My time to speak Reclaiming ancestry and confronting race

Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Afro-Latina Univision news anchor Calderon takes on racism in this fascinating memoir. She opens with a frightening scene in 2016: during an interview in rural North Carolina--out of cell phone range--a Ku Klux Klan leader threatens to "burn" her (he lit a cross on fire, but allowed her to leave). In the ensuing chapters, Calderón shares her life experiences, beginning with her childhood growing up mixed-race in Istmina, a small, isolated town in Colombia, where she is raised by her mother and grandfather in the 1970s. (Of her ethnicity, she writes: "Colombian, Latina, Hispanic, Afro-Colombian, mixed, and anything else people may want to call me or I choose to call myself, but I'm always black.") Calderon studied social work in college, but when she learned of an opening at a local TV news show, she auditioned and landed the spot. Her story then unfolds in a series of journalistic career moves; she eventually came to America to work for Telemundo and then Univision, where she became the first Afro-Latina to host the evening news. Whether covering Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico in 2017 or reporting on caravans at the southern border in 2018, Calderon stresses the importance of confronting racism head on, using her platform to report on and expose injustice. Calderon's powerful story will resonate with readers. (Aug.)

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Review by Library Journal Review

Calderon's memoir is bursting with history and urgency. She is one of the first women of Afro-Colombian descent to rise to national esteem in her native Colombia, and also in the United States. In 2018, she famously interviewed Grand Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan Chris Barker in rural North Carolina for Univision, the behind-the-scenes story of which opens her book. She traces back to her childhood in the rural state of El Choco, Colombia, a jungle region that was settled by freed slaves in the century following emancipation. From a happy house without electricity, to high school and college in Medellín, to securing her first handful of jobs on the air, Calderón invites readers to retread her path to success and illuminates issues of race, gender, and poverty along the way. Woven within her personal story are the author's insights into news and politics. She is now a power player who rose through the media ranks against most odds, and as a Black Latina and an immigrant, she is able to look upon both the United States and Latin America with a most-needed critical eye. VERDICT This memoir is a delicious media investigation in itself, but will be valued by all who love a good success story.--Sierra Dickey, Brattleboro, VT

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

A prominent news anchor recounts her life. Univision anchor Calderón offers a moving and timely memoir reflecting on her experiences as a woman of color: "There's no doubt. I…am black. Colombian, Latina, Hispanic, Afro-Colombian, mixed, and anything else people may want to call me or I choose to call myself, but I'm always black. I may bear Castilian Jewish and Syrian Arab last names, but I'm simply black in the eyes of the world." Growing up in Istmina, Colombia, she was taught tolerance. "Understanding, equality, fairness, solidarity, generosity," she writes, "those were the messages that were repeated" at her family's table. But when she attended a Catholic high school in Medellín, Colombia's second-largest city, Calderón, the only black or mixed-race student, became increasingly aware of inequality, poverty, and racial injustice. In Medellín for college, she decided to major in social work, hoping to effect change in her own country. When a chance opportunity landed her a job at a local news station, however, her focus changed to journalism. "I'd found a profession in which inquiry was applauded instead of punished," she writes, "and my boldness wasn't an obstacle but expected and approved." Calderón recounts her professional rise as co-anchor in Bogotá, as newscaster at Telemundo in Miami, and finally as anchor for Univision. "It's good," she admits, "nobody ever told me I was going to be the first Afro-descendant to anchor national newscasts in Spanish media wherever I went!" Her positions have afforded her visibility and power, and much of her memoir bears witness to oppression and discrimination. "What kind of country are we leaving the new generations?" she asks. "Or rather, what kind of society are we handing over to them? One where fundamental rights are violated and no one says anything?" For her--and, she hopes, her readers--there is no choice but to speak out. A candid memoir that sends an urgent message. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Prologue: Eyes of Hate PROLOGUE Eyes of Hate All my attention was focused on his face. It's what I remember most clearly more than two years after our encounter. That face that had raged red as soon as he saw me, and continued angry, indignant. His nostrils flared with his agitated breathing, which he unsuccessfully attempted to control. He responded quickly, hot, like a lit fuse, not letting anyone else talk. And then, suddenly, I heard it from his own lips, "We're going to burn you out." We were in the middle of nowhere, in a remote area out in the countryside, and on a stranger's property. Our cell phones couldn't get a signal and the sun had begun to drop fast behind the towering trees surrounding us. Trees that seemed to remind us that it wouldn't be easy to get out of that clearing if our hosts didn't allow it. The smell of mosquito repellent on my arms fused with the whiskey and cigarettes on his breath as the conversation, at times, became more and more heated. "Are you going to chase me out of here?" I asked, recalling the torches and the cross on the ground several feet from us. "No, we're going to burn you out," he repeated, without hesitation, not blinking. "You're going to burn me out? How are you going to do it?" I said, cutting him off, somewhere between irate and terrified. "It don't matter, we killed six million Jews the last time," he shot back, his gaze defiant as he registered his displeasure with each of my features. My nose, my lips, my cheekbones, my hair. Although there are a thousand and one bloodlines running through my veins, everything in me screams "black," and my African roots are undeniable. There's no doubt: I, Ilia Calderón Chamat, am black. Colombian, Latina, Hispanic, Afro-Colombian, mixed, and anything else people may want to call me or I choose to call myself, but I'm always black. I may bear Castilian Jewish and Syrian Arab last names, but I'm simply black in the eyes of the world. And he--my angry interlocutor in that remote and desolate place in North Carolina--was Chris Barker, the top leader of the Order of the Loyal White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, the Imperial Wizard of this new white supremacist branch that had proposed "to turn the United States into a white and Christian nation, founded on the word of God." "He's not saying physically..." his wife said, trying to ease the tension. "Yes, physically, we are," he quickly corrected her, then returned his gaze and sharp words toward me. "You're sitting in my property now." Sure enough, I was on his land, surrounded by his people, and engaged in an argument that had gone well past the point of no return. The sun had vanished completely. The night engulfed the space around us. The only lights came from our cameras, aimed at the man icily pronouncing each syllable to say they were "going to burn" me. I was afraid, I won't deny it. Afraid like I've never been before. Afraid my fate had been sealed. Afraid I wouldn't see Anna, Gene, my family again. And afraid that so many questions I'd had for so long would remain unanswered. I should just shut up, not ask him anything else so that his fury doesn't escalate, I thought for a fraction of a second. Yes, the silence, stealth, mutism that makes us invisible... like we've done century after century to survive, a sure bet... Yes, just like I learned as a child, like we were taught at church and in school... to be quiet, to tiptoe... Or not. Maybe I shouldn't shut up. My head spun at a dizzying speed. Maybe it's better if I talk back, if I tell him he's a monster, a madman, that he's sick, that he's wrong, and that no one threatens me like that. That I'm a human being like him and he has no right to talk to me in that way. My mind shut down from so much emotion and confusion as I sat in front of hate personified, at the mercy of the very hate I'd always wanted to look in the eye with the hope of finding answers to the many questions I'd had since I was a child. Why do they reject us? Why does skin color define us? What is the source of such pure hatred? What binds us to other human beings and what is it that keeps us so separate, to the point of such scorn? And, the most pressing question: How had I come to be here, and how was I going to get out of this--remaining quiet, as always, or facing it head-on? Silence has a price. And, even though I'd ignored it most of my life, silence--like hatred, love, fear, and courage--also has a color. Excerpted from My Time to Speak: Reclaiming Ancestry and Confronting Race by Ilia Calderón All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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