Collisions at the Crossroads: How Place and Mobility Make Race
An Interview with Dr. Genevieve Carpio (PO '05)
By Sunny Jeong-Eimer (PO '25)
Dr. Genevieve Carpio is a writer and professor at UCLA passionate about understanding the cross-cultural construction of race and meaning in the places we call home. A Pomona alum who grew up next door to Claremont in the city of Pomona, Dr. Carpio is critically inspired by her experience seeing inequities in her home community and desire to spark transformative social impact through her research and scholarship on the Inland Empire. She is also an Editor for Mobilities, an international journal for exploring mobility studies through a decolonial lens. In this interview, we discuss her most recent book, Collisions at the Crossroads: How Place and Mobility Make Race, which explores how policies enforcing differential access to mobility have shaped race formation in Los Angeles and the Inland Empire. A few highlights: Route 66, rethinking race-ethnic studies, public memory, the violence of nostalgia, Cruella de Vil, land acknowledgments, and moments of joy in organizing. |
Dr. Carpio: I'm Genevieve Carpio. I graduated from Pomona College in 2005. I was an Anthropology major and also worked in Chicana/Chicano, Latina/Latino studies.
I grew up in the city of Pomona, have lived in Southern California most of my life with the exception of a postdoctoral fellowship at Yale. I was in New Haven, Connecticut for two years in the History department and Ethnic Studies, Race and Migration program. Before that I got my Master's in Urban Planning at UCLA partly because of Pomona College and learning about inequity and wanting to do something very tangible to address the injustices I saw around me, especially having grown up in Pomona.
I always found it very stark—the inequities between places like Claremont and Pomona. I wanted to know more about how that's built into the landscape, why and what we can do about it. Then, I went on to complete my PhD in American studies and ethnicity at USC. So I did my round of Southern California colleges and it was great. I loved it. I've been drawn to the interdisciplinarity. Even in my anthropology major, which is a traditional discipline, it has four fields attached to it, so it feels very interdisciplinary. My research now is also interdisciplinary, but if you were to put it within certain fields, it's probably closest to History and Geography, always framed with an ethnic studies lens. And my book, thank you for coming to the presentation, is Collisions at the Crossroads: How Place and Mobility Make Race.
It is a historical geography of the Inland Empire across the 20th century looking at experiences of placemaking and mobility across a diverse range of groups. That's it, in a nutshell.
Sunny: How did your personal connection to this place, a region that encompasses your childhood home, inspire your research? Influence the way that you relate to your home community?
Dr. Carpio: I felt like whenever we were learning about California history or local histories, it always focused on Los Angeles. And Los Angeles is important. I live here now. I teach about it often. But growing up, it always felt like the Inland Valley was in the shadows and it wasn't until college when I read Matt Garcia's book, A World of Its Own, that I realized someone could write about their home community. I was an Anthropology major, so I had thought that to write something of value meant going somewhere very far away and writing about something different from oneself.
Ironically, I was in Brazil while I was reading about Pomona and I completely shifted my thesis research, which was gonna look at South America, to focus on my home community of Pomona. Part of that came from wanting to understand the place where I grew up. Part of it was even like a—this might be a strong word, but—anger at not seeing those stories represented or feeling like that history was valued. Then having the pathway that I saw in front of me through the example of this scholarship and wanting to similarly make pathways for others to write about a place that in my own life has been incredibly important.
So I knew it had to be important for other people and for the history of historiography as well. As I continued my studies, especially Urban Planning, we really started thinking about regional systems and how regions are created. It's not just about the city, it's about the suburb and the rural area and how they connect to one another, which, ironically, is a perfect entryway to think about mobility because it's about connections and flows and networks. So being on the very edge of LA County— like I literally grew up where if I crossed the street, I would be in a different county—pushed me to think about what we can learn about the center if we start from the margins. It helped growing up, having family histories and stories, and knowing the geography at the site very well.
I think interviews and being from the area helped create feelings of connection, and then the bonus of being able to work in a place that I lived also opened some doors.
Sunny: It was interesting to hear about this anger at the lack of representation of your experience growing up outside the bounds of Los Angeles and this idea of erasure.
It seems related to the exigence for your research and this tension between two points where, on the one hand, you discuss a resurgence, a kind of distorted, historically sanitized fantasy of Route 66 nostalgia. Then, on the other hand, the present material reality of sobriety checkpoints that are really informal immigration checkpoints, as well as the rise of surveillance and policing.
