I am years and a thousand thoughts away from those so-called teachers who never saw it essential to teach me about myself, finding it more important to tell of ALL THOSE TOO MANY WHITE MEN doing this and that, exploring and conquering, never mentioning a Chicano’s name. With such an education, one’s mind is tempted to subscribe to the notion that the whole world is White and male. They call it history, and I couldn’t agree more that it’s just that his-story.
Well there’s much that they’ve missed on purpose, I’m sure. Like many other Chicano’s suffering from cultural deprivation, I had to seek out what belongs to me, what was not to be found in the tattered textbooks which were older and more outdated than the teachers who used them and more antiquated than the institutions from which they were issued. I had to let my fingers do the walking through the dead and buried pages of “A Lighter Shade of Brown,” seeking Chicano heroes who never appeared. We were paralyzed by the great White father and his countless conquests, but never a word of how people suffered as a result of this madness called exploration.
The ghosts of the missing chapters began to ooze between the lines. It was here where I shook hands and spoke with my heroes; I spoke with the achievers, the fighters, writers, entertainers and intellectuals, all Brown and Proud. Voices long dead spoke to me, the words relevant and beautiful; and yet I felt that I was speaking with myself; looking into a mirror which reflected positive images.
Why they tried to hide my true identity is something beyond me. Call me a racist. How can one raised in this land of red, white and blue not be? It is certainly a learned behavior here in America. One who has suffered pride starvation develops a ravenous appetite for ethnocentrism, and soon a bloated stomach from devouring it all at once.
My children won’t have to taste my starvation; they will drink abundantly from the cups of self-knowledge and pride for which I thirsted. Their eyes will read the very pages for which I long searched, never understanding that they were deliberately misplaced. They’ll know from whence they originated and where they’re going. They will understand that Chicano isn’t a dirty word, and “wetback” is the name of the person using it. And the missing links and pages that I could never find will connect their youth.
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What Got Me Started Writing The Way That I Do?
Short StoryWhat Got Me Started Writing The Way That I Do?
