“BEYOND ‘SPANGLISH’”: IDEOLOGIES OF LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY IN
BILINGUAL CHICANA/O CULTURAL PRODUCTION
A DISSERTATION
SUBMITTED TO THE DEPARTMENT OF
IBERIAN AND LATIN AMERICAN CULTURES AND
THE COMMITTEE ON GRADUATE STUDIES
IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS
FOR THE DEGREE OF
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
IN
SPANISH
Doris Margot Madrigal
May 2010
© 2010 by Doris Margot Madrigal. All Rights Reserved.
Re-distributed by Stanford University under license with the author.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons AttributionNoncommercial 3.0 United States License.
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/us/
This dissertation is online at: http://purl.stanford.edu/ns580hx8058
ii
I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate
in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Guadalupe Valdes, Primary Adviser
I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate
in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, Co-Adviser
I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate
in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
J. Brotherston
I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate
in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Ramon Saldivar
Approved for the Stanford University Committee on Graduate Studies.
Patricia J. Gumport, Vice Provost Graduate Education
This signature page was generated electronically upon submission of this dissertation in
electronic format. An original signed hard copy of the signature page is on file in
University Archives.
iii
Abstract
Prompted by the following research question: How is the relationship between
language and identity conceptualized, articulated, and represented in cultural
productions by, for, and about Chicana/os?, this dissertation interrogates linguistic
assumptions and expectations of Chicana/o identities. By foregrounding the study of
bilingualism in analyses of coming-of-age novels, autobiographical narratives, and
feminist writing, it argues for the identification of language ideologies in Chicana/o
cultural production. Doing so allows for the necessary examination of social
constructions of language and the systems of power they reproduce within Chicana/o
cultural studies, as well as the recalibration of limiting linguistic expectations of
Chicana/o identity.
The first chapter presents a conceptual framework based on the study of
bilingualism, identity work, language ideologies, and Chicana/o cultural studies as a
critical entry into the analysis of representations of bilingualism and/or bilingual
representations. The second chapter compares the proto-Chicano development of
bilingualism and Mexican American identity in the protagonists and texts of José
Antonio Villareal’s Pocho and Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez. The
third chapter elucidates the intricate identity work required to choose and maintain a
bilingual Chicana/o identity in Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy, Arturo Islas’s The Rain
God, and Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo. The fourth chapter examines the conflictive
relationship to Spanish as a heritage language in writings by Michele Serros, Gloria
Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García that scrutinize the negation of
bilingual Chicana/o identities.
iv
Acknowledgments
In our Mexica/Aztec teachings every thought and act is an opportunity for gratitude
and prayer. I offer these words in this tradition, recognizing those who have touched
my life and contributed to my accomplishments in the completion of this dissertation. I
give thanks for the blessings and honor of having these individuals in my life; without
them, I would have forgotten how to appreciate the challenges set before me and the
beauty of perseverance.
Tlazocamati ~ Gracias ~ Thank You
To my querida familia. Despite physical distance, they have deeply and gracefully
shared in all my doctoral turmoil; I dedicate my greatest achievement—this
dissertation—to: Gloria Beatriz Madrigal (my mother, the strongest woman I will
ever know), Carlos Alejo Madrigal (my father and role model for quiet but steady
progress), and Alejandro Madrigal (my brother and absolute favorite person in the
entire world).
To my dissertation committee who through their academic and personal
mentorship helped shape me into a better student, teacher, scholar, activist, and
human being: Professor Guadalupe Valdés, Professor Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano,
Professor James Gordon Brotherston, and Professor Ramón Saldívar.
To all my friends who sensibly kept me grounded and consistently gave me
strength as I ventured the realms of academia: Gabriela Ulloa, José Escalante,
Jessica Reveles, Ivan Pérez, María Luisa Ruíz, Patricia García, María del Carmen
Cifuentes, Atezcazolli Nelda Pérez…
To every spirit in danza Mexica whose giving energy has selflessly guided my
soul, when disturbed, to harmony: Iztacoatl Carol Ruvalcava, Xochitecpatl Victor
Juárez, Yaocuauhtli Danza Cultural, and Calpulli Tonalehqueh
To all my colleagues who expressed sincere interest and kind words of support
for the fulfillment of my academic goals at: El Centro Chicano, Comparative
Studies for Race and Ethnicity Program and Research Institute, Lucille Packard
Children’s Hospital Interpreter Services, Department of Spanish and Portuguese, and
Nuestra Casa.
To my immensely patient and relentlessly optimistic dualidad for his presence
and love: Tinechpactia nomaza Tlahuitollini Ernesto Colín Álvarez
Nehuatl in Tehuatl, Tehuatl in Nehuatl
Yo soy Tú, Tú eres Yo ~ I am You, You are Me
Ome Teotl
v
Table of Contents
Introduction...................................................................................................................2
“Beyond ‘Spanglish’”: Ideologies of Language and Identity
in Chicana/o Cultural Production
Chapter One…………………………….…………………….……….…………….11
“(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in Representation”:
A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Bilingual Representation
Chapter Two……………………………………….….……….…….……..………..71
“Growing up Bilingual; Growing up Proto-Chicana/o”: Bilingual and Mexican
American Identity Development in Pocho and George Washington Gómez
Chapter Three…………………………………….….……..……………….……..124
“Doing Being a Bilingual-Chicana/o”: Choosing and Maintaining
Bilingual Chicana/o Identities in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo
Chapter Four…………………………………………….....………...…………….184
“Not Bilingual/Chicana Enough”: Spanish as a Chicana/o Heritage Language in
Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García
Epilogue…….……………………………………………………………………….236
“Personal and Academic, and Vice Versa”
Works Cited and Consulted……………………………………………………….242
Introduction
Beyond “Spanglish”: Ideologies of Language and Identity
in Bilingual Chicana/o Cultural Production
During my first year of graduate studies I became overwhelmed by the
realization that my Spanish language was being challenged by the type of discourses
and interlocutors with which I was being asked to engage. Along with heightened
insecurity in my language abilities I felt particularly disturbed by the perception I was
developing of myself as a flawed English-Spanish bilingual: not quite proficient
enough in either language for academia. My lived experience as a heritage language
speaker of Spanish and circumstantial bilingual had become increasingly difficult in
this realm of higher education, where I was forced to doubt my identity as a “true
bilingual” when compared to the Latin American students and second-language
learners that moved within these contexts and discourses with more perceived ease
than me. It was through the study of bilingualism and sociolinguistics that I began to
understand the various factors that had not only affected the perception of my and
others’ language use, but also that these were indeed actual linguistic phenomena that
many other individuals and communities experienced around the world. This
knowledge then allowed me to re-conceptualize and validate my own linguistic lived
experience as a Spanish-English bilingual and heritage speaker of Spanish. I have
thus maintained a strong belief in the importance of understanding bilingualism and
sociolinguistic phenomena in order to allow language users, particularly heritage
language speakers and bilinguals, to reflect on their identities and how they view
others.
Although I felt confident in my formation within sociolinguistic theory, I had
yet to clearly understand how to incorporate that knowledge base into literary
criticism, which is the academic training I had received during my undergraduate
studies and was further developing in pursuit of a graduate degree. The discord I felt
between my training in bilingualism and sociolinguistics and how to position myself
academically within cultural criticism was resolved by my introduction to Chicana
feminist discourse. I have gravitated towards this academic discourse because it
2
centers and prioritizes lived experience as the space from which to dialogue. This
tradition claims that it is both a right and necessity to interrogate one’s subject position
as a cultural producer and/or academic before entering into critical practices. Chicana
feminist discourse has offered me examples of critical self-awareness as a scholar; it
not only discusses the bilingual topics I study, but through its first-person exposition
presents personal statements about the interpretation of language and self.
My path into Chicana/o studies has been long and full of obstacles, to say the
least. Exposed to deprecatory perspectives on ethnic studies of mainstream academic
currents as a first-generation undergraduate with no accessible models to prove
otherwise, I had to undertake intense, extensive, and painful reflection in order to
understand the circumstances that aided in my resistance to the study of the
communities I love and admire, and from which I descend. It has been through the
study of bilingualism, individual and societal, that I have discovered a way to begin to
articulate my cultural criticism of Chicana/o communities and their cultural
productions. A developing Chicana feminist bilingualism scholar, I marvel at the
unequivocal attention paid to issues of bilingualism within Chicana/o cultural
productions. Films and theater enact seamless codeswitching from one variant of
English to another in Spanish. Literature addresses the transmission, or lack of
transmission, of Spanish as a home language and its effect on identity politics. Art and
criticism center language in discussions of community building and formation.
Language maintains an unquestioned importance within Chicana/o cultural production
and studies, and this realization was the catalyst for this project.
An unexpected scholarly quirk that developed through the writing of this
dissertation can be found in the introduction to each chapter, and merits
acknowledgment here for the reader’s benefit. Upon reflection on this initially
unconscious trend I realized that it is one of the many gems of academic advice I’ve
received during my graduate studies. One of my mentors1 advised, when reading (and
especially when writing) any type of work, to always “begin at the beginning,” that is,
quite literally with the title. This seemingly obvious and simple piece of advice has
1
I am indebted to James Gordon Brotherston for this essential and illuminating piece of advice.
3
stayed with me and has manifested itself through this project as I begin each chapter
with an analysis of its title as a means to introduce its argument. It is therefore only
fitting that I do the same for this introduction.
Beyond “Spanglish”
As the first substantial segment of this project’s title, the phrase “Beyond
‘Spanglish’” establishes the central argument of my dissertation, which contests the
popular use of the term “Spanglish” to explain English-Spanish language contact and
bilingual phenomena. It also indicates that what we see occurring in bilingual cultural
production, in this case, Chicana/o, is much much more than this reductive notion.
Discussions with colleagues resulted in transforming the wording from “Not
‘Spanglish’”2 to “Beyond ‘Spanglish’,” for the preposition beyond denotes a wider
breadth of complexity than the mere contestation and negation provided by the adverb
not. “Spanglish” is a popular term used to denote linguistic phenomena resulting from
language contact between the Spanish and English languages. Typically used in
discourses regarding Latina/o and Spanish-speaking populations within the US, this
term labels complex linguistic phenomenon as a strange mixing of two languages,
where the resultant product is neither fully Spanish nor English. Along with other
popular linguistic variants such as Chinglish for Chinese-English, Franglais for
French-English (or more accurately Français/Anglais), etc., “Spanglish” works against
any redemptive view of the language produced by bilinguals. Although the word has
been (and continues) to be used to promote validation of the intricacy of bilinguals’
language use, it more often than not used in a derogatory fashion to uphold a deficit
model of the languages produced by bilinguals. My project therefore not only contests
the use of such terms, in this specific case “Spanglish,” but argues that bilingualism is
a much more complex and adequate term, as well as analytic framework, for the study
of bilingual productions.
2
Research Institute for Comparative Studies in Race and Ethnicity Graduate Dissertation Workshop,
“Interdisciplinarity and the Academy,” with special recognition of colleague Matthew Daube’s
comments.
4
Ideologies of Language and Identity
The next substantive phrase in my project title is comprised of three weighted
theoretical terms, which will be more fully explained in the discussion of the
conceptual framework for this project. My working definition of ideology is a system
of ideas through which hierarchies of value and power reproduced. Ideologies deal
with the realm of the imagined, the believed, what we think and uphold as truths. This
term leads into language, which emphasizes my focus specifically on ideas about
languages and those who speak them. Language use and attitudes are the terms
typically invoked when descriptions of language perceptions are studied but I have
consciously shied away from these. Although attitudes are implicitly described in my
argument, moving from the individual level to a collective form of hierarchization of
languages, I foreground ideology as a more productive concept to my argument. It is
important for me to retain the presence of value implicit in judgments made about
language because too often they are overlooked. Language is a term invoked to
indirectly criticize other aspects of an individual or group. Targeting ethnic and racial
minorities’ linguistic proficiency, for example, can mask racial discrimination. Such
prejudices attack individuals’ sense of being, or identity, to which language is
inextricably linked. I use the term “identity work” to appreciate the fluid nature of how
we are viewed and view ourselves. Language becomes one of the key ways in which
we are able to communicate our identities, although not the only one. We are defined
by how we identify ourselves through our language use as well as how others use
language towards us. Therefore it is necessary for me to keep these three terms
together because they function best as a conceptual unit to articulate a guiding
principle in my project: the hierarchization and valorization of languages and identities
in ideologies.
Bilingual Chicana/o Cultural Production
The final phrase of my title describes the research subject of my project.
Invoking the term bilingual to describe certain creative writings produced by
Chicana/os is essential to my work. Where “Spanglish” fails to capture the intricacies
of linguistic phenomena produced by English-Spanish language users, bilingual works
5
to valorize these languages individually and together. Integrating the study of
bilingualism in discussing any bilingual work is critical to the valorization of the
languages and identities represented through that work. I fall in line with the belief
that bilingualism is itself best envisioned as a continuum that, like identity work,
changes depending on contexts and domains across spatial-historic time. If we accept
this complexity then we are not only validating these languages but also their
speakers. This helps combat the nationalist monolingual ideology that is perpetuated
in the US. As a Chicana feminist I value the work done by early Chicanas in
contesting the sexism exhibited during the Chicano movement and prioritize where
possible the female presence. Therefore the third person personal pronoun will by
default be feminine unless specifically referring to a masculine subject. Instead of
delimiting my research subject with the term “literature,” as my literary training and
the texts analyzed might suggest, I have decided to use cultural production in order to
establish that I will not just be analyzing the written presentation of language.
Although these will be the primary objects of my analysis, I embrace the
contemporary cultural studies focus that accepts the idea of text as cultural practices as
well. Throughout this project then, I will describe the linguistic and identity ideologies
in cultural productions produced by Spanish-English bilingual Chicana/os. I will argue
that “Spanglish” does not suffice to understand the complexity of linguistic
phenomena and ideologies that are at once conflictive and similar within Chicana/o
communities and their US national setting.
Chapter Breakdown
The first chapter of this project titled, “(Re)Presenting Bilingualism:
Bilingualism in Representation—A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Bilingual
Representation,” presents the underlying conceptual framework prompting my
dissertation. It foregrounds the study of bilingualism in order to present my central
argument for the use of “bilingual” to describe Chicana/o cultural productions and the
identities they represent. This chapter brings together the various disciplines and fields
of study that form the basis of my theoretical and methodological approach to the
study of bilingualism (from a sociolinguistic perspective), language ideologies, and
6
Chicana/o cultural studies. Here the reader will find a clear delineation of the central
research questions and necessarily interdisciplinary approach to the analysis of the
texts.
This introductory chapter reviews the study of bilingualism, organized by key
questions, namely the “who, what, when, where, and how” of bilingualism. Beginning
with an overview of the complexity of defining the term bilingualism I assess the
conceptual terms used to identify and describe bilinguals. This leads to an outlining of
the processes of bilingual development at the individual and community level, that is,
when and how bilingualism develops, is enacted, and studied. Following the
establishment of bilingualism as the critical base for my conceptual framework, I
assert the importance of language ideology studies and Chicana/o cultural studies in
order to approach the often ignored but crucial relationship between language and
identity in cultural analysis. I argue that bilingualism must be incorporated into critical
study of the representational work of Chicana/o cultural productions, which requires
an intimate understanding of the ideologies at play in understanding relationships
between language and identity—a focus all too often ignored by current scholarly
trends in the study of historically multilingual individuals and communities.
Chapter two, “Growing up Bilingual: Growing up Proto-Chicana/o: Bilingual
Mexican American Development in Pocho and George Washington Gómez,” analyzes
bilingual development and its influence on ethnocultural identity formation in
Chicana/os. The guiding question for this chapter, then, is where and how does
growing up bilingual intersect with growing up Chicana/o? By applying the
conceptual framework described in Chapter One, I highlight the diversity of Chicana/o
identity outcomes by comparing and contrasting two pre-Chicano movement novels,
José Antonio Villarreal’s Pocho (1959) and Américo Paredes’s George Washington
Gómez (1991). Focusing on the process of bilingual Mexican American identity
development in protagonists Richard Rubio and Guálinto Gómez as proto-Chicanos, I
reveal the diversity of bilingual Chicana/o identity outcomes, and argue that this
diversity is prompted by (and not in spite of) shared linguistic and cultural contexts.
My analysis of the protagonists’ development, as well as literary and cultural criticism
7
on the novels and authors, demonstrates the necessity of including language within the
list of factors that are used to examine Chicana/o identity formation and politics.
Following a review of the elements required for the development of
bilingualism at the individual level, namely, exposure and access to languages, as well
as the validation of these languages, I describe the main domains of language use and
language networks for each protagonist. The primary domains and networks I use to
analyze the ideas that each protagonist receives regarding their languages and cultural
identity are the home domain and family network, the school domain and network of
educators and classmates, and finally the community domains consisting of friend and
peer networks. The literary and cultural criticisms both novels receive reveal the
importance of sociohistorical context in Chicana/o identity politics. As proto-Chicanos
anticipating the Chicano movement’s identity politics, the novels’ protagonists share
similar upbringings yet different identity outcomes. These similarities and differences
in their bilingual and bicultural identity development establish the need for a broader
conceptualization of Chicana/o identities inclusive of a bilingual continuum within a
paradigm of inclusion, even in retrospect.
The third chapter of this project is titled “Doing Being a Bilingual – Chicana/o:
Choosing and Maintaining Bilingual Identities in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and
Caramelo” and explores the language and identity work of choosing and maintaining a
bilingual Chicana/o identity. Asking how Mexican Americans choose to enact their
identities as bilingual Chicana/os, I analyze Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy (1971),
Arturo Islas’s The Rain God (1984), and Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo (2002) to
elucidate the multifarious quality of Chicana/o bilingual identity work. The
protagonists of each work employ different modes of doing and being bilingual that
reveal the unequivocal importance of language choice and use in the maintenance of
Chicana/o identities. I therefore argue for critical recognition of the intricate work
through which Chicana/os elaborate their identities by mining their rich linguistic
repertoires as bilinguals.
I begin this chapter with a review of the factors contributing to language choice
and use at the individual level, and how patterns of choice and use develop and
8
maintain language at the community level. For bilingual individuals and their
communities, the choices available for use within and between languages enhance
their linguistic repertoires and therefore sophisticate their abilities to represent their
identities. I then continue with my analysis of the three novels by centering their
protagonists’ choice and maintenance of Chicana/o identity. Ernie’s experience as a
first-generation Mexican immigrant to the US in Barrio Boy allows him to conserve a
Chicano identity adamantly based on his Spanish language and Mexican cultural
heritage. Miguel Chico in The Rain God negotiates the intergenerational transmission
of language ideologies that come along with the maintenance of his family’s
bilingualism to distance himself from earlier generations through education, even as
he cannot fully escape their influence. Celaya in Caramelo embodies her bilingualism
on each side of the US-Mexico border, which allows her to not only claim a Chicana
identity transnationally through her family’s constant travels to and from Mexico, but
also share her sensorial experiences as a bilingual Chicana.
“Not Bilingual/Chicana Enough”: Spanish as a Chicana/o Heritage Language
in Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García,” the
fourth and final chapter, explores the incongruity present in the articulation of
Chicana/o identity with regards to language by focusing on the deeply conflictive
relationship to Spanish as a heritage language and how this conflict influences the
stability of ethnic identity. The assumptions and expectations of Spanish language
proficiency imposed on Chicanas/os without a critical understanding or acceptance of
the factors contributing to language shift and loss foster a negation of these
phenomena as painful lived experiences in historically bilingual communities. I
analyze the work of Chicana feminists Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, Michele
Serros, and Vida Mía García to provide a forum for examining this problematic
equation of Spanish proficiency and Chicana/o identity.
I begin this chapter with a discussion of the definition and description of
heritage languages and their speakers in order to situate the linguistic assumptions and
expectations directed at Chicana/os as heritage speakers of Spanish. This is followed
by a review of the processes of language shift and loss, and the resultant cultural
9
ostracism as described by the authors. This ostracism is enacted by the various
communities in which Chicana/os participate as a reaction to their perceived linguistic
and therefore cultural inadequacies. I go on to address the strategies of language
recovery projects the writers use in dealing with this ostracism within their
communities (or “linguistic terrorism”). Language recovery projects as presented by
these Chicanas entail interrogation of linguistic terrorism, retaining the desire for
Spanish as their heritage language and actively seeking it out, re-valuing their
linguistic abilities, reclaiming their Chicana/o identity, and finally exposing linguistic
terrorism and its agents. Through this process they are able to re-claim their place in
the communities that have questioned and/or negated their participation and identities.
Such work then reveals the need for a meta-critical interrogation of assumed bilingual
proficiency within Chicana/o communities and our own roles in maintaining cycles of
“linguistic terrorism” and the myth of the perfectly bilingual Chicana/o.
10
Chapter One
“(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in Representation”:
A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Bilingual Representation
Introduction
The title of this chapter, “(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in
Representation,” contains three main concepts. The first is bilingualism. The second is
representation. And the third reflects the interplay of these two, captured by the
punctuation mark known as the colon. The colon in this title works to emphasize the
relationship between the phrases on either of its sides as one of added description and
commentary. A type of mirror, the colon mark here offers an inverted reflection of
what the two terms (bilingualism and representation) together can provide as a
conceptual unit. To the left of the colon I parenthesize the prefix in order to highlight
representation as repeated presentation. This division, ordering, and phrasing speak to
my investment in the study of bilingualism, and in particular, my responsibility in its
accurate presentation to those outside of the field’s purview in research and
knowledge, as well as representation to those from outside my particular training or
lens. On the other side of the colon is the complementary and perhaps more
explicative motivation and concern in my research, which is to look at bilingualism, as
the subject of representation, or that which is being represented. The layers of
representation then are at the very core of this chapter. The purpose of this chapter is
to present the working conceptual framework that I have developed as an inquiry into
how all the critical facets of bilingualism can be taken into account in order to
accurately portray and analyze its representation. This chapter will guide the reader
through this conceptual framework, which has bilingualism as its base and core, as
well as through the various approaches to language and representation that have
informed my analysis in the following chapters. These include the study of language
ideologies, identities, and Chicana/o cultural production.
This chapter begins with a presentation of bilingualism, that is, the
representation of my understanding of the linguistic phenomena captured by the
concept of bilingualism. To do so I will take the reader through questions pertaining to
11
a basic understanding of bilingualism: What is bilingualism? Who is bilingual?,
Where and how does bilingualism occur? The answers to these will quickly reveal
themselves as much less straightforward than their formulaic questions and offer
insight into the difficulty of a simplistic representation of the inherent complexity of
bilingualism. The next segment of this chapter then will pull back to look at the
ideological weight of languages, particularly as they interact with and affect the
appreciation of multilingualism. In order to ground this more theoretical discussion of
ideas about language and their roles and combined effects in larger conceptions of the
world, the chapter will continue with a look at how these larger issues are at play
within individuals, specifically individuals with bilingual identities. We shall look at
what is important about the study and understanding of identities as ways through
which we represent ourselves and are represented in real life. From this segment we
will turn to Chicana/o cultural studies as the catalyst site for this project, as well as a
place for contribution in these discussions of bilingualism, identity, and cultural
production. Throughout this walk-through of the conceptual framework guiding this
project I argue that bilingualism needs to be included as a component of any
conceptual framework used to analyze and study communities historically marked by
multilingualism. Literary and cultural productions (as forms of representations) are not
exempt, on the contrary, they benefit from such an analytical lens.
Presenting Bilingualism
There is no better way to begin presenting the complexity of bilingualism than
to discuss the issue of its definition. Definitions of bilingualism are attempts to define
the nature of language phenomena3 resulting from contact between two languages.
However, as Li Wei notes, despite the fact that language is perceived as a separate
3
William Mackey states that “[b]ilingualism is not a phenomena of language; it is a characteristic of its
use” (26). I use “phenomena” here to capture the sense of observable occurrences resulting from
language contact situations without losing sight of the actual operators of language. Mackey’s statement
emphasizes what gets done with two languages (highlighting their ties to their users, or speakers) and
therefore rejects “phenomena” as a descriptive for bilingualism as it can formulate language as an
abstraction. Appreciating this emphasis on agency and application of language by users, particularly
bilinguals, I refer to the specific occurrences of languages coming into contact as phenomena in order to
at once pull back and view them as concretized and verifiable occurrences (things that we can clearly
see, observe, and describe) as an entry point into discussing the interpretation and representation in and
of language use, which is not only enacted by the user herself, but mediated by layers of agency, both
internal and external such as power relations, ideologies, social forces, institutional structures, etc.
12
entity, “a living organism, which is born, grows and dies,” it is ultimately “a human
faculty: it co-evolves with us, homo sapiens. … When we speak of ‘language contact,’
we are therefore talking about people speaking different languages coming into
contact with one another” (3). Language cannot be isolated or separated out from the
human condition. In attempting to define bilingualism scholars set parameters around
who can be considered a bilingual and can potentially critique, limit, and even exclude
certain abilities, uses, knowledge, and experiences of language by individual and
groups of humans. It is therefore critical to underscore the importance of carefully
examining definitions of bilingualism in order to best identify and understand their
parameters of inclusion.
What is Bilingualism? Keywords in Definitions of Bilingualism
Existing definitions of bilingualism can be placed on a continuum of
expansiveness depending on who is included or allowed within their parameters of
description. At one extreme there are the most open and embracing of definitions, best
exemplified by John Edwards’s claim that “[e]veryone is bilingual” (Multilingualism
55). This claim suggests that strict monolingualism is quite an anomaly as every
individual has been exposed to, and therefore has some degree of knowledge in,
another language. There is no de-valuation of any degree of acquaintance or use of
language in this conceptualization of bilingualism; it actively rejects such qualification
through its unbiased over-generalization. At the opposite end of this claim is a much
more unyielding definition that falls in line with the popular notion that a bilingual is
the perfect balance of two monolinguals in one body.4 This type of definition
prescribes the linguistic abilities of bilingual individuals as native-like proficiency in
each separate language without any observable interaction between the two. Along
this continuum is the plethora of attempts made to approximate a definition of
bilingualism inclusive of its multifaceted dimensions.
4
Although contemporary research on bilingualism and bilingual individuals has repudiated the fact that
acquiring more than one language has negative cognitive effects and requires a different perspective
than that typically used to understand monolingualism, scholars continue to work to convince those in
and outside of academia of these facts. For a discussion on the difference of these perspectives please
see Grosjean, Studying Bilinguals.
13
There are several helpful definitions of bilingualism and below are three in
particular that have most influenced my own articulation of its role in this project. The
first of these is from psycholinguist François Grosjean who has consistently defined
bilingualism as “the regular use of two or more languages (or dialects), and bilinguals
are those people who use two or more languages (or dialects) in their everyday lives”
(Studying Bilinguals 10). This definition of bilingualism highlights frequency of use
and the inherent diversity of languages as its key characteristics. His parenthetical
insertion of the term “dialects” validates the variations of languages and reminds us
that individual languages are made up of many different varieties that can and should
be acknowledged and included in understanding the composition of bilingualism. The
phrase “regular use” indicates that there must be a frequent use of each language
variety composing an individual or groups’ bilingualism, but does not specifically
quantify this usage or frequency. There is also a differentiation made between the
concept of bilingualism and its presence in an individual. My attraction to Grosjean’s
definition of bilingualism uses in its characterization of bilingualism as a lived
experience that emphasizes frequent use of varieties of languages.
This project has also adhered to sociolinguist’s Guadalupe Valdés definition
and discussions of bilingualism. According to Valdés, “[s]imply stated, it can be said
that bilingualism is the condition of ‘knowing’ two languages rather than one”
(Bilingualism and Testing 7). This definition of bilingualism underscores the
“condition” or state of being bilingual, one that is situated in a particular time frame or
phase. That is to say, bilingualism as a condition is not fossilized or immutable.
Indeed, bilingualism varies over a span of a lifetime in an individual. Valdés here
underscores the mutability of bilingualism. Also, by emphasizing and drawing
attention to the term “knowing” Valdés highlights the source of the issue in defining
bilingualism not as multilingualism itself but rather relative and subjective definitions
of knowledge. This point stresses the relative and subjective nature of qualifying
knowledge. The issue of who gets to decide what is “knowing” a language and how
that evaluation is applied is at the very heart of this pivotal definition for my work.
14
The key words in both Valdés, and Grosjean’s definitions of bilingualism call
attention to the ideological complexities present when attempting to define
bilingualism. Each of these definitions allows for flexibility and questions the core of
popular and fixed notions about bilingualism, primarily that it is easily definable and
objectively determined by those who choose to define it. By drawing attention to the
relative and subjective nature of the characteristics most often used to identify
bilingualism, these definitions have allowed me to appreciate the value-laden
complexity of defining bilingualism. This is not to say that I have not found any other
definitions that approximate a thorough appreciation of the issues at play. Josiane F.
Hamers and Michel H. A. Blanc propose the final definition that has influenced my
work:
The concept of bilingualism refers to the state of a linguistic community in
which two languages are in contact with the result that two codes can be used
in the same interaction and that a number of individuals are bilingual (societal
bilingualism); but it also includes the concept of bilinguality (or individual
bilingualism). Bilinguality is the psychological state of an individual who has
access to more than one linguistic code as a means of social communication.
(6)
Extremely clear and detailed in stating the complexity of issues and perspectives
needed to understand bilingualism, Hamers and Blanc offer a strong example of how
best to incorporate all these facets into a definition that encompasses not only what
bilingualism is as a phenomena, but how it is grounded in lived experience. This
definition of bilingualism details the differentiation of bilingualism at the individual
and societal level. We can see then how Grosjean’s emphasis on use and lived
experience, as well as Valdés’s prioritization of contextualized temporality and
decentralization of qualification are reiterated. Hamers and Blanc offer a concise and
encouragingly accurate representation of the complexity of bilingualism through their
definition. From these three sample definitions of bilingualism it is clear that either a
seemingly simple and brief definition, or a lengthy detailed definition both require
precision and responsible wording.
15
In sum, the defining of bilingualism highlights the ironic relationship of
language to itself, as we require language to describe language. Simultaneously a
mode and subject of description, the language to define bilingualism requires precise
wording to best exemplify and represent the nature and result of language phenomena
when two languages come into contact. As the three examples of defining bilingualism
above display, any definition must be thoroughly examined to best understand how
bilingualism is presented. For the sake of our discussion, we can state that there is no
one single best definition of bilingualism. Instead, as scholars invested in this subject
we should be responsible in thinking about what we want to highlight, how, and why.
For this reason I have presented the best examples that have influenced my
representation of bilingualism. Thanks to the careful wording and presentation of
bilingualism by scholars like Grosjean, Valdés, Hamers and Blanc, I have been able to
develop a working definition of bilingualism for this project and myself. This
definition states that bilingualism is a linguistic phenomena displayed by an individual
or group that has access to and use of two or more languages. Along the continuum of
definitions of bilingualism described earlier, I would fall closer to, but not quite next
to, Edwards’s all-inclusive claim. I strongly believe that it is always better to validate
what someone can do with language than focus on what they cannot. I adamantly
oppose any hint of prescriptivism in notions of language and therefore embrace all
abilities and types of knowledge in whatever shape they take, especially in bilingual
individuals.
Who is Bilingual? Describing Bilingualism and Bilinguals5
Because of the complex nature of bilingualism and attempts to adequately
define it, much attention is usually channeled to its description. The description of
5
All the terminology that will be reviewed in this and the following section (How “Bilingual” is a
Bilingual?) have been compiled from the shared wording, references, and lists in Carol Myers-Scotton,
Multiple Voices: An Introduction to Bilingualism (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), François
Grosjean, Life with Two Languages: An Introduction to Bilingualism (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1982) and Studying Bilinguals (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), The Handbook of
Bilingualism, eds. Tej K. Bhatia and William C. Ritchie (Malden: Blackwell Publishers, 2004), Suzanne
Romaine, Bilingualism, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1986), Josiane F. Hamers and Michel H.
A. Blanc, Bilinguality and Bilingualism. 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000),
Guadalupe Valdés and Richard A. Figueroa, Bilingualism and Testing: A Special Case of Bias
(Nordwood: Ablex Publishing Corporation, 1994), and Li Wei, “Dimensions of Bilingualism,” The
Bilingualism Reader, ed. Li Wei (London: Routledge, 2000) 3-25.
16
bilingualism hinges on characterizing its presence first and foremost at the individual
level, within a single person. To approximate descriptions of bilingualism within
individuals and their collectives, critical terminology has been developed by numerous
scholars. Ultimately these terms serve to classify individuals as types of bilinguals.
Thankfully the plethora of terms indicates recognition of what we have begun to see as
the multifaceted nature of bilingualism in the definitions reviewed. The critical
terminology I refer to can be divided into three main dimensions in the description and
study of bilingualism: language acquisition, language function and/or use, and
language competence. The terms used within these dimensions raise many of the same
issues present in attempting to define bilingualism.
Terminology focusing on language acquisition attempts to describe the context
of acquisition of all languages present in a bilingual individual. Influenced by the
fields of first and second language acquisition where it has become evident that there
is a correlation between age and the production and retention of language, the terms
used to describe the context of language acquisition for bilinguals seek to capture the
quality of this age-specific exposure. A principal concern in understanding language
acquisition in bilingual individuals has been to focus on cognitive development and
age. Patsy Lightbown and Nancy Spada review “The Critical Age Hypothesis,”6 which
“suggests that there is a time in human development when the brain is predisposed for
success in language learning,” noting the differentiation in “accent, word choice, or
grammatical features” that may distinguish older language learners and users from
younger ones (60). Because age of acquisition can affect the extent to which a
language is acquired and produced the question of just when and during what phase in
life a person began to acquire a language has produced the majority of terms used for
identifying a bilingual. The three main life phases/stages identified are: childhood,
adolescence and adulthood, each of these sometimes further divided and qualified by
“early” and “late” periods. These terms help situate a bilingual individual’s languages
6
For a discussion and definition of The Critical Age Hypothesis please see An Introduction to
Language, 7th ed., eds. Victoria Fromkin, Robert Rodman, and Nina Hyams (Boston: Thomson Heinle,
2003) 51-52.
17
developmentally, specifically their cerebral development.7 However, none of these
terms will necessarily tell us exactly what to expect from the bilingual individual
identified or being classified. To begin identifying the language acquisition of
bilingual individuals is to begin situating their language exposure within their
individual life timeline.
Regarding language acquisition and its contextualization there is also the facet
of ordering of acquisition, that is to say, in which order languages were acquired.
Simultaneous bilingualism denotes when both languages are acquired during the same
period of time (for example, a child who is raised with each parent communicating
with her in a different language from the onset of birth) and is counterpoised to
consecutive bilingualism, which refers to the acquisition of one language before
another (such as is the case with a child who was raised in one language but at school
age begins to acquire another). Both simultaneous and consecutive bilingualism are
typically used in reference to the period of childhood bilingualism and will not be as
useful to help identify individuals whose bilingualism significantly developed after
this time. As will be noted in the following section, for adolescent or adult bilinguals
the description of their language acquisition and the relation between their languages
is different. The ordering of languages acquired is also described via the relationship
between the exposure and learning of languages. Additive bilingualism refers to the
complimentary acquisition of languages (so that the acquisition of one language does
not negatively affect or hinder the acquisition and development of another) and is
contrasted with a subtractive bilingualism where the two languages are in a more
fraught relationship and one language may potentially hinder the development of the
other in terms of dominance (such as in the enforcement of a new language to
eradicate the first/home language). In reviewing Wallace Lambert’s additivitysubtractivity theory, Hamers and Blanc emphasize that additive and subtractive
bilingualism are heavily influenced by the sociocultural environment (99-100). These
two sets of terms, subtractive and additive and simultaneous and sequential
bilingualism help situate a bilingual individual’s exposure to language. They do not
7
This is one of the particular foci of neurolinguistics, which looks specifically at how language
functions in the brain as an organ.
18
however further identify the nature of this exposure, which has many areas of
variation. It is also critical to remember that the order in which languages are acquired
does not necessarily indicate or gauge how a bilingual individual functions in both or
one of her languages. What these terms do offer however is an introduction to the
characterization of how a bilingual individual was exposed to the languages that will
comprise her repertoire as a base, the starting point for an insight into her bilingual
trajectory.
The last set of language acquisition descriptors that I would like to review are
some terms that I have not yet found in introductory texts to bilingualism, but are
increasingly relevant and prominent in areas of study that are very much influenced by
its research. This last set of terms I include because as mentioned above, there is a
difference between exposure and acquisition. I would therefore include classroom
learners, second language learners, and heritage learners/speakers to help
contextualize the language acquisition of bilingual individuals and their classification.
The term classroom learner refers to an individual who began learning and acquiring a
language within a formal institutionalized educative context, that is, in a classroom.
These types of learners can be differentiated from heritage learners who are
individuals who have been exposed to and acquired the language they begin to
formally study outside of the classroom first, in an informal setting such as the home
and which is linked to their cultural heritage. These can also be differentiated from
second language learners, known as foreign language learners because the second
language they acquire is viewed as inherently distinct in acquisition to their first.
Unlike heritage language learners or bilinguals with heritage language backgrounds,
second language learners begin to acquire a second language (in addition to their first)
in a strategic and formulaic fashion. Second language learners are for the most part
classroom learners and where their learning is not conducted in a classroom, these two
types share their language learning as additive and above all, critically different from
heritage learners.8 These three terms refer to the manner in which languages are
exposed to individuals. Specifically, second language learners have a sanctioned
8
I will enter into a more detailed discussion of heritage language learners and speakers in Chapter Four
of this dissertation.
19
choice in their language repertoire development. It is critical to note, as Valdés has
differentiated throughout her work in heritage language pedagogy, that elective (which
includes second language/foreign language learners) and circumstantial (under which
heritage speakers fall) bilinguals differ at the core.9 To be schooled academically in a
language with a strong tradition of prescriptivism and monolingual notions of
language development is drastically different from acquiring a language at home and
within communities that are not dominant or recognized in society. These sets of terms
therefore need to be included in our descriptions of types of bilinguals to better give us
a sense of the type of exposure to a bilingual’s language(s). There is a formality, an
established and administered structure to the classroom learning of languages much
more so than in the impromptu, unscripted, and informal schooling that heritage
language users and learners experience. This latter experience is no less valuable, but
essentially different and will mark a bilingual and her linguistic experience and
repertoire in drastic ways. I believe these terms are not usually included because they
are kept in their separate spheres of study, specifically foreign language pedagogy.
However if the ultimate result of second and foreign language pedagogy is indeed that
speakers approximate, to the best of their abilities, native-like fluency, then these
fields and speakers benefit from an understanding of what type of bilinguals they have
the possibilities of becoming.
To review then, in beginning to understand the plethora of terms used to
classify and identify bilinguals we must first begin with the contextualization of their
language acquisition. The terms that refer to language acquisition attempt to describe
the age during which language(s) were acquired, the order in which they were
acquired, and the manner through which they were acquired. All these indicators do
not determine the specific type of bilingual speaker one will be, but help situate and
describe potential characteristics they may exhibit throughout their lives because of
how and in what manner they were first exposed to their languages.
9
I further discuss circumstantial bilingualism beginning on page 29 of this chapter.
20
How is a Bilingual “Bilingual”? Describing Bilingual Skills
The second major dimension in the description of bilingualism focuses on
language use and function. The terms falling under this dimension attempt to answer
the question of how bilingualism manifests at the individual level. This dimension
invokes the four major language skills which are reading comprehension, writing
ability, listening comprehension, and oral production or speech. Referring to the gauge
of an individual’s bilingualism in terms of degree, William Mackey has suggested that
bilinguals be tested “for comprehension and expression in both the oral and written
forms of each language, for the bilingual may not have an equal mastery of all four
basic skills in both languages” (27). Because each of these four basic skills are
particular to a specific type of language use, to clearly understand a bilingual’s skills
would require seeing how they function in each of these individual skills in each of
their languages. Receptive bilinguals are those with listening and reading
comprehensive abilities who are not necessarily able to effectively produce (in writing
or speaking) one or both of their languages. Productive bilinguals have writing and
speaking productive abilities but this does not necessarily equal comprehensive
receptive abilities. Both of these terms can be a bit difficult to envision as it becomes
odd for us to separate out comprehension from production and vice versa. However,
they work to differentiate the fact that some abilities are not necessarily indicative of
others and address the manner in which the context of acquisition can influence
language use. If an individual was raised being spoken to in one language but only
answered in another, then it would be fathomable that they comprehend a lot more in
that first language than they can produce. This pair of terms is used interchangeably
with passive and active bilinguals and highlights the skills that bilinguals possess in
each of their languages.
Terms that describe the type of relationship between a bilingual’s languages
are mostly focused on the frequency of use of each language in comparison with the
other. Bilinguals are referred to as dominant or balanced depending on the extent and
functional use of each language. A balanced bilingual is viewed as someone who has a
similar command of each language, lacking a stark distinction between her abilities in
21
each. Although researchers have worked to dispel the notion that a bilingual is two
monolinguals in one, the term “balanced” is used to highlight a similarity in abilities in
languages and does not necessarily mean a “perfect” or solid uniformity. However, the
notion of a “balanced” bilingualism has been challenged as it can easily be
misinterpreted to convey equal function abilities in both languages, and connotes a
static sense of language usage, which is not the case. As Valdés notes, the construct of
a bilingual range is best suited for describing bilingual individuals’ functions. She
defines bilingual range as:
[T]he continuum of linguistic abilities and communicative strategies that an
individual may access in one or the other of his or her two languages at a
specific moment, for a particular purpose, in a particular setting, with
particular interlocutors. From this perspective, at a given moment of
interaction, a bilingual is considered to have a particular range in Language A,
a particular range in Language B, and a particular range when both languages
are used together. (“The Teaching of Minority Languages” 316)
The repetition of the adjective “particular” cements the idea of specificity of context to
understanding a bilingual individual’s functioning in her language(s). Paired with
balanced bilingualism is dominant bilingualism, which refers to the prominent use of
one language over another. Dominant and even balanced bilingualism are not fixed
qualities of bilingual individuals but momentary states of being along a continuum of
possible functional abilities in their languages. Because language skills can vary
greatly during an individual’s lifetime the bilingual individual being described must be
placed within a specific time-place context, which takes into account various outside
factors and influences on language use.
The way that a bilingual uses her language can signal the way it is organized
cognitively. Not as overt a description of the relationship between languages,
compound and coordinate bilingualism is a pairing that attempts to distinguish
individuals by the way in which they practically access their languages. Looking
specifically at lexicon then we see that compound bilinguals share their vocabulary
across both languages. That is to say the total lexical inventory possessed by an
22
individual is shared by the two languages, so that one single concept is not necessarily
known or referred to in each language. Coordinate bilinguals on the other hand can
access a lexical concept in both languages. Both these terms again, are linked up to the
way languages were acquired. Coordinate bilinguals acquired their languages in a
manner that facilitates separating the two systems, for example, as late adult bilinguals
learning a second language in a classroom, where there is already an established
reference point for the concept in their first language and they are simply adding on
another word to refer and access this concept when their communication needs call for
it in the second language. Compound bilinguals however, do not necessarily easily
separate out both of their linguistic systems, having one superimposed on the other.
Heritage language speakers for example, having received their linguistic upbringing
outside of the classroom, cannot readily access vocabularies of certain registers (such
as formal academic) to which they have not yet been exposed. The way that bilinguals
cognitively organize their languages has produced terms that help describe the
predicted functional use and access to their languages as separate systems.
Unfortunately, less attention is paid to how a bilingual’s two languages function
together, a critical requirement for understanding bilinguals, according to what
Grosjean calls the “wholistic view” of bilingualism:
The bilingual or wholistic view of bilingualism proposes that the bilingual is
an integrated whole which cannot easily be decomposed into two separate
parts. The bilingual is not the sum of two complete or incomplete
monolinguals; rather, he or she has a unique and specific linguistic
configuration. The co-existence and constant interaction of the two languages
in the bilingual has produced a different but complete language system.
(Studying Bilinguals 13)
Even as Mackey called for describing bilingualism through gauging skill and level, his
interest in describing bilingualism stemmed from the recognition that at the heart of
bilingualism are two separate languages coming into contact, underscoring the fact
that there are verifiable distinct functions and uses for both languages interacting
together in bilinguals. As codeswitching has become the most pronounced area of
23
research in the study of bilingualism, resulting analysis may begin to produce terms
that best describe and typify the way that both languages will be used together in an
individual. My hope for this is much less to predict bilingual language usage as to
follow in bilingualism scholars’ intent to fully grasp and appreciate the complexity of
skills that bilingual individuals possess, thereby redeeming their status within
academic and general communities.
In order to describe bilingual skills then it is necessary to separate out the
functional abilities and access to language for an individual. As noted by these
pairings, this dimension of the description of bilingualism is particularly concerned
with the ways in which an individual displays bilingualism through her form and use
of each language. An individual bilingual language use is described more in terms of
frequency of use for each language comparatively in relation to each other and leads to
a quantification as the degree of this language use. My unease with using the term
“degree” will be noted in the following section, where the question of quantification
illuminates that of qualification.
How “Bilingual” is a Bilingual? The Issue of Bilingual Competence
More complex and insidious than quantifying usage of language is the
qualifying of language use. Unfortunately, the presence of another language makes
bilingual individuals suspect and their functional abilities in language are scrutinized
as indicators of their general cognitive competency (or lack thereof). In attempting to
qualify bilingualism, the question posed is just how bilingual a bilingual truly is.
Implicit in this query is the idea that language can indeed be qualified, and that there
are models through which to identify, determine, and ultimately hierarchize bilingual
functions, skills, and knowledge. This belief has produced terms that have had
immediate negative consequences for specific populations of language learners and
has promoted unfounded conceptualizations of bilingual competencies.
The set of terms I group here, namely semilingual, ambilingual, and
equilingual are related to upholding the idea (and idealization of) the perfectly
balanced bilingual. Semilingualism, also referred to as limited bilingualism, describes
the result of a failed bilingual existence and education, where an individual does not
24
and cannot achieve an adequate knowledge base or skill set in either of her languages.
Semilingualism, as failed bilingualism, is contrasted to ambilingualism and
equilingualism as successful modes of bilingualism. Ambilingual individuals are
considered two native speakers in one individual. Along the same line of thought,
equilinguals are referred to as bilinguals possessing exact similar mastery of both of
their languages (the keyword to note and question here being mastery).
Ambilingualism suggests that there be a distinct separation between languages so that
a bilingual could ideally pass for a native speaker in each language. This assumes the
ability to hide the presence of an additional language, which even for consecutive
bilinguals would be difficult to achieve. Although equilingualism refers more to a
similar knowledge base and skill set in both languages, as an antonym to
semilingualism it connotes a (superior) level of these both. Semilingualism denotes a
deficit model of bilingualism where the bilingual individual described has a below
average or insufficient knowledge base and skill set in either of her languages. A once
(and disturbingly, perhaps still) popular term in educational research, this term has
been used to explain the low academic achievement rates of minority language
children, specifically in English language learning. In combating the nefarious effect
of the construct of semilingualism on the education of minority language children, Jeff
MacSwan pinpoints the non-universal application of this term for all bilingual
speakers, as “semilingualism can only be an attribute of language minority children in
the United States but not of majority language children” (14). This is a specific
example of the ideological and practical stakes involved in the presentation (through
definition and description) of bilingualism.
The final two terms that I include here are attempts to gauge a bilingual’s
degree of bilingualism as ascendant and recessive. Ascendant bilinguals are just that,
ascending in their bilingualism or bilingual functions. Valdés lists this as specific to
the functional ability in the second language (Bilingualism and Testing 11), implying
that the importance in this type of bilingual descriptor is not the proficiency or abilities
in a first, much less if it is a minority, language. Recessive bilinguals are quite the
opposite, and in a state where their functional abilities in one of their languages, either
25
the second or first, are receding or decreasing. This particular pair of terms relies on
(but does not necessarily explain) that access to languages, which is controlled by
various forces outside of an individual’s influence is pivotal in the development of
bilingualism to whatever extent. Although these two terms attempt to identify a
bilingual individual through the stage of life she is in, I group them here under terms
that qualify bilingual individuals because they imply a judgment on aptitude rather
than life period. Both these terms also help underscore the fact that even seemingly
clear terminology used to identify bilinguals is heavily influenced by, or can be used
to assume, a certain degree of their cognitive capacity at many levels.
All of the above terminology is used to infer a description of the competence
or proficiency of bilingual individuals. The very concept of competence however, is
not so simple and clear. Dell Hymes calls attention to the issue of redefining
competence in linguistic theory, specifically identifying communicative competence
as a unit of analysis that requires inclusion of sociocultural features to do justice to the
performative aspects of language use.10 As Carol Myers-Scotton notes, competence
refers to at least two distinct areas regarding language, grammatical competence and
communicative competence (40). Grammatical competence, also referred to as
linguistic competence, is the “ability to produce what are considered well-formed
utterances in the language in question” and is differentiated from communicative
competence as “the ability to use those utterances in ways that are considered
unmarked or appropriate in one situation as opposed to another in the relevant society”
(40). Grammatical competence invokes the elaborations of the linguistic code and
system, specifically the lexical, semantic, morphological, and phonological.
Metalinguistic knowledge, which is still very much held to be a marker of overall
linguistic competence, falls into this category. Much the focus of various
methodological trends in second language pedagogy, grammatical competence has
proven to be fruitful for learners in only certain kinds of receptive and communicative
skill development. It becomes clear to these learners very quickly however, that being
able to consciously discuss the intricacies of your linguistic code does not mean you
10
Please see Dell Hymes, “On Communicative Competence,” Linguistic Anthropology: A Reader, ed.
Alessandro Duranti (Malden: Blackwell Publishers, 2001) 53.
26
know how to appropriately use this code in social and interactive settings. So
communicative competence highlights the functions of language at the psychological
and sociological levels, that is, how we as individuals use our codes to express
ourselves and have others understand us. It is exactly these abilities that are typically
overlooked and/or taken for granted in bilingual individuals while resolutely sought
after by monolingual second language learners. Of the two, linguistic competence may
very well be more easily thought of as being subject to qualification; standardized tests
and grammar quizzes in language courses attest to this. Communicative competence
on the other hand, although highly desirable, may not be as easy to objectively test.
Looking towards competency as a definition of what it is to “know” a language means
traversing into the issue of how this competence should be measured.
Although we may want to believe that there is a method through which to
measure linguistic competence, this does not easily translate into communicative
competence, much less understanding competency as a combination of both. This
holds true for monolingual individuals and is even truer for bilingual individuals.
Although various instruments have been created, modified, and employed to measure
bilingualism, each of these must be critically examined, for as Valdés and Figueroa
make clear: “The fact is that currently there is no agreement among researchers about
how bilingualism should be measured or even about whether it can be measured
meaningfully” (29). No current instrument can provide a comprehensive and totalizing
measurement of bilingualism. Great caution must be taken with instruments that are
used under this claim because in attempting to measure bilingualism there is the
possibility of limiting its complexity and dynamic nature to a certain narrow and
perhaps biased focus. Although instruments may capture specific skills and abilities in
bilingual individuals, they should very much be understood as context-based and a
snapshot of only a part of what a bilingual may be able to do. Hamers and Blanc
review some of the psychometric tests and methods used to measure overall bilingual
language competency, emphasizing “the importance of using a variety of measures in
order to capture a state of bilinguality” because of “the difficulties inherent in the
attempt to define and quantify languages in contact at all levels of analysis” and “the
27
absence of adequate measures and the lack of refinement of existing ones” (49). This
preempts their warning: “The quantification of a concept, however, should not be
confused with the concept itself” (330). Any instrument proposed to measure
bilingualism cannot be safely assumed to prove that a complete qualification of
bilingualism is ultimately possible. It is all too easy to conflate formulas that equate
numbers to abilities with the idea that the parts represent the whole. When
measurements of bilingualism are invoked in its description we run the risk of
reducing this complex phenomena to only one of its dimensions. As Jean-Marc
Dewaele, Alex Housen, and Li Wei state: “Bilingualism, both at the individual and
social level, is a phenomena of such complexity that the wider the lens through which
it is viewed, the more complete the resultant picture will be” (8). The need to qualify
bilingualism through any form of measurement is prompted by the underlying desire
to place an inevitably subjective judgment on intricate multi-language users and can
only result in a limited perspective. Because it is impossible to completely avoid
qualification of language competency in our educational system and therefore society,
it is our responsibility to adequately expose the manner in which desires and
instruments to do so are implemented.
Not all bilinguals are created equal, much less so are the terms that are used to
qualify them even as they attempt to identify and describe them. As we have seen, the
complexity of defining and describing bilingualism is made up of quite a bit of
terminology that must be further defined and described! Who gets to define these
terms, the contexts out of which they are produced, and their potential misidentification, mis-interpretation, and mis-application to certain populations of specific
individuals and their language experiences are only a few of the pressing issues at
stake. Because, as Valdés notes, “[i]nterestingly, the scholarly discourse on bilinguals
and bilingualism continues to feed existing popular negative views about the
phenomena,” we must be responsible in appropriately and justly labeling individuals
(“The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 258). It is quite necessary to accept bilingual
individuals as unique and valuable examples of the intricate and varying nature of
languages coming into contact and resulting in bilingualism.
28
For this project, the model I primarily invoke to describe Chicana/o
bilingualism and its representation is Valdés’s work on circumstantial bilingualism.11
Developed through an impressive research agenda centering on the study of
underserved and stigmatized minority populations, this framework has been critical to
my personal understanding of the study bilingualism and my formation as a
sociopolitically aware, responsive, and responsible researcher. The first point to be
made about this rubric for studying immigrant minority bilinguals and their
communities is the critical intervention it makes by offering a completely different
label. Prior to this intervention relabeling the differences between elective and
circumstantial bilingualism was the use of elite/academic bilingualism on the one hand
and natural/folk bilingualism on the other. The term “elite bilingualism” immediately
qualifies this type of bilingualism as superior and atop a hierarchy based on class and
education. “Academic bilingualism” may less obviously invoke a socioeconomic class
marker yet still implies access formal education and its resultant commodities. The
ideology behind using the term “elite/academic” bilingualism then highlights the
priority that this type of bilingualism, one of choice and formal study, is already given.
Counterposed to this old reference is “natural” or “folk” bilingualism. Natural
bilingualism may seem harmless enough but when placed alongside elite or academic
bilingualism it pales and suffers in comparison. “Natural” connotes informality and
this type of bilingualism appears antiquated by the term “folk.” We can see then how
these labels evoke strong classist ideologies. Valdés’s relabeling of these two different
types of bilingualism posits them instead as contextually based in order to understand
their difference in terms of “circumstances.” In her description of these types of
bilinguals Valdés highlights the way in which ideologies come into play in the
formation of their differing bilingualism:
The fundamental difference between elite and minority bilinguals, however,
has to do not just with conditions in which languages are acquired, but also
with class membership, opportunities, and access. Elective bilinguals become
11
Although Valdés’s work on circumstantial bilingualism can be found throughout her scholarship, I
refer specifically to its conceptualization through heritage language instruction in her articles, “The
Teaching of Minority Languages” and “The Role of the Foreign Language.”
29
bilingual as individuals. Because of their class advantages, they have the
opportunity to obtain access to the target language under the best conditions.
Minority bilinguals, on the other hand, live in poor and underserved
communities in which their schools are often underfunded, in which access to
the majority language from native speakers is severely limited, and in which
access to the immigrant language is restricted to a very narrow number of
domains and functions. (Expanding Definitions 42)
Ideologies of class and institutionalized social structuring affect the access and
opportunities which individuals are offered in life for their personal advancement.
Under duress of economic, educational, and thus social prejudices and restrictions
given their minority immigrant status in a dominant society, circumstantial bilinguals
are created from their circumstances. Elective bilinguals do not suffer the same
limitations and thus can freely choose to add a language to their repertoire.
Circumstantial bilinguals are forced to do so under these pressures to merely survive
and thus have no positive or redeeming agency through choice. Valdés’s relabeling
therefore speaks to the contextual difference that must be recognized as critical to the
development of bilinguals.
