Wetback American

I'm educated but brown so no matter where I go I'm a Wetback American.

Friday, February 22, 2019

Brown professionals working in a White standard

"She has to work twice as hard as others to meet the standards of the dominant culture which, have, in part, become her standards." - Gloria Anzaldua  Borderlands pg. 71

I started this post a few weeks back and just had not come back until today.  Why today?  Today, we got official word that SACSCOC is pulling Bennett College's accreditation and essential putting the dead nail in her coffin.  Who is Bennett College?  They are one of the few single-sex colleges created to educate Black women. 

So who cares?  Well I do.  I attended Hollins University an all-women's university.  My husband attended Howard University, the HBCU.  I work at Wiley College, which is a HBCU.  Between undergrad and grad school, I have spent 12 years in institutions of higher education as a student and I had 1 Hispanic professor.  ONE! 

Again, so?  Well a recent survey of recent college graduate conducted by STRADA tells us that college students want mentoring by their professors.  Those who were mentored where more likely to finish/graduate and go on to graduate school/work.  Students thrive on relationships with faculty and guess who the faculty are?  The majority are White, middle to upper class men.  While I did have a White Middle-Class Male professor to mentor me as an undergrad, I also attended a small private college.  I was not completing with many other people.  I was a History major at college with a strong department.  Even with that, my dreams were to be a public school teacher.  I didn't really think I could do more.  Just finishing my BA was going to be a huge achievement.  I couldn't dream bigger.

What if I had had that 1 Hispanic professor during my undergraduate days instead of in my 2nd year of doctoral work?   Meeting him, having him as a professor, was the 1st time I realized I wasn't so alone in my pursuit of a doctorate.  REPRESENTATION MATTERS!  Would he have changed my path?  Doubtful but maybe I wouldn't have been so afraid all of the time. I saw people of color cleaning the colleges and universities I attended, they did not teach or run them.  I saw limits not opportunities.  Having Dr. SME was the 1st time I saw a limit shattered.  He had crossed a line and survived.  I did not know we could do that.

Okay back to the title, I am a Brown profesional woman and thankful for the moment I am working at a college that is majority colored people.  But I haven't always worked in that kind of an environment and even now I worry if I am living up to the standard of professionalism before me.  Are those standards self-imposed or are they in reaction to the standard of "White" colleges and we just trying to keep up?   We are told to dress the part so that our students know how to dress when they are out there.  We know that out there means the Standard White American World.  I don't just wake up and dress in my starched white collared button up and black slacks and head in.  No, I need to do my hair and now I have an added make-up routine.  With this comes the question of what is professional hair and make-up?

See if you grew-up watching Mexican Telenovelas, like I did, you know curly headed women are crazy.  (This is a different topic to go into so just roll with me for the moment.)  So until I started here at Wiley, I straightened my hair daily.  I had to look like the professionals I had seen on TV and even on standard American television, the standard for professional female hair is straight. 

The make-up is a horrible thing to tolerate.  I don't like wearing any.  I feel like it is a mask.  But if you read blogs and articles about professional female dress, they all say foundation, lipstick, and mascara are the minimum.  On a good day (around here that is Tuesday - Chapel Day), I wear black eye-liner and red lipstick.  I can't stand foundation and I rub my eye so much that mascara and I don't mix.  But who set this make-up standard?  I am beautiful without the crap and I am still under pressure to wear it. 

Until the majority of the professionals we see are representative of our nation's actual make-up then I argue those of us who are professionals of color are just trying to catch the bus by "looking" as white as we can.  The standard in this country is White.  My look is measured by how close to pulling off Ivanka Trump's look I can get.  If I was in Mexico, I know I would still have to live up to some standard but maybe it would feel less oppressive if the standard was a little darker like me and had natural curls and waves that they would let fly every once in a while.

This picture is from the day I interviewed with Wiley.  Note the straight hair and lipstick.  Now a days I sport crazy waves and curly on the days my hair works with me.

