Author’s note:
I want to take my readers on a journey of not only what my experience is to be a UVA student but to consider who I am and my identity of how my perspective is. I would like them to consider that my background and where I come home are important to the context of this narrative. No one experiences an event like August 11 and 12 all the same, we each have our own interpretation about what it meant to be a student here at UVA. My audience is for those that have not considered other perspectives and those who maybe can identify with mines or mine's can inspired to tell their perspectives. My process for this essay was difficult at first because I had to remember details that I had not thought of a lot so when I started writing, emotions came flooding back in. So with all this information that came to mind, I struggled to figure out how I wanted to arrange the information. Once I got the essay going it became easy to where I wanted things to go. Originally it was a very straight forward run through of the essay I have now, but as more details I tried to remember it really began to blossom. I think this is one of my favorite essays that I have ever written. I feel like I can keep writing and never stop. Almost was like I could finally take a deep breath and let everything out. I had never realized I was harboring this feelings until now. But I want to know what you think? Do I really seem genuine when expressing my thoughts? Does the essay achieve the purpose of providing a different perspective? What do you think I need to improve on?
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Blindfolded Truths
Jenny Mauricio Henriquez
You know when people say, "It all happened so fast” after an incident occurs? Well, I wish I could say the same thing. I remembered waking up in my aunt's apartment in Washington, DC to make a breakfast that I found almost too perfect that it was Instagram worthy. The day started out like always, I woke up at a late hour since I really didn’t have anything to do for the day and I checked my social media accounts and everything seemed to be going great. This peace was finally disrupted when I turned on the tv and there it was. On every channel it had something to do with the craziness going on there in Charlottesville. I felt like slowly the world was collapsing around me. Before I had a chance to comprehend what had happened, it felt like everything went quiet and looked gray for a moment then just as fast as the moment had come, it vanished. As I flipped through the channels the phone calls started to pour in. Friends and family all wanted to know the scoop of what was happening. For a while I just sort of stared at my phone hoping that I could put off whatever conversation was about to happen. I just didn’t know what to say even if I had answered the calls. But at last, the very person I knew who would never stop calling I had to pick up for, my mom.
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Now before we get into that call let me give you some background information. I am a short Latina who calls home the islands of Hawaii. I have very strict parents who basically raised me in a bubble on a rock. So what that means is that I’ve never known much of what's going on in the outside world except through the media. It also didn’t help that I live in a small tiny town near the coast. When I got accepted to UVA, I saw this as my one way ticket to go explore the world for all it was. No, it wasn’t like I hated Hawaii and my family there, but I saw this as an opportunity for me to grow as an individual and finally pop my protective bubble. I wanted to see if I could really do something with my life and have a chance to see the world. I love Hawaii but there has always been a part of me that wanted more to life than being stuck on an island. These are the conditions I was brought up in, which came with some challenges. One, since I lived on a rock, there was never anyone I felt I could identify with.There was a tiny Latin community on the island I lived in and no one got along because many were of different faiths. So something I’ve come to realize is, I struggle with who I am and my identity. Two, I have come to realize that I know nothing about what life is like here on the mainland and I am consistently get mind blown from what I learn here. The most mind blowing thing that I still can’t understand is Daylight Savings, how they change the hours on clock! Because you’re telling me that someone thought they had the power to mess with time itself. Wow just wow. Anyway, I’m sure you can draw more challenges as to my situation.
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So let’s get back to that phone call. I picked up the phone and I knew before I could even say anything my mother yells into the phone “HAS VISTO LAS NOTICIAS”.
“Yes mom I saw the news of what is happening in Charlottesville”
“MIRA LO QUE SUCEDE CUANDO DECIDAS IR AL COLEGIO LEJOS DE CASA!”
Yes, mom because I decided to get a free college education and that's why Neo-nazis and white supremacists decided to walk on my campus with torches and start riots, was what I thought in my head but knew better then to say out loud. So I simply said:
“Yes mom you’re right”
She continued to ask me questions of what I knew and what would happen as students returned to campus. All I could really say was some reassuring words to make her feel better and to stop her worries. But honestly I had no idea what was going to happen within the next few months. I remember having all these mixed feelings of what had just happened.