The context within which bilingualism begins is the second key point to take
from Valdés’s formulation of circumstantial bilingualism. For the circumstantial
bilingual that context is dire. Valdés defines circumstantial bilinguals as “individuals
who, because of their circumstances, find that they must learn another language in
order to survive” (Bilingualism and Testing 38). Need and survival are the
“circumstances” that fuel circumstantial bilingualism. In order to participate at a level
that will allow them to maintain personal health and social goods, circumstantial
bilinguals find themselves without a choice in acquiring a functional level of the
dominant language. Within the US that would be English as Valdés specifies that
“[b]ilingual American minorities are, by definition, circumstantial bilinguals”
(Bilingualism and Testing 12) because they come from a more immediate immigrant
heritage and must acquire English under duress and at risk of not being able to
participate in US society. American minorities, despite their generation, are marked by
30
an immigrant heritage and thus have been marked by circumstantial bilingualism in
their home language and English.
The final point that I would like to make in relating Valdés’s presentation of
circumstantial bilingualism is how it differs from elective bilingualism at the
individual and group level. Another critical difference between elective and
circumstantial bilinguals
is not just with conditions in which languages are acquired, but also with the
relationship between groups of individuals… The group to which [elective
bilinguals] belong has little to do with their decision to become speakers of
another language. Circumstantial bilinguals, on the other hand, are generally
members of a group of individuals who as a group must become bilingual in
order to participate in the society that surrounds them. (“The Role of the
Foreign Language” 39)
The choice to become bilingual through formal study is reserved for elective
bilinguals because of their socioeconomic stability. Elective bilingualism is an
individual characteristic that need not be definitive of that particular individual’s
larger social networks. Circumstantial bilinguals share circumstances of necessity as
cycles of immigration are sustained. Communities can be characterized by
circumstantial bilingualism because immigration patterns and the necessity for
communication and survival are shared. Elective bilingual communities may well exist
when elective bilinguals come together, but they are elective bilinguals first as
individuals and form communities once their choice to enter into a bilingualism has
been made. The process for circumstantial bilinguals is different, as Valdés explains:
“Individual circumstantial bilingualism develops within specific contexts and in
conjunction with specific experiences. It is the nature of these experiences that results
in a particular type of bilingualism and even in the relative strengths of the two
languages with regard to each other in different contexts and domains” (“The Role of
the Foreign Language” 39). Among individuals within a community of circumstantial
bilinguals we would see variation between their abilities and uses of their languages.
31
Circumstantial bilinguals will vary at the individual level but will share traits at the
community or group level because
[i]t must be remembered that individual circumstantial bilingualism can only
be understood against a framework of societal bilingualism, that is, by taking
into account the place and function of the two languages in question in the
lives of particular groups of bilingual individuals who primarily share with
each other the fact that they are not monolingual. (“The Role of the Foreign
Language” 43)
Valdés’s insistence that circumstantial bilingualism is characteristic of groups comes
from understanding that an individual becomes bilingual due to her circumstances,
which are shared by many in her community of minorities. To understand the
differences at the individual level though is to keep in sharp relief the way that
language development is inherently tied to its social uses and goods. Communities can
be marked by circumstantial bilingualism because they are made up of individuals that
share circumstances of socioeconomic duress that force them into a new language in
order to survive. As is evident, circumstantial bilingualism includes extra-linguistic
factors and ideological forces in its description of bilingual individuals and
communities that are necessary for understanding not only the presentation of
bilingualism in US minorities such as Chicana/o communities, but also their
representation for this project.
When Does Bilingualism Happen?12
Bilingualism occurs wherever speakers of different languages come into
contact with each other and thus bilingualism is a result of language contact.
Bilingualism has existed as long as migration has, in whatever form it takes. A
necessary note on migration here is that a distinction must be recognized between
voluntary and involuntary migration. Echoing back to the distinction between
circumstantial and elective bilinguals, the distinction between voluntary and
involuntary migration also lies in issues of power and choice. Voluntary migration for
example, may consist of an individual or community’s active decision and
12
Please refer to footnote 7.
32
unpressured consensus to physically move to another geographic area. Involuntary
migration consists of the inforced movement of people to another region. Both types
of migration share similar factors that prompt this movement, such as political,
educational, economic, geographic, and socio-cultural influences but may reveal
themselves in different forms. Political motivations for migration can include a change
in governmental rule, such as those encountered during moments of conquest, war,
and colonialism. The difference here lies between those who are in positions of power
and dominance to electively choose their destination (or tell others to abandon theirs)
and those who are forced to relocate to avoid physical harm and even death.
Educationally, individuals may be asked to learn another language as part of their
general education but as we have seen, there is a great distinction between adding on a
highly valued second language to a recognized first and acquiring a dominant and
preferred language as part and parcel to encouraged replacement of a first that is
deemed inadequate. The levels of competence attained within the added language here
mainly rely on the individual’s opportunities to pursue study, acquisition, and mastery
of a language. Economically, bilingualism may result from the presumed or actual
financial benefit of access to a greater variety of markets and territories as well as
seeking work in areas where another language is spoken. However, existing inequities
in social stratification reproduce hierarchies in socioeconomic status and delimit such
access. Geographic proximity can also be a context for bilingualism as in the
establishment or existence of national borders that do not ultimately restrict physical
interaction between neighboring groups of people. These interactions, should they be
positive, can produce exogenous marriages and/or reinforce religious and heritage
links to languages in an endogamous fashion. Any and all of these factors, alone or in
any combination can contribute to contexts in which bilingualism may exist.
However, the above listed factors if and when present, do not guarantee
bilingualism will occur. There are varying levels of coexistence between people and
their languages and similarly varying levels of language contact. As Joshua Fishman
notes, if there is a functional use for both languages then there is a better chance that
they will continue to coexist: “Without separate though complementary norms and
33
values to establish and maintain functional separation of the speech varieties, that
language or variety which is fortunate enough to be associated with the predominant
drift of social forces tends to displace the other(s)” (“Bilingualism with and without
Diglossia” 87). If however, one language begins to take over linguistic domains that
usually pertain to the other language, then language shift to the dominance of one
language over the other may occur. Language shift, like bilingualism, develops over
time and can lead to monolingualism, and in extreme cases, language death of the
relegated language. What is referred to as language death is the abandonment of a
language so that it “is spoken by fewer and fewer people until. ... the language
disappears with its last speaker” (Hoffman 187). Language death comes about then
with the death of the last surviving speaker of a threatened or endangered language.13
This situation however is at the opposite end of the situations that can prompt
bilingualism to develop and become a stable language situation. For bilingualism to
become a stable language situation both languages must be maintained, which requires
complementary valorization, need, and use of each language. This implies individuals
who promote and apply these acts upon language. It is important here to note that
bilingualism at the individual level does not necessarily equal bilingualism at the
group level. Although this phenomena is influenced by similar factors at both levels, at
the group level, as we are dealing with more than one individual, factors multiply and
function differently and interactively. The many factors that catalyze the development,
maintenance, and stabilization of bilingualism at the individual and societal level are
best understood through the construct of “diglossia.” Conceptualized by Charles
Ferguson and further developed theoretically by Fishman,14 diglossia has been used to
describe the potential for relatively stable bilingualism at the societal level. Key to this
stabilization of bilingualism is the functional separation and need for each language
into certain domains of language use.15 As long as every and any language is needed
and used for a specific purpose of communication or expression, and that need is
13
For a definition and discussion of threatened languages please see Tove Skutnabb-Kangas, “What is
Happening to the Languages of the World,” Linguistic Genocide in Education or Worldwide Diversity
and Human Rights? (Mahwah: Erlbaum, 2000) 3-62.
14
See Fishman, “Bilingualism with and without Diglossia; Diglossia with and without Bilingualism.”
15
For a discussion of “domains of language use” please see Chapter Two of this dissertation, page 81.
34
maintained through societal enforcement (whether conscious or not) then each
language will continue to be used and thus persist in a group or society. However, the
moment one language begins to be used to meet the functional needs and uses
typically covered by another, the possibility of language shift to dominance in that
language may occur. It is important therefore to note that the various factors that
contribute to the development, maintenance, and stabilization of bilingualism at the
individual and group level require separate attention but combined application.
Where Does Bilingualism Occur?
Despite the pervasive linguistic ideology of countries like the US,
monolingualism is not a global norm. Although one language may be promoted for
standardization at the national level, bilingualism exists throughout most of the world.
The sheer ratio of existing languages and countries proves this. Ethnologue lists 6,912
world languages (as of 2005) and there are 193 countries in the world. This would
mean that, if equally divided, there would be approximately at least 35 languages per
country. This number does not take into account the various once endangered and now
deceased languages, or the number of languages which have since arisen in the almost
five years since these counts were produced.
Historically, the US has been (and presently continues to be) the home of a
variety of bilingual populations. Ethnologue lists approximately 223 languages
throughout this country amongst the almost three billion people who populate its
borders (again, keeping in mind that this number was established almost 5 years ago
and therefore does not include any languages possibly identified during time to
publication). English is the nationally recognized dominant language of the US,
however the fastest growing linguistic population is Spanish-speaking. According to
Miranda Stewart’s research, “Spanish is currently spoken as a first language by
approximately twenty-two million people in the United States. Approximately 60 per
cent are Mexican in origin and are concentrated in the south west; Puerto Ricans (12
per cent) tend to live in the north east, and principally New York, while the Cubans (4
per cent) favour Florida” (6). Movements such as English-Only highlight the unrest
felt by citizenry seeking to impose the preeminence of English within this country by
35
lobbying for legislation to establish it as such. Spanish is popularly referred to as the
unofficial second language of the country; it is the “first foreign language in schools in
the United States where it is studied by more than 60 percent of pupils” (Stewart 12).
These statements highlight the pervasiveness of the Spanish language and its speakers
within this country’s national landscape.
The largest Spanish-speaking populations within the US are Puerto Rican,
Cuban, and Chicano. However, census data does not distinguish the many other
nationalities from Central and South America and thus does not recognize the growing
Dominican presence for example, among others. Migrant populations such as those
that are Spanish-speaking become minority language (not to mention ethnic)
populations once they traverse the national borders into this country. In his review of
the history of heritage languages in the US, Fishman observes that indigenous and
colonial heritage languages16 have not been supported and maintained as heritage
languages given that there is no discernable record or traceable history of their
survival through intergenerational transmission. Immigrant languages, such as
Spanish, have little institutional assistance for their continued survival. History teaches
us that languages are eradicated with the people who are targeted as unwanted citizen
in nation-state building projects. Minority populations within the US, such as Spanishspeaking immigrant communities, must struggle to survive socioeconomically in a
dominant society that does not recognize or desire their linguistic (much less
ethnocultural) presence.
How is Bilingualism Studied?
As I have attempted to foreground in this presentation of critical issues in the
study of bilingualism, the manifestation of bilingualism from its inception to its
identification is dynamic and complex. Its elaboration through formal study has been
achieved through various fields and their subfields, as well as combinations of both.
Early approaches and current major trends in the study of bilingualism mainly arose
from the discipline of formal linguistics as the study of language and its structure at
16
Fishman defines indigenous heritage languages as the Amerindian languages that existed in the US
prior to European colonization and the establishment of the US as a nation-state and colonial heritage
languages as the non-indigenous languages established here prior to existence of the US (“Three
Hundred-Plus” 12-14).
36
the semantic, lexical, morphological, and phonological levels. Through formal and
applied linguistic study the description and analysis of grammatical structuring of
bilingual language production is achieved. Charlotte Hoffman lists language contact
features such as interference (at the phonological, grammatical, lexical,
morphological, and semantic level), borrowing, individual creations, mixing, and
codeswitching as produced by the simultaneous direct influence of both languages in
bilingual individuals, which are also described through formal and applied linguistic
approaches (95-109). Psycholinguistics, the study of the psychological processes of
language use, perception, and acquisition, has produced analyses of the internal
processes of language production. Work through this approach has helped in
understanding the complex nature of language choice and use at the individual level in
bilinguals. Following this interest in language processing, neurolinguistics seeks to
discover how each hemisphere of the brain is affected by the presence of multiple
languages. The most anatomical and physical of approaches to the study of
bilingualism, its methods tend towards comparative studies with monolingual brains in
order to identify visible physiological differences. This approach has been criticized
by other linguistic approaches, questioning the validity and use of identifying such
possible anatomical differentiation.17
Expanding the focus in the study of bilingualism from the individual to the
group level marks the development of sociolinguistics. As the study of social aspects
of language, sociolinguistics brings to the study of bilingualism a focus on the
differences in language in society and how languages are used to convey social
meaning.18 Sociolinguists look at language in society and pay attention to the various
social factors that are used to identify individuals and groups (such as race, gender,
and class) and how these affect language use. Fishman has differentiated two types of
17
For such an analysis see Michel Paradis, “Language Lateralization in Bilinguals: Enough Already!”
The Bilingualism Reader., ed. Li Wei (London: Routledge, 2000) 394-401.
18
Please see J. K. Chambers, Sociolinguistic Theory: Linguistic Variation and its Social Significance,
2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 2003), Ralph Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society (Oxford:
Blackwell Publishers, 1984), Janet Holmes, An Introduction to Sociolinguistics (London: Longman,
1992), Sociolinguistics: The Essential Readings, eds. Christina Bratt Paulston, and G. Richard Tucker
(Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), and Bernard Spolsky, Sociolinguistics (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1998).
37
sociolinguistic approaches, namely dynamic and descriptive.19 In his conceptualization
the difference between these two lies in which aspects of language are being studied.
Dynamic sociolinguistics will tend to focus on understanding processes and change in
language, where descriptive sociolinguistics will do just that- describe language and
its changes. This is not to say however that the useful complimentary relationship
between the two and its effect on providing a well-rounded perspective goes
unrecognized in sociolinguistic methodology; indeed a balance of both approaches is
typically applied.
Early self-reflection from scholars interested in undertaking the study of
bilingualism has helped prompt the development of new methods that have resulted in
further collaborations between previously unrelated disciplines and their subfields. As
a key figure in this movement Mackey described the focus of many of these fields and
an ultimate need for more comprehensive approaches:
Bilingualism cannot be described within the science of linguistics; we must go
beyond. Linguistics has been interested in bilingualism only in so far as it
could be used as an explanation for changes in a language, since language, not
the individual, is the proper corner of this science. Psychology has regarded
bilingualism as an influence on mental processes. Sociology has treated
bilingualism as an element in culture conflict. Pedagogy has been concerned
with bilingualism in connection with school organization and media of
instruction. For each of these disciplines bilingualism is incidental; it is treated
as a special case or an exception to the norm. … However, it seems to add little
to our understanding of bilingualism as such, with its complex psychological,
linguistic, and social interrelationships. What is needed, to begin with, is a
perspective in which these interrelationships may be considered. (53)
As an incidental byproduct of these disciplines’ foci and study, bilingualism could not
be appreciated, understood, and formally investigated through approaches not
specifically designed to adequately capture its complexity. I would dare say that
bilingualism has a history and tradition of being “othered” within academic study,
19
See Fishman, “The Sociology of Language.”
38
viewed as a non-normative and inconsequential phenomena that only limited and
equally inconsequential populations have as a real, lived and valid experience. Moving
bilingualism to the center of a disciplinary focus as Mackey suggested requires not
only a shift in the ideological perspective that it is a subject worthy of such centering,
but also requires an openness to the creation and adaptation of new methodological
approaches from other disciplines. To effort to capture the complexity of bilingualism
and the interplay of factors from and within the social, psychological, educational,
cultural, political, and economic realms has led to the realization that “bilingualism is
best studied as an interdisciplinary phenomena” (Romaine 22). The interdisciplinary
study of bilingualism has been interpreted and enacted by some of the various
approaches that have been developed through the adoption and engagement of
methods from other disciplines. Linguistic anthropology and anthropological
linguistics are primary examples. As the names of these areas suggest, each one may
overlap in the literal root words but they have developed out of distinct traditional and
formal academic disciplines. Along with the “historical overview of the methods,
goals, and academic affiliations of the researchers involved,” Alessandro Duranti goes
on to describe the differences between these two in terms of their foci (31). He states
that anthropological linguistics:
[R]eveals a strong identification with the discipline of linguistics as opposed to
anthropology and a “service” mentality, that is, a view of linguistics as a tool
for training social or cultural anthropologists to do fieldwork. The term
“linguistic anthropology” … places the enterprise squarely within the field of
anthropology and starts from an understanding of speaking as an activity that
has its own cultural organization, to be studied by a means of a combination of
linguistic (read “structuralist”) analysis and ethnographic methods. (31)
In addition to the synonymic relationship these two areas share Duranti also adds
sociolinguistics. Given the development of linguistic anthropology from
anthropological linguistics through Hymes’s call for a refocusing of the paradigm of
the ethnography of communication in the 1960s, the development of sociolinguistics
around the same period, and initial shared methods, it is no wonder that such
39
similarities allow for these fields to continue on as synonyms for each other. This is
only one example of the way in which the interdisciplinary requirement for the study
of bilingualism has been accepted. Thankfully interpretations continue to flourish and
as interdisciplinary relationships develop, our knowledge of bilingualism and its
adequate representation as a complex phenomena worthy of sustained academic
attention will grow.
This project is the culmination of the dominant and recurring concerns during
my graduate studies around the very issue of the necessarily interdisciplinary study of
bilingual communities and their representations. My initial formal disciplinary training
during my undergraduate education in the humanities (literature in particular) brought
me to a graduate career in the Spanish language and literature in Spanish. Early
courses in bilingualism, heritage languages, Spanish dialectology and Chicano
language use concretized my profound personal and academic interests in the way that
my literary training brought an incisive look to (and also benefitted from) other
humanities disciplines. These courses molded my perspective and approach to
language study through sociolinguistics and applied linguistics. I align myself and this
project with sociolinguistic inquiries and interests in multilingual communities,
language choice and use, linguistic variation, codeswitching, as well as language shift
and maintenance. Applied linguistics’ underlying concern with the practical
application of knowledge gained through the study of language appears in this project
via my preoccupation of maintaining sustained attention to and appreciation of
language users and their lived experience. By examining the educative processes of
minoritized language users such as heritage speakers (both in and outside of formal
schooling contexts), I seek to ground my arguments about bilingual representation as
complementary (if not supplementary) to understanding the sociocultural and material
reality of these speakers and their communities. I also recognize the development of
my interests and foci (such as identity, socialization, ideologies, social space,
ethnicity, language, and culture) as shared with those scholars working in linguistic
anthropology and anthropological linguistics and have taken from their work in
understanding these concepts and their interrelationships. Indeed, a powerful influence
40
on my formation and this project is the pivotal work of the self-identified
“anthropolitical linguist” Ana Celia Zentella. Unabashedly foregrounding her social
justice and political investment in research subjects (both in the sense of subject matter
and actual human subjects), in Growing up Bilingual Zentella provides an example of
how exposed personal investment can and should be a cornerstone of academia:
Despite their significant contributions, linguistic anthropology and
sociolinguistics often fall short of capturing the way language is linked to
issues of survival, that is, the language for survival dynamic that permeates
verbal behavior in oppressed ethnolinguistic communities. Most important,
both fail to advocate change, with significant exceptions. … A primary goal
[of anthropolitical linguistics] is the repudiation of crippling notions like
“dialectal inferiority,” “true/ideal bilingual,” “alingualism,” etc., that exert
symbolic domination over a group and promote its subjugation. Achieving this
goal requires participating in the community’s challenges of the policies and
institutions that circumscribe the linguistic and cultural capital of its members.
… The acts of supplying or omitting socio-political facts are both political. …
When the stakes are not only loss of language and culture but a decent life, as
they are in many ethnolinguistic minority communities in the US, the tasks of a
responsible linguist must include political action. By incorporating the word
“political” in its name, anthropolitical linguistics openly declares its intention
to discuss the language and politics connection and to make it clear that,
whether we choose to discuss it or not, there is no language without politics.
(13-4)
Language is heavily imbued with political investments, whether we choose to or are
able to recognize them as such. What I find inspiring in Zentella’s eloquent and
determined statement is not only that she is brave enough to make her position widely
known, but also that she calls the academy to make a similar commitment. As one of
the anthropological linguists who has most influenced my own formation as a scholar
through her work, Zentella is a clear example of how the interdisciplinary approach to
41
the study of bilingualism continuously validates the complex bilingual experiences of
individuals and communities.
In a time where “interdisciplinarity” and its offshoots are buzzwords in
academia, I work to do justice to what embracing such an approach to research and
practice means. Because of the hardships in finding sufficient and appropriate models
of applied interdisciplinarity in academic writing and research in my fields of study
and training, paying attention to my interdisciplinary formation, focus and therefore
work on this project has become an important concern. My hope in communicating to
the reader the various fields of inquiry and research that have deeply marked me as a
scholar is two-fold. Firstly, I deeply believe that as interdisciplinarity is more and
more embraced as a coveted goal of the academy, we are responsible for fairly
consider each academic discipline and its research traditions. Interdisciplinarity
although highly coveted, is still regarded with suspicion by traditional scholars
working within the paradigm of separate disciplinary realms. Similar to the negative
views of bilingualism where two languages can come to mean not “knowing” either
well, interdisciplinary work is looked on as insufficiently grounded in any particular
discipline, and therefore not intellectually rigorous. To combat this I take the stance of
being responsible for the influences that have shaped my work, making sure to
identify how I use them for my research. Interdisciplinarity does not mean a “free for
all” of academic trends and influences. Secondly, I offer this insight into the selfreflective processes through which I developed this project and my own scholarly
interests as a means to simultaneously hold myself, and the reader, accountable for
maintaining an open perspective to the ever-growing nature of interdisciplinary work.
Taking to heart the advice a mentor offered that as scholars we cannot just simply take
what we want from whom or what we want without ethical academic accountability.
Although this may at first sound didactic and limiting, I have come to understand and
embrace the idea of respect for what each scholar (and therefore the academic
discipline which forms her) contributes to our overall knowledge of humanity. This
project then, identified by and charged with the weight of this commitment, carries my
42
self-conscious reflection as a hopefully fruitful example of what interdisciplinary work
offers even as it continues to develop and take shape in the academy.
Representing Bilingualism
Having offered a presentation of bilingualism through my review of the critical
issues in its study and foregrounding it as the fundamental base for the conceptual
framework of this project, I now turn to the issue of representing bilingualism. As
mentioned in the introduction, my conscious use of the term representation is one that
plays on the idea of presentation repeated. Representations are always renderings and
subjective, resulting from specific contexts and forces (social, psychological,
economic, political, racial, etc.) that influence their production. Representations are at
once additional and alternative interpretations of some subject, intangible or physical,
that are then interpreted by those who are exposed to and willing to engage them.
Interpreters of representations are just as shaped in their modality of interpretation by
the specific context and factors influencing them at a given moment and over a period
of time. Language, as one of the primary methods through which representations are
presented, interpreted, and discussed, is also in and of itself subject to all the factors
influencing perception.
Ideologies of Language
Language is invested with implicit values, judgments, and ideas. This
phenomena is referred to as language ideologies. In her introduction to the critical
anthology Language Ideologies: Practice and Theory, Kathryn A. Woolard discusses
just what ideas about language can reveal:
Ideologies of language are not about language alone. Rather, they envision and
enact ties of language to identity, to aesthetics, to morality, and to
epistemology. Through such linkages, they underpin not only linguistic form
and use but also the very notion of the person and the social group, as well as
such fundamental institutions as religious, ritual, child socialization, gender
relations, the nation-state, schooling, and laws. (3)
When we discuss ideologies we are dealing with perceptions of the external world, the
interpretation of these perceptions, as well as the practice of qualifying these
43
interpretations and their influence on materialized action. This process of perception,
interpretation, and qualification applies to language as well, and is mediated not only
by a subject’s individual lived experience but also by the society the individual
inhabits. Exterior influences come from larger institutions of power within a society
that seeks propagation of its value system, which can be referred to as the dominant
ideology and which holds hegemonic power. Ideologies of language then become a
category of analysis that reflects many of the accepted beliefs of an individual’s
experience of her language and that of others. Woolard goes on to state that “using
language in particular ways is not what forms social groups, identities, or relations
(nor does the group relations automatically give rise to linguistic distinction); rather
ideological interpretation of such uses of language always mediate these effects” (18).
Language, when produced, is interpreted and received in specific ways that are
directly linked to what is thought about the individuals that produce that language.
Ideologies of language can therefore reveal individual and societal applications of
judgments.
Ideologies are best understood as they work in this framework when
differentiated from attitudes. Typically language use and attitudes is what has been
used to study behavior towards language. Edwards helps clarify some of the confusion
that occurs when attempting to understand attitudes:
Attitude is a disposition to react favourably or unfavourably to a class of
objects. This disposition is often taken to comprise three components: feelings
(affective element), thoughts (cognitive element) and, following upon these,
predispositions to act in a certain way (behavioural element). That is, one
knows or believes something, has some emotional reaction to it and, therefore
may be assumed to act on this basis. … there is sometimes confusion between
belief and attitude; this is particularly so in the domain of language attitudes,
and often shows up clearly on questionnaires and interviews designed to tap
them. Attitudes include belief as one of its components. … To gauge attitude
one would require further probing into the respondent’s feeling about her
expressed belief. (Multilingualism 98)
44
It is important to establish this delineation of what the term “attitude” covers,
especially in the study of language and its perception. The term “belief” can easily
mislead us to believe (ironically enough) that what one feels, thinks, and hence may
act upon falls under the purview of ideology and not attitude. Belief is not actually
attitude either; attitude requires conscious reflection on said beliefs. Therefore to
discuss someone’s language attitudes would mean to get them to talk about how they
feel and what they say they believe about language. These discussions would then
provide some insight to estimating how that person might act in regards to language or
its use. Myers-Scotton notes that attitudes towards language differ from ideologies in
power and intentionality:
Think of attitudes about language as assessments that speakers make about the
relative values of a particular language. Attitudes are largely unconscious, but
this doesn’t mean that people can’t make judgments or act on the basis of their
attitudes. As for language ideologies, think of them for now as perceptions of
language and their uses that are constructed in the interest of a specific group.
Again, speakers typically are not consciously aware that they even hold such
ideologies, nor are they necessarily aware of the potential effects of such
ideologies. But it seems that because ideologies refer especially to group
interests, leaders are likely to make them the basis for mobilizing a group to
action of any sort. So, in this sense, ideologies rise more easily to the level of
consciousness. (109)
The marked distinction between ideologies and attitudes made above is critical to this
project exactly because it has to do with power. As Myers-Scotton points out, both
attitudes and ideologies can lie dormant in the unconscious. Ideologies however, cross
over into the realm of the conscious because they are tied to specific interests; there is
an investment in action being taken under their tenets. Although attitudes may be able
to offer us some insight into how a person may be prone to act with respect to
language, ideologies are reflected in actions because these actions are prompted by
purposes, conscious moves for power by certain groups. Ideologies more than attitudes
take us into concrete effects and in relations to language, are a conceptual tool with
45
which to identify when and how language is invoked as a source of ideological
formation. Taking a language ideology to be “a system of ideas about social and
linguistic relationships that reproduce and legitimate the social order” allows us to
concretize the ideational realm of language ideologies (Valdés “The Teaching of
Heritage Languages” 253). Ideologies of language help maintain power relationships
and institutionalized social order by outlining the permissible usage and form of
language of the polity. By investigating what ideologies of language are present in a
given society we are better able to understand how they function as forms of influence
in the shaping of individuals into a given social structure. Language ideologies dictate
the way in which we should think about, use, accept (or reject), and ultimately
function in language as part of our identities in a society and nation-state. I prefer to
use ideologies because as a concept they apply to the realm of the ideational and can
therefore broaden the typically studied form of language use (speech) to various forms
of texts, such as cultural practices and productions.
The study of language ideologies has been taken up in an unavoidably
interdisciplinary fashion. The 1998 compilation under the title of Language Ideologies
exemplifies the diversity in approaches used in its presentation of research in the fields
of anthropology, ethnography, linguistics, and sociology, to name a few. The
introduction highlights that the study of language ideologies has been a field of inquiry
without specifically being identified or recognized as such. However, projects on
language ideologies can indeed be found under this subject heading, although they are
few. In Voices of Modernity (2003) the authors present a study of the way language is
constructed as a means to modernize Europe, which has hitherto gone unexamined as
this topic has centered on the construction and development of science and society in
projects of modernization. In the compilation titled Ideologies of Language (1990) the
articles work to challenge the field of linguistics and the study of language as a closed
system impervious to ideological influences. The linguistic anthropologists whose
collective work on integrating politics and language produced Regimes of Languages
in 200 outline four main features of language ideologies, which provide a framework
46
for understanding the politicization of language and linguistic politics of identities at
the national, ethnic, and economic levels.
These works, although critical to the understanding of the complexity and
necessity of studying language ideologies, do not engage with the politics of
representation in written and mediated texts. My project provides an example of how
literary and cultural study aided by sociolinguistic perspectives can contribute a
nuanced application of the study of language ideologies.
Ideologies of Monolingualism and Bilingualism
The specific ideologies of language that pertain to this project are those of
monolingualism and bilingualism. I identify and define an ideology of
monolingualism by the following characteristics:
(1) Upholding the belief that it is the normal and natural human state to speak
only one language.
(2) That this one language spoken should be a prestige variety of an officially
recognized standard language with an established literary tradition20 (in and by
a Western nation-state).
(3) That humans can be allowed access to high levels of formal education and
ultimately social realms in this language only if it is to be the primary
language acquired and the one with which they most identify socially.
Monolingualism emerges and is ultimately fostered through purist and prescriptivism
approaches to language. Linguistic purism depends on the belief that language can and
should be pure from contaminated or corrupted forms of language and languages. In
order for a language to be pure, it must be free from change and its essence protected.
This of course implies that there indeed exists an initial and perfectly unadulterated
variety of a language from which contemporary dialects and variations have
developed. Language purists therefore cannot accept or cope with the natural
permeability of language, much less the inevitability of language contact situations.
For language purists “language change equals corruption” and therefore a language
must be defended and protected from change (From kin et al. 456). A perfect example
20
Ferguson includes “literary heritage” as one of the defining characteristics of a prestige variety
(“High”) of a language that distinguishes it in diglossia from the variety of less prestige (“Low”) (70).
47
of linguistic purism is the formal institution known as La Academia Real de la Lingual
Espanola whose motto, “Limpia, fija y da esplendor,”21 Edwards notes, “makes clear
the desire to clarify, purify and glorify the language” (Multilingualism 12). Formal
institutions and academies such as La Real Academia, in addition to dictionaries,
function in line with efforts to standardize languages and work in service of language
purism. Equally limiting to a broader appreciation of the dynamic nature of languages
is the prescriptivist approach. According to Edwards, purist and prescriptivist
approaches to language go hand in hand as “prescriptivism is closely allied with
language defence, with efforts to maintain the ‘purity’ and integrity of a language,
with attempts to prevent other languages from breaching the barricades”
(Multilingualism 12). Prescriptivism is all about the “shoulds” of a language and
through its precepts seeks to dictate the terms and forms of a language’s use as the
ultimate and only manner in which it must exist. Exemplifying a prescriptivist
approach Edwards states that, “[t]he essence of this position, in language matters at
any rate, is a sense that one variety is ‘correct’, or uniquely appropriate for all
members of society, or the sole carrier of prestige and power or, indeed, the particular
repository of aesthetic, social and logical value” (Multilingualism 12). Both linguistic
purism and prescriptivism provide the ideological space for monolingualism to
flourish and I would dare say even prompt monolingual ideologies.
Under the tenets of an ideology of monolingualism, multilingualism and
therefore bilingualism are unacceptable. In the introduction to the Handbook of
Multilingualism and Multilingual Communication, Auer and Wei trace the inception
of monolingualism to the development of Western nation-states and formal academic
disciplines, an European inheritance which also involves the necessary
marginalization of certain languages (immigrant, native, and colonial) through
conquest and forced migration, where they became second languages only because
they were still needed to fill the functional use of communicating with the still present
non-ideal or unwanted citizenry. As an inheritor of this history, the US is a clear
21
“Clean, fixed and gives splendor,” my translation.
48
example of a nation-state with a monolingual ideology. Fishman outlines the specific
reasons why:
The view that America need not concern itself with LOTEs22 is supported by a
small cluster of accompanying views: (i) that schools don’t really succeed in
teaching languages anyway (“I had four years of French and I couldn’t say a
blessed thing then and I certainly can’t do so now!”); (ii) that raising
monolingual English speaking, reading, and writing children is the only decent
and patriotic way to socialize children into “the American way of life”; (iii)
that a multitude of languages will confuse the American mind as well as
American society as a whole and result in lowered GNP, as well as a higher
frequency and intensity of Civil Strife; or, even worse, (iv) that fostering
multilingualism is tantamount to fostering political unrest, sedition, and other
dangers to American stability; and finally, (v) that English is and of right ought
to be the national or only official language of the United States (minor
exceptions being made for Amerindians, most of which/whom are dying out
anyway). (“Acquisition, Maintenance, and Recovery” 1-2)
Lack of investment in fostering multilingual abilities through LOTE instruction
reveals that American English monolingualism is projected as the linguist norm and
patriotic responsibility for people living in the US. Multilingualism and bilingualism
are by consequence regarded with suspicion in monolingual ideologies such as the
American. Valdés identifies the manner in which this monolinguistic ideology
presents itself in US society:
The popular ideological discourse on bilingualism reflects not only a strong
nationalistic philosophy that directly condemns the publicly supported use of
non-English languages, but also a set of related beliefs that view bilingualism
of indigenous and immigrant groups as problematic. Embedded in this
discourse are strong beliefs about the dangers of early bilingualism, about the
problems of language contaminations, and about the negative effects of
bilingualism on individuals. (“The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 257)
22
Languages Other Than English
49
Monolingualism is reflected in this country not just through language instruction, but
educative processes and their institutions. Widespread and all-too-easily accepted
beliefs in the general public that the presence of multiple languages, whether in
society or an individual, is antipatriotic and damaging are cyclical in their relationship
to these educative processes, where they simultaneously uphold and are informed by a
monolinguistic ideology. Valdés goes on to say that “[i]deologies of monolingualism
are reflected in the very use of the term bilingual. … However, bilingualism in these
[educational] settings is a euphemism for poor, disadvantaged, or newly arrived
immigrant children who are, in fact, monolingual speakers of their immigrant
language” (“The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 259). Discomfort and blatant
attacks on bilingualism, especially in the US educational system are not so-veiled
critiques of unwanted citizenry. “Bilingualism” and “bilingual” turn into politically
correct code words that nonetheless identify individuals whose presence and first
language is undesired in the American national landscape. Monolingualism as an
ideology therefore explicitly negates and actively condemns multilingualism as a
positive and beneficial state and ideology.
An ideology of bilingualism is ultimately an ideology of multilingualism and holds
the following characteristics:
(1) Upholds that languages, just like humans, are complex and naturally come into
contact, resulting in further and resourceful ends.
(2) Embraces and accepts linguistic diversity as a resource and right for every
human.
(3) Requires a questioning of the access to standardized and prestige varieties of
languages and their establishment as such.
To embrace multilingualism and bilingualism, as I have shown through my review of
the field of interest, requires we view challenge the manner in which traditional
disciplines have asked us to view language (with a capital “L”). To accept
bilingualism means to accept, through recognition and valorization, bilinguals’
language experiences and existence as resources for linguistic diversity. As Edwards
aptly notes, “[t]he linguistic myopia that is so often a feature of monolingual
50
perspectives is sometimes accompanied by a narrow cultural awareness” (“Societal
Multilingualism” 448). Referring to the narrowed perspectives on language and their
speakers (such as is required for monolingual ideologies) as nearsightedness wittily
draws attention to the need for not just cultural awareness, but its acceptance as well.
Multilingual ideologies inherently recognize and embrace diversity of all types, as it is
this diversity that creates multilingual speakers and communities. Acceptance of
multilingualism and the factors that produce and sustain it through diversity of peoples
and their languages has prompted organizations to uphold linguistic rights at all levels.
The Universal Declaration on Linguistic Rights,23 for example, addresses throughout
its fifty-two articles the basic human right to be understood in one’s language. What
this practically means is that each of us as humans has the right to be heard, implying
that there is someone who comprehends our language and accepts it as a valid means
of communication. However, for such a right to be recognized and services (such as
interpretive) to be provided requires that the language and speakers of this language be
seen as worthy of the inevitable bureaucratic and financial investment. Edwards goes
on to describe that “[l]inguistic rights are usually meant to have an effect at the group
level – indeed, their existence is generally motivated by the plight of small groups
whose languages and cultures are considered at risk – and this may sit uneasily with
traditional liberal-democratic principles that enshrine rights in individuals, not
collectivities” (“Societal Multilingualism” 454). The idea of upholding linguistic
rights can come into direct confrontation with the way that political rights are typically
conceptualized and acted upon. The documentation of linguistic rights is a critical
asset to the survival of linguistic diversity as a local, national, and worldwide resource
and is a cornerstone of multilingual ideologies.
Ideologies of language, and particularly of monolingualism and bilingualism,
are essential to the study of multilingual communities and their representations.
Because language ideologies are not usually acknowledged or included as a factor in
the study of these representations, deprecatory views of certain languages, their uses,
and the people that use them in such ways are continually produced and reproduced.
23
A document produced by UNESCO out of the discussions held during the World Conference on
Linguistic Right in 1996: http://www.unesco.org/most/lnngo11.htm
51
These are linguistic prejudices, which Bonnie Urciuoli describes in her influential
book Exposing Prejudice:
Language, dialects, and accents are constructs that classify people, as do race,
nationality, ethnicity, and kinship. Each of these categories assumes a natural
boundary. The tendency for people to see these categories as neatly separate is
how they operate as signs. The terms monolingual and bilingual let people
assume that words, sounds, and rules come into neatly monolithic packages,
that individual speakers are carriers for these packages, and that speaker
competence can be neatly gauged in terms of these packages. (3)
Identifying individuals as monolingual or bilingual immediately brings specific
characteristics and linguistic expectations to mind. These ideas about what bilingual
and monolingual means as a descriptor will affect the overall perception of the
individual’s competence, as we have seen, and not just at the communicative level.
Urciuoli goes on to state that “[w]hen people are subject to language prejudice, they
are judged communicatively incompetent. Their knowledge of language forms is
judged inadequate and contaminated: rules are said to be broken, boundaries crossed,
languages mixed, accents unintelligible. This is a quantum leap past simple
communication misfire” (3). Linguistic prejudice therefore begins with what ideas we
have about who monolingual and bilinguals are or should be. Negative judgments and
subsequent actions coming from these same judgments are acts of prejudice and
should not be overlooked as miscommunication. How individuals are attacked via
linguistic prejudices stemming from ideologies sanctioning deprecatory views of
individuals as incompetent language users and humans is an immediate indicator of
the need to examine ideologies of language in the representations of multilingual
communities.
Identities Through and In Language
Critical to this project is the intricate relationship between language and
identity. Indeed, I believe that one cannot be wholly discussed without mention of the
other. In her most recent work, Visible Identities, Linda Martín Alcoff emphasizes the
ways that bodies are visibly marked by their identities. She goes on to state: “When I
52
refuse to listen to how you are different from me, I am refusing to know who you are”
(7). This statement is one that I am particularly drawn to because of its emphasis on
communicating identities. The manner in which we communicate our identities also
becomes a possible source for having our identities ignored or overlooked. We must
indeed “listen” to the language through which we communicate ourselves because it is
part of our identity. Within the study of language therefore, identity is a critical aspect.
Myers-Scotton observes that, “languages are often the single most important symbol
of group identity” (9). Language does not only lie at the base of individual identities
but those of groups. Edwards further explains the relationship between individual and
group identity: “Speaking a particular language means belonging to a particular speech
community and this implies that part of the social context in which one’s individual
personality is embedded, the context which supplies the raw materials for that
personality, will be linguistic” (“Foundations of Bilingualism” 23). Although we must
definitely look at the contextual factors that influence identity (for they are many), we
must incorporate how language works within and alongside these factors. In order to
begin to unpack the relationship between language and identity we must first establish
a view of just what identities are, how they are communicated and manipulated
through language, and how they can be analyzed through various forms of language.
I refuse to accept any notion of identity that claims it is a static or totalizing
definition of an individual for this delimits the agency of the individual as well as the
power of external forces on an individual. A guiding principle in my primary
conceptualization of identity then is the notion of identity as continual work, or
“identity work.” I take this phrase as a guiding term in how I envision identity within
this project from the work of Etienne Wenger in Communities of Practice. As Wenger
argues, because identity “mirrors practice,” identity is influenced by the negotiation of
experience (validating the lived experience of the individual), community membership
(recognition of the extra-individual relationships that influence individuals and are
contexts for negotiation of experience), learning trajectory (the idea that an
individual’s life and identity is a trajectory onto which we can map phases or contexts
that are in motion along different groups and these, along with those that are actively
53
not-participated in, together can provide insight into an identity), and the relations
between the local and the global (because identity work is in constant flux between
these two realms and not just isolated to the internal or just the external). Wenger
therefore provides a meticulous and inclusive framework for understanding identity as
continually shifting and growing. Identity, as I engage it, is first and foremost dynamic
work.
My understanding and use of identity has also been heavily influenced by the
work of scholars in the Future of Minority Studies Research Project.24 A key figure in
this research project, Paula Moya proposes a definition of identities through a
postpositivist realist theoretical lens in Learning from Experience:
I understand identities to be socially significant and context-specific
ideological constructs that nevertheless refer in non-arbitrary (if partial) ways
to verifiable aspects of the social world. Moreover, I contend that it is precisely
because identities have a referential relationship to the world that they are
politically and epistemically important: indeed, identities instantiate the links
between individuals and groups and central organizing principles of our
society. Consequently, an examination of individual identities can provide
important insight about fundamental aspects of U.S. society. (13)
Complimentary to the conception of identity as work, Moya’s definition of identities
embraces the relationship between individual identities and larger social groups and
structures. Because identities are produced in a real, concrete, and verifiable world
they most definitely represent this world and understanding these representations is of
the utmost importance. Understanding the knowledge base of identities, their political
implications, and relevance to society is fundamental to this collective’s research
project as well as my own. In Identity Politics Reconsidered, Satya Mohanty and
Linda Martín Alcoff further describe this realist approach to identity:
Realists about identity further argue that identities are not mysterious inner
essences but rather social embodied facts about ourselves in our world;
moreover, they are not mere descriptions of who we are but, rather, casual
24
Please see www.fmsproject.cornell.edu
54
explanations of our social locations in a world that is shaped by such locations,
by the way they are distributed and hierarchically organized. The real debate is
not over whether identities have political relevance, but how much and what
kind. The theoretical issue concerning identities is not whether they are
constructed (they always are, since they are social kinds) but what difference
different kinds of construction make. (6)
This understanding of identity then is not essentialist, instead it takes identities as
constructed through our individual social experiences in this world and is pivotal to
my own view. Taking identities seriously, as this collective of scholars has, allows us
to look at the various social categories that interact with and influence the way we are
constantly identified and self-identify in our social realities without losing sight of the
way this work can come to represent and signify outside of ourselves.
How identities come to signify for individuals and society relies on their
communication, of which language is key. Identity work manifests itself through
language as discourse, defined as “connected series of utterances; a text or
conversation.” For this framework I view language conceptualized as discourse
because discourse highlights the communicative aspect of language, where it is at once
produced and received. Approximating how discourse interacts with identity requires a
conceptualization of that relationship, which the work of James Paul Gee enacts. Gee,
like Wenger, emphasizes the social aspect of identity, where recognition of the “kind
of person” one is being is critical to identity work. That is, like identity, discourse is
not isolated or static but rather interactive and dynamic. In “Identity in Educational
Research” Gee presents four ways in which identity can be viewed, where Discourseidentity is defined as “an individual trait recognized in the discourse/dialogue of/with
‘rational’ individuals” (25). This definition of identity in and through discourse
emphasizes recognition at the individual level in order to capture the exchange
between “rational” individuals and befits my project in understanding how identity is
recognized through linguistic interaction. Influential in working through this idea of
discourse identity is Gee’s definition of discourse as an “identity kit”:
55
By discourse I will mean: a socially accepted association among ways of using
language, of thinking, and of acting that can be used to identify oneself as a
member of a socially meaningful group or “social network.” Think of a
discourse as an “identity kit” which comes complete with the appropriate
costume and instructions on how to act and talk so as to take on a particular
role that others will recognize. (“What is Literacy?” 3)
Gee establishes the relationship between language and identity as mutually
constructed. As is discourse, language is conceptualized socially. Discourse allows for
the complexity of value and power systems that are created, maintained, or governed
through language. Gee outlines that discourses are ideological, resistant to internal
criticism, defined by oppositional discourses, prioritize certain values at the expense of
others, and are related to the distribution of power in society (“What is Literacy?” 4).
Discourse is a unit of language that allows us to focus on these social factors in
linguistic production and exchange. Given this description we can begin to
approximate critical analyses of language via discourses as processes of meaning
making. How this meaning is made and knowledge attained (or not) relies on the
interaction between an audience and producer. Identity then undergoes the same
processes within discourses. Identities are established, contested, negotiated,
recognized, and continually challenged by and through language in discourse.
If we take identity (as I do) to be the constant working through categories that
we know to be socially constructed (such as ethnicity, race, class, gender) in language
as discourse, what is required to understand identities through multilingual discourse?
Benjamin Bailey states that “[i]f multilingual talk is an especially meaningful mode of
speaking, it is not the nature of the forms that make it so but rather particular social
and political histories” (363). Identity work in and through multilingual discourse
requires a serious engagement with all the aforementioned social categories as they
influence language production and perception. We must take these into account as
influential factors on both identity work and language production. The indexing of
identity work through language and vice versa, however, is not solely what I am
positing here. Keeping in mind the realm of the ideational and systems of ideas that
56
influence interpretation of languages and identities is critical to understanding the
relationship between language and identity work in order to not lose sight of the real
lived experiences of our social world. Studies on the relationship between
multilingualism and identity have mostly centered around language choice, variation,
and mixing features of bilingual speech exactly because these aspects in language use
bring to the forefront the presence of more than one language for multilinguals. In
order to better understand the relationship between language and identity in bilingual
individuals however requires more than focusing on these important features as
indexical of identity work. Focusing on what these features of bilingual language can
come to represent in and for individual and collective identities is my key interest.
Although English and Spanish each contain their own set of monolingual ideologies,
complete with “axioms of standardization and correctness” Spanish-speaking
populations within the United States do not simply index their identity through one or
the other language (Urciuoli 258). As Zentella notes, “[b]ecause bilinguals are not
passive recipients of cultural models, but active agents who exploit both traditional
and new ways of ‘doing being an X,’ bilingual repertoires of identity may incorporate
diverse rules and include hybrid linguistic and cultural practices that defy narrow
classification” (Preface 6). Agency is essential to understanding identity work,
especially as Zentella phrases it, because bilinguals do not solely subscribe to the
typical models of bilingual language behavior as composed of separate and distinct
models in each of their languages. Zentella references Auer’s concept of “doing being
bilingual”25 in order to emphasize the doubly active nature of bilingual existence. As
we know that being bilingual is more than just the sum of two languages, identity
work in and through multilingual discourse requires a sustained gaze at how bilingual
identities defy expectations. To understand and begin unpacking the relationship
between multilingualism and identity work then we must see both as complex
processes of social construction that simultaneously interact and run parallel in
specified contexts (Bailey 345). My ultimate goal is not to say which language indexes
or represents each culture or when and which language is used in what ways with
25
Chapter Three in this dissertation offers further discussion of “doing being bilingual” as a guiding
concept and key phrase in that chapter’s introduction and argument.
57
whom, but why and how that language use and choice is reflective of larger ideologies
and assumptions about identities through their representation.
Bilingualism in Representation
Having presented, and represented bilingualism in the first two major sections
of this chapter, I now move into the section of this chapter’s title that lies on the right
hand side of the colon. As an explicative and descriptor, the phrase “bilingualism in
representation” grounds bilingualism as the subject of representation. This phrase asks
us to look for bilingualism in modes of rendering and interpretation, such as cultural
production. This is a tiered endeavor, where bilingualism is in and of itself the subject
matter of representation as well as the possible mode through which multilingual
individuals are represented. That is to say, just as we have seen that identities are
constructed and conveyed in and through language, so in representation will
bilingualism be the form and matter of interest in this project. Bilingualism as a topic
of interest in cultural productions, such as literature, can be represented through the
description of bilingual characters and their ways of being and speaking within their
intentionally crafted narrative worlds. We have seen how bilingual individuals come
to be labeled, described, and identified through the study of language contact and
resultant bilingualism. The act of identification, of being ascribed an identity as a
bilingual and identifying as a bilingual falls into the category of representation.
Representations here refer specifically to cultural productions, the literature analyzed
in the subsequent chapters. We must remember that at stake in the representation of
bilingual individuals and communities is the acknowledgment and valorization of their
lived experience.
Through the first two major sections of this chapter I have led the reader
through a review of the critical fields of interest, disciplines, and inquiries that have
most influenced this project. In this section I will present the field of Chicana/o
cultural studies as the principal defining area of study in which this project is located. I
will first review the critical issues in Chicana/o cultural studies that this project is
framed by and speaks to, namely that of Chicana/o identity and representation in order
to situate this project’s intervention in the understanding of language within Chicana/o
58
cultural production. As the case study for a sustained interest in the importance and
repercussions of bilingual identity assumptions and expectations, Chicana/o literature
and cultural productions offer a prime example of the work that representations of, in,
and through bilingualism enact for communities.
The Chicana/o in this Project
Chicana/o cultural studies partake of a shared history with most other ethnic
studies as a rather contemporary field of study and discipline. As ethnic minority
groups demanded greater access to and support from institutions of higher education
during the 1960s civil rights movements, ethnic studies programs, centers, and
departments began to be established at community colleges and universities.
Chicana/o studies has continued to develop and evolve in conjunction with (and
typically against) the ideological and scholarly shifts that have swept across the
domain of academia, specifically that of cultural studies. Angie ChabramDernersesian’s introduction to the Chicano Cultural Studies Reader outlines the most
prevalent questions that arise in the “contested terrain of social analysis” between
American/British cultural studies and Chicana/o cultural studies:
Where is the culture in cultural studies? Whose culture is represented in
cultural studies? What languages does it speak? Who is its audience? Where
does it travel? Where does it stop? Can cultural studies read the writing on the
(international) border? Where are the legacies of immigrant, working-class,
and transnational women of color in cultural studies? How do Chicana/o and
cultural studies converge? How does “cultural studies” respond to the social
conditions and cultural legacies of socially differentiated transnational
Chicana/o and Latina/o communities and other Third-World communities?
Where can effective, socially viable networks of cultural studies be formed?
(11)
These queries interrogate the continued exclusion of Chicana/o and other minority
populations within the intellectual projects of traditional cultural studies and reveal
some of the major concerns for Chicana/o cultural studies. These questions also
indicate and proclaim the inherent use of cultural studies approaches within the
59
organic multidisciplinary formation of Chicana/o studies. George Lipsitz describes
that cultural studies approaches “provide sophisticated and convincing arguments
about the ways in which the commonplace and ordinary practices of everyday life
often encode larger social and ideological meaning” (51). It is therefore a tenet of
cultural studies that the analysis of the “everyday” and “ordinary” can lead us to
understand the broader socio-cultural and historical implications of the contexts in
which these occur. A defining trait of Chicana/o cultural studies then is to responsibly
center, seriously examine, and thoroughly research quotidian Chicana/o existence.
To do just this, an essential concept used within Chicana/o cultural studies is
“borders.” As Chabram-Dernersesian states: “Historically the border as a knowledge
formation figures prominently within a critical vernacular pertaining to the cultures of
imperialism, nationalism, and neocolonialism as well as the polyvalent cultures of
resistance and affirmation” (95). The epistemological trajectory of Chicana/o
existence has been traced to the concrete geographical space of borders, which in turn
has been theorized as a conceptual space of knowledge. As the Chicana/o border par
excellence, the US-México border holds geographical, political, social, cultural,
economic, and historical importance for the study of Chicana/o communities. Gloria
Anzaldúa’s famous description of this border as “an open wound” elucidates the
repercussions its presence creates within its surrounding physical and psychological
landscape: “A borderland is a vague and undetermined place created by the emotional
residue of an unnatural boundary. It is in a constant state of transition” (Borderlands
3). Borders create borderlands and both are concrete material locations that actually
and metaphorically symbolize the formation of Chicana/o individuals and their
communities. Within Chicana/o cultural studies borders hold an interpretative and
representational importance for understanding Chicana/o populations.
Through the analysis of the tangible borders that have created, shaped, and
continue to influence Chicana/o populations, Chicana/o cultural studies center the
subject formation of Chicana/o identities. As Mary Pat Brady states, “the border looms
large and figures mightily in the production of identities” (151). The encounter
between predominantly Mexican and American cultural landscapes is definitive for
60
comprehending the concept of Chicana/o identity. The fluid nature of the immaterial
spaces borders create signifies that the identities produced and functioning in and
around these areas are similarly unfixed. Rosalinda Fregoso and Angie Chabram state:
“Identities thus assume a provisional nature in our society and communities—they are
subject to revision and interpretation over time and space” (31). As a conceptual
element and primary concern of Chicana/o studies, Chicana/o identity is recognized to
have an ephemeral quality that cannot be held to static and unchanging analyses. Thus,
Chabram-Dernersesian affirms that “Chicana/o cultural studies identifies a number of
complex and oftentimes contradictory (Chicana/o Latina/o) positions that are unheard
of in foundational, authoritative discourses of community that appeal to a uniform
ideological field and find a degree of safety in the social systemic binaries of
‘us/them’ and the imaginative boundaries of a separate nation” (5). Chicana/o cultural
studies contests impulses to claim an essential unitary Chicana/o identity by
embracing perceived contradictions that arise from its intrinsic multiplicity. Moving
beyond simplified (and simplifying) paradigms of subject formation, a Chicana/o
cultural study examines and upholds the heterogeneous and plural nature of Chicana/o
identity and its investigation.
Just as Chicana/o identity instantiates the diversity of Chicana/o experiences,
so too does it imply an equally sundry conceptualization of Chicana/o language. In her
introduction to Anzaldúa’s pioneering work Sonia Saldívar-Hull accurately
synthesizes this notion: “there is no one Chicano language just as there is no one
Chicano experience” (Borderlands 8). Embedded within the material and metaphorical
borderlands surrounding the US-México border are the repercussions of a history of
Spanish-English language contact. The resonances of the language contact between
predominantly American English speaking communities and predominantly Mexican
Spanish speaking communities are intimately felt by Chicana/os. Carmen Fought notes
that although “Latino communities in the USA provide a good lens for observing the
multiple and overlapping layers of identity, and how these are reflected and
reproduced in language. … Language in Latino groups is often simplistically reduced
by the dominant culture to ‘English’ and ‘Spanish,’ but the actual number of linguistic
61
varieties is much more extended” (71-73). Chicana/o cultural studies has taken up a
pluralistic and diversifying concept of language that can do justice to the study of the
linguistic heritage and realities of the Chicana/o experience, since questioning
“whether or not Anglophone cultural studies is capable of generating multilinguistic
and multicultural project identities” (Mariscal 73).
