Mexican-American. This is the official title given to someone born in America of Mexican descent. I was not born in America, however, I still consider myself to be Mexican-American. Why? I am not American. I am not Mexican. I am Mexican-American; a combination of American culture and Mexican traditions. I am bicultural. “To be bicultural means to exist within two cultures and to be able to adapt to both ways of being,” (Garrod, Kilkenny, Gómez 6) this is what I am. Nationality, race, and ethnicity do not dictate who an individual will become; culture and tradition form a stronger sense of identity in a person. Because of this bond between an individual and a specific group of people, the definition of “American Identity” is constantly and progressively changing.
Nationality, race, and ethnicity are three words that some people use as if they are interchangeable, and that is not the case. Nationality is “the status of belonging to a particular nation,” by the definition given on Dictionary.com. This can be through birthright; in other words, by having been born in a certain nation. Another way to gain a status of belonging to a nation would be through naturalization, the adaption into the country. Race on the other hand, is a group of people related by common descent or heredity. Whereas ethnicity is used to characterize a group of people who share a common and distinctive culture, religion, language, etc. By these definitions it is clear to see where the confusion stems from. In high school I remember walking through the halls and seeing more than one of my classmates wearing a certain t-shirt, on more than one occasion. The t-shirt read: “MEXICAN: I am NOT Latino. Latinos are Anglo Europeans from Italy. I am NOT Hispanic. Hispanics are Anglo Europeans from Spain. In the United States of America we each own a constitutional First Amendment right to have our ethnicity clearly and properly acknowledged. MEXICAN: The children of the Sun, a rich cultural heritage, a proud indigenous people; the culture of our choosing because we refuse to be anything else, because it feels so good to be Mexican.” This strong statement was screen-printed next to the silhouette of Emiliano Zapata. I did not fully understand the sentiment behind this statement, nor did I care very much. However, this t-shirt is the product of generation after generation of growing understanding and identity. Many identify as Latino, but not Hispanic. Some identify as Mexican, and neither Latino nor Hispanic. This is where the importance of what each of these words mean comes into play, when individuals begin to identify with specific groups.
The identification of an individual is progressive and may take many years to develop. In Héctor Tobar’s Translation Nation: Defining a New American Identity in the Spanish-Speaking United States, the author introduces Benjamin Reed; a Mormon from southern Idaho who considers himself to have a Latin soul. “‘I’d look in the mirror and see a white face, but my heart was brown.’” (Tobar 130) he says. Reed goes on to tell his story of becoming the deejay for a Spanish station in Rupert, Idaho. Here he is able to be the epitome of Mexican manhood, except for the minor detail that he is not Mexican. “‘I was born an Anglo but I identify myself as a Latino culturally.’” (Tobar 132). Being born into a culture does not by any means guarantee that an individual will identify with that culture. This is a feat that is twice as hard when one is bicultural. For example, in The Color of Water, James McBride makes this reflection, “I thought it would be easier if we were just one color […]. Now, as a grown man, I feel privileged to have come from two worlds.” (McBride 103). Though it is a tough and grueling process, being able to identify with a culture, or more than one culture, is extremely rewarding. As a Mexican-American in California there is an abundance of culture and tradition everywhere. I remember going to Posadas as a little girl, reenacting the journey of La Virgen Maria and José walking from house to house asking for hospitality. I also remember walking through downtown Los Angeles and watching a group of Aztec dancers; the swell of pride I felt even as a child, knowing that in my veins ran blood that connected me back to all these beautiful customs. These are feelings that are developed, not inherited. I did not feel this pride because I am Mexican; I am Mexican because I felt this pride. Conversely, I remember learning “You’re a Grand Ol’ Flag” during my third grade summer class in order to perform it for Flag Day. Every time the hairs on my arms stand on end when I hear the national anthem I am flooded by pure American Patriotism. These subconscious feelings tie me to an American identity that I do not remember taking on willingly. For the identity one takes on is almost always unconsciously, slowly, and without a second thought. Rebecca Walker said in Black White and Jewish, “This is how memory works.” (Walker 203). One day I felt like an outsider in America and the next I was one more voice singing out about America’s “amber waves of grain.” I didn’t intend to go from Mexican to Mexican-American, yet here I am.
