When I went to Puerto Rico over winter break, I chose not to practice my vow of silence as to not complicate further language barriers I would inevitably encounter or make uncomfortable the family to which I was the guest. The said barriers threw me--were not what I had expected--as it turned out that mostly everyone I encountered in the country spoke English. This would have been a relief rather than an ironic obstacle had I not gone to practice my Spanish and keep my cognitive cogs well-oiled. The trip became an absurd game of me speaking to others in Spanish, and being responded to in English. I felt strangely disempowered and defeated in being forced to use my native language to save exchanges from awkward incongruence. I wondered if the insistence of others to speak English with me was a gesture of hospitality under the impression that this would make things easier for me, their own eagerness to practice their skills, an underestimation of mine, or (and) an automated response to blonde-hair signifier for "gringa". I was also working against the assumption of those that approached me first that being American (or shall I say more officially American than they), surely I did not share their language. And with this assumption, I also sensed a certain level of guardedness, for who does not feel a subtle but distinct instinct of separateness when in the proximity of someone with a different first language? And does that distance not diminish when two people of separate cultures discover with delight that they do in fact stand on a common ground and can communicate in the same tongue (though prejudices of an imperfect use of that language may reside)? In probing this phenomenon and recalling my experiences abroad in Chile, a handful of other South American countries, Costa Rica, and now Puerto Rico, I can only conclude most simply that language not only serves as a tool of communication between individuals (and media masses), but is also an important function of culture. Language allows a social group bound by this commonality a sense of union (in-group), while also creating an Other (out-group)--those who do not speak the language. And there is still a deeper sense of unity (real or perceived, and thus made real) in an understanding of the world amongst speakers of a common language. A popular practice amongst those who study linguistics is to take cues from a language's grammatical structure as clues to its culture's world-view. An oft-accounted example used as evidence for this theory is that in many languages of indigenous cultures, it is senseless to use the possessive adjectives "my", "his", "our", etc. for members of the family, the land, etc. because in their world-view, none of these subjects can be "owned". So I suppose learning another language must include learning another culture in a self-feeding loop, while simultaneously broadening (because it is impossible to replace) one's existing world-view. In my last "Lost in Translation" class, a course I am taking this semester with Professor Dewell, we were told that there is no true translation in any language that holds the same meaning as "blue". I took this to mean that because every word in every language is loaded with culturally-specific connotations, it is impossible to translate a word to imply exactly all the same things. There is a lurking worry that if a common human denominator of language does not shout its presence known, this material of study may lead one to feel that we live in a world of infinite fractions, each one a tiny mirror reflecting everything except itself.
As much as I tried to establish a happy middle-ground or nexus between my native language and yours, it was frustrating to see English dominate conversations despite my best efforts.
ReplyDeleteIt is alleviating to read that you considered this "game" to be deeply rooted in our culture. Indeed, we go way out of our way in the name of hospitality. To make matters worse, we see no harm done in speaking English to foreigners with perfect proficiency in Spanish.
We see it as a win-win situation. Not only do we get to practice our least used, neglected dual official language, but we comfort the foreigner (or at least we think we do), offering a piece of their own culture in a distant land. In our reasoning, we can only see it as a matter of convenience for foreigner and native, a "help me, help you" scenario of sorts.
Puerto Rico has been under limited to complete American rule since 1898. The mightiest efforts to push towards statehood have been futile, and the americanization of Puerto Rico could be much worse. However, we face a two-fold attack, wherein the endemic culture present in Puerto Rico is threatened by the epidemic of globalization, much like every other endemic culture in the world. It was wonderful to show you my country, a distinctive place that also shares blatant similarities to what you were raised in. Plenty of flaws were exposed, but I hope you still found it to be a fascinating island with too much, and too soon on it's plate.
I found it comforting and refreshing that the more we delved into the mountains, and the rest of the mainland, natives were more likely to speak to you in Spanish, regardless of the "gringa" status. Life there is magical, albeit overlooked due to the national concentration on metropolitan, urban, americanized incentives that is under constant development in a relatively small, geographical zone.
ReplyDeleteIt is interesting to note that the municipalities in the mountains of Puerto Rico are much more culturally diverse than the metropolitan areas of Puerto Rico. The 18th and 19th centuries saw a huge influx of Italian, Irish, Dutch, and German families settling in the mountains of Puerto Rico. They found the lighter, cooler weather of the mountains to be favorable compared to the coastal, humid, sup-tropical climate of the rest of the island.
Maybe, just maybe, you are not as much as a gringa in the mountains, because the natives there have blue eyed, golden haired relatives to call their own, who might otherwise pass off as gringa elsewhere. They have seen it all.
The European migration to the Caribbean during those centuries, as well as the triangle slave trade, were paramount to the creation of the unique micro-cultures we see in incredibly small islands separated by little nautical miles, all over the Indies. Combining all the islands of the Caribbean would not even amount to the creation of a continent.
Homogenous is the last word you will find in the Caribbean dictionary.