As a critical component of the Latina/o and Spanish heritage speaking
population in the US, the study of Chicana/o language shares and benefits from
existing and continual research on Spanish in the US. As a component of the linguistic
repertoire of this nation, Spanish varieties found in the US have been widely contested
as impure, deviant, and corrupted versions of their Latin American and Peninsular
counterparts.26 Heritage language speakers of these Spanish varieties therefore
encounter similar reactions along with erroneous assumptions previously discussed in
the study of bilingualism.27 Sharing this concern, the study of Chicana/o language has
focused on documenting language attitudes and use within and towards Chicana/o
communities.28 The identification and description of the languages and subsequent
26
See Bilingualism and Identity: Spanish at the Crossroads with Other Languages, eds. Mercedes
Nino-Murcia and Jason Rothman (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2008), Margarita
Hidalgo, “Criterios Normativos e Ideología Lingüística: Aceptación y Rechazo del Español de los
Estados Unidos,” La Enseñanza del Español a Hispanohablantes: Praxis y Teoría, eds. M. Cecilia
Colombí and Franciso X. Alarcón (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1997) 109-120, Research on Spanish in
the United States: Linguistic Issues and Challenges, ed. Ana Roca (Somerville: Cascadilla Press, 2000),
Spanish in the United States: Sociolinguistic Issues, ed. John J. Bergen (Washington: Georgetown
University Press, 1990), and Guadalupe Valdés, , Joshua A. Fishman, Rebecca Chávez, and William
Pérez, Developing Minority Language Resources: The Case of Spanish in California (Clevedon:
Multilingual Matters Ltd., 2006).
27
See Bilingual Education for Hispanic Students in the United States, eds. Joshua A. Fishman and Gary
D. Keller (New York: Teachers College Press, 1982), Heritage Languages in America: Preserving a
National Resource, eds. Joy Kreeft Peyton, Donald A. Ranard, and Scott McGinnis (McHenry: Delta
Systems Co., 2001), Mi Lengua: Spanish as a Heritage Language in the United States, eds. Ana Roca
and Cecilia Colombí (Washington: Georgetown University Press, 2003), Language and Culture in
Learning: Teaching Spanish to Native Speakers of Spanish, eds. Barbara J. Merino, Henry T. Trueba,
and Fabián A. Samaniego (London: Falmer Press, 1993), La Enseñanza del Español a
Hispanohablantes: Praxis y Teoría, eds. M. Cecilia Colombí and Franciso X. Alarcón (Boston:
Houghton Mifflin, 1997), and Guadalupe Valdés et al.
28
See Juan C. Guerra, Close to Home: Oral and Literate Practices in a Transnational Mexicano
Community (New York: Teachers College Press, 1998), Language and Language Use: Studies in
Spanish, eds. Terrell A. Morgan, James F. Lee, and Bill Van Patten (Lanham: University Press of
America, 1987), Latino Language Use and Communicative Behavior, ed. Richard Duran (Norwood:
Ablex, 1981), Lucía Elias-Olivares, Ways of Speaking in a Chicano Community: A Sociolinguistic
Approach (Diss. University of Texas, 1976), and Susana Victoria Rivera-Mills, New Perspectives on
62
varieties that affect Chicana/o linguistic repertoires has also been a primary concern.29
Since the prominent methodological approaches in Chicana/o language studies have
been sociolinguistic, much research has centered on how language maintenance, shift,
and loss presents itself in Chicana/o communities.30 These prevailing concerns in the
study of Chicana/o language use are pivotal to the continued understanding of the
Chicana/o experience.
However, Chicana/o cultural studies has not specifically looked at the
ideological aspect of Chicana/o language as part of its prioritized analysis of the
representation of Chicana/os. Fregoso and Chabram define representations as
“embodied in the forms and practices of culture,” that is, cultural productions (28).
Cultural studies redefines analyzable and critical texts to include practices through
which relevant social and cultural meanings are produced. Representations of
Chicana/os are therefore sought and found in cultural productions of which literature
has been, and continues to be, foundational. In the realm of Chicana/o literary
criticism, language has not been given much attention in terms of ideologies
represented through its explicit and implicit use in Chicana/o cultural production.
Instead, the criticism that does engage with issues of language tends to center its
Current Sociolinguistic Knowledge with Regard to Language Use, Proficiency, and Attitudes Among
Hispanics in the United States, (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 2000).
29
See The Dictionary of Chicano Spanish = El diccionario del español chicano, 2nd ed., comp. Roberto
A. Galván and Richard V. Teschner (Lincolnwood: National Textbook, 1995), Form and Function in
Chicano English, ed. Jacob Ornstein-Galicia (Malabar: R.E. Krieger, 1988), Carmen Fought, Chicano
English in Context (New York: Palgrave, 2003), Leodoro Hernández, Language of the Chicano (Los
Angeles: National Dissemination and Assessment Center, 1979), El Lenguaje de los Chicanos:
Regional and Social Characteristics Used by Mexican-Americans, eds. Eduardo Hernández-Chávez,
Andrew D. Cohen, and Anthony F. Beltramo (Arlington: Center for Applied Linguistics, 1975), Joyce
Penfield and Jacob L. Ornstein-Galicia, Chicano English: An Ethnic Contact (Amsterdam: J. Benjamins
Publishing Company, 1985), Rosaura Sánchez, Chicano Discourse: Socio-historic Perspectives
(Rowley: Newbury House Publishers, 1983), Otto Santa Ana, “Chicano English and the Nature of the
Chicano Language Setting,” and Hispanic Journal of the Behavioral Sciences 15.1(1993): 3-35.
30
See John Amastea, “Language Shift and Maintenance in the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Southern
Texas,” Bilingualism and Language Contact: Spanish, English, and Native American Languages, eds.
Florence Barkin, Elizabeth A. Brandt, and Jacob Ornstein-Galicia (New York: Teachers College, 1982)
261-277, D. Letticia Galindo, “A Sociolinguistic Study of Spanish Language Maintenance and
Linguistic Shift Towards English Among Chicanos,” Lenguas Modernas 18(1991): 107-16, Garland D.
Bills, Eduardo Hernández-Chávez, and Alan Hudson, “The Geography of Language Shift: Distance
from the Mexican Border and Spanish Language Claiming in the U.S.,” International Journal of the
Sociology of Language 114(1995): 9-27, Glenn A. Martínez, Mexican Americans and Language: Del
Dicho al Hecho (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2006), and Fernando Peñalosa, Chicano
Sociolinguistics: A Brief Introduction (Rowley: Newbury House Publishers, 1980).
63
discussions on the use and presentation of English-Spanish codeswitching and popular
varieties of Chicano language, such as Caló. Certainly the genre that has received
much of this focus is that of poetry as the most popular form of expression in the early
stages of the Chicano cultural nationalist movement and its invocation of the
community’s multilingualism. The analysis of language in these poems emphasizes
the phenomena of codeswitching as a way that bilingual poets can stylize their work
given their ability to draw from both languages and each’s varieties, as well as the
ways in which the poetic use of codeswitching does or does not reflect the Chicana/o
community’s actual language use and cultural heritage.31 Criticism on Chicana/o
theater has also taken up this same focus but has added to its discussion the
relationship of the production’s language to the target audience and the attitudes
reflected.32 Interviews with Chicana/o cultural workers produce narratives about
language histories and ideas about language used and represented in Chicana/o texts
and serve as a possible source of language ideologies.33 However these discourses are
never further pursued or interrogated with this specific interest by interviewers or
researchers.
General literary criticism of longer prose in Chicana/o literature with respect to
language use addresses issues of the bilingual heritage in this literature as an
identifying marker of Chicana/o texts but does not interrogate the qualification or
31
See Alfredo Arteaga, Chicano Poetics: Heterotexts and Hybrities (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1997), Cordelia Candelaria, Chicano Poetry: A Critical Introduction (Westport: Greenwood
Press, 1986), Zaida A. Cintrón, Salsa y Control: Codeswitching in Nuyorican and Chicano Poetry,
Markedness and Stylistics (Diss. Northwestern University, 1997), Carla Jonsson, Code-switching in
Chicano Theater: Power, Identity and Style in Three Plays by Cherríe Moraga (Umeå: Institutionen för
moderna språk, Umeå universitet, 2005), Gary Keller, “The Literary Strategems Available to the
Bilingual Chicano Writer,” The Identification and Analysis of Chicano Literature, ed. Francisco
Jiménez (New York: Bilingual Press, 1979), Raquel León-Jiménez, Identidad Multilingüe: El Cambio
de Código como Símbolo de la Identidad en la Literatura Chicana (Logroño: Universidad de La Rioja,
2003), Rafael Pérez-Torres, Movements in Chicano Poetry: Against Myths, Against Margins
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), Guadalupe Valdés, “Code-Switching in Bilingual
Chicano Poetry,” Hispania: A Journal Devoted to the Teaching of Spanish and Portuguese 59.4(1976):
877-886.
32
See Jorge Huerta, Chicano Theater: Themes and Forms (Ypsilanti: Bilingual Press, 1982), Elisa
Kondor, The Chicano Experience as Seen through Theater (Diss. University of South Carolina, 1991),
and Guadalupe Valdés, “Language Attitudes and Their Reflection in Chicano Theatre: An Exploratory
Study,” New Scholar: An Americanist Review 8.1-2(1982): 181-200.
33
See Juan Bruce-Novoa, Chicano Authors: Inquiry by Interviews (Austin: University of Texas Press,
1980), Karin Rosa Ikas, Chicana Ways: Conversations with Ten Chicana Writers (Reno: University of
Nevada, 1992).
64
evaluation of this bilingual marker.34 Two works that do move beyond these aesthetic
discussions are the studies by Laura Callahan and Manuel M. Martín-Rodríguez.
Callahan’s book, Spanish-English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus studies the use
of codeswitching in a variety of texts, from poetry to novel. Callahan’s sociolinguistic
approach is used to present this study as an exposition of a large-scale study of
Spanish-English codeswitching, where the relationship between the two languages
used is not limited to a Chicana/o framework. She goes on to explore the possible
economic costs of codeswitching for authors when one incorporates national
perception of both languages and their mixing but centers her concluding remarks on
outlining the correlations between known sociolinguistic phenomena and their
reflection through these texts. Martín-Rodríguez’s book, Life in Search of Readers,
takes up the issues of publishing, editing, and marketing of Chicana/o literature.
Language choice and use within textual production is viewed in terms of the creation
of a target audience with which authors seek to connect and communicate. The
presence of diverse languages in Chicana/o literature means for Martín-Rodríguez that
linguistic diversity is still very much alive within the US. He therefore explores how
basing communication through literature to a heterogeneous audience can work. Both
these works attempt to explore the extra-linguistic features of texts, but do not factor
in analysis of the attitudes or ideas about the languages used in their objects of
research.
Literature as materialized object and manipulated product of language reflects
ideologies of language. How language is used and discussed within textual
representation can therefore illustrate some of the relationships of power within the
society in which it is produced. In his work on developing a literary theory and critical
approach to Chicano narrative, Ramón Saldívar holds that this literature is produced in
a context of conflictive histories and ideologies. He states: “Chicano narratives,
individually as texts and together as a genre, confront and circumscribe the limiting
ideologies imposed upon them (and sometimes created from within Mexican
34
See The Identification and Analysis of Chicano Literature, ed. Francisco Jiménez (New York:
Bilingual Press, 1979).
65
American culture itself) and how they have in complex ways determined the horizons
within which their literary history has emerged” (Chicano Narrative 6). Chicano
literature then works to oppose, through its representations of Chicana/o subjectivity,
the dominant ideologies that have oppressed the subjects represented. The contestation
of oppressive ideologies is not limited to the dominant Anglo-American culture but
also provides internal critiques through its narratives and production. Saldívar further
delineates the relationship between literary representation and ideology:
Ideology is much more than that. It is an authentic way of grappling with a
Real that must always transcend it, a Real into which the subject seeks to enter,
all the while painfully learning the lessons of its own ideological closure and of
history’s resistance to the fantasy structures in which it is itself locked. A text
can thus be said to refer not to concrete situations so much as to the ideological
formations that concrete situations have produced. (Chicano Narrative 212)
The fear of falling into the trap of equating narrative representations with the very
immediate and materialized “Real” is eased by an acceptance of the pervasiveness of
ideologies throughout. Language as the medium and product of texts then will reflect
the ideologies of its producer. When narrative subjects enter into metacritical
discussions of language itself, either as produced by other subjects or as a general
aspect of humanity, language ideologies are at play. Chicana/o literary criticism guides
approaches to these narratives and texts via an acceptance that ideologies are a valid
category of analysis and a framework through which to analyze the work a literary text
does. Ideologies of language then can fit into criticism of the ideologies represented in
Chicana/o cultural productions. This is the critical intervention and aim of this
dissertation.
Although each text that provides the analytical substance for this project is
given individual and sustained attention in its allotted chapter, I must here
acknowledge my critical (i.e. my scholarly/academic) gesture in identifying them as
Chicana/o. I do so for the same reasons and with the same motivations that lead me to
include individuals that may not be identified and accepted as bilinguals within that
descriptive term, category, and field of study. My desire to always prioritize the
66
recognition and validation of traditionally marginalized groups to the best of my
abilities in whatever endeavor (especially academic) prompts me to label José Antonio
Villareal’s Pocho (1959), Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez (1990),
Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy (1971), Arturo Islas’s The Rain God (1984), Sandra
Cisneros’s Caramelo, o puro cuento (2002), the writing of Cherríe Moraga and Gloria
Anzaldúa, along with the works of Michele Serros and Vida Mia García as Chicana/o.
However much I doubt that any of these would be contested as verifiably Chicana/o,
my Chicana/o cultural studies formation prompts me to responsibly acknowledge and
account for this act of identification. I identify these works as Chicana/o because 1)
they share concerns about and focus attention on the encounter between Mexican and
American cultures in varying facets as a prevalent theme of their narrative content, 2)
contribute to our knowledge base of Chicana/o existence through their representations
of this encounter, and 3) are cultural productions by Mexican Americans, that to the
best of my research and knowledge have not directly or openly rejected Chicana/o
classification. Because identification is, as Sánchez states, “a two-way process” in
which “one identifies and is identified” then I identify myself as a Chicana through my
identification of these authors and their works as Chicana/o (“Mapping the Spanish
Language” 111).
Chicana/o is at once the primary adjective and noun that describes the main
subject(s) matter of this project, the disciplinary field that has inspired and offered a
space for it to exist, and my personal and scholarly identity. As is indicative of the
multivalent application of this term for the various components of this project, the
term Chicana/o is polymorphous. The multifaceted nature of the term Chicana/o is my
prevailing motivation for housing this project and myself within its connotative and
denotative realm. As Karen Mary Dávalos indicates: “Whether by design or default, at
each stage of research—from development to publication—Chicana/o scholars open a
dialogue about their position and identities inside and outside of the academy. In
addition, their positionality is often more than a simple matter of first-person narrative;
it is a profound bias to empower the people under investigation” (608). As a Chicana
scholar then, I am not only working to share my own narrative of personal and
67
scholarly formation within Chicana/o studies, but also to legitimate the subject matter
I engage in this project.
Conclusion
The study of bilingualism is the foundation upon which this conceptual
framework is built. Indeed, it was a course centering on issues in the study of
bilingualism during my first years of graduate studies that gave voice to my personal
and intellectual concerns. Through my review of the key words in favorable
definitions of bilingualism as well as the critical terminology used to describe
bilinguals I introduce my concern and preoccupation with the politics of inclusion and
exclusion in the conceptualization of Language and its users. Because of its attention
to social and economic power dynamics, I uphold circumstantial bilingualism as the
framework most befitting this project. As a result of language contact, that is, the
movement of groups of different language users coming into communicative
proximity, most of the world’s population can be described as bilingual. The human
body’s penchant for movement at the individual level coupled with the rapid growth of
globalization bring more individuals with different languages into contact, meaning
bilingualism will continue to flourish throughout our world. The formal academic
study of bilingualism has developed through the combined interests, methods, and
approaches of traditional disciplines, of which sociolinguistics, linguistic
anthropology, and applied linguistics have been the most influential in the articulation
of this project and scholar.
Exploration of the extra-linguistic features of language is required in order to
understand the conceptualization, perception, and interpretation of language and its
users. Ideologies of language are the conceptual unit of analysis this work explores in
the focused subject matter. They offer a connection between the realm of the
ideational and concrete material reality by keeping issues of interest and power as a
motivating source in representations of languages and their speakers. Ideologies of
monolingualism, such as mark the US, are prompted by prescriptivist and purist
notions of language that cannot abide the recognition and appreciation of the linguistic
pluralism defining multilingualism and inherent in ideologies of bilingualism. As a
68
result of monolinguistic ideologies, acts of linguistic prejudice simultaneously mask
and siphon blatant and politically incorrect discrimination against individuals and their
communities. I examine individuals and the communities in which they participate
through studying their first and third person identities, that is, the way that they and
others conceive of their selfhood. Because language is an integral part of
communicating and responding to identities, the intricacies in the relationship between
language and identity are the pervasive throughout my analysis of representations in
the subsequent chapters of this dissertation. Identity cannot be defined in a singular
fashion for it is multifaceted and unfixed, varying during an individual’s lifespan as
she externally and internally navigates her lived experiences. To account for this I
apply the concept of identity analytically as continual work. Language as the means
through which this work is conveyed and enacted is therefore discursive, for it is not
produced or received in isolation but in dialogue, whether actual or notional.
The particular representations of language and identity I examine in this
project are Chicana/o. I am able to accomplish this through the analytical principles of
Chicana/o cultural studies that embrace multiplicity in its understanding of Chicana/o
identities, interdisciplinary approaches that provide multifaceted and open
interpretations of representations, and understanding of the ideological weight of
cultural productions. Chicana/o individuals and communities are historically marked
by bilingualism in Spanish-English and therefore work as a case study for the analysis
of the relationship between language and identity in representations of multilingual
populations. Although the study of Chicana/o language has not included ideologies of
language as a concern of representational analysis, such a focus is merited and
substantiated by the field’s tradition of unearthing external and internal ideologies and
relationships to power. Chicana/o literature, as the particular mode of cultural
production that is the focus of this project, reveals the historical and contemporary
markings of its communities’ relationship and experiences in bilingualism.
In order to answer the final one word question I intentionally omitted for this
conceptual framework up to this point, that is, why even study bilingualism? (much
less in the fashion and manner in which I am doing), I would like to share a quick
69
anecdote from my experience teaching a course modeled on this dissertation as
illustrative of the importance of bilingualism to the understanding of self and others.
As an introduction to the course, one of our first discussions centers (as this chapter
does) on the students’ personal definitions and understanding of bilingualism. I offer
students a compiled list that concisely defines many of the terms used to describe
types of bilingual individuals that we have seen here. Without fail, it is one of the
pieces that most engages and immediately prompts reaction from students. The fact
that each of them can go through this list and circle at least one term that defines and
describes them as a bilingual is unanimously transformational. Even predominantly
monolingual students with an incredibly modest sense of their own language abilities
and experiences are able to find confidence in exploring and validating their linguistic
ventures, and proceed to valorize their recognizably bilingual classmates’
epistemologies. This is just a minute example of not just the intellectual impact of the
understanding of bilingualism but also of its inter- and intra-personal ramifications.
70
Chapter Two
“Growing up Bilingual; Growing up Proto-Chicana/o”: Bilingual Mexican
American Development in Pocho and George Washington Gómez
Introduction
Perhaps the most trying of my dissertation chapters to title, this chapter
presented me with the primary dilemma of how best to relate the processes by which
one grows up bilingual to the processes by which one grows up Chicana/o. My debate
between the use of a colon or semicolon resulted in the latter. Although a colon would
invite the reader to deliberate on the existence of a relationship between these two
subject formations, a semicolon states that there is in fact an established relation
between these two processes. The aim of this chapter then is to help articulate that
relationship, by looking at the subject formation processes of the protagonists in two
early Chicana/o coming-of-age novels,35 José Antonio Villarreal’s Pocho (1959) and
Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez (1990). Contemplating the
differentiation between their literary histories as proto-Chicana/o narratives reveals the
relevance of sociohistorical context for the reception, identification, and analysis of
these works. I join these two novels because they anticipate the discourses of
Chicana/o representation established by the Chicano movement in the 1960s. The
sociohistorical context of each work’s publication and reception is additional proof for
the necessary study of the relationship between bilingual and Chicana/o identity
formation because it is not a static relationship. Here we have two cases of two
different protagonists who share similar sociocultural circumstances and settings but
distinct developmental trajectories in identity. The differences in both their identity
development and its representation add to my argument for the diversity of Chicana/o
bilingual identity outcomes that must be accepted within the spectrum of what being
bilingual and a Chicana/o means.
As the first analytic chapter of this dissertation, I offer this segment of my
project as a starting point to begin guiding the reader through a critical incorporation
of language as conceptual unit of ideological analysis in the reading of bilingual
35
I use coming-of-age novels to describe both works as both Pocho and George Washington Gómez
have generally been categorized and analyzed as “bildungsroman” in their literary criticism.
71
representations and the communities on which they focus. Before applying the
conceptual framework I have outlined in the introductory chapter, I will first introduce
the two novels. These brief introductions will provide the reader with some insight
into my rationale for selecting these texts for analysis of bilingual identities and their
representations as well as introduce the key issues that I will address in the final
section dedicated to their critical reception. From the introduction of these texts we
will move on to a review of the key concepts necessary in understanding bilingual
language development. This will be followed by my readings of both novels in
consecutive fashion, focusing on the ideas about language and identity that both
protagonists encounter in their lives and reflecting upon how these affect their identity
development as bilingual Chicana/os.
Pocho and George Washington Gómez
A target of early criticism due to his self-proclaimed resistance to insular
Chicana/o politics,36 José Antonio Villarreal produced an ambiguous Chicana/o
identity in the protagonist of his first novel Pocho, Richard Rubio. Initially drawn to
the novel because of its title,37 I was not disappointed in my hope to find a complex
discussion of Chicana/o identity formation. Of particular interest was the statement
made by the omniscient narrator: “To be just, no one could be blamed, for the
transition from the culture of the old world to that of the new should never have been
attempted in one generation” (135).38 Here the novel seems to posit an unavoidable
one-way transition from the Mexican to American culture for Mexican migrant
families and Chicana/o identity development, but it is unclear if the new culture by
36
Please see Juan Bruce-Novoa, “José Antonio Villareal,” Chicano Authors: Inquiry by Interview
(Austin: University of Texas Press, 1980) 37-48, and Francisco Jiménez, “An Interview with José
Antonio Villareal,” Bilingual Review/Revista Bilingüe 3.1(1976): 66-72. In both these interviews
Villareal highlights his discomfort with the conflation of politics and aesthetics that he feels spurred
negative reception and readings of Pocho. He attributes this tendency towards the non-literary
conceptualization and critique of his work and other literature to the Chicano movement’s political
agenda.
37
“Pocho” is a term that has come to be understood as derogatory for contemporary Chicana/os because
it highlights the American influence and aspect of a Mexican American identity, although like the term
Chicana/o itself, its definition has changed over time. Villareal himself refers to the term as one of
endearment and camaraderie during his youth (see Bruce-Novoa “Interview”).
38
For this and subsequent citations of Pocho I will use pagination from the 1959 first edition published
by Double Day.
72
necessity negates or eradicates the old. I would argue that it does not, although I
recognize that other scholars have not been so generous in their approach to this
novel.39 I find it interesting that Richard, as the novel’s protagonist, has been viewed
as a timorous and unlikable character for his inability/refusal to take on a strong
Mexican American identity that embraces the cultural ideals and values of Chicana/o
communities as well as social political activism and awareness. As my analysis of the
novel will reveal, Richard is always disturbed and torn by the “demands of culture”
placed on his individuality, but never rejects or negates his Mexican based identity. I
read the ambiguous ending in line with Ramón Saldívar’s view that although Richard
“will consistently choose not to choose” from the absolute values with which he is
presented throughout his development, it is a “preliminary step in a dialectic of
developing protopolitical understanding” and that Richard “may turn to the politics of
change” (Chicano Narrative 64-65). I intend to explore Richard’s development in this
novel, asking why he maintains this outsider/insider position within Chicana/o cultural
criticism.
Despite Richard Rubio’s ambiguous Chicano identity I would say I am much
more sympathetic towards him than Guálinto in George Washington Gómez. Américo
Paredes’s novel has received much attention because of its specific sociohistorical
emphasis in presenting us the conflicted world in which Guálinto is produced. We are
told at the moment Guálinto is born that:
Born a foreigner in his native land, he was fated to a life controlled by others.
At that very moment his life was being shaped, people were already running
his affairs, but he did not know it. Nobody considered whether he might like
being baptized or not. Nobody had asked him, whether he, a Mexican, had
wanted to be born in Texas, or whether he had wanted to be born at all.40 (15)
39
Please see Raymund A. Paredes, “Mexican-American Literature: An Overview,” Recovering the
Hispanic Literary Heritage, Vol 1, eds. Ramón Gutiérrez and Genaro Padilla (Houston: Arte Público,
1993) 31-51. Representative of unforgiving critique Villareal’s work, Paredes’s description and analysis
of Pocho as an “assimilationist book” centers on Richard’s “near obsession to win acceptance by the
dominant culture” (41).
40
For this and subsequent citations of the novel I use pagination from the first edition of George
Washington Gómez (1990).
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Guálinto’s lack of input on how his life as a Mexican will be run is significantly
emphasized throughout this section. This introduction to Guálinto as the protagonist
precipitates the concern of agency. I appreciate Paredes’s move to highlight and center
the sociocultural and historic forces that are at play in Guálinto’s formation, but
believe that Guálinto never really tried to look past his lack of input into what he was
able to control. Guálinto uses his agency to pretend he has none. Saldívar describes
Guálinto’s transition into George G. Gómez41 as inevitable given “the circumstances
of modernity and modernization on the border are such that the only pragmatic
pathway available to someone like him is full assimilation and the complete negation
of the past” (The Borderlands of Culture of Culture 187). I coincide with reading
Guálinto as a product of his opposing ideological environments and my reading
explores these in the hope we may find in the survival of an active Chicano identity
lies not with this protagonist but other characters within the novel.
Growing up Bilingual
In my outline of a conceptual framework that bases its analysis in the study of
bilingualism I highlight the complexity of defining and describing bilingual
individuals. In reviewing the typology of bilingual individuals I present Guadalupe
Valdés’s model of circumstantial bilingualism as the most productive framework for
understanding bilingualism in this project. Richard and Guálinto are circumstantial
bilinguals because their circumstances as first-generation Mexican immigrants in the
US dictate their acquisition and development of English. First and foremost describing
Richard and Guálinto as circumstantial bilinguals allows us to situate the critical
variables that are generally required for bilingualism to develop, which are exposure,
access, and validation. Richard and Guálinto begin to formally acquire and learn
English when they enter school, which is around five to six years old. Prior to this they
are primarily Spanish speakers as it is the dominant language of their parents and
family. Carol Myers-Scotton states that “there is plenty of good evidence that very
41
Many scholars use “Guálinto/George” when discussing the protagonist of George Washington Gómez
in order to highlight the dichotomy and tenuous relationship between the childhood nickname version
of his given name that is used throughout the majority of the novel and the legally-changed version he
adopts at the novel’s end. I will use Guálinto throughout and signal the switch to George only at the
final section of my reading of the novel’s end.
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young children do acquire more than one language as long as they are exposed to
speakers of the languages” (36). For any type of language acquisition to occur the first
and foremost requirement is exposure to language. When two languages become
present in children, Myers-Scotton goes on to clarify that “little bilinguals are not
linguistic wizards; they are simply doing what children of normal intelligence can do.
That is, they acquire the language varieties to which they are exposed” (325).
Exposure to the languages that will comprise a child’s bilingual development and
repertoire is essential. If children are not exposed to a language then there is no way
that it can be acquired.
The second requirement needed for bilingualism to develop is access.
Guadalupe Valdés reminds us of “access to particular styles and registers as an
important factor in language acquisition” (Expanding Definitions 45). A child’s
exposure to language depends on their access to that language, whether it be through
ideal forms such as interpersonal and direct communication or mediated sources such
as audio-visual or textual media. Access, as has been mentioned, is something that will
inevitably be affected by the socioeconomic context in which a child is raised. If (as is
the case for Guálinto and Richard), the bilinguals in question are circumstantial, then
we know that access to their primary language (Spanish) is mediated within a new
geographical context where it is no longer the dominant language. But English will
also be accessed differently as their minority status will inadvertently affect their
schooling and educational access to both their society’s dominant language (English)
and their personal home languages (Spanish and later, English). This second
requirement for bilingual development requires sustained critical attention because
when discussing the context in which languages are accessed, there are a variety of
factors that will dictate the nature of this access and the majority of those factors are
out of the individual bilingual’s control. Access therefore is pivotal to bilingual
language development.
Even with exposure and access to languages, bilingual children require
validation and valorization. By this I mean not only to suggest that their learning be
validated and highly-valued, but specifically that their languages receive positive
75
attention. As Josiane F. Hammers and Michel H. A. Blanc pinpoint, “the degree of
relative valorization attributed to each of the languages” as pivotal in describing a
bilingual’s sociocultural development and surroundings (102). Valuing the languages
one is exposed to and accesses is central to maintaining a strong attachment to these
languages, as well as supporting their continual use. If one thinks that either language
is not useful, good, or beneficial, then it will be disregarded and put aside in
preference for that which is valued. In order to hold value for languages we must be
exposed to positive validations of these languages. Therefore social networks become
critical in the valuing of languages for bilingual language development. Even if an
individual thinks highly of her linguistic repertoire, if it is not similarly valued or
blatantly disparaged by her communities and networks, it will become much more
difficult to continue investing in the development of that language. As children one of
the most important skills we begin to develop is literacy and for this “[v]alorization of
L1 and of literacy in the child’s social network are both crucial” (Hamers and Blanc
103). This same point holds true for bilingual development. If valorization is an
essential component to a monolingual child’s literacy development, then it is multiply
so for a bilingual child.
Exposure, access, and validation being the key elements to successful bilingual
development, we must understand the central arenas where these occur for an
individual. The first is of course through personal relationships of different kinds. As
Hamers and Blanc state, “The roots of bilingual development are to be found in the
interpersonal interactions occurring in the child’s social environment, and these
provide the child with a model of language behaviour comprising more than one
language” (126). Linguistic modeling and immediate models for bilingual language
use are the best type of exposure for children being raised bilingually. The personal
connections forged in and through language help provide models for how to use both
languages at the grammatical and communicative levels as they observe and take in
their surrounding environment. These interpersonal interactions take place within
important networks that organize their social environment:
76
The relevance of a network, centered on the individual, lies in the fact that, on
the one hand, it provides the child with a function and formal linguistic model
(or models) and with shared schemata acquired through routines, and, on the
other hand, it transmits to the child the system of societal values, attitudes, and
perceptions relating to the languages and their users. (Hamers and Blanc 101)
Networks, as collections of relationships tied to the individual, are essential not just in
fostering exposure to bilingual language behavior but to the validation required for it
to flourish. Networks are also a way to access bilingual language behavior and models.
Particularly for children the family, peer, and school networks are identified as the
most important (Hamers and Blanc 102-103). As will become evident in the analysis
of the Pocho and George Washington Gómez, these three networks are the most
pronounced in Richard and Guálinto’s narratives.
In addition to embracing the concept of networks for understanding bilingual
language development in children, we must also address how bilingual language
behavior is exposed to and accessed by children. “Domains of language” has become a
central concept to the study of language choice and behavior and is defined by Joshua
Fishman as “major clusters of interaction situations that occur in particular
multilingual settings” (“Who Speaks?” 93). This concept advances the individual
factors (group, situation, and topic) that are the focus of researchers’ attempts to
predict influences in language choice at the societal level. Suzanne Romaine expands
on this definition: “A domain is an abstraction which refers to a sphere of activity
representing a combination of specific times, settings and role relationships” (30).
Domains of language can be used to describe and identify the ways in which
language(s) will be used within networks and are a necessary supplement that we must
take into account when describing bilingual language behavior. To be more specific,
domains of language are ways that we know and expect to know which language to
use and how to use it in a given moment. “Family, friendship, religion, employment
and education” (Romaine 30, Myers-Scotton 77) are the most widely recognized
domains where language use is predictable. During my discussion of Richard’s and
Guálinto’s bilingual development I will be focusing primarily on the family,
77
friendship, and education domains of language use because they will fall into the most
important networks in these coming-of-age narratives.
Although a review of the history of bilingual education is beyond the scope of
this chapter and project, we certainly must address the issues faced by ethnic minority
children entering US formal schooling. In my discussion of Richard and Guálinto,
experiences in education and schooling are fundamental and loaded with the potential
to cause great long-term effects on the development of bilingual minority identities. In
particular I would like to take a moment to clearly delineate what I mean when I refer
to education and schooling. I refer to education as moments of learning centered and
aimed activities. Schooling is both informal and formal, where formal schooling offers
education within a state-sponsored institution and informal schooling offers
impromptu lessons without a specifically designated institution or set curriculum. In
order to explain this discussion I return to Valdés, whose ethnographic study on
childrearing and educational practices in Latino communities defines the importance
of informal education and schooling:
What English speakers call education is school or booklearning. What Spanish
speakers call ‘educación’ has a much more broad meaning and includes both
manners and moral values … Educando a los hijos, then, included teaching
children how to behave, how to act around others, and also what was good and
what was moral. It included teaching the expectations of the roles that they
would play in life and the rules of conduct that had to be followed in order to
be successful in them. This teaching, or rather, this indoctrination, began very
early and generally took place whenever there was any verbal interaction
between adults and children. (Con Respeto 124-125)
My use of education then implies and is heavily influenced by the concept of
“educación.” Through the term of schooling I differentiate more specifically between
types of education, that is, formal and informal. This distinction is important given the
sustained attention Richard and Guálinto’s formal and cultural education receives
within the novels. As we shall see, school is one of the most profound network sites
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and domains of language use that marks the their ultimate development and identity
formation.
In summary, to answer the question of how one becomes bilingual requires an
appreciation of the complexity of the various factors at the individual and social level
that influence language development as a whole. As children, we will learn a language
as long as we are exposed to it, can continue to access it, are validated in our efforts,
and have our language(s) valorized. The most important networks and domains of
language use that influence bilingual language development are those pertaining to the
family, friends, education/school and neighborhood/community. Circumstantial
bilinguals, such as Richard and Guálinto, acquire an additional language because their
circumstances dictate its need to survive economically and socially. Having reviewed
the central terms and concepts that pertain to an understanding of the development of
bilingualism, I will now turn to the novels themselves to position and describe the
protagonists’ experience of becoming bilingual.
Both Pocho and George Washington Gómez are novels centering the
experience of Mexican descendants within the US during the decades of the 1920s
through 1940s. The Mexican Revolution is the catalyst for the migratory trajectory of
Richard’s and Guálinto’s families as first-generation Mexican migrants to the US
Southwest. Their parental figures invest economically and psychologically in their
future identities and careers as middle-class Mexican males because they are the first
and only male children of their families. Richard and Guálinto are part of the second
generation of their migrant family’s heritage but part of the first generation to go to
school in the US, graduate from high school, and learn English in a formal school
setting. At home they are expected to maintain traditional Mexican cultural practices
and identities and are explicitly taught to do so even as they become marked by their
experiences in the American culture that influences and surrounds them. Villarreal and
Paredes provide pointed historical context and commentary in order to understand the
socioeconomic situations in which Richard and Guálinto grow up and which their
working-class families experience. Both characters are raised in predominantly
Mexican enclaves, in communities where traditional Mexican cultural practices offer
79
migrant families a way to negotiate their new country of residence while still keeping
their heritage and identity based on their country of origin. Each of their groups of
friends reflect a diversity found in the larger community and provide immediate
socialization, which in turn influence their relation to dominant society. These similar
circumstances mark both Richard and Guálinto’s identity development. Both novels
end with an unresolved tension, leaving the protagonists’ final identity open to reader
interpretation. For each character, however, these influences emerge quite differently
and it is these differences that play a major role in their final identity outcomes.
Richard Rubio’s Home Domain and Family Network
Within the critical home domain of language use, Richard is exposed to
gendered expectations for his Mexican cultural identity through his family network
consisting of his father (Juan Rubio), mother (Consuelo), and sisters (Luz and others).
Juan Rubio establishes the priority of his idealized Mexican identity as a patriarchal
ex-Revolucionario who is self-educated, defends the rural working class. His mother
Consuelo expects Richard to replace his father as patriarch through a prosperous
career choice. Richard’s sisters do not present him with identity expectations but
rather the opportunity to enact the patriarchal model his parents expect.
Juan Rubio values education as part of his identity as a Mexican male and will
therefore support Richard’s access to his intellectual pursuits. Being self-taught, Juan
values and defends the education his son receives through book-learning:
“Blind? Bah! The boy is learning to see by reading in the poor light.” And
he turned to Richard and said, “Learn, my son. Learn all you can in the
English, for next year by this time we will be in our country, and your
knowledge will be of great benefit to you. Of course, I want you to learn our
language also. What a shame it would give me if we arrived with our people
and they would think I had a brute for a son.” (96)
Juan Rubio’s expectation for his son’s bilingual development and education is in
service of his own Mexican identity. The more learned and fluent Richard is in
English and Spanish, the more proud a Mexican man Juan will be upon his return to
80
México. Richard’s identity as a Mexican male is based on a formal education and
Spanish-English bilingualism, in the eyes of his father.
Therefore the influence of American culture on Richard’s identity development
challenges Juan Rubio’s Mexican identity through the very facets that compose it:
education, language, and patriarchy. When Juan Rubio is vexed by Richard’s breaking
of curfew and voiced discontent with his father’s expectations for his life, Juan blames
the education he is receiving at school (130). Unable to engage with the possibility
that Richard’s platform against the expectations of Mexican patriarchy he has modeled
for his son are organically Richard’s, Juan points to school as a site where American
culture influences his son’s behavior and opposition. Similarly, once English begins to
infiltrate his house, Juan Rubio must contest it as a clear marker of the American
cultural identity that is now affecting his family’s Mexican identity. Without any
prompt we are privy to, Juan Rubio demands, “‘Silence!’ …. ‘We will not speak the
dog language in my house!’ ... ‘But this is America, Father,’ said Richard. ‘If we live
in this country, we must live like Americans’” (133). Juan’s roaring demand for
silence, his refusal to identify the English language by its proper name, and his
reference of its subhuman quality reveal his ideological resistance to its use within his
home and family in dramatic fashion. Juan counters his son’s proposal for linguistic
acceptance and adaptation of English in order to survive and participate in the US with
an example of his experience of English as oppressive to his identity: “‘Hahm an’
ecks,’ his father interrupted. ‘You know, when I was in Los Angeles for the first time,
before your mother found me, all I could say in the English was hahm an’ ecks, and I
ate all my meals in the restaurant. Remember! What makes you think I have to
remember that I am not in México?’” (133). And when his daughter echoes her
teacher’s melting point ideology and claim to an American identity, he responds:
“‘You are an American with a black face? Just because your name is Rubio does not
mean you are really blond’” (133). Juan interrupts Richard’s discourse on language
and nation in order to share an alternative perspective. He signals the hardship he has
suffered through the imposition of English as the American dominant language and
effectively discounts the possibility of an American identity based on race, relaying
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that it trumps even the most rehearsed linguistic allegiance. The English language
proficiency and education Juan Rubio once championed for Richard’s identity
becomes the means through which his Mexican cultural and national identity is
contested within the family and gives him reason to rebuke its exposure, access, and
validation within the home domain.
Linguistically, it is Consuelo who anchors Richard in Spanish throughout his
identity development. With no other character do we receive as conscious a reflection
via Richard or the narrator of Spanish language use within the home and Richard’s
internal contexts. After Richard returns from confession he unsuccessfully explains his
confusion to his mother: “‘He asked me if I liked to play with myself, and I said yes,
and he was angry.’ With his limited knowledge of English, the translation into Spanish
was a literal one, and she did not fully understand his meaning’” (35).
Miscommunication between Consuelo and Richard is signaled through the use of
English. Consuelo chastises him and sends him away to his father for indicating that
he has some knowledge of inappropriate behavior or “play” with girls (35). Eight-year
old Richard is here Spanish dominant with receptive English skills. He understands the
priest’s literal use of the English language but not his metaphoric formulation for
extricating information about his sexual development and behavior. Consuelo refuses
to participate in Richard’s linguistic and cultural translation, marking her adherence to
a Spanish dominant identity and relationship with her son. Consuelo is the guardian of
Spanish in the home domain and family network. Upon being chased there (by Zelda),
Richard seeks refuge at home. In front of her home, “Richard’s mother began to scold
her [Zelda] in Spanish. The girl turned to her. ‘Shut up, ya sonuvabitchen black
Messican! Shut up!’ Tears of impotent rage streamed down her dirty face” (68).
Consuelo effectively disempowers Zelda even as the girl is attempting to discursively
abuse her with racial slurs because her Spanish monolingualism protects her and
thwarts Zelda’s English linguistic violence. When an English speaker, Mary, does
enter this domain, Consuelo is able to protect her home by marking her as a cultural
other:
82
Richard was reading in the bedroom when his mother called him. “There is
an americanita outside, son. I think she wants to see you,” she said.
He ran out and brought her in by the hand. “It is the protestantita, Mamá.
Her name is María, and I am going to show her my books.”
“She is very skinny, this one,” said his mother aloud. She cannot possibly
be any good for bearing children, she thought.
Mary stood speechless with wonder as Richard and his mother spoke to
each other in Spanish.
“My mother says that you are welcome and that this is your house,”
Richard told her.
“My house?” she asked dumbly. This was an entirely new world to her.
She had a sudden urge to make her excuses and flee.
“She means to make yourself at home,” he said, feeling suddenly sorry that
she could not speak their language. (72-73)
Consuelo’s initial identification of Mary requires her English name be changed into its
Spanish equivalent. Because of Consuelo, Richard can effectively translate not only
Mary’s identity to fit his mother’s linguistic and cultural paradigms for the home but
feel pride in the recognition of his bilingual skills and identity as Mary requires
assistance in navigating their home space. Consuelo is therefore the gatekeeper to
English language in the home and maintains her relationship with Richard and his
dominant linguistic identity at home, in Spanish.
More so than Juan, Consuelo specifies her identity expectations for Richard as
patriarch through his future socioeconomic status. A discussion about gender roles in
México and the US leads Richard to ponder:
But he did not say this to her, because his thoughts suddenly switched into
English, and it occurred to him that his mother always followed rules and
never asked the why of them.
... Back in Spanish, he remembered what she had just said about the
professions, and knew that she wanted that for him and the family more than
any other thing, with the possible exception of the priesthood. (62)
83
At this point we realize that English has become the language of Richard’s internal
dialogues, and only through this language can he question his mother’s adherence to
Mexican cultural norms. However, even within his internal dialogues, Consuelo’s
voice remains in Spanish, indicating the depth to which he identifies her and his role
in the family as a future professional with a Mexican cultural identity. Consuelo goes
on to audibly verify her expectations of Richard’s role as the future patriarch of the
family:
“But all this reading, my son,” she asked. “All this studying-surely it is for
something? If you could go to the university, it would be to learn how you
could make more money than you would make in the fields or the cannery. So
you can change our way of living somewhat, and people could see what a good
son we had, and it would make us all something to respect. Then, when you
married and began your family, you would have a nice home and could be
assured that you would be able to afford an education for your children.” (63)
Consuelo clearly expects Richard to follow the model of Mexican cultural patriarchy
revealing her dependence on him for the family’s socioeconomic survival and esteem.
From Consuelo, Richard receives a materially based expectation for his identity as
future patriarch of the family. After Consuelo’s confrontation with Juan and dismissal
of him as patriarch, her remaining emotional frustration spills onto her children but
Richard explains and defends Consuelo’s emotional outburst to his injured siblings,
offering a generous final interpretation: “‘She doesn’t mean it the way it sounds,’ he
said to them, in English. ‘She’s very lonely, and a little heartsick, and her jealousy
makes her proud—too proud to admit that she wants Papá back. That is all—try to
understand her as long as you remain with her.’ He changed his speech into Spanish
without pause. ‘I go now, Mamá’” (186). Richard’s unconscious codeswitching
between English with his sisters and Spanish with his mother indicates the progression
of his bilingual identity and practices, where such behavior is automatic and natural.
Richard speaks his final words in the novel to Consuelo, in Spanish. Through
Consuelo, Richard successfully develops a bilingual identity because she has been a
successful protector of the linguistic and cultural domain in her home. Consuelo
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proposes a model of a Mexican identity for Richard that is similar to Juan Rubio’s
only that she is better able to keep him emotionally tied to it through her identity as a
Mexican Spanish monolingual mother who needs the financial support of her son. He
does leave home and his mother, but in Spanish and with a job.
Richard is also able to play out the expectations of his Mexican identity as
patriarch of the family through his relationship with his sisters. Although Juan Rubio
and Consuelo are prolific parents, their daughters generally remain a nameless
collective throughout the novel. His sisters prompt Richard’s recognition of the
gendered sociocultural weight of his parent’s Mexican identity expectations as he
reflects on his mother’s questioning of his father’s patriarchy: “Then, suddenly,
clearly, he saw that she, too, was locked up, and the full horror of her situation struck
him. He thought of his sisters and saw their future, and, now crying, he thought of
himself, and starkly, without knowledge of the words that would describe it, he saw
the demands of tradition, of culture, of the social structure on an individual” (95). This
is a commonly cited passage used to signal Richard’s problematic relationship to his
Mexican cultural heritage and identity, specifically as an indication its future
negation.42 However, I use it here to note that his sisters (along with his mother)
trigger his thought processes and frustration about having to negotiate this identity
with the other cultural influences he is receiving outside the home. His sisters
represent this plight exactly because they have no agency or place in this negotiation
as Richard can and does have. I do not argue that this recognition exonerates Richard
from any responsibility in contributing to his sisters’ unidentified role within the
family and their future. In fact, Richard allows for this to continue through his actions.
Upon returning to a disheveled home he begins ordering his sisters: “He was angry
42
See Juan Bruce-Novoa, “Pocho as Literature,” Aztlan 7.1(1977): 65-71, Daniel Gilden, “Pocho y la
Identidad del Chicano.” Espéculo: Revista de Estudios Literarios. 25(Nov. 2003-Feb. 2004). Web. 5
April 2008, Rafael F. Grajeda, “José Antonio Villarreal and Richard Vásquez: The Novelist Against
Himself,” The Identification and Analysis of Chicano Literature, ed. Francisco Jiménez (New York:
Bilingual Press, 1979) 329-357, Manuel de Jesús Hernández-Gutiérrez, El Colonialismo Interno en la
Narrativa Chicana: el Barrio, el Anti-Barrio y el Exterior (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe,
1994), Genaro M. Padilla, “Chapter I: The Pocho’s Failure to See,” The Progression from Individual to
Social Consciousness in Two Chicano Novelists: Jose Antonio Villarreal and Oscar Zeta Acosta, Diss.
(University of Washington, 1981) 6-65, and Timothy S. Sedore, “Solace in Solitude: An American
Adamic Alienation and José Antonio Villarreal Pocho,” LIT: Literature Interpretation Theory
11.2(2000): 239-59.
85
and impatient, and his voice was harsh. ... He turned to his little sister again and said,
“‘Go!’ She jumped to her feet and ran out the door. The girls came into the house one
by one. There was a frightened look in their faces, and they immediately began to
clean the house. They knew what he wanted, for this was not the first time this had
happened” (146). The little girl’s immediate reaction signals a learned response,
indicating Richard’s behavior is of repeated occurrence. Richard’s sisters indeed begin
cleaning the house, but this does not temper his anger, which turns to violence and is
directed at the one named sister, Luz, because of her defiance of his orders. Richard
implements the Mexican patriarch identity that his parents have proposed for him in
his relationship to his sisters, revealing that he has retained this cultural value
throughout his development.
At home Richard has exposure to, access to, and validation of a Mexican
cultural identity primarily modeled by his father, supported by his mother, and
followed by his sisters. As the patriarch of Richard’s family, Juan Rubio models a
Mexican cultural identity based on the values of education, rural working class and
indigenous racial heritage. He is unable to preserve all aspects of this identity for
himself and Richard due to Richard’s American linguistic and cultural education as
well as Consuelo’s rebellion against Mexican gender norms. Consuelo attempts to
keep Richard’s Mexican identity safe from American cultural influences, as Juan does,
because she never engages with English and is ultimately more successful in
influencing the compliance of Richard’s bilingual and identity development. Richard’s
sisters are doubly exposed to this identity model as their brother takes on the airs of
patriarchy while adapting these identity influences. Richard’s home language and
identity experience must be negotiated with the de-valuation he has experienced and
accessed to at school.
Richard’s School Domain and Network
School is the principal domain through which Richard is introduced to the
English language, and inevitably the site where Richard’s home language and identity
are challenged. The adults guiding his education in school primarily negotiate his
linguistic and cultural identity, beginning with his elementary school teacher.
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Richard’s intellectual curiosity leads him to inquire about unknown English words he
encounters in his home and community domains:
It [his family’s home] had been a store at one time, and faded lettering was still
legible on its high front. “CROCKERIES” and “SUNDRIES,” it read. Below
that, in smaller lettering, “Livery Stable.” The “sundries” had bothered him for
a long time, until finally, one day, he asked his teacher what “soondries” meant
and she did not understand him. When he spelled the word out for her, she
laughed and told him it meant “a great many things.” She then taught him to
pronounce the word. Although he liked his teacher, he never forgave her for
laughing at him, and from that day he was embarrassed whenever he was
corrected by anyone. And when he daydreamed in class and she asked, in
exasperation, “Richard, of what are you thinking?” he answered, “Sundries.”
He waited patiently for the day he would run across the word when reading
aloud in class, and when that day came, it was before a different teacher, and
instead of the elation he had anticipated, he was left with a curious
dissatisfaction. Now, as he stood before his house, he pronounced the word
almost soundlessly. He was afraid of being caught talking to himself. (34)
Richard’s inability to pronounce or spell the word according to his teacher’s Standard
English expectations prompts his teacher’s laughter, which although seemingly
innocuous, has a deeply negative effect resulting in an unresolved grudge,
internalization of mockery, and an emotional and mental distancing from the most
important relationship Richard will have during his schooling. Richard’s experience
with English in the school domain is one that permeates his sense of sense as a simple
vocabulary word becomes heavily imbued with fear, rejection, and shame for him as a
burgeoning English speaker. As he progresses we are told: “At school, Richard was
the favorite of his teachers, because his old-country manners made him most courteous
in contrast to the other students. He was also a good student, and stood near the top of
his class without seemingly trying” (103). When inevitably compared to his
classmates, Richard is held in high-esteem because he embodies a rural working-class
and Mexican cultural background through his courtesy and manners. His intellectual
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and scholarly abilities are secondary to these facets of his identity, and we are led to
question how vigilant and attentive teachers are to the discipline and effort his
educational achievements require:
And the adviser in the high school, who had insisted he take automechanics or
welding or some shop course, so that he could have a trade and be in a position
to be a good citizen, because he was Mexican, and when he had insisted on
preparing himself for college, she had smiled knowingly and said he could try
those courses for a week or so, and she would make an exception and let him
change his program to what she knew was better for him. She’d been eating
crow ever since. What the hell makes people like that, anyway? Always
worried about his being Mexican and he never even thought about it, except
sometimes, when he was alone, he got kinda funnyproud about it. (108)
When attempting to prepare Richard for his future and identify adequate career goals
the counselor disparages his interests in higher education, exemplifying her need to fit
his identity into the socioeconomic stratification that produces and maintains white
middle-class Americans. As a first-generation student and brown working-class
Mexican she attempts to limit his career possibilities to trade work or manual labor.
Richard rebels and re-inscribes his Mexican working-class identity as intellectually
capable and deserving of higher expectations. The adult educators Richard accesses
through school expose him to limiting interpretations of his Mexican cultural and
working-class identity.
Richard also faces contestation of his Mexican cultural and racial identity by
his classmates. After asking his bully why he picks on him, “he [Richard’s bully] told
him because he was Mexican and everybody knew that a Spaniard was better than a
Mexican any old day, and Richard told him that his father said that in Spain if a guy
had a burro, he was a king; but he did not know what Richard was talking about” (41).
Richard experiences an inversion of the Mexican versus Spaniard racial prejudices his
father has used to help define his identity and is made the target of incessant
disparaging remarks about his Mexican racial identity and cultural practices (for
example, the type of food he eats). However, Richard always directly counters the
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cultural and racial discrimination he faces by validating his identity the way it has
been validated by his family at home. As his bully “started saying things to him to
make everyone laugh, like, ‘Why don’t you go home and eat some tortillas,’ and
Richard told him he had just finished eating, and anyway he did not see anything
funny about it, because he liked tortillas better than bread any old day” (41-42). The
confidence his parents instill in Richard as a Mexican allow him to feel victorious
after these confrontations: “He did this with a sense of triumph, because he felt he had
defeated them by enduring their contempt and derision openly. For almost a year, he
had purposely eaten where he could be easily observed, refusing to be driven into
hiding because they laughed about the food he ate” (47). Although Richard is exposed
to attacks on his Mexican identity at school he consistently validates it through public
demonstration of his cultural practices. As an adolescent returning to night school after
a hiatus of fulfilling his role as bread-winner for the family, Richard encounters
classmates that do validate his Mexican cultural identity, but in their own terms and
for their own uses:
And it bothered him that they should always try to find things in his life that
could make him a martyr of some sort, and it pained him when they insisted he
dedicate his life to the Mexican cause, because it was the same old story, and
he was quite sure he did not really believe there was a Mexican cause—at least
not in the world with which he was familiar. They thought him very interesting
some more, and showed him off, but they made the mistake of thinking him a
child, and in the end it turned out badly, because one of them, a Marxist,
became very middle-class when he found Richard in bed with his extremely
pretty wife. (175-176)
Richard rebels against his classmates’ focus on his identity as a physical synecdoche
for his entire culture and race. They expose him to their discourse on social justice,
which requires that lived experience be re-categorized to fit their sociopolitical
desires. Their inappropriate expectations and uses of Richard’s identity throw him into
a politics of representation with which he refuses to engage. He therefore turns to his
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sexual prowess in order to excise the contradictory nature of not only their differing
class positions, but the hypocritical nature of his classmates’ discourse.
As a microcosm of the cultural, racial, and class tensions of the diverse
socioeconomic and political context of US Southwest migrant communities in the
1920s-40s, school is the first domain where Richard encounters the immediate
contestation of his Mexican identity. He must negotiate the exposure he receives to
dominant cultural values and the de-valuing of his heritage and background. This is
difficult for the key networks of access to educational pursuits and influences are
through adults and classmates that definitely rely on ideologies of American
socioeconomic stratification. Interactions with his classmates reveal that as a child and
adolescent Richard finds he must defend his Mexican identity from outside negative
interpretations. He at once defends his Mexican cultural identity through affirmation
of his heritage and home development even as he rejects simplistic overgeneralizations
that turn him into the representative of an entire culture and race.
Richard’s Peer Networks and Community Domains
Some of the most formative friendships that Richard has throughout the novel
are with women. The first are two white Anglo women, Zelda and Marie, who could
not be more different at every level. Zelda is the town tomboy and bully that more
than once physically beats Richard. Mary is a proper Protestant daughter who shares
Richard’s affinity for reading and writing. With Zelda Richard has a sexual outlet and
is able to enact the dominance of Mexican masculine social norms outside of his home
and culture; Zelda becomes a vehicle through which Richard can dominate physically.
In one of the most difficult scenes to read in the novel, it is Richard who instigates
Zelda’s loss of authority and dominance over Richard’s friends and himself through
sex. Richard admits his ultimate selfishness in prompting her sexual relations with the
group: “I didn’t care about them, but I wanted it, and that was the only way I could get
it” (142). Once Richard has overcome Zelda’s physical dominance and threat, he goes
on to dictate the terms of her behavior: “She responded to his newfound and now ever
present dominance, and made token resistance to his whims only because it pleased
him that she occasionally showed spirit” (143). Zelda is aware of Richard’s
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expectations for her as his girlfriend and future wife, fulfilling them willingly.
Richard’s relationship with Zelda therefore is one where Richard develops his
Mexican cultural expectations of male sexual dominance. In Mary, Richard finds an
intellectual equal because her interests run with his as an avid reader and writer,
someone with whom he can introspectively share his linguistic development and
identity. Richard tells Mary that he cannot remember consciously learning Spanish
because it is natural as his first, but he is able to explain his conscious development of
English: “I don’t remember. Talking this way was hard to learn, though. You want to
know something? ... A long time ago, the Spanish was the only way I could talk. Then
I went to school, and they taught me to talk like this. I’ve been trying to teach my
father and mother to talk English, but I don’t think they really want to learn” (73). He
makes English the foreign and difficult language, inverting her ideology that Spanish
is “other,” strange, and unnatural. He further informs Mary that English is not a
coveted or required part of his identity at home as he reflects on his parents’ resistance
to learning English. In his two most important female friendships then, Richard is able
to cross-culturally enact his expected Mexican gender role and norms through the
English language.
