Hispanic Fanatic

Here at The Hispanic Fanatic, we are positively giddy. Actually, there is no “we,” just me, but it sounds more impressive if I make the following idea seem like the product of a select committee of experts.

The occasion is the inaugural Latino of the Month award. It’s the first one because, well, I’ve only been blogging for a month. With hope, I can identify one Hispanic in April and every four weeks thereafter who does something notable, laudatory, or even notorious to merit this prestigious honor.

So who is the charter recipient of this exclusive prize, which carries no monetary value, offers no plaque, and does not even have an award ceremony covered by the E Network?

It is none other than former New Mexico governor Bill Richardson.

I’ve always liked this guy, if for no other reason than he was the first legitimate Hispanic contender for president. He dropped out of the race early, of course, because his intelligence and experience can’t make up for the fact that he has all the warmth and charisma of day-old flan. Those superficialities aside, he would have made a good president.

He earns the Latino of the Month award because his endorsement of Barack Obama garnered national attention, shook up the presidential race, and pissed off a lot of people. That’s a lot of impact for one Hispanic to have.

It’s not about the specificity of his praise for Obama. It’s because, regardless of your political affiliation, one has to admire Richardson for his willingness to take a definitive and principled stance. I’ll also add that he refused to get embroiled in petty name-calling with people who accused him of being disloyal to the Clintons (statements that had the vague stench of white people getting pissed at a Latino for not doing what he was told).

No, he did his own thing. Didn’t I say he would make a good president?

But alas, he has to settle for the next-best thing: the first Latino of the Month award. So he has that going for him.

By the way, if you have any nominees for April’s award, let me know.

Often, people will stop me on the street and ask, “Hey, Hispanic Fanatic, what is the role of government regulation when it comes to preventing racial discrimination versus abridging an individual’s First Amendment rights?”

I can’t tell you how many times this has come up.

Fortunately, we now have a precedent to clarify matters. To recap, a restaurant in Philadelphia recently posted a sign inside that read, “This is America: When ordering, please speak English.”

Well, at least they said please.

The city’s Commission on Human Relations ruled that the restaurant’s sign did not intimidate or discriminate against people who didn’t speak English.

What should we make of this? The sign is clearly a response to the restaurant owner’s irritation with the recent influx of Hispanic and Asian immigrants into his neighborhood. There is no doubt that he is being, to put it mildly, a jerk for demanding that people conform to his comfort level.

At first glance, this seems as straightforward as the infamous Wetback Wednesday incident that I blogged about recently.

There are some differences, however. The restaurant’s sign is not an overt insult like the one at the bar in Pittsburgh (by the way, what is it with Pennsylvania?). Also, this case has the government getting involved, while the Pittsburgh dust-up had no such factor.

So as much as I think the restaurant is vile for attempting to bully its customers, I have to admit that they have a right to do so. As long as they are not refusing service or actively threatening people (and there is no evidence that the management ever did), they can proclaim whatever preference or agenda on their own property that they like. Having bureaucrats tell people what they can and can’t post in their own business is beyond chilling, and I would even support those jerks in Pittsburgh if the government intervened.

So the First Amendment wins again. Although it would be nice if people, especially business owners in a position of power, realized that having the legal right to state something doesn’t give you a pass on decency or common sense. In essence, it doesn’t mean that it’s ok to be a dick. And that’s true in any language.

Thanks to Latino Pundit for bringing this up.

Apparently, there is a duende, a South American spirit, wandering around Argentina, scarring the shit out of jumpy teenagers. That’s not the real story, however, because the thing is so obviously a hoax that it doesn’t merit further analysis.

No, what I find interesting is that Wonkette, who more or less broke the story in America, introduced the piece on her website by referring to illegal “Mexican Argentineans” – a description so contradictory, insulting, and bizarre that it leaves the reader baffled. One would think that a person devoted to discussing political subtleties would understand the difference between undocumented immigrants in the United States and South American citizens in their home country.

To be fair, Wonkette might have meant it as a joke – something so obviously wrongheaded that it supplies its own sarcasm. But if that was the intention, it sailed right over the heads of the people who posted comments to her, none of whom seemed to notice the inaccuracy…save for one very pissed-off Argentinean.

With her intentions unclear and the significance vague, I’ll withhold further condemnation. So fuck it. Here’s a video of a duende:

Yes, after holding out far too long, I’ve gone ahead and changed the template for this blog. You’ll find that this new style is snappier, snazzier, maybe even sexier. And there are other alliterative phrases I could throw around to indicate that this one looks better.

More important, it’s user-friendly. For example, it’s now easier to post a reply to me. Just click on the “Comment” link, directly under the title of the post.

As always, however, I am not just a pretty face (although this new template just winks at you, doesn’t it?). I am concerned with matters of substance. And that brings us to today’s issue.

You’re well aware that there is a fierce argument, an unbridled debate, separating two opposing factions that express such bitter disdain for one another that the conflict between Yankees and Red Sox fans looks like a little girl’s tea party in comparison.

