Category Archives: Identidad

October 30, 2022 · 10:09 pm

What Is Time? Or What Is Latino Time, Anyway?

One of the places I love to visit when I go to Yucatán is the Grand Museum of Maya Culture. Each time I visit, I learn something new or pay closer attention to something I missed the last time I visited. A few weeks ago, when I visited, I paid closer attention to a note about the concept of time in the Maya culture. It explained that the Mayas understand time as cyclical. This is one of the reasons why spheres were used to mark time – the Mayan Calendar. A linear time makes no sense in the Maya culture. The future is behind us, the present is unknown, and the past is right before us. The future is behind us because we do not know how that time will be used and what it will bring. The present is unknown because it is happening as we live, and therefore, we cannot actually see it until it is in front of us. The past is clearly in front of us because we remember.

Each culture has a concept of time that works for them. Everyone knows the USAmerican adage: “time is money!” The whole USAmerican culture is fixated on this cultural reality. Although I have not studied the origins of this, I assume it comes from the Protestant work ethic. According to some early Protestant theologians – specifically, Calvinists – labor is not only honorable, but it also shows whether you have been chosen by God. People in Calvinist societies wanted to show everyone that they had been chosen, and thus, they worked hard to demonstrate that they had been chosen.

Sociologist Max Weber was the person who defined this concept. In his work, Weber argued that this approach influenced the way in which the earlier Anglo settlers of what became the USA were able to succeed. Since then, this approach has permeated USAmerican society. “Time is money” is just a different way of saying that you must not “waste” time; you must use every minute of your life on a task that is productive. Time is seen as something linear, and you complete one task after the other in a linear way, in order to be as productive as possible. You can control time, and it is a limited resource that should not be wasted. I just learned that this perspective is called “monochronic.”

According to the definition I found, “In monochronic societies, people take time seriously, adhere to a fixed schedule, and value the sequential completion of tasks.”[1] This perspective flourished during the Industrial Revolution, as it made sense for this period of history when the main goal was to produce as much as possible.

On the other hand, there are polychronic societies. In these societies “people perceive time as more fluid, where multitasking and interruptions are normal. Time aligns more with the sun, the moon, and Mother Nature than it does with the hands of a clock.”[2]

In Latin America, our societies tend to be polychronic. This, of course, is a generalization. The Protestant work ethic and the USAmerican obsession with making money have definitely influenced most Latin American societies. Nevertheless, our cultures tend to be more polychronic, understanding time in more flexible ways than European and most North American cultures (with the notable exception of México.)

When I first moved to the mainland USA, the understanding of time was one of the greatest cultural shocks. I couldn’t quite comprehend what I understood to be an obsession with timeliness, cutoff times, hard deadlines, etc. I would be flabbergasted at how little quality time people spent in each other’s company. To this date, I still cannot comprehend how many of my USAmerican friends can be exactly on time for something. I do have a theory that they probably just arrive super early and park nearby until the clock marks two minutes before the scheduled time, and then they just walk up to your door. I don’t know! I haven’t cracked the code yet…

As I spend more time in the USA – I have officially lived longer in the USA than in my own country – I have adapted to some cultural and professional norms, mores, and customs. I understand that certain people need me to show up right on time, or sometimes even a few minutes earlier. I try as hard as I can to comply with the expectations. However, culturally, I am definitely wired to see time as a flexible reality.

In my own culture, when it comes to spending time with others, it is not about “being on time” but about the quality of time you spend with someone. Since time is flexible, it is expected that you prioritize companionship more than setting up specific times to start and end. There is a running joke that Latino folk – and in my case, Puerto Rican folk – spend pretty much the same amount of time saying goodbye as the time they spent visiting with you. Of course, this is a bit of an exaggeration, but it is quite close to reality.

Since time is flexible, it also means that you can work on many different tasks at once; or have timelines that look nothing like the linear timelines that are common in corporate settings. A Latin person will most likely go back and forth between projects and within stages of that project. There is no need to follow a specific timeline because it is not necessary. You will have the product finished when it is finished, and it will be a quality product because you gave it the attention that it needed regardless of whether it was “on time” or not. This causes much frustration among multicultural groups! It is especially hard when those groups are made up of people who have adapted to the USAmerican understanding of “time is money” but come from polychronic backgrounds. In these instances, the majority USAmerican coworkers use the example of the people who follow their understanding of time to dismiss the very real different understanding of time of the others in the group.

It turns out that social scientists and researchers in the field of business have already studied these interactions. I read an article online[3] that describes project management from these different perspectives and how multicultural workgroups can manage to be successful.

I will not go into the details of that paper. However, I would like to present some of my own perspectives and understanding of how to approach this reality of differences in understanding time.

First, I think it is important to recognize that “different” does not mean “better” or “bad.” It just means… DIFFERENT! Different societies and cultures have different ways to approach time. We must understand that our own understanding of the world around us is shaped by our histories, social locations, personal experiences, and myriad other things. It is wrong to expect others to behave like me, even in professional settings. It is also wrong to assume that everyone must conform to my understanding of the world. Accept and embrace differences.

Second, it is always best to foster a culture of communication and trust in the workplace – or any other place! This will help communicate effectively when these differences show up. It also helps with setting communal expectations that are born of the collective ideas and different approaches brought in by the members of the group. When there is trust and communication, people will feel empowered to share their own understanding of time, and a good project leader will help negotiate a workflow that makes sense for the group. This brings me to the next point.

Flexibility is key. What works today might not work tomorrow. Once a workflow has been established for a project, it cannot be assumed that the next project will follow the same timeline or workflow. Good project leaders will need to go back to the drawing board and go over the whole process of listening, learning, negotiating, and adapting a new workflow that works for that group and that project in particular.

These strategies can also work in personal relationships. I understand my friends’ perspectives on time, and I honor them the best I can. They also understand my own understanding of time, and you will never see one of my USAmerican friends showing up at my house for a party at the exact time I invited them! This sounds silly, but it’s true! In my Latinoness, I think I will have everything ready by the exact time I invited my guests, but there’s always something that makes it not possible to be right on time. Thankfully, my friends understand this, and they know they should show up at least ten minutes past the time I asked them. They also know that I value their company more than I value ending a party “on time” – whatever that means in this context – so they are never rushed to leave my home at a particular time.  

To finish this article, I want to leave you with a smile on your face. A few years ago, FLAMA, a Latino YouTube channel, posted a really great video titled “Perception of Time – Latino Field Studies.” Please watch it, for a laugh… and to understand better what I have just written about!

[1] https://www.spanish.academy/blog/polychronic-culture-in-latin-america-thoughts-and-facts-on-time/

[2] https://www.spanish.academy/blog/polychronic-culture-in-latin-america-thoughts-and-facts-on-time/

[3] Duranti, G. & Di Prata, O. (2009). Everything is about time: does it have the same meaning all over the world? Paper presented at PMI® Global Congress 2009—EMEA, Amsterdam, North Holland, The Netherlands. Newtown Square, PA: Project Management Institute. https://www.pmi.org/learning/library/everything-time-monochronism-polychronism-orientation-6902

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October 16, 2022 · 5:14 pm

Preventing Cultural Hegemony During Hispanic Heritage Month

When Hispanic Heritage Month was established it was with the idea of recognizing the contributions of Hispanic-Americans (as our community was known) to the United States. Since the term “Hispanic” was a government construct to group a very diverse group of people, other concepts such as “Latino/a” have been used. We understand that not all Latinos/as are Hispanics, and that any terminology used to group our community is going to fall short. Latin America is an extremely diverse region. Our ancestors are Indigenous, African, European, Asian, and of every combination thereof. There are hundreds of different languages spoken throughout the region in addition to Spanish, Portuguese, and Creole. Our histories, cuisines, faiths, values, and every aspect of culture are different. Hispanic Heritage Month is supposed to celebrate this diverse group of peoples, highlighting our contributions to the larger US society, of which Latinos/as have been a part since before the United States was formed as a country.

