Stereotypes in A Day Without a Mexican

The film A Day Without a Mexican portrays the plight of California when it suddenly loses its entire Latino/a population. It is difficult not to cringe at all the blatant stereotypes that are addressed. In my own experiences, I have found that many white Americans view all Latinos/as as Mexicans, neglecting not only their cultural heritage, but the uniqueness they hold as individuals. Even in Goshen, I have heard the word “Mexican” used in a derogatory manner to emphasize underlying problems of drugs, crime, lower-class status, language boundaries, or educational inferiority. Another common stereotype in the film is that all Latinos/as in the United States are undocumented. This offensive label creates walls of distrust and anger.

While watching this movie, I attempted to imagine what Goshen would look like if all of the Latinos/as disappeared for a day. Besides the shutting down of authentic restaurants, there are many areas where I personally would be affected. We would lose professors, faculty, and students at the college who serve as mentors, leaders, and close friends. Many of the people I work with would be dearly missed and crucial jobs around the entire community would be open. This loss of kindness, brilliant ideas, cultural richness, laughter, passionate faith, and love would be devastating (to say the least).    

In 1965, playwright Douglas Turner Ward explored a similar plot with his play “Day of Absence.” In this play, a small Southern town experienced the disappearance of its African American population. The town becomes paralyzed in the same way that California finds itself susceptible to food shortages and other chaos. The repetition of this theme highlights our ignorance of living in a community with people who are “different than us.” It seems as though we do not appreciate or perhaps even recognize the value of others until they are no longer around.

Though this film is a good discussion starter that allows us to analyze our own perceptions and stereotypes, it seems as though something is missing. What action can we take to move beyond ignorance and inequality toward Latinos/as? How can we not only accept, but fully embrace the cultural values and heritage of each person? We can start taking action with basic steps: listening to and learning from others, working to move beyond assumptions, signing the Dream Act, and actively conversing with our neighbors.

Living with Duality

In Bless Me Ultima, Rudolpho Anaya creates many dualities that push and pull Antonio in opposing ways. One tension that he struggles with is in deciding what his future path entails. Should he be wild and free like his father's Márez side or should he be a stable and hard-working farmer like his mother's Luna side? Perhaps he should push aside both of these and pursue his mother's dream of sacrificing himself to the Catholic church as a priest. There is also the tension of religiosity and the power of God. After experiencing a “silent” communion, Antonio questions the God he has learned about since his childhood. “I wondered if God were alive anymore, or if He had ever been” (236). This tension between two sides becomes stretched even further after he witnesses the magical presence of the golden carp. Could stories of folklore and the God of the Catholic Church coexist?  Is one good and one evil?

However, Anaya places experiences and people in Antonio's life that allow him to heal and move beyond dualities. Anaya uses Ultima, a healer or curandera, who teaches Antonio that tolerance and understanding are important in his life choices. She allows him to join her and help her as she heals his uncle Lucas. Ultima acknowledges the legitimacy of the Catholic Church, but remains firm in her spiritual and mysterious healing powers.    

Antonio's dualities resonated with opposing choices in my own life. Do I want to further my education and pursue a Master's degree in psychology or do I want to commit to a few years of service abroad? Do I want to pursue a vocation that emphasizes my study of psychology, spanish, or peace and justice? Through reading this book, I am recognizing that these “opposite” choices do not need to emphasize polar opposites, but can integrate into a changing and merging future. Just as Antonio must take the knowledge he has gained from Ultima to guide his future, I must take the teachings I have received and apply them to how I wish to spend the rest of my life as I change, mature, and grow as an individual and in a community with others.
  

Maybe this book acts as a sort of curandera that allows us to see ourselves in Antonio’s position full of questions and doubts. In an interview with Rudolpho Anaya by Lawrence Bridges, Anaya refers to the ending by saying “let the reader decide what does Antonio become. Does he become a priest? No, maybe he becomes a writer.”  Though Anaya laughs, he recognizes that we as readers interact with the character of Antonio in a way that allows us to better understand or question our own dualities.   

Relating to Sor Juana

How can I connect with a nun and poet who is oppressed by the hierarchies of colonial Mexico? At the start of the movie I, the Worst of All, I questioned how this film could have any relevance to my own experiences. The film portrayed the oppression of the archbishop and his hierarchy against a brilliant female writer, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.