It comes as no surprise that during our time in the metropolitan bubble, you were nothing but a foreigner in Puerto Rico. Merchants, friends, and strangers all insisted on reverting to English, as though my request for them to speak in Spanish was an insult to their need to display their bilingual nature.
ReplyDeleteAccording to the U.S. Census Bureau of 2006, 81% of Puerto Ricans over 5 years old that live in the island speak English "less than very well."
Judging by this data, roughly 1/5 of the island is fluent in English. The teaching of English as a language of equal importance to Spanish in public schools has proven ineffective. Much of that 1/5 are educated in private schools, have American relatives, and/or sit on top of the social ladder. Your experience in Puerto Rico covered most of the island. However, you mostly dealt with the 1/5 privileged minority. Myself included.
What was mind-boggling, is that the insistence to engage in an English conversation, would instantly take place moments after letting them know that you are fluent in Spanish. Anthropologists and Linguists have long observed this tendency, fascinated by the cultural makeup of Puerto Rico and it's complex relationship between English and Spanish, it's embracement and resentment. It's been shown that Puerto Rican English language learning resources are faulty, or that there is a general resentment towards the English language.
This is not to say that upon befriending a tourist, said resentment will get in the way of kindness and hospitality. However, these locals might be extremely resentful of English, and mostly only use it for the aforementioned circumstance.
My father, an infamous mumbler with a basic dominion of English, ignored my requests for him to speak in Spanish until the very end of the trip, despite the fact that it had been asked of him to do so from day one. On the other hand, my mother, americanized and eloquent, spoke frequently in English for you to relate, and feel at home. Two disparate examples of individuals, guilty of the same habit, for identical reasons.
Again, maybe it's our need to be hospitable, or our general inferiority-complex, usually dismissed because we are considered daring, and gregarious (see: spic, boricua, latin lover signifier), but what was asked of him and every citizen we encountered was not difficult or absurd. If the average citizen only applies his proficiency in English when they stumble upon a foreigner, why is it then that a foreigner fluent in Spanish has to be treated as though they had no knowledge of the language? Could it be the blonde hair signifier, and the other predispositions and presumptions that are attached to blonde hair and fair skin? If so, it would be suggestive of psychologically ingrained behavior, fused with kindness and a whole lot of innocent ignorance.
ReplyDeleteThe African American man in Puerto Rico is not a "gringo". El es el "negro".
The Puerto Rican population is 2/3 Creole or "Criollo". Our common skin tone is a Cafe Au Lait, light brown color, with different variants of whiteness, and darkness.
My family is privileged. Most of it is fair skinned, but under Puerto Rico's own definition, we are of mixed race. We have plenty of brown, even black relatives.
The Caucasian is "el gringo" "el rico" or "blanquito", even the Puerto Rican "white male" that is born and raised there is categorized with those labels, despite the fact that there are as many "white men" as other colors below the poverty line in Puerto Rico.
The signifier of Blanquito is "gringo"
Fernando is white, fluent in English, and possesses an accent different to the standard, somewhat melodic Puerto Rican matter of speech. His family is fully Cuban and Spanish, therefore, he talks fast, as though it were an infinite run-on sentence. However, he is not referred to as "Cubanito", "Cubanazo", or "Espanol". El es blanquito, therefore, he is likely a "gringo" too, judging by his education, skin tone, and eloquence. Here, I am all these things. Abroad, interestingly enough, I am known as Fernando, the Puerto Rican. Although of mixed race, I am a white product of the unpredictable lottery that is genetics. Much like the rest of the island, and my family, we believe that we are "Criollo". This is not an erroneous or delusional proclamation, or mindless, false self-entitlement, to add more layers of identity. This is our reality, and heritage.
Vieques, however, presented another absurd Puerto Rican microcosm; despite the population of 10,000 citizens, the small, American ex-patriate community dominates the island, socially and economically. The naval base we had in Vieques is to blame, along with the century old influence of American culture in the neighboring island.
"Deslenguadas. Somos los del español deficiente. We are your linguistic nightmare, your linguistic aberration, your linguistic mestizaje, the subject of your burla. Because we speak with tongues of fire we are culturally crucified. Racially, culturally and linguistically somos huérfanos-we speak an orphan tongue"
"So, if you want to really hurt me, talk bad about my language. Ethnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity-I am my language. Until I can take pride in my language, I cannot take pride in myself."
Gloria Anzaldua "How to Tame a Wild Tongue".
I think you will love this. Great resource for your work. This piece is read all over the nation. Maybe you have heard of it. Spent quite a while trying to find it in it's entirety online. Most of the google results were essays and high school test questions on the piece. Very inspirational piece on the role of language, cultural identity.
I am happy that you read Oscar Wao. I got two other books for you to read. If you enjoy the link provided, find her book "Borderlands" at the Tulane library. Loyola might even have it.
http://wolfweb.unr.edu/homepage/calabj/282/how%20to%20tame%20wild%20tongue.pdf
Bicho signifies Penis
ReplyDeletebug!
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