Yet, for some groups within the Latino/a community, Hispanic Heritage Month can be a reminder of how cultural hegemony erases diversity and identity. The challenge of celebrating a diverse community that does not fit the clear, simple, and binary definitions of the majority Euro-centric American culture reduces Hispanic Heritage Month to a celebration of whichever Latin American cultural heritage is most prominent in a particular context. The month that was meant to celebrate our diversity is reduced to the celebration of the Spanish-Caribbean in the eastern seaboard of the USA, or of Mexican-American communities in the Southwest and West. This cultural hegemony makes invisible large portions of our communities.

Cultural Hegemony Gets Personal

I speak to this from personal experience. When I first moved to the mainland USA it was to the eastern coast. As a Puerto Rican, it was easy for me to find representations of my culture anywhere I went. I didn’t have to adapt my dialect too much and for the most part, people understood when I said “habichuela” or “bizcocho” or “guagua.” The historic large diasporas of Spanish-Caribbean peoples to the easter parts of the USA means that our cultures, dialects, and cuisines are more prevalent. Other people of Latin American descent usually must adapt to these Spanish-Caribbean cultures (Cuba, Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico.) Once I moved to the West coast, things were totally different. Out here, the prevalent cultures are Mexican and Mexican-American. People from all over Latin America and of any Latin American heritage must adapt to these cultures as they have been adopted by the Euro-American majority as the standard or default definition of “Latinidad.” More concerning is the expansion of this standard definition and its adoption by politicians, nonprofits, businesses, and many other groups.

The invisibilization of non-Mexican Latin people has profound consequences both for our communities and for society at large. Spanish is reduced to one dialect and one accent (usually norteño or chilango) at the expense of the plethora of dialects spoken throughout Latin America and the many variations of the Mexican dialect. Latino Indigeneity is reduced to Aztec and Maya identities at the expense of Mapuche, Arawak, Taíno, Guaraní, Garifuna, and the thousands of indigenous groups that still inhabit Latin America. The Afro-Latino/a identity is forgotten as “mestizaje” – the mixing of European and Indigenous identities – is made the standard of Latinidad. And Protestant, Evangelical, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Santero, Espiritista, and other faith traditions practiced by Latin folk are hidden in favor of a particular Roman Catholic experience that doesn’t even consider the beautifully diverse experiences and traditions of non-Mexican Latin Catholic communities. For instance, growing up Protestant, I never observed “Día de los Muertos”, or sang to “La Virgen de Guadalupe” on December 12th. Although I recognize and honor the importance these celebrations have, they do not define my Latinidad, nor do they define Latinidad for at least half of Latinos/as in the United States.

The Mexican cultural hegemony promoted by white supremacy is not only impacting non-Mexican Latin folk. This cultural hegemony also impacts other Mexicans. My husband is Mexican, from the state of Yucatán, and of Maya indigenous identity. In the white supremacist, cultural hegemonic definition of “Mexican” and of “Latinidad”, his accent, his cuisine, and his traditions do not fit. From time immemorial, the Maya people of Yucatán have celebrated “Hanal Pixan”, a month-long observance to welcome back and honor those ancestors who are before us (in Maya tradition, the past is before us, while the present is behind us because we cannot see it.) During this time, families prepare altars, present food and drinks as offerings, and have rituals of welcoming for the ancestors. On three different dates throughout the month a special tamal called “pib” is prepared and eaten with those ancestors. Hanal Pixan has been merged to

some extent with the Roman Catholic tradition of All Souls and All Saints Days, while keeping much of its Mayan roots. But you would never find a hint of this Mexican cultural tradition presented in any of the “Hispanic” celebrations of “Día de los Muertos.” Once again, cultural hegemony erases a part of our identities.

The Causes and Roots of Cultural Hegemony

There are many causes for cultural hegemony. Our own brains try to minimize the use of energy by categorizing things around us in the simplest ways. Culturally, we try to group people as to make it easier for us to understand them. White supremacy in particular has been really great at minimizing differences by grouping folk as “white” and “black” and then assigning value to each category, with lighter skin being more valuable than darker skin. This tool of control offers Latinos/as, who are of every race, a mirage opportunity to “become white” and thus, access power. The lighter our skin, the closer we are to being part of the standard definition of “American.”

It is in this context where we find the first clues to this cultural hegemony imposed in Latinidad. First, the powers-that-be decided that “Hispanic” was a good enough category for people of Latin American descent. This was regardless of their racial background or historical heritage. Whether a person was indigenous to these lands or an Austrian Jew who found refuge in Argentina, now both were classified as “Hispanic” for the mere fact that Spain conquered most of what is today Latin America. Second, when the communities reacted to this misnomer, they came up with “Latino”, and if they were progressive enough, “Latino or Latina.” This at least alleviated the reality of those who, having cultural roots in Latin America, did not have or do not want to be associated with Spanish heritage. The Euro-American majority decided how our community was going to be named, regardless of centuries of self-identification within our communities. Finally, the acceptance of mestizaje as the standard of Latinidad served the purpose of ensuring that Latinos and Latinas thought of ourselves as “almost white” people in the context of the United States. (Please know that this concept is used very differently within Latin America. But I will not be discussing this in this essay.) Erasing Afro Latinidad can only serve the white supremacy agenda, not advance the Latino/a community.

On the other hand, once the stage was set to have a homogenous definition of Latinidad, it was easier for one dominant Latin culture to ignore the rest.

Throughout the years, Mexico has been extremely successful in developing its media presence throughout Latin America. The richest man in Mexico also happens to be the most successful telecommunications executive in Latin American, Carlos Slim Helú. América Móvil, his telecommunications empire, has an almost monopoly of the communications world throughout all of Latin America with the notable exception of Cuba. The Mexican theater and film “Golden Age” marked the scenic arts in ways that no other country was able to do. Today, Mexican novelas (soap operas) and movies dominate most of the TV market throughout the continent. Pretty much any Spanish language singer – and sometimes actors – who wants to have a successful career knows that they must gain over the Mexican market, no matter how successful they might be in their countries of origin and neighboring countries.

As a result of the success of Mexican cultural exports – films, novelas, music, cuisine, etc. – there is no corner of Latin America that has not been exposed to the Mexican dialect (on its norteño and capital city versions), foods, and music, among others. Thus, although pretty much any Spanish-speaker can understand Mexican Spanish, people in Mexico and people of Mexican descent elsewhere have not had the chance to be exposed to our dialects. Therefore, although there are plenty of words in Spanish to call a cake – bizcocho, torta, queque –, pastel has become the “standard” in the USA. If they are only familiar with Mexican Spanish, someone will be very confused when a South American asks them for a torta and find out that they meant a cake, and not a sandwich. That’s because torta is the South American Spanih word for cake, while in Mexico they call cakes, pastel. There are plenty of examples like this, as words for beans (judías, habichuelas, caraotas), pepper (ají, pimiento), banana (guineo, cambur, banano), jacket (chompa, cazadora, abrigo) and many others are Mexicanized and the many different ways in which they are called elsewhere are forgotten.

