Thoughts on Identity from A Day Without a Mexican

First things first: I’d give this movie 2 of 5 stars. And that’s only because I was in a good mood when I watched it. A great idea, but could have been cut down to about 20-30 minutes and the point would have been just as clear. Acting was hilarious, but I’m not sure that was intentional. Facts were interesting, but the Bradley Hand font they used for them was not a good choice.

All complaining aside, I actually thought that A Day Without a Mexican raised good points and brought up a valid issue that is often ignored in the United States. Latinos are often all lumped together. Colombians, Guatemalans and other latinoamericanos are often carelessly thrown into the category of “Mexican” without any prior thought by their labeler. Even worse, latinos are often assumed to be illegal immigrants—even if they were born and raised in the US.

This movie made me more aware of how much of a powerful impact that latinos have on the US not only culturally, with salsa being our nation’s favorite condiment, but also economically. According to the movie, latinos in California alone are contributing 100 billion dollars to the economy.

The most thought-provoking scene in A Day Without a Mexican was the section in which Lyla realizes, for herself and for the audience, that even though she’s genetically Armenian, she’s a latina at heart. She has been raised by latinos and that is who she identifies with.

In my mind, being a latino/a is a state of mind, rather than a genetic prescription. I have a friend named Christine. She has curly dark hair, dances salsa and mambo, speaks Spanish, and is one of the fieriest women I know. She’s genetically not of Hispanic descent in any way, but she identifies as a latina. On the most recent census, she labeled herself as “other,” because there isn’t an option to check for “Latino/a.”

I think it’s really important that people realize that, as both Christine and Lyla have showed me, being a latino, latina (or identifying with any group of people, for that matter) is more about what’s on the inside than what’s on the outside.

Beyond Christianity: Bless Me, Ultima

This is the second time I have read Bless Me, Ultima, but, I’ll be the first to admit that it was the first time I understood it. The first time I read this novel, I was in middle school, and many parts of it I did not understand. I understood the basic story, but I did not catch the struggles between Antonio’s Márez self and his Luna self. I also had previously missed the role of women in Antonio’s life and how differently they are viewed—here I am thinking specifically about the differences between his mother, the girls at Rosie’s and then, Ultima.

The role of family in Bless Me, Ultima is what interested me the most—not the aspect of religion and spirituality. The father and his actions, as well as the actions of Antonio’s older brothers, fascinated me. It seems so strange to me that his three older brothers would waste their money and their time with the girls at Rosie’s or gambling or drinking. I would have imagined that three boys who had gone off to war would return with a sense of solemnity and a need to be responsible. It was interesting too to see how they each dealt with post-traumatic stress from the war. If there were another book about Antonio’s brothers, I would definitely read it. They were so important and had so many stories--an example of wonderful character writing by Anaya.

Ultima, of course, was the most provocative character in my mind. She was a powerful woman who knew exactly who she was and what she needed to be doing on Earth. Even though this is a fictional story, I’d like to think that it mirrors real life, and that the respect that Antonio’s family had for Ultima is true for how real families respect wise, older women in their lives. What I like most about Ultima is how she never explicitly states what she believes—I have no idea whether or not she was a Christian—but I know that she is a good person, and that is, in some ways, far more important. The blessing that she gives Antonio as she is dying is one of the most honorable and beautiful things I can imagine someone to hope for another. She says:

"I bless you in the name of all that is good and strong and beautiful, Antonio. Always have the strength to live. Love life, and if despair enters your heart, look for me in the evenings when the wind is gentle and the owls sing in the hills. I shall be with you."
Ultima to Antonio
(Bless Me, Ultima 261)

On Many Different Zones:

The movie, I, the Worst of All, follows the life of Sor Juana de la Cruz, a nun in Colonial Mexico. She writes poems and plays, and says at one point in the movie that she would not exist without her books. And then, her books are taken away.

What?

