LEMON GROVE LIBRARY HONORS MEXICAN AMERICAN PIONEERS

LEMON GROVE, Calif. - On October 12, The Lemon Grove Library honored the Mexican American pioneers from the Lemon Grove desegregation incident of 1931.

“It began when the Lemon Grove school board attempted to build segregated schools for children of Hispanic origin,” said John Valdez, professor of Chicano Studies at Palomar College.  “The working class members of the Mexican-American community didn’t stand for it. They began a boycott of the school and then filed suit against the school board.”

The case, which would become the nation’s first successful desegregation court case in the nation, is called the Roberto Alvarez vs. Board of Trustees of Lemon Grove School District.

“The Lemon Grove incident era changed United States history and the lives of millions,” said Branch Manager Amparo Madera.  “The library is the perfect place to honor the pioneers and activists who fought for civil rights and equality as the public library represents the freedom to learn.”

Lemon Grove Councilmember Howard Cook and Library Director José Aponte presented special recognition awards to the Lemon Grove residents who were pioneers and activists for equality during the Lemon Grove incident.

(Slideshow photos by Cristina Lynn Ericksen)

The celebration included music by classical guitar and solo performer José Rodriguez and the conclusion of Héctor Ericksen-Mendoza’s Hispanic Heritage Month photography exhibit.

Read more about the Lemon Grove incident of 1931 at www.lemongrovehistoryproject.info and view the photos from the exhibit at http://hectorericksen.photoshelter.com

(Photo by Cristina Lynn Ericksen)

Words Were All We Had - Reviewed by Maribeth Bandas

On September 22, 2011, in honor of Hispanic Heritage month, Dr. María de la Luz Reyes, Professor Emerita, University of Colorado-Boulder, gave a reading of her new book, Words Were All We Had, Becoming Biliterate Against the Odds, (Teachers College Press: 2011), to some thirty non-profit, university and business leaders, at the San Marcos branch of the Point Loma Credit Union in San Diego.

Words Were All We Had provides a profoundly intelligent look at a generation of Latino and Latina scholars whose early schooling was marked by attempts to stifle their native bilingualism. The contributors to the book offer their personal narratives as exceptional bilingual students growing up in the United States previous to passage of legislation supporting bilingual education. In spite of the tremendous educational odds they faced, each one became biliterate in Spanish and English, without the support of an academic underpinning in Spanish. 

The title of the book is taken from the second chapter, “Words Were All We Had: Reflections on Becoming Biliterate,” by Josué M. González, Professor of Education, Arizona State University. In regard to growing up in the Texas Rio Grande valley, he writes, “Nearly everyone in our border town was poor. Perhaps we imagined that words were all we had, and we were not about to give any of them up.” A strong sense of cultural and intellectual identity through language imbues all the narratives in this book.

Each essay walks the reader through the authors’ childhood experiences and opens the door to share a passion for language and literacy through their work as scholars. Words Were All We Had is, in itself, an example of conceptual biliteracy, spanning two literary genres: that of testimonio, used so fruitfully throughout Mexico and Latin America to explain and illustrate the different cultures in all their diversity; and the scholarly essay, setting out a broad and varied, yet shared experience among a large cohort of the U.S. population, and offering the tools for further research. 

Words Were All We Had, Becoming Biliterate Against the Odds, is a compelling read, as its contributors, with their personal stories and their scholarly work, amply illustrate the resources we have as a nation with our bilingual populations, and the work that still needs to be done to combat an entrenched ideology of monolingualism in many parts of the United States. Words Were All We Had will no doubt follow the path of its predecessor, Dr. Reyes’ bestselling book, The Best for Our Children: Critical Perspectives on Literacy for Latino Students (with co-editor John J. Halcón), Teachers College Press: 2001. 

Language and Literacy Series

March 2011/ 192 pp./ PB $32.95, ISBN 978-0-8077-5180-0/

HC $72.00, ISBN 978-0-8077-5181-7 

To order visit: www.tcpress.com or call 800-575-6566
For special bulk sales, please contact TC Press at: (212) 678-3919

Aromas of rice, onion, garlic and Peruvian chiles

Those of us brought up in two cultures feel a visceral nostalgia for key elements of the culture we don’t live in. Such is my case with tastes and smells.

I miss walking along my neighborhood at lunch time and smelling the aromas of rice made with onions and garlic; sauces spiced with Peruvian chiles – ají – in all its varieties.

As a child, I loved going to my friend Marcela’s house after school because her Mom made the best camote frito – french-fried sweet potato. As we got older and went out at night, one of our favorite hang-outs, on the cliff overlooking the ocean – ah, the smell of sea air at night -- were french fries at a food truck with a Baskin Robbins-like assortment of sauces. My favorite was a mayonnaise made with ají amarillo – a spicy, savory yellow sauce perfect on hot, creamy french fries.

I always said I would love to grow ají because I love to cook and I miss the flavors of my childhood. Now that I live in San Diego and have the space to garden, I didn’t know where to find seeds for the chiles. Imagine my delight when I got an email from a wonderful Peruvian restaurant in Encinitas – Q’ero Restaurant http://www.qerorestaurant.com – asking us to take an ají amarillo seedling to grow and share!!!!  I am so excited! Now I can make my own paste, cure my own peppers (escabeche) and make salsa criolla as much as my husband can stand!

It is, alfter all, what won his heart. Well, that and flan, and pollo asado and lomo saltado and … 

Olga Diaz is the only Hispanic to serve in elected office in Escondido since its incorporation in 1888.

