Related to the previous post

There's something angry and sad and beautiful about this poem, which was also featured in the documentary, and I found it online here. I also realized it's in one of the books that I'm reading for class: Being Latino in Christ. It's one of those poems that I'm sure I'll be figuring out for awhile.

Puerto Rican Obituary

by Pedro Pietri

They worked
They were always on time
They were never late
They never spoke back
when they were insulted
They worked
They never took days off
that were not on the calendar
They never went on strike
without permission
They worked
ten days a week
and were only paid for five
They worked
They worked
They worked
and they died
They died broke
They died owing
They died never knowing
what the front entrance
of the first national city bank looks like

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
passing their bill collectors
on to the next of kin
All died
waiting for the garden of eden
to open up again
under a new management
All died
dreaming about america
waking them up in the middle of the night
screaming: Mira Mira
your name is on the winning lottery ticket
for one hundred thousand dollars
All died
hating the grocery stores
that sold them make-believe steak
and bullet-proof rice and beans
All died waiting dreaming and hating

Dead Puerto Ricans
Who never knew they were Puerto Ricans
Who never took a coffee break
from the ten commandments
to KILL KILL KILL
the landlords of their cracked skulls
and communicate with their latino souls

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
From the nervous breakdown streets
where the mice live like millionaires
and the people do not live at all
are dead and were never alive

Juan
died waiting for his number to hit
Miguel
died waiting for the welfare check
to come and go and come again
Milagros
died waiting for her ten children
to grow up and work
so she could quit working
Olga
died waiting for a five dollar raise
Manuel
died waiting for his supervisor to drop dead
so he could get a promotion

Is a long ride
from Spanish Harlem
to long island cemetery
where they were buried
First the train
and then the bus
and the cold cuts for lunch
and the flowers
that will be stolen
when visiting hours are over
Is very expensive
Is very expensive
But they understand
Their parents understood
Is a long non-profit ride
from Spanish Harlem
to long island cemetery

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
Dreaming
Dreaming about queens
Clean-cut lily-white neighborhood
Puerto Ricanless scene
Thirty-thousand-dollar home
The first spics on the block
Proud to belong to a community
of gringos who want them lynched
Proud to be a long distance away
from the sacred phrase: Que Pasa

These dreams
These empty dreams
from the make-believe bedrooms
their parents left them
are the after-effects
of television programs
about the ideal
white american family
with black maids
and latino janitors
who are well train
to make everyone
and their bill collectors
laugh at them
and the people they represent

Juan
died dreaming about a new car
Miguel
died dreaming about new anti-poverty programs
Milagros
died dreaming about a trip to Puerto Rico
Olga
died dreaming about real jewelry
Manuel
died dreaming about the irish sweepstakes

They all died
like a hero sandwich dies
in the garment district
at twelve o’clock in the afternoon
social security number to ashes
union dues to dust

They knew
they were born to weep
and keep the morticians employed
as long as they pledge allegiance
to the flag that wants them destroyed
They saw their names listed
in the telephone directory of destruction
They were train to turn
the other cheek by newspapers
that mispelled mispronounced
and misunderstood their names
and celebrated when death came
and stole their final laundry ticket

They were born dead
and they died dead

Is time
to visit sister lopez again
the number one healer
and fortune card dealer
in Spanish Harlem
She can communicate
with your late relatives
for a reasonable fee
Good news is guaranteed

Rise Table Rise Table
death is not dumb and disable
Those who love you want to know
the correct number to play
Let them know this right away
Rise Table Rise Table
death is not dumb and disable
Now that your problems are over
and the world is off your shoulders
help those who you left behind
find financial peace of mind

Rise Table Rise Table
death is not dumb and disable
If the right number we hit
all our problems will split
and we will visit your grave
on every legal holiday

Those who love you want to know
the correct number to play
let them know this right away
We know your spirit is able
Death is not dumb and disable
RISE TABLE RISE TABLE

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
All died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
Hating fighting and stealing
broken windows from each other
Practicing a religion without a roof
The old testament
The new testament
according to the gospel
of the internal revenue
the judge and jury and executioner
protector and eternal bill collector