Do you find places in your work that reconcile that tension and distortion of public memory through storytelling?
Dr. Carpio: Yeah, when I first started the dissertation that would eventually become the basis for the book, the work actually started in the present day and then it went into the 1950s, and my advisor who's a historian said: keep looking, go further back, go further back, go further back.
So it lands up starting in 1890 instead of 1990. What strikes me is that, although not exact, these stories manifest across time over and over and over again. An example of that same tension is in the work I do on the early history of Route 66 in the 1930s around the Depression and how there was a romanticization that even happened then for the pioneer roads that equated a group of people who was being denigrated as Okies as modern day pioneers, as folks who had diverse hardship in order to make it less and achieve the American dream that they deserved our support, our sympathy, and federal and state aid to bring them back to the level that people should be living. At the very same time you have that discourse around Anglo American drivers on Route 66. You have the opposite being said of, again, Mexican drivers, Latino drivers who, at the same time, are being repatriated to Mexico or are being denied forms of cultural citizenship in the same ways that progressives were trying to include migrants into the larger society, again backed by federal and state aid.
So it's not a new strategy. Something that I walked away with is that across time we've seen narratives of mobility apply differentially to communities of color, which in itself has been a shifting category across time in places like the Inland Empire that are very dependent on the way people move.
Sunny: You describe the concept of relational racial formation in your work, and how it complicates the dominant binary concept of thinking about race. The binary concept of race centers whiteness and only examines individual racialized groups as isolated in their negation of that whiteness. On the contrary, your work focuses more on a multiracial lens.
What influences led you to this method? And how has this method revealed potential for new relations of solidarity and affinity across oppressed groups?
Dr. Carpio: It's a great question. I actually recently designed a graduate course called Relational Racemaking that I'll be teaching in March so I'm thinking about that a lot, especially right now.
A lot of the way Ethnic Studies has come up often is we've had various groups siloed so that we're looking at particular histories often against whiteness. From a relational race lens, it's really thinking about what happens when we think about these groups together and how they in fact are influencing one another's racialization and how people navigate categories of race as they shift over time.
When I started my project, it actually was going to be much more of a Latina/o/x history of the Inland Empire. As I tried to do that work, it just didn't make sense because when I got into the actual archive, it was just such a multiracial place that I couldn't tell the story of Latinos in the empire without also looking at Asian Americans and African Americans and Indigenous Peoples and different groups come in and out in the narrative, depending on who was the primary labor force or concern of the citrus industry at the time, cause that's the narrative thread, but they're always living together or living near one another occupying the labor force, although often segregated into their own groups within groves, which was actually a strategy of the citrus elite to keep folks from organizing cause that would give them more bargaining power.
We see it also again around Route 66, there's actually this darkening of the migrant white population that happens where they start to move closer and closer to other people of color, like actually being segregated into balconies, which are often reserved for non-whites.
But we see where whiteness is once again re-inscribed for them over time so that those categories are reinforced again. So for me, it was essential to talk about these multiple histories because that was what I was seeing on the ground.
Sunny: Interesting. More of a personal note and obviously not at comparable scale to your work, but I did a research project in high school that focused on everyday resistance practices across different student of color affinity groups, so Asian American Club and Black Student Union, and the Association of Latin American Students. I didn't have the language to know exactly what that kind of research was though, so seeing you model this as a particular methodology in its own right was really empowering to me, and set a critical precedent for myself and others interested in ethnic and racial studies.
Dr. Carpio: And I love that your draw to that came from activism because I think about groups in Los Angeles, like the bus riders union which has been multiracial and multilingual, and what brings it together is the issue of transportation, right? I think about KIWA which is the Korean Immigrant Workers Alliance, which is in Koreatown and is actually majority Latino, right. So LA and places like the Inland Empire, they generate these questions, you know?
Sunny: I'm interested in your discussion of Chinatown as an example of how spaces and borders are named in a way that denotes racial difference. I wondered how you might think about the opposite cases: towns like Claremont that, by comparison, claim a place of neutrality or apolitical identity, even as they exist squarely in this network of ethnic and racial borders.
I wanted to ask your thoughts on where you place the college town, specifically Claremont, which claims an elite institutional identity in its motto, "town of trees and PhDs," yet paradoxically also has the Claremont Colleges performing land acknowledgements that recognize the historical fact that this land is stolen and occupied.
How do you make sense of the tension between conflicting identities assigned to space and colliding narratives of power and history?
