Hispanic Fanatic

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.

First off, thanks to Rafi for his insightful comment (see under “Defining My Terms“).

Second, in a comment to the Fanatic, L John asks if Southern California is going the way of Kosovo. He ponders whether Mexican-Americans and recent immigrants will demand their own country.

I’m really not qualified to analyze the situation in Kosovo, although I have at least one Serb-American friend whom I’m sure would love to post a comment (so go ahead already, dude).

But some obvious differences spring to mind:

The problem in Kosovo goes back hundreds of years and has been simmering, by some estimates, longer than North America has been on the map. Supposedly, the role of centralized religion (which we do not have in this country) plays a part. Also, about 90 percent of Kosovo is native Albanian. The odds of SoCal becoming 90 percent anything are astronomical.

Furthermore, in Kosovo, the ethnic divisions are fixed and stark. Here, in contrast, we prize assimilation. The idea is that people should adapt to American culture and then they will be regarded as rightful inhabitants. Witness that even most jingoistic Americans want people to “learn English, damn it!” But in Kosovo, no matter how long an Albanian lives among Serbs, he or she will never be regarded as Serbian (and vice versa).

Finally, the Balkans are often portrayed as a region where people look backward, which helps them preserve important cultural traditions over time. It also helps them hold grudges across generations. In America, we look forward, which is seen in our leadership in art, technology, and commerce. The drawback, of course, is that we barely know who our grandparents are. Despite the numerous flaws with our approach, it is unlikely to fuel centuries-long conflict. For all these reasons and more, SoCal will never be Kosovo.

As for the specifics of Southern California becoming a new nation, I can safely say that we will never let anyone take our movie stars and/or Disneyland.

Furthermore, the U.S. government has never given up native soil (protectorates and territories are another matter), and will not start with one of the most economically vital, densely populated areas of the country. Also, why would Mexico want a struggling nation on its borders? It has enough issues keeping its economy afloat without a fledgling land trying to find its way next door. So no organized government would stand for an independent SoCal.

By the way, I lived in Southern California for five years, and I never met anyone who wanted a separate country. I never even met anyone who thought it was a serious concept. Now, of course, maybe I just wasn’t talking to the right people. But by any standard, the people who advocate such a position are numerically and politically irrelevant. I believe the official term is “fucking nutjob.”

Regarding the flag story (see L John’s original comment under “Hello“), I know of only one incident, not the rash of events that has often been claimed. Basically, a dumb teenager staged a misguided protest (for which he was punished), which is not exactly the basis for a revolution.

In essence, most immigrants come here because they like and admire America, not because they want to form their own nation. Most first-generation Latinos, such as myself, have no desire to build a mythical Hispano empire. All this struggle over assimilation and cultural adaptation and separation is the messy byproduct of a country, rare in the world, where everybody wants to be a citizen.

In a comment to my initial post, Lori asks, “What do you make of the candidates adopting Spanish for a day as they swing through a Latino community? An attempt to be understood by everyone there, or shameless political maneuvering (or both)?” 

It’s political pandering.

According to the Pew Research Center: “Most Hispanics who are naturalized citizens (52%) speak English very well or pretty well.” Few citizens are wholly unable to communicate in English. And those are just the naturalized ones. The vast majority of native-born Hispanic citizens, like me, speak English at least as well as professional athletes (e.g., “We played good”).

So these faltering and stumbling attempts at Spanish aren’t about communicating ideas, because most people who have the right to vote can understand the English version of “I promise not to raise your taxes.” Instead, these barbarously accented speeches are a politician’s way of saying, “I am just like you, except that I’m rich and in all likelihood have no common ancestors with you beyond Australopithecus. But vote for me anyway.”

Due to numerous fiery complaints (ok, two casual criticisms), I’m going to clarify an issue with the blog. The “Comments” section is too miniscule to be accessed easily. However, I do not have a burning desire to spend hours creating row upon row of HTML, so I’m sticking with this template. Oh, those wacky Hispanics and their technological limitations.

So if you ever want to reply to one of my observations, simply scroll to the bottom of the post and click on the tiny word “Comments.” This will also allow you to see what other people have written.

Speaking of which, I thank Don for offering the first official comment and for backing up my noble intentions. Props to you, sir!

RUG had kind words for the Fanatic, which I appreciate. And she had fresh observations of her own. Most cool.

L John presented two comments, and Lori asked a direct question. So I’ll go ahead and answer those in the next post.