(Hey y'all, Daniel here. Josh couldn't post his blog post due to technical difficulties, so I posted it for him instead. The following is a blog post from Josh Martinez.)
My 10 year old cousin told my tia that she didn't like mexicans.
As I think of her now, I am filled with a strange sense of recognition and pain. Her pretty bright blue eyes, blonde curly hair (like her mother's), and pale skin.
How would she even have a clue?
My introduction to my own mother culture was actually a similar experience, though notably separate. I recall at one point asking my mother if I we were white.
My mom has dark, thick, wavy hair that I've seen roll to her shoulders or, when her taste changed, would lay obediently at her chin in straight-ironed falls. Her dark eyes I've seen simmer with pride or in anger but always with a strength that paralyses. And her skin a shade like mine, not quite white, but weda.
My mother told me to check Hispanic in the little box. She told me that we were american. And that really was the extent of it. Even now, my understanding of my culture is full of holes and patchworks.
From what I understand of my own family tree, I'm third generation american. My grandparents were born in San Antonio where they went to public school. The building where my grandfather went to school still stands, out in a small patch of land on the outskirts of Losoya, where my tias y tios still live and where I've popped fireworks every July 4th and New Year's Eve with cousins while the men drink and cook and the women talk and fuss over the children. My grandmother has told me stories about picking okra as a young girl, and how to this day she hates the smell of coffee because it awoke her to another morning in a field. More stories about cruel teachers who would "discipline" kids who spoke spanish during class or at lunch or in the halls. But also happy stories about football games, or sock-hops, while fishing through an old yearbook. To this day my grandmother rarely speaks spanish to me while my mother knows enough to get by, and what's left in me are terms of endearment and slang.
What I'm getting at here is that I know what Anzaldúa is saying when she talks aboutmujer mala. Though I am male, I feel I have an appreciation of cultural tyranny. I've been called white boy, wedo, gringo. I've been lectured for not knowing spanish. I've had spanish been used to exclude me from conversations, and I've been made to feel guilty from Latinos for assimilation. What choice did I have? Three years of public school spanish taught me numbers and a, e, i, o, u el burrito sabe mas qué tú.
My sister was born May 2005 and has a beautiful mocha shade across her face. While reading this week's text, I thought of mi hermanita. I doubt she will have any idea about a shadow-beast within her, she will be strong and won't take that kind of crap, but I do wonder about her self-identity.Borderlands gives me something I wish for her, a female rite of defiance to cultural change. La Chingada (or Malintzin) seems to me a patron saint for rebellious women, and while she did betray her race and helped the Spanish eliminate much, if not all, of the Aztlán people, it makes for a very interesting mini-series I'm thinking about writing and pitching to Showtime, who you can always count on to shamelessly include sex and violence exactly where it belongs.
(Haha, this is kinda like Daniel-ception a little bit, right?)
ReplyDeleteAnyways, Josh, I think what you said about your experience resonates with what Anzaldúa is portraying in her book very well.
Isn't it funny how if you're a mix of any kind of races it's like a blessing and a curse? Sometimes for people that are of mixed Caucasian and African American descent are known to be "really attractive," but sometimes the racial groups they try to identify with don't accept them. They become pushed out by the so called "purebreds," and this in turn makes these "mixed" children feel like outcasts.
Anzaldúa in her text describes this feeling and describes her feelings of the mujer mala, which Josh also referenced, in accordance to the ostracizing of these groups. It just seems like to me that society just wants people to go one way, and it's unfortunate that whenever someone deviates from this said path, they are looked at as monsters, rather than the people they are.
What I find most intriguing about this text is it's embodiment of the "compound minority" concept. Side note: I know we discussed this concept in class and gave it another name, but I'm just going to wield the term "compound minority" incorrectly here and trust you all know what I'm actually referring to.
DeleteIn the text, and as Josh relates in his own personal account, the presence of layered identities can often be associated with confusion and marginalization. The curse/blessing dichotomy, though, is something with which I have to disagree, Daniel. It seems that, loyalty to her roots aside, there's so much negativity radiating from the author's existence as a woman and a chicana. I'd stand much more strongly with the statements in your latter paragraph. Society does attempt to place individuals on one of two ends of a binary. People like the author, and "the Others" she mentions in her text, confound that binary with their multiple labels. Hardliners don't enjoy having their binaries confounded, and hateful responses arise as a result.
I like very much how the author provided a background chapter to enlighten her readers about the nature of her culture. I was slightly confused as to it's relevance as a "queer" text until I reached chapter two, but that initial frustration was dispelled once I realized the author had provided me with much needed context.
Daniel, you read my mind.
DeleteAs one of those "mixed" children, I identify completely with what you're saying Josh. I was adopted by two redheads and had very very little chance to experience the "black" side of me as well as most others could. Therefore I feel that I was robbed of a part of my culture that now makes me unrelatable to many other black people. In their books I'm not "black enough" or I'm "denying my black roots" when in actuality I was just never given the option to dive in and learn about that part of me. Being mixed race seems like almost a blessing and a curse. In theory, I should be able to identify with both races. But in actuality, I'm not pure enough for either one.