Of course, I’m talking about the grammatical fight over whether it is “an Hispanic” or “a Hispanic.”

“It’s clearly ‘an Hispanic,’ you fool,” one language-obsessed maniac will insist. “In the same way that we say, ‘an historic.’ It’s obvious to all but a blind Visigoth.”

“Your stupidity is surpassed only by your stubbornness,” the other grammarphile will shout. “We don’t say, ‘an hill.’ That’s clear to everyone but a mentally retarded chimpanzee.”

“Hey,” comes the rejoinder. “Your mother.”

I certainly don’t want to get between these two, who are ready to settle this with a knife fight at dawn. But I’m forced to take a stand. I am the Fanatic, after all. So after careful consideration of the linguistic, political, and aesthetic considerations, I’ve come to a conclusion.

Let’s all just say, “a Latino.”

When I graduated from college, I was one of about 500 Hispanic students on campus. At that time, the undergrad population of my alma mater was almost 30,000 people (yes, it was a big school). So Latino representation was less than two percent. For the other 98 percent of the students, spotting a Latino undergrad was about as likely as picking up a Phi Beta Kappa supermodel at a Metallica concert.

In my four years of college, I met only two other Hispanic students, and I didn’t become close friends with either of them.

One was a Chicano guy who worked with me at a campus laboratory, where our jobs consisted of washing test tubes and wiping down centrifugal-force machines. He didn’t talk much, and seemed, in fact, to be actually resistant to speech, like it was against his principles. This was unfortunate because it was a boring job and there wasn’t much to do besides scrub, talk, and ponder how many carcinogens you were inhaling.

The other Hispanic was a Puerto Rican woman who, while clearly intelligent, was unparalleled in her capacity to be humorless. She was not just angry most of the time; she exhibited eye-popping rage. Woe to the professor who disagreed with her verbose insights. Every comment in class was provocation for her to start a metaphysical debate that featured vocab-dropping like “fecundity” and “juxtaposition” and “vis-à-vis,” all delivered in a mesmerizingly earnest and fierce tone. The last time I saw her, she attempted to draw me into an argument over the true definition of art, as if the two of us would come to a definitive conclusion if we were just intensely serious enough about it.

I can’t tell you if these two individuals – a sullen loner and a confrontational intellectual – were representative of the Latino population at my school. Like I said, while I was there, I never met anyone else who was brown besides them and my own reflection in the mirror.

So does this discrepancy still exist? Hispanics are supposed to be taking over the country (I hear it all the time on talk radio, so it must be true). And will ivory towers be the last line of defense for ivory people?

Well, I am pleased to report that the latest stats from my alma mater (covering through 2006) show that Hispanic undergrads now number almost 900. That means there are almost twice as many Latinos on my old campus as back in the day (strangely enough, every last one of them is physically attracted to that cute blonde girl in Geology 210, but that will be the subject of another post). We even outnumber blacks on campus, which is really freaky.

The overall student population has stayed the same, so Hispanics have cracked the three-percent barrier… Well, I guess that arbitrary milestone is cause for celebration.

The larger question, of course, is why does a group that makes up 15 percent of America constitute only three percent of the students at a top university? Again, that will be addressed in a future post. For now, let’s just acknowledge that incremental progress is still forward motion.

All this statistical good news has made me reconsider the invitation I recently got from my university’s Hispanic Alumni Association. They want me to attend a campus reunion. It sounds like an exciting time.

I hear both members of the association will be there.

I’m actually posting this a day late, but I would be remiss if I didn’t wish everyone a happy St. Patrick’s Day. I admit that I do this, however, with a certain cultural smugness. This is because, by my very self-definition, I am fanatical about all things Hispanic. But I am also part Irish.

In fact, I am among the few U.S. residents who can apply for Irish citizenship without having to go through naturalization or residency requirements. The reason I can do this, while many people named McInerney and O’Brien cannot, is because my paternal grandfather was born in Ireland (he got off the boat at Ellis Island with a thick brogue and everything). Ergo, as a direct descendent, I can become a citizen of the Emerald Isle.

Interestingly, the laws for the Latino side of me are stricter. Grandparents don’t cut it. In general, you need at least one parent who was born in a Latin American country. But victory is mine, because I have that link. My mother is a native of El Salvador, so I can apply for citizenship there too.

As such, I could theoretically receive triple citizenship, becoming what I presume would be the world’s first American-Salvadoran-Irish citizen. I’m sure there are laws against such concepts, including quite possibly laws of physics and evolution. Furthermore, I have no plans to look more thoroughly into this, because I am quite happy to be a U.S. citizen (who wouldn’t be?).

But it’s still kind of cool to conjure.

Many thanks to RUG for posting to “If This Is Wednesday…” I must admit that I had not heard about this “game” that she identifies. I appreciate the info and her observations.

