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FEATURED ARTICLES |
What Do White People Eat? "Papi, what do white people eat?" Asked my fourteen year old as we finished our meal at a local Italian restaurant. I looked at her, tilted my head to the left, smiled, and shrugged my shoulders . " I once asked my friend Amanda," chimed in my ten year old daughter " and she said they eat mostly spaghetti," My fourteen year old interrupted, "Maybe they eat roast beef and turkey just like on TV." And my ten year old continued, " but I think they eat a lot of hotdogs and hamburgers." Not to be left behind, my eight year old added, "They eat a lot of fake Mexican food; the type you buy at fake Mexican restaurants." I had never given this much thought until recently. The USA doesn’t really have a true American cuisine; Almost everything came in with the immigrants. If I were to venture, and go way out on a limb, I would say the hamburger is the true American dish. Some would say the hot dog. But the hot dog is a form of sausage (maybe); sausage probably did not originate in the USA. I wonder what other ethnicities think of our Mexican-American diet. It probably seems like we eat tacos and tamales all day long. |
ARE YOU LATINO? "You speak the language, you know the culture, you look Latino, but you are not Latino.--You are American." These are the words that my friend (and coworker) from Latin America said to me at point blank range. She meant no harm or insult. All she was doing was pointing out that there were some cultural differences between me and my co-workers in Latin America. She mentioned that my mannerisms, the way I communicated and carried myself, and my thought process were not Latin-American. She went on to say that I would never be viewed (in Latin America) as a Latino by my peers. She was partially right. I am American, and I feel American. I also know that my communication style is distinct from that of my Latin-American coworkers. When I visit Latin America, I almost always get questions regarding my nationality/ethnicity. My coworkers are quick to respond, " es Americano," before I have a chance to do so. I usually get asked this question immediately after a greeting. ---I guess I greet differently-- Where my friend is wrong is that I am Latino. My friend failed to realize that there is a distinct Latino culture that is completely American. She failed to realize that there are several generations of us Latinos that have been born and raised in the United States. And that we have manage to retain the Spanish language and the culture of our parents/grandparents/great-grandparents. Better yet, we have not only retained the culture of our " antepasados", we have infused it with the aspects of the Anglo culture. We have created our very own Latino culture that is truly and distinctly American. And it’s a great feeling. What do you think? |
Juav's Latino World USA |
gowing up Latino by juav publications |
A Face Like Mine "George Washington? John Adams? Thomas Jefferson?" It suddenly hit me, "Ni uno se parece a mí! But, who cares?" That was me in the first grade. As I sat at my desk, I looked up where the wall met the ceiling. There, I could see the pictures of the founding fathers and many other famous Americans encircling the classroom. Their faces were a pinkish white, and their hair came in three shades--white, blond, or brown (never black). I thought nothing of this; they were heroes! In fact, I was quite proud of being in a classroom with so many pictures of famous Americans. Race and culture did not matter much to me in the first grade. It didn't take many years after that before I gained true racial and cultural awareness. But it wasn't until the end of my college years that I discovered that I could not relate to the faces of our founding fathers. I was not easily awe stricken anymore when I discovered an interesting tidbit or act of courage about our founding fathers; I just simply could not relate. The United States of America was founded by an Anglo culture, and there was no place in history for people like me. It wasn't until a few years ago when I realized that it doesn't matter whether I relate to our founding fathers or not. The only thing that matters is that these men took incredible risks to establish this country. And because they took those risks, I live in a country many freedoms and privileges. Sure, this country went astray for more than half of its history, but the important thing is that the course has been corrected. As far as the faces on the wall, those of our founding fathers will never change. But soon there will be other faces to add to the wall. And they will be of many colors. As the racial and cultural profile of America changes, so will the pictures on the wall. |
© Copyright, juav publications. All Rights Reserved |