Dr. Carpio: And those identities all have different stakes attached to them. So even with the Inland Empire, or the Inland Valley, there are a lot of interests in where that name comes from and different stakes involved in which one you call it at what time. Any place we occupy is like a palimpsest of places.
In the US, it's always on stolen land. Unless it's native land, which native people occupy. But even then, there's always a shadow of the US settler state on top of it. I think that a lot of the calls around land acknowledgments is that it's a starting place but it can't be the ending place as well.
Can we connect that to viable forms of action that both acknowledge, but then also move towards reparations or some form of justice? So it's not just a way to blanket over again the continuing occupation of these lands.
Sunny: You also discuss organizing and traditions of resistance against the institution of surveillance and policing, including immigration checkpoints and other mechanisms restricting the mobility of racialized groups.
Can you elaborate on some examples of that resistance, as well as threads of joy and empowerment in the history of mobility?
Dr. Carpio: Where we see potentials for joy and activism through the mobility lens… I think of, when I was writing this early on, one of the points someone had helped me come to see is: as much as folks are moving, where they can move, how they can move in the freedom of movement, or the barriers on movement have very real impacts on, for instance their economic realities.
It can allow you to access higher paying jobs. It can allow you to leave a bad work situation and find another one. It can allow you to move up the social mobility ladder from being a laborer, to being someone who's in more of a semi-managerial position by recruiting workers and driving them to and from the groves.
And you literally get paid more, you know? So there's all of those factors involved. They were like, that's also fun, isn't it? Like when you're behind the wheel. And again, it's something that you see in the archive over and over. Some people just enjoy it. There's something about speed or being able to be in something seen as modern and cool. Like a bicycle would've been, in the early 1900s, their Tesla of the day or to be one of the first to be on a motorcycle. Then in the talk, I had talked about a rider named Robbie who not only was he the one Japanese American and the picture of all Anglo American men but he's in it. He has his goggles. He has his poses. He is happy to be there, or so it would appear. And there are other instances of freedom. It meant to be able to move without someone seeing your physical body. So being behind like tinted windows for instance, allows a movement through the city that wasn't always allowed to people of color, depending on where they were moving or how they were moving.
And for women who might have been pushed into certain domestic ideals or had those dressed upon them. It allowed them unchaperoned encounters with people of the opposite sex. It allowed them to be the drivers in their own narrative and get to places they weren't allowed to be. It allowed them to sometimes pretend to be completely other people by registering, not under their own names, but under pseudonyms of Hollywood stars, for instance. So, yeah, I think there is a lot of joy involved in it. When we think about the larger context, however, of people of color in the 20th century, we see that joy then becomes really important because it necessarily then is a form of resistance. Even if it isn't always necessarily intuitively for somebody, but the necessity of who they are in the world they're navigating, like it means something that they're finding joy in their movement.
Sunny: I recall in your talk, you brought up the symbolic value of the car as well, specifically how mobility and transportation are associated with building a sense of identity. In general though, it seems people tend to associate car culture with masculinity, yet at the same time the car can plays a feminist role in that women are empowered to access mobility and its potential for expression of agency and style. So, the latter maybe shows another dimension of that cultural value as well.
Dr. Carpio: Yeah. I wrote an op-ed for the Washington Post on Cruella de Vil because driving is such a big part of her character. Horrible driver. I wouldn't wanna be on the road with her, you know, but I write about, if we historicize it, how driving has been weaponized against women at times because of its associations with independence and masculinity. So while it can afford certain privileges, it can also then be used to deem them as I call it, the Crazy Woman Driver trope, right?
Sunny: But there's an interesting intersection, too, because I know that's also like a racial caricature that's applied to Asian American drivers, especially Asian American women.
You also talk about the relationship between being able to access masculinity through transportation. So it seems that when there's this restriction of access to mobility, then access to being able to perform one's gender identity as it's associated with that symbolic object is also impacted.
Dr. Carpio: That's really thoughtful. I hadn't made that connection. I was thinking too about what you were just saying about the stereotype of the Asian American driver. I didn't talk about it in my presentation, but we see even like early threads of that in bicycling and how people talk about bicyclists as Japanese bicyclists, in particular, not having control over their bodies and drawing attention to crashes and the inability to master the bicycle.
Sunny: Great. To wrap up, thank you so much for your time. As a last thing, is there anything else that you want to add? Any other work you may want to share that people might be interested in engaging after reading this interview?
