Let me thank Ashley and ColdSpaghetti for their comments on some of my recent posts.
Otherwise, it’s been kind of a glum week here at Hispanic Fanatic worldwide headquarters. Besides the stress of selling my house (see my earlier post), I was brought low when I foolishly read a newspaper.
I was checking out how the latest version of the war on terror is going when I noticed that we captured an American who fought with Al Qaeda. It isn’t too often that a real-life traitor is apprehended, so the story got my attention.
But I got queasy reading the article. Because just when I thought we had gotten over Jose Padilla, here comes Bryant Neal Vinas.
He is a Latino born in New York who, according to the L.A. Times, grew up in “working-class suburbs, where Elks Lodges mixed with taquerias.”
Perhaps that mixture didn’t work out so well, because Vinas has “admitted to meeting Al Qaeda chiefs and giving them information for a potential attack on New York” and has “fired rockets during a militant attack on a U.S. military base in Afghanistan.” Vinas has pleaded guilty to conspiracy to commit murder and to providing material support to a terrorist organization.
Now, as I’ve written before, Hispanics sometimes feel an irrational shame whenever a fellow Latino does something criminal, stupid, or vile. Reading about Vinas, I had to sigh and say, “Where’s John Walker Lindh when you need him?”
It’s not all bad news, however. A U.S. government official said that, when it comes to Al Qaeda, “Vinas’ background is clearly unusual. He stands out. A Latino American is an unusual profile.”
Of course, you’ve heard the saga of Henry Louis Gates, the Harvard professor who was arrested in his own house for (depending upon your perspective) either
Being black
Being belligerent
I’ve never experienced Gates’ degree of police-sanctioned drama. Of course, like most males who are ethnic minorities, I’ve had some uncomfortable interactions with cops (go ahead, ask your minority friends; most of them will have a story or two). However, none of these scraps have risen above slight inconvenience or principled annoyance.
And I’m not in a hurry to condemn President Obama, although he clearly developed a chip in his legendary cool when he said that the cops “acted stupidly.” Let’s give him a break on that one.
At the very least, however, we can agree that an enormous misunderstanding took place in Cambridge, and that this communication breakdown had a lot to do with race. After all, it’s very unlikely that a white officer and a white homeowner would have such mutually high levels of distrust and suspicion that this scene could be replicated with Caucasians all around:
As I said, my negative experiences with cops have been limited to the occasional unprovoked traffic stop or snide question. I’ve certainly never been handcuffed in my own home by a gun-toting officer. But if I were in Gates’ position, where a cop busted in and accused me of burglarizing my own place, I would have an automatic out that the professor clearly does not.
“Don’t shoot,” I could say. “I’m actually Italian.”
As I mentioned in my previous post, my updates to the site may become more infrequent due to my upcoming move to California. It’s a lame excuse but a sincere one. So until I can be throughly witty, I’m going with short missives and videos, which is the blogger’s version of cutting and running.
Here is a clip of Stephen Colbert discussing Sonia Sotomayor’s confirmation hearing. It’s for everybody who thinks “neutral” is somehow equivalent with “white.”
And while we’re at it, check out the discussion at Stuff White People Do about this clip.
Ever since I stared this blog, about a year and half ago, I have chronicled the Latino experience, with an emphasis on what it means to be Hispanic in the American heartland. Well, there’s going to be a slight change soon.
My wife and I are moving back to California in a few weeks. This means that I will go from being somewhat unique – brown skin in a sea of white – to being pretty damn common… at least in appearance.
The Latino population of the state I currently live in is less than 200,000 (about 5 percent). In California, it is 13 million (about 36 percent). That is, I suppose, a somewhat noticeable difference.
When I lived in Los Angeles, many people assumed that I had been born there or recently immigrated. I’m sure this will happen again, causing me to reflexively defend my Midwestern roots.
Still, on the plus side, once in California, I may be exposed to more interesting stories about Latino culture through daily interaction. Currently, the only times I hear about local Hispanics are if one of us has committed a grisly crime or via a feature article titled something like “Immigrants Bring Change to South Side.”
One of the negative aspects of moving, however, is that my blog updates may become more sporadic, at least in the short term. This is due to the complexities of selling a house (in a down market no less) packing up all our meager possessions, and driving across the country with a perplexed dog and an agitated cat. You try being insightful twice a week under such conditions… sorry, I’m getting a little defensive in advance.
In any case, I will miss the Midwest. But I’m happy to be returning to the West Coast.
And rest assured, once I’m there, I’ll begin looking for investors who want in on “Hispanic Fanatic: The Movie.” I see Gael Garcia Bernal in the lead role.