Being half Mexican and half Salvadorian I felt like I should have gravitated to this reading a little more than I did. I felt like throughout the text the author kept making references to typical things a Mexican person would relate to and it just was not happening for me. Unlike Josh, both my parents speak Spanish but even knowing the language does not make me feel connected or relate to Mexican culture. Even after forcing myself to join a Latina based sorority I still feel very different from my sisters. In a way, I could relate to the author because she seemed to be caught in between being able to fully identify as Mexican and American. Like Daniel pointed out she makes a point that people always seem to want you act a certain way. I've had so many encounters where people accuse me of denying myself because I don’t do the stereotypical things Hispanic women do. And with each accusation that comes my way, I feel it creates a further barrier between me and the culture I’m supposed to be representing. Like the author said “There is a rebel in me-‘the Shadow-beast’. It’s a part of me that refuses to take orders from outside authorities”.
ReplyDeleteI understand exactly what you mean, Jessica. I'm full-blooded Puerto Rican (though I regret to admit I'm not Boricua). Bet nobody could tell I am Hispanic, right? Ever since I was in middle school, growing up in a very Mexican-influenced city, I was scoffed at for being "white." When trying to defend my Hispanic identity (usually by demonstrating my ability to speak Spanish), I was brushed off. The funny thing is that I was raised with both cultures, so in a strange way, I sort of connected with the text.
DeleteJessica, I love your statement ". . . people accuse me of denying myself because I don't do the stereotypical things Hispanic women do." I think this is an extremely transcendent judgment that is seen a great deal in the LGBT community. I for one know that I've been told I'm "not a real lesbian" because I don't do certain stereotypical lesbian things. Even within minority communities, people attempt to put others in "boxes." If people don't fit in those boxes, then there must be something wrong with them. They are "Other." Brava, I'm so glad you put that into words. I don't think we appreciate, even as minorities, how often we judge and categorize the people around us.
DeleteI agree with both Daniel and Josh of how its sometimes you don't feel part of your own heritage if you're a mix of any kind. That in itself can make it really difficult if you ever want to take the chance to find out more about it, or go deeper into that part of your life, and your families life. How many generations you are American or whether you're not like the others in your family, shouldn't really matter in the end. Personally, I think keeping ties with your heritage and background is important, and the ability to feel a part of that background shouldn't be exclusive. Reading the chapter, I got a little depressed at the thought of feeling betrayed by your own background and family, when those should be some of the things to make you proud of who you are.
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting to hear that even students in this class can relate to the exclusion Anzaldúa describes. The ubiquitous compound minority is back!
ReplyDeleteAnother interesting point that I saw was the author's reference to her experience in the borderlands as "an exhilaration in being a participant in the further evolution of humankind" in the preface. The idea of living a widely unestablished lifestyle, which is still being "worked on," in a way demands a higher state of consciousness. This is a true bond which inhabitants of the borderlands and members of the LGBTQ community share. Existing outside the norms of sexuality and outside the norms of race/ethnicity are simultaneously completely different and strikingly similar. Both share the 'outcast' status in mainstream society and are made to be much more self-aware through the way they are treated and conditioned to behave by society. Those who conform to the norms of sexuality and race/ethnicity in a region are not routinely given any reason to think about such "dormant areas of consciousness" as the role their race/ethnicity or sexuality plays in the way they act and the way they are treated. But people who are called 'aliens,' 'niggers' and 'fags' must wonder why they incur such treatment.
I also believe that when you are mixed with several different ethnicities it is a bit harder to identify with yourself. However, that goes for being of mixed race and color as well. I do want to make point that there is a different between ethnicity, race and color. Ethnicity relates to characteristics of a human group that that have racial, religious, linguistic or certain other traits in common. Race is identified as a group of people related by a common descent or heredity and color is the natural appearance of the skin, especially the face. More particularly in Josh's story and Anzaldúa, the issue of color and ethnicity seems to play the most important roles. To have a different skin tone than what you are "supposed" to have can truly take a toll on how you perceive yourself. What I took most from the reading and understanding Anzaldúa's story was that, people can't feel comfortable with the one set of people that they are supposed to be comfortable with due to not living up to particular traditional and cultural standards. Not even being of the hispanic decent, other cultures such as the African American culture undergo the same type of criticism. All in all, this is truly sad matter that we harbor so much on the differences rather than the similarities.
ReplyDeleteI am not a mix of my heritage. But my family never kept it. I'm a sixth generation Irish gal and I don't know a lick about the Irish (We like potatoes, beer, steak, and the color green). We've no history I can connect with and in fact, being raised in Texas, I feel a stronger connection to the culture of the South West. I know more about Day of the Dead than I do Easter or Saint Patrick's day. I know how to cook Mexican, Tex-Mex, barbecue, and Cajun, but I couldn't tell you one Irish or Polish recipe...unless mashed potatoes count. I understand the cultural contexts of racism, sexism, and bigotry in Texas and the South far more than I understand the contexts of the Irish Catholic-Protestant contention on that little island. I feel like the plights of my friends, the racism/sexism/bigotry I've seen, felt, and dealt with are far more poignant than any contention my ancestors ever felt.
ReplyDeleteTo be honest, I feel like I don't have a heritage. I create my own through my region, my friends, my travels, my experiences, philosophies, and whatnot. And because I have a very strange conglomeration of my own traditions (from Chinese New Years to hopping between churches), I've become a sort of outcast in my own family. You know, the black sheep.
This article focused a lot on the Hispanic/Texan borderland culture, which (if you view my blog post) resonated in me because I really do feel that I have similar experiences, or I've at least seen it, understand it on some level. But at the same time, the article made me feel as if I wasn't _allowed_ to feel a part of it.
That was a ramble. Sorry!