I saw this on the news this morning and I couldn't believe it.
Here's the gist: This guy in south Florida wanted to sell more Toyotas so he aired a commercial for his dealership on a channel other than Telemundo or Univision.
I wish I could focus on the Spanish that this guy tries to speak on the commercials, because it's pretty funny. It sounds like Spanish by the numbers, where he learned certain and repeated them over and over until he had it memorized, even though he has no comprehension of what he's saying.
But no, the story here is that there was a huge outcry from viewers calling the man behind the commercials un-American, greedy, and traitorous.
Another twist is that this guy writes a blog so he discusses it all on there.
But wait, un-American? There are a lot of stupid, ignorant comments out there on this issue, but some of them sound like they're coming from pretty intelligent, thoughtful people, which strikes me as incredibly odd:
"The whole issue is that this is America and Spanish ads should not be running on English TV stations, period. We are not a bilingual country. Run them on the Spanish stations, no problem. But Spanish ads thrown in with English programming – he's got [testicular fortitude] and so do the stations that allow them to run."
What's the problem here? Who cares? Don't we all hate commercials anyway? Someone please tell me what the outcry here is all about. Is it about the larger immigration issues? Racism?
I just don't get this one.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Unfair Analogies
When my dad was a teenager, he went to visit a cousin in the States and he used the experience to polish his English. He would attend the same university classes that his cousin did and so he slowly and surely practiced his English.
He mentioned that there was a test one time that had a question he didn't understand. It had something to do with a man putting salt on the driveway because it was winter. Now, I'm really not sure what kind of problem this was or what sort of answer they were looking for, but my dad could not answer it because he couldn't get past that one idea of a man putting salt on his driveway.
Why would someone do that?
To someone who has lived his/her whole life in Guatemala and has no experience with icy environments.
When I heard that story the first thing that came to mind was how unfair that was for my dad. He had no chance.
Well, today I was reading Fiasco and an analogy immediately reminded me of that story. The author is speaking of Bush's Mission Accomplished speech on the USS Abraham Lincoln:
In both image and word that day, what Bush did was tear down the goalposts at halftime in the game.
I immediately pictured someone in India (or Guatemala) reading this and thinking "Huh?"
Even if you know something about football, unless you know quite a bit about the college football tradition of taking down the goalposts after a huge win (thank you Boston College years), then you can't relate to this particular piece of writing.
And you can take it one step further, which BC taught me: it doesn't have to be a huge win for the football team or the basketball team, it can just be a huge loss by the hockey team.
Just food for thought.
He mentioned that there was a test one time that had a question he didn't understand. It had something to do with a man putting salt on the driveway because it was winter. Now, I'm really not sure what kind of problem this was or what sort of answer they were looking for, but my dad could not answer it because he couldn't get past that one idea of a man putting salt on his driveway.
Why would someone do that?
To someone who has lived his/her whole life in Guatemala and has no experience with icy environments.
When I heard that story the first thing that came to mind was how unfair that was for my dad. He had no chance.
Well, today I was reading Fiasco and an analogy immediately reminded me of that story. The author is speaking of Bush's Mission Accomplished speech on the USS Abraham Lincoln:
In both image and word that day, what Bush did was tear down the goalposts at halftime in the game.
I immediately pictured someone in India (or Guatemala) reading this and thinking "Huh?"
Even if you know something about football, unless you know quite a bit about the college football tradition of taking down the goalposts after a huge win (thank you Boston College years), then you can't relate to this particular piece of writing.
And you can take it one step further, which BC taught me: it doesn't have to be a huge win for the football team or the basketball team, it can just be a huge loss by the hockey team.
Just food for thought.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Language Issues in Pro Baseball
Here's a great article on the language gap that exists in some (probably most) Major League clubhouses.
It's an issue I'm interested in since I tried to put together a story on how journalists translate what players say and print it in the papers without explicitly saying (sometimes) that it isn't what a guy said, but a translation. All I found out was that MLB policy is pretty fuzzy—journalists can pretty much translate on their own as long as it's "basically" what the player was trying to get across.
Unfortunately, the players' personality usually gets lost in the process, which is what I was exploring. Sammy Sosa, for example, is a pompous, arrogant person when interviewed in Spanish. But in English he's the humble, simple man who was once a shoeshine boy.
It's all terribly interesting.
It's an issue I'm interested in since I tried to put together a story on how journalists translate what players say and print it in the papers without explicitly saying (sometimes) that it isn't what a guy said, but a translation. All I found out was that MLB policy is pretty fuzzy—journalists can pretty much translate on their own as long as it's "basically" what the player was trying to get across.
Unfortunately, the players' personality usually gets lost in the process, which is what I was exploring. Sammy Sosa, for example, is a pompous, arrogant person when interviewed in Spanish. But in English he's the humble, simple man who was once a shoeshine boy.
It's all terribly interesting.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Opening Doors
I don't think these kinds of stories will ever get old for me:
I went to get my hair cut yesterday and as I'm sitting there waiting for my turn I listened to the hair cutters chatting with their customers about all kinds of inane crap. The hair cutters were just trying to avoid boredom and increase their tips, the heads were trying to hit on the cutters indirectly enough to protect them from rejection, and I was getting nauseated by the whole thing.
Maybe I should do this another time. But my hair was bad, really bad.
I swear to god, I bet there are tons of socially awkward guys that come in to just have someone that will talk to them for 20 minutes so they can go back to their apartment and feel like they are still part of society. Still normal.
Well, to each his own.
But and so my turn came and luckily I didn't get any of the chatterboxes. I got a lady with black hair that had been quietly cutting hair the whole time. She spoke my name and I followed her into the back. Right away I knew she was hispanic. My guess was Cuban. She knew my name, Carlos, but you could tell she didn't suspect a thing.
So she has this very bored look on her face like "here we go again" and I'm just telling her what I want haircut-wise.
"Short."
I appreciate that she isn't small talking me for a tip, she's just getting down to business. Of course she's hispanic.
And it hits me that this is why Americans like to small talk with employees (waiters, hair cutters, grocery clerks, etc.): what else is there? In a mass of so many people that are all identical to the rest, what can you do?
The word that comes to mind is jaded.
So I break out my card: Where are you from? Puerto Rico. Oh. I'm from Guatemala. Really? No. Really? Big smile.
And then we talked for the rest of the cut. Not bullshit/tip talk, but talking the way two people who share a similar past talk. The way people here bond when they realize they went to the same school or came from the same town. Like long-lost friends that have become strangers.
She was very passionate about her country, her culture, and her family.
I looked around at the other cutters, the other heads, and I felt pity for them.
When I left it felt like I had just seen a powerful movie. I was walking on air.
I went to get my hair cut yesterday and as I'm sitting there waiting for my turn I listened to the hair cutters chatting with their customers about all kinds of inane crap. The hair cutters were just trying to avoid boredom and increase their tips, the heads were trying to hit on the cutters indirectly enough to protect them from rejection, and I was getting nauseated by the whole thing.
Maybe I should do this another time. But my hair was bad, really bad.
I swear to god, I bet there are tons of socially awkward guys that come in to just have someone that will talk to them for 20 minutes so they can go back to their apartment and feel like they are still part of society. Still normal.
Well, to each his own.
But and so my turn came and luckily I didn't get any of the chatterboxes. I got a lady with black hair that had been quietly cutting hair the whole time. She spoke my name and I followed her into the back. Right away I knew she was hispanic. My guess was Cuban. She knew my name, Carlos, but you could tell she didn't suspect a thing.
So she has this very bored look on her face like "here we go again" and I'm just telling her what I want haircut-wise.