Secondhand shit for sale
learn how to say Como Esta Usted
and you will make a fortune
They are dead
They are dead
and will not return from the dead
until they stop neglecting
the art of their dialogue
for broken english lessons
to impress the mister goldsteins
who keep them employed
as lavaplatos porters messenger boys
factory workers maids stock clerks
shipping clerks assistant mailroom
assistant, assistant assistant
to the assistant’s assistant
assistant lavaplatos and automatic
artificial smiling doormen
for the lowest wages of the ages
and rages when you demand a raise
because is against the company policy
to promote SPICS SPICS SPICS

Juan
died hating Miguel because Miguel’s
used car was in better running condition
than his used car
Miguel
died hating Milagros because Milagros
had a color television set
and he could not afford one yet
Milagros
died hating Olga because Olga
made five dollars more on the same job
Olga
died hating Manuel because Manuel
had hit the numbers more times
than she had hit the numbers
Manuel
died hating all of them
Juan
Miguel
Milagros
and Olga
because they all spoke broken english
more fluently than he did

And now they are together
in the main lobby of the void
Addicted to silence
Off limits to the wind
Confine to worm supremacy
in long island cemetery
This is the groovy hereafter
the protestant collection box
was talking so loud and proud about

Here lies Juan
Here lies Miguel
Here lies Milagros
Here lies Olga
Here lies Manuel
who died yesterday today
and will die again tomorrow
Always broke
Always owing
Never knowing
that they are beautiful people

Never knowing
the geography of their complexion

PUERTO RICO IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE
PUERTORRIQUENOS ARE A BEAUTIFUL RACE

If only they
had turned off the television
and tune into their own imaginations
If only they
had used the white supremacy bibles
for toilet paper purpose
and make their latino souls
the only religion of their race
If only they
had return to the definition of the sun
after the first mental snowstorm
on the summer of their senses
If only they
had kept their eyes open
at the funeral of their fellow employees
who came to this country to make a fortune
and were buried without underwears

Juan
Miguel
Milagros
Olga
Manuel
will right now be doing their own thing
where beautiful people sing
and dance and work together
where the wind is a stranger
to miserable weather conditions
where you do not need a dictionary
to communicate with your people
Aqui Se Habla Espanol all the time
Aqui you salute your flag first
Aqui there are no dial soap commercials
Aqui everybody smells good
Aqui tv dinners do not have a future
Aqui the men and women admire desire
and never get tired of each other
Aqui Que Paso Power is what’s happening
Aqui to be called negrito
means to be called LOVE

It's those last few stanzas that just make me break down in sobs.

And though it's perhaps a bit less eloquent, it makes me think of that Kanye line: "They made us hate ourselves and love their wealth" (from "All Falls Down").

Blonde

Later on I hope to write about how I felt in LA, how good it was for B. and I, how good it was to see my sister and brother-in-law, and how much I love the beach. For right now, however, there's this article: Fade to Blonde, which I loved. It's about a Latina like me: Brown and proud, hoping everyone can see her pride in her ethnicity, light-skinned, and political. And then she dyes her hair blonde for the piece.
Now, to me - and to her - this is a big no-no. Going blonde is selling out, it's trying to pass for white, it's giving up on your ethnicity, it's wanting to be white. And she does it. And she writes about the experience with amazing clarity, open-mindedness, and intelligence. Loved it.

The Colonel

We had my Stinky's retirement ceremony today. C, my sister, arrived as a surprise to my parents. They both cried when they saw her in the General's office before the ceremony.

My dad is amazing. Amazing. He's got this thick Puerto Rican accent, but that man gave a speech that was so brill. He talked about the importance of teamwork, about the stability of institutions that allow us to move in and out of them without losing the vision or efficiency. He talked about God, about Jesus putting everything in order for him. He talked about his small town in Puerto Rico and all the opportunities the Army has given him....



The truth is that my dad came out of nothing. He came from a poor family in a poor town, chasing Army convoys as they rattled past on PR's Ruta 1. I can imagine him running in that dust, under that sun.... And here he is, 29 years later. Nineteen stamps in his passport, medals on his chest, and the knowledge that he was both a good soldier and a good leader.

Everyone told me I had an awesome dad as if I didn't already know that. He's a good man, my Stinky. Hard-working, humble, human....

Anyway, the point is, I'm proud of him.

AméRican II

At the risk of sounding a little militant, I want to talk a little bit more about why I'm so proud to be Latina. There's just so much to be said about the Latino presence in the US - so much that's never said, never taught; so much that so many of us don't know about ourselves....

