Consuelo Aguilar, center, at the April 2008 unveiling of the Ruben Salazar memorial stamp in Los Angeles. Also in the photo are, from left, Olga Briseño, Carla Turco, Lydia Aranda and Raul Aguirre.

Other articles by Olga Briseño:

Un pequeño tributo a una gran activista

Sales and Marketing
Automation Center
Software Sales Technical
ReliaSoft
Software Developer Health Care
BENSON HOSPITAL
RESPIRATORY THERAPIST Computer
Automation Centre
Computer Software

These are the hardest words I have ever had to pen for publication. My keyboard disappears in the tears that call for me to say farewell.

Today we lay to rest Consuelo Aguilar. This 26-year-old woman was as much a daughter as she was a sister to my girls for the better part of five years we fought the good fight from different vantage points. She was my protege as much as she was my mentor.

Consuelo taught me about critical race theory and would give me, the teacher, a list of books to read. My place in her life was to bring into her time the past. There were so many others that influenced her and my part was insignificant compared with them.

We walked the route of the Chicano Moratorium with Raul Ruiz, one of the organizers. we ate at Lucy's Adobe in Los Angeles with Ruben Salazar's friends. She stood with me before the L.A. City Council.

Humbled by this great young woman, I always knew there was something in her to inspire all of us.

Marisol Flores Aguirre was one of her "comadres."

"You knew you were in the presence of someone who could change the world," she said. "She was headstrong with a powerful personality. She put herself out there . . . because it was the right things to do whether it was hard or criticized."

When I asked how someone so young could have such a profound heart for social justice, Consuelo would tell me "that's how I was raised."

Artemisa and Mario Aguilar, her parents, shared with her the reality of family: Those that have gone without and those that have benefited as Mexicanos in this country. Her beautiful voice could belt out a mariachi song as easily as she enjoyed a hip-hop tune. She had multiple layers. The more you knew her, the more layers you would see.

"She was the most giving, most thoughtful person," said her younger sister, Michelle. "We experienced my family in Mexico as very poor and their struggles were great. And then we'd go to California and see relatives who'd lived another life. My mom would tell us to be grateful for what we have. To fight for what's right."

Consuelo likely could never separate herself from the fight for immigrant rights and social justice. It was as much a part of her as the air she breathed.

When we worked together on a project to educate national journalists on the topic of immigration, her input helped to create a more enlightened reality for them. We stood at the border where Consuelo told us to go and were given that same book list, because that's what she knew was important. Millions of readers in this country gained a more insightful look at immigration policy because of what she brought to the table.

At the same time, she organized the marches against anti-immigration sentiment. She told me with excitement that she felt that this was "our time," just like the Chicano movement had been in the 1970s.

Last April was the culmination of years of work to realize a tribute to Ruben Salazar, a Los Angeles Times columnist who was killed at the height of the Chicano movement nearly 40 years ago. We flew in together, roomed together, she took care of details and the girls, and that night we all laughed and settled into our contribution with my girls and dear friends, Carla Turco, Lydia Aranda and Raul Aguirre.

There was a moment when Raul and Consuelo said, amid the fancy L.A. Times ceremony, that there was something missing. So there we were, the sorority girl raised in Chicago and my Tucson friends raising our fists in Chicano Power reference.

On Friday, Artemisa told me she recently heard that Consuelo's cancer had likely begun last April. Nina Pilar, my daughter, and I had been remembering that her voice was weak at times last year. I told her on that trip that I loved her and that moment of accomplishment would not have been complete without her.

Back in Tucson, Consuelo would take the stage at the Tucson celebration at the University of Arizona. I sat in the front row with the Salazar family. Raul was the emcee. Ruben Reyes, like the rest of us, did whatever Consuelo told us to do. Then she got up to speak.

The moment stopped for me as she spoke. I felt a peace because I knew that the legacy of our work together would continue in this young, beautiful woman.

Never did I imagine that she would leave this earth before me. In the months that followed she carried many of us through our grief over her illness with hope. Raul calls her a Chicana warrior. Michelle calls her a fighter. Marisol sees her as the one that made them all leaders.

Darlane Santa Cruz, 24 and a mother, said Consuelo gave her a reason to continue the struggle to make the community better.

"She changed me," she said. "I learned so much from her. She never backed down. I will miss her consejos (advice)."

Raul Aguirre said that in an understated way, she put down a lot of roots with implications for the Chicano movement. Both Aguirres agree that the best testament to her life will be in the scholarships and awards that now honor her.

"She's still changing people's lives in an intimate way through educating others," said Marisol.

Artemisa, whose grief is beyond comprehension, said "I wish I had the valor (strength) to see what she saw.

"As a child she would see discrimination . . . and cried one time because of racism (toward her). And I would tell her, Mija, we are not going to back down. Las cosas que se demonstran con hecho y acion y no con palabra. Estudia." (She told her to react with action and not words and to succeed with education.)

This is the third tribute I have written in 18 years or so and all have appeared on these pages at the Star. In summary, here is what I see.

Cesar Chavez is recognized for what he did for farm workers and his contribution to the civil rights movement for Latinos.

Lorraine Lee is remembered for what she was doing for the Tucson community when she died of cancer just over a year ago. Her imprint will always remain.

Consuelo Aguilar, on the other hand, stands among these activists for what she would have accomplished had she lived. And for the brief time she was with us, her heart was filled with the hope to make this a better place. Her imprint is just as powerful as anyone else who cared a lifetime about human rights.

Her promise was likely far greater since her passion was defined at such an early age.

For those of us that remain, in all three cases, we must renew our fight for a better place and not sit back and expect others to preserve our legacy or improve our lives.