"Short."
I appreciate that she isn't small talking me for a tip, she's just getting down to business. Of course she's hispanic.
And it hits me that this is why Americans like to small talk with employees (waiters, hair cutters, grocery clerks, etc.): what else is there? In a mass of so many people that are all identical to the rest, what can you do?
The word that comes to mind is jaded.
So I break out my card: Where are you from? Puerto Rico. Oh. I'm from Guatemala. Really? No. Really? Big smile.
And then we talked for the rest of the cut. Not bullshit/tip talk, but talking the way two people who share a similar past talk. The way people here bond when they realize they went to the same school or came from the same town. Like long-lost friends that have become strangers.
She was very passionate about her country, her culture, and her family.
I looked around at the other cutters, the other heads, and I felt pity for them.
When I left it felt like I had just seen a powerful movie. I was walking on air.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Elections
So Guatemalans went to the urns last Sunday and voted on who their next president will be. I was here in the US so I wasn't able to vote.
A lot of people are upset about that since the money that Guatemalans send back home are the single biggest income the country as a whole receives. Bigger than any import or industry.
So shouldn't the group of people that contribute the most to the country's economy have at least a vote on that country's future?
That's the debate.
I used to think so, and I may still. But it's interesting reading the Guatemalan papers online and reading the reader comments.
Some people are passionate about them being able to vote. Others think that it doesn't really matter since, how are we going to know who to vote for if we are here?
This touches on another particular detail about the typical Guatemalan in the US: most of us don't go back often, or ever.
Almost every Guatemalan I've ever run into in this country hasn't been back for at least 5–10 years. Some for 20 and some for 30. But they still send the money.
They have no idea how the city has changed in just the last 10 years, never mind more than that. So how are these people who never go back, contribute as they may, know who to vote for? One reader made a good comment about how they have their own politics to worry about. They need to follow US politics so they can make wise decisions about their own future.
It's very hard to know what's going on in Guatemala, even when you're there. The press is awful, inaccurate, and sometimes plain wrong.
But there's still something that bothers me about not being able to vote simply because I'm here. Maybe if the press was more reliable, better opinions could be formed. But as it stands now all you can go on is what you hear from your family and friends back home.
A lot of people are upset about that since the money that Guatemalans send back home are the single biggest income the country as a whole receives. Bigger than any import or industry.
So shouldn't the group of people that contribute the most to the country's economy have at least a vote on that country's future?
That's the debate.
I used to think so, and I may still. But it's interesting reading the Guatemalan papers online and reading the reader comments.
Some people are passionate about them being able to vote. Others think that it doesn't really matter since, how are we going to know who to vote for if we are here?
This touches on another particular detail about the typical Guatemalan in the US: most of us don't go back often, or ever.
Almost every Guatemalan I've ever run into in this country hasn't been back for at least 5–10 years. Some for 20 and some for 30. But they still send the money.
They have no idea how the city has changed in just the last 10 years, never mind more than that. So how are these people who never go back, contribute as they may, know who to vote for? One reader made a good comment about how they have their own politics to worry about. They need to follow US politics so they can make wise decisions about their own future.
It's very hard to know what's going on in Guatemala, even when you're there. The press is awful, inaccurate, and sometimes plain wrong.
But there's still something that bothers me about not being able to vote simply because I'm here. Maybe if the press was more reliable, better opinions could be formed. But as it stands now all you can go on is what you hear from your family and friends back home.
Moving In
So we moved about two weeks ago and as moving is for everyone, it sucked. We wanted to save some money (it can cost around $500 to hire movers to do all the work, get the truck, etc.) so I got a Uhaul truck, packed up my stuff, and headed over to Mindy's to get her stuff in there too. It was going well until I started to wear down and my mind couldn't figure out how to keep fitting stuff in the Uhaul.
I was reaching the end of my rope.
Then Diego came and saved the day. Mindy's work uses a warehouse somewhere and she got them to come help us out for a few hours.
It took Diego and his partner (who was Guatemalan, but I can't remember his name) 15 minutes to rearrange the truck so that everything fit. It was awesome.
We got to talking and Diego, who is from Ecuador, is married to a Guatemalan woman. Small world. So once I started to talk to them in Spanish and tell them about myself, they let down the facade that everyone has here when dealing with Americans that have hired them for a job.
Now we were buddies.
So they got us moved into our new place, handling everything very carefully, and then we paid them $80 each. They were expecting $20/hour and they helped us for less than three. So it worked out well for everyone.
It's interesting though the way that facade comes down so slowly because they don't really believe I'm from where I say I am. First they keep talking in English, kind of pretending they never heard me say anything. Then I keep talking in Spanish and they answer back, realizing that hey this guy ain't shitting us. Then they ask a couple key questions and then we are all good.
I pass the test, I am "one of them." Let the confiding begin.
I was reaching the end of my rope.
Then Diego came and saved the day. Mindy's work uses a warehouse somewhere and she got them to come help us out for a few hours.
It took Diego and his partner (who was Guatemalan, but I can't remember his name) 15 minutes to rearrange the truck so that everything fit. It was awesome.
We got to talking and Diego, who is from Ecuador, is married to a Guatemalan woman. Small world. So once I started to talk to them in Spanish and tell them about myself, they let down the facade that everyone has here when dealing with Americans that have hired them for a job.
Now we were buddies.
So they got us moved into our new place, handling everything very carefully, and then we paid them $80 each. They were expecting $20/hour and they helped us for less than three. So it worked out well for everyone.
It's interesting though the way that facade comes down so slowly because they don't really believe I'm from where I say I am. First they keep talking in English, kind of pretending they never heard me say anything. Then I keep talking in Spanish and they answer back, realizing that hey this guy ain't shitting us. Then they ask a couple key questions and then we are all good.
I pass the test, I am "one of them." Let the confiding begin.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Fight Club
When I first saw this story, all I could say was "That's fucked up."
The gist of the story is that, in a small town outside Guatemala City, three criminals kidnapped a local official. He attacked the driver because he thought they were going to kill him, and the locals realized what was going on. Two of the men got away and the townspeople grabbed the one bad guy left.
They took him to the municipality to demand action be taken, but also wondering what to do with the man. This isn't all that rare in Guatemala, towns take the law into their own hands all the time. But as the mob was standing out there holding this man, another man walked by. That man was accused of having scammed some of the locals.
So here's what they did: they caught the other guy, beat him up a little bit, and then forced the two of them to fight each other. One of the men was beating up on the other pretty good, was choking him, doused him with gasoline, and lit him up after someone gave him a match.
Cops finally showed up and arrested the man that "won." The townspeople demanded that this criminal (he was the kidnapper) be released since he had won. Cops said "Umm, no" and took him away. There was no mention of what happened to the guy that was lit on fire (this is a standard hiccup in Guatemalan journalism).
The inevitable question: if the town took the law into their own hands, should the guy be allowed to go, as they wanted him to be, because he had been "put through trial" by the town? Because he "won" the fight?
These are the questions we tackle in Guatemala, we hope you'll still come and visit.
The gist of the story is that, in a small town outside Guatemala City, three criminals kidnapped a local official. He attacked the driver because he thought they were going to kill him, and the locals realized what was going on. Two of the men got away and the townspeople grabbed the one bad guy left.
They took him to the municipality to demand action be taken, but also wondering what to do with the man. This isn't all that rare in Guatemala, towns take the law into their own hands all the time. But as the mob was standing out there holding this man, another man walked by. That man was accused of having scammed some of the locals.