Dr. Carpio: I'm working on new things. I have a special issue coming out in Mobilities, which is the international journal for mobility studies that looks at race and Indigeneity and settler colonialism. That will come out in April and I'm excited because I'm one of the co-editors and we have five incredible authors writing on different ways that Mobility Studies can be informed by Indigenous Studies and Settler Colonial Studies. So that's something to look out for. And, I'm working on a new project on Black and Brown drivers in Los Angeles, so diving into my new home over here, but also thinking about connections across the larger regional metropolis.
Sunny: Wonderful. Thank you so much. Have a good rest of your day, it was so nice to meet you and have a longer conversation!
Dr. Carpio: You too. Thanks for taking the time and for coming to the talk and reading my work.
I grew up in the city of Pomona, have lived in Southern California most of my life with the exception of a postdoctoral fellowship at Yale. I was in New Haven, Connecticut for two years in the History department and Ethnic Studies, Race and Migration program. Before that I got my Master's in Urban Planning at UCLA partly because of Pomona College and learning about inequity and wanting to do something very tangible to address the injustices I saw around me, especially having grown up in Pomona.
I always found it very stark—the inequities between places like Claremont and Pomona. I wanted to know more about how that's built into the landscape, why and what we can do about it. Then, I went on to complete my PhD in American studies and ethnicity at USC. So I did my round of Southern California colleges and it was great. I loved it. I've been drawn to the interdisciplinarity. Even in my anthropology major, which is a traditional discipline, it has four fields attached to it, so it feels very interdisciplinary. My research now is also interdisciplinary, but if you were to put it within certain fields, it's probably closest to History and Geography, always framed with an ethnic studies lens. And my book, thank you for coming to the presentation, is Collisions at the Crossroads: How Place and Mobility Make Race.
It is a historical geography of the Inland Empire across the 20th century looking at experiences of placemaking and mobility across a diverse range of groups. That's it, in a nutshell.
Sunny: How did your personal connection to this place, a region that encompasses your childhood home, inspire your research? Influence the way that you relate to your home community?
Dr. Carpio: I felt like whenever we were learning about California history or local histories, it always focused on Los Angeles. And Los Angeles is important. I live here now. I teach about it often. But growing up, it always felt like the Inland Valley was in the shadows and it wasn't until college when I read Matt Garcia's book, A World of Its Own, that I realized someone could write about their home community. I was an Anthropology major, so I had thought that to write something of value meant going somewhere very far away and writing about something different from oneself.
Ironically, I was in Brazil while I was reading about Pomona and I completely shifted my thesis research, which was gonna look at South America, to focus on my home community of Pomona. Part of that came from wanting to understand the place where I grew up. Part of it was even like a—this might be a strong word, but—anger at not seeing those stories represented or feeling like that history was valued. Then having the pathway that I saw in front of me through the example of this scholarship and wanting to similarly make pathways for others to write about a place that in my own life has been incredibly important.
So I knew it had to be important for other people and for the history of historiography as well. As I continued my studies, especially Urban Planning, we really started thinking about regional systems and how regions are created. It's not just about the city, it's about the suburb and the rural area and how they connect to one another, which, ironically, is a perfect entryway to think about mobility because it's about connections and flows and networks. So being on the very edge of LA County— like I literally grew up where if I crossed the street, I would be in a different county—pushed me to think about what we can learn about the center if we start from the margins. It helped growing up, having family histories and stories, and knowing the geography at the site very well.
I think interviews and being from the area helped create feelings of connection, and then the bonus of being able to work in a place that I lived also opened some doors.
Sunny: It was interesting to hear about this anger at the lack of representation of your experience growing up outside the bounds of Los Angeles and this idea of erasure.
It seems related to the exigence for your research and this tension between two points where, on the one hand, you discuss a resurgence, a kind of distorted, historically sanitized fantasy of Route 66 nostalgia. Then, on the other hand, the present material reality of sobriety checkpoints that are really informal immigration checkpoints, as well as the rise of surveillance and policing.
Do you find places in your work that reconcile that tension and distortion of public memory through storytelling?
Dr. Carpio: Yeah, when I first started the dissertation that would eventually become the basis for the book, the work actually started in the present day and then it went into the 1950s, and my advisor who's a historian said: keep looking, go further back, go further back, go further back.
