Latinos in the News (aka This Again?!?)

My friend, colleague, and fellow Mexican Intellectual, Frank Gaytan, wrote recently about the behavior of writing and referenced a piece from The Atlantic that discussed the connection between writing and running.  No sooner had I shared with him that article that he shared with me an op-ed from The Chronicle of Higher Education.  Regular readers know that I have written before.  They know also that I have written about the scholarly purposes that inform why some academics begin a blog and take such care with it.  In the “3 Rules for Academic Blogging,” however, David Perry, associate professor of history at Dominican University, provides some practical advice of why academics should continue to blog, much of which is relevant to my own – and I think Frank’s - efforts.  In discussing “Rule 3: Write for the sake of writing,” Perry states “Today, a blog becomes a piece of the conversations you are already having on social media.  You are most likely to use a blog to preach to choirs and attempt to convert the already converted.  But it’s fun to preach to the choir.”  I would add also, it does not hurt to try to convert the unconverted.  After all, a free exchange of flowing ideas was one of the promises the Internet offered.  It is in this spirit I wish to share the following experience.

Recently, I have been preoccupied with the issues of racism and free speech developing on some of the nation’s college campuses.  The highest profile of these events occurred at the University of Missouri and at Yale University, the latter of which coincided with Halloween.  Indeed, much of what occurred at Yale began with a discussion about the potential of racially insensitive Halloween costumes.  While Yale students argued with administrators about racial insensitivity, the President of the University of Louisville took matters to an entirely different level, posing for a photo with other administrators and staff all deck out in sombreros, serapes, and handle-bar mustaches as they attended a Mexican-themed costume party.  In the wake of the backlash and protests the photo engendered, President James Ramsey publicly apologized and vowed to improve the racial climate on Louisville’s campus.  One way he vowed to do so was to “[r]ecruit more Hispanic and Latino/a for faculty, staff and administrative positions.”  Another was to “[a]dvance efforts to build Hispanic and Latino/a scholarship and financial aid” for students.


Photo from and available at Latino Rebels

Seeing this story in a news outlet I follow on Facebook, I opined:

If Louisville's President wants to make amends for offending Mexicans, shouldn't he strive for more Mexican representation among faculty, students, and staff specifically instead of more Latinos generally as his press release states?  Such a declaration still demonstrates a lack of cultural awareness by assuming all Hispanic and Latino groups are the same, which they certainly are not.

My comment struck a chord with some people.  As of this writing, 14 people, all of them complete strangers to me, “Liked” what I said to this shared post.  My comment also garnered replies from others, also complete strangers to me.  Most of them, however, overlooked the point I made about differences among Latino and Hispanic groups to discuss costumes in and of themselves.  I say most because at least one person took exception to my idea, writing:

So you're saying some...Hispanics /Latinos are not the same? So you think you are better than what? Your opinion does not represent the majority because even Latino Public Figures state Latinos/Hispanics we are all the same one language, one culture here in USA...struggling for the same American Dream. I'm not sure how intellectual or scholarly etcetera you pretend to spill but I know one principle for sure...to a white you are a pinche...Latino/ Mexican no matter where you came from...period. And they see you as a threat at many levels. ...economic power, political, community based, state, and the National/and Judicial level...they know...we will chip away at intolerance, institutional racism, and some now realize that the new generation of hispanics/Latinos are becoming leaders of this great nation and play a key role in its future [sic in toto].

Not wanting to reply in the heat of the moment, I let what this person said sit for a while, rereading what I wrote and what he wrote several times to ensure the clarity of the point I was making and to find the basis of his reply.  I considered letting go of the entire matter, but after several hours I replied with the following, addressing him by name (which has been redacted):

You don't know me, you don't know the first thing about me, so please do not try to force your orthodoxy on me like some kind of school yard bully.  I did not say anyone was better than anyone else, I said we are different from one another.  Mexicans, Cubans, and Puerto Ricans - the three largest Hispanic and Latino groups - have different historical and cultural heritages that should be acknowledged and celebrated.  They also have different paths to how they got to the United States, have different reasons for being here, and have different citizenship statuses among them.  The case is similar among other Latin Americans in the US.  There is nothing wrong with differences among people.  It is also known as diversity, which is an idea most progressives like me champion.  Hispanics and Latinos saying all Hispanics and Latinos are the same only makes it easier for white people to say we are all the same and gives white people their justification for discriminating against us in all the same ways.  This is all I will say about this as I have no desire to get into a flaming war with a complete stranger.  I wish you well.