So here's what they did: they caught the other guy, beat him up a little bit, and then forced the two of them to fight each other. One of the men was beating up on the other pretty good, was choking him, doused him with gasoline, and lit him up after someone gave him a match.
Cops finally showed up and arrested the man that "won." The townspeople demanded that this criminal (he was the kidnapper) be released since he had won. Cops said "Umm, no" and took him away. There was no mention of what happened to the guy that was lit on fire (this is a standard hiccup in Guatemalan journalism).
The inevitable question: if the town took the law into their own hands, should the guy be allowed to go, as they wanted him to be, because he had been "put through trial" by the town? Because he "won" the fight?
These are the questions we tackle in Guatemala, we hope you'll still come and visit.
Monday, August 13, 2007
WANTED
So today I saw a couple of interesting things.
First of all, in the middle of WASP-central Lincoln Park, I saw a sign in front of a restaurant that read:
Se necesitan cocineron con experiencia
That's it. No translation. Which means, what the restaurant was looking for was a cook that spoke Spanish. A hispanic cook. Which isn't a big deal when you realize that any place you go to in Lincoln Park has Mexicans the other hispanics in the kitchen.
The thing that struck me is that it wasn't in English and Spanish, just in Spanish. Whether it's for lower wages or some other reason, this place was specifically looking for a Hispanic (short order) cook.
Is this a case of a stereotype molding to reality or just reality further escalating the stereotype? I don't know, but a few minutes later I walked into McDonalds (also in Lincoln Park). McDonalds here in Chicago are either Hispanic or Black, in my experience. This one happens to be Hispanic with the odd black person thrown in. The cashier in the line I was in was black, and he was having a hell of a time understanding the Asian man in front of me in line. I couldn't understand him either. Part of it was language, part of it was culture, and part of it was age—the man was a little out of it.
But after placing my order (and having a little trouble of my own understanding the black youngster behind the counter), I heard the other, hispanic cashier as the next customer what she wanted.
In a heavy accent: Can ah jelp nest custmer?
Customer: (Slight pause, as if to see if it's OK) Si, me da una quesoburguesa doble por favor?
Cashier: Quiere el menu o solo es sandwiche?
And the transaction went on as it normally would, in Spanish.
None of this should surprise anyone whose been paying any attention for the last ten years, but still. In the middle of Lincoln Park, to see this, made an impact on me.
What if I didn't know Spanish? How would it feel to walk around and have no idea what half the people around you are saying?
I guess now Americans can even get the experience all of use enjoy when we travel abroad right here in their own WASPy neighborhoods.
Wait, is that good or bad?
First of all, in the middle of WASP-central Lincoln Park, I saw a sign in front of a restaurant that read:
Se necesitan cocineron con experiencia
That's it. No translation. Which means, what the restaurant was looking for was a cook that spoke Spanish. A hispanic cook. Which isn't a big deal when you realize that any place you go to in Lincoln Park has Mexicans the other hispanics in the kitchen.
The thing that struck me is that it wasn't in English and Spanish, just in Spanish. Whether it's for lower wages or some other reason, this place was specifically looking for a Hispanic (short order) cook.
Is this a case of a stereotype molding to reality or just reality further escalating the stereotype? I don't know, but a few minutes later I walked into McDonalds (also in Lincoln Park). McDonalds here in Chicago are either Hispanic or Black, in my experience. This one happens to be Hispanic with the odd black person thrown in. The cashier in the line I was in was black, and he was having a hell of a time understanding the Asian man in front of me in line. I couldn't understand him either. Part of it was language, part of it was culture, and part of it was age—the man was a little out of it.
But after placing my order (and having a little trouble of my own understanding the black youngster behind the counter), I heard the other, hispanic cashier as the next customer what she wanted.
In a heavy accent: Can ah jelp nest custmer?
Customer: (Slight pause, as if to see if it's OK) Si, me da una quesoburguesa doble por favor?
Cashier: Quiere el menu o solo es sandwiche?
And the transaction went on as it normally would, in Spanish.
None of this should surprise anyone whose been paying any attention for the last ten years, but still. In the middle of Lincoln Park, to see this, made an impact on me.
What if I didn't know Spanish? How would it feel to walk around and have no idea what half the people around you are saying?
I guess now Americans can even get the experience all of use enjoy when we travel abroad right here in their own WASPy neighborhoods.
Wait, is that good or bad?
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Apartment Hunting
So the whole gist of this blog and of what I'm trying to get across is what it's like to be foreign in a place where I don't look foreign.
Over the past two weeks, Mindy and I have been looking for an apartment for us to move into for the first time. It's been very stressful and I'm glad it's over—we're both excited about living in a high rise right on Lake Shore Drive. So that's good.
But as September got closer and closer and we didn't have a place yet, we both started getting a little antsy. We were sending a ton of emails to a bunch of different places and we usually didn't hear back. I don't like talking on the phone, so I was happy to send email after email telling people that we were looking for an apartment.
Here is what I've learned:
- Saying you are engaged and the both of you are moving in together is a HUGE plus. They love it and it'll give you a better chance to get the apartment.
- People may or may not be racist. I never felt this way until weeks went by and my emails went unanswered. Then at the end of every email I sent I got a queasy feeling when I signed my name, "Thanks, Carlos P."
I began to feel a little queasy—now I was a full-fledged Hispanic. Forget about what I look like, how I was raised, where my mother is from—Carlos P is as Hispanic as they come. The reason I didn't write out my last name is because Portocarrero will just scare everyone away.
I felt awful and wanted Mindy to send all the emails from then on. Instead I began to call everyone and leave messages: "Hello, I'm calling because I'm interested in the apartment you listed on Craigslist on Lake Shore Drive. Ummm, I'm just wondering if it's still available I guess and when my fiancee and I could come see it. Ok, thanks, and have a good day. Bye bye."
Now here was a Carlos that is fully American. No trace of an accent, not even of a second-generation Hispanic. And the calls began flooding in, all but a few returned my calls.
I haven't really been able to think about it since I was so focused on just getting a place at whatever cost, but via email there was nothing I could do about how people perceived my name and what it meant to them. Now it's got me thinking about other places where my name is out there and not much else, like my resume.
It's a worrying thought and it makes me question myself about it. If I was subletting my apartment and got an email from a Rodrigo or a Jose Miguel, would I feel any different towards them compared to other applicants? I can't lie and say it wouldn't, but I would also judge every single applicant by their name, their words, what they're like on the phone, if they can spell or not in their emails.
I just read a bit in the book Freakonomics where a correlation was found between how Hispanic contestants were treated in the game show The Weakest Link. In the show, contestants want to have strong competitors in the early going (to accumulate more money) but weaker players towards the end (so they can win the accumulated money). Turns out that black people weren't treated any differently (that is, they were voted off just about the same as non-black players that were good or bad competitors). According to the book, it's because people don't want to appear as racist. But when it came to the elderly and Hispanics, players showed a different feel.
Older contestants faced "taste-based discrimination, which means that one person discriminates simply because he prefers to not interact with a particular type of other person." In other words, "contestants . . . simply don't want the older players around."
Hispanics face taste-based discrimination. This means that "contestants seem to view Hispanics as poor players, even when they are not. This perception translates into Hispanics' being eliminated in the early rounds even if they are doing well and not being eliminated in the later rounds, when other contestants want to keep the Hispanics around to weaken the field."
Sounds horrible, despicable, racist, doesn't it? It is what it is and complaining about it won't change people's perceptions. This is one of those things that just has to take it's course until one of two things happen: It finally "wears off" as people become more familiar with Hispanics and realize they have nothing to fear. Or we enter into a politically correct phase where the fear of offending or seeming to be racist keeps people in check.