When she is teaching young girls to sing at the convent school, she stops to tell them that “perception and curiosity,” “intelligence” and the “desire to explore” are not just gifts given to men, but traits that women should be proud of having too. Sor Juana is preparing girls for what men will try to tell them as they grow up, and to give them knowledge that there is an alternative—that women are every bit as capable as men.

This seems to mirror issues still current in our culture. In Borderlands/la frontera, written by Gloria Anzaldúa in 1987, she starts off her story sitting in a dentist’s chair. The dentist, a man, tells her—not just once, but twice—that they are “going to have to control your tongue.”

As we move closer to becoming a society of fairness, some may think that the quest for gender equality has ended… but it has not. Even today, there are so many double standards between men and women. If a man works hard and ignores others’ needs to get ahead, he is honored as a devoted businessman. If a woman does the same, she is a bitch. If a man sleeps with multiple partners, he’s a playa. If a woman does the same, she’s a slut. If a man talks a lot, he is celebrated for his strong personality. If a woman does the same, she is a gossip.

But, women are not sitting by idly.

At the end of the movie, the actress portraying Sor Juana sits alone in quiet contemplation and there is a sense of resiliency around the woman she embodies—a sense that she has not given up writing or creating. In her poem, “In Reply to a Gentleman from Peru, Who Sent Her Clay Vessels While Suggesting She Would Better Be a Man,” the real Sor Juana writes in a sassy, memorable voice—suggesting to the man that it is indeed just fine that she is a woman, and that diversity is good and enables all to share their God-given gifts.

This idea, that diversity is a beautiful reality rather than a frightening one, is one that easily carries through from Sor Juana’s 17th century to our present day. Diversity in sex, orientation, race, ethnicity were all issues dealt with in Colonial Mexico. Interesting that they remain the issues most often tiptoed around in America today.

But it is well that such great talent
live in many different zones,
for those who are with greatness born
should live not for themselves alone
[Sor Juana]

On Naming:

When I was younger, I was really self-conscious about my name. In elementary school I was always worried that people would make fun of me for having a boy’s name, or an Amish name or a black kid’s name. They did. The worst part was when people would mess up my name. Spelling it wrong was bad enough—no capital V, and a silent e on the end—but the worst was when they’d say it wrong—Lavern, Lavohn, Lavoon.

My name is Lavonne. I am named after my grandfather—and no, that’s not a typo, I really do mean my grandfather. His spells his LeVon, he is my mom’s dad, and his love for music was passed on to me. He’s not one to talk about his feelings, he’d sooner criticize my eating habits then give me a hug, but I know he loves me. I’m proud to have his name.

My middle name is Rosa, after my dad’s mom. She’s brilliant and sassy. Everything you wouldn’t expect from a woman who grew up Amish and wasn’t supposed to finish the 8th grade. When my mom uses my middle name, I know I’m in trouble. In high school, it usually meant I’d forgotten to get up for school on time, now it usually means that I forgot to take the clothes out of the dryer or get the cookies out of the oven. Even though my mom uses it when she’s being serious, I still think it’s the most beautiful name. The beginning is strong as the R fills up your mouth with vibrations, but the end of it slides out of your mouth the way that water droplets flow off your fingers when you hold your arms just right in the shower.

Eventually kids at school got used to my name, and I got used to never being able to find it on keychains or those mini license plates or anything. And Word documents always think I spelled my name wrong and I meant to say "Lionel" or "lavender" instead.

As a 21-year old, I have lost a lot of that fear about the unusualness of my name. I love knowing that I’m the only Lavonne that most of my peers know. When people think “Lavonne,” they don’t have other people popping into their heads to define what that word means to them, just me.

It’s all up to me. I’m unique. I can define my name for others, even though parts of it have already been defined for me. I'm a brand-new compilation of two already established names and people. My name is exactly what I chose to make it mean.

An Introduction

I created this blog for a class on Latino Literature that I will be taking this semester at Goshen College. Learning is always personal, and this is just one way for me to voice what I think about the texts we read and the topics we cover in class.