Hispanic Fanatic

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard about the Brown Invasion. No, I’m not talking about all those Latinos stealing our jobs, selling our kids drugs, and hooting at our wives.

Hey, that’s old news. Even right-wingers are tired of peddling such fictions.

I’m referring to the recent study that showed ethnic minorities are no longer content to live in barrios and inner cities. For example, “metropolitan New York is being rapidly reshaped as blacks, Latinos, Asians and immigrants surge into the suburbs.”

Yes, my friends, it’s a damn surge out there. Watch out, suburbia.

I used to live in NYC, and my neighborhood, although primarily white, was decently mixed. The same is true of the LA area in which I live now. It’s one reason that I’ve loved both neighborhoods.

However, I have never lived in a suburb, nor do I have any desire to do so. Every time I visit a friend who has bought a house on a cul-de-sac, I get a little jittery, like the 1950s are going to suddenly explode all over me. I expect to look over a manicured lawn and there, in the distance, see a nuclear family in black and white, playing croquet and drinking lemonade.

But that’s just my hang-up. As much as I love living in cities, it would be a sad commentary if every Hispanic thought exactly as I do. By all means, if the Rodriguez family wants to take the commuter rail, I say enjoy the ride.

Still, it’s not like Latinos are blending in effortlessly with their suburban compatriots. That old barrier — segregation — exists even when Hispanics leave the big bad city behind. Latinos tend to be “typically clustered in ethnically or racially monolithic communities,” even in suburbia. So Wally and the Beaver won’t necessarily be hanging with Juan and Maria.

But perhaps that’s in the future, and maybe there are other positive developments yet to come. For example, suburbanites may have more diversity at their key parties someday.

And perhaps the whole concept of suburban angst will have to be redefined. Maybe a couple named Hernandez will feel ennui for once.

This opens up exciting possibilities. Perhaps a Hispanic director will remake “American Beauty” or “The Ice Storm,” but with Latinos in the lead. And of course, maybe someone can take another shot at “Revolutionary Road.”

If so, can we talk Kate Winslet into playing a Latina?

Yes, I still have a monster crush on the woman; sue me.

Now that we’re past the anniversary of the September 11 attacks, one hopes that we can look at the so-called Ground Zero mosque in a clear and logical manner…  Actually, who are we kidding? People are still freaking out about this imaginary threat, even as the headlines have died down. In any case, I can assure you that the planned building will look nothing like this:

Recently, the New York Times released a poll showing that about half the city’s residents opposed building the community center, while a little over a third supported it. But the Times poll went a little further than most questionnaires on this topic, as it broke out the respondents by race or ethnicity.

To continue reading this post, please click here.

It was right before the drunk woman vomited on my shoes.

My wife and I were with some friends at a street festival, listening to a crazed indie-rock band. I noticed the inebriated woman, a total stranger, swaying next to me.

But I was more interested in a group of cops who were policing the event. They stood off to the side, laughing among themselves. I’m guessing they thought it was a pretty cushy assignment.

To continue reading this post, please click here.

A few years ago, I took one of those internet quizzes that pinpoints your real religion, based on your actual beliefs and not the lip service that you espouse. Like all internet quizzes, I’m sure it was of dubious validity and reliability, and it probably had a questionable theological basis on top of that.

Still, I couldn’t argue with the result, which said that I was, in reality, a Reform Jew. By the way, the religion of my childhood, Roman Catholicism, ranked around twenty-eighth or so on my personal scale, which sounded about right (but I’ll refrain from picking on Catholicism just now).

These days, I consider myself more of secular Buddhist agnostic. But the Jewish angle isn’t that far off.

I’m not sure why I relate to Judaism. It’s not like I had a lot of Jewish friends growing up. My neighborhood was primarily Hispanic (and therefore, incredibly Catholic) while my home state is overwhelmingly Midwestern white (mostly Protestant). So not a lot of Goldbergs and Silvermans appeared on the scene.

Perhaps I picked it up when I lived in New York City, where Jewish culture is everywhere. Within just a few years of arriving in NYC, I was ordering bagels with lox and talking about people’s chutzpah and obsessing about death. So maybe that’s why I came up Jewish on the test.

But I think there’s a larger issue. It seems that Hispanics and Jews have always gotten along pretty well. Perhaps both groups know what it’s like to pass for white, but not really. Maybe our mutual focus on family lines up nicely. Or perhaps we just admire each culture’s long history of suffering.

Regardless, I was intrigued to read about a group of Hasidim Jews in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights neighborhood. A small but thriving population traces its ancestry to Spain and Latin America, and as such, members of this group consider themselves Hispanics.

Spare me your jokes about Juan Epstein, the NYC Puerto Rican Jew from “Welcome Back, Kotter.”

There’s a man in Crown Heights with a real-life cross-cultural headspinner of a name, Moshe Nunez, and he says that “There are a lot of Latin American Jews here…. Many non-Jewish Latinos are surprised to see Orthodox Jews in Brooklyn who speak Spanish and carry on their Hispanic traditions.”

I suppose that would be an attention-getting sight. But still, I’m not really shocked that some people would adopt both cultures. The overlap goes back decades.

For example, when my mother moved to America, back in the 1960s, her first job was helping out an old Jewish woman on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The woman was a Holocaust survivor, and she brought that horrific period to life for my mother by rolling up her sleeve and showing the number branded into her arm. This simple display provided quite the education for a young woman from Latin America.