Richard is exposed to cultural and racial diversity he cannot access at home by
the male friends that compose Richard’s peer network at school and within his
community from childhood to adolescence. His primary circle of friends includes
Ricky (Italian), Thomas (Japanese), Ronnie (white American Protestant), and for a
brief period of time João Pete (Portuguese). There are other Mexican boys that
compose this group though they remain unidentified in order to highlight the diversity
Richard is exposed to during his development. When discussing and comparing leg
hair growth with Ricky: “Richard tried not to show how uncomfortable he was. ‘Nah,
not me. Indians aren’t hairy like Eyetalians’” (110). Richard’s discomfort stems more
from embarrassment of his hygiene practices as evidenced by his dirty legs, than
identifying and embracing racial difference between Ricky and him. He identifies
himself with indigenous ancestry to justify the contrast between their physical
development since acceptance of racial difference is the norm with his friends. Later,
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when Ricky tells Richard of his future plans: “I hafta work with him at first, but after
the whole thing will be mine. He told me that himself. I’m going to get myself an
American name, ‘cause Malatesta’s too Dago-sounding. I’ll change it to Malloy or
something” (111). Richard is upset and surprised at Ricky’s decision to legally change
his name and registered social identity. He challenges his friend’s need to take on
another racial identity that he dislikes based on a stereotype for economic betterment,
revealing his desire that Ricky keep the identity that his friends have always
embraced. Sharing his family’s forced migration to an internment camp, Thomas tells
his friends: “I’m an American, just like you guys. I just come to say goodbye, ‘cause
we gotta go away to a relocation center in a few days” (181-182). Despite temporary
awkwardness with Thomas’s Japanese identity in light of the bombing of Pearl
Harbor, Richard’s friends embrace him as part of their group. Richard goes on to
secure vengeance for the hate crime Thomas suffers. Amongst his friends then Richard
encounters racial and cultural acceptance that allows him to keep his Mexican identity
as part of a multicultural and ethnic collective.
Richard only experiences insecurity in his identity through language when he
is among other Mexicans. Upon meeting a recent migrant from México—Pilar—
Richard becomes self-conscious of his Spanish:
Once, she giggled as he spoke and he flushed, for he knew she was laughing at
his Spanish, which was a California-MexicanAmerican Castilian.
“I am a Pocho,” he said, “and we speak like this because here in California
we make Castilian words out of English words. But I can read and write in the
Spanish, and I taught myself from the time I had but eight years.”
“It matters not,” she said. “I understand you perfectly well.” (165)
Explaining his language use as representative of the American cultural and national
influence in his identity development, Richard is able to embody this narrative and
accept “Pocho” as a type of Mexican American identity. Although sensitive to Pilar’s
perspective (which lead her to laughter), Richard’s description of his language
declares its validity. He can explain it in this manner because he has come to accept
and understand his language variety and use as part of his identity. This interaction
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with Pilar indicates that those with Mexican identities lead Richard to most clearly
demarcate his Mexican American identity. To a lesser degree, this becomes clear with
the pachuco friends with whom he temporarily replaces his more Americanized
childhood friends. Friendship notwithstanding, he has difficulty approaching them
because of aesthetic and linguistic disparity:
The most difficult moments for him were when he was doing the talking, for
he was conscious that his Spanish was better than theirs. He learned enough of
their vernacular to get along; he did not learn more, because he was always in a
hurry about knowledge. Soon he counted a few boys as friends, but had a much
harder time of it with the girls, because they considered him a traitor to his
“race.” Before he knew it, he found that he almost never spoke to them in
English, and no longer defended the “whites,” but, rather, spoke disparagingly
of them whenever possible.... and felt strange because she [the girl he begins to
date] was a Mexican and everyone around them was also Mexican, and felt
stranger still from the knowledge he felt strange. (151-152)
Amongst this group of friends Richard encounters layers of interpretation and
consciousness of being both an insider and outsider because of his Mexican cultural
and Spanish linguistic identity. He accesses a different type of Mexican identity that is
based on Spanish linguistic variation and anti-American racial politics. Through
exposure to these friendships with different types of Mexican-based identities, Richard
is able to further develop his own Mexican American identity.
Through Richard’s multiple friendships then we see that his childhood and
local friends offer a space for Richard’s linguistic and cultural identity as a Mexican
American bilingual to exist without blatant racial discrimination. When such
discrimination is faced, as exemplified by Zelda and Mary’s interaction with his
mother, he claims his identity as a Mexican male and Spanish speaker. Only when
faced with friends with similar cultural and linguistic heritage such as Pilar or the
pachucos does he feel linguistic and cultural insecurity in his Mexican identity and
Spanish speaking abilities but in light of this is able to claim and validate a Mexican
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American identity. Richard’s friends are therefore a source of multilingual and
multicultural normalcy in his identity.
Richard’s peer networks reflect the multicultural and linguistic diversity of his
communities located within and around Santa Clara, California. The town meetings
Richard attends with his father “were conducted in four languages—English, Spanish,
Portuguese, and Italian—but as the group grew, it became increasingly difficult to
maintain order” (48). Each language here represents a distinct migrant group and their
recent arrival to the US. No one language is imposed and each group is respected as
necessary participants in local politics. Because of the migratory status of Santa
Clara’s inhabitants, separate cultural enclaves develop in which Richard can safely
explore his Mexican identity. We know that as a child “Richard had Mexican friends
… and sang Mexican songs, and danced typical dances, so that there, in the center of
Santa Clara, a small piece of México was contained within the fences of the lot on
which Juan Rubio kept his family” (43). As Richard grows so does the Mexican
population in and around Santa Clara. When he is able to travel outside his local
neighborhoods in Santa Clara, in which he is slightly more limited in his direct contact
with other Mexican families because of their fieldwork and temporary residence,
Richard is exposed to a diversity of Mexican identities. As he observes and interacts
with these groups Richard further understands something that has typified Richard’s
communities, namely “self-segregation as a means of expression” (150). Richard is
exposed to Mexican identities that define themselves in reaction to and against
dominant American culture that has repressed them in ways Richard has not
experienced. Throughout the development of Richard’s hometown Richard has access
and exposure to diversity within and outside of a Mexican cultural identity.
Along with the exposure to racial and cultural diversity, Richard experiences
the depreciatory perspectives on these identities held by the dominant American
culture, specifically represented through officials of law enforcement. Richard’s first
experience with the police is at a young age, when after witnessing a murder during a
labor riot he is questioned: “The boy was frightened, and had difficulty phrasing his
answer in English. … ‘I don’t talk English too good,’ answered Richard. ‘I almost
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answered you in Spanish’” (59). Because Richard recognizes state power and the
expected discourse he must produce as a Mexican and migrant, he explains his delay
in not producing English by minimizing his language abilities. Richard displays the
internalized knowledge of how he must relate his identity to the dominant American
culture, doubly inverting these expectations since he does so to avoid betrayal of the
people who instigated the riot. When questioned by the police a few years later
regarding his relationship with João Pete, Richard effectively defends his own
heterosexuality while articulating the term and concept of homosexuality the officer
attempts to avoid (89). Richard becomes aware of the different manners in which his
identity is vulnerable to state power because of its ideologies against minorities.
Indeed he is exposed to racial profiling because of his Mexican identity. During his
third, final and most formative experience dialoguing with the state Richard must
defend himself and his friends from becoming scapegoats of a hate crime against a
white American female (161-163). Richard does so by first questioning the officers’
ability to correctly and accurately identify nationality or citizenship through race and
ethnicity, his eloquent discourse and competent rhetoric impressing the police officer
enough to court him with a potential career in law enforcement. Richard is so upset
after surviving this event that he pulls back all together from his identity, community,
and social networks in a reflection of the reincarnation of oppression in humanity:
Now, for the first time in his life, he felt discriminated against. The horrible
thing that he had experienced suddenly was clear and he cried silently in his
bed.
In México they hang the Spaniard he thought, and here they would do the
same to the Mexican, and it was the same person, somehow, doing all this, in
another body—in another place. What do they do, these people? (163).
While Richard is successful in placing his experience within a larger history of
oppression that traverses national borders he begins to see the way that violence cycles
through power relationships. Because his communities are made up of unwanted
identities in the American dominant culture he must detach from that identity. Richard
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is exposed to the de-valorization of his cultural, racial, and linguistic identity through
this access to the dominant American society in which his communities are situated.
In his immediate local communities Richard is exposed to multicultural and
linguistic diversity that allows him to validate his Mexican American identity practices
and development. He validates diverse identities not only within his Mexican
communities but also the ethnic minority status of other migrant communities, which
allows him to claim the American component of his identity. However, access to
larger communities exposes him to the dominant pejorative views on his identity that
effectively work to devalue his own sense of self.
Reading Richard (and Villarreal) as Proto-Chicana/os
Through my discussion of Richard’s identity development we have seen the
variations of linguistic and cultural exposure, access, and validation he receives in his
primary domains of language use and networks. Throughout the novel I find in
Richard a constant investment in the negotiation of his identity so that the novel’s end
is not as bleak as has been read. The literary criticism Pocho has received attempts to
situate the novel within American literary history,43 highlight Richard’s journey as
existentialist leading towards American individualism,44 and deal with the novel’s
content and role in Chicana/o literature and history.45 Those critiques and readings that
fall within the first two trends have a tendency to describe Richard and even Villarreal
himself in terms of assimilation. I argue Richard retains the pride and valorization of
the Mexican culture and Spanish language aspects of his identity offered as the
primary base for his development in this home and family, which is also supported by
his multicultural friend network and immediate surrounding communities. He is able
43
See Luther S. Luedtke, “Pocho and the American Dream,” Minority Voices: An Interdisciplinary
Journal of Literature and the Arts 1.2(1977): 1-16, Timothy S. Sedore, and Carl R. Shirley, “Pocho:
Bildungsroman of a Chicano,” Revista Chicano-Riqueña 7.2(Spring 1976) 63-68.
44
See Lupe Cárdenas, “Growing up Chicano—Crisis Time in Three Contemporary Chicano Novels
(Pocho, Y no se lo tragó la tierra, and The Rain God),” Confluencia 3.1(Fall 1987): 129-136, Rafael
Grajeda, Daniel Gilden, and Joe Rodríguez, “The Chicano Novel and the North American Narrative of
Survival,” Denver Quarterly 3(Fall 1981): 64-70 and “God’s Silence and the Shrill of Ethnicity in the
Chicano Novel,” Explorations in Ethnic Studies 4.2(1981): 14-25.
45
See Bruce-Novoa, “Pocho as Literature,” Hernández-Gutiérrez, Padilla, Juan Velasco, Los
Laberintos de la Mexicanidad: La Construcción de la Identidad en la Autobiografía Chicana
Contemporánea, Diss. (University of California, Los Angeles, 1995), and Saldívar Chicano Narrative.
96
to validate the American culture and English language he is exposed to and accesses
within these same networks and domains. Although he finds resistance to the balance
he achieves by the dominant society as expounded by state-sponsored authority figures
within the school and larger community domains, he effectively defends his identity
and never fully negates or rejects his Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic heritage
and identity. He remains a Spanish-English bilingual to the end. Although he
questions the gendered patriarchal model of the Mexican cultural identity proposed for
him at home, he does work to fulfill his role as economic provider for his family.
Leaving for the war guarantees his socioeconomic survival, as well as that of his
family. Villarreal’s own description of the novel’s end is invested with aspects of
group solidarity and commitment. He expresses his belief that Mexican, African, and
Western European immigrants are historically unrecognized American pioneers and
that the general population of the US “should be told we existed, and that we were
human. That was the general side of the work, and I balanced that off with the specific
story of Juan Rubio, which was the fall of man, and that of Richard Rubio, which was
the hope of man. Affirmation of life comes from the fact that I did not allow Richard’s
tale to arrive at a resolution” (Jiménez 69-70). Richard’s unresolved narrative ending
is positive and hopeful for Villarreal exactly because Richard’s story amends the
historical omission of ethnic minorities within the narrative of the US. As Saldívar
notes:
[T]he historical phenomenon of cultural consciousness expressed by later
Chicano writers can become a reality only after Richard Rubio postulates his
own identity as a new and different source of personal, cultural, and political
consciousness. … Richard’s story is an operation of rectification, an attempted
ontological restitution of values that have ceased to be effective in a new
cultural, historical, and ideological space. (Chicano Narrative 70)
Richard therefore does not need a clear resolution because as his father’s antithesis he
is representative of change and the work of developing, balancing, and maintaining a
Mexican based identity in the US.
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Reading through Villarreal’s interviews with Jiménez and Bruce-Novoa, as
well as his article “Chicano Literature: Art and Politics from the Perspective of the
Artist” I cannot help but find key aspects of representational politics that the Chicano
movement developed in Villarreal’s own words. Although Villarreal expresses
resistance towards the term “Chicano” to describe and categorize his written work and
vocation as a writer, it stems from what Bruce-Novoa defends as a justified skepticism
of unjust interpretations suffered “at the hands of nonliterary critics” (38). Indeed,
Villarreal’s responses in these interviews reiterate the need during the 1970s to
develop adequate analytical paradigms to deal with the growing body of literature
being produced by Chicana/os as well as a focused re-conceptualization of its
definition. As the Chicano movement’s call for cultural productions centering on its
communities was answered, Villarreal’s statements merit recognition as predicting
what indeed has come to pass with the development of Chicana/o academic study and
disciplinary fields. As Villarreal notes the changing definitional nature of the term
“Chicano” itself throughout generations, he displays a pronounced solidarity with the
US Mexican population:
Today, of course, it has become a slogan, a political term of utmost validity.
And it has come to mean “el pueblo mexicano en el extranjero, inclusive en
Norteamerica.” Whatever we choose to call ourselves—Mexican-American,
Latin-American, sometimes even Spanish American—we are Chicanos
because we were born in America or came here at an early age. Yet it must be
understood that for a majority of our people, our people here being those of our
ethnic and cultural background, the term can never mean other than what it
meant to us when we were growing up as second- or third-generation
Americans. To us it was a term of endearment, very much like the word pocho,
a term our parents used in those days when we were alone in a new country—
alien, striving, expending our every energy merely to keep ourselves alive.
This means, of course, that we who call ourselves Chicanos are a minority
within a minority, and we as writers or scholars form an even smaller minority
which pretends to speak for all our people. Nevertheless, the word “Chicano,”
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because it was a term implying freedom and equality, a symbol for an end to
inequities against all our people, whether they are with us or not, is dynamic
and important. (“Chicano Literature” 161-162)
Throughout this reflection on the term “Chicano” as a cultural identity, Villarreal
constantly uses the pronoun “we” to indicate his self-inclusion with the communities
represented by this term, simultaneously revealing a socio-political awareness and
advocacy of these communities. Although I do not ignore Villarreal’s outright
challenges to the term “Chicano” and the movimiento’s political agenda, I focus on
these typically ignored declarations and statements because they support a rarely
accepted proto-political reading of the novel and Richard. Villarreal instigated a
necessary dialogue for the development of Chicana/o studies as he vied for
transcendence of “the codes of the Movement as we create” (“Chicano Literature”
167) through his own words as cultural producer and his creative narration of
Richard’s identity development.
Having provided my reading of the first circumstantial bilingual protagonist of
this chapter (and dissertation), we now turn to Richard’s counterpart, Guálinto in
Paredes’s George Washington Gómez.
Guálinto’s Home Domain and Family Network
The naming of Guálinto has been given much attention, and rightly so, by
scholars as representative of the identity conflicts Guálinto will confront during his
development as a Mexicotexan.46 During his naming the members of his family
network “offer each in turn a variety of symbolically loaded names for the child. Each
option indicates an alternative narrative within which the child’s destiny might unfold”
(Saldívar, The Borderlands of Culture 157). The context in which the childhood
46 See Lene M. Johannessen, “The Appropriate(d) Hero: Américo Paredes’s George Washington
Gómez,” Threshold Time: Passage of Crisis in Chicano Literature, eds. C. C. Barfoot, Theo D’haen,
and Erik Kooper (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2008) 81-99, María Josefina Saldaña-Portillo, “‘Wavering on
the Horizon of Social Being’: The Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo and the Legacy of its Racial Character
in Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez,” Radical History Review 89(2004): 135-184, Ramón
Saldívar, The The Borderlands of Culture of Culture: Américo Paredes and the Transnational
Imagination, José David Saldívar, Border Matters: Remapping Cultural Studies (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1997), and Leif Sorenson, “The Anti-Corrido of George Washington Gómez: A
Narrative of Emergent Subject Formation,” American Literature: A Journal of Literary History,
Critcism, and BIbliography 80.1(2008): 111-140.
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nickname of Guálinto as the Mexican Spanish adaptation of his given name occurs
foreshadows the influences Guálinto will receive at home from his uncle and fatherfigure Feliciano, his mother María, and sisters, Carmen and Maruca. Feliciano will
need to constantly negotiate his racial politics against Gumersindo’s dying wishes and
emotional politics as he prioritizes a Mexican cultural and Spanish language identity
for Guálinto. María, enacting her gendered role as the Mexican mother and protector
of the family’s values, will instill the Mexican values of respect and domestic privacy
along with the Spanish language in Guálinto. His sisters serve as models for the
negotiation of his identity as an English learner, student, and protector of the private
home sphere once he enters public domains.
Feliciano prioritizes Spanish as the language through which he will guide
Guálinto’s development. We are privy to Feliciano’s internal conceptualization of the
role Spanish plays in his worldview as he fixates on the word “mormon” while
remembering his final interaction with his brother (18-19).47 The final syllable is
textually adapted to represent Feliciano’s inability to accept it as an English word,
varying between using the appropriate Spanish accentuation mark (“Mormón,
mormón”) and capitalization of the final syllable (“MorMON, morMON”),
emphasizing its pronunciation in Feliciano’s imaginary and memory in Spanish.
Taking in the structural power relations at the diner where the serving staff and
customers are Spanish-speaking, he cannot justify the lack of Spanish as the primary
language in that domain wondering “why they didn’t say it all in Spanish” and
wishing “they would say it all in Spanish” (19). Feliciano situates people’s language
use according to their race and regional background as he differentiates the white
American priest’s discourse on love and Gumersindo’s engagement with this
discourse within the geopolitics of violence on the border he knows well.48 Feliciano’s
distaste for the English language and preference for Spanish in all his domains of
language use is based on his experience of racial violence and very locally situated to
47
Christopher Schedler aptly describes this as the way “words as signifiers become displaced from the
objects signified and take on a materiality of their own” for Feliciano, and later, for Guálinto (165).
48
This is an instance that reflects what José David Saldívar refers to as “Paredes’s preoccupation with
geocultural identity, representation, and the politics of location” (Border Matters 41).
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his experience on the border. Because Feliciano will always make things fit into his
expectations and desire for Spanish first, when it comes time for Guálinto to begin
receiving compulsory education he wills its inception at home in Spanish by
contesting María’s implication that he can already begin attending public school: “I
know. But he will learn his letters the Gringo way. It is not the same. How good it
would be if he learned to read in Spanish before that” (49). Feliciano begins
Guálinto’s formal education in Spanish, establishing Guálinto’s Spanish literacy skills
as cultural and linguistic protection from the dominant English language and
American culture that will inevitably threaten his heritage and identity at school.
Feliciano continues the protection of Guálinto’s Mexican linguistic and cultural
identity by overseeing his entrance into public school. While overseeing Guálinto’s
school registration, Feliciano efficaciously uses his own Spanish literacy to change
Guálinto’s institutional identity. When asked Guálinto’s name during the registration
process “Feliciano struggled with himself for a moment. Then he said firmly,
‘Guálinto. Guálinto Gómez’” and goes on to clarify its appropriate spelling and
indigenous heritage (110). Feliciano effectively changes Guálinto’s name from what
Gumersindo had originally wanted despite the fact that we know he can pronounce
“Guáchinton” (109) and refuses to place Guálinto into the narrative of American
national origins. Feliciano establishes Guálinto’s access to a Mexican identity by
securing his first language to be Spanish even as he enters American English learning.
In order to keep Guálinto with strong ties and access to his Mexican identity,
Feliciano must educate him on how this identity differentiates from others, particularly
the American. Recounting his own family’s loss of land and rights when the Treaty of
Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed, Feliciano corrects Guálinto’s imagined response of
combat by expounding the discourse of American (i.e. Gringo) law:
“They tell you, these Gringos, ‘If you don’t like it here, don’t want to be
American, get out. Go back to your own country.’ Get out? Why? Let them get
out, they came here last. And go where? This is our country. This is our home.
They made it Gringo land by force, we cannot change that. But no force of
theirs can make us, the land’s rightful people, Gringo people.” (102-103)
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Feliciano presents Guálinto with the history behind the geopolitical conflict over
Texas land that he has lived and which Guálinto inherits. This history marks the
Gringo as the true migrant and establishes Texas land as Mexican. Having given voice
to the anti-Mexican sentiment that Anglotexans have, Feliciano goes on to clarify the
relationship between "rinches" and Gringos for Guálinto (103). Guálinto, confused at
the categorical difference between gringos and rinches, treats them as separate entities.
Feliciano lumps all gringos into rinches, explaining that although the rinches have the
particular job function of violence against the Mexican population, “the rest of them”
Gringos benefit from their actions. Feliciano is therefore introducing Guálinto into his
racial politics where white American = Gringo = Texas Ranger and the oppressors of
Mexicans. Feliciano’s teaching of the cultural differences between México and
America is through the discussion of Santa Claus: “Because your father lived in
Mexico when he was a boy, and Santo Kloss doesn’t go to Mexico. He gives away
toys just in the United States. … He is a Gringo saint, come to think of it. He speaks
English only and he gives away gifts only on this side of the river” (104-105).
Feliciano keeps the border as a marker of the clear cultural separation between México
and US for Guálinto. He indulges Guálinto’s desire to hear about the fancies and gifts
of Christmas time but emphasizes the difference in these positive aspects for Mexican
and American children. Both Santa Claus (written as Feliciano pronounces it, which is
decidedly not American English) and the Three Kings can only help celebrate the
season holiday within the limits of their political nations, where Santa Claus is
nationally and culturally bound only to Americans. Feliciano must educate Guálinto to
these differences in cultural traditions so that he knows that he does not necessarily
have access or rights to American traditions and handouts because of his Mexican
identity. Feliciano therefore educates Guálinto on the way that he and others must be
identified within his accepted paradigm and politics on race, culture, and religion.
Guálinto is Mexican because of his heritage and ties to the land and will be a target of
anti-Mexican sentiment by white Americans. The border defines a large part of the
cultural and religious traditions Guálinto will see and Feliciano here highlights the
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Mexican in order that Guálinto can access it even if he is on politically defined
American land.
María maintains Spanish as Guálinto’s home language and adherence to the
Mexican cultural code of respect throughout his identity development. Saldívar notes
that María cannot act outside her role as a Mexican mother within the novel (The
Borderlands of Culture 178), and it is exactly because of this that Guálinto has access
to the Spanish language and respect for his cultural traditions and manners as he grows
up. Guálinto appreciates Spanish because of María’s linguistic production: “Extrañ-ñño. What a pretty word. It felt like a piece of candy rolling back and forth in your
mouth. That kind of rock candy that has many colors and tastes and that crumbles
slowly in your mouth as you move it around with your tongue. It was a nice-tasting
word—extraño” (84). Guálinto is enticed by the word his mother produces, as it is not
only conceptualized as aesthetically pleasing, but orally pleasurable. The
pronunciation of this word triggers Guálinto’s memory of the taste and texture of
sweets as well as concentrated attention on the tongue’s movement required for its
utterance. As a child Guálinto delights in the Spanish language that composes his
mother’s monolingualism throughout the novel. Guálinto, and his siblings know that
not only must they speak to their mother always and only in Spanish, but follow the
rules she values as part of their Mexican cultural value system and identity. We know
María keeps traditional Mexican cultural beliefs as she brings in a curandera to heal
Guálinto’s illness and completely loses her composure when discovering that Maruca
is pregnant. She also explicitly educates Guálinto on his manners and to not share
what is discussed at home outside of the house (66). The children know that María’s
rules must be followed in school as well for fear of further reprimand at home, which
is what keeps Guálinto subjecting himself to the incredible torture he receives from his
teacher (145).
As Guálinto develops his identity through adolescence and adulthood, he never
disrespects María’s ways. Upon his return home her overly emotional response is cut
short as she finally meets Guálinto’s wife:
María stopped wailing and said, calmly enough, “So this is your gringa.”
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“What did she say?” Ellen asked, smiling.
María’s face registered mock surprise, all traces of her fit of weeping gone.
“Did she understand what I said? She speaks Spanish?”
“You know she doesn’t, except for a few words,” he said. “But anybody
knows what gringa means.” (289)
María snaps out her devoted-Mexican-mother-awaiting-her-son’s-return enactment
with the presence of Guálinto’s white American wife. She clearly addresses Guálinto
in Spanish and through this exchange exposes her intentional slighting of Ellen.
Guálinto however internally embarrassed does not challenge his mother overtly,
accepting Ellen’s anthropological analysis of her culturally appropriate response
(289). Later, wanting to rejoin Carmen and Ellen’s conversation María asks:
“What are you two talking about?”
“About Maruca’s babies.”
“Guálinto was a darling little boy. But always getting into trouble. I’m sure
Elena would like me to tell her about him.” (290)
Having subtly expressed her dislike for Guálinto’s wife, she goes on to make sure she
is in linguistic dominance of Ellen’s identity while in her home. She changes Ellen’s
name to Elena in order to engage her on the topic of her son as a child, while she still
held the role of important female in his life. Guálinto is fearful of what traditional
aspects of his childhood she will reveal but does not censure his mother in any way,
showing a strong tie to the code of respect and her ways even if they incur on his final
identity. In the end then, it is María who through her cultural education for her
children as Mexicans, keeps Guálinto speaking Spanish as an adult and conscious of,
even if he is in opposition to, her cultural practices and values.
Carmen and Maruca, as Guálinto’s older and only siblings, provide distinct
models and influences for his identity at home. Carmen is essential to fostering
Guálinto’s interest and perseverance in school as a model of English language and
learning as well as duty within the family. We are told that Guálinto “liked to hear
Carmen talk” and she “read stories and little verses from her school books to Guálinto,
who was not yet in school. Guálinto liked the verses that Carmen was always chanting
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through they were in English and he didn’t understand everything they said. He caught
lines here and there and could say them himself, and that pleased Carmen” (84). By
sharing her knowledge and exposing Guálinto to the English language at home,
Carmen provides critical access necessary for Guálinto’s successful English language
learning and educational development in school. Indeed, Guálinto never struggles with
the content or language of instruction in school. So great becomes his appreciation of
school that Guálinto is moved by deep sympathy to reciprocate educational support for
Carmen when she must leave school to tend to her mother: “‘Remember when I was
little,’ he continued, ‘and you used to read to me from your schoolbooks and
sometimes you asked Uncle Feliciano for money to buy me books you thought I
should read? I’ll get books for you now. And when I’m in the eighth grade I’ll lend
you all my schoolbooks. We’ll study them together’” (154). Guálinto clearly
remembers Carmen as an inspirational model and advocate for his education as a child
even as he develops in adolescence. Although bittersweet, Carmen also models selfsacrifice and duty to the family that Guálinto will later attempt to employ. Maruca at
once vocalizes and prompts Guálinto’s American and Mexican cultural value conflicts
at home. When Feliciano is confused at Guálinto’s unexplained behavior on his way
home, Maruca fills in for Guálinto’s silence, accurately interpreting his behavior as
shame and embarrassment (156-157). Maruca expresses the layered shame Guálinto
experiences through his conscious recognition of feeling mortified by his Mexican
home because of the values of American materialism. After having been slighted by
his ex-girlfriend, Guálinto reacts swiftly and aggressively to Maruca’s public
interaction with her ex-boyfriend and chastises her: “‘You ought to be ashamed,’ he
said, ‘running like that after a man. And him a Gringo too. Do you know what kind of
women let themselves be seen with a Gringo in this town?’ … ‘A Gringo’s a Gringo
and a Mexican girl is a Mexican. You were acting like a common soldier-woman’”
(221). Guálinto’s reprimand is based on Feliciano’s racial politics and his mother’s
cultural value of protecting the private home space from public scrutiny. Guálinto
upholds and applies these Mexican cultural values through his interpretation of
Maruca’s behavior as inappropriate given her gendered role as a Mexican woman who
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should not be relating to a white American man. Both Carmen and Maruca provide
critical input for Guálinto’s identity as a future successful English learner and student,
as well as dutiful protector of the family’s Mexican cultural values and identity.
Guálinto’s Mexican cultural and Spanish language identity is prioritized within
his home domain and network. Feliciano cannot but establish the Spanish language
and Mexican culture as the base from which Guálinto’s identity must develop when he
must venture into school given his personal lived experience of racial politics and
violence on the border. María’s status as an adamant monolingual Spanish speaker and
Mexican mother keeps Guálinto tied to Mexican cultural practices throughout his
adulthood as he can never disrespect or challenge her value system. His older sisters
allow Guálinto to incorporate English language learning and American cultural
resistance as he witnesses their own experiences as students and serve as models for
navigating the home as private sphere outside this realm. Through his family
interactions at home Guálinto is exposed to the Mexican cultural value system and
Spanish language which he will need to defend once he begins to access the American
cultural and linguistic systems.
Guálinto’s School Domains and Network
Paredes exemplifies the importance of Guálinto’s identity development in
school by centering this section of the narrative as the third part of the novel.49 Its title,
“Dear Old Gringo School Days,” immediately signals the school domain and network
Guálinto will enter as the social, cultural, and political realm of white American
Texas. In the larger national context of segregation, Guálinto’s school system
necessarily employs strategies to deal with language and racial diversity that maintain
some semblance of integration at the political level given the large influx of Mexican
students into the elementary school system, one of which is referring to them as “Latin
Americans” (116-118). The layers of prejudice and weighty concerns surrounding
identifying students through language is evidenced in this discussion, where Paredes
goes so far as to focus on the distasteful mechanics of enunciating Mexican identities
49
Crystal Parikh notes that “Paredes’s depiction of George centers largely on his education” given the
educational system’s reflection and goal of American racial, economic, and social stratification as an
ideological state apparatus (263).
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in English. It is no surprise therefore that within the school domain and networks
Guálinto’s linguistic and cultural identity as a Mexican will be most severely
challenged.
The introduction to Miss Cornelia, Guálinto’s first teacher and caretaker, is
situated in the aforementioned discussion, foreshadowing her tyrannical relationship to
and constant attacks on Guálinto’s identity through language.50 When asked to write
out the alphabet as part of his language arts education, Guálinto’s linguistic written
production is questioned: “‘What is this?’ demanded Miss Cornelia. ‘Why did you
write down these letters?’ She red-penciled the CH, the LL, and the Ñ. ‘This is not a
Mexican school. These letters do not belong in the American alphabet. Do it all over
again, and this time do it the way you were told!’” (123). Instead of valuing and
praising what Guálinto is able to do, which is successfully write out the alphabet, Miss
Cornelia disparages Guálinto’s home schooling and Spanish literacy by demanding an
explication of its inappropriate presence in an English-only task, context, and culture.
The Spanish language as representative of Mexican culture and identity is in direct
confrontation with the English language, as representative of the American culture and
identity Guálinto must develop in school. Having begun to deconstruct Guálinto’s
Mexican identity through his home language literacy skills, Miss Cornelia goes on to
target its presence in his English pronunciation when he explains the mathematical
formula “1+1=2”: “‘Eckles?’ cried Miss Cornelia derisively. ‘ECKLES?’ Though she
knew that he meant ‘equals.’ ‘Sit down, Eckles, and don’t think you know everything.
One plus one is two, Mr. Eckles’ … From then on his name was Eckles and he hated
Miss Cornelia just a bit more” (125-126). As an English language learner Guálinto
reveals traces of his home language when speaking in class. The teacher again
disregards any content-based knowledge Guálinto clearly owns, or the opportunity to
provide a learning moment for Guálinto and his classmates by recasting the word
“equals.” Instead, it is mockingly recast as Guálinto’s name and identity in class,
leading to a deep affective change in Guálinto’s attitude towards his teacher. Having
50
For María Josefina Saldaña-Portillo, Miss Cornelia is “another example of an annexed Mexican in the
text who strives toward assimilation into U.S. character” and because only few are allowed this
recognition by the nation she “takes it on herself to miseducate the annexed Mexican children in her
charge, or rather to properly educate them on their distance from acceptable, civilized character” (155).
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been educated to express and own his identity through the Spanish language and
Mexican cultural norms, Guálinto writes his name as he is taught to by Feliciano:
“When she got his paper Miss Cornelia called the class to attention and informed them
that Guálinto had married a gentleman named García and that now he was Mrs.
Guálinto G. García. The class really appreciated that one. It was slightly tinged with
sex and those jokes are the best” (126). This mockery is not only “the best” (and here
of course I read best as worst) because it contains slights on Guálinto’s sexuality, but
because it is targeted at the very essence of his sense of self. His very identity is
targeted as a point of humiliation as his instructor undermines the knowledge base
gained at home regarding his being, using his name in Spanish to critique his sexuality
and gender. When Miss Cornelia is made aware of the true origin of Guálinto’s name,
she again renames him for insidious purposes of humiliation. Never explaining this
switch, his classmates misinterpret her action as validation and follow suit: “They [his
classmates] began calling him George Washington outside of class, as a new and
flattering nickname. But he knew Miss Cornelia was taunting him, and he came to
hate his name, as well as the real George Washington who was supposed to be the
father of his country. At times he even hated his dead father for having given him that
Gringo name” (137). The constant assailing Guálinto receives on his personhood and
identity from his teacher leads Guálinto to foster a great resentment towards his
Mexican heritage, language, and identity. Unfortunately the teacher is successful in
leading Guálinto to question himself through her incessant attacks. His experiences in
English at school then are deeply infiltrated by a negation of his home language and
upbringing, which adds to his difficulties in growing up as a bicultural individual.
Being marked at such an early stage of his education with this conflict and social
psychological battering, Miss Cornelia’s attack on Guálinto’s identity through school
form the base for his ultimate change in identity.
Within the domain and networks of school Guálinto will undergo a series of
experiences that will indelibly effect the stability of his Mexican identity because it is
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a site where Mexican identities must be relabeled and can be changed.51 In school
then, Guálinto can and will be given the possibility to change his identity and as an
adolescent coursing through high school Guálinto must develop a discourse that
contests the discriminatory practices against his Mexican identity. At school he first
identifies himself as a Mexican in order to not be identified as a Spaniard by his
debate partner: “‘I’m not Spanish,’ said Guálinto stiffly. ‘I’m a Mexican’” (161). This
foreshadows the collective and decisive confrontation of his identity as a Mexican by
his girlfriend and establishment policy during their graduation party. After racializing
and denying Guálinto’s Mexican classmates entrance into the restaurant where they
would celebrate their graduation:
The bouncer was looking at Guálinto with interest. “Are you Mexican?” he
asked.
“I am,” Guálinto answered.
“He’s not,” María Elena said, tugging at his arm. “He’s a Spaniard. Can’t
you see he’s white?”
“I’m a Mexican,’ Guálinto said. María Elena released his arm. …
Mildred Barton came up, her face as pink as her evening dress. “What’s the
trouble?” she inquired.
“They won’t let us in,” Orestes said.
“Because we’re Mexicans,” added Guálinto.” (173)
When offered the opportunity to racially “pass” as a Spaniard with María Elena as a
complicit witness, Guálinto clearly denies it; he announces the racial discrimination to
his teacher when she comes to investigate the delay. This is the moment that his
friends will later cling to in hopes of his return to their ranks in defending their
community of Mexicans because this moment solidifies their collective solidarity:
“There was now a marked division between the Anglo majority and the four Mexican
members of the senior class. … For what was left of the semester Guálinto, Elodia,
Orestes, and Antonio Prieto stayed together and rarely spoke to anyone else outside of
51
Through the discussion of Guálinto’s tragic first romantic relationship with María Elena Osuna, who
inherits a Spanish identity through her grandfather who “was no longer a Mexican,” we know that all
who speak Spanish and are of Mexican descent do not necessarily retain that identity since wealth can
change one’s race (138).
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class. … Guálinto, usually talkative in class, spoke little and only in answer to a
teacher’s question” (177). Guálinto’s identity here is first cemented as part of a larger
group or community. The “four Mexicans” in the student body console Guálinto after
a breakup, which results when Guálinto refuses to engage in the racial politics in
which María Elena is clearly involved. Guálinto is deeply affected by this moment,
refusing to participate as he once did in school. Therefore at graduation it is no
surprise that he reflects on the racial discrimination enacted upon Mexicans by
Anglos, with an unfortunate outcome for his family:
He thought how there had always been an Anglo blocking his path to
happiness, to success, even to plain dignity. An Anglo had taken away his girl,
an Anglo had ruined his sister. Because of the Anglos he would never find
decent work. And even when his uncle had made a few dollars, an American
banker had stolen most of them. … At least, [his family] had not embarrassed
him by coming tonight. (273)
At the end of his school career Guálinto is overcome by the presence of anti-AngloAmerican sentiment as the source of his individual turmoil as a Mexican. He has been
subjected to the racial discrimination of the country and becomes overwhelmed by its
presence to a point of futility. Such hatred cannot be appropriately channeled by him
and therefore turns towards his family as a site of release. His embarrassment
foreshadows the leaving behind of his Mexican identity because of it being a target for
Anglo discrimination.
Through school Guálinto experiences the racial politics of American society.
As a child he is subjected to constant attacks on his Mexican identity through his
language and although he is able to fight back as an adolescent, the scars of such
emotional and psychological injuries seem to run too deep. At school he has access to
and use of the English language, but only at the expense of his Spanish language and
Mexican heritage, neither of which receive validation within this domain. School
therefore runs in contrast to the exposure, access, and validation of his Mexican
identity at home. This is further accentuated by his future experiences as a young adult
facing the racial discrimination against Mexicans that marks his environment.
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Guálinto’s Community Domain and Friends
Guálinto’s neighborhood provides a safe space for his Mexican identity.
Feliciano’s destination point for the family’s relocation is Jonesville because of its
renown as a culturally familiar space for Mexican migrants: “For more than half a
century Jonesville remained a Mexican town, though officially part of the United
States. A few English-speaking adventurers moved in, married into Mexican
landowning families, and became a ruling élite allied with their Mexican in-laws. But
Spanish remained the language of culture and politics, and Mexican money was legal
tender in local commerce” (36). Feliciano is drawn to Jonesville because of its
embedded and contemporary Mexican sociocultural ambience. Although exogenous
marriages have occurred, Jonesville is clearly a town where Mexican culture and
Spanish language are dominant. Within this Mexican enclave Guálinto grows up with
reinforcement for his Mexican identity fostered at home. Even as a child however he is
exposed to a general fear and knowledge of state violence when he witnesses a
neighbor’s murder: “The law! The words pulsed in Guálinto’s head. Half-pronounced,
they set his throat throbbing. The law. He pushed himself deeper into the clump of
weeds. They would come. They would take him away, pushing him along in front of
them and cursing him. Then they would beat him to make him tell all he knew. They
would make him a witness. The horror of the word struck him like a blow” (57). This
traumatic experience physically produces terrible guilt and fear, which are triggered
by the Spanish use of the word “law.” We come to appreciate the depth of this
pronounced reaction through Guálinto’s body and imaginary. Conceptually, Guálinto
has learned from his community what this word comes to mean in a very immediate
and physically threatening way even if he does not yet have full discourse on its
nature. Guálinto takes pride in his community because it is where he can relate to
insiders and feel protection from outsiders. It is clear that those who enforce the law
are “others” to this community. During a moment of being teased at church he is
identified by his neighborhood: “Guálinto bristled just a little at being called a rowdy;
being tough was the Two Twenty-Twoer’s greatest pride. Yet he did not like the way
the two boys looked at him. … He felt an urge to trample the little ‘gentleman’ into
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the dirt. Then his hate drained away, leaving him weak and crushed. … Then they
turned from Fourteenth Street into the Dos Veintidos, and he felt better” (61-63).
Despite the fact that Guálinto is being teased and is upset at the racial and class
differentiation his teasers subject him to, he is still proud to be part of his
neighborhood. He cycles through deep anger that dissipates the moment he begins to
enter his neighborhood, indicating that Guálinto’s neighborhood is a peaceful safehaven for his Mexican identity. We also know that within his community Guálinto is
able to enjoy Mexican cultural traditions through church sponsored events: “Anyway,
it was a good show, and it filled quite adequately a certain empty spot in the
Mexicotexan’s life. … Thus the kermesse re-created the basic characteristics of the
Mexican city plaza and the border ranchero’s función, or country festival” (213). A
common source of support for his Mexican cultural identity is his community and its
local events. We also know that through his community María is able to find his first
teacher and curandera. Guálinto’s community is a space where Mexican identities can
survive even if they are targeted as unwanted by the larger community in which they
are segregated. Guálinto has access to Mexican cultural traditions and norms that help
him feel secure in and supported by the identity being shaped at home through his
neighborhood and Mexican community.
Guálinto’s community however, is not safe within the dominant society in
which it is embedded. Through identities that are influenced by the dominant
American sociopolitical system as well as the economic context of the Great
Depression, Guálinto is exposed to anti-Mexican racism that ultimately prompts a
detachment from his Mexican cultural and linguistic identity. As Guálinto grows up,
Paredes introduces more and more commentary on the nature of identity politics for
Mexicans in Texas. Before Guálinto and his classmates are rejected from their own
graduation party, Paredes’s narrator describes the town to which they travel:
“Whatever the predominantly white citizens of Harlanburg might think of Mexicans as
a race, they recognized their potentialities as a source of local color. Time was when
tourists were told in Harlanburg filing stations, ‘Don’t go any further south. There’s
nothing between here and the river but Jonesville, and it’s just a dirty little Mexican
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town’” (171). The local outsider’s disparaging perspective on Guálinto’s town centers
on the Mexican identities it houses as a population that must be ignored and only
worthy of exploitative attention such as occurs at La Casa Mexicana. Through the
narrative technique of unidentified character speech (literally placing these words in
the mouths of unknown outsiders), Paredes situates the dialogue on Mexicans’
experience within the US in the larger sociopolitical context of labor exploitation and
poverty. Before the effects of the Great Depression are felt in Guálinto’s hometown,
the hearsay is reflected upon by his community: “The Mexican laborer, who had
subsisted on tortillas most of his life, wondered how people who could afford biscuits
and bacon could be so poor. He heard how people in the big cities were lining up to
receive free soup and bread because of the Depression, and he would joke with his
friends, ‘I wish what they call the Depression would come down here so we could get
some of that’” (195). The Mexican laborer’s ominous words work in a two-fold
fashion: first to unsettle the reader with insider knowledge of the inevitable reality this
character and his community will suffer once the economic crisis arrives to Jonesville
and secondly to sarcastically reflect on the normalcy of poverty for this community.
Paredes places these disembodied comments into direct dialogue that exemplify the
power relationships between the benefactors of American dominant society and those
discriminated against such as Guálinto’s Mexican community. The list of racial
attacks on Mexicans in the US is revealed throughout four pages of a series of
dialogues concerning the vulnerable positionality of Mexicans according to their race,
migratory status, and poverty, to name a few (196-200). Harvey K., as a representative
of current-day ideology on Mexicans, becomes an expert at extolling the virtues of
Mexican culture within the paradigm of American racism. Embodying the insidious
discourse that creates the “conveniently dual personality” of the Mexicotexan where
this identity is praised only in as much as it can be exploited and rejected when it is
not beneficial for the US’s socioeconomic system, it is no wonder that Guálinto’s
internal monologue at graduation is one of despair. His initial and final experiences of
school are marked with the infiltration of racial discrimination and harmful ideologies
of American dominant society that rejects his community.
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Guálinto is able to find comfort in his community from these outside
influences through his main community network, which is made up of his childhood
and school friends. These include Elodia, Orestes, Antonio, Francisco and El
Colorado. Each friend offers Guálinto examples of solidarity through their similar yet
varied Mexican identities. Orestes is the first friend Guálinto makes at school and he
situates Guálinto to the nature of his teacher’s character as well as the reading
materials he will encounter in his classroom, providing him with vital information to
prepare him for the challenges he will face (14-15). Elodia is the one who reclaims
and names their collective identity as “los cuatro mexicanos” in high school, providing
along with Antonio and Orestes, the psychological and social support Guálinto
requires to surpass his breakup and the racial discrimination they encounter. Although
El Colorado is unable to continue on with Guálinto in traditional school, he teaches a
lesson in humility by outlining the importance of Guálinto’s continued education:
“‘Our people will need us here. It’s time we quit being driven like sheep by the
Gringos. And you are the one who can be our point man.’ … ‘You’re full of anger
inside. All of us are, but you can speak out about it. You have that gift. You can get
people to listen’”(250). El Colorado not only protects Guálinto while they are together
in school as an older brother would, he also extols Guálinto’s individual and collective
social responsibility towards their community. Guálinto is able to refocus his Mexican
identity and cultural values when he compares their situations and decides to cut back
on his work hours in order to get back into his studying (253). Guálinto is also able to
appreciate the variety and scope of Mexican identities as exemplified by his defense of
Francisco:
“There you go again,” complained El Colorado. “Why can’t you talk plain
castellano like everybody else?”
Francisco smiled. “I’m talking Castilian, Colorado.”
“Aw,” said El Colorado, “you’ll never learn.”
“He was born in Mexico,” Guálinto said in Francisco’s defense. “That’s the
way they talk down there” (131).
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Guálinto can defend Francisco against Colorado’s rebuke because he has come to
understand that the way Spanish is spoken can indicate a difference in the regional
heritage of a Mexican. Guálinto’s friends are a large reason that he is able to get
through his difficult school experiences and feel safe in his communities as a Mexican.
Guálinto’s neighborhood and friends are rich sources for the sustenance of his
Mexican cultural and Spanish language identity. He nourishes the communal aspect of
his identity through the social and personal relationships within his community
domain and network. Although the larger social context of the Great Depression and
dominant American racism in which his neighborhood is situated infiltrates his critical
school and even work domains, he is able to find refuge in his community and
especially friends. Therefore it is through his final interaction with them when he
returns to his neighborhood that we come to learn just how dramatically he has
changed and share in the betrayal of his Mexican identity.
Guálinto and Paredes as Acceptable Proto-Chicana/os
Ultimately Guálinto turns his back on his ethnic and linguistic upbringing by
rejecting his Mexican and Spanish language identities. Although during the reunion
with his friends he expresses his lack of concern or desire to advocate for the Mexican
community in which he grew up, it is his uncle Feliciano who clearly and directly
discovers his true new identity. George must adhere to his Mexican cultural norms
when Feliciano reproves him for offering a cigarette: “With the flustered look of a
child caught misbehaving, his nephew dropped his cigaret and ground it out with the
toe of his shoe. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said” (299). George cannot but follow the code of
respect with his uncle having broken it in the past. Feliciano still has that sway over
George, so much so that he can get his nephew to confess his career and ideology:
“‘Then you see no future for us.’ ‘I’m afraid not. Mexicans will always be Mexicans.
A few of them, like some of those would-be politicos, could make something of
themselves if they would just do like I did. Get out of this filthy Delta, as far away as
they can, and get rid of their Mexican Greaser attitudes” (300). George completely
negates any hope for the advancement of the Mexicotexan community, which he
disparages with a pejorative term. The only way he can see that some of his friends
115
can succeed is to assimilate fully into American society and negate their identities as
he did. Feliciano goes on to inquire about Feliciano’s wife in order to gauge the depth
of George’s negation of his Mexican identity:
“Does your wife know Spanish?” Feliciano asked.
“No. Just a few words. But Carmen is translating for Mama and her. I’m
sure they’re getting along all right.”
“Is she learning Spanish?”
“No. There’s no reason for her to. We won’t be here that long.”
“What about children. Do you plan to have any?”
“There’s one on the way. And I suppose we’ll have others. But if you mean
whether they will learn Spanish, no. There’s no reason for them to do so. They
will grow up far away from here.” (301)
It is through his discussion of the Spanish language that George solidifies his complete
rejection of his Mexican identity. He negates it for his wife and their future children.
Because he no longer identifies with his Mexican cultural identity he has no need to
pass on its language. Feliciano must end the discovery of George’s identity rejection
by bringing back the memory of his father’s wishes in order to remind George of the
manner in which he has not fulfilled his “greatness” to his Mexican “people.”
Many of the scholars writing on Guálinto’s development throughout the
narrative accept his assimilation at the novel’s end as unavoidable and to a certain
extent, determined by his environment. Tim Libretti understands Guálinto’s story as a
tragedy intended to represent “the dangers involved in the seduction of
Americanization” for Mexican-Americans during the era in which Guálinto develops
(126). Paredes tell us that this was indeed part of the novel’s goal: “I tried to represent
through Guálinto Gómez how members of this new middle class were trying hard to
assimilate” (Saldívar The Borderlands of Culture 124). In coupling Guálinto’s
narrative with Richard’s I was intrigued, pondering why Guálinto is read and accepted
as assimilationist within Chicana/o identity politics when Richard is derided for his
much more ambiguous and inconspicuous stance. I would agree with Crystal Parikh’s
observation that “[w]hile much has been written about Américo Paredes’s exploration
116
of identity and hybridity in the Texan The Borderlands of Culture” in George
Washington Gómez “critics have generally not commented on the significance of the
protagonist’s decision to become a spy at the novel’s end” (263). Guálinto’s final
return as his “assimilated persona”52 George is tempered by Paredes’s introduction to
this final chapter with the description of adult George’s dreams. Hectór Perez
describes them as “accentuating Guálinto’s difficulties in coming to terms with
himself” (12) while María Josefina Saldaña-Portillo suggests that contrary to what
George intends, the “G.” in his new legal name “stands for Guálinto, as it is the
resistant Indian character of his youth who haunts the adult George, not the patriot of
the Potomac” (156). Both these statements exemplify the hope read into adult
George’s nightmares as a reflection of a yet unaccepted change and continuous
internal conflict. Although Paredes himself explains that this “deeply seated conflict
was supposed to be foreshadowed by his dreams as described in part 5” this scene was
in service of an alternative/extended version in which he would indeed “change his
mind about assimilation” and return to his hometown “a reborn Guálinto” fulfilling his
father’s dreams that Paredes ultimately did not decide to write, deeming it “much too
sentimental” (The Borderlands of Culture 124). Likewise, the narrative gap in the
years that cover Guálinto’s college years, explained by Paredes as his inability to
personally relate to his protagonist’s experience,53 allows for exoneration of his
ultimate disavowal of Mexican heritage, community and identity as all we see is the
final discrimination he experiences when meeting his Anglo father in-law (283-284).
Interestingly, Paredes’s negation of George’s reformation and editorial decision to
keep George “what he was, a follower” is not enough to alter sympathy towards
Guálinto’s final outcome.
I believe Guálinto’s final identity outcome, lacking ambiguity, is accepted as
assimilationist given the field’s critical emphasis on historical, social, and political
52
Paredes’s own words as included in Saldívar’s transcription of Paredes’s recorded reflections on his
life’s work (The Borderlands of Culture 123)
53
Paredes explains: “The problem was that though I could send Guálinto Gómez to the University of
Texas, I could not go with him. I had never been to Austin or a university campus. The closest thing to
a college campus I had ever experienced was the Brownsville Junior College“ (The Borderlands of
Culture 123).
117
contextualization for the analysis of cultural productions, which did not exist during or
after Richard’s debut. As Paredes finally published the 1940 manuscript of George
Washington Gómez in 1990, the field of Chicana/o studies was better equipped to
critically engage its history. Paredes himself was already well-established within the
further developing field of Chicana/o studies as his published scholarly and creative
work centered on the US Mexican population; his curriculum vitae proclaiming an
easily identifiable alliance with the precepts of contemporary Chicana/o studies and
the Chicano movement.54 While Sorenson and other scholars have centered “the battle
of form” in their analysis of the novel, Saldívar describes it as more of a social history
(115, personal communication). Indeed, a majority of the scholarship on this novel
centers on analyzing and fronting its historical emphasis.55 Equipped with these new
paradigms for cultural critique that were not afforded to Villarreal or his work by the
Chicano movement, the literary criticism on George Washington Gómez can
successfully recognize the sociohistorical and political contribution of Paredes’s work.
Within this particular context then, Guálinto is more readily accepted as a protoChicana/o. Reflecting on the term itself, Paredes explains his experience and use of
“Chicano”:
A number of critics have gotten interested in my verse lately because they
think it reflected an early interest in community identity that Chicanos would
later develop more fully, using for the most part different literary techniques. I
used mostly the very well-known traditional techniques. But I saw, of course,
the relationship there. That’s why I have called myself a proto-Chicano. Except
that the word Chicano was not used in that way at the time that I first started
54
Please see Cida S. Chase, “Américo Paredes.” Chicano Writers.Third Series, eds. Francisco A.
Lomeli and Carl R. Shirley (Detroit: The Gale Group, 1999)182- 193 as well as María Herrera-Sobek,
“Américo Paredes: A Tribute,” Mexican Studies/Estudios Mexicanos 16.2(Summer 2000): 239-266.
55
To garner the variety of ways the narrative form of George Washington Gómez is described and
analyzed (which includes modernist, naturalist, heavily influenced by the corrido tradition on which
Paredes focused much of his scholarly work, proletarian, and historically in light of the Treaty of
Guadalupe Hidalgo and US lore) please see Johanssen, Libretti, Pérez, Saldaña-Portillo,Schedler, José
David Saldívar, Ramón Saldívar The The Borderlands of Culture of Culture, Sorenson, and Roumiana
Velikova, “Américo Paredes’ George Washington Gómez and U.S. Patriotic Mythology,” Recovering
the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage, Vol 5, eds. Kenya Dworkin y Méndez and Agnes Lugo-Ortíz
(Houston: Arte Público Press, 2006) 35-54.
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writing. I knew the word Chicano as an affectionate way of saying mexicano.
(The Borderlands of Culture 134)
Reading his critics’ readings, Paredes accurately provides his own conscious reflection
of his role in relation to the Chicano movement and contemporary Chicana/o studies.
Realizing the shared thematic and concern with identity politics, Paredes asserts his
“proto-Chicano” role as scholar and cultural producer. He must however qualify what
and how this identity marker has come to mean for him: “In those days, the vernacular
expression we used for Mexican American was not Chicano but pocho” (The
Borderlands of Culture 135). As reclamation of an originally derogatory term, Paredes
goes on to state that, “I decided that I was going to call myself a pocho and be proud
of it. [laughter]” but with the trend and popularization in identity politics that favored
Chicano in service of honoring Mexican indigenous heritage he switched because “it
was just a matter of using Chicano instead of pocho” (The Borderlands of Culture
135). Paredes’s laughter throughout this transcribed reflection indicates a lighthearted
acceptance of the changing and dramatic nature of Chicana/o identity politics. Like
Villarreal, he outlines that “Chicano” itself has had its own developmental history and
as a signifier must also be contextualized when applying and analyzing its use.
Paredes further clarifies his specific usage of the term:
I’ve always used the term Chicano itself in the political sense. I call myself a
Chicano when it’s a political matter. Otherwise, I prefer to think of myself as
mexicano. Of course, I applauded the Chicano movement, and I encouraged it.
I got to know many of the first generation of Chicano activists pretty well. … I
was arrogant enough to think of them as my intellectual children. Of course,
they had started on their own, but I think I did influence them to a certain
extent. (The Borderlands of Culture 135)
Again reflecting a similarity to Villarreal’s consciously strategic use of the term
“Chicano,” Paredes shares his preference to predominantly identify as “mexicano.”