Speaking Spanish Con Gusto! "Aquí se habla inglés con facilidad, y español con gusto!" This phrase was once a slogan for a very popular bank catering to Latinos. I first heard this phrase on the radio as I was speeding through Houston. I immediately slowed down and contemplated what I had just heard. I could not believe it! That phrase was "me". English is second nature to me. I speak English because I can, I have no difficulties with the language, and that's the language of business and government in the USA. On the other hand, I speak Spanish because I want to, I like to, and because I feel pride in speaking it. I also speak Spanish because I do not want to lose the ability to do so, and I want my children to be bilingual (completely bilingual in language and culture). Until the last decade or so, it was very difficult trying to maintain the proficient use of a language, other than English, in the USA. (Please note that I did not use the term "foreign language". If you want to know why, ask me.). I remember as a child, I was some what embarrassed to speak Spanish when non-English speakers were within site. Somehow the Anglo Culture embedded in my mind that only English was acceptable. Fortunately, things have somewhat changed now. No longer do we get the "look" when we are heard speaking Spanish in public places. As my friend says "Spanish is not hereditary." We are not born speaking Spanish. We must practice it with our children, so that at the very least they can gain some exposure to the language. Encourage your children to learn Spanish ( or any other language of their choosing). Those of you that don't speak Spanish-- relax. Just because you don't speak Spanish, does not mean that you will be denied entry into our club. Being Latino is much more than speaking the language. |
Books for Latinos? I am a product of Bilingual Education, or "Spanish School" as the kids called it. In the mornings I attended "English School" along with all the rest of the English speakers. And in the afternoons I was bussed away to the "dungeons" of an administrative building that had "space" available in its basement to set up bilingual shop. I hated it! I hated Spanish School! To be exact, I hated the Language Arts curriculum. We had to read a series of books, all written in Spanish. It was not the Spanish that I disliked. It was that the books were written for children who lived in Latin America, and not in the USA. Ironically, I encountered the first "written just for me" book in English School! I still remember the title-- "Mexicali Soup". That day, I opened my reader, and the title instantly jumped out at me. " No, it can't be," I thought. "This book is in English!" I flipped the page, and the first illustration was of a woman, in a pinkish-violet house dress, stirring a pot. Her dark black hair was in a bun, and her skin was a gorgeous light brown. I flipped through some more pages, and they were peppered with illustrations of children that looked and dressed like me. They were American! I definitely wanted to read this story! Before the teacher could even finish asking for volunteers to read aloud, my hand was up in the air. I was beaming as I read the fist few words, but beaming could not describe how I felt (and probably looked) as I encountered the many Spanish phrases peppered among the English text. From that day on, I eagerly searched for books "written for me," and I occasionally would find them. But how I wished it would be easier to come across them. Thirty years have passed since I first encountered a book written for an American Latino. You would think that books written by and for American Latinos would be very easy to find these days--well, the truth is, it all depends where you live and whether you want to borrow one from the library or buy one on-line. Just the other day I visited my local library. I found out that all the Latino books were found in the Spanish section. Once in the Spanish section, I noticed that most of the books that were originally written in English by Latinos were translated to Spanish. Funnier yet, the books written originally in Spanish, were translated into English. Thank God, they left the ones written in both English and Spanish alone! Any ideas on how to make these types of book readily available to everyone? |
The American Salad Bowl "Many people call America the melting pot of the world, but a few of us say America is a salad bowl!" I first heard these words in my eighth grade American History class in Eagle Pass, Texas. If my teacher hoped to stimulate at least one young, moldable mind with his lecture on the American Salad Bowl, he succeeded! I have been pondering over this lesson for a very long time. Here is my retelling of the American Salad Bowl. A salad is made up of more than one ingredient -- lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, cabbage, sometimes cheese, sometimes meat, and sometimes a few other things. Although all these ingredients have been tossed together within the confines of a solid boundary, they don't truly mix. Yet they all work in conjunction to turn blandness into an explosion of flavor. The tomatoes and carrots so desperately try to stay with their kind, and they usually succeed. But that's okay; one can still take a fork and persuade the tomatoes and carrots to go with the lettuce. Occasionally, a stray tomato will find its way into the most welcoming leaf of lettuce-- but we can still tell its a tomato , and not a lettuce. Once in a while we encounter a new ingredient; we do not know what it is, but it adds new flavor to the mix. And we come to expect it in our salad. Some people may object to this new exotic taste--but once the new flavor is introduced, you have changed the salad forever. No longer can the new ingredient be removed; we would immediately notice that something was missing. The United States is just like a salad bowl. There are many groups of people living, dealing, and interacting with each other. Each group of people brings their