This is not on the Mexican people’s backs. I am not advocating for the elimination of Mexican dialects in public or private use, nor am I complaining about Mexico’s success in investing in its own arts and cultural programs. On the contrary, I admire the fact that, with the USA being so relentless in spreading American English as the lingua franca, and American music and films as standards, Mexico has successfully overcome this by continuing to produce high-quality content in Spanish in pretty much all the art forms. What I am doing is explaining the reasons why it is so common for the Mexican dialect to be the “standard” for Spanish in the United States.

The white supremacy structures in which the USA operates make it easier for homogenization to take place. It also makes it easier for the rest of us to be invisible during a month that is supposed to highlight the contributions of all our cultures, histories, and identities.

A Possible Solution

Is it possible for this cultural hegemony to be overcome? I believe it is!

If we want to go back to the origins of Hispanic Heritage Month we can hold on to the core of its purpose: to celebrate the contributions of Hispanics and Latinos/as to the USA. It is absolutely perfect to include tacos, tamales, norteño music, and Mexican folk dances in your Hispanic Heritage Month celebrations. And it is equally important to expand this and include other cuisines, dances, histories, and symbols of more Latin American communities. Here are some ideas on how your agency, nonprofit, church, workplace, or any other group can expand their offerings to celebrate our comunidad.

  1. Don’t assume. Ask! It is so simple. Even if you are of Latino heritage, ask around to find out more about the Latino/a community in your area. Even if there is one specific national heritage more prominent than others, I assure you that you will find people of all sorts of Latina/o cultural heritage around. Ask them what would be meaningful to include in any celebration of our cultures.
  2. Learn. Read books from authors of every national background. Follow news from throughout the region so you know what’s affecting local communities with ties to those regions. Read about the history of colonization of USA in our countries of origin so you can understand the patterns of migration of our communities. Watch documentaries about our region and our countries of origin. Attend events created by and for Latinos/as, especially if they are from cultures outside of whichever is the majority Latin culture in your context.
  3. Expand the celebrations. Find out who is the small business owner of a restaurant from a Latin cuisine that is not from the majority Latin community represented in your area. Order from them instead! Introduce even other Latinas/os to cuisines different than theirs. A business can have a whole catered event with different empanadas from all throughout the continent! The same for dances and performances. Bring in tango dancers, include bachata and salsa in your parties, teach a cumbia class during one of the events. (As reggaeton becomes more and more prominent in Hispanic Heritage Month celebrations, I highly recommend checking with people who speak the dialect of the signers, as many of the lyrics can be extremely crass, offensive, and vulgar to specific communities. Also, not all reggaeton lyrics are like this, and I personally enjoy the style, so this is not a judgment on the genre, just a recommendation to make spaces more accessible and safe for all.)
  4. Have fun! Among the many things that unite all our communities is how boisterous, energetic, and fun we are! Whether we call it pachanga, farra, parranda, juerga, fiesta, pary, bembé or whatever other word we have for it, Latin parties are filled with joy and celebration. There might be a time to start, but you never know when the party will end. Have flexibility with your celebrations and let the community enjoy its time together.

Reclaiming La Herencia Hispana y Latina!

Latina trans activist Sylvia Rivera once said, “We have to be visible. We are not ashamed of who we are.” She was referring to the trans community and the LGBTQ community in general. Nevertheless, Rivera was a proud Latina woman too. She never hid her Venezuelan and Puerto Rican heritage. At times, the invisibilization of so many Latinidades makes us ashamed of being public. Many of us switch our accents or use dialects that are not natural to us. Often, we stay silent about our own heritage lest we make those in the majority uncomfortable. That is not the solution to cultural hegemony.

The solution to cultural hegemony is being visible, vocal, and proud of our individual cultural heritage and the many mixes of heritages created in the United States. Our Hispanic Heritage Month celebrations should be expansive and always expanding. It should show every aspect of Hispanic and Latino cultures. Hispanic Heritage Month should be a time to celebrate our diverse Latin heritage in all its extravagance. Let’s bring Garifuna dances, and serve Bolivian salteñas; let’s pour Chilean wines, and enjoy Guatemalan parrilladas; let’s dance to the rhythms of African drums in Puerto Rican bomba and Peruvian landó; serve sopa paraguaya and Dominican mangú… Let’s make every effort to create welcoming and diverse celebrations that honor the richness of our Latin cultures. Let’s proudly and very visibly reclaim our herencia!  

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December 24, 2017 · 6:36 pm

Christmas Memories in Exile

I remember a picture the other day. It was a picture with my sister and I, in front of a Christmas tree. I couldn’t remember what we were wearing, but I do remember that it was taken in the house we grew up in. It was taken many Christmases ago.

When you move as much as I have, memories are all you have left when important dates come up. Living away from the place you consider home means that you always carry with you the memories of special dates. Christmas in particular is a difficult time for me. I grew up in the mountains of Puerto Rico, where the weather this time of the year is cold, but not freezing cold as it is where I live now. The holiday music is festive, cheerful, loud, at a fast tempo, and is everywhere. Caribbean sounds fill up the air; not the slow, often dark, and to me, sad songs with northern European origins. Christmas music for me is drums and guitars, is tambourine and maracas, is güiro and cuatro. Parrandas fill the nights with music as people gather late at night and go throughout their neighborhoods signing traditional music from house to house. All homes are always ready for parrandas. There’s always food: hot chocolate, crackers, guava paste, queso de hoja (a type of homemade white cheese), and of course, the last home that is visited must prepare an “asopao”, or soupy rice with either chicken or pigeon peas.

Our Christmas tree at home was always humble. I still remember the year when my dad decided to just take a coffee tree and wrap its branches with aluminum foil. We placed lights and ornaments and it’s still the most beautiful Christmas tree I had ever had. The tree on the picture I remember was humble as well. We had gone to my grandfather’s farm and cut a pine tree. It did not have the aroma of the fir trees or the spruce trees, but it was beautiful in its humbleness. We put garlands and ornaments and musical lights on it. The tree would not have presents. Ever. Presents were not to be placed under the tree or given on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. We had to wait until Epiphany, the Feast of the Wise Men, on January 6th. The day before my sister and I would gather some grass for the camels, place it on empty shoe boxes, and place those under our beds. The Three Kings will leave present then… and we will have a week or two to play with them before going back to school.

When you live in exile, or away from home in any form, these memories are all you have. You remember the holiday, and the music, and the presents, and the food, and the family time. You remember that nothing will go back to what it was. You remember that life goes on and you must adapt.

I found the picture among my things. My sister and I are wearing pajamas. The Christmas tree looks as beautiful as I remember. It brought back all the memories of Christmas past, in the mountains of Castañer, waiting for parrandas and for the music. It is Navidad; it is home.

