Names-Part 2

One revealing aspect of the movie A Day Without a Mexican that came as a surprise to me was how agriculture is California’s number one industry.  When I think of California, the first images that come to my mind are places I have traveled to in the state:  Hollywood, in and around Los Angeles, the Pacific Ocean, national parks such as Yosemite and the Sequoias, and touristy areas such as Chinatown in San Francisco.  None of these stereotypes have anything to do with farming and how much California’s economy revolves around the labor of undocumented workers, labeled as “Mexicans.”  Because of this, A Day Without a Mexican was very eye-opening for me in how it overturned many stereotypes about a place that I have experienced differently from the people who actually live there, although I have some experience with the stereotypical term.

I lived in a small town of about 360 people in rural Nebraska for the first 18 years of my life.  Despite its lack of population, Shickley, Nebraska population consists of relatively rich farmers who make a good living off the profit that comes from raising corn and soybeans on thousands of acres of rich, Nebraska soil.  My peers growing up, then, reflected relatively very little diversity, except for the Latino family that moved to town when I was in fourth grade.  José was in my brother’s class and he became one of my brother’s best friends as they grew up together.  Even though José’s family was from California, he and his brothers and sisters were still labeled the “Mexicans” of Shickley, even though he and his younger siblings couldn’t really speak Spanish and had never been to Mexico. 

How does racial stereotyping of people and places happen so instantaneously, especially in a town the size of Shickley?  I believe it all goes back to the significance that a “name” or a “label” has in our society today.  A Day Without a Mexican was a good representation of this idea (even though it was a little below the benchmark of a high quality film) and showed how we citizens of the United States do not realize where we would be without the undocumented population. 

What’s in a name?  We all responded to the meaning our names have to us in our initial blog posts, addressing those given to us at birth.  But what about our cultural names?  I am citizen of the United States or an American, but Americans populate Central and South America as well.  Why do we citizens of the United States use such a lax term to label ourselves?  Even the Spanish word Estadounidense is more precise than our own word for us!  In using the term American, then, we already (though unknowingly?) use the definition of the word to include those from the south who we also mark as undocumented.   

Finding an Identity

            I thought it was interesting that Rudolfo Anaya, in his book Bless Me, Ultima, decided to write from the perspective of a seven-year-old.  Children this young are very impressionable, but are also at the age where they can begin to think for themselves and form their own opinions.  It seems to me, though, that Antonio grew up considerably within the first two chapters of the book after he witnessed the death of Lupito.  He is exposed to a group of men caught in the trap of a mob:  one that is looking for blood from a murderer who has acted wrongly because he has PTSD.  When Antonio is unable to give Lupito the official Act of Contrition before he dies, he questions his mother’s wish for him to become a priest.  Would God listen to his prayer for Lupito even though he had never been to catechism?  Would this one ‘almost’ act haunt him for the rest of his life?

            After this death, Antonio begins to question his Christian faith.  Even though Lupito’s death plays a role in this, the differing beliefs of his mother, father, Ultima, and, to some extent, his brothers, have the greatest effect on Antonio’s misgivings.  Antonio’s father is not as religious as his mother, and also comes from a different way of life; that of the vaquero.  Ultima, too, is not as staunch of a Catholic as his mother, but is very well connected to the Earth and always asks the plants’ permission before she uses them for her remedies.  Antonio’s changed perception of his older brothers also contributes to this questioning, especially when he finds out that Andrew is spending time with the girls who work at Rosie’s place. 

            Beyond these contrasts in his life, Antonio comes into contact with the Golden Carp, a fish he views almost as an alternate god.  The fulfillment he gets from being around the Golden Carp differs from what he experiences when he takes the Eucharist.  He has high expectations for the traditional Catholic ritual, but never fully feels the presence of God when he eats the body of Christ.  At the end of the story the reader does not find out what paths Antonio decides to follow.  His search for identity, in a way, becomes universal, or one to which most people can compare themselves. 

            Searching for religious and self identity is an aspect of Bless Me, Ultima that acted as a mirror for me.  When I began college, I struggled to understand my professed religion and to find what goals I should set for my life.  Like Antonio, however, I found out that there are sometimes questions that don’t have answers.  Investigating purpose and destiny, then, is a life-long task.    