Let me thank Macon D, Profe, Xey, Mimpiku, and Carolina, all of whom have recently commented on some of my posts. I also want to acknowledge Che, who disagreed with several of my posts (I assume he recently found the blog and read a bunch of pieces at once). But he kept the tone respectful. I thank him for that and for contributing to the site.
But others do not share the approach of these readers. Some people are determined to prove that the internet is where hate-filled wackjobs spew vitriol that they would never even whisper if they could be identified.
Specifically a reader, whose name I don’t want to publicize, responded to my post “The Most Perverse Kind of Pride.” The piece was about Hispanic gang members who targeted African Americans.
Rather than condemn the actions of the gang members, this reader praised them. The reason he endorses murder is because he hates blacks more than he does Hispanics. And yes, the n-word was unapologetically placed front and center in his tirade.
I have deleted his comment and, in a first for the Fanatic, banned him from the site.
I hesitated to give the idiot even this level of attention. But I decided to write about it just to point out that – despite the wishes, pleas, and outright demands of many people – we do not live in a postracial, harmonious world where ethnicity no longer matters.
A few months ago, I was caught up in the Facebook craze of “25 Random Things About Me.” Before you judge, let me point out that at least I’m holding out on joining “Mafia Wars.”
In any case, one of my random facts was the revelation that getting milk on my skin creeps me out. This is what I wrote:
“The sensation and smell of milk on my skin is one of the most repulsive things in the world to me. Whenever I handle the liquid, which isn’t often, I treat it like explosive nitroglycerin.”
My squeamishness toward milk is not, I believe, related to the fact that I’m lactose intolerant. If it were, most of the people in my family – and indeed, most Hispanics – would share my revulsion at the liquid. I’ve heard Asians have similar problems. And it’s not uncommon among African Americans.
In fact, pretty much the only individuals who are really designed for the substance are of European (specifically Scandinavian) descent. This seems to surprise many people.
The myth that milk is good for everybody was propagated by those ubiquitous “Got Milk?” ads, which I don’t believe featured a single Hispanic. This was not due to the nefarious racism of the dairy industry. Rather, it was the simple acknowledgement that, once past childhood, most Latinos have to watch their intake of ice cream, mac-n-cheese, and the like. Failure to do so can lead to, shall we say, explosive results.
It was comical growing up lactose intolerant in America’s Dairyland. It’s like living in Vegas and hating gambling, or moving to Cooperstown and despising baseball. Perhaps the realization that my physical condition was an instant metaphor helped me to develop my love of bitter irony.
Speaking of ironic (or just as random as the original twenty-five Facebook facts), I have to point out that I love cheese. It may be my favorite food.
My dog is a Boxer. Like most Boxers, she’s high-spirited and extroverted. So to burn off her ridiculous amounts of energy, we hit the dog park at least once a week. Over the four years that we’ve been going to this field of canine conviviality, I’ve noticed a gradual change.
It’s true that my dog still spends most of her time roughhousing with an endless procession of Maggies, Jakes, and Baileys. But lately, she’s played with Carlos the basenji and Poncho the mutt and, in a true cross-cultural feat, she even raced Miguel the German Shepherd.
It used to be that only Chihuahuas would get Latino names. Now I’m meeting Rhodesian Ridgebacks called Selena and hearing people yell, “Pedro, come!” at their Australian Cattle Dogs.
Is this a subtle evolution of new cultural norms? Is it a subconscious acknowledgement that Hispanic names are no less American than “Charlie,” and therefore, they’re good enough for our best friends? Or are people just tired of calling their dogs Max?
Now some may be offended that I’m amused by all these Hispanic canine names. Isn’t it, by its very nature, dehumanizing that Latinos are increasingly being equated with dogs? To those critics, I say, lighten up.
Plenty of white names are used on dogs, with no ill effects for those monikers. I once knew a Belgian Malinois named Keith, for damn sakes.
In addition, is it really an insult to be equated with the greatest species on the planet? Yes, it should be clear that I’m very fond of dogs (see my earlier post on this) and perhaps I’m bias. But in any case, a responsible owner names his pets with the best of intentions, on the basis of love or as an act of homage. They do not go out of their way, usually, to signal contempt or debase others.
My own dog is named after an Irish pop band (no, her name isn’t U2). But perhaps I will consider naming any future companions Jose or Maria… or maybe I’ll pass on that idea because, after all, too many dogs will probably have those names already.