Founded in 1888 one of SD county’s oldest cities, occupies 36.5 square miles. Pop. 147,514., 46% Latino, 44% White, 5% Asian/Pacific Islander, 2% Black.  In 2005 Escondido was ranked one of the 25 most conservative cities in the US. (govpro.com)

The first census, in 1850, showed Escondido as home to large Spanish-speaking population. Non-Spanish speakers came during the next 3 decades, known as the “Southern California Land Boom”.

Before incorporation as a town, the land Escondido occupies was a ranch, called Rancho Rincón del Diablo, owned by San Diego Judge Oliver S. Witherby, who bought it from the heirs of San Diego native, Juan Bautista Alvarado, Regidor of Los Angeles, and first Regidor of San Diego, who had received it as a Mexican Land Grant 1843, after Mexico won independence from Spain. 

In 1868 the judge sold the ranch to Edward McGeary and the Wolfskill brothers, who sold it to a group of Los Angeles investors in 1883. They, in turn, incorporated the Escondido Land and Town Company, and in 1888 Escondido was incorporated as a city. Economic growth and the price of land benefited from the laying of the Santa Fe and Southern Pacific railways in the 1880s, and in 1930 U.S. Route 395 (Rte. 15) was opened, leading to further growth. The industry through the 1970s was agriculture – muscat grapes, citrus fruits and avocados. 

The government of Escondido is made up of a Mayor and Four Councilmembers, of whom Olga Diaz is one, the only Hispanic to serve in elected office in Escondido since its incorporation in 1888. Not only is she the first Hispanic to be elected, she is also unapologetically a Democrat, in what is known to be a very Republican leaning region. Listen to how her passion for the rights of children prompted her to take action and get elected to a Council that she felt was not responding to their needs. 

Do you have this kind of passion for a cause in your life? Be inspired by Councilmember Diaz’ story, and go out to change your corner of the world! 

A Strenuous Irish Objection to the Latino Use of 'Anglo'

By Maribeth Bandas

If you must, you can call me Gringa, but please, don't call me Anglo. It's offensive, and has all my Celtic ancestors spinning in their graves.

To my Peruvian high school friends, I will always be Gringa, but that's my mother's doing. My Irish-American mother named me after everyone she could think of, and ended up with too many th's in my name for Spanish speakers to pronounce.

Maribeth Catherine is a mouthful, even in English. Hence, when I was a child growing up in Lima, my best friend, Lourdes, started to call me Gringa. I protested vehemently, but have been called Gringa by all my Peruvian friends since.

'GRINGA' AS A TERM OF AFFECTION

Gringa, in Lima at least, is used as a term of affection, like Gorda, Flaca, Negra orChina, names given to anyone foreign-born or blond, chubby, skinny, dark or Japanese, as the case may be. My parents decided to immigrate to Perú when Nixon was reelected, so my sisters and I grew up bilingual and culturally Peruvian.

We prefer ceviche to corned beef and cabbage, we put mustard on our french fries, and we drink Inca Kola. We speak English en familia, Spanish to kids and cats, and Spanglish with a privileged few.

We are Bolivian, Guatemalan, Irish and BANDAS Mexican, nary a full-blooded Anglo among us. The only one to come close is my husband, Héctor Ericksen-Mendoza, who was born in Oaxaca, Mexico, the son of a Zapotec mother, Sebastiana, and a U.S.-born father, Charlie. Suegro Charlie's mother immigrated to the United States from Yorkshire, England, as a teenager.

But I would never call Héctor an Anglo.

Our family gatherings are flavored with tortillas, ajíes, and arroz con polio, but no Yorkshire pudding whatsoever.

Anglo is a colonial term, ultimately referring to the conqueror's language. This is why Africa is divided into Francophone and Anglophone.

Many U.S. Hispanic activists use the term Anglo to refer to all white English speakers. So do reporters of all stripes.

Such loose use of language bothers a great majority of us Irish Americans. Among ourselves, we complain. We take offense at being equated with Anglos. Anglo is to Celtic what Cortés is to Moctezuma.

Do Hispanics who no longer speak Spanish cease to be Latino and become Anglo? .

Curiously, Hispanic and Irish culture share many traits. Some say that Catholicism, the love of family and a flair for blarney unite so many of us. That may be why my two sisters and I, an uncle and a cousin, all married Latinos.

My sister Christine, however, swears there was something in my mother's water. My other sister, Meg, and my cousin Amy are tall, beautiful güeras, and their husbands, Willie, from Guatemala, and Fernando, of Spanish-Canadian descent, are correspondingly tall, dark and handsome men. Both couples are very striking, and who can resist movie-star beauty? Just look at Melanie Griffith and Antonio Banderas.

OUR HUSBANDS ARE 'CHATOS,' SHORT AND DARK

The rest of us are very well matched, too. Christine's husband, Oscar, from Bolivia, and my husband, Héctor, are chatos, short and dark, just like us, so it's not only opposites that attract.

All the children from these Celto/Hispanic marriages are gorgeous, proof that mixtures are the most beautiful of realities.

So many mysterious and fascinating cultural combinations abound. As offensive, misused terms like Anglo disappear, so will our children's identity cease to be an urgently "either/or" equation. They will know better than we do how to live -- to find personal enrichment -- in this kaleidoscope of cultures. Their value systems will go far beyond skin color, mother tongue or stereotype.

As they are growing up, we will call them by whatever endearing Spanish- or English-language nicknames fit. What we won't call them is Anglo.

(This was reprinted from a March 8, 1999 article written by Maribeth Bandas for Hispanic Link News Service)