New Windows

   After reading the excerpt from “Borderlands/La Frontera” and watching “I the Worst of All” about Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz, I realized how foreign some aspects of Latino/a culture are to me.  The first cultural aspect of Latino/a culture that I couldn’t really relate to was Gloria Anzaldúa’s discussion of the different types of Spanish spoken across the United States.  She talked about various dialects like Tex-Mex and Chicano Spanish that are meant to be used in different contexts.  For example, she said that she will speak Chicano-Texas Spanish with her mother and other close Spanish relatives, but will speak the North Mexican dialect with people from that area of Mexico.  In my daily interactions with people here at Goshen College, I believe I only ever speak Standard English.  The grammatical correctness of my usage may vary with context, (classroom vs. friends) but I don’t ever speak a whole new dialect.  When I interact with people from Indiana and Nebraska, where I grew up, I still speak the same English. 

   Because I don’t ever come into contact with diversity in the English language in the United States, I automatically assume it is the same way with any other language, like Spanish.  This assumption, however, is incorrect, and is an aspect of culture of which I need to be more aware. 

   Understanding Sor Juana’s role as a Catholic nun was also very hard for me to comprehend.  I have never devoutly faced sexism anywhere I have lived, and therefore could not understand how difficult it would have been to live in Mexico during the colonial era.  Juana’s poems are very well written and display radical ideas about women in a male dominant society.  The end of the film, then, surprised me as I didn’t know how Juana could give up her life’s work of advancement.  I know that she was not really fulfilling the role of a nun because she had many possessions and spent much time writing, but what else could she have done to fulfill her passion?  Was she not glorifying God through her advancement of women, who were held in an unjust part of society?  Learning about the different views of Catholicism, then, was a window for me in this movie.  

My Name

I have never before reflected on what my name means to me.  In fact, I have never really thought about my name at all except for one memory I have from kindergarten.  It was my first week of school and I loved the new experience.  When we started to learn letters, however, we also were given the task of mastering the spelling of our own names.  My name had 28 letters in it:  Stephanie Elena Swartzendruber, or the nightmare of any beginning speller.  My kindergarten teacher later told my mom and dad at parent-teacher conferences that the first time she handed me the card with my name on it, I didn’t say anything, but clearly communicated my horror with the expression on my face.

One Christmas I received a “name card” in my stocking from the Faith and Life Bookstore in Hastings, Nebraska.  According to this card, my name means “Crowned One.”  I’m not sure how I feel about this as I don’t think the name Stephanie is found in any religious texts.  My parents named me Stephanie because they liked the way it sounded.  If I had been a boy, I would’ve been named Seth, which is similar.  My middle and last names have more significance because they come from family members.  Elena comes from my mom’s sister Ellen, as she knew my parents both pretty well before they even met each other.  Swartzendruber is my Dad’s last name and originally comes from Germany.  It was intriguing two summers ago when I went on a choir trip to Southern Germany and we stayed in a town that was full of people whose last names were some form of Swartzendruber.  It made me feel like a part of something bigger than the 360 people who make up Shickley, Nebraska.

My grandpa is the only person I know who calls me Stephanie.  The rest of my family and friends calls me Steph, and that is how I usually introduce myself to people.  When I was little my dad called my “Edith” or “A.” (My younger brother was “B” and my younger sister was “C”).  Growing up, my friends have called me various forms of my name, the most recent stemming from the word “Peff.”  Variations of this name include “Peffelant,” “Puffer Fish,” ice cold “Pefsky,” and “Peffermint Pie.” 

What is a name?  I sometimes wonder if my life would be different if I had been named “Nancy” or “Evelyn.”  Would I have a different perception of myself?  Would it have mattered at all?  In the book Anne of Green Gables, Anne Shirley hates her plain name and wishes she would have been named Cordelia, a romantic and captivating name.  I, however, am quite content with my ordinary, un-romantic name.  

Introduction

I am very excited to read the texts for this class and participate in good discussion  with you all about the meanings of race and culture.  I am not very familiar with Latino Literature, but realize that it is an important genre that needs to be recognized .  I enjoy immersing myself in new perspectives and hope that this class will also strengthen my empathy.  Most of all, though, I hope that it is fun!