Over the past two weeks, Mindy and I have been looking for an apartment for us to move into for the first time. It's been very stressful and I'm glad it's over—we're both excited about living in a high rise right on Lake Shore Drive. So that's good.
But as September got closer and closer and we didn't have a place yet, we both started getting a little antsy. We were sending a ton of emails to a bunch of different places and we usually didn't hear back. I don't like talking on the phone, so I was happy to send email after email telling people that we were looking for an apartment.
Here is what I've learned:
- Saying you are engaged and the both of you are moving in together is a HUGE plus. They love it and it'll give you a better chance to get the apartment.
- People may or may not be racist. I never felt this way until weeks went by and my emails went unanswered. Then at the end of every email I sent I got a queasy feeling when I signed my name, "Thanks, Carlos P."
I began to feel a little queasy—now I was a full-fledged Hispanic. Forget about what I look like, how I was raised, where my mother is from—Carlos P is as Hispanic as they come. The reason I didn't write out my last name is because Portocarrero will just scare everyone away.
I felt awful and wanted Mindy to send all the emails from then on. Instead I began to call everyone and leave messages: "Hello, I'm calling because I'm interested in the apartment you listed on Craigslist on Lake Shore Drive. Ummm, I'm just wondering if it's still available I guess and when my fiancee and I could come see it. Ok, thanks, and have a good day. Bye bye."
Now here was a Carlos that is fully American. No trace of an accent, not even of a second-generation Hispanic. And the calls began flooding in, all but a few returned my calls.
I haven't really been able to think about it since I was so focused on just getting a place at whatever cost, but via email there was nothing I could do about how people perceived my name and what it meant to them. Now it's got me thinking about other places where my name is out there and not much else, like my resume.
It's a worrying thought and it makes me question myself about it. If I was subletting my apartment and got an email from a Rodrigo or a Jose Miguel, would I feel any different towards them compared to other applicants? I can't lie and say it wouldn't, but I would also judge every single applicant by their name, their words, what they're like on the phone, if they can spell or not in their emails.
I just read a bit in the book Freakonomics where a correlation was found between how Hispanic contestants were treated in the game show The Weakest Link. In the show, contestants want to have strong competitors in the early going (to accumulate more money) but weaker players towards the end (so they can win the accumulated money). Turns out that black people weren't treated any differently (that is, they were voted off just about the same as non-black players that were good or bad competitors). According to the book, it's because people don't want to appear as racist. But when it came to the elderly and Hispanics, players showed a different feel.
Older contestants faced "taste-based discrimination, which means that one person discriminates simply because he prefers to not interact with a particular type of other person." In other words, "contestants . . . simply don't want the older players around."
Hispanics face taste-based discrimination. This means that "contestants seem to view Hispanics as poor players, even when they are not. This perception translates into Hispanics' being eliminated in the early rounds even if they are doing well and not being eliminated in the later rounds, when other contestants want to keep the Hispanics around to weaken the field."
Sounds horrible, despicable, racist, doesn't it? It is what it is and complaining about it won't change people's perceptions. This is one of those things that just has to take it's course until one of two things happen: It finally "wears off" as people become more familiar with Hispanics and realize they have nothing to fear. Or we enter into a politically correct phase where the fear of offending or seeming to be racist keeps people in check.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Mohsin Hamid's Article
Here is a great article by Mohsin Hamid, the author of The Reluctant Fundamentalist. I finished the book last week and today I literally stumbled into this article in yesterday’s Washington Post via Slate.
He’s exploring the question of “why they hate us” and in so doing he puts into words how many foreign people feel. But he also shares with us his duality—that part of him is pissed off at how his “other” country means so little to the average American.
It’s really a great article and the bit about the difference in Chapters in history is a great analogy. Read the whole thing, here’s a snippet:
Part of the reason people abroad resent the
But there is another major reason for anti-Americanism: the accreted residue of many years of
Monday, July 16, 2007
America makes you fat
An interesting article about how US-born hispanics have poorer health than those that come from abroad.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
David Hoon Kim
So I've been slowly catching up on my New Yorker subscriptions and I finally got through the Fiction Issue. There's a really good story on there by a guy named David Hoon Kim, who is part Asian, part French, part American. It's his first-ever published piece and he's got other stuff in the pipeline I guess.
The story itself is really good and it deals with some of the issues of looking like one nationality while really not feeling that way. Check out the story for yourself. Also check out the interesting interview on the site, where he talks about language and writing.
The story itself is really good and it deals with some of the issues of looking like one nationality while really not feeling that way. Check out the story for yourself. Also check out the interesting interview on the site, where he talks about language and writing.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Guatemalan Soccer
So last week Guatemala lost to Canada to end their run in the 2007 Gold Cup. The next day the papers in Guatemala thrashed the team for it's ineptitude. The real reason people got so worked up though was because they had been given hope, again. And, again, they felt bamboozled.
The gist of the comments in the paper (and by readers) was this:
"Here we go again. One more time the National team shows they are nothing but amateurs playing against professional athletes."
Lately they haven't been blaming the coaches, which used to be SOP. But our last two coaches have been pretty good—the one thing everyone agreed on.
Now the only thing people agree on is how slow, weak, and underskilled our players are when they play real teams.
It's an argument that has been made for a long time. Our players aren't professional athletes, they are guys who are getting paid a little bit of money (just enough) to play a sport they've played since they were kids. In a poor country like Guatemala, these guys' priorities have nothing to do with sports. It's about getting yours and providing for your family. It's the same thing that happens in politics—when anyone that isn't rich (and even those who are) get to a position of power, they go into self-preservation mode. Only they take it to an extreme. Once they realize the amount of money they can take (which everyone else is taking), they figure they better get in on in too or else they'll miss their chance at having a little bit of comfort in their lives.
It's poverty, it makes things like morals and values something you can't afford to think about, and never do.
That is all.
The gist of the comments in the paper (and by readers) was this:
"Here we go again. One more time the National team shows they are nothing but amateurs playing against professional athletes."
Lately they haven't been blaming the coaches, which used to be SOP. But our last two coaches have been pretty good—the one thing everyone agreed on.
Now the only thing people agree on is how slow, weak, and underskilled our players are when they play real teams.
It's an argument that has been made for a long time. Our players aren't professional athletes, they are guys who are getting paid a little bit of money (just enough) to play a sport they've played since they were kids. In a poor country like Guatemala, these guys' priorities have nothing to do with sports. It's about getting yours and providing for your family. It's the same thing that happens in politics—when anyone that isn't rich (and even those who are) get to a position of power, they go into self-preservation mode. Only they take it to an extreme. Once they realize the amount of money they can take (which everyone else is taking), they figure they better get in on in too or else they'll miss their chance at having a little bit of comfort in their lives.
It's poverty, it makes things like morals and values something you can't afford to think about, and never do.
That is all.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Presidential Candidates in Guatemala
My father will be voting "Nulo" in Guatemala's upcoming presidential elections, which is a surprise if you know the eternal optimism of my dad (something I believe I've inherited). Word from my mother is that he'll go, vote, do his civic duty, but he won't vote for any of them. There isn't a candidate worth voting for.
Not a good sign for the country.
Not a good sign for the country.
Blacks vs Latinos in Baseball
Gary Sheffield made some "controversial" comments about why there are more Latinos then blacks in the major leagues.
According to Sheff, it's because Latinos can be "controlled" better than black players. Here he is implying that blacks are more confrontational and have more attitude, are uncoachable. He's black, so I guess he can say that and it can go by the boards without it being an issue.