So it lands up starting in 1890 instead of 1990. What strikes me is that, although not exact, these stories manifest across time over and over and over again. An example of that same tension is in the work I do on the early history of Route 66 in the 1930s around the Depression and how there was a romanticization that even happened then for the pioneer roads that equated a group of people who was being denigrated as Okies as modern day pioneers, as folks who had diverse hardship in order to make it less and achieve the American dream that they deserved our support, our sympathy, and federal and state aid to bring them back to the level that people should be living. At the very same time you have that discourse around Anglo American drivers on Route 66. You have the opposite being said of, again, Mexican drivers, Latino drivers who, at the same time, are being repatriated to Mexico or are being denied forms of cultural citizenship in the same ways that progressives were trying to include migrants into the larger society, again backed by federal and state aid.
So it's not a new strategy. Something that I walked away with is that across time we've seen narratives of mobility apply differentially to communities of color, which in itself has been a shifting category across time in places like the Inland Empire that are very dependent on the way people move.
Sunny: You describe the concept of relational racial formation in your work, and how it complicates the dominant binary concept of thinking about race. The binary concept of race centers whiteness and only examines individual racialized groups as isolated in their negation of that whiteness. On the contrary, your work focuses more on a multiracial lens.
What influences led you to this method? And how has this method revealed potential for new relations of solidarity and affinity across oppressed groups?
Dr. Carpio: It's a great question. I actually recently designed a graduate course called Relational Racemaking that I'll be teaching in March so I'm thinking about that a lot, especially right now.
A lot of the way Ethnic Studies has come up often is we've had various groups siloed so that we're looking at particular histories often against whiteness. From a relational race lens, it's really thinking about what happens when we think about these groups together and how they in fact are influencing one another's racialization and how people navigate categories of race as they shift over time.
When I started my project, it actually was going to be much more of a Latina/o/x history of the Inland Empire. As I tried to do that work, it just didn't make sense because when I got into the actual archive, it was just such a multiracial place that I couldn't tell the story of Latinos in the empire without also looking at Asian Americans and African Americans and Indigenous Peoples and different groups come in and out in the narrative, depending on who was the primary labor force or concern of the citrus industry at the time, cause that's the narrative thread, but they're always living together or living near one another occupying the labor force, although often segregated into their own groups within groves, which was actually a strategy of the citrus elite to keep folks from organizing cause that would give them more bargaining power.
We see it also again around Route 66, there's actually this darkening of the migrant white population that happens where they start to move closer and closer to other people of color, like actually being segregated into balconies, which are often reserved for non-whites.
But we see where whiteness is once again re-inscribed for them over time so that those categories are reinforced again. So for me, it was essential to talk about these multiple histories because that was what I was seeing on the ground.
Sunny: Interesting. More of a personal note and obviously not at comparable scale to your work, but I did a research project in high school that focused on everyday resistance practices across different student of color affinity groups, so Asian American Club and Black Student Union, and the Association of Latin American Students. I didn't have the language to know exactly what that kind of research was though, so seeing you model this as a particular methodology in its own right was really empowering to me, and set a critical precedent for myself and others interested in ethnic and racial studies.
Dr. Carpio: And I love that your draw to that came from activism because I think about groups in Los Angeles, like the bus riders union which has been multiracial and multilingual, and what brings it together is the issue of transportation, right? I think about KIWA which is the Korean Immigrant Workers Alliance, which is in Koreatown and is actually majority Latino, right. So LA and places like the Inland Empire, they generate these questions, you know?
Sunny: I'm interested in your discussion of Chinatown as an example of how spaces and borders are named in a way that denotes racial difference. I wondered how you might think about the opposite cases: towns like Claremont that, by comparison, claim a place of neutrality or apolitical identity, even as they exist squarely in this network of ethnic and racial borders.
I wanted to ask your thoughts on where you place the college town, specifically Claremont, which claims an elite institutional identity in its motto, "town of trees and PhDs," yet paradoxically also has the Claremont Colleges performing land acknowledgements that recognize the historical fact that this land is stolen and occupied.
How do you make sense of the tension between conflicting identities assigned to space and colliding narratives of power and history?
Dr. Carpio: And those identities all have different stakes attached to them. So even with the Inland Empire, or the Inland Valley, there are a lot of interests in where that name comes from and different stakes involved in which one you call it at what time. Any place we occupy is like a palimpsest of places.
In the US, it's always on stolen land. Unless it's native land, which native people occupy. But even then, there's always a shadow of the US settler state on top of it. I think that a lot of the calls around land acknowledgments is that it's a starting place but it can't be the ending place as well.
Can we connect that to viable forms of action that both acknowledge, but then also move towards reparations or some form of justice? So it's not just a way to blanket over again the continuing occupation of these lands.
