​ On the surface, I did just fine despite all of that background noise and despite the lack of representation. I built a great career where I had senior level roles in quality organizations and, most recently, started my own organization appropriately titled, The Untold Narratives. I do wonder, though, what my life would have been like if I had been surrounded by more people in my professional life who looked like me, who came from similar backgrounds to mine and who pushed me beyond where I safely thought I could reach. ​ I remember a conversation I had with a member of my team many years ago. We were discussing long-term career goals and they shared that they did not see themselves in a larger leadership role. As this person’s boss, I had to admit I was surprised, because I did see that for them. This person had strong analytical skills, strong collaboration skills and a willingness to learn and reflect – all attributes I consider to be the foundation for larger leadership-level positions, so I had to carefully contemplate my response. This person is a person of color who I know from discussions also did not see many people like themselves in leadership positions. I couldn’t tell if they were saying that they didn’t want to be in a leadership role because they truly did not see themselves in that type of role, or if they were reacting to the fact that there had been a lack of representation in their professional lives. ​ When there is lack of representation, many people don’t live up to their full potential. From my observations over the years, living up to one’s full potential is part internal drive and part external opportunities. With a lack of representation, it seems impossible to achieve certain positions unless you are exceptional or unless you have a champion. If you in any way feel like you don’t belong, then how can you achieve? You honestly need an internal drive that’s made of steel, or you need that strong champion. A champion can create opportunities for you and push you into roles you may not see for yourself. I know I personally shied away from certain roles because I didn’t want to stand out. I didn’t want to push harder because, really, what I had achieved was enough, wasn’t it? ​ My response to my team member actually was easier for me to formulate than I had expected. I said “I understand that you don’t see this for yourself, but as your boss, I see this for you. This is a role you can accomplish and excel in, so I wonder if you are hesitant because of lack of representation or if deep down a leadership role like this one is not one you want? If the latter, that’s fine. If the former, let’s discuss ways that you can start to visualize the role for yourself and discuss the ways I can support you in this journey because the profession, the organization and I need you.” No pressure, though! ​ It’s not easy to be on an island when you want to succeed and want great things for yourself and your family. That’s why I have made the commitment to be a champion of people who are simply trying to come up in the world but have few role models that look like them or who understand what it’s like to move beyond low expectations. Until we change the narrative of imposter syndrome to truly understand the role of representation and how lack of it affects our growth, we need champions and people willing to see beyond us as individuals faking it until we’re making it. Let’s create the representation we need and be there for each other as we continue to create spaces of belonging. Elizabeth Santiago, PhD is an author, educator, learning experience designer and founder of The Untold Narratives. Contact her at info@theuntoldnarratives.com

By Elizabeth Santiago, Founder, The Untold Narratives and author of The Moonlit Vine When I wrote The Moonlit Vine, a young adult novel that interspersed Puerto Rican history with present day occurrences, I wanted to shed light on aspects of history that are often ignored or even suppressed. Puerto Rico’s status as a territory of the United States is nuanced and complex. While the island’s political standing is not the focus of this blog, this dynamic plays into why Puerto Rican women were used for years as unwilling test subjects for birth control and forced to undergo horrific and unethical sterilization procedures. If you haven’t read The Moonlit Vine, the story starts with a vignette from 1492 where the Taíno leader, Anacaona, is navigating the aftermath of European invaders on her land. She understands the Taíno people are outnumbered and will not win. She hands her daughter a precious object to save and pass along to her future daughters to help keep the Taíno alive. This is an extended metaphor for how Taíno survival was based on the matrilineal line. Now, imagine, the year is 1950 and you are handed a precious object that has been in the family for almost 500 years. You might feel honored, humbled, awe-inspired and eager to keep the object safe so you can pass it along. You try to have children but discover that you have been sterilized against your knowledge. When I conceptualized this scene, I put myself in the shoes of the character, feeling her anguish, anger and deep disappointment. I wrote a historical vignette I wanted to include, but it didn’t fit with the overall tone of the book. While not including it was the right decision for the story, I have been haunted ever since by what I developed. I still cannot fathom what it would feel like discovering that the choice of having children had been stolen from you. I recently re-read the excerpt and decided I would share this more widely to shed light on the barbaric and racist practices Puerto Rican women endured in the name of science and progress. Before you read the vignette, explore some of the context for why and how this was allowed to happen. The Historical Context La Operación In the 1930s, doctors in Puerto Rico falsely pushed women into sterilizations as the only means of contraception. Between 1947-1948, it’s estimated that 7% of Puerto Rican women were sterilized and by 1954, the rate had doubled (see reference 1 below). In many of these cases Puerto Ricans were told their “tubes were being tied”, medically known as a tubal ligation, which was agreed to, but patients were never informed this was an irreversible procedure. In 1982, La Operación, a documentary directed by Ana María García showed the widespread sterilization operation led by the United States during the 1950s and 60s in Puerto Rico (see reference 2 below). Women and their families were promised security after they underwent “la operación,” or sterilization. The operation was marketed to them as a way out of poverty and many women thought that once their “tubes were tied”, they could be “untied.” This was not the