As for the Latino part, he claims that the language and other factors like poverty play a major role. It's really an illuminating article, since a lot of what he's saying, while "controversial" to the mainstream (anything said with any degree of certainty about any particular race is now considered politically incorrect) media, makes a lot of sense.
He goes on to say:
"It's not that they can control us; maybe when we come to this country, we're hungry," Guillen told the newspaper. "We're trying to survive. Those guys sign for $500,000 or $1 million and they're made. We have a couple of dollars. You can sign one African-American player for the price of 30 Latin players. Look at how many Latin players have won Cy Youngs or MVP awards the last couple of years, how many Latin players have been in the All-Star Game; it's quantity and quality."
This is something I've said before about making it in the big leagues: many Latin players are playing for their families well beings, to get them out of poverty in their countries of origin. Think about the motivation and dedication a person is infused with when this type of stuff is on the line. This isn't poverty like the poverty we see in the US, this is third-world, heavy duty, real poverty.
Sure, there are a lot of poor blacks in this country, but as Sheff points out, there are more baseball camps being launched internationally than here in the US.
I commend him for saying what he believes in an era when no one says anything mildly controversial.
According to Sheff, it's because Latinos can be "controlled" better than black players. Here he is implying that blacks are more confrontational and have more attitude, are uncoachable. He's black, so I guess he can say that and it can go by the boards without it being an issue.
As for the Latino part, he claims that the language and other factors like poverty play a major role. It's really an illuminating article, since a lot of what he's saying, while "controversial" to the mainstream (anything said with any degree of certainty about any particular race is now considered politically incorrect) media, makes a lot of sense.
He goes on to say:
"It's not that they can control us; maybe when we come to this country, we're hungry," Guillen told the newspaper. "We're trying to survive. Those guys sign for $500,000 or $1 million and they're made. We have a couple of dollars. You can sign one African-American player for the price of 30 Latin players. Look at how many Latin players have won Cy Youngs or MVP awards the last couple of years, how many Latin players have been in the All-Star Game; it's quantity and quality."
This is something I've said before about making it in the big leagues: many Latin players are playing for their families well beings, to get them out of poverty in their countries of origin. Think about the motivation and dedication a person is infused with when this type of stuff is on the line. This isn't poverty like the poverty we see in the US, this is third-world, heavy duty, real poverty.
Sure, there are a lot of poor blacks in this country, but as Sheff points out, there are more baseball camps being launched internationally than here in the US.
I commend him for saying what he believes in an era when no one says anything mildly controversial.
Monday, June 4, 2007
My Shakira moment
When I was a freshman in college I went to a party at the Mods, an area of the campus where only seniors were supposed to hang out. These were apartment-style housing units that originally were there for students that had families.
Anyway, once you got inside one of the apartments, which was easy, you had all the beer and booze you wanted or could handle.
One of the first times I was there, this is when I was very insecure (or more so), dressed horribly, and knew nothing about anything. So I was standing there in a checkered shirt that I thought was pretty cool, kind of checking out the scene.
Then a song came on, one that reminded me of Guatemala and everything I had "left behind." So I got pumped up and started kind of mouthing the lyrics. You know, I got lost in the moment with the beer running through me, the music jamming, memories flowing, and the party atmosphere of these senior apartments.
It was a Shakira song when Shakira had black hair and was considered alternative in Latin America. She was a complete unknown in the US.
Next thing I know I see a girl across the room staring at me and telling her friends, "Oh my god! Look at this guy! He knows the lyrics!"
She was drunk, obviously, and she came over and started talking to me.
At that point I thought, "Sweet, finally the Guatemalan thing pays off here."
I told her where I was from, she was in awe of it, couldn't believe it, but then took a closer look at me: too skinny for my height, too much acne to be of any relevance to the opposite sex, dressed too much like a freshman in high school, let alone college.
She got over her awe real quick and we both went about our business at the party—her hanging out with her friends and me drinking too much beer and just kind of standing around next to my friends.
It was one of those rare instances that really let people identify me as something "Latino." Ever since then I strain and reach for anything I can do, say or pantomime that will let people see that I am "Latino."
Why? Because we all want to be different, don't we?
Anyway, once you got inside one of the apartments, which was easy, you had all the beer and booze you wanted or could handle.
One of the first times I was there, this is when I was very insecure (or more so), dressed horribly, and knew nothing about anything. So I was standing there in a checkered shirt that I thought was pretty cool, kind of checking out the scene.
Then a song came on, one that reminded me of Guatemala and everything I had "left behind." So I got pumped up and started kind of mouthing the lyrics. You know, I got lost in the moment with the beer running through me, the music jamming, memories flowing, and the party atmosphere of these senior apartments.
It was a Shakira song when Shakira had black hair and was considered alternative in Latin America. She was a complete unknown in the US.
Next thing I know I see a girl across the room staring at me and telling her friends, "Oh my god! Look at this guy! He knows the lyrics!"
She was drunk, obviously, and she came over and started talking to me.
At that point I thought, "Sweet, finally the Guatemalan thing pays off here."
I told her where I was from, she was in awe of it, couldn't believe it, but then took a closer look at me: too skinny for my height, too much acne to be of any relevance to the opposite sex, dressed too much like a freshman in high school, let alone college.
She got over her awe real quick and we both went about our business at the party—her hanging out with her friends and me drinking too much beer and just kind of standing around next to my friends.
It was one of those rare instances that really let people identify me as something "Latino." Ever since then I strain and reach for anything I can do, say or pantomime that will let people see that I am "Latino."
Why? Because we all want to be different, don't we?
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Speaking of Spying
It's interesting that the one things that drew the most interest when I started this blog was the whole spying thing, by which I mean you can listen in on strangers talking (sometimes about you) about something. They assume, because of how you look, you don't know what they're saying. Little do they know . . .
You know the rest (hilarity ensues)
For whatever reason I had been waiting to post on my favorite spy story, which happened in Boston. Well yesterday I had another incident happen, so today you get the Boston one and the yesterday one, both good ones, I think.
So I'm standing on the T (subway) in Boston just minding my own business, staring out the window and daydreaming. Suddenly I realize there is a mother and daughter standing across from me talking in Spanish. I decide to tune in:
Mother: Just talk to him
Daughter (15 years old): What am I going to say?
M: Anything, just something, if that's how you feel.
D: No-ooo mom!
M: Well that way nothing will happen.
And it hits me: I am the topic of conversation here. A few things went through my mind: an ego boost, nerves, and a question—what do I do about this?
After some thought, I ask the two, in English, "So, where are you guys from?"
"Oh, Ecuador," the mother says smiling. The daughter just kind of smiles too.
"Oh really? Cool." A little pause to let it all build.
"I'm from Guatemala," I drop it.
Daughter goes red and mother's mouth goes agape.
"So you know Spanish?"
"Oh yeah," big smile.
That was followed by a few awkward minutes of quiet, the daughter just about wanted to die. They got off at their next stop.
So that was a good one, here is a bad one. The most recent one:
So Mindy and I go to Chipotle to get some tacos. We get to the counter to pay and we do and we take our food to our table. Once there, Mindy realizes we ordered a side of guacamole and we didn't get it.
So I go back to the counter and ask this guy (who is hispanic and totally gay, by the way, as is everyone back behind the counter (hispanic, not gay)) if maybe we left our guac behind, that we didn't get it.
He tells the other hispanic girl to prep a fresh order of guac.
"Oh you don't need to do that, I think we just left it on the counter," I say, trying to help you know.
He smiles at me and goes, really nice, "Oh it's no problem."