1. Hispanics have had permanent settlements in what is now the US since 1565.
The oldest city in the US, St. Augustine, Florida, was founded by the Spaniards. There were Spanish settlements all over the East Coast - LA, GA, FL, on up to VA. Not even kidding. Not to mention that the vast majority of the Western United States was once part of Mexico. As some of my students put it: "Wait, a minute, we're NOT immigrants. We were here first!" and then, "Then why are they so mad that we're here? It was ours first." Hilarious and cute. True, and not. But the fact is, when we look at how long various ethnic groups have been in the US, Hispanics are second only to Native Americans. Interesting....

2. The first full admiral in the US Navy was a Hispanic man.
David Glasgow Farragut was of Catalan descent - in other words, we was a Spaniard. He served in the Civil War. Not to mention all the other accomplishments of Hispanics and Latinos in the military.....

3. The first woman to win a Tony, an Oscar, a Grammy, and an Emmy is a Latina.
Rita Moreno. Double props for being una boricua. That's a lot of statues for the mantle folks. Incidentally, the first Latino to win an Academy Award was also Puerto Rican (José Ferrer).

4. The first woman to serve as Surgeon General of the United States was a Latina.
Antonia Novello, another Puerto Rican, served under the first President Bush.

5. We make up about 14% of the US population.
We're the largest minority group in the US; but you already knew that. What does that mean? It means the US is the fifth-largest Spanish-speaking country. There are more Spanish speakers in the US than in SPAIN, folks! (Let that marinate.) Spanish is the most popular "foreign" language in US schools. One of the most popular tv shows for young children stars a proudly bilingual Latina (Dora the Explorer). One of the most popular prime time shows stars a cast of Latinos from many countries, is produced by a Latina, and is based on a Colombian telenovela (Ugly Betty). Some of the top contenders on American Idol are Latinos. We're on the radio, in movies, on tv (FINALLY!), in books, on the catwalk.... We are everywhere. And we're continually impacting culture.

Proud? Yes. Yes, very.

I am not a foreigner, not someone whose people haven't been shaping this country in profound ways for decades (centuries). I am this brown element that people don't yet understand, though we've been here for so long.

I come from a race of fighters - the kind of fighters who will do it quietly, day in and day out, working to make the most of what they've been given. César Chávez. Luis Muñoz Marín. Roberto Clemente. Dolores Huerta. These are my people.

I come from a race so blessed with creativity that we have had a hand in all aspects of culture in this country. Lalo Schifrin. Tito Puente. Sandra Cisneros. Alfonso Cuarón. Edward James Olmos. Rita Hayworth. These are my people.

The list goes on. On and on and on.

Gabriel García Márquez, Sammy Davis, Jr., Marc Anthony, Pablo Montaner, José Feliciano....

What a rich heritage we have. What a rich heritage we have on this soil.

Ésta también es mi América.

Corazón hinchaó

I've been thinking lately about how incredibly proud I am to be Latina in general and Puerto Rican in particular.

I just got done watching The Bronze Screen and I'm even prouder.

More on this later, but for now, a quote from León Ichaso:

"It's never 'our time' unless we set our watch and say 'Now'."

Preach.

"Si yo no hubiero nacido en la tierre en que nací, estaría arrepentido de no haber nacido aquí"

One step forward, two steps back...

It's official, folks.
I live with my parents.
Remember the time I said I was leaving and wouldn't be back? Yeah... eating those words now. So far, it's not as bad as I expected, but it's only been a week. In some ways though, I feel like I suck at life; like this week, and the finality of unpacking my stuff, have somehow cancelled out all the years I've lived on my own. Like all that erases all my years of living like a responsible adult and paying rent. It erases all of my contributions to society. It erases my effectiveness as an adult.
I know. I'm ridiculous. I realize I am still as productive a citizen in my parents' house as I was while paying (too much) rent for a (craptacular) condo. I realize I can still call them my roommates, if I want to sound cooler. ;) I realize that I'm still all the things that I was before (AND frugal). It's a pride thing that I'm wrestling with.
This is what I never wanted to do, and yet, here I am. There should be no shame in this, but I'm struggling with it. The funny thing is that in my own culture, I would've been home until the day I got married.
It's temporary. A sign of my commitment to grad school, to moving to Philly, to pursuing a dream....
A necessary hardship.
Five months.
It won't be that bad.
Right?



PS - Points if you can name the song I was humming after typing the title. Bonus points if you don't judge me for it. ;)