Interesting to note is that throughout Paredes’s discussion of the term “Chicano” he
interjects his role in anticipating the concerns of the Chicano movement. The two
become unavoidably linked in his imaginary because he recognizes their relationship
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as he reflects upon his life’s work. He is therefore able to claim his role as a major
influence and anticipatory figure without hesitancy and like his protagonist, receive
acceptance as a proto-Chicana/o.
Conclusion
Upon comparison of Richard Rubio’s and Guálinto Washington Gómez’s
identity development we find that both share similar backgrounds as first-generation
American-raised Mexicans with working-class backgrounds. During their early
childhood development both are invested with high career and identity goals from
their families. For Richard this means becoming the patriarch of the family and for
Guálinto this means becoming a leader of and for his community. In terms of race,
Richard receives a dichotomy of Spaniard versus Mexican primarily from his father
who emphasizes the indigenous in their identities as Mexicans. The racial dichotomy
shaping Feliciano’s socialization of Guálinto replaces the Spaniard with the white
American Texan. Both Richard and Guálinto’s mothers are the relationships that
cement their Spanish speaking skills and identity. Neither Richard nor Guálinto speak
to their mothers in English even as they begin to develop their skills and identities in
and through this language. The sisters of Richard and Guálinto allow both characters
to enact cultural values and traditions of their Mexican identity as males. Each
character is encouraged to succeed in their formal education although not at the cost of
sacrificing Mexican identity cultural values received at home. Through examination of
each characters’ home domains and family networks then we see how the bases for
Mexican cultural, racial, and linguistic identities are set. We must appreciate the
intricacies of what ideas they are exposed to about their Mexican identity in order to
understand how they negotiate them outside the home.
As they grow and mature, both must traverse the American school system that
introduces them to the English language and American dominant society. Here
Richard gains access and exposure to the larger social commentaries about his
Mexican identity and what American identities are. These take shape in conflictive
interpretations of his Mexican identity by non-Mexicans. The adults that make up his
network in the school domain only read his Mexican cultural identity as a hindrance to
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his educational achievement. When his identity is validated it is only in light of its
appealing cultural traditions fitting within the established American identity paradigm
of social stratification. His classmates confront him and challenge his identity through
bullying as a child and over-racialization of the Mexican heritage from which he
comes. He however contests all of these readings his Mexican identity because it has
been securely validated through his home. Guálinto’s experience at school is much
more traumatic and detrimental to the development of his Mexican identity. At school
he is tyrannized as a child by who should be his primary caretaker in the classroom,
his teacher. Assaults on his language cause him to internalize devaluation of his
Mexican identity socialization. Once he matures he is able to revalidate his identity
through school by accessing the discourse of inequality and discrimination achieved
through questioning his school materials and classmates. The racism he encounters in
the classroom also allows him to solidify a common identity with his other Mexican
friends. The American identity he begins to develop in this domain incipiently
prepares his disavowal of a Mexican self. At school both Richard and Guálinto
encounter challenges to their Mexican identity through the need to embrace the
English language to survive their education and with it negotiate the American cultural
influences that instruct them.
Both characters grow up in predominantly Mexican communities that are
housed in larger communities of a dominant white American middle-class population.
As children they are supported by their community experiences to develop their
Mexican cultural identities. Richard encounters discrimination that unsettles his
Mexican and American identities through his interactions with the police where he is
the target of their racial profiling and interrogation. His community is linguistically
and culturally diverse because of its migrant populations and therefore he can
negotiate an American identity without ever completely negating his Mexican identity.
Guálinto on the other hand always has his community’s fear of the violence they are
the target of as Mexicans. He is safe and supported by his Mexican community and
neighborhood but all the residents know that they are ultimately not protected against
violence because it is enacted by the state itself. The difference between living on the
121
contested border between México and US is palpable in the type of violence against
their Mexican identities Richard and Guálinto fear they will experience. This is one of
the major reasons that Guálinto cannot negotiate a Mexican identity in any capacity
towards the end of his identity development. Richard leaves behind his role as the
Mexican patriarch of his family but not much else.
Although Richard and Guálinto’s final identity outcomes are similar in that
they remain open for interpretation, Guálinto offers no hope for the development of a
Chicana/o identity based on negotiation of his Mexican heritage and raising. Richard
may leave behind certain aspects and values of his Mexican identity, but does so
without ever negating its continued presence in his memory and practice. As protoChicana/o characters both Richard and Guálinto merit examination of the narrative
development of their identities. Evidenced by their author’s own words and reflected
in literary and cultural criticism, Richard and Guálinto also represent the manner in
which Chicana/o identities were read and re-read according to their particular timespace. The novels, their criticism, and their creator’s reflections are layered with
multivalent and changing terms used to describe their identity development, which
work to position Richard in a more demanding paradigm of expected Chicana/o
identity work. This is not to say that I therefore advocate a more demanding and
harsher interpretation of Guálinto in service of Richard’s redemption. I merely wish to
highlight the manner in which our work as Chicana/o cultural critics can and should be
historiographically mapped by our criticism and analysis of texts. For this particular
chapter, reading the readings of both characters adds to my argument for the necessary
inclusion of the bilingual continuum in our conceptualization of Chicana/o identities in
order to expand our paradigms of contextualization onto language in Chicana/o
studies, especially cultural productions. Richard and Guálinto quite frankly share
many of the same circumstances when we compare their upbringings and as I have
done, outline the exposure, access, and validation they have within their bilingual and
bicultural environments. Their differing treatment within criticism and narrative
literary placement within the growing body of Chicana/o literature speaks to our
responsibility of re-inscribing recovered narratives of Chicana/o identity with equal
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validation and acceptance. As Carmen Fought states, “Even where two speakers might
identify as members of the same ethnic group… their life histories may lead them to
construct ethnicity in strikingly different ways, so that their use of language in
reflecting and reproducing elements of their identities varies accordingly” (40). As
examples of “strikingly different” Chicana/o identity outcomes and acceptance,
Richard and Guálinto serve as models for the need to continuously question and
broaden our idealized conceptions of Chicana/o identities. Accepting the complexity
of bilingual development allows us another lens through which to better engage
historically and politically the seemingly incongruous Mexican American identities as
proto-Chicana/o. Reclaiming both these character’s linguistic and cultural
development within a continuum of not just bilingual development but Chicana/o
identity broadens the heterogeneity and diversity within our fictional and scholarly, as
well as our civic communities.
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Chapter Three
“Doing Being a Bilingual-Chicana/o”: Choosing and Maintaining
Bilingual Chicana/o Identities in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo
Introduction
The issue of hyphenation became an unexpected concern in this chapter’s title.
To hyphenate orthographically results in a joining of two words for a combined
meaning; to hyphenate an identity results in a metaphorical joining of two influential
and pivotal heritages (usually ethnic56) that inform an active identity. This linkage,
both orthographic and metaphoric, can be interpreted as validation of what may seem
to be differing fragments of an identity. Charged with this potential to highlight
difference even as it represents fusion, the hyphen is perfect for this chapter’s concern
with the joining of Chicana/os ethnic and linguistic identities. Instead of asking
whether Chicana/os should hyphenate their identities as Mexican Americans, I
transpose the concerns raised by the presence of a hyphen onto the linguistic identities
of Chicana/os. Equally important to this chapter’s argument is the concept of “doing
being” with which the title begins. Building on Peter Auer’s work on “doing being
bilingual” Ana Celia Zentella applies this phrase to describe the linguistic strategies
that Latina/o bilinguals employ.57 These two verbs coupled together in their present
progressive tenses emphasize the simultaneity of bilingual ontology.58 Bilinguals enact
their bilingualism through their language use or choices while owning these practices
as part of their identity. “Doing” bilingualism is inherent in “being” a bilingual. To
56
“To hyphenate or not?” becomes a controversial question for ethnic minority populations when
defining and representing the cultural heritages that influence their identities. However, it can and has
also been negatively interpreted by outsiders and non-hyphenates as an ideological refusal to integrate
into the larger political nation in which a minority population resides. The presence of a hyphenated
identity impinges on melting pot ideologies that wish to neatly subsume and ultimately erase any
cultural difference in their populace. Although current minority identity politics has trended away from
using the hyphen, this little punctuation mark remains a topic of concern.
57
Peter Auer originally uses “doing being bilingual” in his book Bilingual Conversation. Zentella’s
adaptation of this concept for Latina/o communities can be traced throughout her work, most notably in
her book Growing up Bilingual, and article “‘José, can you see?’ Latin@ Responses to Racist
Discourse.”
58
Inspired by Michel Holquist’s work to dispel the theoretical assumptions and basis of upholding
monolingualism as a global norm, I use “ontology” with his recognition that it is an “over deteremined
term” but for my argument in particular, it allows us to begin discussing the nature of doing and being a
bilingual (24).
124
return to the chapter’s title then is to ask how does a Mexican American “do” a
bilingual Chicana/o identity? In this chapter we will therefore look at the issue of
language choice, use, and maintenance for circumstantial bilingual Chicana/os.
This chapter follows my discussion of the factors that influence the
development of a linguistic and cultural identity in Chapter Two. Pocho and George
Washington Gómez serve as examples of the ambiguous nature of bilingual and
Chicana/o identity formations in decades prior to the Chicano movement, where the
term “Chicano” itself does not quite yet exist as a political, much less redemptive,
entity. As proto-Chicana/os, Richard and Guálinto anticipate the conflicts the Chicano
movement will have to come to terms with during the formation of their nation and its
articulation as a familia. Having looked at the issues that are present for bilingual and
cultural identity development then, this chapter moves us into the issues present in
choosing and maintaining a bilingual and Chicana/o identity in Ernesto Galarza’s
Barrio Boy (1971), Arturo Islas’s The Rain God (1984), and Sandra Cisneros’s
Caramelo, o puro cuento (2002). I begin with an introduction to the texts, followed by
a discussion of language choice, use, and maintenance. Reviewing the factors that
influence and contribute to bilingual stability at the community level allows us
contextualize our individual protagonist’s modes of doing being their bilingual
Chicana/o identities. This will be the backdrop onto which I will present my analysis
of the novels. Unlike Pocho and George Washington Gómez, Barrio Boy will emerge
as a representative text of the Chicano movement’s idealization and re-vindication of
the Chicana/o identity59 and of the manner and reason Spanish is maintained as a sign
of Mexican heritage and ethnic pride for the Chicana/o. In The Rain God we will see
how intergenerational transmission determines the inheritance of racial and class
ideologies through language for the protagonist Miguel Chico and his generation. And
finally in Caramelo we will see how bilingual and Chicana/o identity is embraced as a
59
Because of Galarza’s renown for his work on advocating for the migrant Mexican communities in the
US through labor organizing as well as scholarship on immigration, he came to be known as a pioneer
and dean of Chicano studies. Antonio Burciaga dedicates a chapter in Drink Cultura to Galarza’s
influence on early Chicano movement students such as his family noting: “To us Galarza was a giant.
We read his work as college students.… No one has ever expressed more eloquently what a Chicano is”
(130).
125
type of Mexican identity through Celaya’s intricate bilingual abilities. Together, these
novels reveal the expansive diversity of bilingual Chicana/o identities if and when
bilingualism is recognized for its pivotal role in their expression.
Chapter Texts
Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy offers itself as a clear counterpoint to the
ambiguity of bilingual Chicana/o identity represented in the novels of the previous
chapter. This is because Galarza recreates himself as a completely self-assured
bilingual and bicultural Mexican in his autobiographic narrative.60 Galarza’s
adherence to a Mexican identity becomes obvious in the text’s preface where he
emphasizes its almost too-confident expression: “I, for one Mexican, never had any
doubts on this score. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know who I was; and I
have heard much testimony from my friends and other more detached persons to the
effect that I thought too highly of what I thought I was. It was to me unlikely that out
of six or seven million Mexicans in the United States I was the only one who felt this
way” (1-2). Galarza offers his narrative as a positive example of when growing up
bilingual and Mexican goes right. I chose to include this text in order to truly
understand what factors are represented that allow for this undoubtedly secure
Mexican-based identity. Galarza presents Ernie’s development as the “true story of the
acculturation of Little Ernie” (2). Ernie’s Mexican enculturation is followed by a
successful American acculturation that proves compensatory to make up for the
millions of individuals who could not embrace Chicana/o identities. The distinct set of
circumstances that work for Ernie’s successful development as a bilingual and US
Mexican will be my focus. As almost two-thirds of the narrative focuses on Little
Ernie’s migrations through México and only the last third addresses what could be
60
The extant literary criticism on Barrio Boy is minimal and typically identifies the work generically as
an autobiography. Although I do not disagree with this description, I prefer to use “autobiographical
narrative” in order to emphasize its crafted nature as a representation and cultural production. Please
refer to the following works for analysis of Barrio Boy as autobiography: Gilbert Cardenas, “Barrio
Boy by Ernesto Galarza,” International Migration Review 7.2(Summer 1873): 203-205, Lauro Flores,
“Chicano Autobiography: Culture, Ideology and the Self,” The Americas Review 18.2: 80-91, Antonio
C. Márquez, “Self and Culture: Autobiography as Cultural Narrative,” Bilingual Review/Revista
Bilingüe 14.3(Sept. 1987/Dec. 1988): 57-64, Ramón Saldívar, Chicano Narrative: The Dialectics of
Difference (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990), Juan Velasco, Los Laberintos de la
Mexicanidad: La Construcción de la Identidad en la Autobiografía Chicana Contemporánea, Diss.
(University of California, Los Angeles, 1995).
126
said to be the most complex time for his “acculturation” as a newly arrived American
immigrant, even structurally we are shown that the emphasis for Ernie’s identity
development is always located firstly in his Mexican enculturation. Through this
enculturation Ernie can prosperously incorporate American cultural and English
language influences for his bilingual Chicana/o identity.
In the mid-1970’s the manuscript of Arturo Islas’s first novel, Día de los
muertos/Day of the dead, met with lukewarm reception among East Coast publishers
incapable of dealing with its explicit queer and ethnic content.61 Almost a decade later
Islas’s reworked novel entitled The Rain God: A Desert Tale had received academic
and literary recognition. In the novel, the matriarch of the Ángel62 family endows her
favorite grandchildren with advice derived from her life experience: “‘Just remember
to have respect for your parents,’ Mama Chona told Miguel Chico and his cousins in
her beautiful Spanish, ‘and everything will be all right’” (163). Through this
seemingly appropriate and simple piece of advice, Mamá Chona begins to educate her
family, transmitting her own language and class ideologies. Indeed, Miguel Chico, the
primary focalizing63 character metaphorically describes himself as a plant throughout
the novel, speaking to the influence that Mamá Chona’s and his family’s words have
on Miguel Chico and his generation. The Rain God serves as a model of Chicana/o
narrative that focuses on the intersections of language and generational change. The
emphasis on linguistic ideologies as revelatory of socioeconomic and racial elitism
within The Rain God implicates its readers in accepting and understanding the
contradictions of a bilingual and bicultural Chicana/o identity. The concept of
intergenerational transmission of language is acutely upheld even when fictionalized. I
61
For further information of the novel’s publishing and editorial trajectory please refer to Frederick
Luis Aldama, Dancing with Ghosts: A Critical Biography of Arturo Islas (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2005), José David Saldívar, “The Hybridity of Culture in Arturo Islas’s The Rain
God,” The Dialectics of our America (Durham: Duke University Press, 1991) 114-126, and Karen E. H.
Skinazi, “Out of Personhood, Out of Print: Cultural Censorhship from Harriet Wilson to Arturo Islas,”
Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual
Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 115-138.
62
Spanish accentuation is not used in the novel. Therefore, within direct quotations from the novel I
will use Islas’s orthography but use Spanish accentuation in my own references towards characters
(especially for Mamá Chona, Félix, María, and Ángel family).
63
Paula Moya describes focalization as a narrative technique that “refers to the mediation (the prism,
perspective, or angle of vision) through which a story is presented by a narrator in the text” (185).
127
expose the transmission of language ideologies and through them the processes by
which hierarchies of socioeconomic status and race are produced within the novel. As
we shall see, language, race, and class hierarchies are present in the first (foreignborn) generation and, through academic as well as cultural education (educación),64
they are transmitted to subsequent generations. Each family member in turn negotiates
this linguistic upbringing inevitably integrating language hierarchies into individual
worldviews.
As Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano has commented, Caramelo, o puro cuento by
Sandra Cisneros is “a novel about language.”65 Indeed, for the protagonist Celaya,
bilingually is the primary way in which she experiences her world and enacts her
Chicana identity. Her family’s constant migration to and from México fosters this
embodiment: “As soon as we cross the bridge everything switches to another
language. … Every year I cross the border, it’s the same—my mind forgets. But my
body always remembers” (17-18). The bridge is a representation of the geographical
and national border she routinely crosses alongside her family. These crossings trigger
physical memories of the required shifts Celaya must make to navigate her bi-national,
-cultural, and -linguistic reality. These shifts encompass her entire identity as a
bilingual Chicana as she must redefine herself on each side of the border. As part of
our “Pilón”66 at the end of the novel Celaya describes her place as a bilingual Chicana:
“And I don’t know how it is with anyone else, but for me these things, that song, that
64
Recall discussion on Valdés’s differentiation between linguistic and cultural differences between
“education” and “educacion” in Chapter Two, page 78.
65
Personal communication. Certainly, much of the available literary criticism on Caramelo mentions, if
not centers, on language. Please see Bill Johnson González, “The Politics of Translation in Sandra
Cisneros’s Caramelo,” Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies 17.5(2006): 4-19, Gabriella
Gutiérrez y Muhs, “Sandra Cisneros and Her Trade of the Free Word,” Rocky Mountain Review
60.2(2006): 23-36, Juanita Heredia, “Voyages South and North: The Politics of Transnational Gender
Identity in Caramelo and American Chica,” Latino Studies 5(2007): 340-357, Eleazar Ortiz, “La
Lengua y la Historia en Dos Escritores Latinounidenses: Sandra Cisneros y Miguel Méndez,”
Divergencias: Revisa de Estudios Lingïísticos y Literarios 2.2(2004): 81-90, Margaret Randall,
“Weaving a Spell,” The Women’s Review of Books 20.1(Oct. 2002): 1-3, Antonio Torres,
“Heterogeneidad Lingüística e Identidad en la Narrativa de Sandra Cisneros,” Espéculo 41(March-June
2009), and Lisa Wagner, “Ni Aquí, Ni Allá: Lenguaje e Identidad en Caramelo,” Espéculo 37(Nov.
2007 Feb. 2008).
66
Gabriella Gutierrez y Muhs defines this chapter as “the ‘little bit extra’ that merchants give their
clients and which Cisneros in a culturally relevant and polite manner fits into our shopping basket of
letters” (27).
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time, that place, are all bound together in a country I am homesick for, that doesn’t
exist anymore. That never existed. A country I invented. Like all emigrants caught
between here and there” (434). Reflecting on the emotional and physical memories of
México triggered by listening to a Mexican song while in the US, Celaya realizes there
is no tangible geographic nation to which she belongs as an “emigrant” that has moved
from an unspecified “here” to “there.” This lack of specificity in identifying the
country of origin and habitation is the novel’s contribution to Chicana/o identity
politics. Because of the shifting nature of Mexican heritage identity, Caramelo offers a
transnational Mexican identity, where Mexican ethnicity is displaced from a fixed
national setting. As the narrator, Celaya offers a beautiful example of what “doing
being a bilingual Chicana” is through her language use.
Language Choice, Use, and Maintenance
As we have seen in the previous chapters, there are a multitude of factors at the
individual, group, and societal levels that influence the development of bilingualism.
Once factors coincide to prompt the migration of a group of language users into close
geographical proximity with another group of different language users, a language
contact situation is created. The development of bilingualism from situations of
language contact will be dictated by patterns of language choice and use, that is, how
these groups begin to incorporate and configure both languages into their lives as
individuals and within their communities. The maintenance of languages in a bilingual
community largely depends on the relationship between both languages’ usage and
can offer insight into the survival of each language and the stability of bilingualism in
said community. In the previous chapter I examined the exposure, access, and
validation that two characters negotiated in their domains of language use and
networks in order to understand their linguistic and ethnic identity development,
specifically the ideological materials they were offered to developed linguistically and
ethnically as Chicana/o bilinguals. Here I look at the issue of choosing between
multiple codes and identities and their maintenance for bilingual Chicana/os.
Language choice is familiar albeit typically unconscious for all who use any
language. We are rarely self-reflective and aware of the processes through which we
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decide to use our language because these processes are automatic, instinctual. At any
given moment, for any given interaction, we choose the manner and form in which we
communicate through oral language, whether to others or ourselves. We can vary the
manner in which we produce and use our language, in such areas as intonation, word
choice, pronunciation, dialect, etc. These become available resources during language
choice and use. The factors that influence the way we manipulate language to
communicate are manifold--even for monolinguals--and these multiply for bilingual
and multilingual individuals. For bilinguals, the resources for language variation
proliferate with the implicit addition of dialects, varieties, and their combinations
through the incorporation of another language. Ralph Fasold outlines three types of
language choice: amongst whole languages (i.e. Vietnamese and Turkish), pieces of
separate languages (such as in code-switching), and varieties within a single language
(African American English and Standard American English) (181). For this whole
project and this chapter in particular I concentrate on language choice between and
within whole languages, specifically English and Spanish, focusing on the exploration
of what these choices represent about our protagonists Ernie, Miguel Chico, and
Celaya, especially in terms of their identities.
Exploring bilingual language choice and use necessitates understanding nonlinguistic factors influencing a decision to use language in a particular way. Joshua
Fishman’s advancement of the concept of domain analysis and configuration as a
method through which language choice can be studied and summarized at the
individual and group level requires identification of group, situation, topic, media, and
participants within each domain of language use (“Who Speaks?” 90-92). Each of
these factors can be broken down further in order to explain the layered influences on
language choice. François Grosjean outlines some of these, highlighting:
participants (language proficiency and preference, socioeconomic status, age,
sex, occupation, education, ethnic background, history of speakers’ linguistic
interaction, kinship relation, intimacy, power relation, attitude toward
languages, outside pressure), situation (location/setting, presence of
monolinguals, degree of formality and intimacy), content of discourse (topic,
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type of vocabulary), and function of interaction (to raise status, create social
distance, exclude someone, request or command). (136)
As is evident, each major factor outlined by Fishman is a complexity in and of itself.
Factors that influence language choice and use are therefore composed of nonlinguistic forces that are primarily social, cultural, and economic. Appreciating this
fact broadens our understanding of how language choice and use is not just based on a
specific language but takes into account the user of that language and her particular
life experiences and circumstances. Given the sheer amount of potential influences
and factors in language choice, Grosjean reminds us that: “Rarely does a single factor
account for a bilingual’s choice of one language over another. … Usually some factors
are more important—have more weight—than others and thus play a greater role when
combined with other factors” (143). For every bilingual, each moment of language
choice is determined by a particular set of factors and linguistic interactions, which are
quite specific to that speech act. A central preoccupation of the study of language
choice (particularly in bilinguals) is the prediction of which language will be chosen
and used in a given situation. Such prediction however is “extremely difficult”
because of the complex and weighted formulas that bilinguals unconsciously broker
and implement during language choice and use (Grosjean 145). Indeed, bilingual
language choice and use is an extremely complicated phenomenon to study and
interpret.
A facet of language choice and use for bilinguals, which has garnered great
scholarly attention, is codeswitching. At any given moment bilinguals, especially
when interacting with other bilinguals, are able to choose to use both their languages
within and among the sentences they produce. Grosjean lists a variety of reasons why
bilinguals codeswitch:
filling a linguistic need for lexical item, set phrase, discourse marker, or
sentence filler; continue the last language used (triggering); quoting; specify
addressee; qualify message, amplify or emphasize “topper”; specify speaker
involvement by personalizing message; mark and emphasize group identity
and solidarity; convey confidentiality, anger, annoyance; exclude someone
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from conversation; change role of speaker, raise status, add authority, show
expertise. (152)
The numerous factors that influence language choice for a bilingual deciding between
whole languages in a given interaction, along with the reasons for choosing between
languages in a single interaction, underscores the impressive linguistic abilities
bilingual individuals possess. Because codeswitching is consistently viewed as an
example of linguistic and cognitive deficiency, the concrete motivations for switching
amongst languages have been ignored in favor of regarding codeswitching as
haphazard behavior. Reviewing Grosjean’s summary of potential motivations for
codeswitching in bilinguals concretizes the psychosocial depth of language choice and
use. Although motivations abound in any given interaction to trigger a code-switch or
influence language choice, Carol Myers-Scotton notes “that the major reason is the
symbolic value of speaking that language, not to fill gaps … choosing a variety is both
a tool and an index of interpersonal relationships (143). Here then is where the
representational profundity of language choice and use lies. Each moment of language
choice and use is infused with meaning, whether conscious or unconscious, on behalf
of the bilingual individual. This meaning is inherently tied to that individual’s identity.
Myers-Scotton goes on to explain:
For a bilingual, choosing to speak one language in a given encounter rather
than another says something about how that bilingual thinks of himself or
herself. When a bilingual (or a monolingual) makes such a choice, it “says
something” about how the speaker wishes to relate to others in the
conversation, too. It is in this sense that making a code choice is indexical of
the self. All linguistic varieties are indexical in this way. (145)
All of our linguistic choices carry meaning and much of that meaning has to do with
our perception of self, amongst others and individually. The indexical nature of
codeswitching in bilinguals and language choice for all speakers is dependent on
speaker and receiver (de)coding. We are constantly interpreting and being interpreted
as we represent our identities through our language choice and use. The symbolic and
metaphorical meanings of language choice for bilinguals merit sustained interpretative
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attention as representations of selves. I present such analysis in the literary
representations the bilingual Chicana/os Ernie, Miguel Chico, and Celaya.
In order for bilinguals to continually possess a multiplicity of linguistic
resources, both languages must be maintained. Charlotte Hoffman explains that “[t]he
expression language maintenance refers to a situation where members of a community
try to keep the language(s) they have always used, i.e. to retain the same patterns of
language choice. Language maintenance can thus be said to reflect collective volition”
(185). Language maintenance is therefore dependent on the similar and repeated
individual choices that bilingual community members make. The repetition of
language choice and use form patterns and maintaining these patterns allows for the
continued use of both languages for specific purposes and in specific ways alongside
each other. Because bilingual communities are produced by language contact
situations between groups with different languages, a language group’s efforts to
sustain patterns of language choice are made more difficult as a result of the dynamics
of dual language contact space. Guadalupe Valdés emphasizes other factors that
cannot be ignored in the description of language maintenance:
Language maintenance refers to the continued use of an indigenous or
immigrant minority language in a majority language context. To be considered
language maintenance, it is not sufficient for a language to be present in a
particular community and for it to be spoken, for example, by newly arrived
immigrants. The process of language maintenance refers to the retention of
language and its transmission over several generations. (“The Spanish
Language” 36)
Language maintenance goes beyond temporary access to a different group of language
speakers, as well as temporarily disregarding the social power dynamics of group
relations. The inherently marginalized position of minority language speakers (as we
know circumstantial bilinguals such as Richard, Guálinto, Ernie, Miguel Chico and
Celaya to be) significantly influences language maintenance. The term “maintenance”
itself denotes a continued process, which relies on an extended period of time.
Language maintenance in bilingual communities must therefore be understood, first,
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as dependent on language choice transferred into patterns of language by a minority
group of speakers over time and, second, against or alongside the language of the
dominant society or group.
In order for a minority language to survive and be maintained and a stable
bilingual situation achieved for its community of speakers, there must be above all
positive reinforcement, support, need, and use for both languages. Ethnolinguistic
vitality is a concept that has been used to anticipate the linguistic survival of a
minority language group. Suzanne Romaine explains the need for institutional support,
high status and a demographic concentration of a language’s speaker population for
positive and strong ethnolinguistic vitality. These are pivotal in the maintenance a
community’s language (39). Regarding the ethnolinguistic vitality of a group MyersScotton summarizes: “The idea is that the more positive a group is in regard to such
features, the more likely its language will survive” (75). In addition, the issue of
validation and systems of value present in popular ideologies regarding bilingual
communities is of import. A minority language’s survival is contingent on maintaining
a relatively high symbolic value to individual and group identities, and in relation to
the dominant group or society in any particular context. In the face an ideology of
rigid monolingualism that disparages multilingual practices and identities, linguistic
minorities must retain a strong sense of value for their languages and identities in
order to maintain them. This phenomenon is manifest in Barrio Boy, The Rain God,
and Caramelo. In addition to the vitality of the community’s speakers, the need and
use of their language will influence its maintenance. Here we return to Charles
Ferguson’s concept of diglossia (the separate functional use of a high and low variety
of a language) and more specifically Fishman’s formulation of diglossia with
bilingualism. Among the four possible combinations of describing a speech
community through diglossia and bilingualism, Fishman explains that diglossia helps
sustain bilingualism:
Wherever speech communities exist whose speakers engage in a considerable
range of roles (and this is coming to be the case for all but the extremely upper
and lower levels of complex societies); wherever access to several roles is
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encouraged or facilitated by powerful social institutions and processes; and
finally, wherever the roles are clearly differentiated (in terms of when, where
and with whom they are felt to be appropriate), both diglossia and bilingualism
may be said to exist. (“Bilingualism with and without Diglossia” 84)
For a relatively stable bilingual situation to be achieved, much less sustained, diglossia
must be stable. When diglossia is not present, bilingualism is only transitional. Glenn
Martínez aptly describes the relation of diglossia to bilingualism: “Diglossia may be
viewed as regulating bilingualism” (42). Therefore, both languages require separate
uses and functions where patterns of language choice effectively keep languages
relatively distant from each other in the manner in which they are used. When
languages begin to invade each other’s domains the diglossia that kept them separate
becomes unstable, which in turn destabilizes the community’s bilingualism.
Similar to the list of factors that play a role in language choice and use, the
factors that affect language maintenance are many. Grosjean’s helpfully recapitulates
these factors, separating them into:
social aspects: size and birthrate of group, immigration (time of, continuation,
permanent), geographic concentration, urbanization, isolation (from other
minority groups, majority groups, home country), intermarriage, social
configuration of group, social mobility, religion, activism (linguistic, cultural,
political), mobility within family, occupations, education policy of group;
attitudes (of minority group towards their language, the majority language,
cultural pluralism, bilingualism, linguistic “purity”; of majority group towards
minority group); use of languages (domain, function, topic, interlocutor);
government policy (laws pertaining to languages, educational policies); and
other factors which include periods of nationalism, the assimilative power of
majority group and cultural support by a foreign state. (107)
Not all of these factors will be influential in the same manner and to the same degree
as others for a speech community. Myers-Scotton notes that in regards to the stability
of bilingualism “there is no ‘magic set’ that predicts what will happen in a given
community. The reason seems to be that while the same features count everywhere,
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how much each one counts can vary from community to community” (69). Particular
to each community then will be the interaction of certain factors deemed to be
important. The selection, combination, and ultimate effect of those factors are
subjective in nature and specific to each group. Josiane F. Hamers and Michel H. A.
Blanc explain that “[t]his maintenance is dependent upon relatively stable relations
between the groups of the community. When these relations change, however, and one
group begins to assimilate to another, language maintenance starts to break down”
(296). The relationship between languages in a bilingual situation is analogous to the
relationship between the groups of language users that have come into contact. For
minority language groups like Mexican migrants and their Chicana/o offspring in the
US, the assimilative force of the dominant society can weigh heavily and impact the
way languages are used, as well as how much of the minority language can and will be
maintained. The stability of bilingualism and successful language maintenance for
minority language communities therefore relies on an intricate coalescence of
individual, group, and societal systems of value.
Language use, choice, and maintenance are complex matters for bilingual
individuals and their speech communities. Linguistic minorities negotiate the
numerous factors of their particular circumstances in order to help protect and
maintain their languages. I now move to look at these factors and their interaction in
the choices and maintenance of bilingual Chicana/o identities for Little Ernie, Miguel
Chico, and Celaya.
Bilingual and Bicultural Mexicanity in Barrio Boy
I begin with Barrio Boy because as mentioned earlier, Little Ernie’s experience
of growing up bilingual and Chicana/o contrasts so poignantly with that of Richard
and Guálinto.67 The differences I highlight will help transition us into this chapter’s
focus on choices and maintenance. The essential difference is that Little Ernie has
67
Renato Rosaldo offers a comparative reading of Galarza’s work in relation to Américo Paredes’s
With a Pistol in His Hand, centering on the displacement and transformation of “primordial patriarchs
so that they can play an emancipatory role in Chicano struggles of resistance” (“Changing Chicano
Narratives” 160). Although Rosaldo does not directly address George Washington Gómez, because it
shares similar thematic content and representation of Mexicotexan reality during Guálinto’s time-space
I believe the comparison holds. Please see “Changing Chicano Narratives” and “Politics, Patriarchs, and
Laughter” for further comparison between Galarza’s and Paredes’s narratives.
136
choices, whereas Richard and Guálinto are more limited in their exposure or access to
models for “do-able” bilingual Chicana/o identities. Ernie does not inherit a migratory
experience as a second-generation circumstantial bilingual; he experiences it first-hand
alongside his family as part of the first-generation migrating to the US. Ernie is able to
successfully negotiate the linguistic and cultural influences on his personal
development throughout this experience, choosing a positively self-affirmed bilingual
and bicultural Chicana/o identity. We will now look at the ingredients that allow for
Little Ernie’s identity development as a bilingual Chicano to work out so well, namely
the early positive development, support, and reinforcement of a solid Mexican cultural
and Spanish linguistic base (his enculturation) as well as the introduction of American
cultural and English linguistic influences (acculturation) as non-threatening or
overpowering forces bearing on his Mexican identity base.
Ernie’s enculturation begins in the idyllically represented town of Jalcocotán,68
where children are raised communally with neighbors monitoring their social and
cultural development. Ernie is therefore conscious that “[g]rowing up in the pueblo,
we would become like the jalcocotecanos” (41) and that doing so requires a certain
code of conduct that centers on the community’s definitions of good manners. Ernie’s
experience of growing up in this community is directly tied in to the identity he
projects for himself in the future. As a jalcocotecano Ernie knows what is expected of
him linguistically. Because “[r]eading, writing, and arithmetic were held in great
esteem by the jalcocotecanos” and because “[i]n Jalco, people spoke in two
languages—Spanish and with gestures,” Ernie is able to foment acuity in his
communicative competence of reading extra-linguistic cues (33, 19). He develops an
innate perception of the power words carry: “Guessing at what people meant, I came
to feel certain words rather than to know them. They were words which came from the
lips of the jalcocotecanos with an accent of suspicion, of fear, and of hatred.… They
68
For Américo Paredes, Galarza’s representation of Jalco is: “a very idealistic view of that little town.
For example, the book begins with the Mexican Revolution. When the revolutionaries come into town
and the boys of military age go into the mountains to hide so that they won’t be forced into service.
Now we are spposed to believe that there wasn’t a single person in that town who belonged to the
revolucionarios and wouldn’t tell the revolutionaries where those boys were hiding!” (Saldívar, The
Borderlands of Culture 69-70).
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[outsiders] always came asking questions, which the jalcocotecanos answered politely
but roundabout” (59). Ernie becomes attuned to sensing words given their context and
pronunciation, accurately inferring their connotations even as he must “guess” their
formal definitions. He observes the way that speech patterns and interactions take
place with loaded vocabulary that present potential threats to his community, be it by
government or unknown individuals. Growing up in Jalco fosters an early fascination
with words in Ernie that will help him mold future career and identity aspirations.
Ernie’s fascination with words is evidenced by his attraction to the way in which
words are written and spoken in Jalco. Because of the absence of institutional formal
education in his community, Ernie shares that “[f]or me and my cousins until we were
six, book learning was limited to a glimpse now and then of my mother’s cookbook.
Our school was the corral, the main street of Jalco, the arroyo, and the kitchen” (34).
There is no need to have a formal schoolhouse when his community helps educate him
in the classrooms that nature provides. Ernie is able to appreciate the experiential nonbook or informal education he receives in his community because it is so invested with
practicality. He is able to apply this appreciation to written text and literacy:
The idea of making printed words sound like the things you already knew
about first came through to me from her [his mother’s] reading of the recipes
[from the inherited family cookbook]. I thought it remarkable that you could
find oregano in a book as well as in the herb pot back of our house. I learned to
pick out works like sal and frijoles, chile piquín and panocha—things we ate.
From hearing my mother repeat the title so often when she read to us, and from
staring at the cover drawing, I guessed that the beautiful girl in the colorful
costume was the Cocinera Poblana. The words above her picture were
obviously her name. I memorized them and touched them. I could read. (3334)
The cookbook that becomes Ernie’s first reading material and textbook joins the
practicality of literacy with that of sustenance. This sacred family possession and his
mother’s literacy combine to provoke Ernie’s amazement at the representational
nature of letters and words. Their ability to identify and signify the material world he
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already knows enraptures Ernie. As Ernie contemplates future careers as a
jalcocotecano, he will therefore prioritize the way language can be used as a main
criterion. Ernie is drawn to his “mother’s letter writing. When she wrote one for a
neighbor, she explained to us that in the large cities there were escribanos in the
public squares who wrote letters for people who didn’t know how. Since the
escribanos were men, I thought that letter writing might also be a worthy profession
for me” (38). Because community gender norms dictate that Ernie not model his
career aspirations on female skill sets or work, Ernie does need to know that men can
write. However, this gendered limitation does not keep him from valuing the
production of written text as an intriguing endeavor befitting his life’s work. He also
contemplates being an “arriero: driver of pack animals” because “the arriero shouted
words we were not allowed to repeat—words, in fact, we were not supposed to know”
(267, 41). While punished for breaking the linguistic prohibition of using arriero
vocabulary Ernie wonders “how you could grow up to be an arriero unless you could
talk like one” (41). His compulsion to own certain words makes language an attractive
force that dictates the types of professional identities Ernie considers as a child.
Ernie’s fascination with words is inspired and encouraged throughout his experience
of growing up in his community of Jalco.
Ernie’s sense of the intriguing power of words provides the foundation upon
which his literacy and arithmetic skills develop in Tepic. Having left Jalco in order to
protect her younger brothers (Ernie’s uncles) from military recruitment and forced
participation in the remnants of the Mexican Revolution, Ernie’s mother (Doña
Henriqueta) takes charge of his formal schooling at home, setting up their temporary
residence in Tepic as his first classroom:
My first lessons were demonstrations on the slate and the abacus. On the slate
my mother drew horizontal lines between which she wrote the letters of the
alphabet. … From the remarkable tip of the slate pencil in her hand there came
outlines of oxen, a donkey’s head like Relámpago’s, carnations, trees, and
bananas. She drew numbers and gave their names to each of the beads on the
abacus. Up and down and across she made the beads bounce and add up to
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fantastic sums that sounded like rhymes—“cientos y miles y millones.” (9394)
Even in his non-language instruction Ernie is enamored with the production of textual
representation as writing turns into a visualization of his most beloved memories of
Jalco. The motility of the abacus beads colliding produces an enticing sound that a
captivated Ernie relates to concordant and melodic words. Although Doña Henriqueta
is not a teacher she develops and executes successful lesson plans for her son’s
developing knowledge base and skills:
We combined writing and reading and spelling as my mother called out the
combinations she had already written for me at the top of the slate. I learned
vowels and consonants in surprising arrangements, writing the syllables as I
heard them and then combining them to make complete words. … We always
started with the easy ones I had already learned, and which I wrote down and
read from the slate. The new ones I had to listen to first, putting them together
as well as I could from the sounds. At the end of the lesson I had to listen to
formidable words that sounded more like trapezes in full swing, like ca-pi-rota-da or Po-po-ca-té-petl. Doña Henriqueta repeated them every so often until
I was able to put them together. The sound and the rhythm of the words
intrigued me more than what they meant. (94)
Ernie’s mother is able to provide for him a solid skill set in language arts through
teaching of the Spanish alphabet, its phonology, syllabication, and semantics. Ernie is
able to conceptualize difficult multisyllabic words in Spanish and Náhuatl as the fluidlike motion of a pendulum. The process of discerning the exact meaning of words is
not as appealing to Ernie as an intrigue with sounds and usage. He contemplates the
relationship (or lack of relationship) between sign and signifier that factors in word
comprehension. This will be particularly important when he begins his English
language education. Ernie’s first “formal” schooling at home in Tepic provides him
with a critical foundation for his education at school and encourages the desirability of
language arts.
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The experiences Ernie collects in his community of Jalco and in his Tepic
home are tied to his material reality and serve him in school. Ernie is therefore able to
claim that “with workshops of the neighborhood, the brewery gang, my job with La
Pozolera, the lectures on manners, and José’s enthusiastic reports on the progress of
Don Francisco Madero’s revolution, my education was well started when I was
enrolled in the first grade of the Escuela Municipal de Varones Número Tres” (148).
Ernie has an expansive definition of education that is not limited to the book learning
he will receive in school. He is confident in his educational level and knowledge base
because it is grounded in his material reality. When he finally enters school in
Mazatlán he states: “From my door a new world of letters spread over Mazatlán. The
signs over the shops where we traded were read to me until I could read them back….
Most remarkable of all was my discovery of stone writing, like the sign chiseled on a
sidewalk in front of a shop... Before I finished the first grade I was able to read, more
or less, and write somewhat” (160). Because reading and the expansion of his
knowledge base is never taken out of the context of the real world and its practical
applicability, Ernie’s fascination with words translates into “remarkable discoveries”
of the mundane. His first experiences in formal education and institutionalized
schooling are therefore mere extensions of the social, cultural and environmental
education he has received through his home and community all along. The intrinsic
relationship between learning and education and his immediate environment inspires a
confidence in Ernie in his identity development that will permit him to easily negotiate
his English language and American cultural learning.
Ernie’s introduction to American culture and its English language are mediated
through his family. English finds its way into the home from the outside via his young
uncle Gustavo’s work and “slim gringo” boss who “joked with the men about the dirty
words in Spanish they taught him in exchange for the dirty words in English he told
them. When he gave orders he made himself understood in a mix of both languages,
practicing his funny Spanish and laughing at himself with the men. It was from him
that Gustavo picked up phrases and brought them home” (124). Between the
superintendent and his workers is a pact of language learning (however vulgar the
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lexical items) and appreciation of its stumbling nature. There is an implicit cultural
exchange peaceably administered here, where pejorative views on either side do not
seem to arise. Ernie begins to learn English through Gustavo’s recital of the phrases he
acquires at this job and from his boss:
“Do you know what the superintendent wears instead of zapatos?” Gustavo
asked. “He wears chews! Ernesto, say zapatos in English.”
“Chews.”
“Correct.”
“When he means sombrero he says “hett.” Ernesto, say sombrero in
English.”
“Hett.”
“Correct.” So my lessons proceeded with “chairt” for shirt, “pa-eep” for
pipe, “huatine-ees” for what time is it, “tenks yu” for thank you, “hau-mochee”
for how much, “wan” for one, and “por pleeze” when asking a favor. …
Between lessons my mother and I practiced “chairt” and “chews” and the rest
of our growing vocabulary which Gustavo brought directly from our gringo
professor. (124-125)
Gustavo develops a sense of linguistic ownership of English vocabulary that he
transmits to Ernie through impromptu but no-less-structured lessons. By explaining
the relationship between the Spanish and English words for similar lexical items and
concepts, Gustavo prepares Ernie to compound his linguistic inventory in English onto
his Spanish base. Language learning is communally shared in the family so that this
linguistic and cultural education is not limited to the individual. Therefore English
comes in as part of a cultural exchange that seeps into Ernie and prepares him for its
incorporation into his bilingual identity.
The differences that Ernie and his family begin to note through the experiences
and descriptions Gustavo shares with his American boss at work are marked racially
and culturally, but in a humorous and non-threatening manner:
To us the superintendent, like all other Americans, was either a gringo or a
bolillo. What gringo meant nobody was very sure of; but bolillo was simple. It
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came from the fact that most Americans preferred, instead of tortillas, the
small baker’s loaves with a nipple on each end and a curl of crust between.
Two remarkable things about the American bolillos were the way their necks
turned red with sunburn, and their freckles, both good reasons why no Mexican
could ever become an American, or would want to. (125)
The racial marking of American identities as white (read here as easily sunburned and
reddened) along with their distinct food choices are two clear reasons why Ernie will
never feel that his Mexican self will be transformed into an American one. There is
simply no mode or desire to embrace these differences and as they are based on
preference they do not have negative connotations. Using their Spanish language to
rename and identify American individuals, Ernie and his family control the force of
the American culture to which they are exposed. In the glossary at the end of the novel
Galarza incorporates Ernie’s family’s redefinition of American cultural and racial
identities: “bolillo: a small French loaf, or an American; a name for both on account of
the strong resemblance between them in complexion and crustiness” (268), “gringo: a
white-skinned foreigner but especially an American” (270). The cultural and racial
tags that are used to identify and define American in the novel share the light-hearted
nature with which Ernie and his family approach understanding American differences.
This demonstrates a confidence in the Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic base
that forms their identities, allowing American cultural and English language learning
to be embraced in an untroubled fashion.
As Ernie and his mother begin their final migration into the US they begin to
have their own direct experiences with Americans, which they negotiate together.
Although initially reluctant to allow himself to be helped off the train for a quick rest
by an American soldier, Ernie shares that “[m]y gringo, smiling and saying something
I could not understand, put me down next to our baggage. My mother thanked them
with smiles and bows and Spanish words and they went off to unload other rain
soaked refugees off the flatcars” (182). Encouraged by his mother, Ernie is able to
overcome his resistance to physical engagement with this American and appreciate his
help. She does not censor attempts to communicate with the Americans and uses her
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language regardless of knowing if it will be understood. Her cordial interaction sets a
positive example so that by the time Ernie refers to his first direct contact and
interaction with an American he is able to confidently claim total ownership in the
relationship, referring to his personal helper as “my gringo.” Gustavo likewise
prepares Ernie for increasing contact with Americans through language:
He turned to me.
“Now, Ernesto, you are the man of the family. You will take care of your
mother until we are together in Sacramento. How do you say por favor?”
“Plees.”
“Right, how do you say cuanto es?”
“Hau-mochee.”
“How do you say qué hora es, por favor?”
“Hau-tinees, plees.”
“Correct.”
“Now say the numbers.”
“Huan, too, tree.”
“Correct. If you don’t know the other numbers, hold up your fingers and
count in Spanish.” (184)
Gustavo reviews the English phrases that will allow Ernie to acquire necessary basic
information while expressing courtesy and politeness. Navigation of this new cultural
and linguistic space is posited as a gendered endeavor so that English becomes one of
the ways Ernie must develop as a Mexican man in America. The linguistic differences
between English and Spanish as encountered on the train to America are negotiated
through maintaining the home language of Spanish as the prized referent:
I spelled them out silently as I watched him—c-o-n, con, d-u-c, duc, t-o-r, tor,
conductor. In a whispered conversation with my mother over the subject, we
agreed that a gringo conductor would not be wearing Mexican letters on his
cap, and that conductor in Spanish was the same as conductor in English. This
started a guessing game that kept us amused the rest of the trip. Some words
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worked out neatly in both languages, like conductor, others failed to match by
a syllable or a letter, in which case we thought English spelling idiotic. (188)
Ernie applies the literacy skills he has learned at home in order to read and understand
the English words he encounters. In the process of applying Spanish phonology to the
cognate English word “conductor” he finds a dichotomy, where the image and word
do not match. The mismatch, disturbing the flawless junction between sign and
signified, is caused by the race of the conductor. Since the conductor is a white foreign
male, he cannot have a job title they only know as Mexican and thus the word is
tagged as English. Having no qualms about not differentiating Mexican letters from
American identities, this racial and linguistic separation helps them enjoy noting
further differences. Discovering more linguistic differences leads them to develop
concessions through which to better navigate the English language and begin to
appreciate cultural differences:
The Americans, we discovered, put practically everything in cans on which
they pasted fascinating labels, like La Vieja Dotch Kle-ser. Doña Henriqueta
admired the bright colors and the delicious pictures of fruits and vegetables.
We spelled and sounded out as well as we could the names of unfamiliar foods,
like corn flakes and Karo syrup. On the kitchen shelf we arranged and
rearranged the boxes and tins, with their displays of ingenious designs and
colors, grateful that the Americans used pictures we knew to explain words
that we didn’t. (196-197)
The repetition of positive nouns and adjectives (“fascination,” “admiration,”
“delicious,” “ingenious”) marks this description of American consumer culture and the
practice of canning and labeling food. Embracing this cultural practice as an offering
for the survival of their family in the US, Ernie and his mother conceptualize it as an
American concession for non-English literate individuals to comprehend what they are
buying and quite frankly, eating, to survive. Ernie shares his interest in the unification
of words and images with his mother as they both begin to practice English. En route
to the family’s final settlement in the US (Sacramento) Ernie first begins his
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negotiation of America in a complimentary linguistic fashion, which prepares him for
more direct contact with American culture and individuals.
Upon arrival into the US Ernie negotiates direct contact with Americans as nonthreatening cultural others. Navigating these new interactions with Americans
continues, under the guidance of his mother and his uncle, as Ernie states that “[w]e
found the Americans as strange in their customs as they probably found us” (204).
Ernie recognizes and accepts that he is a foreign “other” to the Americans but also that
this is not a one-way interpretation. Cultural interactions are not necessarily clashes
because of their reciprocal nature, where both parties are foreign to each other. This
balances Ernie’s developing cultural interpretations in harmonizing equality. The list
of cultural incongruences and the need for their interpretation grows as Ernie delves
further into an Mexican emigrant/American immigrant identity in the US. He shares:
“It was Doña Henriqueta more than Gustavo or José who talked of these oddities and
classified them as agreeable or deplorable. It was she also who pointed out the
pleasant surprises of the American way” (205). The whole family interprets
intercultural exchanges together and his mother as the eldest and the matriarch takes
the lead in balancing their positive and negative qualifications. Pleasing surprises in
cultural differences can exist alongside the more disliked: “With remarkable fairness
and never-ending wonder we kept adding to our list and pleasant and the repulsive in
the ways of the Americans. It was my second acculturation” (205). The quantification
of continuously encountered differences suggests an inherent reference to an
established Mexican cultural identity within the family and therefore in Ernie. There
can be a list of differences because American and Mexican are never the same. The
dual processes of qualification and quantification of American cultural differences is
named as the process by which Ernie assimilates into the cultural system of the US.
He is “acculturated” to American culture and nationality through constant reference to
his Mexican national and cultural identity. Therefore, Ernie is able to accept the
American culture and nation he becomes immersed in because it never threatens his
already established Mexican identity; he simply adds to it.
146
Ernie easily transitions into the US because he has not only his family to help
him negotiate the new influences on his cultural identity, but also a larger network in
the communities in which he resides: “The Poles, Yugo-Slavs, and Koreans, too few
to take over any particular part of it, were scattered throughout the barrio. Black men
drifted in and out of town, working the waterfront. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and
languages and customs that surprised and absorbed me at every turn” (199). Ernie’s
family’s first US neighborhood is predominantly composed of fellow newly arrived
immigrants, creating its racial and ethnic diversity. Ernie’s initial American
community life is therefore marked by a similarity in migratory experiences as well as
multiculturalism. Within the Mexican segment of this neighborhood we see a similar
diversity:
For the Mexicans the barrio was a colony of refugees. … Some had come
to the United States even before the revolution, living in Texas before
migrating to California. Like ourselves, our Mexican neighbors had come this
far moving step by step, working and waiting, as if they were feeling their way
up a ladder. … From whatever place they had come, and however short or long
the time they had lived in the United States, together they formed the colonia
mexicana. (200)
Ernie does not permanently link his Mexican community to an American ethnicity
since there is a perceived sociohistorical prompt for its members’ presence in this
country as “refugees”. As a Mexican outpost, Texas is the site of a historical
progression from México to the US for Mexicans like Ernie and his neighbors. The
diversity of Mexican identities within México translates into a community that
strengthens Ernie’s Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic identity in the US.
Within the diversity of Mexican identities, Chicana/os69 and pochos are
contrasted to each other on the basis of American cultural influence. Chicana/os are
first and foremost identified through their relationship to México as their (and Ernie’s)
cultural and national home:
69
Where the term Chicana/o is thus represented (capitalized and with a/o) it indicates my personal use
and where it is written as “chicano” it is Galarza’s spelling.
147
Crowded as it was, the colonia found a place for these chicanos, the name
by which we called an unskilled worker born in Mexico and just arrived in the
United States. The chicanos were fond of identifying themselves by saying
they had just arrived from el macizo, by which they mean the solid Mexican
homeland, the good native earth. Although they spoke of el macizo like
homesick persons, they didn’t go back. They remained, as they said of
themselves, pura raza. So it happened that José and Gustavo would bring
home for a meal and for conversation workingmen who were chicanos fresh
from el macizo and like ourselves, pura raza. Like us, they had come straight
to the barrio where they could order a meal, buy a pair of overalls, and look for
work in Spanish … As an old maderista, I imagined our chicano guests as
battle-tested revolutionaries, like myself. (200-201)
Ernie begins to incorporate length of residence in the US as part of his
conceptualization of Mexican identities because it indicates the level of difficulty with
and acceptance of American culture. In the glossary at the end of the novel “chicano”
is defined as “a Mexican recently arrived in the United States and definitely a
working-class type; a term of sympathy and identity among persons of this class”
(269). Because Chicana/o is defined and described as a type or subset of Mexican
identity, Ernie can relate and identify with the term. Although he never boasts the
label, the repeated use of “like” to mark the simile between his identity and that of
Chicana/os proves he is in support of the experience and individuals it defines, as seen
through the expansion of his immediate family: “At about this time my mother
remarried. We made room for my stepfather, a chicano who had come to California
not too long after us. His problems with the Americans were the same as ours,
especially their language” (234). The solidarity between Ernie’s identity and those of
Chicana/os justifies my belief that Ernie would accept the term, which is not the case
for “pocho.” Unlike “chicanos”, “pochos” are not given an entry in the novel’s
glossary and are contrasted to Ernie’s customer service clients:
[W]ho were not pochos, Mexicans who had grown up in California, probably
had even been born in the United States. They had learned to speak English of
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sorts and could still speak Spanish, also of sorts. They knew much more about
the Americans than we did, and much less about us. The chicanos and the
pochos had certain feelings about one another. Concerning the pochos, the
chicanos suspected that they considered themselves too good for the barrio but
were not, for some reason, good enough for the Americans. Toward the
chicanos, the pochos acted superior, amused at our confusions but not
especially interested in explaining them to us. In our family when I forgot my
manners, my mother would ask me if I was turning pochito.
Turning pocho was a half-step toward turning American. And America was
all around us, in and out of the barrio. Abruptly we had to forget the ways of
shopping in a mercado and learn those of shopping in a corner grocery or in a
department store. (207)
Pochos are marked by a national and cultural identity in the US revealed through their
language use and sociocultural adaptation to Americans. Revealing tensions between
superiority and inferiority complexes on either side, the conflict between Chicana/os
and pochos permeates Ernie’s family’s conceptualization of a US-based Mexican
identity. Pocho becomes a derogatory term indicating the loss of a Mexican national
and cultural identity in exchange for the American. Again, because Ernie embraces a
communal identity as a Mexican migrant he embraces a Chicana/o identity much more
than he would ever a pocho identity. Ernie’s identity practices are therefore in line
with a Chicana/o identity because it is based on a Mexican national and cultural
source.
Having settled in the US, Ernie must enter the American educational system
where his Mexican/Chicana/o identity is never threatened or compromised. Before
even setting foot inside his new school, Ernie and his mother are assured by their
community networks that his Mexican identity will not be threatened since “there was
always a person at the school who could speak Spanish.