Then he turns to the girl and, in Spanish, goes, "Ya me estan dando pajas," which is a vulgar way to say "This guy is full of shit."
So my face goes red, I can feel this, and wait until my guac is served. I pick it up off the counter and go, in Spanish, "No es paja," which is akin to "It's not bullshit."
I guess he was assuming a few things here: that we didn't pay for it and wanted some free guac (which fuck you man, who does that) and that I didn't speak Spanish.
So I'm pissed off now. I go back to my seat and am fuming, telling Mindy the lowdown. We eat and later on we run out of Guac. Mindy hints that some salsa would be great since we still have chips. So I go up to the counter to the hispanic girl and ask for an order of salsa. The huge menu says it's 1.25, so I take out two bucks while she readies it. I get my order and she goes "Is too twenty."
I'm kind of surprised but am like, ok, so I take out another one, pay, and go sit down.
I tell Mindy the menu must be old, out of date. I look at my ticket and notice that it says "Chips and guacamole - $2," which is what it says on that huge menu I was basing myself on.
So now I see a chance to really be a dick so I go back and tell the girl she charged me for the wrong thing. I struggle to understand what she's saying, her English is not good, but finally I tell her I just want my money back, the difference anyway. She gives it to me and gives me a little fake smile that makes me wish I could slap it off.
Chipotle? I'm done with that particular store, they've lost my business for life.
So in a nutshell that's the spying game.
You know the rest (hilarity ensues)
For whatever reason I had been waiting to post on my favorite spy story, which happened in Boston. Well yesterday I had another incident happen, so today you get the Boston one and the yesterday one, both good ones, I think.
So I'm standing on the T (subway) in Boston just minding my own business, staring out the window and daydreaming. Suddenly I realize there is a mother and daughter standing across from me talking in Spanish. I decide to tune in:
Mother: Just talk to him
Daughter (15 years old): What am I going to say?
M: Anything, just something, if that's how you feel.
D: No-ooo mom!
M: Well that way nothing will happen.
And it hits me: I am the topic of conversation here. A few things went through my mind: an ego boost, nerves, and a question—what do I do about this?
After some thought, I ask the two, in English, "So, where are you guys from?"
"Oh, Ecuador," the mother says smiling. The daughter just kind of smiles too.
"Oh really? Cool." A little pause to let it all build.
"I'm from Guatemala," I drop it.
Daughter goes red and mother's mouth goes agape.
"So you know Spanish?"
"Oh yeah," big smile.
That was followed by a few awkward minutes of quiet, the daughter just about wanted to die. They got off at their next stop.
So that was a good one, here is a bad one. The most recent one:
So Mindy and I go to Chipotle to get some tacos. We get to the counter to pay and we do and we take our food to our table. Once there, Mindy realizes we ordered a side of guacamole and we didn't get it.
So I go back to the counter and ask this guy (who is hispanic and totally gay, by the way, as is everyone back behind the counter (hispanic, not gay)) if maybe we left our guac behind, that we didn't get it.
He tells the other hispanic girl to prep a fresh order of guac.
"Oh you don't need to do that, I think we just left it on the counter," I say, trying to help you know.
He smiles at me and goes, really nice, "Oh it's no problem."
Then he turns to the girl and, in Spanish, goes, "Ya me estan dando pajas," which is a vulgar way to say "This guy is full of shit."
So my face goes red, I can feel this, and wait until my guac is served. I pick it up off the counter and go, in Spanish, "No es paja," which is akin to "It's not bullshit."
I guess he was assuming a few things here: that we didn't pay for it and wanted some free guac (which fuck you man, who does that) and that I didn't speak Spanish.
So I'm pissed off now. I go back to my seat and am fuming, telling Mindy the lowdown. We eat and later on we run out of Guac. Mindy hints that some salsa would be great since we still have chips. So I go up to the counter to the hispanic girl and ask for an order of salsa. The huge menu says it's 1.25, so I take out two bucks while she readies it. I get my order and she goes "Is too twenty."
I'm kind of surprised but am like, ok, so I take out another one, pay, and go sit down.
I tell Mindy the menu must be old, out of date. I look at my ticket and notice that it says "Chips and guacamole - $2," which is what it says on that huge menu I was basing myself on.
So now I see a chance to really be a dick so I go back and tell the girl she charged me for the wrong thing. I struggle to understand what she's saying, her English is not good, but finally I tell her I just want my money back, the difference anyway. She gives it to me and gives me a little fake smile that makes me wish I could slap it off.
Chipotle? I'm done with that particular store, they've lost my business for life.
So in a nutshell that's the spying game.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Border Film Project
Here's a great website sent in by Olisa:
Border Film Project is an art collaborative that distributed 400+
disposable cameras to two groups on different sides of the U.S.-Mexico
border - undocumented migrants crossing the desert and American
Minutemen trying to stop them.
The photographs have now been published in a book and on their
website.
It reminds me of something I mentioned in the old blog about homeless kids in Guatemala that were given disposable cameras and told to document their lives. Well, they came back with a ton of great pictures, but a lot of the kids were robbed or harassed, as people thought they had stolen the cameras.
Border Film Project is an art collaborative that distributed 400+
disposable cameras to two groups on different sides of the U.S.-Mexico
border - undocumented migrants crossing the desert and American
Minutemen trying to stop them.
The photographs have now been published in a book and on their
website.
It reminds me of something I mentioned in the old blog about homeless kids in Guatemala that were given disposable cameras and told to document their lives. Well, they came back with a ton of great pictures, but a lot of the kids were robbed or harassed, as people thought they had stolen the cameras.
Terrorism at the Border?
Here's a really interesting article trying to prove (successfully, I think) that terrorists are actively trying to enter the United States via the Mexican border, something that has been dismissed by people supporting an open border.
This is one of those debates rooted in politics, and so it's hard to read the article without feeling like it's politically motivated instead of a straight piece of investigative journalism.
What do you think?
This is one of those debates rooted in politics, and so it's hard to read the article without feeling like it's politically motivated instead of a straight piece of investigative journalism.
What do you think?
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Hate in America
When I was a freshman in college, this is in Boston, and I was fresh off the boat (as my friends kept reminding me), I had to take a writing class meant to get everyone on the same page in terms of writing papers and essays. Here is an excerpt of the first piece I wrote for that class:
America thinks it’s so great but all it takes is one person and a couple of bombs in NY and Washington, DC. The war would be lost, but the point would be made. It would wake people up to the reality of anti-American sentiment.
I found this in an old box a few years ago and it creeped me out. I wrote in 1999 as a know-it-all teenager filled with a lot of angst and anger.
I still haven’t heard from the CIA, but it was a pretty shocking thing to find. I remember my writing class back then was a small group—five or six people. I read the story out loud and a girl from Venezuela really liked it. Later she told me that it was interesting to her because it embodied feelings that are so prevalent in her country. The other kids in my class enjoyed it too, although in a different way. They thought it novel that I would write something so negative about America. They didn’t harbor me any ill will, they were intrigued by what I was saying. At the time, it was something new to them.
Part of it may have been that, even at the age of 17, my writing was already incredible. But the reality was that they had never heard someone so much like them express these negative thoughts. Here was someone just like them, at an American university, apparently hating on America in perfect English in a very detached, casual way. Before 9/11. They had never heard this before.
It was and still is a matter-of-fact subject. This is the way the world has felt for a very long time and continues to feel today. It’s not important to debate whether the world is right or wrong to feel this way, it is what it is. It is real and it will not go away even if the world is wrong.
