A Latina by any other name would still
be a Latina. That means a Latina with the last name O’Briant which sure sounds
Irish can still be a Latina. Confused? A short history of names might help:
My maternal grandmother was a Sandoval
who married a Gallegos. My mother married the O’Briant. My olive-skinned mom
proudly relinquished her father’s Spanish surname because of the discrimination
she’d experienced growing up. She also emphasized English in our home because
in her hometown of Santa Fe, New Mexico, her first language had been forbidden
in the schools. For her, an Anglo last name was a step up, and she didn’t want
her children to experience the same prejudice she had endured.
She took it a step further with me by
trying to keep me out of the sun and by slathering a bleaching cream called
Black/White all over me. Mom threw herself on the bed and wept the time my
father brought me home from a day of fishing. I didn’t have sunburn but an
enviable tan people pay good money for nowadays.
After my parents’ divorce we moved from
Texas to Santa Fe where mom’s parents still lived. My grandmother spoke only
Spanish and my aunts and uncles spoke a lively mix of Spanglish. Grandpa was
especially creative. “Don’t get so exercise!” he’d say, meaning don’t get
excited. English was still emphasized in the barrio schools I attended, but at
least now you could take Spanish as an elective. Not that my blossoming Spanish
helped me blend in. There was still the O’Briant last name with which I had to
contend.
Pachucos attacked both
my brother and me for having an Anglo surname. The idea that despite all her
effort her children would still experience discrimination never occurred to
Mom. There is no blame here, but it does explain my cynical worldview.
So, where did the Ramos in my name come
from? When I began writing, I chose a penname borrowed from the slender,
bookish part of a widely traveled couple who gave me a subscription to National
Geographic when I was ten. That magazine opened my mind to possibilities beyond
the Santa Fe city limits, but I also wanted to proclaim my heritage, and not
from the ground looking up as I had once done with my childhood tormentors: “My
mom is Spanish!”
In the early 70’s I attended the
University of New Mexico. Racial and ethnic divides, as well as the Vietnam
War, were the subjects on campuses across the country. My junior year roommate
was a Navajo girl whose parents had fled the reservation for Albuquerque
suburbia. Genevieve had been raised among middle-class Anglos and been a
cheerleader. She wanted to get married and have blond, blue-eyed children.
“You remind me of my mom,” I said. It
was around this time that Whoopi Goldberg did a skit about a young black girl
wearing a towel around her head and pretending it was her “golden locks.”
My roommate and I took a class called
Hands Across the Border that emphasized the major racial and ethnic groups in
New Mexico. The names that follow are circa 1970: Mexican, Spanish, Anglo,
Indian and Black. The problem for the Latinos was that we couldn’t make up our
minds what we wanted to be called: Latino, Mexican American, Chicano, Hispanic
or Spanish American. That last description was hotly debated because there was
a difference between Northern New Mexicans and those who lived closer to the
Mexican border.
If you called yourself Spanish, as my
mother and her generation did, then you were thought to be putting on airs.
“You may be Mexican,” she told me, “but I’m Spanish.”
My novel, The Sandoval Sisters’ Secret
of Old Blood, is a family legend, with some romantic/erotic embellishment. The
sisters adopted Anglo children whose parents had died on the Santa Fe Trail.
Spanish became their first language and they took the Sandoval surname. But
they still encountered discrimination. The book explores the impact of the
Mexican-American War on the sisters. Alma’s elopement with a young Texan is my
mother’s story.
Prejudice and racism happen all over the
world, but when it comes to Latinos, we’ve relaxed with the uproar over names
because, well, we’re everywhere. The Census Bureau explains that “People who
identify their origin as Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish may be of any race and from
a multitude of countries: America, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Central and South
America, to name just a few. The AP Stylebook’s recommended usage of Latino
includes not only persons of Spanish-speaking ancestry, but also more generally
includes persons “from-or whose ancestors were from-Latin America, including
Brazilians.”
Before the U.S. Census caught up with
what was happening across the country, Time Magazine (1993) did a cover story
on mixed marriages and what an American would look like in the future. Go here to see the beauty on the cover. She looks
Latina to me.
Japorican and Blacklao (Black and
Laotian), Blaxicans and Filatinos (Filipino and Latino), you can call me
Mexrish or a Leprechana, but I prefer Latina because it encompasses a positive
and powerful group of people, and it’s a mix of all that I am.
Also at Latino Voices, The Huffington Post
Follow Sandra Ramos O’Briant on Twitter:
www.twitter.com/sramosobriant
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