Otherwise, I’ve recently discovered another limitation of this template (I really should start hacking my own code). My link to the “About the Author” section doesn’t display properly. Therefore, until I change templates or create my own, let me just paste this information in so you can see it:

So who is the Hispanic Fanatic?

Simply put, he has an IQ of 380, the strength of twelve men, and can change the seasons just by waving his hand. Despite these powers, however, he remains a struggling writer.

For the demographically interested, the Hispanic Fanatic is a Latino male in his late thirties. He lives in a Midwestern city, where he works as a business writer. He was raised in another Midwestern city, but he has also lived in New York and California. He and his wife own a house where two cats and a dog call the shots.

He blogs because he must.

Yesterday, I posted about a bar that advertised its drink specials by slurring Hispanics.

Since we’re on the subject of sensitivity, let me ask about this year’s Oscar winner for best picture, No Country for Old Men. It was released on DVD this week.

If you haven’t seen it, you can believe the hype. It really is that good and deserves its acclaim. But I’m not going to go on about the film’s white-knuckle tension or thematic subtext or challenging conclusion. I’m not even going to dwell on Javier Bardem’s Oscar-winning performance as an unstoppable hitman (except to say that the guy is doom personified).

No, what I want to address is the fact that, in a movie with plenty of Latinos (a rarity in film), every one of them is a drug runner or cold-blooded killer or sleazy operator of some type.

So how do the Coen Brothers get away with this?

Have we given them a pass because the film is of such high quality? Or is it because most of the characters, regardless of race, are so vile that it all evens out? Perhaps it is because the movie is true to its tone and setting (drug deals on the Texas border). Or is the mere presence of artistic ambition enough to quiet rumblings of stereotyping? It’s the Coens, after all, not some schlocky exploitation artists.

Maybe it’s all of these things or none of them.

What are your theories? How does the film dodge the bullet of racism? Or does it not succeed at this, and I just haven’t noticed?

First, Rob has added to the discussion under “Defining My Terms.”

Second, Keg has contributed an interesting, and rather dark, insight to my previous post (“My Master Plan Revealed”).

Third, I have to apologize for this post in advance – not because it is offensive, but because I am giving free publicity to idiocy. I had planned to ignore it, but I’m going to risk granting attention to these individuals because it illustrates an important principle.

Here’s the back story: Recently, a bar in Pittsburgh promoted its midweek special by advertising the event as “Wetback Wednesday.” When several groups and individuals pointed out the undeniable racism of the term, the bar owner insisted that it was all just a joke.

Yes, it’s quite the chiste. I’m sure we all laughed far into the night.

I look forward to Jigaboo Thursdays and Gook Sundays. And I’m sure we can get much more derogatory, all in the interest of a chuckle.

Berkeley Breathed (creator of Bloom County and other comic strips) coined the term “offensensitivity” to connate getting riled up about nothing. That’s certainly a problem in this country, and too often we see people getting incensed about harmless jokes or cutting observations.

But it’s clear that if there are ever grounds for getting somewhat peeved, it’s when a term that exists solely to denigrate a group of people is blithely and proudly displayed in public (to advertise fun and good times, no less). At the very least, it has to actually be funny and/or insightful to be defensible. And really, lazy alliteration with no context beyond “drink here” doesn’t cut it.

So let’s assume, and the proposal seems reasonable to me, that people aren’t being hypersensitive in this case when they object.

As such, there are only three possible ways an individual can explain putting up such a sign:

1. I am a racist and am being overt about it
2. I am a racist but know it is socially unacceptable, so I’ll hide behind the lamest joke of all time
3. I am not a racist and made an honest mistake while trying to be funny

I do not know what was going through the bar owner’s mind when he put the sign up. In the news story, he is identified only as Mark (I’m going to presume that his last name is not Gonzalez). But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he is number three (not a racist).

As such, here is a quick education. “Wetback” is a stunningly insulting word to Hispanics, comparable to the dreaded N-word for blacks (and I notice that this phrase does not have its own nightly drink special at the bar). The chief competition for word most likely to get you thrashed by a Latino is “spic,” which I also highly recommend that you avoid.

Using these words is not edgy or blackly comic or un-PC or a victory for the First Amendment. It’s just idiotic.

When people object to such slurs, they are not (as a mocking sign at the bar later insisted) being “easily offended.”

Rather, they are pointing out that if you’re the majority culture, you already run everything. You don’t get to tell minorities how they should refer to themselves. It’s even dicer to tell them what they should find funny. To scream that this is unfair is, well, pretty damn ironic actually. But it’s still not witty.

Early in our relationship, my last girlfriend received some advice from her mother. The cautionary statement came when my girlfriend informed her mother, a white Midwestern housewife, that I was Hispanic.

“My mom said, ‘Just remember. Those Latins love you, and then they leave you,’” my girlfriend told me.

That girlfriend is now my wife. As of last week, we have been together for 17 years. It’s clear that if I plan to love her and leave her, I must really be fucking with her head.