A huge part being Mexican-American is the factor of immigration. My parents migrated to California when I was six months old. My parents, like many other parents, did only what they thought was going to be better for me in the long run. In this case, that meant leaving our homeland and coming to a strange nation. Here we would be expected to conform and adapt, possibly even leave every trace of culture and tradition aside. My mother says, “Todo lo que yo hago es para [ti]. Siempre ha sido para [ti].” “Everything I do is for you. It has always been for you.” (Sanchez) It is this exact sentiment that leads parents from all over Central and South America to risk everything, even their lives, in order to have something better to offer their children. Though there has been fierce opposition toward immigrants from Mexico, this pales in comparison to the persistent nature of the immigrant. “The phrase ‘Tortilla Curtain’ captured […] this new border, especially when compared with its much older and now-vanquished cousin, the Iron Curtain.” (Tobar 36). A friend of mine, Esteban Perez, crossed this very border at the age of twelve. “I try hard in everything I do because I remember the look on my little sister’s face; the look of pure fear. I never want to have to see that look on her face, or anyone else’s either.” (Perez). The bond between siblings is strong in Esteban and his sister, just as the bond between Cole and Birdie, from Caucasia, is strong. Cole does everything in her power to hold on to Birdie, to keep her safe. While this may not seem like much to the reader, it is all Cole can do (Senna). This too is the case with Esteban. He may not change immigration laws, he may not live to see the “Tortilla Curtain” vanquished, but he is trying for his sister. This is all he can do. “[…] we believe, as a wise Cherokee saying goes: ‘Whatever our culture is, or race, or language or religion, we are all one people.’” (Tobar 122). This is the exact belief that many immigrants hold close to their hearts. For it matters not so much which group we are born into, but more so which groups we identify with later in life.
“Being Mexican-American is tough. Anglos jump all over you if you don’t speak English perfectly. Mexicans jump all over you if you don’t speak Spanish perfectly. WE have to be twice as perfect as anybody else […] We gotta know about John Wayne and Pedro Infante. We have gotta know about Frank Sinatra and Agustin Lara. We gotta know about Oprah and Cristina. […] Japanese-Americans, Italian-Americans, German-Americans, their homeland is on the other side of the ocean. Ours is right next door. And we gotta prove to the Mexicans how Mexican we are, and we gotta prove to the Americans how American we are. We gotta be more Mexican than the Mexicans, and more American than the Americans, both at the same time. It’s exhausting. Nobody knows how tough it is to be a Mexican-American,” says Edward James Olmos’s character in the movie “Selena”. This truly sums up the feeling of being Mexican-American. It is not a factor of where one is born, or to whom, but rather who the individual identifies with. Our identity is much more molded by nurture than nature. Many chose to migrate from culture to culture, even marrying someone of a different ethnicity and cultural background. This makes us, as humans, very special. We have the ability and freedom to choose who we associate with; whether that’s a different ethnic group, people of a different race, or perhaps even within our own culture. It is completely up to the individual. “All across this new country, people without a radical thought in their bodies are beginning to embrace, either consciously or subconsciously, that idea Che Guevara staked his life on in the last century: they believe they have a transnational identity, that their bodies and souls can live between two countries, that the physical border need not exist in the mind.” (Tobar 29). This transnational identity that Mexican-Americans have is a result of having been shaken up rigorously. We learn multiple languages, sometimes simultaneously, adapt to a number of cultures and groups. None of this is done lightly; we don’t get stirred into the culture. It happens fast and without knowledge, until one day instead of being one or the other you’re both. We end our journey a little worse for the wear, but just as ready to be shaken up again. This is our American identity, ever changing, never truly solid.