I have written before about this issue, most notably here and here.  As an academic, ideas are important to me.  As an historian, ideas of how the past informs our present are no less so.  On one hand, I feel a tad guilty responding to another's idea and then cutting off that interaction.  On the other, however, I feel worst about circumstances that made me feel that I had to cut off the interaction out of some sense of self-preservation in light of such a vulgar ad hominem.  It is difficult to conduct reasoned and rational discussions about important issues on-line or in person when emotions run high and passions are inflamed.  I wonder, if not worry, about the chilling effect on discourse and problem solving that the current temperature on some college campuses will have in both the short- and long-term.

I hope cooler heads will prevail.

Writing Again

I have not written for this blog in over a year. The last time I posted I wrote about doing what you love and how this really sets one up for frustration because few, if any, of us have the luxury of only engaging in work that makes us feel emotionally fulfilled and happy. There are awful parts of nearly every activity—even to make an omelette you must crack some eggs. Sometimes we just need to do the activities rather than think about all of the negative things associated with them.

While I tend to be introspective, sullen, contemplative, and wallowing in the existential—I find that when I simply focus on the behavioral, rather than all of the emotions and thoughts and internal conflicts that go with getting work done, that I am much more productive, and after the fact, happy. Another way of putting it is to “fake it ‘til you make it.” Do what you have to do, force a smile while doing it, and once the task is accomplished, no matter how distasteful, you can walk away feeling satisfied. There is actually quite a bit of research to back up this approach and many psychologists, social workers, and therapists implement it with their clients.  Being a psychologist and a social worker (who has actually worked briefly as a therapist, been in therapy and who is married to a therapist), one would think I would know better.

Instead, I have spent the last year and a half wondering why I can’t write more, something I enjoy accomplishing, but often don’t enjoy getting started on. There is no shortage of topics that I have an opinion or insights about, but frequently I get wrapped up in the depressing nature of the news that I am bombarded with, I become afraid to share a contrarian view, I get discouraged when someone writes something online that is similar, and in my view better written than what I could accomplish, and so I do not write at all.

Much of the literature on writing and how to write generally boils down to one thing: If one wants to be a writer, then one should write. Make the time to write and do it—behavioral; the great ideas and flowery language will follow. The accomplishment and good feelings will happen after the fact.

One area of my life that I have very effectively taken this behavioral approach is in running. As the Taoist saying goes, “the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.” If you want to run, then run, one step at a time, and the accomplishment of travelling a certain distance, however far, will eventually follow. There was an article recently published in The Atlantic that argued that running and writing go hand in hand. This past year I have run two marathons and a half marathon. In training this year I have run 733.6 miles. I know this because I have kept track of my running with an app that logs my miles and then posts them to social media.

Therein lies the second aspect of a behavioral approach, the reinforcement of behavior. The first step is to engage in the behavior and then the second step is to reap the reward. For me, simple and narcissistic person that I can be, it is simply having people “like” my run on Facebook, or being able to publicly share that I ran. And with that I am motivated to run more.

I run even though many of the miles are actually painful in some way--gasping for breath, pain in my joints, a stitch in my side. Even being a somewhat seasoned runner, getting started is still hard, and keeping the behavior going, one foot in front of the other, mile by mile, requires a level of concentration and that takes work. But it happens; while never easy, it gets easier.

And so now, less than an hour ago, I typed a word on the screen, and then another and another. And right here there are 662. I plan to write more and I know my writing partner René does as well. And we hope you’ll read—and like or even dislike some of what we produce. Just let us know that you’re out there and we’ll keep it up. That’s all we can do.

I feel better already.

My Dad: Gregory Alvarez (1921 – 2015)

by Barbara U. Alvarez, guest contributor

1921.  That is the year my father, Gregory Alvarez, was born.  As a high school teacher of American literature, I reveled in sharing this fact with my students, marveling to know someone who had seen firsthand so much of what for me and them is just American history:  the Roaring 20s, the Great Depression, World War II, the Sixties, and – for them still – the dawn of the 21^stCentury.

My father passed away this year and my living record of history is no more.

The author with her father Gregory Alvarez in 1962.