Sunny: You also discuss organizing and traditions of resistance against the institution of surveillance and policing, including immigration checkpoints and other mechanisms restricting the mobility of racialized groups.
Can you elaborate on some examples of that resistance, as well as threads of joy and empowerment in the history of mobility?
Dr. Carpio: Where we see potentials for joy and activism through the mobility lens… I think of, when I was writing this early on, one of the points someone had helped me come to see is: as much as folks are moving, where they can move, how they can move in the freedom of movement, or the barriers on movement have very real impacts on, for instance their economic realities.
It can allow you to access higher paying jobs. It can allow you to leave a bad work situation and find another one. It can allow you to move up the social mobility ladder from being a laborer, to being someone who's in more of a semi-managerial position by recruiting workers and driving them to and from the groves.
And you literally get paid more, you know? So there's all of those factors involved. They were like, that's also fun, isn't it? Like when you're behind the wheel. And again, it's something that you see in the archive over and over. Some people just enjoy it. There's something about speed or being able to be in something seen as modern and cool. Like a bicycle would've been, in the early 1900s, their Tesla of the day or to be one of the first to be on a motorcycle. Then in the talk, I had talked about a rider named Robbie who not only was he the one Japanese American and the picture of all Anglo American men but he's in it. He has his goggles. He has his poses. He is happy to be there, or so it would appear. And there are other instances of freedom. It meant to be able to move without someone seeing your physical body. So being behind like tinted windows for instance, allows a movement through the city that wasn't always allowed to people of color, depending on where they were moving or how they were moving.
And for women who might have been pushed into certain domestic ideals or had those dressed upon them. It allowed them unchaperoned encounters with people of the opposite sex. It allowed them to be the drivers in their own narrative and get to places they weren't allowed to be. It allowed them to sometimes pretend to be completely other people by registering, not under their own names, but under pseudonyms of Hollywood stars, for instance. So, yeah, I think there is a lot of joy involved in it. When we think about the larger context, however, of people of color in the 20th century, we see that joy then becomes really important because it necessarily then is a form of resistance. Even if it isn't always necessarily intuitively for somebody, but the necessity of who they are in the world they're navigating, like it means something that they're finding joy in their movement.
Sunny: I recall in your talk, you brought up the symbolic value of the car as well, specifically how mobility and transportation are associated with building a sense of identity. In general though, it seems people tend to associate car culture with masculinity, yet at the same time the car can plays a feminist role in that women are empowered to access mobility and its potential for expression of agency and style. So, the latter maybe shows another dimension of that cultural value as well.
Dr. Carpio: Yeah. I wrote an op-ed for the Washington Post on Cruella de Vil because driving is such a big part of her character. Horrible driver. I wouldn't wanna be on the road with her, you know, but I write about, if we historicize it, how driving has been weaponized against women at times because of its associations with independence and masculinity. So while it can afford certain privileges, it can also then be used to deem them as I call it, the Crazy Woman Driver trope, right?
Sunny: But there's an interesting intersection, too, because I know that's also like a racial caricature that's applied to Asian American drivers, especially Asian American women.
You also talk about the relationship between being able to access masculinity through transportation. So it seems that when there's this restriction of access to mobility, then access to being able to perform one's gender identity as it's associated with that symbolic object is also impacted.
Dr. Carpio: That's really thoughtful. I hadn't made that connection. I was thinking too about what you were just saying about the stereotype of the Asian American driver. I didn't talk about it in my presentation, but we see even like early threads of that in bicycling and how people talk about bicyclists as Japanese bicyclists, in particular, not having control over their bodies and drawing attention to crashes and the inability to master the bicycle.
Sunny: Great. To wrap up, thank you so much for your time. As a last thing, is there anything else that you want to add? Any other work you may want to share that people might be interested in engaging after reading this interview?
Dr. Carpio: I'm working on new things. I have a special issue coming out in Mobilities, which is the international journal for mobility studies that looks at race and Indigeneity and settler colonialism. That will come out in April and I'm excited because I'm one of the co-editors and we have five incredible authors writing on different ways that Mobility Studies can be informed by Indigenous Studies and Settler Colonial Studies. So that's something to look out for. And, I'm working on a new project on Black and Brown drivers in Los Angeles, so diving into my new home over here, but also thinking about connections across the larger regional metropolis.
Sunny: Wonderful. Thank you so much. Have a good rest of your day, it was so nice to meet you and have a longer conversation!
Dr. Carpio: You too. Thanks for taking the time and for coming to the talk and reading my work.