Posts Tagged ‘George Michie’
I’d like to take some time to explore something I’m particularly interested in: the tension inherent in hyphenated identities. Whether an individual recognizes themselves as Hispanic-American, Mexican-American, Latino, etc., there are two distinct sources of acculturation: the mainstream socialization of American society and the cultural appropriation and interaction with the Latin American heritage, history and peoples. This relationship becomes more complicated the greater the immediacy is between the two identities. Those of Mexican descent probably suffer through the greatest tension, due to their relative geographical proximity of Mexico, as well as the numerical presence of individuals of Mexican descent in the United States. I speak on this as someone who has explored this tension quite readily.
There are Tensions. Many.
The tension arises because both sides of the hyphenated place cultural and communal demands upon an individual. I was born in Houston, Texas to parents who had recently immigrated to the United States. The cultural background of my parents and the rest of their family were distinctly Mexican: the music, movies and cultural cues they had were not from the United States. My neighborhood in South Houston, a densely populated Mexican enclave in the greater Houston metro, was similarly filled with the sights and sounds of Mexican cultural practice. Vacations weren’t to Disneyland or New York City: we traveled to cities in Mexico because of proximity and cost. It’s sort of ironic that it was actually moving to South Texas that began my forced assimilation. The district had a tough policy on primarily Spanish speakers, with English immersion and culture classes. It was a rather rough go, but I quickly learned English, key identifiers and important tools of the cultural trade. This was done through some work and by a rather heavy dose of punishment from teachers when I would speak in Spanish.
This didn’t change the fact that my immersion on Mexican culture was also easier: living 10 miles away from Mexico does that to you. I remember once being at the center of an international bridge to Mexico, putting a foot on both sides and wondering if I needed to make a choice. More stories are unnecessary, suffice to say: I had a lot of conflicts with family, friends, teachers and officials.
Adding to the cultural and geographical are the socio-economic differences that manifest themselves between ‘Mexican’ and American’. The dramatic tensions between the two nations cannot be underestimated: millions have fled Mexico in hopes of becoming members of a much more prosperous nation. This cannot be removed from the relationship between the two different components of the hyphenated identity, particularly since so much of it is borne out of the necessity of leaving the cultural homeland. This complicates the already fraught relationship even further because a hyphenated individual has to navigate the familial networks in the previous homeland, while still trying to seem as a bone-fide American to a public audience which is already likely to see you as an ‘other’ simply by the color of your skin. If you compound it with public recognition that those that are poor and brown matter as a part of your identity, you can quickly be disempowered. However, your family in Mexico still demands recognition that you are a part of them.
One of my favorite encapsulations of this was in George Michie’s Holler if you Hear Me, an account of a young schoolteacher’s experience as a Chicago public school teacher.
Student: “It’s sort of like you’re walking down the street and you’re with your friend, the United States. Then Mexico comes walking down the street…you ignore Mexico and pretend you didn’t see him. When you’re alone, you see Mexico walking by and you say, “Hey, Mexico, What’s up?” It’s like you’re embarrassed to say hi to Mexico when you’re around you friend the United States…If you don’t start saying hi to Mexico, he’s going to leave you alone.”
Particularly for children, this is difficult terrain to navigate. Already marginalized from their home culture in terms of language and given a dearth of material about people like them, students of Hispanic background have to modulate their responses to each particular community. Individuals live in a constantly precarious situation, where one false move can lead to backlash from a community or institution. To betray the homeland is to attack the family connection, but to too heavily rely on it paints you with a brush of inferiority from a largely white society that considers you an ‘other’.
Selena and Being Perfect
Selena Quintanilla-Perez is perhaps the most visible Mexican-American in American popular culture, even in death. For most Americans, what made her compelling was her beauty, musical talent, and tragic murder at the hands of her fan club president. For many Mexican-Americans, however, their identification with her stems from the ways in which she publicly navigated the terrain of being both Mexican and American. Managed by her father, Selena began her music career by singing American Top 40 singles in the English language. Her father, Abraham, would transition Selena away from English and begin to encourage her to sing in Spanish. Selena’s native language was English, a product of her American education. She initially learned many of her songs phonetically, working with her parents to ensure the proper intonation.