Exactly as we had been told, there was a sign on the door in both Spanish
and English: “Principal.” …
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What Miss Hopley said to use we did not know but we saw in her eyes a
warm welcome and when she took off her glasses and straightened up she
smiled wholeheartedly, like Mrs. Dodson.” (208)
As a cognate, the first word Ernie reads allows for peaceful coexistence of Spanish
and English, a positive omen foretelling the supportive linguistic environment he is
entering. As Ernie moves through the curriculum, the educators clarify the
multicultural pedagogical aims of instruction: “Miss Hopley and her teachers never let
us forget why we were at Lincoln: for those who were alien, to become good
Americans; for those who were so born, to accept the rest of us. … The school was not
so much a melting pot as a griddle where Miss Hopley and her helpers warmed
knowledge into us and roasted racial hatreds out of us” (211). Galarza’s metaphor for
Ernie’s American cultural education in formal schooling merits attention. As a griddle,
the school as institution does not “overheat” racial tensions but rather uses tepid
educative methods to promote intercultural understanding and tolerance through an
overarching American ideology of respect and tolerance towards difference. Ernie
goes on to explain what this looks like on the ground and in practice:
At Lincoln, making us into Americans did not mean scrubbing away what
made us originally foreign. The teachers called us as our parents did, or as
close as they could pronounce our names in Spanish or Japanese. No one was
ever scolded or punished for speaking in his native tongue on the playground.
… It was easy for me to feel that becoming a proud American, as she said we
should, did not mean feeling ashamed of being a Mexican. (211)
Their school completely validates their heritage and present identities. Linguistic
diversity is embraced by educators as students are not forced into American identities
and citizenry. Ernie’s American formal schooling experience validates his Mexican
cultural and Spanish linguistic identity so that he can peaceably negotiate the growing
American cultural and linguistic influences he encounters.70
70
Juan Velasco states that “se enfatiza el acceso a la educación y el acceso al lenguaje (bilingüismo)
como elementos capaces de desarrollar el necesario proceso de fortalecimiento ideológico y económico
de al comunidad chicana” (142).
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The strong identity ties that language holds for Ernie are similarly validated
outside of school as he integrates into American culture and society. While crafting a
letter that will be sent to update his family back in México Ernie must fit his language
to the American form:
Western Union and I immediately had a misunderstanding. The clerk said
my Spanish script was hard to read. Could I write it in English, and make it
shorter? … The long letter was boiled down to telegram style, but there was
one more problem, the signature ... The clerk refused to destroy my Mexican
cultural image, returned the sheet and told me to sign Ernesto and after it my
address in San Francisco, the Dover. (233-234)
Ernie’s Spanish language choice and use is never deemed inadequate; rather the issue
is one of negotiating how best to typographically integrate his language to the
expected structure and format of the English language document. Ernie concedes
translating his message into English because it does not threaten his “Mexican cultural
image” or identity, but rather adds to his growing skill set as a US resident. This is
aided by the recognition of the variety that American English holds:
To begin with, we didn’t hear one but many sorts of English. ... There was
no authority at 418 L who could tell us the one proper way to pronounce a
word as it would not have done much good if there had been. ... Partly to show
off, partly to do my duty to the family, I tried their methods at home. It was
hopeless. They listened hard but they couldn’t hear me ... I gave up giving
English lessons at home. (234-235)
Ernie is most attentive to the phonological differences in the pronunciation of English
in his diverse community. Because he understands that there are many forms of
speaking English and he receives support at school to overcome such difficulties, he
feels linguistically secure enough linguistically to offer his own family this help. They
however, along with their community, find their own ways to cope with English: “The
barrio invented its own versions of American talk. And my family, to my disgust,
adopted them with no little delight. … But at pocho talk my mother drew the line,
although José and Gustavo fell into it easily” (235). Ernie’s harsh assessment of his
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family’s adaptation techniques reveals his refusal to lose his Spanish language skills
by engaging in Americanized versions such as “pocho talk.” There is, however, a
categorical difference between this and trying to learn English as he has in school,
which is the model he attempts to transfer onto his family. Ernie successfully begins
integrating American cultural and linguistic influences into his identity because doing
so does not negate or invalidate the Mexican.
The balance between Ernie’s domains and networks mutually supports the
American and Mexican cultural and linguistic aspects of his identity. Ernie describes
that within his home domain and family network, stating “ours remained a Mexican
family. I never lost the sense that we were the same, from Jalco to Sacramento” (237).
Ernie’s family fosters essential continuity throughout their transnational migrations,
where there is never a sense of loss of their Mexican identity. Language is a critical
aspect of this continuity: “We could have hung on the door of our apartment a sign
like those we read in some store windows—Aquí se habla español. We not only spoke
Spanish, we read it” (237-238). Ernie’s visualizes his pride in his family’s home
language skills as public advertisement that simultaneously offer support for those
newly arrived Mexican immigrants without such literacy skills (a role Ernie later
enacts as translator while working at a pharmacy) and to exhibit their loyalty to this
identity. This does not mean that they refuse to engage with the predominantly
American society in which they reside: “Only when we ventured uptown did we feel
like aliens in a foreign land. Within the barrio we heard Spanish on the streets and in
the alleys” (239). The sense of foreignness they experience when venturing into
predominantly English domains and networks is not debilitating. Their home and
community offer respite from these reminders of their foreignness so that they can
easily adapt. The American public sphere does indeed dominate their overall cultural
landscape but this is offset by community cultural events that support their Mexican
traditions and identities and make it difficult “for the Mexican images in my [Ernie’s]
mind to bleach away. But over them new experiences were being laid, pleasant or
interesting things the Americans did” (243). Ernie does not need to exchange his
Mexican cultural and linguistic identity for an American one. Because he always
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needs to know and use Spanish for his family and community networks and domains
of language use and he also needs English for his school, work and larger social
networks outside of these, Ernie successfully maintains his Mexican cultural and
linguistic identity as an American.
Ernie also succeeds educationally because his fascination with words is
transferred onto his English language learning and American identity seamlessly.
Upon switching schools he adds new skills in English that he can apply to Spanish as
well: “It was at Bret Harte that I learned how an English sentence could be cut up on
the backboard and the pieces placed on different lines connected by what the teacher
called a diagram. The idea of operating on a sentence and rearranging its members as a
skeleton of verbs, modifiers, subject, and prepositions set me off diagramming
whatever I read, in Spanish and English” (249-250). Everything Ernie learns in and
about English he is able to use in his Spanish language base because both these
languages reside harmoniously in his life. His fascination with words has traveled with
him during his migration: where it once had a base in Spanish that was used to
negotiate English, it is now becoming stronger in English and can be reciprocated in
Spanish. This is a significant factor in his educational success, which leads him to
continue advancing in his schooling even:
Mrs. Stevenson assigned me to read to the class and to recite poems by Amado
Nervo, because the poet was from Tepic and I was, too. Miss Crowley
accepted my compositions about Jalcocotán and the buried treasure of
Acaponeta while the others in the class were writing about Sir Patrick Spence
and the Beautiful Lady without Mercy, whom they had never met. … He [Mr.
Everett] sat on his desk, one leg dangling over a corner, behind him the frame
of a large window and the arching elms of the school yard, telling me he
thought I could easily make the debating team at the high school next year, that
Stanford University might be the place to go after graduation, and making
other by-the-way comments that began to shape themselves into my future.
(257)
153
As Ernie continues on in school his awareness of being one of, if not the only,
Mexican origin students is unproblematic because this heritage continues to be
validated. His teachers incorporate his interests as part of his educational development,
encouraging him to project his future in this sphere, where it is an almost assumed
route. The narrative ends with the image of Ernie indeed literally headed in this
direction: “It was two hours before time to cook supper. From the stoop I looked up
and down the cross streets. The barrio seemed empty. I unhooked the bicycle,
mounted it, and headed for the main high school, twenty blocks away where I would
be going in a week. Pumping slowly, I wondered about the debating team and the
other things Mr. Everett had mentioned” (265-266). As Ernie rides through his now
more barren community his destination is firmly set on the high school he will attend,
with the specific goal of discussing his future educational activities. His thoughts are
all centered on the vast possibilities for his future offered to him through school. Ernie
can indulge in the hopeful prospects for his future because his identity as a Mexican
American has been validated throughout his travels and life, especially at school.
Little Ernie’s development as a bilingual Chicano begins with the
capitalization of his open and receptive identity as a Mexican. The supportive and
collaborative networks found between his family and in his various communities
foster confidence in Ernie’s sense of self, a sense of self that allows for linguistic and
cultural difference. This characteristic is augmented by his family’s constant migration
through México and the encouragement he receives for his fascination with language.
As their journeys take his family into the US, Ernie successfully negotiates American
cultural and English language influences on his identity development. In Barrio Boy
then, Ernie’s is able to maintain his Mexican cultural identity and Spanish language as
he chooses to become a US Mexican through accepting the American acculturation he
receives through school and his new communities. In this way Little Ernie achieves
“doing being a bilingual Chicana/o” in the US as a first-generation Mexican
immigrant and circumstantial bilingual.
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Intergenerational Transmission in The Rain God
In The Rain God we find that Spanish is passed down as Miguel Chico’s
circumstantial bilingual family’s heritage language from generation to generation, that
is, through intergenerational transmission. Scholars of bilingualism have continuously
noted that this is one of the most assured ways that minority heritage languages
continue to survive in their speakers’ communities and dominant societies. Language
however, is not the only thing that is transmitted from generation to generation. The
manners and moral values regarding race and socioeconomic status are also passed on
through the generations as revealed through the language ideologies of the Ángel
family. Each generation incorporates these ideologies into their personal worldviews,
never being able to fully negate or ignore them.71
In order to facilitate the discussion of generational language change I must first
delineate the particular genealogy of the Ángel family. The first generation consists of
Mamá Chona and Tía Cuca (as well as Tía Cale, Juanita and Nina’s aunt who appears
only once exercising her right to vote as a new US citizen). This generation is born in
México and migrates to the United States.72 The second generation of Mexican-born
children is comprised of Miguel Grande, Félix, Jesus María, and Eduviges in the
Ángel family, Juanita who marries into the family, and her sister Nina. The second
generation becomes what their teachers call “first generation Americans” since they
move to, and are academically schooled in, the United States (127). The third
generation of the Ángel family (2nd generation Mexican American and 1st generation
American born) is Miguel Chico (son to Miguel Grande and Juanita), JoEl, Roberto,
Magdalena and Yerma (all born to Félix and Angie), and Ricardo (illegitimate child of
Mema adopted by Mamá Chona). In order to simplify we shall refer to the first
71
Rosaura Sánchez refers to each generations’ changes and adaptations of the older generation’s
ideologies as counterdiscourses that naturally do “not formulate a distinctive alternative,” only reaffirm
it them through opposition (66).
72
For focused discussions on the representational politics and structure of the Ángel family please see
Julie Minich, “The Body Politic of Aztlán: Disability and the Reformulation of Nation in the work of
Arturo Islas, Jr. and Cherríe L. Moraga,” National Bodies/Embodied Nations: Reading Disability in
Chicana/o, Mexican and Spanish Cultural Production, Diss. (Stanford University, 2009) and Wilson
Neate, “A Family Affair,” Tolerating Ambiguity: Ethnicity and Community in Chicana/o Writing (New
York: Peter Lang, 1998) 217-250.
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generation, second generation and third generation of the Angel family as denoted
above.
Language ideologies are cemented in the first generation that directly
experiences physical and cultural migration. Because the first generation of a
migratory family will find it more difficult to acquire fluent and native-like English
than the subsequent generations, there must be a compensation for their lack of social
success or assimilation. Miguel Chico, as Mamá Chona’s particularly favorite
grandchild, is chosen to be the one who shall make Mama Chona’s dream of having a
“university professor” in the Ángel family come true (5). Expectations for full
integration are therefore placed onto the subsequent generations that will experience
national birth in the new country. It is however always in this first generation that the
hope for increased assimilation and class status begins.
These challenges are experienced by the matriarch of the Ángel family, who
initiates the migration of the family to the US. Due to this experience, Mamá Chona
and her sister have definite and established views on their language, racialized
appearance, and class:
Tia Cuca was lighter-skinned than her sister Chona. Nevertheless, like
Mama Chona, she was unmistakably Mexican with enough Indian blood to
give her those aristocratic cheekbones the two sisters liked the younger
generation to believe were those highborn Spanish ladies who just happened to
find themselves in the provinces of Mexico. Their Spanish was a cultivated
imitation of the Castilian Spanish they believed reigned supreme over all
dialects, and they despaired that anyone in Miguel Chico’s generation, because
they were attending “American” school, would ever master it. They were right.
(141)
The irony in these women’s elitist views of their heritage and language is that both are
inevitably and “unmistakably Mexican,” as revealed not only by their racial traits but
their nationality. As Enrique G. López states, “Chona’s real name, Encarnación
Olmeca de Angel, translates into English as ‘angelic incarnation of the Olmec,’ with
this Mesoamerican Indian culture reflecting one of the most advanced and influential
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Amerindian civilizations” (54). As indicated by her name, Mamá Chona becomes the
embodiment of contradiction. She refuses to appropriate the very aspect of her identity
that is actually tied to her possible European heritage, that is, the indigenous
Mesoamerican culture. The Spanish she and her sister speak may indeed be
“cultivated,” but this only signals its artificiality and rehearsed attainment. The
Spanish dialect from Spain is preferred by these two figures and thus the younger
generations realize the pejorative treatment of their Mexican heritage: “[T]he snobbery
Mama Chona and Tia Cuca displayed in every way possible against the Indian and in
favor of the Spanish in the Angels’ blood” is a source of “a constant puzzlement to
most of the grandchildren” (142). Only later can the third generation reflect upon this
irony. However confusing their grandmother’s and great-aunt’s prejudice is, it
inevitably affects the ideologies of the second and third generation.
As seen above, Mamá Chona and Tía Cuca reject their Mexican heritage and
dialect. This ideology is passed down through advice and interactions with the
subsequent generations. One of the most interesting reflections of this ideology is the
first generation’s views on literacy. The prejudice against the indigenous Mexican
heritage spills over onto those less socioeconomically privileged. Immigrant women
hired to take care of the children are viewed by Mamá Chona as “ill educated and she
thought them very bad influences, particularly when they were allowed to spend much
time with her favorites” (14). The “ill” education of these women stems from their
apparent illiteracy and warrants them incapable of being decent language models for
the grandmother’s favorites. Her ideology on language and heritage is internalized to
the degree that even in her last stages of life, Mamá Chona retains her stereotype of
“lower class” Mexicans. “‘Is the Indian here yet?’ Mama Chona would ask from the
heights of her sickbed, even after she had forgotten most of her own children’s names.
… Having forgotten her question, Mama Chona would comment grouchily on the
terrible accent of the illiterate masses” (143). Even the loss of memory attributed to
old age and illness cannot erase Mamá Chona’s prejudices against those she views as
inferior due to their language and literacy, or lack thereof. “Accent” becomes
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indicative of poor education and illiteracy, thus revealing the connection between both
language and education within this generation’s ideologies.
Education therefore becomes a specific interest for Mamá Chona and her
grandchildren. In Spanish, Mamá Chona advises her two favorites, JoEl and Miguel
Chico: “‘listen to your teachers at school, … and learn to speak English the way they
do. I speak it with an accent, so you must not imitate me. I will teach you how to
speak Spanish properly for the family occasions’” (141-142). Mamá Chona recognizes
the importance of fluent and “accent-less” bilingualism for her grandchildren’s
success. However tainted her English, she holds herself to be the sole adequate model
for their Spanish education. Spanish is reserved for intimate family occasions,
establishing a separate language domain and functional use that will promote and
maintain their bilingualism. Mamá Chona then is already establishing a need for
Spanish within subsequent generations and preparing them for a bilingual
development, under her control. From her aspirations for Miguel Chico we know that
Mamá Chona certainly wants subsequent generations to assimilate in order to gain
social status. Although she refuses bilingual education in school because she wishes
her family to have English without Spanish interference, she takes on the role of
bilingual educator, focusing on her model Spanish to make her relatives bilingual for
their familial interactions. She goes on to reinforce that “[a] truly educated person …
speaks more than one language fluently” (142). Her push for second-language
acquisition results in a bilingualism that her children (the second generation) and
grandchildren (the third generation) have the privilege of acquiring. Because of her
ideologies and decisive inclusion in her grandchildren’s educación, subsequent
generations must deal with her influence.
Although I have designated Mamá Chona’s children as the second generation
of the Angel family, they are also part of the first generation of immigrants. This
generation will reflect more of an adherence to the ideologies established by Mamá
Chona precisely because of the financial stability they enjoy in their new country.
Depending on how financially stable and socially established this generation is, the
solidification of class ideologies will also vary. For the second generation of the Angel
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family, we see an application of Mamá Chona’s ideologies because of their status as
“first generation Americans.”
The second generation adheres to the ideology of their social position as
Americans. This second generation then can better function in the new country and
language because they have greater access to it. Under the subscription to language
hierarchies, they are further prompted to acquire and develop a bilingual ease. Miguel
Grande along with his best friend were some of the first Mexicans on the police force
and recognized that “they were Americans now, even if privately and among
themselves they still called each other chicanitos. Their great, great grandfathers had
long since left Castile to conquer and mix their blood with the natives of Mexico, and
death in Madrid meant nothing to them” (59). Their Spanish heritage is overlooked in
order to privilege their American assimilation. Although they acknowledge their
mixed heritage, it is only among themselves that they address each other by their
status as Mexican American, or Chicana/os. The social position and economic stability
their American-ness has given them is a great source of enjoyment. This financial
security allows them certain dispensable income and time so that “on weekends the
four of them went to nightclubs across the border, danced all night, and acted like the
rich gringos who lived on the hill” (59). Acceptance of the American myths of social
mobility has taken place in this second generation. Miguel Grande recognizes that “the
North American dream had worked for him. Only his family reminded him of his
roots, and except for his mother he avoided them as much as possible” (77). We see
that Miguel Grande and the rest of his generation have found lower middle-class
stability in their lives. They are content with life as Americans but unfortunately
reveal some of the earlier generation’s superiority complex.
This generation can never fully reject or abandon Mamá Chona’s linguistic and
social prejudices. Miguel Grande, Félix, Jesus María, and Eduviges all share the
discriminatory views on “lower class” or newly arrived immigrants from México.
Miguel Grande refuses to even directly speak to women his wife hires to help her with
the house duties, referring to them as “wetbacks” (143). His sisters likewise avoid
direct interaction and “left notes for the ‘domestics’ (the Spanish word criadas is
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harsher) and spoke to them only when they had not done their chores properly. Mamá
Chona had taught all her children that the Angels were better off than the riff-raff from
across the river” (15). By using the English translation of “domestics” first, Islas
highlights the discriminatory and pejorative nature of its Spanish equivalent,
“criadas.” Marta R. Sánchez interprets this translation as a cue Islas offers his readers:
He prefers the less accurate but softer ‘domestics,’ inserting it within quotation
marks. At the level of the plot, the narrator informs both groups of readers that
he disagrees with the family’s harsh attitude toward undocumented women
upon whom they depend. At the level of narrative voice, however, he is letting
his Anglophonic readers know that they are not the only audience and that the
harsh term criadas cannot be translated into English. A certain level of
experience is inaccessible to them. Its untranslatability defends this text against
being homogenized or essentialized. (301)
Even Félix, who is presented as one of the Mamá Chona’s most controversial and
“sinful” children, reflects discriminatory attitudes towards his own workers. After a
heated argument with his son, Félix finds it all too easy to take out his displeasure on
one of his immigrant workers:
“Hey, Jefe, it was only a joke.” The young Mexican pronounced the
English ‘j’ like a ’y’ and Felix said to him angrily, “Hey, pendejo, why don’t
you stop being a stupid wetback and learn English?” Then, murmuring an
apology, he walked toward the man as if to embrace him, gave him a strange
look, and walked away. (117)
Islas again draws attention to the linguistic variation of the two speakers. Highlighting
the Mexican accent Mamá Chona hates, Félix quickly targets it as a defect to criticize.
Privileged because of his bilingual fluency, Félix looks down on his worker’s accent
and lack of education or assimilation, just like his mother. And despite the selfrealization of his malice, he can only “mumble” an apology and keep himself from
physical contact with this worker in order to make amends.73 Thus we see in all Mamá
73
Although here Félix uses his language to exert his power over this worker as his boss, he also exploits
his workers’ positionality in service of his homosexual desire. For detailed readings on the importance
of the queer body and its desires in this novel please refer to Michael Hardin, “Make a Run from the
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Chona’s children that she has accomplished the transference of a sense of superiority
in class and language.
Even those only attached to the Ángel family by marriage, Juanita and her
sister Nina, (despite their refusal of the Ángels' snobbery), adhere to some of the
shared ideology on literacy and language. Juanita (Miguel Grande’s wife) rebels
against their hypocritical actions: “They’ve eaten beans all their lives. They’re no
better than anyone else,’ she said to her sister Nina. ‘I’m not going to let my kids grow
up to be snobs. The Angels! If they’re so great, why do I have to work to help take
care of them?’” (15). Juanita refuses to accept the Ángel family’s sense of superiority
over the illiterate hired help. She defends her child’s caretaker (María) because she
can appreciate her hard work. Juanita does not want to pass on such prejudices to her
children. Her disgruntled comment, however, results more from that fact that she
herself has to work to help “support” the family. Juanita also realizes that her sister
Nina needs to advance her own literacy skills: “‘You’re going to remain an illiterate
Mexican all your life,’ Juanita told her as she kissed her son good-night” (42). Nina
does not reject literacy as such, but rather the type of literacy Juanita implies. Juanita’s
tastes run with the Western tradition of upper middle-class society narratives. Nina
claims: “I can read what I need to know. Anyway, in this country, all you really need
to know is how to count” (42). She refuses to pick up her sister’s reading habits and
questions the lack of narratives based on Mexican heritage and lives; it is only in this
cultural literacy that Nina is interested. Hence, Juanita as an Ángel by marriage differs
from her sister. Although she realizes the elitist tendencies displayed by Mamá
Chona’s children, Juanita subscribes to their views on literacy. Nina wholly rejects
this, opting for Mexican-centered culture and literature.
Borderlands: Arturo Islas’s The Rain God and Migrant Souls and the Need to Escape Homophobic
Masternarratives,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe:
Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 219-242, John Honerkamp, “Awash in a Valley of Tears: The
Dialectics of Generation in Arturo Isals’s The Rain God,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions,
ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 77-90, Vivian Nun
Halloran, “The Monstrous Pseudopregnant Body as Border Crossing Metaphor in The Rain God,”
Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual
Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 91-102, Minich, Rosaura Sánchez, “Ideological Discourses,” and David
N. Ybarra, “Another Closet in the House of Angels: The Denial of Identity in The Rain God,” Critical
Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial
Bilingüe, 2008) 103-114.
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The second generation displays solidarity with each other based on their
linguistic identities and ideology. During a family poker game everyone also plays
with language: “‘Tenk joo berry mahch,’ she [Juanita] said in a hammed up Mexican
accent” (72). Others also play up their Mexican accent when in each other’s company.
Nina responds to her sister’s word and card play: “‘That’s my herman,’ she said to her
hermana. They had Anglicized the word for sister and used it as a term of endearment
with each other” (74). This generation manipulates their two languages, reflecting an
adherence to the ideology of accent in speech, but enacting linguistic play through
code-switches and phonetic imposition between the languages they own. Using a
heavy Mexican accent is part of the game. It should not however be confused for
solidarity with those of a different (i.e. “lower”) class. Instead it is group solidarity
that unites them as a family in their shared experience as the first generation of
American Angels.
In the second generation of the Angel family we also see the assimilation into
American society. For David Rice, “the older second generation also struggles with
being Angels, even if they do so in hushed tones and with unofficial comment” (187).
As the first generation of Americans working to stabilize themselves in a new country
and society, it becomes difficult to disassociate their pride in social status and
achievement with the sense of superiority that Mamá Chona has transferred to them.
Although those related to the family by kinship and marriage disapprove of the
discrimination and snobbery displayed by the Angel family, they too adhere to
prejudices.
One of the most controversial characters within the Ángel family is Félix’s
wife, Angie. Her mere presence within the family contradicts and problematizes the
family’s race, class, and language ideologies. She becomes the receptacle for the
family’s discriminations. Introduced to the family as an act of rebellion herself, she
maintains an outsider status, being looked down on because of her class status,
racialization, and language skills. When she discovers Félix’s intent to marry Angie,
his sister Jesús María has the most intense response:
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“How could you do this to us? After all the sacrifices we’ve made for you?
Now you’re going to marry that India and leave the burden of this household
to us.” Jesus Maria had light skin and anyone darker she considered an
“Indian.” She said she did not understand how Angie had even gotten through
school. Obviously she belonged to that loathsome group of Indians who were
herded through the system, taught to add at least since they refused to learn any
language properly, and then let loose among decent people who must put up
with their ignorance. Jesus Maria knew that her family was better than such
illiterates and she would prove it by going on to college. (127-128)
Jesus María considers Angie an illiterate and language-less Indian unworthy of her
family’s name. In fact, she does not care about the supposed “sacrifices” the family
has made for Félix, she wants merely to be able to attend college. This of course will
become increasingly difficult without a stable family income, the position Félix is
refusing to fill. By labeling and referring to her sister-in-law as Indian, Jesus María
denotes Angie as socially and intellectually inferior to her family.
Angie is conscious of her status within the family. She rebels against their
discriminatory ideologies by indulging in the very heritage they try so hard to forget.
She incorporates her rebellious act in the home: “Angie painted the rooms brilliant
colors to annoy Felix’s sisters, knowing that Jesus María and Eduviges disapproved of
her and thought her a ‘lower class Mexican.’ She had also chosen the colors for their
names: Perico Tropical and Sangrita del Rey” (120). Indeed, Angie displays her
“Mexican-ness” in order to further infuriate her sisters-in-law. She brings the heritage
they overlook vividly to life as she paints her house with the vivid colors of Mexican
culture. However, this is not to say that Angie herself accepts the family’s view of her
as an illiterate non-English speaker. Addressing her son JoEl she states, “‘You are just
like your father … Stubborn and too proud for your own good.’ She spoke English
with a heavy Mexican accent and used it only when she wanted to make ‘important’
statements” (119). Like her second-generation counterparts, Angie’s bilingualism is
functionally specialized. She reserves English for disciplinary action with her children,
but also indulges their playfulness through her language choice. This same rebellious
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nature is later taken up by her daughters and they accept her accent, despite their
distaste for its sound. Angie becomes the dichotomy of the family, for although she
fulfills their linguistic and classist nightmares, she is twice the Ángel any of them are.
Her name literally translates into “Angelic Angel,” however Indian the family may
want her to remain. As we have seen earlier, even among the generation following
Mamá Chona, linguistic prejudices reveal racist and classist views. The character of
Angie serves as a catalyst for all of these to surface, even in the subsequent generation.
The third generation of the Ángel family is the most assimilated of all,
enjoying a native bilingualism and extensive education. Rice explains that “[f]or many
of the younger Angels, education has become one way that they have attempted to get
a hold on the shifting border of their cosmopolitan ethnic identities” (190). I would
argue that the two boys, or Mamá Chona’s favorites, are indelibly marked by their
grandmother’s race and class ideologies. It is in these two that we see arrogance
prompted by superiority towards not only the second but first generation. The
narrative voice Islas always returns to is Miguel Chico’s. Through his point of view
we see that in their maturity:
[H]is cousins and he smiled at each other when she [Mama Chona] began
telling her tales of family incidents and relatives long since dead and buried.
By then, in their young adulthood, they knew the ‘truth’ and were too selfinvolved in their educations away from her and the family to give her credit for
trying to spare them the knowledge that she, too, knew it. (27)
Their shared smile comes from their collective recognition of the underlying irony in
the Angel family ideology. Added to by Mamá Chona’s decrease in health and mental
coherence, the third generation begins to exercise the privilege of mocking the earlier
generations. They reflect an arrogance that is especially taken up by Miguel Chico
because of his university education.
Miguel Chico begins to distance himself from the family early on in order to
protect his hidden sexuality. He rejects the ways of his parents’ generation:
It was, he thought, another sign of the Catholic guilt and desire for punishment
that plagued his parents’ generation and from which there seemed no escape.
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In his arrogance, Miguel believed he was finding ways out of it through his
university education. He had not yet had time to combine learning with
experience, however, and he still felt himself superior to those who had
brought him up and loved him. (91)
This naive sense of superiority (because there is no life experience to sustain it) turns
to disdain, especially towards she who doted on him. Later on in life his attitude
towards Mamá Chona becomes strongly defined by this disdain: “Miguel Chico hated
her for this very trait, seeing it as part of the Spanish conquistador snobbery that
refused to associate itself with anything Mexican or Indian because it was somehow
impure” (27). Only through his university-acquired knowledge of the Spanish
Conquest does his “hatred” towards his grandmother begin. However, he does not
completely disregard the ideology of class and language that she transposed onto him.
Instead they are combined into his worldview. This becomes obvious when María, his
childhood nanny, reappears in his life: “He was feeling bitterness toward her and all
people who thought like her because they seemed so literal and simpleminded. … He
was still seeing people, including himself, as books. He wanted to edit them, correct
them, make them behave differently. And so he continued to read them as if they were
invented by someone else, and he failed to take into account their separate realities,
their differences from himself” (26). This is one of the most fascinating descriptions of
Miguel Chico’s worldview at one point in his life because not only does he show
discrimination against the “lower class” literacy of his childhood caretaker Maria, but
he generalizes his experience with her to a wider populace. Those of María’s “kind,”
an inherently different subset of people, are too simplistic for his cultivated
knowledge. Their “literality” seems pathetic to Miguel Chico since he “edits” others’
presence within his life.74 He is detached from his life story and refuses to take into
account the web of narratives that form each presence. Miguel distances himself so
well from his family, and himself, that they become fictional characters rather than
people.
74
This instantiates Erlinda Gonzáles-Berry’s reading of Miguel Chico remaining “emotionally
detached, intellectually aloof, and disturbingly reticent about his life” throughout the novel (20).
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Along with Miguel Chico, JoEl is one of Mamá Chona’s favorite
grandchildren. He displays arrogance towards his family and his attitude towards his
mother reveals his internalization of Mamá Chona’s language ideology: “after his first
year in school JoEl learned to be ashamed of the way his mother abused the language.
The others, including Felix, loved to tease and imitate her. Their English was perfect
and Spanish surfaced only when they addressed their older relatives or when they were
with their Mexican school friends at social events” (119). Despite Angie’s tolerance
and acceptance of her children’s American education and the linguistic and cultural
distance it creates in her relationships to them, JoEl cannot help but feel ashamed by
her. Her use of the English language, heavily influenced by her heritage language, is
experienced as “abuse” to his bilingual ears. Along with his education comes the
devaluation of his mother. Encouraged by his father’s mockery of her language, JoEl
views his mother as an inferior linguistic entity. Angie’s language garners her little
respect and sympathy from her youngest child JoEl.
The two girl cousins of this generation, Yerma and Magdalena (Lena), display
the greatest rejection of their grandmother’s and relatives’ ideologies through their
relationship to Angie. Neither of these two is included as one of Mamá Chona’s
favorites. Yerma is the reason for Mamá Chona’s tolerance of Angie within the family
because when she was born, “Mama Chona forgave Felix for marrying beneath him
when she saw her granddaughter, for whom she would have felt unrestrained affection
had Yerma’s skin been lighter” (128). Yerma inherits the racial traits of her mother
and therefore cannot be fully embraced by Mamá Chona. A good student and
musically talented, Yerma is the more prudish of the two daughters. Complaining
about her mother’s choice of paint colors for their house, Yerma remains bothered by
Angie’s “Mexicanness.” She, along with Lena, “had long since despaired of teaching
Angie the good taste they had learned in their home economics classes at school”
(120). Like their brother and male cousin, both girls share the opportunity to use their
“good taste” and education against their mother, but neither do. Yerma vocalizes her
distaste of her mother’s color choice and finds her mother’s response comical:
“[W]hen Yerma figured out that her mother had combined current slang with a French
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dessert, she was too amused to insist on a subdued version of the colors already drying
on the walls. From then on, anything white they disliked gave them all the ‘suzie
creeps’” (121). Angie’s linguistic mix-up pacifies and endears her to Yerma. Yerma
concedes to her mother’s color choice and goes on to adapt and appropriate her
mother’s new phrase, using it as a source of familial bonding. Yerma, although not as
rebellious as her sister, challenges the rejection of her mother by the rest of the Ángel
family by showing acceptance towards her mother’s language and class.
Of all the third generation children, the most overtly rebellious to the family’s
ideologies is Lena. Inheriting her mother’s spunky nature, she intentionally pushes the
family to their discriminatory limits:
Lena was a scandal to the family because she ran around with the “low
class” Mexicans in her high school. She was not a good student like Yerma or
her cousin Miguel Chico, whom she judged “goody-goodies.” To Lena being
young meant having fun and she enjoyed herself in ways that horrified her
father’s sister and would have shocked Mama Chona had she known. Lena
helped organize a club of Mexican girls called “Las Rucas,” and they
sponsored dances which the pachucos attended faithfully. … She did not speak
to her aunts, and when family occasions demanded that they be together, Lena
put on more makeup than usual and wore the shortest, tightest skirt she could
find. … The hypocrisy of the family enraged her. (85)
The irony of the family’s ideologies is intensified in Lena’s view and turned to blatant
hypocrisy. She reorders the family’s hierarchies, placing emphasis on her Mexican
heritage and lower class status. Her family’s prejudices become an extension of
society’s discrimination toward her identity. She manipulates her language in order to
resist her family, adapting her Spanish to the much-resisted Caló version. After the
death of her father and her uncle’s disgraceful failure to defend Felix, Lena responds
to his apology with: “‘Tell it to the judge, you fucking hypocrite.’ She slammed the
door and ran into the house. A few months later she was glad to find out that he had
not been selected chief, thinking it might force him to understand what life was really
like for ‘low class’ Mexicans in the land that guaranteed justice under the law for all”
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(88). The discrimination against “lower class” Mexicans exhibited by her family
drives Lena to revel in her uncle’s unsuccessful bid for professional and social
promotion. She finds comfort in knowing that he must sooner or later face the
hypocrisy he has created.
Lena goes above and beyond Yerma’s acceptance of her mother’s status within
the family. Although we might assume that Lena is just as likely to tease and mock her
mother’s language as Yerma, she proves otherwise. When Angie calls Lena to come
inside in her broken English, Lena begs for her to repeat her request: “‘No, Ma, not in
Spanish. Say it in English.’… ‘Magdah-leen, kahm een.’ Lena shrieked with delight.
… ‘Oh, Mama, just a few more minutes.’ She said ‘mama’ in the Spanish way. ‘No
senorita. Joo mas kahm een rye now.’ More howls… Lena barely noticed [when her
boyfriend left]. She was too taken up by her mother, whom she adored” (119-120). At
first glance it is easy to interpret Lena’s request for her mother’s accented English as a
request for more substance to mock, especially because of a present third party. But
when we realize that Lena does not even notice the absence of her boyfriend, we
recognize that her “adoration” for her mother goes beyond any temporary love
interest. She prioritizes her relationship with her mother above her current significant
other and shows unconditional love and appreciation for her mother’s language and
position within her family.
The third generation of the Ángel family all find themselves on a continuum of
the family’s class and language ideologies. Vacillating between the two extremes of
complete rejection and complete acceptance, all the children share American-born
citizenship and assimilation. The focus on their individual formal education interferes
only slightly with their educación when, as shown through the arrogance of the two
boys, they find added knowledge with which to judge their family. On the other side
of the continuum are the two girls. Decisively not Mamá Chona’s favorites, they
embrace their mother and the language and social status she represents, as well as the
ideologies she disrupts in the family.
The Rain God introduces us to an immigrant family whose generations seek to
find their place and identities in a new country. Passing on her ideologies on language
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and class, Mamá Chona is reflected in her children’s attitudes towards newly arrived
immigrants and views on literacy. Her children and their spouses find themselves
contented to be new Americans. The financial stability of their social status and fluent
bilingualism allow for the adherence to their mother’s ideologies. Angie becomes the
exception to the claims of racial superiority in the family. Receiving the family’s
constant disapproval, she in turn reveals some of the third generation’s attitude
towards language and class. This third generation, inheriting their parents’
assimilation and bilingualism, find a distance from their family through education. The
two boys retain a sense of superiority and arrogantly apply that judgment to their own
relatives. The girls on the other hand, embrace their mother and in doing so rebel
against the family’s language ideology.
Embodying Bilingualism in Caramelo
As in The Rain God, the protagonist of Caramelo, Celaya, inherits Spanish
through her family’s migratory experiences to the US from México. Unlike Miguel
Chico however, Celaya grows up always returning to México for annual trips. She is
able to cross and re-cross the border along with her extended family network so that
she has access to models of Spanish as a dominant language. She is part of the third
generation of her family, US born to a second-generation Mexican national and a first
generation Mexican American. Intergenerational transmission, as well as continued
access to México, has allowed Spanish to persist and be maintained in her generation.
Although the third generation’s Spanish is perceived deplorable by the ruling
matriarch, Soledad (aka Awful Grandmother), their bilingualism as exemplified
through Celaya is quite exquisite. Celaya does being a bilingual Chicana by claiming
her cultural identity as a Mexican, especially when she is on the US side of the border.
By doing so, non-Mexican national identities (such as Chicana/o or Mexican
American) that are traditionally excluded because of their cultural and geographical
relationship to the US are redefined, affirmed, and validated as types of Mexican
identity. Throughout the narrative Celaya employs her bilingual language usage to
help readers understand the sensorial relationship of language to her identity and
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environment, aptly sharing her multisensory experience of the intricacies of a bilingual
existence as a Chicana.
As mentioned in the introduction, the novel posits Mexican as an ethnic
identity category that supersedes citizenry or national state of birth. The typology of
Mexican identities includes Mexican American, American Mexican, Mexican
Mexican, American, Spanish, and Chicana/o. The definition of each of these depends
on who you ask, on which side of the border you are, on which side of the border you
are from, on which side of the border they are on and which side of the border they are
from. The US-México border becomes a reference point for Mexican identities on
both sides, creating fluidity versus the typical one-way fashion of ascribing Mexican
cultural and national identities. Celaya grows up knowing that her Mexican identity
shifts and is constantly redefined according to this paradigm. Celaya’s mother tells her
that “–[i]f a woman’s crazy jealous like Licha you can bet it’s because some one’s
giving her reason to be, know what I mean? It’s that she’s from over there, Mother
continues, meaning from the Mexican side, and not this side. –Mexican women are
just like the Mexican songs, locas for love” (11). Celaya’s mother, an American
Mexican (born and raised on the US side of the border) identifies differences in
Mexican Mexican (born and raised on the Mexican side of the border) women’s
behavior given this formulation and reference to the border. Likewise, Celaya knows
how to shift her interpretation of “this side” and offer it to us as readers because of her
implicit knowledge of the shifting nature of the border as a reference point. While in
México with her aunt Licha, she is told: “She was like you, Lala, a girl born on the
other side who speaks Spanish with an accent” (266). For her aunt, a Mexican national
and citizen, Celaya’s identity as a Mexican is located on the US side of the border,
“the other side” from her aunt’s perspective. Celaya’s Mexican identity is also
linguistically marked by her aunt who does not negate or question her ability to speak
Spanish, but must accentuate its difference, inferring the American or English
influence of being on the “other” side. Through the constant redefinition of her
Mexican identity by others Celaya becomes an expert interpreter of the border as a
reference point for identities she is ascribed.
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This expertise allows her to successfully claim her identity as Mexican,
especially when it is questioned on the US side of the border. Celaya is confronted
twice by her peers and classmates, first by a group of young men:
–Hey, hippie girl, you Mexican? On both sides?
–Front and back, I say.
–You sure don’t look Mexican.
A part of me wants to kick their ass. A part of me feels sorry for their
stupid ignorant selves. But if you’ve never been farther south than Nuevo
Laredo, how the hell would you know what Mexicans are supposed to look
like? ... Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about when you say I don’t
look Mexican. I am Mexican. Even though I was born on the U.S. side of the
border (352-353).
Despite the fact that the extremity of her annoyance leads her to feel violent anger and
pity, Celaya uses her wit to retort, deconstructing the questioning of her Mexican
identity based on her race and physical appearance. Her classmates display an
ignorance of the complexity and diversity of Mexican identities that Celaya achieves
given her access and frequent trips throughout US Mexican communities as well as
México.75 Celaya is further questioned by her female classmates:
Heat making white people goofy pink, and brown people shiny.
Is hell Cookie Cantú and her yappy perras talking shit like, –Brown power!
Making fists and chanting, –Viva la raza. Or, –I’m Chicana and proud,
wha’chu wanna do about it, pendeja?
Give me a break already.
When they catch me alone, –Bitch! Pretending like you’re Spanish and
shit....
Pisses me off. What can you say when you know who you are?
75
Juanita Heredia argues that Cisneros “also demonstrates that the Chicana narrator may not appear like
a Mexican but she identifies with her Mexican heritage because through visits to Mexico she has
witnessed and learned about the internal cultural diversity and discrimination within the nation” (345).
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They call me bolilla when they cross my path, or worse, gabacha. Who
wants to be called a white girl? I mean, not even white girls want to be called
white girls. Words I can ignore. It’s the chingazos that do the damage. (354)
Because she confesses to sharing indulgent tales of her family’s royal Spanish
heritage, her female classmates target her reluctance to claim a Mexican identity like
theirs. Their confrontational Chicana identity politics lead them to violent interactions
with Celaya, who does not engage with their tactics because she is solid in her sense of
Mexican identity. Celaya feels no need to dissuade her harassers from their erroneous
interpretation of her identity, as she knows that she is inherently and unquestionably
Mexican like them.
Like individual Mexican-based identities, the relationships between the
varieties of Mexican identities change once on the US side of the border. Unlike her
granddaughter, Soledad is unprepared for the interpretive shift her identity takes once
she arrives to the US: “Instead of being treated like the royalty they were, they were
after all Mexicans, they were treated like Mexicans, which was something that
altogether startled Grandmother. In the neighborhoods she could afford, she couldn’t
stand being associated with these low-class Mexicans, but in the neighborhoods she
couldn’t, her neighbors couldn’t stand being associated with her” (289). Soledad is
shocked upon entering the US’s racial and class system because she is no longer
hierarchically safe from discrimination. What “being Mexican” means to her does not
hold in this new social, economic, cultural, and geographical ambience and so she is
humbled by her socioeconomic reality, which keeps her from changing class and
reinterpreting her Mexican identity for higher symbolic and material value. Inocencio,
Celaya’s father, explains that the American Mexican and Mexican Mexican conflict
that lands him in jail is based on distinct notions of patriotism and honor:
People think because we carry the same blood we’re all brothers, but it’s
impossible for us to get along, you have no idea. They always look down on us
nationals, understand? And so whenever we scored, some pocho would shout
an insult ...
Worse was their lack of respect during the Mexican national anthem ...
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And then they started with, “We didn’t come to this country because we were
starving to death,” that’s what they said. “No,” I said, “you came because your
fathers were a bunch of cowards and deserted their patria during its time of
need.” ...
And the Mexicans from over here more American than anything, and us
Mexicans from over there even more Mexican than Zapata. (216-217)
The impossibility of peaceful and coalitional relationships between American and
Mexican Mexicans is based on the exaggerated patriotism that results from their
competitive interaction. As the soccer game intensifies the Mexicans begin to
accentuate each other’s difference as based solely on cultural and national affect,
targeting their relationship and loyalty to their Mexican homeland and heritage as
exemplary of their true identity ties. The difficulty in redefining and accepting
Mexican identities within the US leads to conflict amongst Mexican identities.
Although the general outcome of interactions between Chicana/os and
Mexican Mexicans is foreshadowed by Celaya’s and Inocencio’s experiences, these
relations are not completely impossible. When returning from México, Celaya’s father
runs into an old friend:
–Well, he talked a Spanish like he came from another planet, but he was
Mexican too, a Mexican from the other side. From Texas, that is ...
At this point Mars interrupts, –Aw, it’s cause we’re raza, ése ...
–But the day I met my friend here … he walked me over to the train
station, gave me the Mexican good-bye—un abrazo and the double pat on the
back...
–Because we’re raza, Mars says, shrugging. –Know what I’m talking
about? Because we’re familia. And familia, like it or not, for richer or poorer,
familia always gots to stick together, bro’.
Then Mars does the funky raza handshake with Father, like Chicano
power, and Father, who is always ranting and raving about Chicanos, the same
Father who calls Chicanos exagerados, vulgarones, zoot-suiting wild-talking,
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mota-smoking, forgot-they-were-Mexican Mexicans, surprises us all. Father
handshakes the funky handshake back. (280-281)
Although Celaya and her siblings are shocked at this friendship because they have
already been exposed to their father’s pejorative views on Chicana/os, Inocencio
highlights Mars’s community building values and generosity as foundational in
establishing their relationship. Mars is able to embrace Inocencio because of their
Mexican heritage and Inocencio can accept their linguistic and national differences on
these same terms. This long-standing friendship comes to an end with Celaya’s father
“cursing all Chicanos for acting like Chicanos and giving Mexico a bad name” only
when Inocencio’s citizenship is questioned by the state:
–You it was who called la Migra!
–What’chu talking about, man?
–You it was. You called la Migra. Explain. How is it the Immigration only
came to my shop that day, and not yours, eh?
–Man, estás zafado. You shitty chilangos always think you know
everything!
–Baboso. Can’t even speak your mother tongue!
–I can speak my mother tongue all right, but you can bet it ain’t Spanish.
(380)
Inocencio immediately accuses Mars of instigating the immigration officials’ visit to
his shop because he assumes Mars’s citizenship goes unquestioned as a Mexican from
the US. In the face of this threat to his sense of stability in his new nation of residence
Inocencio must cut ties with those he identifies as established and linked to an
American identity. Inocencio targets the differences between him and Mars as
indicative of Mars’s and other Chicana/os’ inadequate representation of México
through language and behavior. Although ultimately temporary, the prolonged
friendship between a Chicana/o and Mexican Mexican reflects that within the novel’s
identity politics this is one of the most viable.
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Indeed, Celaya is able to sustain her own long-lasting relationship with a
Chicana. The beginning of Celaya’s and her best friend Viva’s friendship is marked by
their shared Mexican heritage:
–Stupid! My name is Viviana. And they named that friggin’ paper towel
after me! Honest to God, you don’t know shit.
It’s true. I don’t know a thing. I mean, compared to Viva. At least until we
talk about Mexico.
–I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been there, Viva says.
–No way. You’ve never been to Mexico?
–Only to Nuevo Laredo. My family’s from here. Since before.
–Since before what?
–Since before this was Texas. We’re been here seven generations.
I can’t even imagine staying in one place for seven years. (327-328)
Celaya accepts Viva’s critiques of her inadequate cultural knowledge as a newcomer
to Texas, acknowledging Viva’s insider expertise. She is however shocked by Viva’s
permanent residency and heritage in Texas as her own development has been marked
by constant migration to and from México. Viva herself is undisturbed by this fact
because she does not locate her identity in the current-day México that Celaya knows
but the region that historically belonged to México prior to the present day border.
Viva’s knowledge base and friendship is appealing to Celaya because they share
cultural and national heritage: “—Gold hoops look good on us, Viva says. She means
Mexicans, and who am I to argue with the fashion expert” (337). Celaya welcomes
Viva’s advice because Viva has looked past the differences in their Mexican identities.
Viva upholds Mexican national and cultural heritage above all and, as a Chicana,
exemplifies (as did Mars) values of coalitional identity politics within Mexican
identities. Unlike her father, Celaya is able to develop and maintain a significant
relationship with another Chicana because they recognize their similarities as US-born
Mexicans.
Having looked at the ways in which Celaya can successfully claim her Chicana
identity within the Mexican identity politics tied to the border and her migrations, I
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now turn to the ways Celaya exemplifies her bilingual identity through simultaneous
literal and cultural translations and interpretations, sensitivity to language at the
lexical, semantic, and phonological levels, explication of lexical gaps, and
metaphorical code-switching. All of these uses of her languages are natural to her as
they are representative of the ways in which her bilingualism shapes her reality.
As the readers’ guide, Celaya as narrator employs her bilingualism to
continuously translate and interpret possible cultural and linguistic incongruence.
When introducing her family in Chicago she states: “everyone knows Uncle Fat-Face
by his Italian nickname, Rico, instead of Fat-Face or Federico, even though ‘rico’
means ‘rich’ in Spanish, and Uncle is always complaining he is pobre, pobre. –It is no
disgrace to be poor, Uncle says, citing the Mexican saying, –but it’s very
inconvenient” (10). The layers of translation here are clear as Celaya begins by
offering us the English version of her uncle’s Spanish nickname, whose literal
translation would not be culturally understood to an English-language culture such as
the American.76 Because of this she moves on to define the abbreviated version of his
Spanish first name, which she can pinpoint as inherently contradictory to her uncle’s
perceived and actual socioeconomic status. By highlighting the “Mexican saying”
Celaya begins to play a politics of translation that simultaneously allows non-Spanish
linguistic and cultural others to follow along while maintaining their outside status.
There is ultimately only so much that Celaya as a bilingual can do for English
monolingual and non-Mexican cultured individuals. Upon sneaking into their
grandmother’s room in México, Celaya and her cousins read the text on her pillows:
“—Amor de mi vida, Ito whispers. –Solo tú. Eres mi destino. Amor eterno—Narciso y
Soledad.*” … “*Mexican pillows embroidered with Mexican piropos, sugary as any
chuchuluco. Siempre Te Amare, I’ll Always Love You. Que Bonito Amor, What a
Pretty Love. Suspiro Por Ti, I Sigh For you. Mi Vida Eres Tú, My Life is You. Or the
ever popular, Mi Vida, My Life” (42-45). Although these are not immediately
76
Lisa Wagner indicates that this use of language in Cisneros’s works “hace accesible a los lectores no
hispanohablantes un mundo ajeno y consigue presentar la idea que nose puede llegar a coocer una
cultura mediante una simple tradución de una lengua a otra” (2 of 6).
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translated for readers,77 we are offered a description of the flowery and sweet nature of
the language being described. Celaya is sensitive to the different register of Spanish
language used on the pillows and how to interpret this as part of Mexican cultural
niceties and compliments. Differences in language use are evident for Celaya in her
family’s traditions as exemplified on special occasions such as her father’s birthday:
“That’s why on the mornings of Father’s birth we wake to ‘The Little Mornings,’ and
not ‘Happy Birthday to You’ … –¡Felicidades! Happinesses!” (47-48). The tradition
of singing a celebratory song dedicated to the person whose birthday it is changes to
Spanish when in México. The literal translation of the name of the song in Spanish to
English as well as the literal translation “felicidades” allow readers to feel the shifts in
language use Celaya must enact when traveling to México. The literal translation is
Celaya offering as narrator for readers to understand the linguistic and cultural shifts,
as well as linguistic play, from English to Spanish and back, which she naturally
performs as a bilingual Chicana.
Literal translations however do not always suffice to convey sociocultural and
intrapersonal emotional ties to languages that Celaya owns as a bilingual, so she offers
her own interpretations as well. Celaya shares a strategy for coping with the emotional
lows experienced as a growing adolescent young woman:
I buy a ball of cotton string and double-zero needle at the Woolworth’s and
crotchet a dirty knot of lace because my hands always sweat, and I can’t keep
the string clean. There’s a poem by García Lorca we had to memorize once in
school. It has a line that goes “Who will buy from me this sadness of white
string to make handkerchiefs?” Something like that. It sounds kind of goofy in
English. ¿Quién me compraría a mí, este cintillo que tengo y esta tristeza de
hilo blanco, para hacer pañuelos? This sadness of white string. That’s how I
feel when I get the funkadelics. An endless white string full of tiny knots.
(316)
77
Cisnero’s literal translation is given within a footnote, which Ellen McCracken describes as one of
the author’s “innovative narrative techniques” used to guide an audience not versed “in the history and
customs of Mexico and Mexican-Americans” as well as “ethnographic counter-narratives that correct
the gap in the master narrative of U.S. and Mexican history” (4, 6).
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Celaya can only describe her mood swings by invoking the lyricism of Spanish. She
visualizes her depression as an intricately knitted yarn, the principal metaphor of the
poem that has remained in her memory. She discards her own English literal
translation as “goofy” and prioritizes the fluidity of sound and meaning of Spanish for
describing her internal emotional state. Later, when describing her grandmother’s
growing emotional relationship to her grandfather she states: “Like all novitiates,
Soledad sincerely believed the piropos Narciso tossed her way, a word in Spanish for
which there is no translation in English, except perhaps ‘harassment’ (in another age,
these were called ‘gallantries’)” (156). Celaya cannot translate the Spanish word
describing the type of language used to court women by Mexican men into English but
in her attempt to define it she includes her own critique of its coercive and outdated
nature. This foreshadows the way that love relationships are inevitably and necessarily
marked by language in the novel and Celaya’s life. In her bilingual capacities as
cultural interpreter and literal translator Celaya upholds Spanish as the best language
through which to represent her emotional life.
As a compound bilingual whose vocabulary is spread across two languages,
Celaya accesses both her languages together in order to accurately interpret and
experience her world. After questioning her father’s decision to stay in Chicago he
responds: “–Because it wasn’t my destino. And I wonder if he means ‘destiny’ or
‘destination.’ Or maybe both” (246). Although “destino” is a Spanish word that her
father, a predominately Spanish language user, is speaking to describe his travels,
Celaya does not isolate its possible intended meaning or definition to Spanish. The
interpretive depth of this Spanish word traverses into English because that is how
Celaya understands the world and its words, through both, simultaneously and without
neat separation. The play of meanings in Spanish is critical to her experiences and
interpretation of the world through her bilingualism. When in a depressed mood at
school Celaya is told: “–The trouble with you is you’re too somber, a nun at school
would tell me. Somber. I wonder if the word comes from the same place as sombrero”
(316). The English word somber is also not limited to an English-only etymology or
definition. Turning the adjective into a noun, Celaya understands the description of her
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mood as something that can be worn, easily put on and taken off—an appropriate
metaphor for her teenage mood swings. Through her reflections on the meaning and
origins of words Celaya reveals the necessary unity of her languages in her
understanding and navigation of her self and her world.
Celaya is extremely sensitive to the sounds of her languages, which she
experiences through their visualization: “Father pays no attention to Mother’s
complaints. Father laughs that laugh he always laughs when he finds the world
amusing. That laugh like las chicharras, a laugh like the letter ‘k’” (49). In Spanish
Celaya names the creatures that reproduce in a similar fashion the primary phoneme
that composes her father’s laughter. In English she isolates and highlights the specific
letter, which represents the same sound. In either and definitely both languages we can
hear and see the sounds which Celaya experiences. The same occurs with another
man’s voice: “Father’s compadre Señor Coochi is playing his guitar. The sound of
Señor Coochi’s voice trembling like tears, like water falling clear and cold. … It’s
funny to have someone singing to you like in the movies. When he starts singing to
me, I can’t help myself and start laughing” (51). The quiver of Señor Coochi’s voice is
immediately experienced and visualized as moving water by Celaya. Her memory of
romantic scenes in Mexican movies causes her discomfort in imagining herself the
recipient of a serenade. When attempting to explain her refusal to ingest her
grandmother’s food Celaya tells her: “—I can’t eat it, Grandmother. Pica. It makes
little needles on my tongue” (55). Celaya’s grandmother (a vehement critic of her
grandchildren’s language, Spanish monolingual, and spicy cooker) must be made to
understand Celaya’s digestive trouble through Celaya’s bilingualism. Celaya
communicates her message by tactile interpretation, the burning sensation she is
experiencing as an added descriptor to her Spanish word choice of “pica” or “ it
stings.” These moments of sensorial and visual conceptualization of the sounds of
language represent a unique facet of the way Celaya practically applies her bilingual
sensitivity to languages to her interpretation and experience of the world.