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September 26, 2017 · 8:50 am

Después del Huracán

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Mi abuela Margot y mi abuelo Quino vivían justo frente al Río Guayo. El puente que une a la municipalidad de Adjuntas con la municipalidad de Lares está justo frente al que fuera su hogar. Era en este río en el que nos bañábamos en el verano. Cuando pasaba el huracán, era en este río donde nos hacíamos más familia y más comunidad.

Dice el dicho que después de la tormenta, viene la calma. Esto es quizás así; pero después de la tormenta también vienen los desafíos de cómo vivir sin las necesidades básicas a las que nos hemos acostumbrado. Después de la tormenta también vienen los días sin luz, sin agua, con comida limitada… vienen los días largos sin saber cuánto tiempo será antes de que la vida vuelva a la normalidad. Después de la tormenta viene el resuelve, como le llamamos en mi pueblo.

No es secreto que cada vez que hace un viento fuerte, la frágil infraestructura de Puerto Rico sufre. En mi barrio, digo yo que cada vez que alguien destornuda duro, la luz se va. El agua potable también es un reto. Esa viene cada dos días; a veces un poco menos seguida. Prácticamente casa cuenta con sus tanques de agua para recolectarla cuando está disponible y así mantener el suministro cuando se vuelva a ir. Cuando chiquito, teníamos acceso a una quebrada de la cual sacábamos agua para tomar. El agua para uso diario la traíamos también de allí, pero por tubos y con bomba que mi papá instaló. Había conexión al sistema de la AAA , pero no dependíamos de ella para abastecernos de agua.

Recuerdo que después de los huracanes, cuando tanto la luz como el agua se iban por semanas, trasladábamos algunas de nuestras rutinas diarias al Río Guayo. Allí, debajo del puente que une a Adjuntas con Lares, un grupo de mujeres – la mayoría de mi familia – sacaba barras de jabones, paletas, cestos y tablas para lavar ropa. Sentadas en piedras o en banquitos que sus maridos le hacían, las mujeres comenzaban a lavar las ropas de sus familias. Con cada estrujada de ropa, con cada movimiento de limpieza, comenzaban los chistes, las carcajadas, las noticias del día y los chismes de barrio. Con cada pieza lavada, se enteraba uno de los planes para las comidas comunitarias de más tarde, de las posibilidades de que la luz y el agua llegaran más tarde de lo esperado, o de dónde ya estaban vendiendo pan caliente…

La niñez recorría el puente y nos tirábamos al río. Las madres nos gritaban que nos quedáramos quietos porque algo nos podía pasar. Algún niño o alguna niña, siempre, nos arruinaba el día cayéndose entre las piedras y abriéndose alguna herida. En ese momento se paraban todas las actividades para darle consuelo primero y un buen regaño después – o quizás era al revés, no recuerdo – al niño o la niña lastimada.

Los maridos, mientras las mujeres limpiaban las ropas, se iban a seguir limpiando los caminos. Vivir en el campo significa dos cosas: siempre hay mucho árbol en la carretera cuando pasa una tormenta, y los caminos no han sido construidos de la mejor manera así que siempre estarán en necesidad de reparación. Recuerdo que mi papá se llevaba la guagua pick-up, su machete, su sierra y cualquier otra herramienta que fuera útil, coordinaba con otros y se iban por caminos que sabían que los gobiernos municipales y estatales no les darían atención. Así era como comenzaban a ayudar a que los vecinos se conectaran. Después del huracán, la comunidad se juntaba para levantarse.

En algún momento del día, cuando ya las ropas estaban limpias, se reunían las mujeres para cocinar. Las ollas eran de tamaño enorme, como para alimentar a un ejército. Se cocinaba lo que hubiese: arroz, habichuelas, gandules, bruquenas del río, chopas del lago, pollos, puerco, guineos, ñames, yahutía, malanga, chayotes, plátanos, huevos… En fin, lo que hubiese por allí se hacía de comida para todos y todas. Después de la comida salían las sillas y las mesas, el juego de dominó estaba listo. Esta era la parte favorita de mi abuela paterna: el juego de dominó. No había en todo Castañer una persona más fanática del dominó que mi abuela Margot. Sus hijos e hijas le temían en la mesa. Ninguna o ninguno la querían tener como pareja de juego, porque si perdías la mano de dominó, ella te desheredaba. ¡Doña Margot no jugaba con su dominó! Abuela gritaba, se emocionaba, se vivía el juego desde el comienzo. Verla jugar dominó con una estrategia nítida, desarrollada por años de devoción a su juego favorito, era toda una experiencia.

Para mí, de niño, el tiempo después del huracán era más como una película de acción y de aventura. Era el tiempo en que la familia y la comunidad se unían. Era el tiempo de jugar debajo del puente del Río Guayo y comer en familia. Era el tiempo de ver las estrellas en el cielo al final del día, cuando se abría el firmamento y se iluminaba el cielo raso con un millón de estrellitas que nos recordaban tanto la fuerza de la naturaleza como el tesón de un pueblo que se levanta su dolor para alcanzarlas.

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September 22, 2017 · 6:09 pm

While Waiting for News of My Family After Hurricane Maria

69735502People have asked me how I’ve been able to function these past few days. It has not been easy. My parents, sister, and I had been estranged for years. When I was diagnosed with cancer, they reached out. My husband and I visited with them for the first time on December 25th for their Christmas party. We’ve been in communication ever since.

As the hurricane approached, we stayed in communication through text. Then I called a few days before to check up on them. My mom was calmed and not too worried. Cellphone signal had came back just the day before I called. They still had no power in the neighborhood, but the water was back. They were prepared; they had water, food, fuel, and an electric plant. My sister – who works for the Department of the Family of the Commonwealth – had visited a shelter and checked up on her clients. They were ready to face the hurricane. The last I heard from my mom was a reply to my text saying: “yes, I am calmed.”

Those are the last few words I have from my family. I have not heard from them yet.

I have read news reports that tell me my neighborhood is fine and that there are no registered deaths in my hometown as of today. I read about the efforts to clear the roads and make sure that people have access to larger towns to get supplies. But there are no ways to get in touch with the outside world. How does the word go out about what’s happening? People from the metro area in San Juan who have family in Adjuntas go down to check up on them and then share what they had seen and heard on social media as the limited access to cellphone coverage allows them to.

But now going back to the question: How have I been able to function?

I have compartmentalized my self. Having to communicate in English helps. It is not my language. It is not my soul. It is not what connects me emotionally to the world. I focused on the tasks. I focused on the routine (of not having a routine), and pay attention only to the work in front of me. I have the news in the background and read the texts and news that I get constantly. But those are in español, those do not belong to the workplace. Those belong to mí.

I have compartmentalized my life in the past few days. Sure, I have shared news with coworkers and friends who ask. I have even shed a tear or two while doing so. I have tried to perform what is asked of me by the US society: calmness, be collected, show little emotion when talking about such things, etc. Like always, I have learned how to perform according to the social rules of the social mores of the society I live in. I have completely disconnected myself from all, creating walls that separate the mí from the me.

When I am home, or when I am speaking with a close friend, or when I am alone in my office and listening to the news, I cry. I let it all go and finally feel mí.