Her style of music was originally reacted with skepticism, particularly in Mexico, where they had yet to accept a mainstream Mexican-American artist. As she traveled in Mexico, she was forced to give interviews in Spanish, which she initially struggled with.
Through some breakthrough performances and creative marketing, Selena began to conquer the Mexican music scene and began to explode into Latin America, becoming a breakthrough artist throughout all of Latin American. She became a public symbol for Mexican-Americans, who saw her as an individual that was able to transcend her hyphen and become a member of both worlds. This challenge was encapsulated in a monologue by Edward James Olmos, who played Selena’s father, Abraham, in a biographical film about her life:
“Listen, being Mexican American is tough. Anglos jump all over if you don’t speak English perfectly. Mexicans jump all over you if you don’t speak Spanish perfectly. We’ve got to be twice as perfect as anybody else. Our family has been here four centuries, yet they treat us as if we just swam across the Rio Grande. I mean we got to know about John Wayne and Pedro Infante. Anglo food is too bland; yet when we go to Mexico we get the runs. Ours [homeland] is right next door – right over there. And we got to prove to the Mexicans how Mexican we are; we got to prove to the Americans how American we are. It is exhausting! Man, nobody knows how tough it is to be Mexican American!”
This challenge is not unique to individuals with hyphenated identities, but as Olmos states, the proximity of Mexico to the United States makes it even more difficult – Mexico is not a theoretical homeland that is far away, but a place that you reach rather quickly. Selena’s ability to transcend was particularly persuasive and inspiring: she transgressed and embodied both. In her death, a model was lost and has unfortunately not been regained. It is a bitter irony for some that she reached #1 on the Billboard 200 listings only after her death, through the use of her English albums. The Mexican-American community was never truly able to see if one of its own could succeed in the United States. To be able to reach iconic popularity in the US and Mexico seemingly required her public passing.
I distinctively recall the day I was told she died. My mother picked me up from school and tears were streaming from her eyes. After she dropped off my friend at her house, she stopped the car and told me in Spanish that Selena had been murdered. Tears streamed down my face and I was despondent for the next week, spending most of my time listening to my cassette tapes. For years before that, I had always heard the music of my mother and father’s generation; the regional Norteño music that dominated in Northern Mexico. Selena was from my generation. I knew she was born in the US, just like me. Only two months before her death, I had seen her perform at a concert at the Astrodome in front of 60,000 people. With her, I had felt connected to a community far greater and more comforting than I had ever imagined. That was all gone.
You never become perfect at this. Because of my immediate family and the communities I would grow up in, I was well versed in many parts of the Mexican experience. I knew all the best Norteño and Tejano artists, and I had been to a lot of their concerts. Even so, at family gatherings when folks start talking about cultural affects from their generation, I sit silently and simply smile: I have no access to that realm of knowledge. A similar process also occurs when they bring up Mexican films. However, I’m luckily considered ‘authentic’ enough that any ignorance on my behalf is forgiven because I’ve shown myself to act and think like someone that is proud of his Mexican heritage.
Concurrently, a similar process occurred to me all the time while I was in college. At any given dorm party, there was a lot of music in the air, particularly rock. With a little alcohol in their stomach, they start singing along with the music. It was not uncommon that I was the only person in the room not singing; I simply did not know the songs. Many times, cultural references pass over my head, particularly at Yale, where I grew up away from the Northeast American culture that many students inhabit. Likewise, I still find myself accepted as an individual within the American context. My lack of knowledge about certain cultural cues notwithstanding, my status as a Yale student empowered me to interact and participate within my ‘American’ identity.
I’m particularly blessed that I have had a decent family network and access to modalities of privilege that let me become rooted in a certain Mexican-American identity without being utterly disempowered. However, my ability to do so does not come without a cost. In Mexico and the United States, I am sometimes simply lost with a group of people, isolated from the larger cultural conversation. You cannot be all things to all people and Mexican-Americans learn that lesson quickly and occasionally painfully. The nature of this disjointed relationship, particularly for those that attempt that try to engage their hyphenated nature completely, is confusing and sometimes lonely, particularly when there are few people that you can discuss the nature of both relationships with. One has to be both Mexican and American; regardless of the ability to do so, one is expected to try.
And you aren’t judged on trying: you’re judged on whether you succeed. We’ve got to be twice as perfect.