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I wanted to know if everyone I knew in the area was okay, so I texted and made sure. Then I wanted to do my own research on the events to make sure that the television channels weren’t just trying to scare people. So as I did that, more and more I started to feel like something was wrong. It was this awful feeling in my stomach and I couldn’t shake it off. It made me starting thinking of how I had just been there a week ago when everything seemed fine.
*Flashback to the beginning of July*
It was the Move In Day for the Summer Transition Program, I grabbed my bags and walked three flights of stairs to where my dorm room for the summer was. I didn’t know what to expect out of this program or what I would be doing. My aunt helped me get settled in and with a hug and goodbye, she was on her way back to DC. There I sat alone wondering when my roommate would come. So I sat and waited. Several hours had passed by and it became dark. When the door finally opens and an African-American girl walks in and says hi. I didn’t know that at that moment I would be meeting some of my most cherished friends here in Charlottesville. Her name was Ashley and her relatives were Audrey and Edem. And that was the first day of my college experience. The rest of the time here was spent making friends, going to classes and learning more about my new home. I quickly adjusted and tried my best to fit in as much as possible, but being from an island didn’t really help in the process. I had to learn to get use to people and the environment. Back home it was mostly Hawaiians and Filipinos, so seeing a lot of white, black, and hispanic people threw me off little bit. I had to acknowledge that I couldn’t say everything out loud and be sensitive about what I said. In Hawaii the norm was to say whatever, mostly if it was said in a different language or people just didn’t care enough to be offended. Here, I had to learn to watch my tongue and be civil in a sense. No more swearing after every other word, I had to say thank you and please everywhere I went. I have a very bubbly flirty personality and I quickly learned that smiling too much could be taken the wrong way. So I studied and learned not just in my classes but about this new world I’d come into. Just when I thought everything seemed to be going fine, my world changed into a new perspective. We received emails of that our safety was going to be in jeopardy. Well, that's not literally what it said but that’s what it felt like. It begged us to not leave the dorms and to stay inside. It warned us to be safe and not to let anyone unknown in the dorm. So you’re probably worried what got everyone on edge that day? The rally of the KKK. Who in three letters could shake a person down to their core. I had read about the KKK in history books and in class but I had never known that they still existed to this day. But once you learn about something that scares you half to death is still around you can’t stop thinking about it. All I wanted to do was learn how it was possible that a murderous hating group was still around. I was so angry! Outraged by this, I asked my friends questions. I’m lucky that I had the opportunity to meet three of my close good friends that were very patient and understanding when I asked. I’m sure anyone else would’ve thought I was stupid and insensitive for asking. So I started with a simple question.
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“So the KKK is real?” I said out loud as we all hung out in my dorm room. At first it was quiet and it felt like I had slapped each of my friends faces. They stared at me in disbelief. When I quickly jump in to save myself.
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“Let me rephrase that, is the KKK still around?” And again they just stared in disbelief.
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“I’m sorry I don’t know or if I was being sensitive. I come from Hawaii where it's not a common subject and I didn’t learn much about it in school. I learned a lot more about Hawaiian history.” And just as I said it they softened and explained to me what I need to understand.
“Yes, unfortunately we live in a world where groups like that still exist” Said Ashley as she was the first to speak.
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After that they taught me in that small dorm room what it was like to be African-American in this modern day. Halle, Khyasia, and Ashley all beautiful African-American women taught me a different perspective to the world, a very ugly perspective.
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That night they locked us in our dorm so we could be safe. Rumor had it that they could visit campus and kidnap black students to instill fear. So as I had learned more, I wasn’t no longer angry but instead I was scared.
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That’s what I realize was the awful feeling in my stomach, fear. Just like I had felt in that locked dorm room that July night I felt in that moment of knowing about the August 11 and 12. I was scared of what was happening, what was going to happen, but most of all I felt feel scared that I had chosen wrong. That maybe my mother was right. That it had been a mistake to leave my safe bubble and travel all the way to Charlottesville and attend UVA. I broke down in tears scared for my life. No one around for comfort. All I wanted was for my mom to hug me and tell me:
“Todo estará bien, Mija. Dios tiene un plan para todo.”
