Gringo, gringolandia...yeah, i said it.

My friend, Marco, who now teaches at Texas A&M-Kingsville, recently wrote to tell me about the stir that one of my little ole poems caused:

"...just to let you know, your section in Ray's film ("Voices From Texas") created quite the controvery before screening the film at Henrietta M. King HS. When the dust settled, 800 students viewed the film at the HS. It almost didn't take place due to your use of the word 'gingolandia.' Of all potentially questionable words, 'gringo' ruffled the district offices' feathers, sort of a reverse discrimination debacle ensued..."

Well, then.

How 'bout that for evidence that words are powerful things? And as a reminder that those in roles of authority will too often do what they can to silence those who dare to resist, reclaim, and rise...

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, let me now share the entirety of that "controversial" poem, with the "offensive" G word. Just to balance things out, lemme say that some Chicanas at prestigious Wellesley College (in Massachusetts) got me a gig to perform on their campus--based on this very poem.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On Language

No Spanish at home. No hablamos Spanish at home.
Even so, my English was deemed inferior,
incorrect, and irreverent. In school.

So off I was sent to speech class, singled out
in front of my classmates for special therapy...

sh instead of ch
sh instead of ch
ch en vez de sh
was my main problem. I couldn’t tell them apart.
If I wanted to sit, well then I would find a ‘shair’,
but if I wanted to compartir algo contigo, well that was ‘chairing.’

Because of this, I was poked fun of and embarrassed in front of my classmates,
so, after that, I vowed to speak it, English, better than anyone else.
I would no longer be singled out for intimidation.

Bee – geen – eeng ov thoe – row ah – seem – ee – laa – shun
Bee – geeneeng of tho – row ahseem – eelaa shun
Beginning of tho - rough assi – mila - tion
Beginning of thorough assimilation.

And so began my separation from my native tongue,
the family language—Spanish, no more, no mas,
the distance between me and my cultural heritage
grew larger and larger, as the ethnic roots of my familia
faded and blurred in the distance behind.

I was so keen on being blended in, whitewashed into the landscape
and not being discerned as diferente, me entiendes?

Because if you noticed that I was different, then you might treat
me different, and the way I viewed this, historically speaking,
different meant worse. Treating different means treating worse.

Yeah, I’ve been called nigger. I’ve perceived prejudice.
You can tell when the teachers don’t know how to talk to you,
how to pronounce your last name, your weird name.
How to act with a foreign species, illegal species.
You can sense their discomfort.

And a chota once told me, when we first met in person,
“Funny, but you didn’t sound MESKIN on the phone.”

So I tried, always tried, to keep myself invisible and mute,
be low-key. Don’t rise and shine. Lay low, be dull.
Don’t stand out, don’t risk the put-downs and humiliations.
But that’s hard when you’re also overcompensating
for your wrong history, wrong accent, skin color...

...to keep up with the rules of Gringolandia U--S--A, vato,
the biggest theme park in the world today.
Gringolandia, U.S.A.

So me, la over-compensating, over-achiever:
I made sure I had the cleanest hands
(They weren’t going to call ME a ‘dirty’ Mexican!),
I had the straightest posture and the straightest As
(You weren’t going to call ME a ‘lazy’ Mexican!).

Pretty soon, the kids in my class started to not like me
as much, because I was so good at playing the game,
their game, by their rules, that I made them look bad.

Oh, I retro-fitted so well, I must have assimilated too much.
I even sent myself to an uppity women’s college in the northeast.
Why? To prove again, as I never stopped trying to prove,
that I could toe the line with daughters of
wealthy white professional men.

I’m talking about
progressive whitening of Latinos.
The gradual whitening of Chicanos, Chicanas,
and eventual whitening of Tejana Mexicanas.

You start off speaking Spanish, coming in with shy,
but respectful, gentle nature. And as that gets stripped away,
you become more anglicized, speaking a baby’s English.
But don’t worry, you can take remedial classes.

You begin walking the American pace, with rigid posture,
always in a hurry, but never on time. All the time for work
and none for familia. Until one day, you glance in the mirror,
and you don’t even know who that person is looking back at you.

But hey, I don’t wanna think about that, I’m here to party.
I’m here to celebrate my AmericanISM.

I’m ready for the red, white, and blue.
I’m ready to be red, white, and blue.
So long, Mexico. Farewell, Cuba.
Never mind, Nicaragua. Piss off, Peru.

I’m WHITE now. I’m RIGHT now. I’m MIGHT now.

So, what has this cost?
And what have I lost?


Copyright - Tammy Gomez

(If you want to hear this poem accompanied by music--with my band La Palabra--check out RAZA SPOKEN HERE, VOLUME 2, an anthology which features not one, but two tracks i wrote. Some of my closest spoken word compas are also on this joint.)