Like all good Gen Xers, I grew up with the infectious tones of the Saturday morning series permeating my brain. Before I could stop it, “Schoolhouse Rock” told me how a bill becomes a law, informed me that zero is my hero, and explained how an interjection shows excitement or emotion (and starts a sentence right!).
Kids of the last twenty years have matured with a serious gap in their educational and cultural knowledge. Plummeting test scores and rampant student apathy will not end because of laws like No Child Left Behind. For that, we need the immediate return of “Schoolhouse Rock.”
However, despite its emphasis on objective facts and wholesome entertainment, the series thrust itself into controversy on occasion. Well, actually, on just one occasion, and even then only in retrospect.
I’m talking, of course, about the segment titled, “The Great American Melting Pot.” As we celebrate Independence Day, let’s take a look back at this dash of 1970s patriotism set to a soul groove.
One of the lesser known segments of “Schoolhouse Rock,” the segment features a pitch-perfect spokesinger extolling the virtues of immigration (no, really… she does), who then explains how America is a mixture of different races and ethnicities. The singer also belts out uplifting lyrics that praise liberty and the fact that any kid could be president.
Watching it now, however, one has to wonder about the accuracy – and even the appropriateness – of “The Great American Melting Pot.”
Is it a call to racial harmony and an appeal to the common roots that ninety-eight percent of Americans share (i.e., immigrant forefathers?) Or is it a trite, jingoistic anthem created in troubling times that is even less relevant now?
Of course, this isn’t about “Schoolhouse Rock.” The big question is whether the great American melting pot ever existed. And if so, were the perimeters of this ethnic kettle – in reality – confined to Europeans, the occasional Russian, and Jews who changed their last names?
The answer that one gives, and the passion that he or she conveys while giving it, says a lot. What really makes it interesting is that the question doesn’t lend itself to easy left-versus-right debates. Both liberals and conservatives can praise or lambast the melting-pot metaphor, based upon their perspective.
Some liberals love the melting pot for illustrating the quest for equality and the concept that every ethnic group, no matter how recently arrived or troubled, contributes to the American Dream. Or they hate it for its simplistic demand that people drop their customs and heritage to adopt “American ways,” which are inevitably defined by an inflexible majority culture.
Meanwhile, some conservatives grow misty-eyed at the melting pot for enforcing the old up-from-the-bootstraps idea and the supremacy of American society. Or they loath it because it implies that the government should acknowledge languages other than English and that people can’t just shout “Merry Christmas” at everyone.
So which is it? Can the melting pot be both innocent ideal and vile subversion? Is it both inspiring metaphor and insufferable indoctrination?
It shouldn’t be this difficult. We live in a post-racial society, after all… right? We’re supposed to run around yelling, “Hey everybody, it’s the achievement of Martin Luther King’s dream!” But clearly, even looking at thirty-year-old cartoons can prove vexing to that plan. We still struggle with the very idea of what it means to be American. One has to wonder if we will ever come to an answer.
In any case, regardless of your opinion of the segment, and the whole idea of an American melting pot, there is one thing that all Americans can agree upon:
In a recent post, I talked about the insecurity that many Hispanics feel in relation to African Americans. As I’ve written before, we’re just not as cool.
Apparently, a few Latinos have taken this jealousy to a new low. According to this report, some Hispanic gang members in California “waged a racist campaign to eliminate the city’s black residents through attempted murders.” According to indictments, “Gang members take pride in their racism and… have expressed a desire to rid the city… of all African Americans and have engaged in a systematic effort to achieve that result by perpetrating crimes against African Americans.”
I’ve written before about the tenacity of Latino gangs. The usual factors of poverty, alienation from majority culture, and weak-willed groupthink help explain their popularity. If there is anything unique about Hispanic gangs – in contrast to black gangs – it is their appropriation of ethnicity as a motivating factor for lawlessness.
But I’m don’t know what to make of people who know claim the banner of ethnic pride, then proceed to reinforce every negative stereotype and fear-mongering accusation through sociopathic behavior. If I could excommunicate them from Hispanic culture, I would.
Now, I certainly don’t feel responsible for every idiotic move that a Latino makes. But this warrants a public display of disgust.
At the very least, I don’t want to fall into the trap that ensnared many Muslim Americans. A few years ago, they tried to object to their frequent demonization. But every point they made was effectively silenced with the rebuttal “You didn’t complain this much about Al-Qaeda. Denounce them if you’re so all-American.”
It should be obvious that every civilized person, regardless of race or creed, automatically rejects homicidal behavior. But just so everybody is clear: Let me be among the Hispanics who denounce these thugs.
And now we can return to our regularly scheduled rants.
