Hispanic Fanatic

I’m sure you’ve heard the news that Hispanics now make up a record percentage of the American population. The U.S. Census says that one out of every six residents is Latino. Furthermore, in a “surprising show of growth, Hispanics accounted for more than half of the U.S. population increase over the last decade.”

Yes, Latinos are the chief reason that America has avoided a population decline.

However, not everyone is grateful, or particularly thrilled, about this fact. In fact, quite a few Americans are angry, anxious, or just plain freaked out over the ascendency of Hispanics in the United States.

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I’ve been to a lot of business conferences. But up to last week, I had only gone as a grunt — one of those guys who represent the sponsoring company and whose job it is to hook up the PowerPoint demonstrations, tear down the rooms, and occasionally, tell the speakers what to say (yup, I’ve written a few presentations for zero credit).

So it was great to finally go to a full-fledged, hobnobbing, networking-frenzy, whip-out-those-business-cards kind of conference where I was an actual attendee.

The event was Hispanicize 2011, which may sound like a sci-fi feature about cyborg Latinos, but is actually the “premier marketing event devoted to … brand marketers, bloggers, non profits, and marketing agencies focused on Hispanic public relations and social media.”

Basically, if you write about, or market to, or spend a lot of time thinking about Latinos, you would be a fool to skip this conference. So for three days, I hit the convention floor, went to breakout sessions, and networked with my fellow Hispanics and the people who love us.

It resembled many other business conferences, in that there were plenty of people in suits, and talk about monetizing this or that, and decent swag for the taking. But few other conferences have this much hugging. Really, you can’t get hundreds of Latinos together and expect everyone to stick to handshakes. Damn it, we like to hug, professional attire or not.

This was especially true when I met those individuals who had, to this point, only existed to me as online presences, or email buddies, or frequent commenters. There is no term for the discombobulating sensation of speaking face to face with people you have gotten to know through their writing, or via their comments. It is, of course, a brand-new emotion fit for the twenty-first century, and eventually, we’ll come up with a phrase to cover it.

In any case, my main reaction was to become a bit overwhelmed at the brilliance on display. My natural cynicism couldn’t dismiss some of the great ideas I heard. And my self-confidence (or is it arrogance?) took a backseat when I talked with some of the people who are leading the Hispanic community out of the dark ages.

The last major event was a keynote speech by Edward James Olmos. The Oscar-nominated actor gave an intense, freewheeling, intellectually challenging talk that covered his belief that there is only one race (that would be the “human race”). It also referenced the Mexican drug war, the documentary Inside Job, the value of the Swiss franc, and the fact that Harvard scientists have reversed aging in mice…Really, it all added up somehow.

I met Olmos after his speech and talked to him for approximately 9.7 seconds before a Battlestar Galactica fan interrupted me. But it was ok.

I gave him my card.

I once took a freelance gig editing a book about conspiracy theories. It was an encyclopedia of crazy shit like Mkultra and the Bavarian Illuminati and Area 51.

The book was a highly entertaining read, but it didn’t exactly keep me up at night. I just don’t believe humans are competent enough to pull off fake moon landings and shadow governments and the like. So I’m not prone to yelling, “Conspiracy!” and attributing sinister motives to shadowy figures.

But it’s not a conspiracy to say that Hispanics and African Americans have long been played off one another. And the reason for this is clear: It maintains the status quo.

After all, if America’s two largest ethnic minorities are busy fighting each other, they have little energy to combat the power structures that hinder their mutual growth.

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Recently, I wrote about the low-level celebrity who confused me with the valet at a parking ramp.

While out having drinks, I retold the story to a couple of friends who, inexplicably, had not read it on the blog (yet they all claimed that they read my posts religiously… hmmm). In any case, we talked about whether the celebrity’s mistake rose to the level of racial profiling.