I know that my family is fine. Something within me tells me so. I also know that it will be probably weeks before I hear from them. I, too, am from those areas in the world where nobody cares about you; where the government has nothing to gain but votes every so often, where “charities” have no good faces or locations for photo-ops. I am from the place where the only thing that helps us is ourselves: the community who stands up, puts on their boots, picks up their machetes, brave the remainder rain and winds, and goes out to join one by one as they clear paths and help restore their comunidad. That resiliency is what helps me function. I am a jíbaro, and jíbaros don’t give up.

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January 20, 2017 · 9:25 am

I March For My Niece

My niece, Emely, is nine years old. She is bright, and funny, and loves to read, and loves math, and wants to become a singer and actress. A couple of years ago she had a list of books she wanted me to buy for her. Of course, as a bibliophile, I complied and bought all the books she asked me for and more. When I visited her again, she told me about one of the books I had given her.img_7249

I still remember when Emely started school. Since Emely grew up in a Spanish-speaking household, when she started school she didn’t speak English. She learned the language from her teachers and her classmates. On one occasion, when I asked her to speak Spanish with us and use English for other conversations in order to help her stay bilingual, she said something that shook me to my core. “Spanish is UUUUGLY!” she said. With a heavy heart, I asked her why she said that. She said that everyone in school said it. Spanish is ugly. English is beautiful.

I have talked with Emely about the importance of learning as many languages as she can. I have told her about the importance of using both English and Spanish to communicate, and to take any opportunity she might have in the future at school to learn other languages. I have told her how proud we are of her. I have continued to make sure that she is proud of her Mexican heritage and that she understands what it means to be a USAmerican too. I have shared with her my own Puerto Rican culture and heritage and have encouraged her to adopt what she might want to adopt from it. I have shared with her how wonderful it is to have a non-traditional family, and what a blessing it is that she has a wonderful, supportive, caring mother, and two dads, and so many uncles and aunts, and siblings who live in different homes, and a madrina and a padrino who care deeply for her.

img_7149Today, as a white supremacist, xenophobe, and sexual predator took the oath of office as President, I worry about Emely and her future as a Latina woman growing up in the USA. I know I cannot protect Emely or her brother all the time. I also know that her parents’ immigration status prevents them from providing all the protections that she – both of them, my niece and my nephew – deserve. But there are some things I can do. I can join the RESISTANCE and stand up for my niece.

And so, Emely, I will march tomorrow, Saturday, January 21st. Emely, I will answer the invitation from other women around the USA and the world to stand up to injustices against women. Even though you might be too young to understand, I will march because I love you, because I respect you, and because I believe in you as a woman.

There are also other reasons why I march in solidarity with my niece tomorrow. These are not the only ones, but here are some reasons to march:

I march because I believe that my niece Emely’s brown body is hers and only hers. No one, no matter what position of authority they might have, even if it’s the Presidency of the USA, has the right to touch your brown body, let alone grab it violently and without permission.

I march because I believe that you have the right to education, and that you have the right to make choices as to how far you want to take your education and what profession to pursue or not pursue. You have the right to access a job that is suitable to your abilities and your passions, and to be paid fairly and at the same rate than any male who will do the same job.img_9337

I march because, when the time comes for you to make choices about your body, it should be you, and only you, who make those decisions. Because your brown body is yours and deserves to be respected and honored. Because your brown skin is beautiful, and normal, and is neither “exotic” nor a stereotype to be paraded at the whim of those with power.

I march because I know that your parents can’t be exposed to deportation and because I want to continue being your uncle, not having to be your foster parent should something were to happen to my brother- and sister-in-law.

I march because I believe that, although you have been raised Roman Catholic, you should have the right to make the decision that makes YOU comfortable. I march because, if in the future you want to wear a hijab, you should be able to do it without fear of intimidation. I march because if in the future you choose not to believe in anything, you should not be punished for having no religion.

I march because I believe that you should feel safe in wearing whatever the hell you want to wear in public. I march because I believe that you should feel safe walking down the street and that no one should be cat-calling you, or intimidating you, or threatening your life and safety.

I march because I believe that you should be free to choose to love whomever you want to love, just as I love your uncle who gave me the blessing of being welcomed by this wonderful family that now both you and I, as outsiders, call “nuestra familia.” I march because I believe that you should love as many people as you wish to love and not being condemn for it.

I march because, if I march today, I know… I know… that by the time your Quinceañera comes, this will be a safer place for you and all your loved ones.

I could continue listing reasons to march, Emely, but I can’t. My eyes are filled with tears – you know how much I cry – and I can’t write anymore. But be sure, sobrina, I will march for you. I march for you, mi querida sobrina. I march because I know that staying home is not an option.

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December 7, 2016 · 11:14 am

La iglesia que sueño

Es indiscutible que la iglesia perfecta no existe. De hecho, creo que es indiscutible que nunca podremos encontrar una iglesia que llene todas nuestras expectativas. Habiendo sido pastor de varias congregaciones – hispanas, anglo-americanas y étnicamente diversas – puedo dar fe de que es imposible el crear congregaciones que logren complacer a toda persona al mismo tiempo. Siempre es posible encontrar congregaciones que llenen las expectativas sobre uno o varios aspectos de lo que consideramos una iglesia perfecta. Pero en definitiva, no podremos crear una congregación que llene todas las expectativas, todo el tiempo y de toda la gente.teologia-de-la-liberacion

Ahora, habiendo dicho esto, también es importante escuchar cuales son las características que las personas creen importantes para una congregación que sea la más apropiada para ellas. Esto no quiere decir que lograremos crear tal congregación. Es solo un ejercicio de soñar con nuestra congregación ideal.

Cuando me mudé a la ciudad donde vivo actualmente y ya que tenía la oportunidad de pasar del púlpito a los bancos, era el momento ideal para buscar una congregación hispana, que llenara mi necesidad de adoración en español, con una comunidad de gente con la que me pudiera identificar mejor. Visité varias comunidades y elegí una. Como he dicho, ninguna es perfecta, pero encontré una comunidad que me aceptó, que me gustó y en la que me he sentido cómodo. De todos modos, sueño con una comunidad de fe que sea más progresista, que realmente refleje mis valores y teología. No sé si sea posible encontrarla, en especial sabiendo la cantidad limitada de congregaciones hispanas en donde vivo, pero sigo soñando con una iglesia que sea más adecuada para mis necesidades.