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So I sat there and cried for a bit more. It didn’t take me long to snap out of it and tell myself that my mother hadn’t raised a crier, she has raised a strong independent women who didn’t run but fought her battles. This was my battle against the injustice that had happen to my campus and my values. I would not stand for it. Just as inspired to become a superhero, I fell back to fear.
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For a while it was like that, inspired to become a warrior and fight justice and then back again to self cowering crier. I won’t lie to you for a while that's what it was like. A whole mood swing of emotions, it was ridiculous. After a while, I adjusted and all I can say is that life isn’t perfect and either is the world around me. I learned more, and was disappointed time and time again of the injustices of this world. But at least I knew what was happening. My safe bubble was gone, I was no longer safe which made me feel good. Like a more authentic genuine person.
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It’s been 8 months since I learned the truth. I’m 75% done with my first-year in college. I’ve had some many new experiences, both good and bad but mostly good. I’ve had to deal with a lot of issues from what happened August 11 and 12. I appreciate the staff at UVA for extending a hand to students to talk about it and be there for support. I have moved pass what has happened but I never forget it. Life isn’t worth it living in constant fear. I’ve used those feeling of fear and anger instead to pave a way to success. To show the world that I can’t be put down despite it’s injustices. I might stumble and fall many times but give up is not something my mother taught me to do.
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Author’s note:
I want readers to understand the struggles and some social constraints that Spanish bilingual communities have to face. I use Anzaldua's piece as evidence to show the differences of what it was like then and what it is like for a Spanish bilingual to live in today’s modern world. My audience is young Latinx youth that is growing up in this period of time they are neither abusively oppressed but they are not accepted with open arms either. It’s a middle stage in which we aren’t just beginning to fight for ourselves and recognition but for a real future without a system of oppression. To an audience that is the “movement” for change. I wrote this not only as an assignment but it’s become an opportunity to tell others to join the fight for equality and have our young voices heard. As I wrote this essay I had several ideas that I wanted to talk about but with the help of Austin Washburn, a tutor at the writing center, things really came into focus of what I wanted to write. I would say a whole bunch of ideas and he knew the right way to phrase them into what I was trying to say. My fellow classmate Melissa also helped me compare experiences of what life is like being bilingual. So to my audience I want to ask: Do I really show some of the struggles of being bilingual? Do you agree that Anzaldua’s piece needs an update to show the issues of today? Can you connect to some of the experiences I talk about?
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Ámame Por Mi Idioma
When someone asks you where is home to you, how do you respond? Maybe with a location, where you last lived, or maybe where your family lives now. The point is that many think of a geographical place. I bet that's also what Gloria Anzaldua believes as she wrote her narrative, “How to Tame a Wild Tongue”. Her narrative is written in the context of always going back home to your native tongue and with those that celebrate it with you. In her case, she goes back to Texas. What she might not have considered is what it is like for those without a permanent home to go to or what it is like in this time of age. In this discussion, I will be coming to terms with Anzaldua’s piece but also forwarding an updated version of what it's like to be Latinx in 2018. I will highlight parts in her narrative that are still relevant in today's time but also the ways that have changed.
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Something we unfortunately haven’t fixed is how native speakers are treated in educational settings. An example presented by Anzaldua is, “I remember being caught speaking Spanish at recess--that was good for three licks on the knuckles with a sharp ruler. I remember being sent to the comer of the classroom for "talking back" to the Anglo teacher when all I was trying to do was tell her how to pronounce my name. "If you want to be American, speak 'American.' If you don't like it, go back to Mexico where you belong”. Anzaldua narrates a moment in her education when she was scolded for speaking her language only to tell the teacher how to pronounce her name. Anzaldua is writing about how she experienced this injustice and in her time that was a normal part of life. This quotation highlights a key issue of what it is like for her to grow up. This is a clear example of what feeling silenced is. The sad truth is that I too went through a similar experience as a child, minus the getting hit with a ruler part. But I might’ve if there weren’t laws protecting children against abuse. What we should consider is that abuse doesn’t only project itself physically but emotionally too.
