Voices in My Head
Hispanic Heritage Month: More than One People, We are Many Stories
There were 58.9 million people in the United States who were identified as Hispanic in the American Community Survey of 2017. That amounted to 18% of the nation’s population of 325.7 million, according to the United State Census Bureau. The percentage made people of Hispanic origin the nation’s largest ethnic or racial minority. Hispanics constituted 18.1 percent of the nation’s total population.
The census statistics identified the number of states with a population of 1 million or more Hispanic residents in 2017 as Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, and Texas. According to the 2016 U.S. Census American Community Survey, in the, there were 4,861,648 people identified in the Hispanics or Latino of any Race category residing in Los Angeles County. That’s just a little less than half the population, 48.3%. In Long Beach, the numbers in 2016 were 199,283 or 42.4% of the total population. These are numbers and labels that don’t reveal the complexity and often the great and sometimes subtle differences of individuals who are squeezed into demographic labels for political and economic reasons.
Representing the Puerto Rican Flag
I have always found it difficult to squeeze into a small box of labels. When I was much younger, I was labeled Puerto Rican and Dominican (as in from the Dominican Republic). But, I was born in the South Bronx of New York City. It was my father who was from Puerto Rico and my mother had immigrated from the Dominican Republic. When I entered grammar school at St. Rita’s Parochial School, my English was limited and Spanish was what was spoken at home. That would soon change. I remember my second-grade nun-teacher telling my parents, “Speak English. You’re in America now” (Just for the record, Puerto Rico is a part of America). Wanting to prove they were true Americans, I learned English and unlearned Spanish so that when I graduated from the eighth grade, I could barely hold a conversation with my paternal grandmother who had never learned to speak English fluently. The majority of my friends, classmates, store owners, people on the streets of the South Bronx spoke English. So, did my teachers. But, I was still a Puerto Rican/Dominican (although few friends around me included the Dominican part).
Flag of the Dominican Republic
During the fifties and sixties, I was raised in neighborhoods full of Italians, Irish, Jews, Black, Puerto Ricans, and Dominicans. It was New York City and I was it. This crazy stew of ethnicities, cultures, food, languages, and life. No one questioned that I was Puerto Rican/Dominican even if my Spanish was limited. No one cared. We all found some way to communicate and it was mostly in English. Well, New York’s version of English. I listened occasionally to Spanish-language radio for the music but was addicted to English-language television. I listened to Soul and Salsa but was fully aware of Rock and Roll and the latest dance crazes. We knew we were from different tribes but we all knew we were Americans reciting the pledge of allegiance and singing the star-spangled banner.
In the late sixties, I was gripped by the nationalistic fervor of the time screaming Viva Puerto Rico with the Young Lords Party and crying for the island’s independence although I had never been there. Adults would tease me about being a New York Puerto Rican. They would spit, “What the hell did I know? You’re a Nuyorican.” My mother would remind me, “Don’t forget you’re half-Dominican.” The truth is that as time went on, I was none of those things and all of those things. My identity had become this crazy blended mix of every culture and people that I had ever met. I was Puerto Rican, Dominican, Irish, Black, Jewish, Italian, WASP, and throw in Chinese, Jamaican, Brazilian, all the other people I had met through the fifties and sixties. For all those people, they may have seen me as Puerto Rican (it was New York. No time to explain the Dominican part), but I was a little of all of them. I have become more blended as I’ve traveled through my life, absorbing speech, culture, mannerisms, soaking in music, art, food, history, curious about all the people and the lands wherever I’ve traveled.
Throughout my life, in Washington, D.C., New England, and now Southern California, I have always been challenged to prove my loyalty to a tribe. “Where are you from?” And when I would answer South Bronx, they would lower their voices and mutter skeptically, “No, where are you really from?”
I’ve been accused of not being Latino/Puerto Rican/Dominican enough. You’re too white. You don’t act Latino to “What the hell, are you?” I’ve been mistaken for Sicilian, Lebanese, Chicano, something ambiguous. I know my name is Antonio Ruiz but I was born Anthony (Hate this name) and have been called Tony (Hate this even more) off and on throughout my life. But I know that my name and my ethnicity label doesn’t define who I am. I am who I say I am. A human who has experienced so many cultures, people, and who knows where he came from and is curious about the roots that gave birth to him.