¿Cuál es la iglesia que sueño? Pues una iglesia que sea así…

  • Una iglesia que no tengo miedo en tomar posiciones teológicas progresistas; que no se amilane de decir las cosas como son y de condenar el pecado de la soberbia, de la corrupción, de la intolerancia, del racismo, de la xenofobia, de la homofobia, de la violencia, de la transfobia, de la misoginia, del sexismo, de la opresión. En fin, una iglesia que tenga una voz profética.
  • Una iglesia que no le tema a la innovación litúrgica; donde se pueda ser flexible y expansivo con la liturgia. Una iglesia donde la rigidez se deje atrás y se de paso a la innovación, a una liturgia dinámica, a una liturgia apasionada, a una liturgia contagiosa y atractiva.
  • Una iglesia que haga uso del lenguaje inclusivo, donde “Dios” no sea solo presentado en forma masculina, sino que se utilicen todas las imágenes bíblicas para la Divinidad; una iglesia donde se hable del Dios que es como una Madre, como una Doncella, como una Mujer Parturienta, como una Viuda que busca una moneda… En fin, una iglesia que reconozca la naturaleza expansiva de Dios.
  • Una iglesia que no tenga miedo de confrontar la injusticia donde la vea; que se muestre solidaria con las personas marginadas, que se muestre solidaria con quienes sufren, con las personas en necesidad, con la niñez, con los inmigrantes, con las minorías étnicas, etc. Una iglesia que se enfrente a la supremacía blanca con valentía y que la denuncia como lo que es: pecado.
  • Una iglesia que esté bien fundamentada en sus principios cristianos pero que también participe y se nutra de las muchas tradiciones religiosas que existen. Al mismo tiempo, que sea una iglesia de vanguardia con respecto a la ciencia y la educación, que estas sean utilizadas para enseñar la grandeza de la Divinidad y no que se deje llevar por la falsa dicotomía de “ciencia contra religión”.
  • Una iglesia que se atreva a ser política – en el sentido de denunciar políticas públicas que afecten a los grupos más oprimidos mientras también deje bien clara su posición con respecto a políticas públicas de beneficio para toda la sociedad.
  • Una iglesia que atesore la tradición musical de los himnos antiguos mientras también incluya, celebre y cree nuevas formas musicales.
  • Una iglesia que atesore la tradición teológica mientras a la vez acepte la naturaleza siempre expansiva del conocimiento que ofrece el Espíritu de Dios.
  • Una iglesia que utilice más de una versión de la Biblia en español; que entienda que cada traducción es una interpretación y que no todas las interpretaciones son iguales ni apropiadas para todas las veces.
  • Una iglesia donde se proclame la Palabra de Dios en los sermones y no que se ofrezca un mensaje para sentirse bien; una iglesia que confronte, que enseñe, que rete, que desafíe a la feligresía a vivir su fe y no solamente a creer.
  • Una iglesia que celebre; que celebre la diversidad, que celebre la vida, que celebre a Dios, que celebre las culturas, que celebre la música, que celebre la Creación, ¡que celebre todo el tiempo!
  • Una iglesia que sea también bálsamo y refugio para quien busca dirección en su vida.
  • Una iglesia donde la niñez que llegue sea tratada como parte integrante de la misma; que se escuchen niñas y niños jugar y llorar en el santuario, que las madres y los padres se sienten en la libertad de correr tras sus hijas e hijos, donde la voz de la niñez es celebrada, escuchada y empoderada.
  • Una iglesia donde la mesa esté abierta; donde el pan y el vino nunca se acaben ni estén restringidos solo para un grupo; donde regularmente se invite a la gente a participar de la mesa de gratitud – eucharistía – y donde el llamado a compartir esta mesa sea contextualizado para el momento en que se vive; donde los elementos reflejen las comunidades donde se celebra, o sea, que no sea solo pan y vino, pero tortillas y tostones y pan dulce y casabe y jugo de naranja y de jamaica y de coco y café y mate y…
  • Una iglesia donde se sienta el Espíritu vivo de Jesús.

En fin, no sé si esta iglesia llegue a existir, pero espero que alguien por ahí escuche y, si es posible, que acepte el llamado de comenzar a hacer realidad la iglesia que sueño.

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August 24, 2016 · 11:32 am

How Mary of Nazareth Helped Me Regain My Faith

“Caridad, Guadalupe, and novenas are not part

of my more immediate tradition.

Yet they are part of my culture.

Does that mean that,

like my native ancestors five centuries ago

when faced by the initial Catholic ‘evangelization,’

I must renounce my cultural heritage

in order to affirm my Christianity?

I do not believe so.”

Dr. Justo González, theologian

 

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Original icon of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Ponce, Puerto Rico. This icon came from the town of Guadalupe, Spain, and has been venerated in the Island for years before the Mexican manifestation of the Virgin of Guadalupe was revealed. 

The Mother of God. The Queen of Angels. The Star of the Seas. Help of the Afflicted. Mystical Rose. Refuge of Sinners. All these and more are devotional titles for Mary, the mother of Jesus of Nazareth. She is not very prominent in the gospel stories, and is very much absent from the rest of the New Testament writings. Yet, for millions of Christians around the world, Mary of Nazareth is a central figure in their spiritual lives. Her image is present in the iconography of Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Ethiopian Orthodox, Anglican, Coptic and many other Christian traditions. Her image is even utilized by syncretic traditions such as Santería, Candomblé and sometimes Folkloric Spiritism. However, for those of us who grew up mainline Protestants – especially those of us who grew up in Africa, Asia or Latin America – the mere thought of having an image of the Virgin Mother was cringe-worthy.

My religious background is a bit confusing. I often say, for simplicity’s sake, that I grew up Protestant. But, like everything in life, the reality is a bit more complicated. My father was raised in the Northern Baptist Convention (now the American Baptist Churches, USA). My mother, on the other hand, was raised in the Kardesian Spiritist household[1]. Although, by the time that my sister and I were born neither one of our parents were practicing their respective faith traditions. By default, we were “Christians”, but no last-name was attached to it. However, there is something that has followed me since my birth.

I was born a few days after the due date. Usually this is not that big of a concern. However, in my case, when I was born I could not breath and the doctors weren’t sure if I was going to survive. As my mother tells the story, she was eagerly awaiting to welcome her firstborn, but the nurses kept mumbling and didn’t bring the kid to her. After several hours, the doctor approached my mom to let her know that I was in critical condition and they could not bring me to her side. Her first glimpse of my face was through the glass window of the maternity ward in the hospital. In addition, she became ill with a cold, and due to my delicate state, she was discharged without even being able to hold me while the doctors kept me in the hospital for almost a month. When I was discharged and due to my mom’s illness, the doctor indicated not to nurse me as I was still too frail to be exposed to any possible infection. While I was in the hospital my mom did what many parents in religious countries would do: she brought my first pair of shoes – the ones that I had never had the chance to wear – to be deposited at the feet of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This took place at the Shrine of the Virgin of the Rosary in the town of Sabana Grande in Puerto Rico. There, my mom asked the Blessed Mother to look after her firstborn and, as many mothers both from the Bible and beyond have done, she promised God and the Virgin that I would be their servant forever.

I kind of “blame” my mother’s actions for the fact that I am an ordained minister today. Without my consent, she already made the decision for me. But that’s something for another time.

Often times my parents would send me – who was always very interested in spiritual matters and in religion in general – to the Roman Catholic Church in my hometown, the parish of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal in Castañer, Puerto Rico. Often times, these visits to Sunday Mass were with our neighbors as my parents would not necessarily come with us. I do have some memories of these visits. I also remember visiting my maternal grandfather’s séance on Sunday afternoons and seeing my grandpa lead the community in worship as their Medium. Every now and then we would also visit a home prayer meeting at my paternal grandparents’ home with the Baptist community. And thus, my religious upbringing had a little bit of three “flavors” of experiencing Christianity: Roman Catholic, Protestant and syncretic.

Around age 10 or 11 and after having been invited to a Vacation Bible School at the Baptist congregation in my neighborhood of Yahuecas in Adjuntas, Puerto Rico, I started to regularly attend Sunday services with my sister. This went on for some time until my mom started coming with us and eventually my dad joined us. Later, the whole family was involved in the life of the church and we were all baptized (or in the case of my dad, re-baptized) in that congregation.