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Running and Reflecting

Trigger Warning: Rape, Rape Culture



I tend to scroll my Facebook feed to give myself a mental break and I'm usually just scrolling looking for interesting news items and good things happening for my friends.  Today as I quickly scrolled past a posting and then backtracked a moment and then burst into tears right at my desk.  I'll post the drawing itself at the bottom of this post so you can see it or avoid it if you think it will trigger you.

Like a said I was crying at my desk and it was 15 minutes until my lunch.  I couldn't help it.  I finally got myself under control and then it was lunch time.  I usually run/walk during my lunch break so I headed out ready to move and the post came back to mind.  I was running and crying and trying to figure out why.

The post/drawing is about rape.  That in and of itself is sad and traumatic.  But the post eludes to babies being raped.  Even now, I'm on the verge of tears.  The hurt, the horrible things that people do to the smallest and most vulnerable.  It makes me feel powerless.  How do you protect babies from the people who are supposed to protect them.

So why was I crying?  Maybe for my girls who I know I can't fully protect and that more than likely at least one of them will have to fight and protect herself from an attempt or deal with the fallout of being raped.  Maybe for the women that are silent even now, maybe silent even more so now because the fallout of telling is more traumatic than the rape/assault itself.  Maybe for myself and my #metoo moments.  I ran and I cried and I fumed.

What can we do?  We women can learn self-defense.  I am supposed to teach my daughters to fight back and dress right and on and on but there isn't a movement to teach people not to rape.  The fault lies in the woman.  She was asking for it.  She didn't protect herself.  What about the ones, the little ones, the disabled ones, that can't talk, defend, fight off?  If you don't/can't say no then free-for-all? 

Are we supposed to reward the men that do the right thing?  Are they being congratulated for being men or do other men look down on them for not finishing the job?  I am reminded of a time I did all the wrong things.  I was at the club alone, I walked out of the club alone, I had flirted with a dude I had zero intention of ever going home with, I'm sure I was dressed in some version of sexy.  All the wrong things and nearly paid for it.  The guy followed me to my car.  I was half a block from the club.  I was on the street in clear view of everyone and he followed me to my car and then I did the exact wrong thing, I opened the car door and all he had to was push me in.  He instead pulled me out of my car.  He saw the fear in my eyes and suddenly let go and left.  I see how close to disaster I was only years and years later.  What if anything does he remember?  Should I congratulate him for not raping me when he had the chance?  Hey dude, you saw me as a human, thank you!  Does he wish he had pushed instead of pulled?  Does he have shame for not finishing equal to my shame in having done all of the wrong things?  Rape . . .


Monday, January 7, 2019

Between the World and Me

Today, I finally started listening to Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates.  I obtained the unabridged version read by the author.  I'm going to be honest; I have been avoiding it.  I work at a HBCU and this book is the chosen Freshman reader so I need to read it.  I was avoiding it because after reading the summary, I knew there would be new truths about life in American I could not escape.  Coates did not disappoint.

I am about half-way thru Disc 1.  I've already dried many tears.  I have already begun to internalize and re-evaluate some past life experiences, reconcile the new information with the experiences shared with me by my husband, and project forward for life for my own biracial children.  I wonder if I am strong enough to raise strong Black women who can survive not only being Mexican in American but Black as well.  If my experiences are of otherness then theirs even more so.  I can turn to the words of Gloria Anzaldua for comfort; who do they have?

Not only do I worry about my girls but I think back on the past 17 years of marriage with my husband; share life experiences that of course root in our lives before each other.  Coates provides visuals that are real and graphic that mirror those experiences my husband has shared with me.  However, Coates does not know me so he is not holding back the bed stuff.  I know my husband is.  I know he knows I can only handle so much of his pain as a Black man in American so he shares selectively. 

As Coates is based in Baltimore and my dissertation research had me in Baltimore, I am realizing that my husband was ready to move to Baltimore when John Hopkins came calling but he knew I was not.  He was raising to survive on the streets and I was raised to survive on a rancho.  I am already ready to lend a hand, trust anyone who approaches me, I was not raised to protect myself at all times.  I would not have survived.  Even now, I am probably not ready for the big city.  I'm a small town girl without an every present coating of protection.  I say I want to move to Houston but would I really ever be okay with that move?  I don't know.  For now, I'll continue with Coates and try to listen for lessons that I can use to help my daughters.