own contributions and skills to this great country. If one of these groups of people were to suddenly leave, we would all notice. Just like a salad, these groups of people are tossed in together; they don't truly mix. Although they all may work together, at the end of the day they retire to their own clusters; they mainly live and play with their own kind. But many say that's okay. As long as we all get along, and help each other make this country great, it's okay. (is it really?). Now, this is what I have been pondering about: The United State is indeed a salad bowl, but not yet a true salad. We have a container--our borders--that hold all the ingredients together, but we are not yet a salad. In a salad, all the ingredients become a salad once they are placed within the bowl. You can still distinguish each ingredient from each other, but you still know that together they are a salad. A salad is first recognized as salad before any of the ingredients are defined. In the USA, not all of us Americans are viewed as Americans. We are first viewed as being part of an ethnic group--- and then maybe American. How can we be viewed as Americans first? -- Or do we want to be viewed as Americans first? I , know I do. |
Los Matachines (Losing little bits of culture) Once again I found myself in what was to be the most boring afternoon ever! I had abandoned my ultra-thin, LCD HD, television set at the beginning of the second quarter of what was destined to be the greatest football game ever played! The Texans were about to score another touch down; I could just feel it! But no; I would not get to witness one of the Texan's few victories. I now found myself sitting on the foot steps of the Church building, with camcorder and camera at hand. I was so eagerly waiting for the 12:00 PM mass to end. Mass was running over, and my chances of making the last quarter of the game were almost nil; it was now 1:45 pm. I guess I was lucky; I could have been stuck inside. (No I did not skip church! I had already gone to mass that morning.) For what was I so eagerly waiting? Los matachines, of course. My two girls were members of one of two matachines troupes that were paying homage to La Virgen. I had been "asked" to video tape them. Finally! The bulging church doors flung wide open, forcibly expelling a few parishioners in great relief. Those few promptly got out of the way to make room for the priest with plumed matichenes in tow. Little boys in white pants and shirts, carrying a banner with La Virgen's image, literally hung on to the matichenes' red tunics. These boys were followed by more matachines! "When would it end?" I thought. " If they hurry I can catch the last quarter!" All the matachines quickly filed into the parish hall. Soon, there was a stampede of parishioners vying for the best seats in the parish hall. Another wave of parishioners made their way through the tiny door, and quickly filled the tiny parish hall. The crowd continued to multiply, and filled the tiny parish hall beyond capacity. By now I was growing impatient." When would the crowd settle down?" I thought. After what seemed like an eternity, the crowd finally grew quiet. The matachines lined up in place. The rhythmic beat of drums soon resonated throughout the parish hall, and I suddenly found myself in aw as the matichenes took their first steps. I was instantly drawn to their mesmeric rhythm. Their red tunics sparkled with every move. Their headdresses provoked flashbacks of ancient times, as their long plumes rhythmically swayed from side to side . For the first time in my life I was truly enjoying and appreciating los matachines. Before I knew it, it was all over. I found myself wishing for one more performance from this troupe. My disappointment did not last long. To my delight, the second troupe of matichenes quickly took their places, and soon started their dance. These matichenes sported a different dress than the first troupe. Their colors were black and gold. Their headdresses were not uniformed. Some had long plumes others had short feathers stuck onto a bandana. Some members also waved banner's with La Virgen's image. Their dance was faster than the other troupe's, and was more like a stomp. Nevertheless they produced the same effect. In a short twenty to thirty minutes, I had witnessed two troupes of matachines, two different styles of dress, and two different styles of dance. But best of all, I had witnessed a bit of my culture... I had reconnected with a piece of my culture that I had almost lost. One of the greatest difficulties in growing up Latino in the USA, is not losing bits and pieces of culture. It is quite easy to retain the core of the culture --- some language, the food, and most of the major traditions. But the outer edges of these traditions ( and those considered too traditional) are so easily chipped away as our Latino culture in the USA keeps evolving. In my quest to blend my Latino and my American identities, I have forgotten how to appreciate some of these traditions. Once you forget how to appreciate, you lose a piece of culture. I do not know if this is good or bad. What do you think? |