Upon my entering in the Baptist tradition, I learned about the Protestant’s rejection of images, idols and icons for worship. I was taught to reject these as useless items that distracted us from worshiping the true God who is neither wood nor plaster but Spirit. I was taught to memorize every Bible verse that warned against the use of idols or images or anything similar in worship. Moreover, I was taught that those who used idols in worship were really worshiping the Devil, without even knowing it. What I learned was that they were kneeling before idols and not before the true God as it was instructed in Scriptures.

Fast-forward several years. I have entered seminary with the intention of pursuing ordination in a mainline Protestant tradition. Although I was not quite sure whether that tradition would be the one in which I grew up, the American Baptist denomination.

Before seminary, a friend who had served as a Presbyterian minister and was now entering the Episcopal Church, introduced me to the wonders of the liturgical world. For the first time, I had the chance to actually understand the history, the meaning, the power of images and icons and movements and sounds and smells in the life of the Church. In addition, while in seminary, I met another friend from the Roman Catholic tradition. During a conversation with him I asked why he, being so progressive in his theology, was still so tied to the Roman Catholic Church. His response moved me. He said: “One of the things that keeps me in the Church is the thought that, for generations, and even today, at every single time of the day, there is a community reciting the same prayers, making the same gestures, saying the same words that I will say when I enter Mass. We are united in prayer; not only in our daily lives and with the people from our parish, but with our sisters and brothers from around the world, and with the saints that came before us and the saints that will come after us.” That statement made me change my understanding of liturgy forever.

But, there was still the fact that I grew up believing that icons and images were contrary to God’s wish for us. All these experiences and so much contradiction made me come to what I thought would be a final conclusion: there is no god. I started thinking of myself as an atheist. Sure, one that was trained in theology and who served the Church, but an atheist nonetheless.

Some time passed. I continued to struggle with my faith and with the idea of God. I went back to wise words that had been shared with me about my faith needed to be mine and not the one I had inherited from others. I read again some of the theological classics and other contemporary writings. I continued my discernment and my journey, without knowing where it would take me, but sure that I was in this wilderness because there was something, or someone, waiting for me.

My return to the faith happened thanks to Mary. Or rather, thanks to María.

In the Latino culture, María, José, Juan, Jesús are common names. (In fact, my given name is Juan!) As I became more and more involved in activism on behalf of my Latino community and as I traveled throughout Latin America sharing time with communities in both rural and urban areas, I started to notice the faces of my people. I notices the Marías, and the Juans, and the Jesúses, and the Josés… Then, I noticed the face of God in María. Often a single mother. Often poor. Perhaps a tortilla vendor or a farmer. Sometimes a beggar on the streets. Other times she was carrying her grandkids as her own children had left for El Norte in search of a better life for those they left behind. Back home in the USA, I say her carrying signs and marching for the rights of the undocumented community. I noticed her carrying her children and cooking me a meal while I visited with them. I noticed María fighting to get access to education while holding two or three part-time jobs to support her parents who barely spoke English. I started noticing María everywhere.

I went back to some of my books. There, I read about how La Virgen Morena, Our Lady of Guadalupe, had returned their humanity to a whole indigenous community in the hills of Tepeyac. There she was, dark-skinned like the indigenous man I had fallen in love with. She was on the banners of those who fought for liberation and freedom. She had welcomed the throngs of immigrants who desperately crossed more than one border to get here. She had welcomed them with open arms in churches and shelters throughout their journey. La Virgen had walked with these people, my people, and had never left them – us – alone. In this journey of doubt and rejection of faith that I had, she was also there, just patiently waiting for me.

Two experiences had transformed my faith thanks to an encounter with La Virgen. The first one was when I stood in front of the altar to Nuestra Señora de la Caridad del Cobre (Our Lady of Charity) in El Cobre, Cuba. There she was, carrying the baby Jesus on her arms, assuring him that all will be well. Her yellow dress reminding the many pilgrims that approach her altar that she was also the embodiment of Ochún, the Yoruba Orisha that traveled with the African slaves to the Américas. I was there, standing in awe before that powerful woman who never left her children alone as they were made to cross the ocean to be enslaved and stripped of their humanity. She journeyed with them and there she was, still standing proud and valiant.

The second experience was when I stood in front of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in her shrine in México. I stood in awe, as I saw the dark-skinned, pregnant, indigenous Virgen welcoming us. She looked at us. She saw us. She knew us. There she was, blessing our relationship and our bond of love. I, the descendant of oppressors who massacred the children of the Morenita, standing next to one of her children, dark-skinned and indigenous, like her. She smiled at us. She forgave me. She welcomed me. La Morenita let me know that I, too, was one of her children.

I continue having doubts, of course. I also continue searching for answers that may never come. But at the end, I know that in my wilderness, Our Mother was waiting for me to come home. As I look at the Mother of God, I want to believe that, if such a loving, powerful, inspiring, courageous woman is the route to know Christ and God, I am more than happy to follow her.

—-

[1] For more information about Kardecian Spiritism, you can visit the following site: http://www.spiritist.com/archives/1862

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June 18, 2016 · 10:14 am

Vigil For LGBTQ Orlando Victims — Vigilia por las víctimas LGBTQ de Orlando

I shared these words with the Madison community during a vigil in honor of the victims of the recent massacre in Orlando. | Compartí estas palabras con la comunidad de Madison durante una vigilia en honor a las víctimas de la reciente masacre en Orlando.

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Rainbow flag with the names of the victims of the Orlando massacre. | Arcoiris de banderas con los nombres de las víctimas de la masacre de Orlando.

Buenas tardes, y gracias por decir “presente” en esta vigilia de recordación de nuestros hermanos y hermanas en Orlando. Soy el Rvdo. J. Manny Santiago, director ejecutivo de “The Crossing” un ministerio ecuménico para estudiantes en la Universidad de Wisconsin – Madison. Estaré compartiendo con ustedes unas palabras en español y luego en inglés. | Good afternoon and thank you for being here at this vigil honoring the siblings we lost in Orlando. I am the Rev. J. Manny Santiago, Executive Director of The Crossing campus ministry at the UW-Madison. I will share some words in Spanish first and then in English.

—

Español

No es fácil para mí el encontrar las palabras para compartir con nuestra comunidad. Hay ocasiones en el ministerio cuando tragedias como la que hemos sufrido nos dejan así: sin palabras, con dolor, con furia y confusión. Al mismo tiempo, sabemos que necesitamos levantar nuestras voces, ya sea para animarnos los unos a los otros, para denunciar injusticias o, en ocasiones, hasta para cuestionar la bondad de Dios cuando solo que podemos ver es violencia y muerte. Todo eso es parte del proceso de duelo y nadie nos debe decir que no sintamos estas cosas. Para mí, he pasado por todas esas etapas en menos de una semana: he sentido dolor, rabia, miedo, confusión y hasta he cuestionado la bondad de Dios que sirvo.