Although bilinguals have two linguistic codes to continuously access as Celaya
does, like monolinguals, they experience moments of lexical gaps, when neither
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language offers them the word needed at a given moment. Moments of being without
language are shared throughout Celaya’s family, although she is the only one who
offers an explanation for them and learning through them. In one such instance,
Celaya’s eldest brother returns from a lengthy stay in México that was intended to
support his Spanish language skills:
That’s true. It is a year before we see him. And when he comes back to us
in a clean white shirt and with hair shorter than we’ve ever remembered it, his
Spanish is as curly and correct as Father’s. … He tries talking to us in Spanish,
but we don’t use that language with kids, we only use it with grown-ups. We
ignore him and keep watching our television cartoons.
Later when he feels like it and can talk about it, he’ll explain what it’s like
to be abandoned by your parents and left in a country where you don’t have
enough words to speak the things inside you.
–Why did you leave me?
–It was for your own good, so that you’d speak better Spanish. Your
grandmother thought it for the best. (23)
A marked change takes place in the emotional and communicative relationships with
his siblings and cousins, which speaks to the power that being in a different linguistic
space has over one’s being. Breaking the norm of English language choice and use for
communication amongst the third generation of Celaya’s family the young man
receives only silence for his Spanish. Expectedly, the trauma of the entire experience
is attributed to their grandmother as a regulator of their Spanish language. Celaya’s
own personal experience of being without language is not imposed on her as in her
brother’s experience, but is a poignant part of her linguistic development as a child.
Celaya struggles to express that the roof has caved into an area of the house:
I scramble downstairs to tell everyone, only I don’t have the words for
what I want to say. Not in English. Not in Spanish.
–The wall has fallen, I keep saying in English. …
–La pared arriba, es que se cayó. Ven, Papá, ven. …
Mother shouts downstairs. –Everybody, quick! The ceiling’s fallen!
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¡Se cayó el cielo raso! Father says.
And then it is I learn the words for what I want to say. “Ceiling” and
“cielo.” Cielo–the word Father uses when he calls me “my heaven.” The same
word the Little Grandfather reaches for when he wants to say the same thing.
Only he says it in English. –My sky. (60-61)
Celaya is doubly silenced as she cannot access the English or Spanish lexical item that
she requires to communicate the quite notable structural failure that has occurred in
the edifice. She is able to maneuver through this moment through circumlocution and
added description and converts this experience into a learning moment in which she
acquires vocabulary bilingually. After learning the word Celaya spirals into visualized
phonological connotations to emotionally register the meaning and significance of the
word into her bilingual repertoire.
Celaya’s bilingualism solidifies and accentuates the emotional bonds that
inform her relationships. The central relationship of the novel, that between Celaya
and her father, is the best example of Celaya’s metaphorical codeswitching. Reflecting
on her educational and emotional development as a child Celaya shares: “In first grade
I remember feeling like this; so miserable, all I ever drew was pictures of my family.
Every day the same thing. … Father’s name in Spanish with the accent on the end.
Papá. The End. Tan tán. Like the notes at the end of a Mexican song that tell you to
applaud” (393). To combat her childhood melancholy Celaya finds solace in imaging
her family, particularly her father. Celaya must code-switch between English and
Spanish in order to accentuate the musical inflection, the note that marks the
significance of the representational weight the word “father” in Spanish holds for her.
Their interactions are filled with English-Spanish code-switching as indicated by the
bedtime ritual: “Father makes the same joke he always makes at bedtime. –¿Qué
tienes? ¿Sueño o sleepy? –Es que tengo sleepy. I have sleepy, Father” (52). Celaya’s
father both encourages and enacts his daughter’s bilingualism by offering her a
multitude of choices to describe her drowsiness and readiness for a night’s rest. He
plays off the Spanish and English cultural phrases used to describe sleepiness in order
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to consciously make Celaya mix and integrate both languages in her communication
and relationship with him. He uses this same technique to check in with her:
–What’s the matter, Lala? ¿Estás “deprimed”? Father says, chuckling.
It’s an old joke, one he never gets tired of, changing a Spanish word into
English, or the other way around, just to be a wise guy. I think to myself, Yes,
I’m deprimida. Who wouldn’t be depressed in this family? But I don’t say this.
(238)
As Celaya matures the bond between her father and her is expectedly strained and
changes, as is evidenced by her detailing and explanation of his codeswitching
technique. Despite her internalized cynicism Celaya can appreciate the linguistic
tradition her father shares with her as well as its aim to foster emotional security in
their relationship so she can share her thoughts and feelings. Metaphorical
codeswitching permeates Celaya’s relationship with her father as it emphasizes and
reflects the bilingual emotional bond she forms with individuals in her life.
Celaya is the most poignant representative of the intricate nature of
bilingualism and how beautiful doing being a Chicana bilingual can be. Celaya
experiences language through physical sensation, a visual imaginary, and emotional
memory all at once. She embodies her bilingualism as the interpretive center of her
epistemology. Because Mexican identities are not fixed and are constantly uprooted
from their national settings, Celaya learns to redefine her identity and its fluid nature
in reference to the physical and metaphorical border that separates the two
geographical nations that culturally and linguistically define her development. Her
wonderful language choice and use are maintained throughout the novel because the
ways she moves in the world can only be accessed through the combination of Spanish
and English. Celaya therefore cannot but embody her bilingualism and Chicana
identity throughout her narrative.
Conclusion
Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo guide us as readers through the
essential phenomena of bilingualism in and through our literary experience of the
protagonists’ “doing being bilingual Chicana/os.” Through Little Ernie’s narrative we
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are shown the positive impact that bilingualism can have on the otherwise stressful
experiencing of migrating into a dominant unknown society. Because Ernie grows up
with such a powerful relationship to his language, he is able to confidently develop his
bilingualism and biculturalism. Ever the US Mexican, Ernie is an example of how and
why bilingualism beneficially solidifies a strong sense of self for Chicana/o identities.
Miguel Chico’s experience of the intergenerational transmission that keeps his family
as Spanish-English bilinguals reveals the ideological depths language carries. He,
along with earlier generations, inherits social, economic, racial, and educational
prejudices along with their Spanish because these are critical to the worldview and
survival of their predecessors as Mexican migrants to the US. Subsequent generations
must not only re-contextualize their linguistic experiences and identities as bilingual
Chicana/os, but also their varying nature even within a generation. Celaya reveals the
immediate physical, emotional, and psychological reality of bilingual Chicana/o
identities. As she mediates our entry into her world, she cannot but do so with all the
splendor of her linguistic and cultural repertoire as a bilingual Chicana. Enacting her
bilingualism requires embracing it, as well as its manifestations. Through a lens
informed by the study of bilingualism we can better appreciate what and how it means
to be a bilingual Chicana/o and do bilingualism as a Chicana/o.
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Chapter Four
“Not Bilingual/Chicana Enough”: Spanish as a Chicana/o Heritage Language
in Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García
Introduction
I turn the reader’s attention to the heart of the chapter’s title, the easily
overlooked yet poignantly weighted orthographic representation of selection or
addition between alternatives: the virgule. Popularly defined as “or-and,” this symbol
encompasses in a simple form the relationship interrogated in this chapter, specifically
that between perceptions of idealized bilingualism and Chicana/o identity. One can be
bilingual and one can be Chicana/o, yes. But does Chicana/o identity hinge on being
bilingual in both English and Spanish? According to the personal narratives of the
Chicana feminist writers who are the representative protagonists of this chapter’s
analysis, and according to the communities they identify with and wish to be identified
by, apparently so. And when this is indeed the case, what then happens to those
Chicana/os that do not meet this conceptualization of Chicana/o identities as markedly
Spanish fluent and perfectly balanced English-Spanish bilinguals? As will become
evident through my analysis, the resultant enterprise of “non-bilingual/Spanish-savvy”
Chicana/os is to reclaim—exactly through language—their identity as Chicanas.
Unfortunately this process is undertaken as a reactionary tactic against a lived
experience of very real and painful language prejudices.78 The chapter title and our
little virgule, then, question the synonymy of Spanish fluency and flawless
bilingualism with Chicana/o identity. This question does not however undermine or
reject the notion that linguistic affinity and ties to ethnic and cultural identities are bad.
Instead, if we are to embrace the concept of Chicana/o identity as inherently bilingual,
we must understand the “other” results of two language coming into contact, namely
that of language shift and loss, as well as appreciate the difficulties of returning to a
heritage language that has been actively withheld from an individual. In doing so, we
can then broaden the scope of what Chicana/o communities can do to further cement,
in a less insular and repressive manner, our ties to Spanish as one of our heritage
78
Please refer to Chapter One for a discussion of the definition and use of language prejudice in this
dissertation, which is based on the work of Bonnie Urciuoli, Exposing Prejudice (1996).
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languages. In this chapter I argue that the assumptions and expectations about Spanish
language proficiency foisted onto the identity of Chicana/os without a critical
understanding or acceptance of the factors contributing to language shift and loss as a
real and painful lived experience impinges on Chicana/o community building.
As the fourth and final analytical chapter of this dissertation, this work comes
after having taken the reader through an exploration of the subtle yet pivotal and
recurring thematic of bilingualism as part of Chicana/o identity formation in the
coming-of-age narratives Pocho (1959) and George Washington Gómez (1991) in
Chapter Two, as well as the manifestations of bilingual Chicana/o identities in Barrio
Boy (1971), The Rain God (1984), and Caramelo (2002) in Chapter Three. Whereas
the protagonists of these works enjoyed the exposure, access, and validation necessary
for bilingual development, as well as environments within which to manifest their
bilingual and bicultural identities, the writers examined in this chapter express the very
real, material, sociocultural and historic situations that impaired a positive
development of English-Spanish bilingualism and Chicana identity confidently based
on language. The texts analyzed through this chapter brutally explore being excluded
from bilingual and/or Chicana/o communities based on perceived language
inadequacies. The pain of this conflict, of both being questioned from within and from
outside the communities one seeks to be recognized by, is the impetus for the words
that compose the primary texts we will look at in this chapter, namely Michele
Serros’s Chicana Falsa (1993) and Role Model a Chicana Role Model (2000), Gloria
Anzaldúa’s Borderlands (1987), Cherríe Moraga’s Loving in the War Years (1983),
and Vida Mía García’s “This Wild Tongue Tamed” (2007). First, I will introduce their
works, after I will explore the issues of Spanish as a heritage language for Chicana/os
within the US. This will be followed by a discussion of the processes of language shift
and loss and their linkage to cultural ostracism for Chicana/os that fail to meet the
proposed linguistic criteria of Chicana/o identity. I will then look at the importance of
language recovery projects outlined and described in these Chicana feminist texts as a
way to reclaim Chicana/o language and identity within our communities.
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Chapter texts
The title of Michele Serros’s79 first work, Chicana Falsa and Other Stories of
Death, Identity, and Oxnard, establishes the precarious position of Chicana identity
within her writing. Serros lets us know that her identity is caught between the final
stage of life, the state of non-being (death), and her origins and first community
(Oxnard). This transitional aspect of identity places it within a context of questionable
authenticity and self-determination. By means of an introduction to this work Serros
shares the story of being asked to author her mother’s obituary after her unexpected
death:
I was the so-called writer of the family, and this was to be my first published
piece. When I described my mother as an artist, someone questioned it. “Are
you sure you want to say that? I mean, it isn’t like she sold anything. Not like
she had her art up in galleries or anything. She wasn’t an artist, really.”
These accusations stung. Here was a definition of an artist. Someone who
just didn’t make art, but who was recognized for it. Someone who just didn’t
sell art, but made good money from it. Definitions have always played a big
part in my life: a true Mexican versus a fake Mexican, a good student versus a
lousy one, a true artist versus a wannabe one. (Chicana Falsa xi)
Because she does not base her definition of an artist on public recognition and
economic compensation but rather on the sheer act of artistic creation, Serros is
doubly confronted with skepticism towards her mother’s identity as an artist as well as
her own identity as a writer. The recognition that defining an identity is not necessarily
accepted as an organic or self-determined process is a painful one that leads Serros to
present the three most important facets of her identity (ethnicity, education, and art) as
dichotomies. By claiming the major role or “big part” defining her identity through
these aspects has had in her life, Serros prioritizes the issues of contrasting selfdefinition and definition from the outside, the crux of the paradigm through which
identity is worked. Throughout Serros’s writing then, we know to expect the
79
Literary criticism on Michele Serros’s works is sparse to say the least. However, popular and critical
reviews of her writing are available through her Wikipedia entry and personal website at
www.muchamichele.com, and include articles in periodicals such as The Los Angeles Times, Newsweek,
Sunday Start, Si Magazine, Press Enterprise, Estylo and Urban Latino.
186
engagement with the issue of validity in personal identity work when it meets outside
critique and doubt.
As a key spokeswoman of Chicana feminism,80 Gloria Anzaldúa established
the unquestioned reliance on the relationship between language and identity for the
success of women of color feminist projects.81 In the canonical text This Bridge Called
My Back, Anzaldúa offers “Speaking in Tongues,” as a guide to the women of color
identities she prioritizes in her writing. Anzaldúa constructs “speaking in tongues” as
the necessary voicing of women of color feminism and identity through reclaiming
language, acknowledging historical erasure, and “putting shit on paper”:
Our speech too is inaudible. We speak in tongues like the outcast and the
insane.
Because white eyes do not want to know us, they do not bother to learn our
language, the language that reflects our culture, our spirit. The schools we
attended or didn’t attend did not give us the skills for writing nor the
confidence that we were correct in using our class and ethnic languages. I for
one, became adept at, and majored in English to spite, to show up, the arrogant
racist teachers who thought all Chicano children were dumb and dirty. And
Spanish was not taught in grade school. And Spanish was not required in High
School. And though now I write my poems in Spanish as well as English I feel
the rip-off of my native tongue. (183-184)
From the paradigm of erasure lesbian women of color experienced within white
feminist coalitions Anzaldúa highlights the manner in which language uttered from
80
For critical reviews and essential discussions of the history, development, and trajectory of Chicana
feminism, please refer to Chicana Feminisms: A Critical Reader, eds. Gabriela F. Arredondo, Aida
Hurtado, Norma Klahn, Olga Najera-Ramirez, and Patricia Zavella, (Durham: Duke University Press,
2003), Chicana Feminist Thought: The Basic Historical Writings, ed. Alma M. Garcia (New York:
Routledge, 1997), Aida Hurtado, Voicing Chicana Feminisms: Young Women Speak Out on Sexuality
and Identity (New York: New York University Press, 2003), Living Chicana Theory, ed. Carla Trujillo
(Berkeley: Third Woman Press, 1998), and Paula Moya, “Chicana Feminism and Postmodernist
Theory,” Learning from Experience: Minority Identities, Multicultural Struggles (Berkeley: University
of California Pres, 2002) 58-99.
81
Please refer to Entre Mundos/Among Worlds: New Perspectives on Gloria E. Anzaldúa, ed.
AnaLouise Keating, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005) for the most recent published compilations
of critical work on Anzaldua’s writing.
187
overlooked identities is silenced.82 This leads her to share her childhood and
adolescent experiences of her languages, specifically Spanish as her home language,
which had no place in her formal education. Anzaldúa conceptualized this silencing as
a personal challenge during her adolescence; her educational trajectory was marked by
the need to construct herself as a counter-example of the uneducated semilingual child
of color stereotype she was ascribed at school. Despite being able to function at a
stylistic level in Spanish (which is no small feat if one is not formally educated and
trained to do so in that register for any language), Anzaldúa retains a deep sense of
loss—the theft of her heritage language development. In her writing, Anzaldúa
explores the theme of reclaiming silenced voices and their languages in order to
redress such larceny.
An icon of Chicana feminism herself, Cherríe Moraga83 is one of the most
fearless writers in describing and analyzing problematic conceptualizations of
82
The following works were pivotal in my understanding of the breadth and depth of Anzaldúa’s work
in Chicana feminism and Third world women of color feminism: Making Face, Making Soul: Haciendo
Caras, ed. Gloria Anzalúa (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Foundation Books, 1990), Emma Pérez, The
Decolonial Imaginary: Writing Chicanas into History, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999)
and “Gloria Anzaldúa: La Gran Nueva Mestiza Theorist, Writer, Activist-Scholar,” National Women's
Studies Association Journal, 17.2 (2005 Summer; 17 (2): 1-10, Sonia Saldívar-Hull, Feminism on the
Border: Chicana Gender Politics and Literature (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), This
Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, 3rd ed., eds. Cherríe L. Moraga and
Gloria E. Anzaldúa (Berkeley: Third Woman Press, 2002), and Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, “Gloria
Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera: Cultural Studies, ‘Difference,’ and the Non-Unitary Subject,”
The Chicana/o Studies Cultural Studies Reader, ed. Angie Chabram-Dernersesian (New York:
Routledge, 2006) 81-92.
83
For further discussion of Moraga’s works please see Norma Alarcón, “Interview with Cherríe
Moraga,” Third Woman 3.1-2(1986): 127-134, Ana Castillo, rev. of Cherríe Moraga’s Loving in the
War Years: lo que nunca pasó por sus labios, Third Woman 3.1-2(1986): 137-138, “City of Desire: An
Interview with Cherríe Moraga,” Latina Self-Portraits: Interviews with Contemporary Women Writers,
eds. Bridget Kevane and Juanita Heredia (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2000) 97108, Dionne Espinoza, “Cherríe Moraga, Loving in the War Years: Lo Que Nunca Pasó Por Sus
Labios,” Reading U.S. Latina Writers: Remapping American Literature, ed. Alvina E. Quintana (New
York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003) 151-162, Karin Rosa Ikas, Chicana Ways: Conversations with Ten
Chicana Writers (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2002), Paula Moya, “Postmodernism, Realism,
and the Politics of Identity: Cherríe Moraga and Chicana Feminism,” Learning from Experience:
Minority Identities, Multicultural Struggles (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002) 23-57,
Ramón Saldívar, “The Dialectics of Subjectivity: Gender and Differnce in Isabella Rios, Sandra
Cisneros, and Cherrie Moraga,” Chicano Narrative: The Dialectics of Difference (Madison: University
of Wisconsin Press, 1990) 171-199, Sandra K. Soto, “Making Familia from Racialized Sexuality:
Cherríe Moraga’s Memoirs, Manifestos, and Motherhood,” Reading Chican@ Like a Queer: The DeMastery of Desire (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2010) 15-37, Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, The
Wounded Heart: Writing on Cherríe Moraga (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2001), and Rebecca
Joyce Zamora Lausch, Embodying Autobiography and Mothering Feminist Theory: Gloria Anzaldua,
188
identities within marginalized communities. Aware of the complex linguistic
repertoire she owns given her racial and ethnic heritages, Moraga explains: “I am the
daughter of a Chicana and anglo. I think most days I am an embarrassment to both
groups. I sometimes hate the white in me so viciously that I long to forget the
commitment my skin has imposed upon my life. To speak two tongues. I must. But I
will not double-talk and I refuse to let anybody’s movement determine for me what is
safe and fair to say” (vi). Moraga fiercely holds herself accountable for the privilege of
her marked white Anglo heritage’s visible dominance by committing to represent,
indeed highlight, all of her cultural heritage. Seeking out ways to communicate her
identity through her language raises concerns in and for her writing:
Some days I feel my writing wants to break itself open. Speak in a
language that maybe no “readership” can follow. What does it mean that the
Chicana writer if she truly follows her own voice, she may depict a world so
specific, so privately ours, so full of “foreign” language to the anglo reader,
there will be no publisher. The people who can understand it, don’t/won’t/can’t
read it. … In Spanish, “compromiso” is also used to mean obligation or
commitment. And I guess, in fact, I write as I do because I am committed to
communicating with both sides of myself. (vi)
Moraga realizes that pursuing her desire to accurately represent her identity through
language is a commitment that may be difficult to fulfill. And this is because she
realizes that speaking to and for the communities she identifies with simultaneously
causes her language to be problematic. Her writing and texts may be inaccessible
linguistically, not to mention epistemologically. This signals an emblematic marking
in Moraga’s writing: the disjuncture between the lesbian writer of color’s heart and
tongue.84 Moraga explores this disjuncture and its effect on communicating her
Cherrie Moraga, and the (Re)Visionary Practice of Auto/Historia y Teoria, Diss. (Arizona State
University, 2003).
84
As Yarbro-Bejarano explains, “Moraga’s writing is courageous and polemical in both the Chicano
and feminist communities. Speaking from the position of one who is both lesbian and Chicana, she
breaks taboos about sexuality and calls for a critique of sexism and homophobia in Chicano culture;
within the feminist community she analyzes the racism and classism of the White women’s movement
and continues the dialogue on sexuality and sexual styles” (“Cherríe Moraga’s Giving Up” 113).
189
Chicana identity and experience to her various communities, and thus becomes a
central figure in this chapter.
The most recent piece analyzed in this chapter is found in Telling Tongues: A
Latin@ Anthology of Language Experience, edited by Louis G. Mendoza and Toni
Nelson Herrera. A central aim of this anthology is to create a space (from textual to
corporeal communities) where different voices of Latina identity can be expressed in
and through language. The particular piece that I chose to include in this chapter is
authored by a fellow classmate and colega, a Chicana role model to myself and many
other graduate students at our institution. Vida Mía García’s piece titled “This Wild
Tongue Tamed: A Memoir, a Eulogy, a Diatribe, a Prayer” speaks alongside and back
to both Anzaldúa and Moraga’s work. As evidenced by her title, she offers her work as
a reflective personal essay that focuses on her linguistic experience as a bilingual
Chicana. All four conceptualizations of this experience are necessary to capture the
memories of her language, the sadness and honoring of that experience through loss,
her invocation of and against the agents of her negative experiences, and finally her reconceptualization of these as positive forces that have shaped her identity as a
Chicana. As an introduction to her piece García provides an anecdote of an online chat
she hesitates to engage in. Receiving a message in Spanish brings forth the queries that
thematize her piece:
Now, there is no reason why anyone shouldn’t write to me in Spanish. My
name screams—or perhaps coos—latinidad … It is no great leap in logic for
viewers/readers to assume that, yes indeed, I am Latina. … If my profile had
been devoid of racial or ethnic markers, would I have received the same
message, but in English? And are these my only options? Why not a message
in Tex-Mex or Spanglish or Caló—or cripes, even Náhuatl? What assumptions
are operating here? (121)
García questions the basis for expectations and assumptions of Latina/o identity and
language, scrutinizing the particular focus on the limited representation of Latina/o
heritage as communicable only through English and Spanish. She is conscious of the
extensive complex linguistic history of Latina/os, which such limited expectations and
190
assumptions negate. García literally speaks back to these assumptions, pinpointing
their effects on her life with incisive clarity and poignant frankness. Her piece also
offers an example of the way Chicana feminist texts shape and evolve throughout
generations and/or “waves.”
The grouping of these particular authors and texts itself works in a fashion
representative of my development as a scholar. From the contemporary thirdgeneration Chicana/o experience described in Serros’s creative non-fiction, I turn to
the mixed-genre writings of Anzaldúa and Moraga as foremothers of Chicana
feminism, and then back to García’s contemporary Chicana feminist personal essay.
Serros uses humor that does not detract from but instead highlights the difficulty of
dealing with linguistic assumptions and expectations that are not congruent with her
lived experience and reality. Vida Mía García provides an unabashed and strong
critique of these assumptions and expectations, directly addressing the equation of
language=identity in our Chicana/o and Latina/o communities. And in the midst of
these resonate critical analyses centering the Chicana and women of color’s
experience provided by Gloria Anzaldúa and Cherríe Moraga. Hence these authors,
with their powerfully engaging words, furnish the primary texts through which my
argument will be made.
Heritage Languages, their Speakers, and Chicana/os’ Spanish
By understanding what heritage languages are, how they are learned, and
developed by their speakers, it becomes easier to comprehend the damage caused by
unrealistic assumptions and expectations about their speakers’ linguistic abilities that
Serros, Moraga, Anzaldúa and García address. The developing field of heritage
language pedagogy and learning concretizes the differing needs and linguistic histories
of its heritage language speakers as learners attempting to reactivate not only their
heritage language use but also validate their identity in that language. We will begin
by exploring the main criteria whereby heritage languages are defined and identified
in order to move on to the characterization of their speakers and learners. We will then
move on to reviewing the critical principles of heritage language teaching and learning
in order to address the linguistic expectations and assumptions made regarding these
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speakers’ and students’ abilities and histories. Finally, we will look at the specific
situation of Spanish as a heritage language of Chicanas/os that our Chicana writers
center in their works.
Many terms such as home languages, first and/or native languages, mother
tongues, minority languages (to name a few) have been used to refer to heritage
languages. Indeed, the term “heritage language” has only come into use in the US
within the last few decades. Joshua Fishman notes: “Heritage languages is a
designation that has fairly recently ‘arrived’ in the United States to indicate languages
other than the nationally dominant one that are historically associated with the
ethnicity (the ethnocultural heritage) of particular minority populations. Such
languages, by whatever name, are currently, and have for a good long time been
devalued in many settings” (“Acquisition, Maintenance, and Recovery” 2). Fishman’s
definition highlights three critical points that must be at the forefront in our
understanding of heritage languages. The first is that a heritage language is not a
dominant language in whatever geopolitical setting it exists. That is, a heritage
language is always necessarily in relation with another language, one that is more
widely used and accepted at the societal and national level. Secondly, a heritage
language is directly linked to its speakers’ ethnic and cultural heritage and therefore
identity. Speakers of heritage languages have specific historical, social, cultural,
ethnic, and subsequently personal ties to the language that deeply influence their sense
of self. And finally, heritage languages are necessarily value-laden—both by the
communities that deem them worthy of self-identification and preservation, as well as
by the dominant society that disparage them as well as their speakers. In reviewing the
challenges of defining heritage languages Terrence Wiley notes that “the elasticity of
the term” prompts a series of concerns regarding the politics of identity, inclusion and
exclusion, and “nonstigmatizing nomenclature” for speakers and learners of nondominant languages (30-34). What is at stake in the definition of heritage languages is
of particular ideological importance for the understanding of their speakers’ identities.
The term “heritage language” is ultimately no mere description of formal linguistic
attributes.
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Because the definition of heritage languages has been of particular interest to
the field of education, specifically in language instruction, its speakers are described in
terms of their language development and learning. Guadalupe Valdés points out:
“Within the foreign language teaching profession in the United States, the term
‘heritage speaker’ is used to refer to a student of language who is raised in a home
where a non-English language is spoken, who speaks or merely understands the
heritage language, and who is to some degree bilingual in English and the heritage
language” (Introduction 1). The primary domains of language use for heritage
language speakers are their home and in-group communities. The uses for which they
require their heritage language are therefore intimate, familiar, and personal. Valdés
goes on to explain that “[f]or the most part, the experiences of these heritage speakers
have been similar. They speak or hear the heritage language spoken at home, but they
receive all of their education in the official or majority language of the countries in
which they live. What this means is that, in general, such students receive no
instruction in the heritage language. They thus become literate only in the majority
language” (Introduction 1). Heritage speakers are formally educated in the majority
language they acquire and develop the more highly valued literacy skills in the
dominant language of their society and nation. However, because they require their
heritage language to meet non-academic and informal communicative needs, they
retain many formally unrecognized skills and abilities in their heritage language.
Heritage language speakers are therefore inevitably bilingual to varying degrees. They
require both languages in order to meet all their communicative needs across their
various domains of language use and networks. We cannot, however, become too
immersed in the qualification of their linguistic abilities because as Valdés rightly
specifies, “[i]t is the historical and personal connection to the language that is salient
and not the actual proficiency of individual speakers” (“Heritage Language Students”
38). Instead of focusing attention on the linguistic abilities of heritage speakers as
circumstantial bilinguals, priority must be given to the intrapersonal relationship to the
language. In describing these speakers the importance of identity politics cannot be
undervalued or disregarded, but rather, must be emphasized above all other aspects.
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In addressing heritage language speakers as language students and learners,
one of the most important principles for their instruction has been to recognize these
speakers as markedly different from second language acquisition students. Valdés
expounds on this same issue clarifying that “[t]he so-called home-background,
residual, and quasi-native speakers about whom [language teaching and learning]
professionals are concerned are not simply imperfect speakers” but are “complex
individuals who are fundamentally different from monolinguals” and therefore second
language learners (“The Teaching of Minority Languages” 316). One of the
fundamental differences between heritage language students and second language
students is their linguistic history and implicit bilingualism. Heritage students come
into their language classrooms with prior experience and therefore developed
proficiencies, to whatever varying degree, in the target language. Recognizing these
proficiencies and their complex linguistic history is crucial in the success of any type
of language development for heritage learners and their instructors. Heritage language
students cannot be compared to second language learners because of their experiential
differences with the language they are learning.
However, Andrew Lynch is able to locate one important similarity between
second language learners and heritage learners: “While researchers occupy their time
comparing L2 development with monolingual native speaker norms, reality dictates
that no L2 learner will ever become a monolingual speaker of the target language. The
same is true of HL learners” (33).85 This statement should not be taken as a pessimistic
commentary on the ability of heritage language students. Instead, it should be taken as
indicative of the false expectations pressed on to these speakers when compared to a
monolingual norm of second language learning. Despite the fact that it is acceptable
and quite expected for learners of a second language to never fully achieve “nativelike fluency,” the same criterion is not applied to heritage language learners. Lynch
also notes that “[t]he term ‘heritage’ learner should not invoke any lesser or greater
degree of bilingual competence through classifications such as ‘second,’ ‘third,’ or
‘fourth’ generation” (30). Additional descriptors such as generation can be used to
85
L2 and HL are shorthand for second language and heritage language, respectively.
194
further question a heritage learner’s inherent bilingualism instead of validating it.
Comparisons between second language learners and heritage learners always result in
the negation of heritage language learners’ abilities, although they are organically
different language users and learners. Appreciating the intrinsic complexities and
results of heritage language learners’ linguistic lived experiences of bilingualism is
fundamental to conceptualizing them as students.
As a relatively young but blossoming field of study and education, heritage
language instruction lacks formal methodological and pedagogical theory but various
principles have been developed in order to help guide instructors and researchers. Here
I would like to note the principle that, as a heritage language instructor, I took to be
essential in the formulation of my students as learners, myself as an instructor, and the
work we were attempting to do in the classroom. That which became quintessential
was the “social identity principle” which states that “HL speakers who psychologically
relate one or more aspects of their social identity to the HL, either for reasons of utility
or social relevance, will be more inclined to use it and purposefully acquire it (cf.
Gardern 1985 in SLA research)” (Lynch 39). What has become clear to me (and other
instructors who have engaged heritage language students) is that identity becomes
central to the success of a heritage language educational project. If, as Lynch notes,
students do not relate their identity, or some part of it, to their heritage language, the
relevance for maintaining or expanding their skills in this language will diminish,
along with motivation for doing so. If one does not find their language to be relevant
or important, or centrally tied to her identity, she will not seek to devote and invest
time into its development as Serros, Anzaldúa, Moraga, and García do through their
writing. I would not like, however, for the reader to believe that utility, especially in a
consumerist sense, is what marks the success of heritage language development. This
fits with Lynch’s warning that “HL professionals cannot enter the classroom with
assumptions about the linguistic abilities of their students or their motivations for
being there” (31). Instead, it is key to understand the necessity of valuing the
importance of one’s language at the personal level within the public arena of the
classroom. Heritage language teaching and learning principles further reiterate the
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identity work that must be brought to conscious attention for positive heritage
language development. I end this section attempting to reinforce the importance of
understanding these aspects of heritage languages and their speakers, as Chicanas/os
fit into this paradigm with Spanish.
As a heritage language, Spanish is the most prevalent non-dominant language
in the US. It is the second most widely spoken language in the US after English.
Examining the 2000 US Census and immigration patterns, M. Cecilia Colombí and
Ana Roca believe that “we can safely assume that Latinos in the United States likely
number more than 40 million and are, without question, the largest minority group in
the country” (2). The Spanish spoken by this large Latino linguistic minority
population is specific to the US national and social landscape. Lynch urges that “HL
researchers, teachers, and administrators must never lose sight of the fact that the
United States constitutes an autonomous social, cultural, political, and linguistic
context for Spanish language usage in the Hispanic world” (43). Reiterating a
sociolinguistic approach, context-specific understanding of the factors affecting
language use and development is pivotal. At the larger national level we see that
validating US varieties of Spanish similarly validates the language’s importance in our
nation’s historical and social make-up. Lynch continues this thought by urging
instructors to outline their goals for their Spanish heritage language students
accordingly:
Our pedagogical methods and aims must aspire to develop our students’ fullest
potential as United States speakers of Spanish, and not as Mexican or Cuban or
Colombian speakers of Spanish. With this aspiration, we move towards a
broader social legitimization of Spanish in the United States, toward the
linguistic and political empowerment of its speakers as representatives of a
distinct variety of World Spanish, and toward the global future of our nation.
(43)
The primary steps in validating this language at the national level include
understanding the complexity and innate difference of experiencing Spanish as a
heritage language in the US, as well as its historically immigrant varieties at the
196
individual level. Ideologically then participants in Spanish heritage language
development, whether they are educators, researchers, or even students have a sizable
task at hand as they must compete with monolinguistic ideologies of English and
Spanish.
Within the notable Spanish-speaking Latino presence in the US, those of
Mexican origin or descent, such as Chicanas/os, continue to be the majority
population. In the section “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” Anzaldúa highlights some
of the “lenguas” that make up Chicanas/os’ linguistic repertoires: “Some of the
languages we speak are: 1. Standard English, 2. Working class and slang English, 3.
Standard Spanish, 4. Standard Mexican Spanish, 5. North Mexican Spanish dialect, 6.
Chicano Spanish (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California have regional
variations), 7. Tex-Mex, 8. Pachuco (called Caló)” (77). Although Anzaldúa conflates
dialects, regional and popular variations, and registers as languages, she establishes
that Chicana/o linguistic repertoires hinge on the presence of Spanish and its
variations.86 The variations of Spanish spoken in the US and specifically by
Chicana/os (as historically migrant communities of circumstantial bilinguals) are not
highly valued varieties that receive accolades within educational, much less social,
arenas. Valdés explains this situation:
[M]any immigrant students will often be speakers of non-prestige varieties of
their heritage language. They may speak a rural variety of the language or a
stigmatized variety associated with non-academic uses of language, or their
productive abilities may be limited to a very narrow repertoire of style and
registers. The spoken language of these students may often contain a number
86
The following works engage Anzaldúa’s multilingual discourse project in Borderlands: Alfredo
Arteaga, Chicano Poetics: Heterotexts and Hybrities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997),
Martha J. Cutter, Lost and Found in Translation: Contemporary Ethnic American Writing and the
Politics of Language Diversity (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2005), Anne Donadey,
“Overlapping and Interlocking Frames for Humanities Literary Studies: Assia Djebar, Tsitsi
Dangarembga, Gloria Anzaldúa,” College Literature 34.4 (Fall 2007): 22-42, María Lugones, “On
Complex Communication,” Hypatia 21.3(Summer 2006): 75-85, Walter D. Mignolo, "Linguistic Maps,
Literary Geographies, and Cultural Landscapes: Languages, Languaging, and (Trans)nationalism,"
Modern Language Quarterly 57.2 (June 1996): 181-196, and Sonia Saldívar-Hull, Introduction,
Borderlands/La Frontera by Gloria Anzaldúa, 2nd ed. (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 1999).
197
of features typical of casual and informal registers of the language. (“Heritage
Language Students” 44)
Those that migrate into the US have restricted access to the formal education and high
status uses of Spanish in México that would provide development of academic,
formal, and more prestige registers and varieties of Spanish. Because migration into
the US from México is more often than not prompted by economic duress, varieties of
Spanish spoken by the Mexican migrant predecessors of Chicana/os reflect their
primarily rural and working-class background. Guadalupe Valdés and Michelle
Geoffrion-Vinci conclude:
In sum, the Spanish that is spoken in bilingual communities in the U.S. and
that is acquired by Chicano bilinguals reflects the class origins of its firstgeneration speakers. Because in Mexico these speakers did not have access to
the range of situations and contexts in which formal high varieties of Spanish
are used, their language is characterized by a somewhat narrower range of
lexcial and syntactic alternatives than is the language of upper-middle-class
speakers. … As a result, many young people in bilingual communities may not
acquire a full mastery of the registers and styles characteristic of even
“ordinary” Mexican monolinguals. (“Chicano Spanish” 477)
The Spanish Chicana/os inherit as a heritage language is therefore made up of varieties
stigmatized not only in México but also the US, as the language reflects the
historically low socioeconomic status of its speakers in both countries. This is a
critical fact to bear in mind as we begin to discuss the effect of Spanish on Chicana/o
identity.
Spanish as a heritage language is a strong identity marker for Latina/o
communities in the US. Carmen Fought explains that for ethnic minorities “fluency in
a heritage language can also be used as a way of organizing expectations about
ethnicity within the community. Individuals who do not speak the language may find
their ethnicity called into question, and speaking the language … may be a way of
explicitly asserting ethnic identity” (31). US Latina/os are expected to speak fluent
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Spanish in order to authenticate their Latin American ethnicity and heritage. As García
articulates in her personal essay:
And Latina, apparently, means being able to speak Spanish. Pos sí, claro,
you might be saying. Or, perhaps equally likely: well, duh. Being Latina means
being able to speak Spanish—and though many never admit to it outright, the
contrapositive is inevitably there as well, weighted, waiting: not being able to
speak Spanish means not being Latina…. What (specious) cultural logic is at
work that equates ethnicity with language fluency—or, to put a finer point on
it, uses fluency as a litmus of ethnic identification and solidarity? (121)
Latina/o cultural identity and ethnicity become synonymous with Spanish language
use. And not just minimal use, but specifically functional abilities that parallel
monolingual Spanish speakers, the all desired but elusive “native fluency” targeted in
language instruction. However, as García rightly notes, although the positive
relationship between Spanish language and Latina/o culture is taken for granted as
“logical” and unquestioned, its necessarily includes a traditionally silenced but
accepted negative conversion that serves as a test of Latina/o authenticity. For
Chicana/os, not speaking Spanish fluently casts doubt on the strength and validity of
their Mexican cultural heritage. Serros pinpoints this reaction in her poem “Mi
Problema”:
My sincerity isn’t good enough.
Eyebrows raise
when I request:
“Hable mas despacio, por favor.”
My skin is brown
just like theirs,
but now I’m unworthy of the color
‘cause I don’t speak Spanish
the way I should.
Then they laugh and talk about
mi problema
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in the language I stumble over. (Chicana Falsa 31)
Although Serros indeed uses her Spanish quite appropriately to request a change in the
tempo of the dialogue with her interlocutors, she receives only glances of suspicion.
Her request is interpreted within the deficit model of unfulfilled linguistic
requirements, which provokes mockery of her Spanish and devaluation of her
Mexican ethnocultural identity. Ana Celia Zentella describes the interplay of linguistic
expectations and assumptions as “a game of linguistic one-upmanship” where “[t]hose
who claim to speak more or ‘better’ Spanish may claim to be more or better
representatives of [their heritage] national culture” ( “Linguistic (In)Security” 31).
Because Spanish offers Latina/o migrants a deep sense of pride in their heritage, the
frequency, extent, and ways in which they speak it become criteria for validating their
ability to continue representing their country of origin. Serros ends her poem by
acknowledging the pride that can come from being deemed a worthy representative of
her Mexican heritage:
And then one day,
I’ll be a perfected “r” rolling
tilde using Spanish speaker.
A true Mexican at last! (Chicana Falsa 32)
The linguistic one-upmanship that produced criticism of her initial Spanish request
leads towards a motivation to seek its “perfection.” This perfection is conceptualized
as phonetic and orthographic mastery and leads to legitimization of Mexican cultural
authenticity. Chicana/os find they are expected to not only speak Spanish, but the
prestige (or “better”) varieties of Mexican high-status groups in order to adequately
represent and claim their Mexican heritage in the US.
The pressure stemming from these expectations of Spanish heritage language
use in the US is elevated and “can be particularly strong where the language ties to an
ethnic identity is perceived as threatened” (Fought 29). Despite the rising demographic
trend of its speakers’ population within the US, because Spanish is perceived as a
nativist threat to English dominance, the Spanish of heritage speakers is still a nondominant language and therefore threatened by English within this nation. The
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psychological, economic, social, cultural, geographic, and educational adjustments
that migrants face once in the US offer no concrete sense of stability. This in turn
prompts fear of the extent and depth of sacrifices at all these levels, breeding an
insecurity that reveals itself through stronger ties to the heritage language as its
existence becomes threatened within the new dominant society. Zentella explains that
“[e]xtensive English in an individual or community’s repertoire is a sign of
assimilation to US culture, casting doubt on the legitimacy of a Latin American
identity” (“Linguistic (In)Security” 31). Although English language acquisition and
use is required to successfully access socioeconomic stability in the US, its potential
dominance over Spanish menaces Latina/o communities’ desire to uphold their
cultural and linguistic heritage. The expected fluency and use of Spanish by
Chicana/os is therefore also subject to comparison to their English language use,
which must be monitored and balanced to not reveal a predominance which can be
interpreted as culturally assimilationist. Moraga reveals her internalization of this
rendering of English language use as a Chicana:
Quiero decir that I know on the surface of things, this is not to make any
sense. I spoke English at home. On the surface of things I am not supposed to
feel that my language has been stripped from me—I am “born American.”
College English educated, but what I must admit is that I have felt in my
writing that the English was not cutting it. ¿Entiendes? That there is something
else, deep and behind my heart and I want to hold it hot and bold in the hands
of my writing and it will not come out sounding like English. Te prometo. No
es inglés. And I have to wonder, is it so that I have felt “too much,” “too
emotional,” “too sensitive” because I was trying to translate my feelings into
English cadences? (141)
Moraga’s confusion stems from having accepted that the predominance of English in
her education and life, as well as her US born experience within her immigrant family
history, negates a strong emotional tie to and desire for Spanish as her heritage
language. However, the overpowering dissonance between her internal emotions and
their external pronunciation challenges this perception, leading Moraga to question the
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adequacy of English to fully communicate her feelings. As we will go on to see in the
next section, the trend over time for US linguistic minority communities is indeed to
mainly and sometimes solely use English. Read as the loss of the Spanish language
and therefore heritage and culture, the linguistic insecurities Latina/o communities
experience shape the experience of Chicanas/os.
In sum, heritage languages cannot be described or characterized apart from
their speakers. Heritage language speakers are historically migrant populations that
become linguistic minorities as they travel to geopolitical settings where their
language and culture are non-dominant. Heritage language speakers are by nature
circumstantial bilinguals that have a lived experience and functional proficiencies in
their heritage language that are central to their identity work. As students, heritage
language speakers cannot be compared to elective bilinguals, such as second language
learners, much less be expected to function in their language in the same ways.
Heritage language teaching and learning principles insist on checking such linguistic
expectations and assumptions at the classroom door. The heritage language of
Chicana/os tends to be a non-prestige variety of Spanish that reflects the rural
working-class and low socioeconomic status of Mexican migrants into the US.
Chicana/os are expected to retain and use Spanish as their heritage language as a sign
of cultural loyalty and authenticity. However, the Spanish of Chicana/os competes
with English as the dominant and imposed language in the US. In order to further
understand the linguistic exigencies demanded from Chicanas/os we must understand
the trajectory of their US Spanish-English bilingualism, which cannot always be
steadily maintained.
Language Shift, Loss, and Cultural Ostracism
As mentioned in Chapter One, contact between two languages does not always
result in the stable and ongoing co-existence of both languages at the individual and
community level through bilingualism. Bilingualism itself as we have seen is not an
inherently static condition but is a dynamic state that must be maintained (as discussed
in Chapter Three). If and when factors are not aligned for this maintenance to take
place, then the processes of language shift and perhaps eventually language loss will
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occur. In the following section we will review the processes of language shift and loss
as potential outcomes of societal bilingualism and how they affect heritage language
speakers.
Linguistic minority populations in the US are subject to many of the factors
contributing to the destabilization of bilingualism. Over time, the combination and
influence of these factors may prompt a shift from bilingualism in English and their
heritage language to English as their dominant language and the eventual loss of their
heritage language. As Valdés states, “[r]ecent research on language use in Latino
communities has made clear that in spite of the influx of monolinguals into Latino
communities the shift towards English among Latinos is unmistakable” (“Spanish
Language” 38). For Chicana/os, language shift to English takes place by the fourth
generation at latest, but most frequently Spanish language use has significantly
diminished by the third. Taken in conjunction with the intense personal history and
identity marker heritage languages offer their speakers, we can best appreciate the
difficult negotiation of unsubstantiated linguistic expectations and assumptions
Chicana/os face and that Serros, Moraga, Anzaldúa, and García narrate.
Ralph Fasold offers a clear definition of language shift: “Language shift simply
means that a community gives up a language completely in favor of another one. The
members of the community, when the shift has taken place, have collectively chosen a
new language where an old one used to be used” (213). Succinctly defined, language
shift is the process whereby one language takes predominance over another in a
bilingual setting. That is, in language shift, one language displaces another based on a
bilingual community’s repeated patterns of language choice favoring one language
over the other. When one language in a bilingual community is no longer used, then
language loss can occur. Fasold shares that “[l]anguage shift is sometimes
dramatically referred to as language death. Language death occurs when a community
shifts to a new language totally so that the old language is no longer used” (213).
Although language death can indeed sound dramatic, it is an actual phenomenon and
is seen to occur particularly in linguistic minority populations composed of the last
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speakers of an endangered or threatened language.87 With the death of the last speaker
of a minority language comes the death of the language itself. However, language loss
does not necessarily result in the total demise of a language.
Language shift and loss are both processes that occur at the community level.
When an individual speaker does not use one language it does not mean the language
has completely vanished within her community. Instead, language loss at the
individual level is referred to as language attrition, as Glenn A. Martinez explains:
Language attrition is an individual phenomenon that occurs when a person
stops using a language and thus begins to forget something of its structure or
vocabulary. Language attrition occurs because the occasion and opportunities
an individual encounters for using a given language have contracted or become
restricted in some way. Language attrition does not, however, normally refer to
complete loss of a language, for even if someone seldom uses a language, the
tacit knowledge of the language, even if it is somewhat flawed, normally lies
nascent in the individual’s mind. (41)
This is why heritage language teaching and learning principles emphasize reactivation
and not rudimentary acquisition of heritage speakers’ language; there is still language
retained and this is what must be recognized, validated, and further developed through
instruction. An individual speaker may experience reduced functional abilities in
language, but “[l]anguage shift, on the other hand, does refer to complete loss of the
language” and is “always community based” (Martínez 41, 40). Only through an entire
bilingual community’s pattern of language choices will one language begin to be
consistently chosen over another for communicative needs. This important aspect
differentiates language loss at the community level from language attrition at the
individual level. It also reveals the collective, social, and therefore ideological nature
of the factors that prompt and urge language shift.
There must be two languages present in a community in order for a shift from
one language to the other to occur. Bilingual communities inevitably experience
factors prompting language shift and loss because they have more than one language
87
Please refer to Chapter One, page 34, footnote 13 for a brief discussion of endangered and threatened
languages.
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to choose from to fulfill their communicative needs. That is why the most basic
condition associated with language shift is societal bilingualism (Falsold 216).
However, “[i]t is important to notice that bilingualism is not a sufficient condition for
shift, although it may be a necessary one” (Fasold 216). Although the mere fact that a
community is bilingual does not mean that it will experience language shift and/or
eventual loss, both these processes indicate that there once existed societal
bilingualism in a community. Therefore, as Fasold states, bilingualism is a “virtual
prerequisite for language shift” (240). The factors contributing to language shift are
many and form part of the specific context in which each language and its community
of bilingual speakers finds itself. Within the US, Ysaura Bernal-Enríquez and Eduardo
Hernández Chávez note some of factors contributing to language shift for linguistic
minority populations, where “las condiciones más destacadas son las políticas
lingüísticas norteamericanas, las presiones socioculturales, y las condiciones
sociolingüística que aceleran la pérdida lingüística” (97). Rosaura Sánchez outlines the
way these sociocultural, political, and ideological pressures affect Chicana/o
communities:
The individualism, social mobility and assimilation myths created by
American society are fully espoused by optimistic incoming immigrants. Like
new converts, they perceive education and the acquisition of the English
language as the keys to a prosperous future. In many cases first-generation
parents reject bilingual education programs for their children since instruction
in the primary language is seen as a retardant in the process of assimilating into
the mainstream. (57)
The monolinguistic ideology that ties English to US social and material goods
instigates the desire for English language acquisition and mastery in immigrants.
Therefore, first-generation Mexican migrants base decisions affecting their Chicana/o
children’s future success in this country by limiting their access and use of their
heritage language (Spanish) in school, for example, in order to accentuate and support
their English language learning. This is the essential prompt to shift from SpanishEnglish bilingualism to English dominance in subsequent generations, who will
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become increasingly stronger in their functional abilities in English while their
Spanish heritage language development is limited by circumstances.
Unfortunately, the result of linguistic assumptions and expectations
incongruous to the lived experience of Chicana/os experiencing language shift and
Spanish as a heritage language is cultural ostracism. Fought explains the negative
reactions to the lack of use of a heritage language by linguistic minorities: “If the
inability to use a code associated with ethnicity is stigmatized, the refusal to use that
code is even more negatively sanctioned” (29). Chicana/os are deemed as “unable” to
speak Spanish because their Spanish reveals the historical and accumulated lack of
access and use throughout their families’ generations. If their Spanish language use is
compared to their families’ first-generation and/or Mexican Spanish monolinguals,
then their obvious difference in functional abilities and development are denounced as
culturally unacceptable.88 It is, however, just as bad, if not worse, to not even try to
speak their heritage language since “[s]imply not knowing the language well is not
always seen as a reasonable excuse for refusal to speak it ” (Fought 29). The concrete
reasons behind why Chicana/os may not use their Spanish and/or use it in the ways in
which they do are of no concern to those who judge them linguistically. These
negative interpretations of their Spanish use sanction their cultural ostracism from
communities trying to maintain their strong ties to their Mexican heritage. Because the
processes of language shift and loss as viable and known outcomes of societal
bilingualism are not understood, Chicana/os’ Spanish heritage language abilities
88
Robert Luis Carrasco and Florencia Riegelhaupt’s development of “META: A Model for the
Continued Acquisition of Spanish by Spanish/English Bilinguals in the United States” centered on a
teacher education program in México with Chicana/o student teachers. They explain that: “The
Mexican host families’ paradigm demonstrates that Mexican host families had the same expectations
for educated Chicanos as they did for educated Mexicans and that these families did not expect as much
from educated American non-Hispanics. Through interviews, the families cited the lack of finesse in
language. “Hablan como de rancho; con un español mocho, hablan pocho.” After all, these Mexican
families saw a brown face, a person who seemed to speak Spanish without an American accent, whose
last name was Hispanic, who could communicate in Spanish, who was doing graduate work at a
university and who was a professional teacher. They expected him/her to speak Spanish like educated
people from their own community. They never even considered the fact that these same individuals
could communicate in two languages and that they had been educated principally through English,
rather than Spanish, as the language of instruction” (174). This is just one concrete example of how the
linguistic expectations and assumptions for Chicana/os’ Spanish use operate.
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and/or their dominance in English are justifications for their exclusion as
representatives of their Mexican culture and heritage.
As will become evident through the words of the Chicana writers we now turn
to, Chicana/os are asked to be proficient in a language, indeed maintain it, when they
have already inherited language shift towards English and the loss of Spanish as their
heritage language. Because of this, they are critiqued and their cultural identities
questioned. They end up having to reevaluate their relationships to their languages and
in the process, inevitably reassess their identities as Chicana/os. As Fishman’s work
has established, intergenerational transmission is crucial in maintaining minority
languages. In order for a language to be intergenerationally transmitted, the earlier
generation must actively pass it on. In order to do this, they have to believe that it is
worth doing. And despite the fact that this may indeed be the case, certain experiences
and the trauma of linguistic oppression in the dominant society can hinder this. We
cannot, though, easily point the finger and look for culprits of language shift at the
individual level as noted in my discussion of the processes of language shift and loss
above. Instead, we must take into account the lived experiences and histories of
Chicana/os’ linguistic repertoires in their communities and US society.
Here we will look at a few examples from our Chicana writers, who come to
understand the concrete reasons why earlier generations in their families did not
transmit Spanish as their heritage language. The main reason is provided by Moraga,
and as can be expected for migrant minority populations, centers around economic
insecurity and status in US society:
In fact, everything about my upbringing (at least what occurred on a conscious
level) attempted to bleach me of what color I did have. Although my mother
was fluent in it, I was never taught much Spanish at home. I picked up what I
could from school and from over-heard snatches of conversation among my
relatives and mother. She often called other lower-income Mexican “braceros,”
or “wet-backs,” referring to herself and family as “a different class of people.”
… But this is something she would like to forget (and rightfully), for to her, on
a basic economic level, being Chicana meant being “less.” It was through my
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mother’s desire to protect her children from poverty and illiteracy that we
became “anglicized”: the more effectively we could pass in the white world;
the better guaranteed our future. (51)
Moraga comes to understand that although Spanish was allowed her via family
gatherings, these tidbits were not to be expounded on as teaching points because of
economic and class issues. Spanish was equated with Mexican immigrant laborers and
this lower socioeconomic status prompted an active distancing from such identities by
her mother. Moraga reveals that her mother is not without recognition of this
prejudicial conceptualization, but her failure to transmit Spanish to her children was
based on the desire to provide them with opportunities for higher socioeconomic status
throughout their lives. For Moraga, however, the attrition of her Spanish compromised
her racial and cultural heritage identity from brown Mexicana/Chicana to bleached
anglicized Chicana. Anzaldúa shares a similar anecdote when she quotes her mother:
“I want you to speak English. Pa’hallar buen trabajo tienes que saber hablar el inglés
bien. Qué vale toda tu educación si todavía hablas inglés con un ‘accent,’’ my mother
would say, mortified that I spoke English like a Mexican” (Borderlands 75-76). For
Anzaldúa's mother, then, Spanish was seen as a possible deterrent as it could tinge her
English language production. The fear of a “Mexican accent” and any hint that
Spanish was part of her linguistic repertoire and heritage would counteract any
educational advancement Anzaldúa could achieve. Her mother’s strategy was not so
much to directly withhold Spanish transmission to her children, but to pass on the idea
that it could negatively influence her daughter’s future. The power of the ideological
reference of Spanish as Mexican and therefore low socioeconomic status in this
country marked both Anzaldúa and Moraga’s relationship to, and abilities in, Spanish.
García addresses the inherent contradictions in this type of thought process by
earlier generations when she attempts to explain her father’s mockery of her Spanish
language learning as a child:
And what I have come up with is this: my father did what he did out of fear.
He was afraid- afraid that I would become too masterful, that I would take up
Spanish effortlessly and become fluent, indistinguishable from native speakers.
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Not just indistinguishable; I would be a native speaker. I believe this prospect
terrified my father. It wasn’t just the mimicking, you see. It was his continual
anxiety around particular cultural markers. (130)
Here García pinpoints the fundamental keyword in understanding motivations for
withholding the transmission of Spanish, which is fear. Spanish as a strong cultural
marker of Mexican heritage is targeted by earlier generations. The unease surrounding
the potential hindering of life opportunities for their children’s and future generations
success kept these Chicanas’ parents from transmitting Spanish. As their first-hand
experience in this country made clear to them as immigrants from México, their
Spanish language was one of the most obvious characteristics that would bring on
prejudicial withholding of material goods that were needed for their children’s
survival. The fear of the potentially harmful effects of the presence of Spanish in their
Chicana daughters’ linguistic repertoires does not just center on hypothesized
socioeconomic status or material goods. Anzaldúa’s experience of “being caught
speaking Spanish at recess” at school and receiving “three licks on the knuckles with a
sharp ruler” further grounds this fear of oppression in a material, i.e. physical, sense.
The violence exercised on Anzaldúa’s body as punishment for her knowledge and use
of Spanish in school exemplifies the sanctioned brutality that linguistic prejudice
against non-dominant English speakers enjoy in the US. These women’s parents
wished to protect them not only from future social and economic duress, but also
physical danger and pain as Spanish speakers, and therefore did not transmit their
heritage language.