I don’t need a month to celebrate who I am. PalacioMagazine.com seeks to celebrate it all year long. We seek to discover the strands of culture that binds so many of us together. From the descendants of Spanish explorers to mestizo Indians to African slaves who intermarried with all of these to create a new person whose common and distinct cultures somehow have brought us together in similar demographic categories. We are so different, as individuals and as tribes, and yet we know we celebrate much that blends us. I know who I am. If you do, share and celebrate it. If you don’t, discover it. You’ll be glad you did.
Aurora Levins Morales “Child of the Americas”
I am a child of the Americas,
a light-skinned mestiza of the Caribbean,
a child of many diasporas, born into this continent at a crossroads.
I am a U.S. Puerto Rican Jew,
a product of the ghettos of New York I have never known.
An immigrant and the daughter and granddaughter of immigrants.
I speak English with passion: it’s the tongue of my consciousness,
a flashing knife blade of crystal, my tool, my craft.
I am Caribeña, island grown. Spanish is in my flesh,
ripples from my tongue, lodges in my hips:
the language of garlic and mangoes,
the singing of poetry, the flying gestures of my hands.
I am of Latinoamerica, rooted in the history of my continent:
I speak from that body.
I am not african. Africa is in me, but I cannot return.
I am not taína. Taíno is in me, but there is no way back.
I am not European. Europe lives in me, but I have no home there.
I am new. History made me. My first language was spanglish.
I was born at the crossroads
And I am whole.
Santiago, Roberto, editor. “Aurora Levins Morales: Child of the Americas.” Boricuas, Influential Puerto Rican Writings, by Aurora Levins Morales, Ballantine Books, 1995, p. 79. From “Getting Home Alive” by Aurora Levins Morales and Rosario Morales
Celebrate National Hispanic American Heritage Month With These Stories
“Celebrate National Hispanic American Heritage Month from Mississippi to Brooklyn and everywhere in between. SUBSCRIBE: https://goo.gl/vR6Acb This story is a part of our Human Condition series. Come along and let us connect you to some of the most peculiar, stirring, extraordinary, and distinctive people in the world. Follow us behind the scenes on Instagram: http://goo.gl/2KABeX Make our acquaintance on Facebook: http://goo.gl/Vn0XIZ Give us a shout on Twitter: http://goo.gl/sY1GLY. Come to hang with us on Vimeo: http://goo.gl/T0OzjV Visit our world directly: http://www.greatbigstory.com“
The History of Hispanic and Latinx Superheroes
In honor of National Hispanic Heritage Month, Andrew Rivera is here with a look at the history of Hispanic and Latinx superheroes.
Hispanic/Latinx Stories (A Compilation)
NICKELODEON “That’s Me” – Hispanic heritage month JOSIAH TAYLOR on Vimeo.
Read our Stories
10 Best Books to Read While Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month from Signature-reads.com
A sampling:
Sandra Cisneros
“This bestselling coming-of-age classic should live on the bookshelves of all readers across the world. The House on Mango Street tells the remarkable story of Esperanza Cordero, a young Latina girl growing up in Chicago, trying to find her place in all-too-real world that isn’t kind to young girls of color. This compelling book is a quick read, but one you will never forget.”
I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter
“When Julia’s sister, Olga, dies after a tragic accident on the streets of Chicago, Julia is left to piece together the mysteries surrounding her death. Though Olga was always considered to be the perfect child, Julia discovers that she, too, had some secrets – ones that would pull apart her Mexican-American family. With the help of her loved ones, Julia is determined to uncover her sister’s story and learn, through her death, what it means to live.”
The King Is Always Above the People
Stories by Daniel Alarcón
“It wasn’t terribly surprising to those who had read Peruvian-American author Daniel Alarcón’s 2017 collection of stories, The King Is Always Above the People, that it was longlisted for the 2017 National Book Award for fiction. The people featured in this collection bring to light the Latin American experience in a way that is wholly original, empathetic – and daring.”