Monday, December 10, 2018

Negative Comments

So I decided to spend a few bucks on ads on Facebook for the Pain in our DNA post and not surprising, I got some negative feedback.  2 people took the time to leave some feedback on the Facebook page.  DH told me to engage them with some negative feedback of my own but that really isn't the point of this blog.  I'm tired of being negative.  I want dialog.  The comments, "BS" and "Violence is the primary tool of the incompetent" are not asking for dialog.  They are trying to tell me I'm wrong period. 

I'm sure you guessed those were left by White men.  No research to back up their views.  The guy with the "BS" comment didn't leave more information as to which part of my argument is BS.  The lack of credible evidence?  The general idea that we can write on our DNA?  The idea that a brown woman can be educated?  There are so many points to call bullshit on, he didn't leave me more information.  According to DH the other comment is actually a miss quote. 

This really just made me turn and lean into my Brene Brown reading.  Those people don't count.  They are not in the arena taking punches while expressing their views and laying their heart on the line.  They punched at me and ran.  They decided they had the privilege of yelling at me and running and more than that, I deserved to be punched and yelled at because I expressed something different from their views.

I am privileged.  I am educated.  I have access to resources and studies, as well as the skill, to find hard science to back up what I am saying.  I have an extra $10 to buy my domain.  I have enough skill on the internet to write and publish my musings.  I know this is privilege.  I am also highly educated.  I am part of the 2% of Americans with a doctorate.  So yes, it actually is Dr. Wetback American.

More than any of that, I come from a background that means I have pushed and pulled myself out of poverty.  I am married to an amazing Black man and that gives me access to yet another group of people.  I have access and privilege but I don't have the level of privilege as most White men.  I can and will continue to express my experiences, views, and most importantly my fears.  Why my fears?  Because Dr. Wetback American lives surrounded by danger and at the end point of hate.  Why?  I was born brown in American and then had the audacity to reach for the American dream.

I have been held back from my father at the US/Mexico border.  I have lived terrified of the "Migra."  I have watched as back-up was called on my husband because we were lost in the wrong part of town.  We have been questioned and asked to prove we own an iMac by the police. 

You want to call Bullshit?  Okay, let's talk.  Don't believe White privilege exists?  Okay, let's talk.  You are a wonderful color-blind White person?  Okay, let's talk. 

I'm not saying I'm right.  What I am saying is let's talk.  I have lived experiences that you haven't.  I want to hear your experiences.  I want to remove the shame of past experiences and promote healing.  I want to engage in dialog in the arena. 



Monday, December 3, 2018

Do we exist?

I feel like life has been slowly radicalizing me.  I started my doctoral work refusing to work on "Latinx" subjects because I didn't want to be pigeonholed as a Mexican researcher who only studies Latinx people and yet here I am refocused and refocusing my work on Latinx subjects because I was handed Borderlands by Gloria Anzaldua.  It wasn't until I was literally crying from suddenly feeling connected to something in my class at such a deep level that I realized I hadn't connected to any research that way.  I read research and researchers and connected but on the surface.  I can understand where they are coming from but they didn't make me feel naked and raw.  No one was "Killing me softly with" their words until Gloria.

I'm going to be honest, I haven't finished Borderlands yet.  I stop and read it in chunks but she reveals me so much that I can't stand the pain of reading of her words at times.  My dad just had major surgery to remove cancer from his body.  After 5 days in the hospital, he is home but I'm still on edge waiting to have to rush him back.  So today I turned to Gloria to help me find focus and a bit of self.  She knows me.  Here were today's words,

     When I saw poetry written in Tex-Mex for the firs time, a feeling of pure joy flashed through
      me.  I felt like we really existed as a people. (p. 82)

That is why I'm refocusing my work.  Because I felt that when I read her words for the first time.  My struggle was not unique and solitary but a way to connect.  Others had walked this path!  I want to make sure that other Latinx people find Gloria and others like her.  We aren't alone.  We exist. 


Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Tear gas and diapers

So if you've been following the news at all, Trump's newest sin is allowing troops to use tear gas on caravan of immigrants at the US/Mexico border.  There are images of babies/toddlers in diapers running or being held as people run from the gas.  Tell me how that will be internalized by those children?  What do I say to my 8-year-old who sees those images and sees one of those babies that looks just like her baby sister?  Does my almost 2 year old deserve to be tear gassed?

It makes me mad.  I makes me sad.  I feel helpless.  I honestly don't have any idea what to do to actually help.

I understand the people who are trying to cross into the US are not Mexican but from further south in Central American.  They are seeking asylum status.  They have walked the miles with their possessions and small children on their backs.  From what I've heard from other Central Americans who have made the journey, Mexico and Mexicans aren't exactly welcoming nor nice and helpful as they journey north.  They suffer trauma in their homeland.  They suffer trauma on their journey.  They suffer trauma trying to reach their goal. 

We are told that we have to be objective.  We don't need their kind here.  We have x people out of work.  Those people will steal jobs from "Americans."  Those people are numbers not actual people.  They are objects.  I can't see them as objects.  Those people have suffered and are doing exactly what most of the people who make "America" have done - pulled themselves up and are ready to work hard to make a home here. 

I see reflections of my own family.  There but for the grace of God go I.  If my parents had been born further south.  If my parents hadn't gotten their citizenship when they did.  So many wonderful turns of fortune have me here today.  Why is my 2 year old worth more than their 2 year old?  Just because my baby was born here across a political border to parents who were also born on the correct side of the imaginary line.  That imaginary line . . . 

Friday, November 16, 2018

Writing pain into our DNA

So as a degreed researcher, I do try to find actual research to backup my random rants.  The evidence as to trauma changing our DNA is still a little hazy at this point so take this rant for what it is, a rant.

Ever since I heard about the concept of trauma changing our actual genetic makeup, my mind has been obsessed with it.  Hearing John Leguizamo list atrocity after atrocity that the "White" people rained down on the peoples of the Americans, the original Latinos/Indians/American, I felt like I understood "Ghetto Rage" better and that in fact I am entitled to feel Ghetto Rage.

Okay so I just threw out a lot of stuff in that last paragraph so I'll break it down just a bit and hopefully stay somewhat on topic.  According to John Leguizamo, ghetto rage is the internal rage we Latinx people feel after surviving countless microaggressions while being invisible and unable to express ourselves.  The message we have gotten our entire Latinx-American lives is clear: YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!

The list of atrocities: the list is long and sad and overwhelming and horrible.  While before John's special I didn't know the specifics, as he laid them out I could feel them in my bones.  It was an odd sensation.  If you haven't seen the special, go do it.  Seriously, it is well worth your time.  Latinx people come from a people of survival against the odds.  Our land was stolen, our people were decimated, and even today we are unwanted but yet we resist, persist, and every once in a while, succeed.

It seems that 100s of years of trauma in our DNA made us fighters.  Who do we fight?  Well I think that is up for debate.  Sometimes ourselves, each other, "the man,"the White man, the other colored people, hell sometimes we just fight shadows.  When all you know is a punch, before you do anything you punch.  Your bones know what to do to survive.

Is it in our DNA, in our bones?  Did my grandmother's move from middle Mexico to the Mexican border change my DNA?  Did her trauma of burying 8 children, rewrite my own approach to motherhood at a genetic level?  What about the trauma of the rape of our ancient people?  Did watching and living the destruction of our civilization at the hands of a Spaniard fundamentally write something in our genetic code?

Each year, Nacogdoches hosts a Day of Dead festival.  For the last 3 years, we have watched the Aztec dancers.  The first year, Gymgirl saw them, she told us she felt their dance in her soul.  In that moment I believe she connected to an ancient self.  A little Aztec girl watching her family dance for the gods.