Anzaldua is battling this force in which we must conform to a social norm. This is the feeling of being silenced and then stripped of your identity only to be forced to take up an American one. American culture in many ways forces immigrants to make sacrifices in order to fit into the idea of what it means to be American. The fact that Anzaldua’s piece was written in 1987, thirty-one years ago, and it is still pertinent shows the little progress we have made to stand up for ourselves. During her period of time it was almost forbidden to speak for themselves, and we should just take the hit. We have conformed to this system of oppression in which it is not a surprise to hear of situations like this. But hope is not lost, as she farther writes in her narrative that we should celebrate our Spanish heritage through language.
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There are so many different dialects of Spanish that it’s almost impossible to keep count. We should be proud that many have also been recognized, but as a young Latina in 2018, the celebration of all these languages also becomes a burden. Anzaldua writes, “Now that we had a name, some of the fragmented piece began to fall together--who we were, what we were, how we evolved”. She writes how her dialect of Chicano Spanish is finally recognized, and she celebrates the importance of the dialects of Spanish. While I love the idea that everyone should celebrate our language and recognize the different dialects Anzaldua fails to see the burden of it. The burden to be fluent in both languages and have to always accommodate English speakers. Translation is one of the hardest struggles most bilingual children will have to face. They are put in the middle of two monologue individuals with the pressure of always having to know the right thing to say. Lord forbid if you didn’t know each language fluently. You were seen as not Hispanic enough for not knowing Spanish or seen as incompetent for not learning enough English in this country. The embarrassment you felt as you had to translate for your parents because they couldn’t speak for themselves. Speaking another language was to tell the world you were different, that you weren’t American. Anzaldua states, “...when I would rather speak Spanish, and as long as I have to accommodate the English speakers rather than having them accommodate me, my tongue will be illegitimate”. She is absolutely right that even as languages are recognized it doesn’t matter; we still are the ones that must always accommodate. She comes to the conclusion that the dialects are being celebrated, but the darker side is that you can recognize as many languages as you want but the truth is that the monolingual American will never struggle to understand us. Again we are not enough to be equal to the ideal of picture of being American because of our language. Anzaldua is in period of time where recognition is just the first step in a much larger fight--a fight that we are no less American because of our language.
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Then what is there to do when our language is what brings us all to together in unity against the system of oppression? It is what makes us who we are but it is the same thing that recognizes us as foreigners. Spanish is what we call home in a place that doesn’t feel like home. Anzaldua states, “My ‘“home’”tongues are the languages I speak with my sister and brothers, and with my friends”. She understands that Spanish isn’t just a language but a bigger concept--a concept that it makes us feel safe and comfortable. It is our memories of the past, present, and future. As Spanish has become our identity we celebrate it with those we hold closest to our hearts. Anzaldua finds unity in her language with friends and family as they celebrate their dialects. I find it a similar experience as a college student, where I once didn’t have a lot of people to speak Spanish with back home, but now I am surrounded with new friends that all speak the language and that is how we communicate with one another. Anzaldua finds unity back home where all those around her speak Spanish while I find unity with new friends I’ve made so far away from home. I come to terms with celebration of our language but see the flaw that not all of us have a place to go back to where everyone is the same as me. I have to go and look for a place I feel like I belong among people I try to connect with. Anzaldua finds it easy for everyone to celebrate when she should consider that there are individuals who have no one to celebrate with. As I mentioned in the first paragraph, she is geographically surrounded by types of her people, but today we have become more mobile in all the places we go. This showing the comparison of what life was like then and what it is now. Back then many chose to create communities with similar dialects and now we are all over the world.
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In conclusion, Anzaldua is a piece that reminds us of our humble begins of wanting recognition in our language. Many can view her work as a start of movement for equality for bilingual communities. This is important for many to acknowledge from where we started. But this is not where it ends. Her work is a textbook that needs an update to show the change that has occurred both good and bad. We have been stuck in a celebration moment of wanting recognition, when we finally achieved it we didn’t take steps for more equality. We must realize that recognition is not enough but equality among all is needed to fight the system of oppression before us.
Works Cited
Anzaldúa, Gloria. Borderlands: La Frontera, The New Mestiza. Spinsters/Aunt Lute, 1987
[1]This conversation is all in Spanish, so it has been modified so the audience can understand as they are reading.
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