A native of Chicago, I have come to appreciate the vigil rituals of Texas funerals I’ve experienced in my 20 years here; after scheduled prayers, mourners are offered the opportunity to give a eulogy – a few words celebrating the life of the passing loved one.  Dad’s funeral rites happened in Chicago and - as I expected - no opportunity was afforded for giving a eulogy.  So here is mine, what I would have said given the chance…a written tribute to my dad.

His lessons were many.  I did not recognize which ones stayed with me until recently.

I was bothered by panic attacks in my 20s, going so far one night as believing myself to be having a heart attack, making my mom and roommate drive me to the emergency room.  By the time I arrived there, the attack had begun to subside, my heart no longer raced, and - but for the gracious doctor who assured me it was “always better to check these things out” - I would have felt completely idiotic, wondering why I had given in to such anxieties.  Dad said, “Get out of your head.  Stop thinking so much about yourself.  Focus on something else.”  Simple.  No psychologist, just the wise man who knew his daughter.  I never had another panic attack to that degree, and have always, always been able to talk myself out of any anxiety I experience by recalling Dad’s words, and focusing on something else.

My father often rode as passenger to my driving.  Young drivers, trying to impress or look competent, change lanes a lot, seeking the advantage, looking to be first.  Either because I lane-changed too often or because he saw others doing it, Dad said this:  “Pick a lane and stay there.  Move only to avoid an obstacle.  You won’t get where you’re going any faster, and it is safer just to stay in a lane.”  Studies prove that those who drive aggressively, weaving in and out of traffic, gain only a two second advantage over other drivers.  They are still stopped by the same red light that stops me, only they got there sooner and spent a lot of gas in getting there.  Dad was right.

When I consider them, the lessons are the same.  Be patient.  Stay focused.  Consistency in temperament, in approach to life, is more effective than erratic changes looking for the advantage.  Dad lived these principles himself, faithfully, facing challenges we today would find daunting:  six kids, Catholic education for all, college for all, one income, one wife (for 63 years).  Who today would not panic and seek a different path in the face of such responsibilities?  Yet for the years I knew him, he worked for the State of Illinois, which he touted proudly, in the department of unemployment compensation.  It is the position from which he retired.  And to subsidize, he sold furniture part time at District Furniture Store, Monday and Thursday nights and all day Saturday.  For years.  Without tiring.  Calm - and staying in the lane.

After retiring, he and Mom bought the house next door to mine, moving to San Antonio, Texas, being my neighbors.  A lane change – but having made it, staying there until he passed.

Was he perfect?  No.  He liked his martini and a couple of beers each night, which I feel made him somewhat short-tempered with me in my youth when added to his exhaustion at day’s end.  He didn’t trust workmen – even those called to service my house had to endure his scrutiny of their work – his words were not always kind.  But now that he is gone, I know that his influence on me was immense.  I am the person I am because of him.  I too, stay in the lane – married to the same man, working at the same profession, faithful to my religion and parish – because I saw him do it first.  Most consistent was his love, which he did not so much convey with words, but which I felt in important moments.  When I moved into a flat in Chicago’s Little Village, searching out who I wanted to be, I was overwhelmed with the presence of roaches in the flat and the amount of work I would have to do to clean it.  Not wanting to admit defeat – I had been so adamant about wanting to live in this seemingly notorious area – I did ask him, through tears, if I could move back home if I found I had made a mistake.  His reply was an emphatic “yes” – it proved to be the support I needed to continue on, persevering to clean the flat and chase away the bugs.  Those were the happiest three years of living on my own that I had, because I knew my dad had my back.

Now teaching my 17 year old daughter how to drive, I found myself giving her the same lesson.  “Abuelo taught me, ‘Pick a lane and stay there.  Move only to avoid an obstacle.  You won’t get where you’re going any faster, and it is safer just to stay in a lane.’”

“Ok, Mom,” she responded with attitude, dismissing me in the manner of teenagers.  But I know the lesson will stick, at least for driving.  I do believe that she will one day quote the same lesson to her children, and her grandfather, my dad, Gregory Alvarez, will continue to live through that lesson.

Author's Bio: Barbara U. Alvarez lives with her husband Jeff and their daughter in San Antonio, Texas, teaching eleventh and twelfth grade English (and doing most anything else the school needs) at Providence Catholic School.  She is the oldest child of the six children of Gregory and Lupe Alvarez, oldest sister of Dr. René Luís Alvarez, one-half of The Mexican Intellectual team.