I am relieved to find (at least in my personal experience) that our culture today encourages education and does not blatantly discriminate against women who desire to pursue their academic interests. Of course, there is still injustice against women in education, but not to the same degree as in colonial Mexico. My parents strongly emphasized education when I was growing up, perhaps because neither of them went to college. They encouraged me to take advantage of every opportunity to reach my fullest potential. How sickening to imagine the repression of education in Sor Juana’s experience. Not only was her pursuit of knowledge discouraged, but it also resulted in punishment and the eradication of her books. Though not all families encourage children toward further education, our culture has definitely transformed the attitudes toward women in education.

I cannot begin to understand the power dynamics of colonial Mexico, but I do see how Sor Juana’s life mirrors my own. She uses her passion for self-learning and knowledge to influence the young girls and question what they have already been taught. By encouraging the students to have open eyes and ears as they learn she acts as a challenging mentor. I resonate with the experience of learning from a mentor who thinks outside the box and explains things in thought-provoking ways. This mentor does not allow the opinions of others to hinder his strong beliefs as he challenges others to grow through learning that may make others uncomfortable.

Two summers ago, I served at an orphanage as a teacher/tutor in Santa Cruz, Bolivia through GC’s Service Inquiry Program. Spanish classes did little to prepare me for the rapid speech of the kids and I initially struggled with the vosotros form and the dropping of the “s” at the end of words (“dos” becomes “do”). It took me many weeks before I felt comfortable speaking Spanish with the other Bolivian teachers. I struggled to find my voice. Once I found this voice, I shared more openly with others and allowed friendships to flourish. In Borderlands/La Frontera, Gloria Anzaldúa describes how growing up with a mixture of languages affects her identity. She needed to take pride in her language before she could take pride in herself. In order to overcome her shame of existing, she uses her voice, “my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice.” To form my identity, I needed to find my voice. In spite of oppression and discrimination, Anzaldúa and Sor Juana form their identities through the voice of their poetry and the sharing of their minds.   

Creativity of Naming

My mother never wanted others to give me a nickname. It is obvious that my father’s preference prevailed because the name Rebecca lends itself to innumerable naming possibilities. Most often, I have been given names that combine my first, middle, and last name. Rebecca Lee Weaver can easily be transformed into Becca, Reb, Becs, Reba, Re-Becca, RebeLee, Beave, Beaver, B. Weave, and even Lil’ Weavey. Each name emerges from a relationship I have with another person as a daughter, sister, granddaughter, friend, athlete, peer, or student. These names spark fond memories of my past.   

I can hear the way each person pronounces my name. I especially recall the voice of my great-grandmother. She was a feisty woman with a lot of Mennonite gossip to share. She always completed the daily crossword even when her eyes were losing their youth. Her face lit up like Christmas when she opened the door to see my family. The chatter from her mouth stopped when she saw me and she would softly say my name with an extra emphasis on the “Re.” I always knew that I was with loving company when I heard my name pronounced, “Rebecca.” I only need to close my eyes to imagine my host mother in Ayacucho putting her arm around my back and sliding a tin cup of warm quinoa on the table in front of me while firmly saying, “come, Rebe” (“eat, Rebecca”). I was envious of the way she rolled her “r” in a way I never could. Each name and its vocal sound is associated with a person that has contributed to who I am today as Rebecca Lee Weaver.    

My parents wanted a Biblical name, but they chose a spelling different from the Old Testament Rebekah. My name means “to bind.” In the past, I have reflected on the meaning of my name and the ways in which I am bound to groups of people. This binding does not discriminate against cultures or biological ties, but instead celebrates the differences that we have. I am bound to childhood church friends playing games for hours on bus rides, my high school touring choir cherishing the sounds of our voices blending in a European cathedral, and my Bolivian host family showing me the value in living from moment to moment. These are just a few of the many people with whom I am bound. My name reminds me of these connections and the ties we hold.

Though my name is not a rare, one-of-a-kind first name, it is through my many nicknames that I feel at home. Each one stems from creative personal relationships that are meaningful in their own way. Each nickname contributes to my understanding of myself and the beauty of taking something ordinary and making it personal and unique. There is something special about that.

First day of classes

This semester in Latino Literature we will be exploring the concept of mirrors and windows as we read pieces of literature. We will be reflecting on our own experiences as well as learning through the stories of others.