We never came to a definitive conclusion, because the topic soon drifted into a more concrete example of judging someone by the color of his skin. I’m talking about the TSA’s habit of stopping people like me for multiple wandings and the occasional frisking at airports. I’ve written before about this, but my friends all had theories on why the TSA is convinced that I’m the next Mohamed Atta.

“It’s because you look like somebody,” Friend One said. “There must be a guy on the terror watch list who looks exactly like you. It’s just bad luck.”

“No,” Friend Two said. “It’s because you look like everybody. You’re like the standard angry traveler with a bad attitude. They want to make an example out of you for going through the line with a scowl.”

“You’re both wrong,” Friend Three said. “It’s because you look like nobody. You’re still an exotic mix compared with most people who fly. So TSA thinks you could be a Muslim extremist, or a MS-13 gang member, or a yakuza for all they know. You could be something bad because nobody else in line resembles you.”

I thanked them for their insights. I finally had an answer on why I have to allow an extra fifteen minutes for airport security whenever I fly.

It’s because I look like somebody… or I look like everybody…  or I look like nobody.

So there you have it. That certainly clears things up.

But just as I achieved this level of enlightenment, Friend Four spoke up.

“It’s because you look brown,” she said. “That’s it.”

Damn, I had never even considered that.

The nicest thing my mother-in-law has ever said to me is, “In a certain light, you kind of, a little bit, resemble Johnny Depp.”

Now, even a straight man like me knows that it’s a compliment to be compared, however vaguely, to this guy. Sure, he’s a talented actor, but what he’s best known for is being the uber-hunky male of so many women’s dreams. Even the tough-as-nails Bitca has been known to swoon if she catches a glimpse of Mr. Depp’s visage.

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By now, you’ve heard all about the Kansas legislator who said it was a fine idea to hire gunmen to fly around in helicopters and shoot undocumented immigrants. Republican Virgil Peck made what he calls a “joke” during a public hearing on how to control the feral-pig population (like you, I was unaware that this was a huge problem in Kansas).

In any case, Peck has apologized for comparing immigrants to hogs, and while he was at it, for advocating that the state just start executing people it doesn’t like.

Of course, Peck’s comments are not in the smallest way indicative of the GOP’s hatred for Hispanics. As conservatives are quick to point out, that is all a liberal-media myth, and the Republican Party truly loves Hispanics. After all, you only joke about slaughtering people like vermin if you really respect them.

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I’ve written before about the fact that the U.S. population is growing at its lowest rate since the Great Depression. But what does this statistic really tell us?

Well, among other things, it means that for the first time in American history, large swaths of the country are essentially emptying out. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, “a near-record number of U.S. counties are experiencing more deaths than births in their communities, a phenomenon demographers call natural decrease.”

Of course, there’s a more common term for it: ghost town.

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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.

When I was a college student, I worked at the student newspaper. I was a longhaired, hard-drinking journalist — a Woodward and/or Bernstein in training — who would someday expose wrongdoers and bring down corrupt powerbrokers.

Well, at least that’s how I saw myself back then. It didn’t quite work out that way. And it’s not just because my chosen field, print journalism, soon became as relevant as the telegraph.

In truth, I got soured on the crusading-reporter thing pretty quickly. One of my first interview subjects was an intense man who proudly called himself a black separatist. He gave lectures around the country that outlined how African Americans needed to reject integration and establish their own nation.

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All residents of Los Angeles spend an inordinate amount of time waiting for our cars. This is because the gods who devised our car culture decreed that, throughout the land, valet parking shall be the law. It’s not a question of choice.

One of my favorite restaurants makes you hand over your keys, and then watch as the valet moves your car about six feet from where you pulled into the lot. The IHOP in West Hollywood has valet parking (think about that; an IHOP…). And the parking garage where I waited for my car just yesterday had mandatory valet service, even though I could have easily parked it myself.

In any case, I was standing at the counter, claim ticket in hand, when I heard a voice behind me.

“Excuse me.”

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