After class, the girl from Venezuela caught up to me and told me she liked my essay. She too felt moved by it, not so much because of the content—it was something that the both of us had grown up into. To her it was old news. The reason I was getting such positive feedback was because of who I was, what I looked like, and how these ideas sounded coming out of my mouth.
The whole experience left me feeling a certain sense of responsibility that I still have today. I’m in a position to rise above the noise of these ideas to come off as something more than a jaded foreigner on another anti-American rant. I don’t see myself that way. Then again, no one does.
I’m half American. I look and sound 100% American. I came to the states for college and still live here today. It’s the place I’ve chosen to live my life in.
But I grew up in a different country, where the prevalence of certain ideas, feelings, and historic events formed my opinions and philosophies on life.
All those thoughts and ideologies are a part of me that I can’t ignore. Through my writing, and this blog specifically, I hope more and more Americans can understand the complex emotions that, more often than not, come off as hate.
It isn’t hate, it’s the reality of the world we live in.
America thinks it’s so great but all it takes is one person and a couple of bombs in NY and Washington, DC. The war would be lost, but the point would be made. It would wake people up to the reality of anti-American sentiment.
I found this in an old box a few years ago and it creeped me out. I wrote in 1999 as a know-it-all teenager filled with a lot of angst and anger.
I still haven’t heard from the CIA, but it was a pretty shocking thing to find. I remember my writing class back then was a small group—five or six people. I read the story out loud and a girl from Venezuela really liked it. Later she told me that it was interesting to her because it embodied feelings that are so prevalent in her country. The other kids in my class enjoyed it too, although in a different way. They thought it novel that I would write something so negative about America. They didn’t harbor me any ill will, they were intrigued by what I was saying. At the time, it was something new to them.
Part of it may have been that, even at the age of 17, my writing was already incredible. But the reality was that they had never heard someone so much like them express these negative thoughts. Here was someone just like them, at an American university, apparently hating on America in perfect English in a very detached, casual way. Before 9/11. They had never heard this before.
It was and still is a matter-of-fact subject. This is the way the world has felt for a very long time and continues to feel today. It’s not important to debate whether the world is right or wrong to feel this way, it is what it is. It is real and it will not go away even if the world is wrong.
After class, the girl from Venezuela caught up to me and told me she liked my essay. She too felt moved by it, not so much because of the content—it was something that the both of us had grown up into. To her it was old news. The reason I was getting such positive feedback was because of who I was, what I looked like, and how these ideas sounded coming out of my mouth.
The whole experience left me feeling a certain sense of responsibility that I still have today. I’m in a position to rise above the noise of these ideas to come off as something more than a jaded foreigner on another anti-American rant. I don’t see myself that way. Then again, no one does.
I’m half American. I look and sound 100% American. I came to the states for college and still live here today. It’s the place I’ve chosen to live my life in.
But I grew up in a different country, where the prevalence of certain ideas, feelings, and historic events formed my opinions and philosophies on life.
All those thoughts and ideologies are a part of me that I can’t ignore. Through my writing, and this blog specifically, I hope more and more Americans can understand the complex emotions that, more often than not, come off as hate.
It isn’t hate, it’s the reality of the world we live in.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Pizza Patron
Here's a smart way to boost your business and get a boatload of publicity all at the same time.
The guy that runs this pizza place decided to accept Mexican pesos after a post-Christmas promotion went so well. Sure he got some hate mail from some racist people, but he got a whole lot of good press and some huge cachet with the nation's fastest growing population.
Smart move.
The guy that runs this pizza place decided to accept Mexican pesos after a post-Christmas promotion went so well. Sure he got some hate mail from some racist people, but he got a whole lot of good press and some huge cachet with the nation's fastest growing population.
Smart move.
Baby Boomers and Immigrants
Here’s a good article on the importance of the link between baby boomers and immigrants. Since so much of the population growth in the country comes from Hispanics, boomers need them to be in a position to basically pay for the services they will need as they retire and get older. Some interesting quotes from the article:
One of the challenges is that Americans don't seem to be aware of the vital role the next generation will play. The predominantly white senior citizens and boomers, who account for the majority of the nation's decision makers, often vote against measures to boost services or raise taxes for schools increasingly populated by Hispanics. That's a problem, because better education is the ticket to prosperity for those on whose tax dollars boomers will rely.
A less-advantaged younger generation is less likely to be able to afford to pay top dollar for retirees' homes. "We need to cultivate new home buyers; it requires moving more Latino kids through high school and college," says Prof. Myers. "It's not for the good of Latinos. It's for the good of the nation."
This is a good way of making an argument—with hard facts and no sentimentalism. Relying on stuff like “give us your poor, your destitute . . .” isn’t really a way of convincing people to change the way they look at things.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Kyle deBeausset
An old friend from Guatemala sent me this link to the story of Kyle deBeausset, an alumni of the American school I attended in Guatemala until I was around 11 years old. My old friend also went to this school and ended up transferring to the school I ended up transferring to. His is a very interesting story and I hope to do a piece on him at a later date.
Anyway, the link doesn't say much about the story in English, only providing scans to the Spanish newspaper stories. The gist is that this American-looking guy, Kyle, made the trip that so many migrants make in trying to get to the States. He did it even though he looks completely American (his Taiwanese heritage may have helped him blend in a little bit).
Check out his blog, it's pretty interesting and deals with all kids of immigration-related material.
As I went through all of it and thought more about his story, I started to feel incredible guilty. I had the same experiences as he did growing up, but what am I doing about it? He's made it his whole cause in life to attain equal rights and a better life for Guatemalan people. I write stories and talk about movies and books.
The fundamental difference between Kyle and me is that he is the type of person that thinks of smuggling himself up north into the US (he has a US passport by the way) and I'm the type of person that thinks about it and ends up writing a fictional story about it.
Anyway, I hope to get in touch with him at some point and get to know him a little better and maybe interview him for the blog.
Anyway, the link doesn't say much about the story in English, only providing scans to the Spanish newspaper stories. The gist is that this American-looking guy, Kyle, made the trip that so many migrants make in trying to get to the States. He did it even though he looks completely American (his Taiwanese heritage may have helped him blend in a little bit).
Check out his blog, it's pretty interesting and deals with all kids of immigration-related material.
As I went through all of it and thought more about his story, I started to feel incredible guilty. I had the same experiences as he did growing up, but what am I doing about it? He's made it his whole cause in life to attain equal rights and a better life for Guatemalan people. I write stories and talk about movies and books.
The fundamental difference between Kyle and me is that he is the type of person that thinks of smuggling himself up north into the US (he has a US passport by the way) and I'm the type of person that thinks about it and ends up writing a fictional story about it.
Anyway, I hope to get in touch with him at some point and get to know him a little better and maybe interview him for the blog.
Friday, May 11, 2007
FYI
Just a quick note to anyone interested in this blog, the last two posts before this one aren't indicative of the "meat" of what this blog will cover. I'll post links and observations about relevant topics when I see something worth discussing, but otherwise it will be mostly about the articles I'll post. I haven't decided if it will be a once-a-week thing or what, but I'll figure that out next week.
Look for the first article early next week and keep the comments coming!
Look for the first article early next week and keep the comments coming!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Deported gang members in Guatemala
This article (in Spanish) tells of a community in Guatemala where gangsters that have been sent back to Guatemala from the US for illegally crossing or trying to cross the border.
Problem is they have taken over the community and are charging a tax per house for "not killing any members of the family" that live inside each house. Two-story houses pay slightly more than single-story ones.
The clincher is the quote at the end by a cop, who is like "citizens need to denounce these criminals or else they too are criminals."