¿Por qué? Pues porque la tragedia de Orlando me ha tocado muy de cerca. No solamente tengo familia en Orlando – algunos de los cuales asisten al Club Pulse de vez en cuando – sino que, igual que la mayoría de las víctimas, soy Latino, puertorriqueño y abiertamente gay. Sí, soy un hombre Latino, pastor y gay. Desde pequeño escuché que esas cosas no podrían vivir juntas en una sola persona. Ese discurso de odio y rechazo que escuché de pequeño en la Iglesia me llevó a cuestionar, no solo mi identidad, sino el mismo amor de Dios y mi familia. Hoy muchas personas – políticos, líderes religiosos, etc. – están tratando de borrar las identidades de las víctimas de la masacre de Orlando. No queremos reconocer que son personas LGBTQ, no queremos reconocer que en su mayoría eran Latinos, no queremos reconocer que había entre ellos personas sin documentos… Algunas personas incluso han intentado poner a nuestras comunidades Latinas o LGBTQ en contra de la comunidad Musulmana.

Para mí, como persona de fe, Latino, puertorriqueño, gay, quiero dejarle saber a todas las personas que estamos tratando de hacer sentido de la tragedia: no va a ser un proceso fácil. Necesitamos crear espacios para procesar el dolor, el miedo, e inclusive para cuestionar la bondad de Dios. Pero en ningún momento podemos dejar de luchar por la justicia, por la paz, por reformas legislativas que ayuden a las comunidades de minoría. Reconozcamos que, en especial en nuestras comunidades Latinas, es tiempo de rechazar el machismo, la homofobia, la violencia, el racismo, la islamofobia y el heterosexismo que tanto permea entre nosotros. Es tiempo de levantarnos en unidad, en honor a todas las victimas de tragedias como esta y decir: ¡BASTA!

Que el Dios que se revela de muchas formas y de muchos nombres nos llene de valor, de amor, de sabiduría y de paz para hacer el trabajo…

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English

It is not easy for me to find the words to share with you today. There are moments in ministry when tragedies like the one we have just witnessed leave us like this: without words, in pain, furious, and confused. At the same time, we know that we must lift up our voices, whether to support each other, to denounce injustices and even, on occasion, to question God’s goodness when the only thing we can see is violence and death. All this is part of the mourning process and nobody should tell us that we should not have these feelings. As for me, I have gone through all of these stages in the past week: I have been in pain, furious, scared, confused, and yes, I have questioned God’s goodness.

Why? Because the tragedy in Orlando is too close to me. I have family in Orlando – some of whom frequent Pulse Club – but also because, like the majority of the victims, I am Latino, Puerto Rican and openly queer. Yes, I am a gay, Latino pastor. Since childhood I’ve heard that these things cannot coexist. This discourse of hatred and rejection that I heard in Church brought me to question, not only my identity as a human being, but also God’s and my family’s love towards me. Today, many people – politicians and religious leaders in particular – are trying to erase the many identities that the victims embodied. Many do not want to recognize that the victims where LGBTQ, they do not want to recognize that the victims were Latino, they don’t want to recognize that among them there were people without proper documentation to work in the USA… Some have even tried to put our LGBTQ and Latino communities against the Muslim community.

As for me, as a person of faith, as a Latino, a Puerto Rican, and gay, I want to make it clear to all: trying to make sense of this tragedy will not be easy. We must build spaces to process the pain, the fear, and even to question God’s goodness. But under no circumstances must we stop working for justice, for peace, and for legislative reforms that would support minority communities. We, Latinos, must recognize that it is time to reject our machismo, our homophobia, our worshiping of death and violence, our Islamophobia, our racism, and our heterosexism. It is time to rise up, together, in honor of these victims and all the other victims of past violence, and say: ENOUGH!

May the God who is revealed in many forms grant us courage, and love, and wisdom, and peace for the work ahead of us…

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June 9, 2016 · 8:39 am

“What Are You?” – The Reality of Intersectional Identities

“What are you?” If you are a person of color, a person of non-white ethnic background, a practitioner of a non-Christian faith, or someone who does not follow conventional gender roles or expression, it is very likely that you have heard this question multiple times throughout your life. Heck! You might have heard this question multiple times just today! For some reason or another we all want to know where others “belong” – what tribe each person is a part of. Although I do not have scientific evidence to say this – it is a blog page after all, not my dissertation page – I believe we do this as a survival strategy; finding groups of people who will support each other in order to thrive, survive and protect each other based on the commonalities we share. However, we are humans. With being human comes the complexities of relationships and what it means to be in relation with each other, even those with whom we disagree.

intersectionality“What are you?” is, then, the amalgam of the identities we espouse and embody. These are identities that we have chosen and identities that are inherent to our being. The problem comes with the way in which the question is posed. Humans are not things. We are a very complex animal with both physiological and psychological characteristics. The integration of these characteristics is what makes us unique in the animal realm. Humans can overcome our desire to associate by tribe – or herd, or school, or pack, or whatever we call the different groups of animals that exist – precisely because we can answer the question “what are you?” Yet, the answer to this question is not an “it is” but an “I am”. In using this form of recognition of the self – something that other animals lack – we acknowledge that we are more than just our instincts.

Humans are the intersectionalities of our identities. These identities converge in order to create complex realities that define WHO – not “WHAT” – we are. I am… Puerto Rican, male, queer, cleric, cisgender, Latino, middleclass, a professional, Protestant, writer, advocate, light-skinned, etc. Each one of these identities reflects a part of who I am. Each one of these identities as well as when I choose to use them also reflect my values and what I treasure the most. Note, for instance, that I often identify as Puerto Rican first and foremost. This part of my identity is so crucial to my being that I cannot just ignore it or place it at the end of the list. With it come a whole lot of other realities that define what it means to be “Puerto Rican”. The context in which I experienced my Puerto Ricanness – growing up in the mountains, with a stable household, eldest son of a married couple, living in a coffee farm, Spanish speaker, exposed to the USA’s cultural realities while also keeping the history of a former Spaniard island possession, etc. – informs this part of my identity. Yet, my “self” is not complete without the interaction of the myriad other identities I embody or have chosen for myself.

Our realities are always intersections of the many identities we carry within ourselves. There are times when those identities are messy and even in contradiction with each other. Yet, this is part of the human experience. What makes us human is the capacity to navigate these apparent contradictions in a way that makes sense to US individually. What do I care about what others say about me? They cannot experience my identity the way I do, nor can I experience their identity the way each one of them does. My only responsibility is to try to acknowledge these differences and honor them by recognizing that each person’s multiple identities and how they converge are none of my business.

There is one aspect of the intersectionality of identities that is crucial, especially when it comes to living in a multi-everything society. Solidarity.

Solidarity is the ability to stand by the side of those who suffer because one or more aspects of their identities. Solidarity is recognizing that one or more parts of our identities might be attacked by others who do not understand the beauty of diversity. Solidarity is being wise enough to recognize that our lives are always being intertwined in such a way that the fight for justice is never to be done in isolation. As Blessed Martin Luther King taught us: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” If we do not see how the many identities we carry are intrinsically connected with the multiple identities of others, we will lose sight of the fight for justice and liberation.

There is no doubt that the question “what are you?” will continue to be a part of the daily experience of many of us. As a theologian, I like to reflect on the way in which the God of the Bible addressed this question when it was posed to God. According to the story found in Exodus, when Moses met God for the first time, he asked God whom should he say that send him to liberate God’s people. God’s answer was straightforward: I AM. That’s it! I am… You are, and others are too. It is in this present “being” that we can find commonalities in the midst of so many intersectional realities that make us who we are. Thus, the next time someone asks you “what are you?”, just answer: I AM.

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