... and why should I care?
Little Maria, Tijuana, 1993?
From time to time I'm asked to weigh in on current events as a Latina historian.
I never paid much attention to Hispanic Heritage Month because the concept was foreign to me as an immigrant and I never felt a need to remember my heritage. It was pretty fresh.
Hispanic Heritage Month is a US tradition that began as Hispanic Heritage Week in 1968 under President Nixon and was expanded by President Reagan in 1988 to celebrate the "histories, cultures, and contributions of American citizens whose ancestors came from Spain, Mexico, the Caribbean, Central and South America."
Under this umbrella, Hispanics from various national origins are considered a united cultural, social, and political group. One of its main characteristics is a shared experience and history in the US. (The notion of a united group is something I've explored in a previous post.)
A lot of people will argue that Reagan and Nixon made us Hispanics, but historical documents point otherwise. This was a concerted effort by leaders of national organizations to bring greater attention and resources to a collective group made of distinct national origin groups (Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Dominicans, etc.) by joining together to increase their numbers and clout. It made sense at the time and was a stark departure from earlier attempts to pass as White. Although coming together as Hispanics did not necessarily embrace a racial category, it did emphasize a shared experience of discrimination and exclusion, and the need for federal recognition as a protected group.
A big part of this included being counted more accurately, which is why to this day you see a big push for Latinos to be counted in each census, as it leads to a greater allocation of resources. However, one question that comes up every census year is, what race are Latinos? Latinos aren't a race. If you've ever looked at the census, one question asks if you are Latino, and a separate question asks for your race, because Latinos can be of many races.
If you want to know more, here are my recommendations for some history on the construction of the Hispanic category.
G. Cristina Mora, Making Hispanics: How Activists, Bureaucrats and Media Constructed a New American
Mora looks at the 1960s and 1970s when Latino organizations and leaders demanded recognition as a united group to access protections and resources from the federal government.
Arlene Dávila, Latinos Inc.: The Marketing and Making of a People
Dávila explores how corporations have responded to the Latino market and shows that the increased visibility of Latinos in mainstream culture has not necessarily been accompanied by economic parity or political enfranchisement.
Félix Padilla, Latino Ethnic Consciousness: The Case of Mexican Americans and Puerto Ricans in Chicago
Padilla examines two case studies of employment discrimination against Latinos in 1970s Chicago and shows how a collective ethnic identity became mobilized through this shared experience where Mexican Americans and Puerto Ricans came together to demand equal opportunity in employment.
Although I may not have always understood Hispanic Heritage Month or felt the need to celebrate my heritage, one of the ways that Latino identity has showed up for me is at school and work.
Historically, being Latino often meant exclusion from educational opportunities, jobs, economic mobility, and the opportunity to build wealth. Another way it showed up was in terms of assimilation and the psychological toll it took for those who wanted to advance in this country, including everything they had to give up.
See the testimony from Joseph Monserrat, Director of the Migration Division, Department of Labor, Commonwealth of Puerto Rico in the 1967 Bilingual Education Hearings, who was speaking in favor of bilingual education to address the psychological toll of the melting pot.
"I do not think we have ever measured the psychic cost of the melting pot. I sometimes point out that I am an integrated Puerto Rican. I was born in Puerto Rico. I am an integrated Puerto Rican because when I speak English, I do not speak English with a Spanish accent. And when I get my hair cut, I get it cut short. And on a Government salary, when I can afford it, I go out and buy a Brooks Bros. suit, so I act like and look like those around me.
But what this costs me psychically, no one has yet been able to interpret.
I am concerned, with the fact that the No. 1 illness in the United States is mental and emotional illness, more than all the other illnesses together, and I sometimes wonder how many of these folks suffering from these illnesses are second-generation Americans, who had to become copies of something they were not, in order to attempt to be a part of a community."
This quote has always shook me. To realize that people have not only been assimilating for generations but also acknowledging the physical toll it takes on one's health, honestly breaks my heart.
Over the last couple of months I've gotten into some podcasts that get at this very issue. They talk about the experience of second generation Latino professionals and how they navigate both the pressure to conform as well as the responsibility to succeed and honor their family's sacrifices.
Odalys Jasmine is a first generation Hondureña from San Diego who works at LinkedIn and has made a career in tech through public relations. Odalys features guests that talk about how their culture shows up at work and how they've had to navigate tradeoffs as Latino professionals balancing family, obligation, and opportunity.
Quién Tú Eres? Pabel Martínez is an Afro-Latino Dominican from New York who explores authenticity and is helping redefine professionalism. With a background in sales working for companies like Facebook and Tik Tok, Pabel is a skilled interviewer who gets his guests to open up about moments that have been formative in their careers as well as addressing the stress they've endured in corporate America and the decision to form their own companies.
Janesse Torres has a background in molecular biology and worked as an engineer for Johnson and Johnson and L'Óreal, who started a side hustle where she blogged recipes. Her blog became so successful that she was able to leave her job and now teaches other Latinas how to achieve financial independence and monetize their passion. On her podcast, Janesse explores not only the financial techniques to grow wealth but also the mental work needed to believe that you are worthy and deserve wealth, happiness, and joy. She talks about financial independence as an issue of equity for a community that has historically been encouraged to "know their place," put their head down, and toe the line.
Not podcasts, but books...
I know I said I never felt the need to affirm my heritage. But I would be lying if I said I didn't think about it when it comes to my daughter. The fact that I live in San Diego, so close to Mexico, was a conscious decision I made to provide her with the access (and privilege) to know what it feels like to be in the majority, the power to feel normative. This is a privilege I grew up with and do not take for granted. Not having to deal with racism until college was powerful.
In any case, there are two books I recently found that get to the issue of the second generation.
My kid, Tijuana, 2020
Erika L. Sánchez, I Am Not your Perfect Mexican Daughter
I can see why this book has been such a hit among educators and young adults. Think Catcher in the Rye, but instead of a White kid in NY, it's a Mexican girl in Chicago. This book deserves to be elevated to the literature cannon for young adult coming of age novels. I resist the notion that Latinos only get to tell one story about themselves. What if instead of asking Latino authors to speak for all of us, we gave writers the space to tell us one story, and let Latino characters be individuals? Imagine the possibilities.
As someone who lived in Chicago for ten years and met my husband there, this book touched me. And even as someone who didn't share a lot of experiences with the protagonist, I still appreciated her story: the universal experience of becoming a teenager and dealing with one's emotions and hope for the future, but on top of that, Julia's experience of living in a segregated city and economically depressed immigrant neighborhood, where her parents try to protect her by encouraging her to play it safe and not dream too big.
Citlali Reyes, Sana Sana Colita de Rana
My 2-year old learned this saying from my mom when she gets a boo-boo, so I had to get it for her. It's a bilingual picture book with beautiful images and representation that tackles gender stereotypes, acknowledges that words can hurt us, and gives children a lesson in apologizing and changing one's mind.