Real nice, you don't have to live in a place where gangsters demand a tax to let you live. Real nice.
By the way, take a look at the comments section, I'll have a post on this later because it's very entertaining and very revealing about guatemalan culture and the mentality that exists there.
Problem is they have taken over the community and are charging a tax per house for "not killing any members of the family" that live inside each house. Two-story houses pay slightly more than single-story ones.
The clincher is the quote at the end by a cop, who is like "citizens need to denounce these criminals or else they too are criminals."
Real nice, you don't have to live in a place where gangsters demand a tax to let you live. Real nice.
By the way, take a look at the comments section, I'll have a post on this later because it's very entertaining and very revealing about guatemalan culture and the mentality that exists there.
Churches as sanctuaries for immigrants
Here is another classic example of two opposing ideologies on polar opposites of an issue. As usual with these cases, both are skewed, wrong, and incomplete.
One side:
"We want to put a human face to very complex immigration laws and awaken the consciousness of the human spirit."
And the other:
"We are talking about illegal immigrants taking someone else's job, filling up the classroom of someone else's child."
Neither leaves any room for the inclusion of the other's perspective, which is what makes me dismiss the both of them. But I guess in the end it's all about getting your crusade in the paper.
One side:
"We want to put a human face to very complex immigration laws and awaken the consciousness of the human spirit."
And the other:
"We are talking about illegal immigrants taking someone else's job, filling up the classroom of someone else's child."
Neither leaves any room for the inclusion of the other's perspective, which is what makes me dismiss the both of them. But I guess in the end it's all about getting your crusade in the paper.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Am I REALLY a foreigner?
For those of you that are keeping track, I posted something a while back (on my other blog) about possibly starting a new blog with some articles I've been writing about my experiences as a foreigner that doesn't look like a foreigner living in the US. And all the hilarity that ensues.
I got a couple of comments about it, one of which was the following:
Here is my full response to the issue of "truly" being a foreigner:
First I think it's a good idea to start with the definition of the word disingenuous:
I pride myself on telling the whole story, so here it is:
- I was born and raised in Guatemala.
- My mother is American and my father is Guatemalan
- The rest of my family in Guatemala is Guatemalan.
- I went to an "American" school until fourth grade, the rest of the time I was in a bilingual, "Guatemalan" school.
- When I was 17 I went to Boston for school (college).
- I now live in Chicago.
Now, the crux of this new blog is the following: After trying to find some unique perspective or idea that I could bring to the world (in terms of writing about it), I figured this would be it: I am a foreigner in a country that does not know or see me as a foreigner. Before I tell you why I'm a foreigner, let me show you the main reason why I started this new blog:
That is me. On the left I'm a little tan, but I still don't look anything but American. In case you're not familiar, that is NOT what a Guatemalan looks like.
That is what a Guatemalan looks like. Plus, you can't see it but I'm 6'3 and those guys at the bottom are not anywhere near that. I stand out like a sore thumb down there.
Why am I foreign?
- Whoever the mysterious poster is, I'm guessing it's someone I know (no one else reads my stuff), says it him/herself:
". . . and were schooled in institutions following US culture-based currricula, esp. your early childhood schooling when those things are easiest to learn and get hard-wired."
The "institutions" I was in matter a little here, especially the American school I went to. But unless you've lived, grown up, and basically lived your whole life in a place like Guatemala (third world, poor, beautiful, violent, corrupt, inefficient, warm, beautiful again), it's very hard to explain. I was hard wired in Guatemalan, surrounded by a country of Guatemalans and, more importantly, NOT in the US, which is important to note.
And I'll be honest, it's very weird having my "foreign-ness" questioned. But here is what I want to say:
I don't look foreign.
I am foreign.
As Olisa, another poster commented, it can be very amusing and interesting, and that's what I'm going to write about.
Topics I'll be covering include: Spying in public places, terrorism, immigration, politics, getting drunk, health care, racism, business, investing, current events, etc.
Phew! That's it.
I know this was a long, rambling post, but that's not going to be the standard post around here. I thought the discussion about the topics the Anonymous poster commented on were an interesting way to get this blog started. And, lets be honest, I got overexcited when I saw someone had posted something mildly controversial on my other blog, the first time that's ever happened to me.
I got a couple of comments about it, one of which was the following:
- Carlos P said...
-
Perhaps a bit disingenuous, but the way I see it I was raised somewhere that is NOT the US. No matter what kind of situation you are in while living in a place like Guatemala, it is NOT the US. It is, like any other place in the world, completely unique. So moving to the US afterwards, while being much easier for me than some other people (i.e. those that don't know english, have darker skin, etc.), was still an adjustment. An adjustment that was not easy at all.
The blog would focus on those adjustments and the new life that comes with being someone who carries a culture and experience in his heart and mind while living in an entirely different place that knows very little about the experience.
Maybe I'll post more on this later. I'm in a bit of a rush but it's a good question to discuss.
More on this later.
Here is my full response to the issue of "truly" being a foreigner:
First I think it's a good idea to start with the definition of the word disingenuous:
| Definition: |
| 1. withholding information: withholding or not taking account of known information |
| 2. not genuinely sincere: giving a false impression of sincerity or simplicity |
I pride myself on telling the whole story, so here it is:
- I was born and raised in Guatemala.
- My mother is American and my father is Guatemalan
- The rest of my family in Guatemala is Guatemalan.
- I went to an "American" school until fourth grade, the rest of the time I was in a bilingual, "Guatemalan" school.
- When I was 17 I went to Boston for school (college).
- I now live in Chicago.
Now, the crux of this new blog is the following: After trying to find some unique perspective or idea that I could bring to the world (in terms of writing about it), I figured this would be it: I am a foreigner in a country that does not know or see me as a foreigner. Before I tell you why I'm a foreigner, let me show you the main reason why I started this new blog:
That is me. On the left I'm a little tan, but I still don't look anything but American. In case you're not familiar, that is NOT what a Guatemalan looks like.
That is what a Guatemalan looks like. Plus, you can't see it but I'm 6'3 and those guys at the bottom are not anywhere near that. I stand out like a sore thumb down there.
Why am I foreign?
- Whoever the mysterious poster is, I'm guessing it's someone I know (no one else reads my stuff), says it him/herself:
". . . and were schooled in institutions following US culture-based currricula, esp. your early childhood schooling when those things are easiest to learn and get hard-wired."
The "institutions" I was in matter a little here, especially the American school I went to. But unless you've lived, grown up, and basically lived your whole life in a place like Guatemala (third world, poor, beautiful, violent, corrupt, inefficient, warm, beautiful again), it's very hard to explain. I was hard wired in Guatemalan, surrounded by a country of Guatemalans and, more importantly, NOT in the US, which is important to note.
And I'll be honest, it's very weird having my "foreign-ness" questioned. But here is what I want to say:
I don't look foreign.
I am foreign.
As Olisa, another poster commented, it can be very amusing and interesting, and that's what I'm going to write about.
Topics I'll be covering include: Spying in public places, terrorism, immigration, politics, getting drunk, health care, racism, business, investing, current events, etc.
Phew! That's it.
I know this was a long, rambling post, but that's not going to be the standard post around here. I thought the discussion about the topics the Anonymous poster commented on were an interesting way to get this blog started. And, lets be honest, I got overexcited when I saw someone had posted something mildly controversial on my other blog, the first time that's ever happened to me.
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Aren't you being just a bit disingenuous in characterizing yourself as a "foreigner" in the US? You are, after all, 50% US American by birth and were schooled in institutions following US culture-based currricula, esp. your early childhood schooling when those things are easiest to learn and get hard-wired.