case and they ended up losing their reproductive rights. The filmmaker was quoted as saying, “All the women interviewed could be you, your mother, your wife, your sister, your daughter, and your friend. One way or another this issue touches everyone's life." (See reference 3 below) Test Subjects for Birth Control Puerto Rican women were also used as test subjects (unbeknownst to them) for the then considered experimental birth control pill. This started with Margaret Sanger, a birth control advocate who in 1916 opened the nation’s first birth control clinic. Sanger also supported eugenics, a theory that non-white or less desirable populations could be reduced or eliminated by controlling their breeding. While she believed that women weren’t free until they had control of their bodies, she did not believe that all women were of equal value. She partnered with Gregory Pincus, a biologist who specialized in mammal reproduction, to create a large-scale, modern form of birth control. Pincus had preliminary success in Boston through small trials for the Pill in 1954 and 1955, but without large-scale, human trials, he knew he would never get FDA approval, which was necessary to bring the drug to market. Given the strong opposition to birth control in America in the 1950s, he had to find an alternate place to conduct his experiments. In the summer of 1955, Gregory Pincus visited Puerto Rico, and decided it would be the perfect location for the research trials he needed. There were no anti-birth control laws and there was already a network of birth control clinics in place. I also learned that Pincus thought that by showing Puerto Rican women could successfully use oral contraceptives, he could quiet his critics' concerns that oral contraceptives would be too complicated for women in developing nations and American inner cities to use. (See reference 4 below) Dr. Edris Rice-Wray was in charge of the trials. After a year of tests, Dr. Rice-Wray reported that the pill was 100% effective when taken properly. She also informed him that 17% of the women in the study complained of nausea, dizziness, headaches, stomach pain and vomiting. Pincus quickly dismissed the conclusions believing that the benefits outweighed what he considered minor issues. Although three women died while participating in the trials, no investigation was conducted to see if “the Pill” had caused the young women's deaths. In later years, Pincus's team would rightfully be accused of deceit, colonialism and the exploitation of poor, brown women. The women had only been told that they were taking a drug that prevented pregnancy, not that the pill was experimental or that there was a chance of potentially dangerous side effects. In other words, they were given no choice as to whether they would want to participate in these trials. Pincus and others believed they were following the appropriate ethical standards of the time. In the 1950s, research involving human subjects was much less regulated than what we see today. Would he have gotten away with the same behavior toward middle class white women in the United States? Probably not, which is why the argument that they thought they were following the appropriate ethical standards rings completely false to many. The medical community thought they could easily exploit Puerto Rican women and they did exactly that. Unused historical vignette from The Moonlit Vine San Sebastián 1950 Ides gazed toward a vast piece of green land that stretched out into nothingness. The sun was rising, but the beauty of the morning light illuminating the countryside was lost to her. All she could think of was how she could never have children. Hot tears filled with loss, anger, and frustration sat on her face. She held the amulet her mother had given her for safekeeping and for passing on to the daughter she would never have tight against her chest. A sound escaped her mouth and soon she was screaming. Why would they do this to her? What had she done? She had been treated like a nothing, a thing unworthy of a future. THEY approached her at the hospital where she was being treated for appendicitis. Do you want children? No, not now. We can help! THEY helped alright. THEY helped themselves to her daughters and sons. Now that Puerto Rico was ruled by the United States government, they wanted to keep the population under control. We are like rats to them, Ides thought. They wanted to control the spread of us and they did this without permission or mercy. Ides dropped to her knees – the weight of her unborn children pulling her toward the soil. Who might she have given birth to? She thought. Perhaps one of her daughters would have set them all free. She opened her palm and looked at the amulet wondering what would happen if she unlocked it. If she called her ancestors and if they came. What would they do? Could they help? No. Ides thought. No one could help her now. She would have to give the amulet back to her mother and tell her to give it to Juana or to Isaura. She would have to reveal what she learned at the clinic just yesterday. She had gone there to inquire what she might do to get pregnant since she and her husband had been trying for three years without luck. It was then she learned that she had had “la operación.” Ides walked back into her home, which consisted of two rooms. Her husband lay asleep in one room while she put all of the items back into the box with a note for her mother. The note simply read, “fallé.“ She left the box in the hiding place her mother had shared knowing her mother would look there first for the items. She then walked off never to return. No one knew what happened to her. One day she was there and the next she was not. Esmerelda, her mother, did find the objects and tried to understand the message, “I failed,” but never figured it out. Three years had passed before Esmerelda passed the items onto Isaura, her youngest daughter. References: The Role of Sterilization in Controlling Puerto Rican Fertility, Vol. 23, No. 3 (Nov., 1969), pp. 343-361 (19 pages) La Operación (Short 1982) - IMDb "La Operacion" by Kimberly Safford The Puerto Rico Pill Trials | American Experience | Official Site | PBS Want to learn more about this topic? The long history of forced sterilization of Latinas | UnidosUS The First Birth Control Pill Used Puerto Rican Women as Guinea Pigs - HISTORY The Untold Narratives is a website to help you learn the art and craft of storytelling so you can tell whatever story you want to tell and bring your voice to life. Not seeing oneself or one’s community represented in narratives can make you feel like you don't belong. It can also give an inaccurate representation of history and reality. Visit us to learn more. We look forward to experiencing your amazing stories!