The problem of modern breast-fed racism

To a young mind any word spoken by blood can never be wrong: “Si mi madre lo dejo, entonces es la verdad.” In other words: if Mother said it, it’s true.

“If white men work eight hours, we work twelve.”

“You are not Mexican, but an American of Mexican descent.”

Strong mottos to live by. Affirmations telling me that I belong; no longer classified as a Mexican, but as an American siding with his cause. These whispered words are said as truth, seen as pure, and embraced without hesitation.

Blessed is the family that demands prosperity; the family that believes that life’s battle will be conquered. Nothing great is bestowed upon the weak. Their beliefs become a young man’s guides when calculating moves. Being ignorant to the inevitable – a two-front war is born with familiar enemies on both sides, and him right in the middle.

I learned when to embrace my ancestors’ past and when to ignore it, for advancement. I learned when to salute our nation’s flag and when to tolerate it, for belonging. My way gave me face, but never did it give me acceptance. How could I grow, when so confused? How can I learn to live, when hypocrisy is the epitome?

Years have passed, and no longer a child, I allowed countless situations to decide how I would view the world forever more. From home teachings, to only kicking back with “Xicanos” (Chicanos, or Americans of Mexican descent) in school. To joining a street gang that taught how to hate the person who is not like me. To prison, where I only converse with fellow “Surenos” (gang members of Latin descent), with the main enemy being not whites nor blacks, but “Paisas” (any person born in a Latin country that immigrated to America).

All these situations and many more taught me this: how to have disgust for anyone that is not who I see in the mirror.

Funny thing is, deep down I know my views of the world are wrong, yet I act as if it was nothing; that my character and how I choose to portray it is normal. I may not verbally bash on a white man or show blatant nausea when having to interact with a “Paisa,” but alone or around fellow like-minded individuals, I can’t help but crack a joke on a “savana” (white person) having exaggerated assumptions of how they live, just as I group Latin people born to different countries as child molesters and “true” wetbacks.

Sitting here reading my words, I finally understand why I think this way and what I will be handing down to my daughter: I have the chance to change the world for generations to come. What I give to my daughter now as truth, will always be remembered as truth.

This was written to give you a glimpse of what it’s like to grow up in America as a “Xicano.” Not knowing how I would respond to what I wrote, I couldn’t have known that I would find it in me – what is said to be going on in this country – “racism.”

I have the power to pass down to my child a new view of the world. The only question is, am I strong enough to watch my daughter cry when she’s put into a situation where she is seen as different? What I say at that moment will decide whether my daughter lives life peacefully or breast-feeds her child the one sentence that ignites a civil war.