The old woman was very kind to my mother, and she introduced her to the opera and nice restaurants and the finer things in life. According to my mother, the old woman was adamant that bigotry against any group was evil. She said that anyone who would discriminate against a Latino would bash Jews as well.

In the old woman’s mind, we’re all one and the same.

As is appropriate this week, I would like to give thanks. But rather than go on about the myriad things that I’m thankful for in my personal life, let me point out two recent news items that fill me with gratitude.

First, I’m happy that Hispanics continue to make progress in America. What’s the latest indicator that we’re moving on up? Well, for the first time in the 130-year history of the American Bar Association, a Latino will lead the organization.

Stephen Zack, who is Cuban-American, recently became president-elect of the top lawyers’ association in America. Zack says that his focus will be on civil rights, civic education, and (yikes!) immigration law. In honor of Zack’s achievement, I promise to lay off the lawyer jokes for a while… well, at least until the end of this post.

Another news story this week made me grateful in a different way. It made me thankful that I don’t live among idiots.

In my former hometown of New York City, a couple are suing the co-op board of their ritzy apartment building. The couple claims that the woman, a model, angered her fellow residents when she married the building’s former doorman. That may have been an unforgivable breach of class protocol, but according to the suit, what really set off the neighbors was that it meant “a Hispanic former porter” would be their peer.

Now I don’t know if the suit is valid, but the neighbors’ reaction certainly sounds suspicious. At the very least, you would think people would be happy with the news.

After all, it’s just a matter of time before some Hollywood producer swoops in and buys the rights to this cross-gender “Maid in Manhattan” fantasy and gives it a role-reversal “Pretty Woman” treatment (without the prostitution). That would make the building famous, and the people who live there would be celebrities by default. But apparently, they can’t let it go, because the guy is Latino.

Yes, it was quite a week to be grateful to be Hispanic.

I’m back from NYC, where I had my usual great time hanging out with the freaks, weirdoes, and social deviants who make up that fine city. I hung out with some old friends, went to my greatest-hits bars and restaurants, caught a bad cold from one of the aforementioned freaks or weirdoes, soaked up the high energy of the city, and got groped on the subway (a first for me). By the way, the groper was some drunk girl who was trying to piss off her boyfriend, and the groping missed my key components, so to speak, which means that it could have turned out a lot worse for me – or better for me, depending on one’s desire to be groped.

It’s always a little weird returning to my home in the Midwest, however, because of the realization that I see more Hispanics walking down a given Manhattan block or in one subway car than I do in a month here.

It’s also an intense time because my wife and I got back just in time to vote. We endured a two-hour wait in line to cast our ballots for that one guy… you know, the president-elect.

In any case, I will have fresh posts soon, some of which will no doubt address the ramifications of the forthcoming Obama administration, especially in regards to the Latino population. Until then, I will try to recover from my cold and wonder what to do with all the time I had been spent obsessing about this election. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.

It may defy belief, but I’m going to have to take another short hiatus from the blog. The reason is that I will be in New York City for the next week, so posts are going to have to wait until I get back.

As a placeholder until then, I will regale you with the following anecdote. I don’t have any witnesses for this one, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Not long ago, I was walking down the street when I felt a sudden and unpleasant discombobulation. That’s right: I was falling. Through some miracle of arm waving, inner-ear gyroscopic adjustments, and pure luck, I kept from wiping out on the concrete.

Once I stuttered to a halt, I looked behind me to see what had caused me to slip. I saw the offender at once. I had stepped on – no kidding – a fucking banana peel.

Now all I need is for an anvil to fall on my head.

After graduating college, my girlfriend (who is now my wife) and I moved to New York City, where we lived on my cousin’s floor in a small apartment in Queens. It was very struggling Gen Xer, and glamourous or exciting only if you’ve never done it.

We stayed on that floor for three months, until we landed jobs and saved up enough money for a miniscule studio hovel in Manhattan. But for those dozen or so weeks that we lived in Queens, my wife had an experience unique to her life: She was the minority.

The situation put her liberal philosophy to the test. Would she be down with brown? Or would she reflexively clutch her purse whenever a Latino teenage boy walked by? Bear in mind that she grew up on a farm, where the nearest town was a rural enclave of eight hundred white Midwesterners. Now she was living in a city of eight million (that’s a population increase of 100,000% for you mathematicians out there), which was full of freaks and weirdos representing every race, creed, and whacked-out belief system in America.

I’m pleased to say that she came though the experience even more compassionate and understanding than she was before, and that was a high standard to begin with.

For the first time in her life, she knew what it was like to walk down the street and encounter nobody who looks like you. She mingled with people who spoke different languages, and she had to think about how others perceived her. These are perceptions that ethnic minorities have every day in America, but which are alien to most white people.

Perhaps everyone should have this experience at some time in his or her life. It certainly couldn’t hurt to understand where others are coming from, especially as this country gets more diverse (like it or not). It may even cut down on the tendency of some members of the majority to swagger about, and to refrain from wielding their strength in numbers like a cultural hammer or divine right.

To be fair, however, my wife’s sink-or-swim dunking into multiculturalism was not completely smooth. She never did understand why all the Latina women between the ages of fourteen and fifty-nine had to wear skin-tight pants that defined the concept of camel-toe.

Actually, I don’t understand it either. Maybe it’s a Queens thing.