Because these tangible fears are not understood or appreciated, the
ethnocultural ostracism faced by Chicanas because of their Spanish (or lack thereof)
can go unspoken. This ostracism is experienced in the various domains in which
Chicana/os participate, the first of these being those located outside their immediate
linguistic and ethnocultural communities as circumstantial bilinguals. There is an
expectation of linguistic proficiency in Spanish attributed to Chicana/os by those who
do not necessarily identify with these communities or their language, namely the
majority language speakers dominant in this country, that is, white American English
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monolingual speakers. When Serros goes to study abroad in México and mentions
taking a daytrip to Cuernavaca to her Anglo-American roommates, one cautions:
“I mean, in Let’s Go Mexico, it says women in Mexico really shouldn’t travel
alone.”
“Well, maybe tourist-looking women,” I said. “But I mean, I think I can
blend in.”
“Yeah, until you open your mouth!” PMS Sock laughed. Then all five
White Socks high-fived and I suddenly felt that chill again. (Role Model 109)
Serros’s wit and humor in referring to her Anglo roommates as the collective “White
Socks” that are distinguishable only by their moods cannot detract from the physical
reaction she experiences from the slight on her language and identity. Indeed, the
sharp physical reaction she experiences is one indicative of shock (i.e., the chills).
When she is attempting to validate her racial and cultural heritage in her family’s
country of origin, her roommates throw out the possibility of her acceptance into this
community and nation because of her Spanish language abilities. As second language
speakers and elective bilinguals, they have no ties whatsoever to the cultural heritage
of the Mexican Spanish they are learning. They feel empowered to criticize and judge
Serros’s Spanish to the point of barricading her self-identification with her own
heritage and culture. García echoes this concern about dominant English and white
American community acceptance/rejection when she shares her reaction to the
anecdote that opens her piece, the possible Spanish online conversation with an
ethnoculturally unidentified “friend”:
Curiosity turns into wariness. What does he want? Who does he want? What
does he expect of me? Why? I wonder if I am overreacting. I wonder if I
should call him out. After all, this has happened before: how many times have
I met white folks who, very shortly after our first acquaintance, express their
excitement at finally getting to practice my Spanish with someone! ...
So I am willful. Spiteful. I want to burst that bubble. I want all their
patronizing assumptions and imperialist nostalgia to spill forth so that they
have to reckon with the (historically contingent) oddity in front of them: a
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Chicana who can’t speak Spanish, a Mexican-American whose first and most
fluent language is English. So you want to practice your Spanish, ese? With
who? Ain’t nobody here but us pochas. (123)
What calls my attention about García’s reaction to an initially innocuous request to
chat is the way in which García cannot but bombard us with questions, one right after
the other. As a reader, I myself get caught up in these queries and their implications.
The minimal phrase she receives in Spanish from her interlocutor prompts such a
strong reaction precisely because she may have had prior experiences with such
assumptions and expectations of her language and identity. Her “spitefulness” is not
ungrounded but aimed at those that seek to use her for her language, as she has
previously experienced. As Serros and García show, even those who do not identify
with Chicana/o communities and their language, namely the majority language
speakers dominant in this country (white American English speakers) critique
Chicana/os’ Spanish language and Mexican cultural identities.
Despite the fact that the critique from non-Spanish speaking communities is
undoubtedly disturbing for Chicana/os, the ostracism that comes from within Spanish
speaking communities (including but not limited to the Chicana/o-Mexicana/o
communities) is more destabilizing for Chicana/o identities. Anzaldúa introduces this
type of critique: “Even our own people, other Spanish speakers nos quieren poner
candados en la boca. They would hold us back with their bag of reglas de academía.
… Chicanas feel uncomfortable talking in Spanish to Latinas, afraid of their censure”
(Borderlands 76, 80). Anzaldúa here invokes Spain’s Real Academía de la Lengua
Española, whose motto “Limpia, Fija, y Da Esplendor,” exhibits ideologies of
linguistic purism and prescriptivism for regulating and standardizing Spanish language
use. Fellow Spanish speakers espouse these ideologies to Chicana/os in order to
regulate their language, virtually “sealing their mouths with a lock and chain,” instead
of recognizing linguistic and cultural affinity they share as Spanish speakers. The fear
of censure from other Latina/os leads Chicana/os to internalize the fear of censure to
the point of not communicating in their heritage language. This fear is, again, not
unsubstantiated. As Serros’s enthusiastically volunteers to help during a Chicana
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writers’ conference, her initial idealism of having a more pivotal role in the
organization and execution of the event is discarded when she is asked to help serve
the food. She nonetheless fulfills her role of food-server:
The woman behind her then asked me something in Spanish.
I answered her back and continued to scoop fruit salad onto her plate. She
didn’t move forward but instead looked at her friend in the shoulder scarf,
rolled her eyes, and remarked in Spanish, “I thought this was a Chicana
writers’ conference and this one here can’t even speak Spanish!” (Role Model
8)
Although Serros obviously responds to the woman’s question, she is not returned the
same courtesy. Instead she is met with disregard through an as indirectly direct
critique. Her linguistic critic seems to find Serros’s Spanish so deplorable that she
refuses to acknowledge her with a response and refers to her as “this one here.”
Serros’s language to a “fellow” Chicana is used against her to question her identity as
a Chicana and admittance into the event. As an aspiring Chicana writer, Serros is
shunned by a representative of her future career identity and the community in which
she wishes to participate. García offers a similar anecdote of rejection by the
Mexicana/Chicana community she identifies with while fielding a call at the nonprofit
she worked at: “She cuts me off. Midsentence she cuts me off and my tongue my
tongue is left hanging, a bloody stump. How can you not know Spanish? How can you
call yourself a Mexican? What, don’t you have any pride in your background? I would
be ashamed if I were you. You should have more respect for your culture than that”
(135). García is literally silenced by the woman’s denunciation of her perceived “lack”
of Spanish and therefore inadequate Mexican cultural identity. Through the pointed
questions she rapidly fires at García the woman eradicates her abilities as a Spanish
heritage language speaker and condemns her as a culturally deficient model of
Mexicanity. Both Serros’s and García’s examples reveal the actual ostracism
Chicana/os meet if they fail to meet the linguistic criteria of their ethnocultural
communities.
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Although these two examples horrify and sadden me because of their intense
cultural ostracism and negation of Chicana/o identities, it is unfortunately not the only
ostracism met by Chicana/os when their Spanish is deemed less than perfect. The
final—and I would argue most destructive—level of cultural ostracism comes directly
after such rejection from the communities in question, namely, that which the
individual then internalizes against herself. Serros’s response to the indirect critique
she receives is filled with self-doubt: “I looked up at her. What was that about? What
had I said wrong? Did I use ‘muy’ instead of ‘mucho’? Rs not rolled out long enough?
Oooh, I can get so sloppy with those. Should I have asked her?” (Role Model 8).
Serros’s first thoughts, after recovering from the shock of her critique, are to question
herself. Because she is caught off guard by the rude comment she begins to think
about all the possible ways that she must have committed a linguistic blunder. She
hones in on particular grammatical errors that she is already aware she may tend to
make as a heritage language speaker. Her self-interrogation goes so far as pondering
her responsibility in further engaging her critic for linguistic guidance. Yet all I can
image as a reader (and heritage language speaker, and instructor) that would follow
would be further critique and ostracism! García likewise responds to the negative
response to her Spanish with equally condemning internalization: “The only person I
can hate more than that woman is myself” (135). Although she justifiably feels
resentment and disdain towards her critic, the main target of García’s harshest
criticism is herself. This response is not uncommon when someone in the same
linguistic community with which she wishes to identify criticizes a heritage language
speaker. Even within the same family, these types of critiques occur with even more
disastrous consequences for heritage language speakers’ confidence in their language.
García recognizes her father’s mockery and imitation of her reacquisition of Spanish
as “negative socialization”:
I’d come home desperate to practice my Spanish, but instead of finding a
proud and encouraging audience, I found only my father’s derision. My
Mexican father’s derision. … All flat nasal whine and bolillo accent. As if to
show me how ridiculous I sounded. … And slowly, almost (but not quite)
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imperceptibly, my irritation turned inside out. Or, no – it turned outside in, the
anger transforming into reticence and self-doubt: maybe he’s not joking.
Maybe I do sound ridiculous. (129)
The seemingly innocuous and jocular nature of her father’s words cannot be taken at a
superficial level because they are attacks on García’s identity through the language she
desires to master. As a representative of her Mexican cultural identity, her father
shows García that her own communities will not accept her through her heritage
language; her attempts at achieving this acceptance through her Spanish language use
are laughable. Chicana Spanish heritage language speakers are left with no other
recourse than to blame themselves when their Spanish language is questioned at these
various intergroup levels. Anzaldúa accurately describes the further damaging results
of this internalized criticism: “because we internalize how our language has been used
against us by the dominant culture we use our language differences against each other”
(Borderlands 80). This is what Anzaldúa coined “linguistic terrorism”— oppressive
linguistic prejudices enacted within communities of speakers sharing similar heritage
languages (58). The internalization of linguistic criticism leads to its reproduction and
hence, cycles of linguistic terrorism develop and continue the cultural ostracism
Chicana/os experience.
Returning to my earlier discussion of language shift and loss, I ask the reader
to think about the personal experiences of Chicana/o Spanish heritage speakers.
Fishman reminds us of the pivotal importance of intergeneration transmission in the
survival of languages:
Without intergenerational mother tongue transmission (or the transmission of a
written or spoken second language, if that should be the societal goal) no
language maintenance is possible. That which is not transmitted cannot be
maintained. On the other hand, without language maintenance (which is a posttransmission process) the pool from which successive intergenerational
transmission efforts can draw must be continually smaller. (Reversing
Language Shift 113)
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Heritage language maintenance depends on the transmission of the heritage language
from one generation to the next. Without this intergeneration transmission then
language maintenance is not an option and the processes of language shift and loss
will most likely occur. In his key work on working out the ways in which language
shift can be reversed in linguistic minority populations whose language is threatened
with loss, Fishman describes language shift and loss as an illness requiring proper
diagnosis and treatment:
When a patient is sick, there re several crucial preliminaries before a successful
cure can be undertaken. First of all, it is necessary for those who would be
curers to believe that finding a cure is worthwhile. … For a cure to “take,”
there needs to be, at the very least, a resolve that “yes,” it is “worth” trying to
cure the patient and, therefore, “yes” it is worth trying to find out what his/her
illness is due to, so that its cure can be attempted and so that the patient’s life
circumstances afterwards can be altered in order that a relapse need not be a
foregone conclusion. (Reversing Language Shift 39)
If language shift is in process, as is the case in Chicana/o communities as described by
our authors above, how then can language maintenance, much less expectations of
flawless Spanish proficiency and English/Spanish balanced bilingualism be upheld?
Although earlier generations indeed value their Spanish language heritage in thought,
in action they do not transmit it to following generations. The linguistic oppression
earlier generations of linguistic minority populations experience deters this. What this
means is that Chicana/os have already been set up to fail these linguistic expectations
and have their ethnocultural identities challenged. The ostracism that is felt at multiple
levels by these stigmatized Chicana/os therefore further challenges their possibility for
Spanish heritage language retrieval or maintenance.
Chicana/o Language Recovery Projects
So what do you do in the face of such obstacles? What to do when your
heritage language has been denied you, and various communities—including, if not
especially, those you wish to identify with and be identified by—have criticized you
for it at the linguistic, cultural and therefore extremely personal levels, and
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unsubstantiated but accepted linguistic expectations and assumptions sustain the
continuity of such critiques? In this final section we will explore the “language
recovery projects” our Chicana writers offer as a solution. These projects are not only
a reactionary tactic whose implementation is to temporarily transcend moments of
critique and ostracism. Rather, they are fundamental principles for the active
ideological re-conceptualization of painful lived histories and experiences at the
individual level that instigate paradigmatic shifts and transformational identity politics
at the community level. The steps proposed by the collective narratives of Serros,
Anzaldúa, Moraga, and García to carry out a language recovery project are:
(1) Question and reflect upon the nature of the linguistic terrorism you
encounter.
(2) Hold on to your desire for your language and communities.
(3) Actively seek out and pursue your language.
(4) Re-value and validate your existing linguistic abilities.
(5) Reclaim your identity as a Chicana/o.
(6) Expose the linguistic terrorism that occurs.
The successful execution of these steps allows for the reclamation of Chicana/o
language and therefore identity. I take the concept of “language recovery project”
from the work of García, the exact reference of which we will see in the following
paragraph. Language recovery projects highlight the necessary components heritage
language speakers and circumstantial bilingual communities require for the positive
appraisal and therefore active protection of their languages. Each step in this process
lays the foundation for enactment of the next. Taken individually, each phase of
language recovery projects are in-and-of themselves important components for
individuals to move from a purely reactionary model of dealing with linguistic
terrorism to proactively dismantling its continuation within their communities.
Through the works of our Chicana authors we will come to appreciate the
macrocosmic significance that language recovery projects offer Chicana/os as heritage
speakers of Spanish.
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The first step in the reclamation of Chicana/o language and identity through a
language recovery project is to consciously engage in questioning linguistic terrorism.
Referring to the internalization of oppressive forces on which cycles of linguistic
terrorism are based within Chicana/o communities, García asks:
But why? Is it that we embody the fear of acculturation, our clumsy tongues
making a painful colonial history corporeal? This formulation understands
language and culture as continually in peril, not as dynamic and developing,
and certainly not as something that can be recovered and strengthened—
indeed, it precludes the possibility that a linguistic recovery project might be
the very source of the cultural strength and pride so often ascribed to fluency.
(136)
García questions the cultural ostracism encountered by Chicana/os in order to
analytically deconstruct it. She arrives as the conclusion that it is not so much what
she as an individual can or cannot do linguistically, but rather what she represents to
her communities as a potentially flawed Spanish heritage language speaker.
Ideologically her “clumsy” language embodies and makes immediately present the
legacy of oppression her communities have faced. The changing and fluid nature of
language as a potential source of successful linguistic collaborations and community
building cannot be appreciated. By applying a deficit model for the evaluation of
Chicana/o language only the negative is emphasized due to fear and rejection of facing
the oppressive histories linguistic minority populations experience. As a result
Chicana/os become what Anzaldúa names “deslenguadas,” people without tongues
(Borderlands 80). This disembodiment of language, the excision of tongue from body
as ultimate negation of inadequate Spanish language, is further explored by Anzaldúa:
Nothing scares the Chicana more than the quasi Chicana: nothing disturbs a
Mexican more than a Latina who lumps her with norteamericanas. It is easier
to retreat to the safety of difference behind racial, cultural, and class borders.
Because our awareness of the Other as object often swamps our awareness of
ourselves as subject, it is hard to maintain a fine balance between cultural
ethnicity and the continuing survival of that culture, between traditional culture
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and an evolving hybrid culture. How much must remain the same, how much
must change?” (Making Face 145).
To be without the tongue and therefore language is something that invokes a fear of
not being identified as one wishes within Chicana/o communities. Being without
Spanish is a marker of being “quasi” Chicana/o, or not quite Chicana/o enough. This
same fear is what drives the ostracism we have seen in the previous section, a fear of
being differentiated from the community one holds on to as defining aspect of a social
identity. Along with the fear of turning into the cultural “Other” comes a more fixed
conception of how to remain “traditionally” ourselves. For Chicana/os this is expected
through fluent Spanish heritage language use. Focusing on the “otherness” or foreign
and unwanted aspects that do not match up with these expectations becomes easier
than searching for the commonalities in linguistic histories and experiences. Serros’s
poem “Mi Problema” brilliantly articulates this phenomenon:
A white person gets encouragement,
praise,
for weak attempts at a second language.
“Maybe he wants to be brown
like us.”
and that is good.
My earnest attempts
make me look bad,
dumb.
“Perhaps she wanted to be white
like THEM.”
and that is bad. (Chicana Falsa 31)
Her sincere and actual Spanish language production is held to higher standards of
cultural authenticity that the racial and linguistic other does not have to contend with,
and is rather praised for. Serros’s genuine desire and verifiable cultural heritage are
negligible traits in the face of her “problematic” language, hence she is turned into an
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“Other” worthy only of rejection from her communities. Because in linguistic
terrorism the individual’s experience as reflective of their communities’
sociohistorical oppressions is not taken to account, one of the first steps in dismantling
cycles of linguistic terrorism through a language recovery project is to directly
interrogate this phenomenon.
During the second phase of a language recovery project Chicana/os must
preserve their desire for their heritage language in spite of the criticism they receive.
This is easier to do after questioning its basis and continued existence in their
communities, resulting in a deeper understanding of linguistic terrorism. Moraga
writes:
In conclusion, quiero decir that these changes scare me. Returning to la
mujer scares me, re-learning Spanish scares me. I have not spoken much of la
lengua here. It is not so much that I have been avoiding it, only that the
conclusion brings me to the most current point in time: la lengua.
In returning to the love of my race, I must return to the fact that not only
has the mother been taken from me, but her tongue, her mothertongue. I want
the language; feel my tongue rise to the occasion of feeling at home, in
common. I know this language in my bones… and then it escapes me… “You
don’t belong. Quitate!” (141)
Moraga’s fear of returning to her heritage language does not deter her from
acknowledging her desire to use her language in her writing. She discards the
interpretation that the lack of Spanish in her texts is attributable to this fear. Her desire
towards Spanish is much too strong for censure, even from her own personified
tongue, because it evokes “home,” her family, and communities—a sense of belonging
that surpasses all. This desire incites perseverance to dominate the resistance her own
tongue challenges her with as it echoes rejection from the communion she want with
others through Spanish. In letting go of her self-imposed censure, Moraga realizes that
returning to her Spanish will be essential in securing her sought-after place in her
communities. This realization of her desire for Spanish is embodied through sexual
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pleasure. She shares a conversation with her friend about the language of their sexual
identities and practices:
Mi amiga says to me, she could never go back to not fucking in Spanish.
And I think about this. Yo recuerdo a Carmela—su mano trazando los círculos
de mis senos around and around bringing her square small hands down,
moving my legs apart, opening my lips hovering, holding me there—her light
breath on my thighs. No me lame, pero espera, mirandome, diciendo. “¡Qué
rica! ¡Ay mujer, qué rica tú eres!”
And I can’t quite relieve my ears, she is talking about me before su boca lo
sabe. She knows before hand and mouth make it possible. She tells me my
name, my taste, in Spanish. She fucks me in Spanish. (142)
One of the most quintessential components of Moraga’s identity, her sexuality as a
lesbian, is embodied through the tongue as both the organ for linguistic production and
female sexual pleasure.89 The desire for her heritage language provokes the realization
that her Spanish accentuates her sexual pleasure and experiences in a manner that
English cannot. This is why her friend commits to maintaining sexual relations
through Spanish only.
García bases her continued desire for her Spanish language on its fluid nature
that mirrors her communities’ cultural dynamism:
I know the lasting comfort and deep contentment found in a rasquache TexMex tongue that continually shape-shifts and reinvents itself, that resists the
dominant language surrounding it by appropriating and reforming it, then
claiming it as its own. Yes. This is cultura, processual and dynamic.
Contradictory and recursive. We do not have the luxury of seamless
bilingualism; in its place, we forge new sounds and sites of home. Parque el
troque. Esta blinkiando. Oye, y’all. These are survivial strategies. This is
ours… It has not been for lack of trying. Understand that. I have wanted this
89
Taking Moraga’s work as a “sexual/textual project,” Yarbro-Bejarano notes that “the mouth fuses
two taboo activities: female speaking and lesbian sexuality. “Mouth” and “sex” merge, both represented
as organs of speech and sex. In this context of speech/sex, the lesbian body is ‘whole’” (Wounded Heart
6).
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tongue my entire life, have struggled since childhood to replace the clumsy
dead weight in my mouth with a muscle lithe and lucid, as fluent in my
mothertongue as it is in my mother’s tongue. (127)
The Spanish García desires identifies her as a Texas Chicana and represents the
importance of local regional variations within the identity work of Chicana/os. Despite
the fact that she has not received a similar appreciation, García’s embraces the
adaptive and ever-changing nature of her communities and language for “survival.”
Revitalizing her tongue to produce that language requires more than physical muscle
and practice, but memory of heritage. Like Moraga, García personifies her tongue
through its representative imagery as active, spry, and “fluent.” The play on linguistic
heritage as a “mothertongue,” but also the real product of her mother’s physical
tongue further exemplifies García’s desire for renewing personal connections in her
many communities, whether familial or extended. The desire for a place in the
communities they love and therefore recognition of their identities is ultimately tied to
Chicana/os’ desire for Spanish, which must be refreshed and maintained.
Their desire undeterred, Chicana/os are propelled to literally seek out the
language they desire as the third step in their language recovery projects. Serros does
this through formal instruction: “I search for S.S.L. classes, / (Spanish as a Second
Language) / in college catalogs / and practice / with my grandma. / who gives me
patience, / permission to learn” (Chicana Falsa 32). Serros searches for opportunities
that will offer her a place to fulfill her desire for linguistic expansion and ultimately
validation in Spanish. Unfortunately she still sees her linguistic abilities as requiring
the rudimentary language instruction elective bilinguals receive. She has not been able
to see herself as a true heritage language speaker of Spanish, although we cannot
assume that such courses/programs are available and offered at her institution.
However, she materializes her desire through concrete action. Moraga follows the
same path when she tells us that: “I called up Berlitz today. The Latino who answered
refused to quote me prices over the phone. ‘Come down and talk to Mr. Bictner,’ he
says. I want to know how much it’s going to cost before I do any train riding to
Manhattan. ‘Send me a brochure,’ I say, regretting the call. Paying for culture. When I
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was born between the legs of the best teacher I could have had” (141). Moraga’s
actions are based on the lost opportunity to own Spanish as part of her inheritance
from her mother. Her cost-benefit analysis of the economic investment of pursuing
Spanish language instruction reminds her of its loss. Because she values her language
as a critical part of her cultural identity, she questions the material value system that a
price estimate requires. Both Serros and Moraga also represent the manner in which
heritage language learning is first approached. If they have been questioned as valid
speakers of their heritage languages why then would they seek out courses developed
specifically for heritage language speakers? Instead, we see them both identifying
within communities of learners of Spanish as a second language, minimizing if not
totally rejecting their existing abilities in their heritage language as authentic and valid
speakers, as others have done to them. This does not however minimize the concrete
actions they are taking in seeking out their language. These steps exemplify the
proactive nature of Chicana/o language recovery projects.
Despite initially viewing themselves as learners and not speakers of Spanish,
these women find a way to re-value and validate their existing linguistic abilities,
which is the fourth phase of Chicana/o language recovery projects. In order to be
economically savvy with her remaining time and units required to graduate, Serros
decides to study abroad and fulfill her foreign language requirement through Spanish.
Her counselor reiterates the typical assumptions we have seen made about Chicana/o
identity and Spanish language ability:
“You don’t speak Spanish?” my counselor asked, surprised.
“Not really,” I told her. “I mean, I could improve.” (Role Model 101)
Presuming Serros’s choice of Spanish to fill her foreign language requirement
indicates Serros’s inability to speak it, her counselor is “surprised.” Serros’s response
to this assumption begins with her expected and perhaps rehearsed response of
minimizing her language abilities. “Not really” speaking Spanish is tantamount to
inadequate linguistic knowledge and production of her heritage language. However,
Serros corrects this automatic response, rephrasing it to establish an existing basis of
her language, which can be expanded, not initiated, through instruction. After deciding
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that she will indeed pursue the study abroad option discussed with her counselor,
Serros states: “I picked Taxco as the place to learn—I mean, improve my Spanish”
(Role Model 102).
In both these moments we see Serros adjusting her own perception of her language in
order to validate it. She is not going to México to be taught Spanish from scratch as a
second language learner; she will enhance the abilities and skills she already holds as a
heritage language speaker. She can indeed “improve” her Spanish because it has been
reassessed as valuable and meritorious of additional worth through focused study.
Towards the end of her piece García speaks of her desire and work towards building
upon her Spanish:
When I become fluent—and I am now more than proficient in Spanish, and
have long been if you count all those moments when I successfully pushed the
insecurity out of my head and off my tongue—does the complexity of my
linguistic history disappear? Or will it be borne in my americana accent, for
those who hear it (and care to listen)? This wild tongue is not tame. Ni tiene
pelos. It slips and stumbles, pero también grita y canta. And for all those other
aberrant appendages, it prays. (137)
Here García recognizes that her proficiency is just that and “more,” not just
qualitatively but also quantitatively since her proficiency has “long” existed. Although
she still uses the term “fluency” as a differential marker of where she would like to be
and perceives herself to be in the development of her Spanish, she also uses
overcoming self-censure based on “insecurity” as a criterion. This justifies her
previous silence as a learned response to imposed cultural ostracism and critiques, as
well as heightens the virtue of breaking this pattern of censorship. The questions she
posits as she breaks out of devaluing her Spanish lead her to further validate what she
can do with her Chicana tongue and language, abilities that range from unedited
words, to mistakes, to loud sharp cries, musical sounds and spiritual expression. The
intense emotional conflicts that heritage language speakers experience in using (or not
using) their language are appreciated and embraced as part of re-valuing and
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validating their linguistic abilities. In this fourth step in language recovery projects
Chicana/os move from minimizing to legitimizing their Spanish.
Along with the validation of their Spanish linguistic abilities comes the
necessary reclamation of Chicana/os’ identities and rightful place in their
communities; this is the penultimate and extremely critical step in language recovery
projects. To “reclaim” is to assert a previously negated claim as appropriate, justified,
and legitimate. The prefix “re” provokes this remembrance and brings to light the past
denials of claims that are legitimized in their reclamation. This is the ideological
weight of this fifth step, which reminds Chicana/os of the internal conflict and fear
that marks their Spanish language use. As Moraga tells us: “Quiero decirte, re-learning
Spanish scares me. I feel like the same and a different woman in Spanish. A different
kind of passion. I think, soy mujer en español. No macha. Pero Mujer. Soy Chicana—
open to all kinds of attack” (142). Moraga understands that claiming her identity as a
Chicana means she can be “attacked” for it through all the aspects that being a
Chicana means to her. These include her language, gender, and sexuality, all of which
compose the identity work of her Chicana identity. Her use of Spanish to direct these
thoughts at her audience underscores the necessary difference her heritage language
provides in adequately communicating and reclaiming her identity. The revalorized
language and identity of Chicana/os strengthens the “attacks” targeted at them. This
very fact makes the reclamation of her Chicana identity through language indeed
frightening, but Moraga refuses to further postpone claiming a space within her
desired communities. Likewise, García tells us:
For my part, I know I became Chicana at the same moment I accepted my
faulty Spanish. I know my ethnic politicization happened at the same moment I
asserted my right to claim Chicana not in spite of my stuttering pocha
bilingualism, but through it. This faltering tongue is tangible evidence of our
historical presence and continual struggle in this country. And that is why it is
so hard to let it go. (136-137)
“Through” her lived linguistic experience as a bilingual (and here again we see the
acceptance of this as part of her identity, not just as a Spanish speaker but a
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Spanish/English bilingual complete with its perceptible incongruities in use) García
has been able to re-claim her identity as Chicana. Although she refers to her Spanish
as flawed or “faulty,” because she has successfully re-valued her language it works as
the centrifugal point of release for her Chicana identity reclamation. Acceptance of her
complex linguistic history and its present manifestations validates her identity work as
a Chicana. She will therefore not “let go” of herself or the communities she seeks.
Anzaldúa is also able to claim her identity through language: “I will no longer be
made to feel ashamed of existing. I will have my voice: Indian, Spanish, White. I will
have my serpent’s tongue—my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice. I
will overcome a tradition of silence” (Borderlands 81). Anzaldúa claims her right to
exist unashamed of her language or identity. Her voice is colored with the various
races she has inherited through her ethnocultural heritage. Her language embodies all
these and offers her the strength to enunciate her identity as a Chicana. Anzaldúa’s
repetition of the future tense reiterates the strength of her claim to her language and
identity as a Chicana. Reclaiming Chicana/o identity through its language does
eradicate the possibilities of further ostracism and critique. However, the strength
derived from the process of enacting language recovery projects magnifies the
necessity of this reclamation as an inevitable next step.
The reclamation of Chicana/o identity through language offers the strength to
enact the final step of language recovery projects, which is to expose linguistic
terrorism. The linguistic expectations and assumptions, as well as cultural ostracism
and critiques experienced by Chicana/os are themselves the target of criticism as this
step is enacted. García literally turns to her readers as an audience for this exposure:
Please tell me, those of you who have ever mocked or scorned another
Latinos’ tongue-tied Spanish: what exactly does this accomplish? You do
understand this puts us in a bit of a double bind, you want us to learn the
language, but ridicule and disparage our tentative or inelegant efforts. I can
assure you that this response inspires neither confidence nor assiduous
conversational practice. Yet perhaps there is an echo here of my father’s
curious logic: if Anglo cruelty was disastrously effective in shaming the
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Spanish out of us, mightn't Latino cruelty be equally effective in shaming it
back in? (136)
García scrutinizes us as her audience, recognizing potential linguistic terrorists within
each reader and requiring us to contemplate this aspect within ourselves. She makes us
individually and collectively accountable for the continued existence of linguistic
terrorism by using the second personal pronoun to address us. As we are directly asked
to contemplate the “curious logic” that motivates linguistic oppression and cultural
ostracism, she exposes the counter-productive, ineffectual, damaging, and skewed
expectations and assumptions about Chicana/o language within our communities.
Anzaldúa also identifies the harboring of linguistic terrorists within her own
communities:
If a person, Chicana or Latina, has a low estimation of my native tongue,
she also has a low estimation of me. Often with mexicanas y latinas we’ll
speak English as a neutral language. Even among Chicanas we tend to speak
English at parties or conferences. Yet, at the same time, we’re afraid the other
will think we’re agringadas because we don’t speak Chicano Spanish. We
oppress each other trying to out-Chicano each other, vying to be the “real”
Chicanas, to speak like Chicanos. (Borderlands 80-81)
Anzaldúa clarifies the interdependent relationship between language and identity in
order to underscore the devaluation of individuals when their language is critiqued.
For her communities, English is conceptualized as the appropriate medium for
“neutral” communication that does not reveal systems of linguistic evaluation.
Anzaldúa eradicates the possibility of English as a safe language for Chicana/o
identities as she reveals the unspoken truth that its use becomes analogous to a
presumed negation of Spanish. Anzaldúa successfully pinpoints the linguistic oneupmanship that exists within her communities and therefore denounces them as
complicit in cycles of linguistic terrorism.
After her friends’ prompting, Serros not only produces a poem denouncing
linguistic terrorism, an accurate definition of “Mi Problema,” but decides to confront
her critic by reading it during open-mic night at the Chicana writers conference:
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Thirty minutes later my name was read from the sign-up sheet and I walked to
the stage. From the podium I could see her more clearly. I quickly read my
three poems saving the new one for last. Then I saw the woman laughing with
that friend of hers. Oh, she must’ve heard someone speaking Spanish and
caught a grammatical error, grammaticos wrongos. (Role Model 10)
Similarly exposing linguistic terrorism by directly addressing her audience, Serros
shares García’s strategy by putting her audience on the spot, so to say. It is with great
anticipation that she gets to her poem, all the while narrating her internal thought
processes at this emotional moment, which is intensified by recognizing the woman is
not paying attention to her: “But all I could think about was getting the words out,
reaching this witch of a woman and demanding she learn a lesson from me. But
unfortunately, it looked hopeless” (Role Model 11). Serros is able to fulfill her
commitment to exposing her linguistic terrorist even through the frustration of
realizing her target audience is not listening. She doubly exposes her oppressor to us
as readers, even if she cannot identify the “witch” to herself and audience within her
narrative. Although Serros feels “deflated” because the woman never acknowledges
her words, she gains the attention of a publisher interested in her poetry (specifically
her Spanish language use and profound emotion) (Role Model 11-12). However
thwarted her specific plan for the exposé of an individual linguistic terrorist may be,
Serros’s sincere work will provide the opportunity for this unveiling to a wider
audience. Exposure of linguistic terrorism is the final step of language recovery
projects as it helps break cycles of this oppression and moves the reclamation of
Chicana/o identity through language from the individual to the collective level.
Although we have worked through all the specific steps that make up the
process of recovering language and therefore identity through language recovery
projects, specifically for Chicana/os, there is yet one more step to which I would like
to draw attention and reflect upon. This step is not necessarily part of the projects
themselves, but rather a motivational repercussion of Serros’s, Anzaldúa’s, Moraga’s,
and García’s proposed language recovery projects. Through the committed narration
of their painful lived experiences and conflictive relationships to their heritage
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language, these writers provide a metacritical apparatus for other individuals to
identify and engage the same issues for themselves and their communities. Doing so
results in the building of positive relationships that are based on internalized and
shared acceptance. After presenting as a guest speaker at a local elementary school,
Serros has an enlightening exchange with a cafeteria worker:
“Puede tener más… más salsa?” I ask the server in a hair net accross from
me.
“You want more… gravy?” she asks nervously.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I heard your stories, from the kitchen.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, I stopped what I was doing ‘cause I didn’t want to miss a word.
They were really nice. I enjoyed them a lot.”
“Oh, thanks.” (Role Model 221)
Serros’s request for additional gravy on her chicken pot pie is made in Spanish,
indicating she not only recognizes ethnocultural traits of a Spanish-speaking
background in the server, but also wishes to establish communication in that
(hopefully shared) language. She hesitates as indicated by the ellipses because she is
unsure of the correct translation of gravy into Spanish, and appropriately uses salsa.
The server responds, equally hesitant and “nervous” about her own appropriate
language use and role in establishing a desired connection with Serros in order to
communicate her admiration for her writing. Although the specific language in which
they continue their conversation is unclear, I assume it is in Spanish as it has been the
marked code-switch in the narrative. That it appears to us as readers in English is
probably an editorial choice to “dub” the Spanish dialogue for publishing purposes. By
sharing her language and identity reclamation as a Chicana writer, Serros finds an
appreciative if unexpected audience member in this woman, as well as establishes a
positive relationship in Spanish from someone she recognizes as part of her
communities. Serros ends her narrative work with her reflection on these comments:
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I created something out of what I was told I could never do. The so-called
obstacles in my life that so many people tried to make me feel ashamed about
suddenly seem less important. So what if I’m still in junior college after six
years? Big deal I’m not fluent in Spanish and that I still wear a corduroy smock
to pay my rent. Here is someone telling me they actually stopped what they
were doing just to hear what I had to say. It’s pretty cool having people listen
to what you want heard. No, it’s very cool. I begin to feel an incredibly intense
sense of excitement and happiness. And then, more than at any other time
during my fledgling career as an aspiring Chicana role model, I sorta, in a way,
actually feel like one. (Role Model 222)
Although nobody in her “target” audience engages her in a similar fashion, through
this singular interaction Serros gains a sense of immense accomplishment. The
recognition of her work as a writer, in her own languages, and therefore her Chicana
identity by someone with whom she wishes to identify produces an elation that Serros
has not experienced during any other time of her life. She accepts her identity as a
positive model for others to identify with and aspire to because of this connection with
a potential community member.
Moraga experiences a different sort of reaction when presenting her self and
work to an audience as well:
La boca spreads its legs to open to talk, open to attack. “I am a lesbian.
And I am a Chicana,” I say to the men and women at the conference. I watch
their faces twist up on me. “These are two inseparable facts of my life. I can’t
talk or write about one without the other.”
My mouth cannot be controlled. It will flap in the wind like legs in sex, not
driven by the mind. It’s as if la boca were centered on el centro del corazón,
not in the head at all. The same place where the cunt beats. (142)
Moraga speaks her identity out loud to an audience whose members’ facial
expressions reveal they are not necessarily receptive to her. Introducing herself firstly
through her sexuality and gender, then through her ethnicity is a preemptive “attack”
on the assumptions made about her identity. She refuses to divide the different aspects
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of herself into acceptable components for her audience’s (or anyone else’s) comfort
because they are inextricable within her identity work and are essential to who she is
as a Chicana.90 She negates censure of her mouth, words, and therefore language, in
expressing her identity. Indeed, she embraces her mouth as the essential conduit of her
Chicana lesbian identity. Moraga inverts the power dynamic in relationships and/or
communities that may not want to be identified with her or vice-versa. Instead of
waiting to be identified through assumptions and expectations she proclaims her
identity, making her audience recognize her on her own terms. Although this is not a
moment of building community with a coveted constituency, Moraga does achieve
this elsewhere, as evidenced in García’s essay:
I remember reading Cherríe Moraga’s Loving in the War Years for the first
time, her serrated prose pitching hard into my chest. Here was something that
finally made sense, that spoke to and about facets of experience that had only
been understood as fragments. … What’s more, Cherríe, this icon of Chicana
feminism, was a self-professed half-breed who thought and wrote and loved in
Spanish but was still anxious about speaking in Spanish. … It was a lifeline for
me, to find my loss of language narrated, to find tangible proof that my
existence wasn’t anomalous or aberrant—that it wasn’t, in some fundamental
way, my own fault. (124-125)
90
For Yarbro-Bejarano: “This remarkable passage redistributes the anatomy of the lesbian body,
decentering the mind and the head and locating ‘la boca’ (newly defined as ‘mouth/cunt’) in the heart.
The process reveals that not only our attitudes about our bodies but our very bodies themselves are
constructed. If this is so, Moraga’s writing seems to suggest, there’s nothing to stop us from
reconstructing them from the blueprint of our own desire, however implicated those desires might be in
hegemonic discourses of gender and sexuality” (Wounded Heart 7). Within this instance, then, Moraga
is reconstructing her embodied identity and its desire for recognition. I would also say that her
audience’s reaction can be read in light of Yarbro-Bejarano’s criticism of traditional models of unified
and singular subjectivity, which depend on the exclusion of the collective and interactively dependent
critical aspects of identity for queer colored individuals: “At the root of these problems is the focus on
one issue, whether it be gender, race, class, or sexuality, as if it existed separately from the others. The
insistence on keeping these analytic categories discrete indicates white people’s resistance to perceiving
their own gender or sexuality as racially constructed and their tendency to assign the category of race
exclusively to people of color (Gordon 105), as well as the resistance of people of color to perceiving
their own gender or heterosexual privilege. The rigid separation of these categories reveals that people
generally resist acknowledging that they experience racial and cultural identity inseparably from gender
and sexual constructions of the self” (“Expanding” 127).
230
Moraga’s work provides García with an unequivocally important moment of
recognition and community. The moment García reads Moraga’s narration of her
linguistic lived experience indelibly marks her own identity work and incites her
language recovery project. Feeling without community or anyone with whom to share
her own language history García finds Moraga’s words are life-saving, so deep ran the
emotional turmoil of her self-indictment for her Spanish heritage language concerns.
García ends her essay with a note on the passing of Anzaldúa and this invocation
additionally provides a beautiful example of the manner in which community can be
built among Chicana/os through the sharing of language recovery projects.91 Indeed,
my own words, would not be possible if all these experiences remained unwritten as
texts.
Conclusion
I like to think of this chapter as an exploration of the negative side of the
idealized relationship between heritage languages and ethnocultural identity for
minority populations. This relationship correlates the use of the minority or heritage
language to its cultural identity, whereby the degree of the latter is dependent on the
former. In this equation, the more you speak and know your communities’ heritage
languages, the more valid your heritage cultural identity. The negative side of this
equation, to phrase it popularly, is what happens when the relationship between
language and identity goes wrong. That is to say, when minority individuals fail to
meet linguistic assumptions and expectations and are deemed unworthy
representatives of their ethnocultural heritage by their own immigrant and linguistic
minority communities, as well as the dominant society in which they live. If
ethnocultural identity for minority populations hinges on their heritage languages as a
sign of cultural pride, loyalty, and authenticity, we cannot ignore the very real,
91
This is an example of what Yarbro-Bejarano describes as the self and communal love present in
Chicana feminist writing: “The love of Chicanas for themselves and each other is at the heart of
Chicana writing, for without this love they could never make the courageous move to place Chicana
subjectivity in the center of literary representation, or depict pivotal relationships among women past
and present, or even obey the first audacious impulse to put pen to paper. Even as that act of necessity
distances the Chicana writer from her oral tradition and not so literate sisters, the continuing
commitment to the political situation of all Chicanas creates a community in which readers, critics and
writers alike participate” (“Chicana Literature” 218).
231
material, sociocultural, and historic situations that produce speakers that do not meet
linguistic criteria of flawless heritage language use and/or perfectly balanced
bilingualism in the heritage and dominant languages of their communities. In order to
recognize the factors producing speakers that do not meet these criteria, we must
understand the less desired but more realistic outcomes of language contact situations
and bilingualism, namely that of language shift to the dominant societal language,
language loss at the individual and community levels, as well as the complexities of
heritage languages and their speakers.
As Chicana feminists, the writing of Serros, Anzaldúa, Moraga, and García
directly address and center their lived experiences as women of color, in which
formulating their identities in and through language is central. Through their words
they expose the deeply personal weight of their conflictive relationship to Spanish as
Chicanas. They accurately describe the realities that shaped their immigrant families’
history and decisions that led to their inheritance of language shift. The pain of being
critiqued from the communities they wish to identify with as Chicanas because they do
not meet the assumptions and expectations about their Spanish language prompts their
language recovery projects, which challenge cycles of linguistic oppression and
cultural ostracism within their communities, otherwise known as linguistic terrorism.
Through questioning and reflecting upon the nature of the linguistic terrorism they
encounter, retaining their desire for Spanish as their heritage language, actively
seeking out and pursuing Spanish, re-valuing and validating their existing linguistic
abilities in Spanish, reclaiming their Chicana identities as Spanish speakers within
their communities, and exposing the linguistic terrorism that occurs, these Chicana
feminist writers provide a space for ultimate communion based on language affinity
for Chicana/os.
I have kept for the end of this chapter my personal experience in these issues of
heritage language and identity. Aside from identifying profoundly with the words
written by these Chicana feminist writers as a Chicana feminist critic, particularly in
relation to overcoming linguistic terrorism, I have had additional experiences and
identities in this field of inquiry. A product of Spanish heritage language programs
232
myself (during my undergraduate education and only after much persuasion by my
elective bilingual mentor, who unfortunately at the time was the only person I would
believe regarding my language abilities), I have had the unequivocal pleasure of being
a heritage language instructor during my graduate studies. This has marked my
development as a teacher, scholar, and heritage language speaker profoundly, and
continues to do so. The privilege of teaching these courses has only cemented my
belief in the power of language to unite.
Although I cannot say that I never question just how successful language
recovery projects can be, I know that at the individual level, if one speaker can be
validated, then it is a worthwhile endeavor. I would echo here the sentiment of Valdés
who shares “feeling little hope that educational programs by themselves can do much
to reverse the strong tendencies toward English monolingualism present in immigrant
communities,” she is “often cynical about how much language programs can actually
accomplish” but finds encouragement from students’ experiences:
[M]y own work with bilingual Chicano students has convinced me that if one
is able, in the classroom, to create a context wherein immigrant students are
lead to value both their heritage and their language, an important
transformation in social identity can, in fact occur. What this has implied for
me is that instruction in heritage languages which is designed to take
perceptions about their existing language strengths can indeed have positive
effects on language maintenance. Very specifically, such instruction can
impact significantly on choices made by individuals maintaining their ethnic
language. It is obviously the case that for an individual circumstantial bilingual
to make the effort to maintain or retrieve a language that has been little valued
by the society in which she has struggled to become a part, she must believe,
not only that her ethnic language is of value, but also that her own abilities as a
speaker of that language are worthwhile. (“The Role of the Foreign Language”
51)
The redemptive qualities of educative programs in heritage language maintenance and
development at the individual level outweigh our temporary pessimism as instructors.
233
Indeed, this dissertation and my career paths are testament to the potential success for
these programs. As Fishman notes, “If Spanish as a HL is to become what it should
be, both for the country as a whole and for the Hispanic community in particular, it
needs to become a youth movement rather than just a school course-sequence”
(Developing 9). The types of programs that are now spreading and becoming available
to heritage language speakers are not without their own challenges and indeed as other
scholars themselves have noted, can actually prompt if not hasten language shift and
loss to the dominant societal language. Schools can help and indeed, I have seen
students grow through their personal conflicts and the development of their Spanish
language, but it cannot be the only venue and requires community support.
Communities are made up of individuals and these individuals need to be
recognized by their communities as the authentic speakers of language and culture
they are. We turn to our younger generations for the positive changes we have
struggled to achieve in our own generations, and as educators many of us will continue
to turn to our students with this hope. But we must also be conscious of the tools they
need, and the support those of us with similar backgrounds and experiences are
responsible to share in order for this to happen. Because of the writings of Anzaldúa
and Moraga, García was able to find the words to validate her lived experience of
Spanish as a heritage language and her Chicana identity. Through the sociolinguistic
study of bilingualism and heritage language pedagogy, I have been able to do the same
and provide my students with García’s and Serros’s words for their own language
recovery projects. This is how positive cycles of linguistic identification and
community building can occur to counteract the negative cycles of linguistic terrorism
within our communities. As Zentella states: “It is in the dismantling of critiques of our
English, our Spanish, and our Spanglish, and in an understanding of who benefits from
the diminishment of our linguistic repertoires, that a powerful Latina/o unity can be
rooted” (“Lingusitic (In)Security” 36). We must confront and “dismantle” the critiques
that occur within our own communities before we can successfully continue to combat
those from outside our communities. I have offered this chapter then as an example of
the way in which Spanish as a contested Chicano heritage language finds its way out
234
of cycles of linguistic terrorism from within and without the communities in which it
exists and Chicana/os are able to prove that they are indeed linguistically and
culturally “enough.”
235
Epilogue
“Personal and Academic, and Vice Versa”
The personal is academic, the academic is personal. Among the many truths I
have learned during my travails in academia, this has been the most resounding. The
reverberation of its echo has indelibly marked my formation as a scholar. It has also
guided the development of my comprehension of the need for academic selfinterrogation, the critical analysis of an academic’s subjectivity. Personal experience is
so often relegated to the sidelines (if not all together negated) in academic discourse
that scholars begin to forget that we too are subjects of inquiry, not merely inquirers
who are, and should continue to be, protected from a serious analytical gaze. What I
offer here as a conclusion to this project may perhaps best fit conceptually with its
introduction. However, I bring this project to closure by reviewing the influential
personal/academic moments in my own experience as a bilingual Chicana/o that have
been the catalyst for this dissertation. Here then I’ll present my own identity work as
an offering for the continuation of this project’s work in the analysis of bilingual
representation.
My “growing up bilingual; growing up Chicana” followed the developmental
pattern for most circumstantial bilinguals in the US. Born and raised in Boyle Heights,
Los Angeles, California by Mexican immigrant parents, I grew up to the sounds of
Spanish and English. English was the language of school,92 early childhood
educational TV programs, evening TV programs and social life as an adolescent, and
it became the primary language of communication with my older brother. Spanish
dictated my relationship with my parents and most, if not all, communicative needs at
home and in the community; the news, religion, and heated discussions were always in
Spanish. Boyle Heights, a predominantly Latina/o (and specifically Mexican)
immigrant neighborhood, required that social niceties and business transactions be
conducted in Spanish. I never took a Spanish course in high school to fulfill my
foreign language requirement because as my mother said, “El español ya te lo
92
My mother, a savvy sociocultural navigator, made sure to not “check the box” that would identify her
children as second-language learners of English. She was aware of the linguistic prejudices that such a
title brought given her own experiences of racism, as well as the way it could potentially affect our
educational paths if we were tracked and detained in ESL ghettos.
236
sabes.”93 As an adolescent my codeswitching magnified as my peer network was
composed of Chicana/o Spanish-English circumstantial bilinguals, like me, who never
felt the need or desire to sever our languages.
I cannot identify the exact moment I “became” a Chicana, I always just was.
Once in high school a classmate pondered out loud why we identified ourselves that
way. As my parents reiterated to my brother and I, we were Americans but came from
a Mexican background. They never used the term Chicana/o, I don’t even recall the
first time I heard it myself, but I knew that is was something different than Mexican
American. I was aware of racial profiling, inner-city gang violence, institutionalized
racism, under-resourced schools, and the systematic oppression of underserved
communities even if I couldn’t refer to them in these exact terms at the time. They
were my reality. The rich social, political, and cultural history of the Mexican and
Chicana/o communities within Los Angeles was something that, like my bilingualism,
I could not formally articulate. But I knew it, felt it, and lived it. It was my
epistemology even if I could not produce meta-critical discourses on it.
I left my neighborhood for a public state university education as a firstgeneration college student from a challenged socioeconomic background. Although I
participated in the university’s educational opportunity programs to make the
transition into academia smoother, the cultural shock was immense. My introverted
personality amplified along with academic insecurity. I was not valedictorian at my
high school; I could be best described as a slightly above-average student. I took
honors courses and even passed my AP English exam (barely). But I rarely spoke up
in my college classes, realizing that I had trouble understanding the academic register
of my classmates, and I struggled daily feeling like the only non-white American body
(which I usually actually was) in my courses. Among my friends, I was one of the few
to leave our hometown and the first to finish. I refused to become another number in
the statistics that were always used to define our communities, from the high rates of
pregnancy in Latina/o youth to educational discontinuity and subsequent delinquent
trends. I felt an anger that I could not express, a profound sadness that I internalized
93
“You already know Spanish,” my translation.
237
because clearly, I’d done something wrong if I had trouble keeping up with my not
just my English major classes, but the English of all my classes.
Yearning for community, I worked up the nerve to attend a meeting of the
main Chicana/o – Latina/o student organization on campus. I must admit feeling
intimidated. I’d never been actively involved in student organizations, never felt any
of my actions to be “political.” My apprehension quickly vanished in the presence of
so many fellow Chicana/os so that when one of the leaders came up to me,
recognizing it as my first meeting, I even felt excited. The welcome was more of an
interrogation aimed at discovering the reason for my previous lack of participation,
which was apparently tantamount to my questionable status as a Chicana. “So how can
you call yourself a Chicana?” I never went back. Then, my best friend strongly
encouraged me to read Anzaldúa, whom she’d discovered in the Chicana/o Studies
courses I was steered away from by well-intentioned but misinformed friends and
mentors. It was beyond relief to feel, for the first time in my undergraduate education,
that I was reading (and truly understanding) a work without the aid of a dictionary or
study guide. I hungrily read through Borderlands—captivated as many have been and
will continue to be—by the form and content of its cultural analysis. But I paused
where Anzaldúa describes the differences between California and Tejana Chicanas.94
My confusion turned to indignation at what I felt to be a divisive overgeneralization.
My susceptibility to internalizing critique at the time, combined with my quiet
desperation at unsuccessfully finding community, kept me from pursuing its study. I
only returned to this text again during my graduate education, and I cannot but feel
that initial sting when I reread this section.
I wondered if my Spanish too was so notably deficient, after all. Even after the
addition of a Spanish major and coursing through the heritage speakers’ language
program, one of my elective bilingual professors from México found more than
enough errors in my writing. Combined with those of my classmates, and including
our linguistic fumbling during discussions, there was ample room for what she thought
94
“With most California Chicanas I speak entirely in English (unless I forget). When I first moved to
San Francisco, I’d rattle something off in Spanish, unintentionally embarrassing them. Often it is only
with another Chicana tejana that I can talk freely” (78).
238
were lighthearted jests. My classmates and I always joined in her laughter, exchanging
glances of embarrassed acceptance. Now I see the many disjunctures within our own
Chicana/o communities, the differences upheld between northern and southern
California, Texas, not to mention beyond the Southwest—and accept them as
productive tensions that sustain our appreciation of diversity, even if at the time they
were jarring. Despite the challenges of my undergraduate university life, I never
disowned my Chicana identity. I chose to maintain it, accepting that I did not need to
participate in any Chicana/o organization on campus, or major in Chicana/o Studies,
or censure my nonstandard academic and informal registers of English and Spanish. I
knew all the work I had done to be the first in my immediate and extended family to
earn a college degree; this together with my commitment to education for my
communities was my contribution and how I “did being a bilingual Chicana.”
It was really in graduate school that my bilingual Chicana identity was the
most seriously challenged in life-altering ways. I entered my doctoral program slightly
dazed as to what this Ph.D. thing was really about, but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed
nonetheless. Convinced that the strength I had gained through overcoming the cultural
shock of my undergraduate education would sustain me through my transition to this
new realm of academia, I was taken aback by the unexpected socioeconomic shock I
encountered. Happily seeing more Latina/os and Spanish-speakers in my cohort and
department, I automatically identified with them through our shared immigrant
backgrounds, which were in actuality, worlds apart. I was the only identified US
minority in our bunch, an authentic “discriminada,” as one of my colleagues jokingly
called me. Recognition of these unanticipated differences made me feel utterly stupid,
bereft of the community I applauded myself for having quickly found, and literally of
an entirely different class. The socioeconomic disparities of our home realities were
difficult to conceptualize. I regressed—deeply, quickly—into unexpressed
intimidation, fertile ground for renewed academic insecurity.
In addition to the socioeconomic shock I attempted to work through, I
encountered a whole new set of expectations regarding my language production.
Apparently once you enter graduate school you are already supposed to be able to
239
produce the high formal academic registers publishable research and conference
presentations require. All my first papers received not-so-constructive criticism
targeting my unrefined English and Spanish use. I was expected to successfully
dialogue (read “debate”) with my elective bilingual classmates from Latin America
and white America on topics that I had not yet been exposed to, much less developed
academic discourse on. Challenged by the surprising foreignness of course texts and
discussions, I carried the “weight of my race” as one of my advisors later explained,
through stereotype threat. I did not feel adequate, “not bilingual or Chicana enough” to
represent my communities as I was implicitly (and sometimes rather explicitly) asked
to do.
Stumbling to find classes that would fulfill my program’s first years of
requirements, I ventured into the courses of professors who would become mentors in
my chosen areas of specialization. I began to consciously develop my academic
discourse through coursework in these areas that offered the concepts, terminology,
and frameworks for critical analysis of my lived experience as a linguistic and
immigrant minority in the US. Along with an upsurge in academic confidence, I began
my preparation for language instruction. Becoming a linguistic and cultural authority
figure in the classroom to second language learners and heritage speakers alike was
almost paralyzing. To abate self-flagellation for my perceived representational deficit
in these arenas, I sought community advocacy work through on- and off-campus
positions. Each of these experiences was simultaneously encouraging and
disheartening. Periods of excitement with the work I was doing in and out of academia
brought on intense but fleeting moments of confident ownership of my individual
contributions. These were followed by equally extreme moments of guilt for the
privilege my education offered and how it would continue to change my
socioeconomic reality, distancing me further from the reality of the communities I
identified with. This cycle set the rhythm of my existential angst as a bilingual
Chicana during these past few years.
When an advisor overheard me apologetically explain to a student that I was
Chicana but not really “political” she asked, kindly yet pointedly, “is that possible?”
240
Academic milestones and community work accumulated, and these achievements
cried out for my validation. My students’ work demanded belief in the confidence I
attempted to instill in them as bilinguals, first-generation college students,
ethnocultural and socioeconomic minorities, dominant linguistic and cultural allies,
etc. It has been continual work to process through cycles of internalized criticism; it is
never a successively linear trajectory. To recognize, accept, and claim my
sociopolitical awareness of the communities from which I descend I had to realize that
the act of identifying as a Chicana was political in and of itself. My commitment to
constantly better myself as a bilingual Chicana in order to best represent the
communities with which I identify may even be more than “enough.”
Through the process of completing this dissertation I have returned to all these
poignant moments, the freshness of their memory speaking to the immediacy with
which they still affect me. I will carry them with me as I renegotiate my bilingual
Chicana identity in new contexts, both in and out of academia, now with a newly
acquired title. Melding academic scholarship with personal experience has been the
necessary ingredient in surpassing the social, cultural, educational, economic, and
political obstacles that presented themselves before and during my identity work as a
bilingual Chicana. It will undoubtedly continue to be so as a bilingual Chicana Ph.D.
The academic is personal, the personal is academic.
241
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