On this Latina Equal Pay Day, I’m diving into my feelings of Impostor Syndrome as a Latina, especially after attending another series of Latina events where the majority of the ladies were native Spanish speakers. As a GenX Nuyorican/Mickey Rican living in snOrlando, I’ve used a good chunk of my brain thinking about Spanish, reading in Spanish, not understanding Spanish, Google translating Spanish, not Google translating Spanish and being proud to speak my mocho Spanish, while also feeling ashamed that I still can’t speak Spanish like a native of Puerto Rico or Colombia or Mexicoooooo.
Entonces……Aqui es mi Love Letter to my Lovely Amazing Native Spanish Speaking Latina Comadres:
Primero — Lo siento.
Lo siento que no aprendí español cuando era una niña. No, really. I mean that. It’s nuts that I can learn how to code but still not have a good grasp of such a beautiful language.
Lo siento que soy la Super Gringa que está hablando en la otra idioma de las colonas — The Wretched English!! — and ruining the whole vibe of the Latina-ness cuando estamos en eventos como “Latina Writers” o “Latina Entrepreneurs” o “Latina Filmmakers” o “Latina Techies.”
Porque estoy de acuerdo con todos ustedes: Español es mejor. Hands down.
Español es más divertido. Español es más cómico. Español es más Latino y me siento más Latina, especially when I listen to Bad Bunny singing “Titi me pregunto-to-to-to-to-to…..” The way he whines “ya quisiera namorá ma! Pero no puedo! Pero no puedo ey ey…” Jajajajajaa. So funny.
Pero es verdad. Me siento más como mi mamá, una niña de una finca en San Sebastián, who moved to the big Nueva Yol’ in the 1950s, grew up to be a badass in the 1960s, and inspired me and my sister to jump buildings in a single bound from Williamsburg to NYC pre-pre #MeToo 1970s.
Entonces…Do you HAVE to speak fluent Spanish to be Latina?
Para buscar una respuesta, vamos por un camino espirtual. It begins inside a time vortex I discovered in the Rican Hallway of my high school in snOrlando. The Rican Hallway was a place where kids who did not fit into the mainstream culture congregated. It was not a place I frequented myself, porque ya tu sabes — si hay una persona en el grupo que no hablaba español, ella es una GRINGA! No es Latinoa! Ella es IMPOSTER! “Por favor, fuera de aqui, Super Gringa, es más divertido que hablamos en español, our ‘secret language,’ and even if your parents came from a Latin country like us, go away.”
No se sirvía bien con los Latinos.
Entonces, mis amigos en high school eran gringos until college donde traté de nuevo para entender más sobre quien era. Fui pa CHISpa en la universidad, pero otra vez, no podia hablar en español. I stormed back home to Orlando to complain to my parents. They laughed in my face. They believed their kids needed to focus on English to do well in a place that called them SPICs (and not in an empowering way). “We gave you plenty of other tools to survive on the mainland. Stop complaining!”
This is when all the Latinas laugh. Jajajajajajajajaja.
Because our parents? No se aguantan complaining. Our parents worked too FREAKING hard to listen to us complain about our charmed lives. Indian, Chinese, Black folks — anyone who also grew up with parents and a society that didn’t coddle them or make them believe they are important — they are also laughing.
Entonces, sabia que “tenía que aprender español,” como decía mi abuela Mamita, who often also said about me to my parents: “Esa nena — siempre con la pata asá.” That meant I always had one foot out the door, on my way to my next adventure as “La Super Gringa,” which took me to all the Latino neighborhoods of the U.S. on a quest to understand myself.
En Denver y San Francisco, conocí Mexicanos, Salvadoreños, Nicaragüenses, and of course los Chicanos — the ones who also grew up on “The Mainland,” as I often call the U.S. because it’s where we all ended up or where we were standing when the border crossed us or the bombs landed on us. Even if I didn’t speak Spanish very well, our history was the same, our heritage of colonialism is the same.
By 2001, I went to Puerto Rico and got inspired to write my first political article about Vieques y por la primera vez me sentía un conexión con la Isla del Encanto, the same way my mother and Piñero and Esmeralda Santiago felt. The U.S. was terrorizing people on its own land. The injustice exploded inside of me like one of the bombs. It was one of those pivot moments.
La Ceiba’s roots had taken a hold of me and asked me to remember La Borinqueña and retell its stories, in English and Español.
Entonces, fui pa’ D.F., Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala ye trabajé duro para entender, escribir, leer, y hablar en español porque el acento de los Americanos Centrales es más fácil para entender que el acento de Las Boricuas (no disrespect, it’s just that my whole family sounds like they have marbles in their mouth when they’re speaking Spanish!). Por 4 meses vivía con $2,000. Si. Como muchos Latinos, yo sabía como estirar un presupuesto (thank you, Google translate, I wasn’t sure how to say “stretch a budget”).
And then I thought I was ready for Miami…jajajajajajajajaj!
No. Miami Herald, Miami New Times, the Sun Post — todo querían empleados que eran bilingual. Pues, No, Super Gringa! Byeeeee! It was frustrating so I got lazy like I did in high school and forgot about Spanish because there were plenty of other places I could find work in English. Plus, I was tired of feeling ashamed from the constant questioning:
- “Te parece Latina — why don’t you don’t speak Spanish?”
- “Oh, I have to speak slower?”
- “Oh, you don’t understand my slang?”
- “Oh, you can’t conjugate past tense verbs?”
It SUCKED…until I moved to DC and went to film school and my mentor Hazel Henderson sent me to Brazil to cover Rio + 20 and other events thru her Mercado Ético news platform for socially responsible investing and clean energy companies. Morava no Rio e Sao Paolo por dois anos (on and off between 2012-2014) e aprendí portugués porque NO ONE expected me to. I WAS FREE to learn, to make mistakes, to be a Super Gringa in my own time because I was NOT Brazilian. Such a relief!!
Portugues es super diferente pero bastante similar que español, especially conjugations of all tenses of verbs that I could finally string full sentences together in Spanish without so much pausing.
By 2018, when I went to Puerto Rico with a bunch of gringoes for Hurricane Maria relief cleanup efforts, they designated ME, MOI, EU — Super Gringa — the translator between the volunteers and the Boricuas.
Boom, Chakalaka!
And so, after entering the time vortex, and coming back to the future, what is my answer to the question: Do you have to speak Spanish to be Latina?
I say now, with authority, at 48 years old, because that’s almost half a century old, NO — You do NOT have to speak Spanish to be Latina. Pero si querías conetar con más gente en todas las Americas, tiene que aprender español, como decía mi abuelita Mamita. 🙂