As my little boy stepped out of the car, he turned slightly to the left, and stared in awe at the house down the street. He was mesmerized by the banging and clanging of a well orchestrated chaos. There must have been at least ten young men crawling and scampering about the house's steeped pitched roof. Some were balancing shingles and pieces of plywood on their backs as they climbed the sharp incline. Others were furiously banging away, oblivious to the men stepping over them. Still others, were singing to "norteño" music blaring through the worn-out speaker of a radio so precariously balanced on a stack of shingles. All the while, my son just stood in the middle of our driveway, enjoying what could be considered a well choreographed show, play, or even opera. I was truly amazed at how such an activity had completely sequestered my son's attention. How I wished I could know his thoughts right at that instance. "Could he be wondering how the men keep their balance?" I thought. "Maybe he is wondering how many nails it takes to securely hold a shingle...or perhaps he wants to know who taught those men to shingle a roof ?" After a minute or two of observing the show, my son simply turned towards me and asked, " por qué son todos mexicanos?" Boy, was I wrong! I had not expected him to be thinking such a thing! This would require some thought, so I asked him to wait until after dinner for an answer. At the dinner table with my family, our conversation went something like this: "Although they all look Mexican, some of the roofers may be from other Latin American countries. The roofers are all "Mexican" because no one else wants to roof houses for the low wages they get paid. They get paid low wages because most of them are illegal immigrants as are many in our area (yes, accuse me of stereotyping...)." "Why doesn't the roofing company just pay them more?" Asked my son. "The roofing company does not want to pay them more because they need to keep roofing prices low. They need to charge the same or lower prices than the other roofing companies." "Why don't the roofers refuse to work unless they get paid more?" My son insisted. "There are probably dozens of illegal workers willing to do the same work for the same wage or less. If these roofers refuse to work, the roofing company will just find others to take their place. The roofers also can't afford not to work; they need to send money back home." We went on to discuss how illegal immigrants get exploited. We even discussed wages paid for many different so called non-skilled jobs performed by undocumented workers, and compared them to those of other jobs. We focused on the disparity in wage ranges between undocumented workers and legal residents. We used my teenage daughter's earnings as an example. My teenage daughter gets paid anywhere from eight to ten dollars an hour for baby sitting. Although her job requires some skill, it does not compare with the skills required to roof a house. It also does not require exposure to the elements or the risk of falling off a steep incline. Yet, she gets paid more than the roofers. My daughter can name her wages; most undocumented workers do not have that privilege. Illegal immigration has been making headlines for quite some time, and I'm really confused on which side of the issue I stand. I strongly believe everyone in the USA should be here legally, but can that really be achieved? I'm not aware of any process that will efficiently and fairly give common working folks legal entrance into this country. At the risk of showing my naivety, why can't a roofing company (or any company) just simply recruit pre-screened foreign workers from an approved list or from a recruiting agency? Once an idividual is recruited, he gains legal entry into the USA for a specified period of time. In the long run, this would probably improve the immigrants' wages, and reduce the number of "undesirables" that seem to get all the media's attention. On the other hand, how much more are we really willing to pay to ensure that services rendered are performed by legal workers? If our governments "truly" make it illegal to hire undocumented workers, and all employers (including homeowners) abide by the rules. Who will roof our houses, pick our tomatoes, and clean our houses for same the low wages? Are we willing to pay a dollar or two more for a hamburger? Maybe so. But, are we willing to pay 50% more to get our houses re-roofed? If we build a wall, will illegal immigration really stop? And if does stop, will we notice? What next? One thing I'm not confused about is that regardless of their immigration status, all individuals must be treated with dignity and kindness. It is sad that many undocumented workers are humiliated and taken advantage of. They are often threatened and coerced by their employers. Even more sad, some employers (including regular folks like you and me) do not realize they are doing it. Incidentally, four weeks after my neighbors had their house re-roofed, I had mine re-roofed too! I hired a different roofing company. One whose advertisement took up one whole page of the yellow pages. One that advertised having over 30 years of experience, and being locally owned. Guess who showed up to re-roof my house? Eight Mexicans. Yes, they were all Mexican. I struck up a conversation with the youngest crew member. He told me that he was the only crew member that was legally in the USA (he had a work permit). I quickly changed the conversation as soon as he told me this. Just like everyone else, I turned a blind eye. After all, I needed my house re-roofed quickly; rain was forcasted for the weekend. I also needed my house re-roofed cheaply. |