Latino Landscape

Blasts From The Past

Blasts From the Past

Editor's Note: "Blasts From the Past" is Latino Landscape's section of articles, editorials and columns from past publications and years that connect to current society. With the advantage of hindsight, we realize that these dated pieces manage to remain relevant through either prescience, providence or blind luck as they resonate in today's topography.

The first presentation is an opinion piece in support of Ken Salazar's first and only senatorial candidacy, published in the Vail Trail, my hometown newspaper, on October 7, 2004. I have made some minor changes to the editorial for this posting.

Several news reports reminded me of the following piece. Ironically, they weren't affiliated with Salazar's recent presence in national headlines following his nomination and confirmation as the U.S. Secretary of the Interior. Rather, a New York Times article was the catalyst. "Where Education and Assimilation Collide," (the first in the series, "Remade in America," which focuses on immigration) struck a chord, reminding of my own experiences in a school with socioeconomic and ethnic divisions and, at times, discord. Different time and place but same ol' song refrain. After reading the feature, I responded with a letter to the editor, which The Times published last Sunday. While that letter summarized the aged scenario, the following editorial further explains the seemingly timeless situation, which, as The Times reports, still survives in schools.

On a more positive note: While there is still much to accomplish in establishing rapport, even more so unity, among ethnic groups in American education, I have reported on not only the linguistic and ethnic divide, but also on admirable attempts to bridge the gap. Last year, I reported in an article for the Rocky Mountain News about the cooperation between students, faculty, the University of Colorado and its employees that attempt to shorten, even erase, the distance between diverse cultures and languages.

A VOTE FOR SALAZAR

By Wayne Trujillo

Growing up in Minturn, we didn't usually refer to ourselves as "Hispanic." Sure, I checked the box when filling out forms, but the label seemed somewhat confusing and amorphous. Actually, it still does. Hispanics are officially an ethnic group that can be of any race. I often questioned the logistics of grouping all Hispanics around the Spanish flag and language. Cubans aren't likely to celebrate Cinco de Mayo as a traditional holiday and Chicanos don't race into Little Havana to let loose the rebel yell "Viva La Raza!" at a rally to overthrow Fidel Castro.

It's amazing to see the hosannas heaped upon Hispanics by politicians and businesses eying their numbers (and potential votes and disposable bucks). As the ethnic group commands headlines trumpeting their explosive growth, the hubris incites me to wonder about what and who Hispanics really are as a group. While the label "Hispanic" is a generic tag that the Nixon administration conveniently united all the Spanish-speaking people of the world (and their descendents) for bureaucratic expedience, the concept that Cubans or Colombians shared more than a casual connection with the Hispanics populating the Vail Valley several decades ago seemed ludicrous. However, today, afforded greater knowledge (excepting the wildly fluctuating socioeconomic circumstances within global Hispanic communities) the bond doesn't seem as flawed or capricious. Of course, there are the Latino and Hispanic identity distinctions, which are a similar but even more complicated arena.

But tossing aside my youthful confusion over the bureaucratic claptrap, I knew (and know) what is the definition of being Hispanic for myself - and maybe the reason why Salazar's triumphs resound loudly among Colorado's Hispanics. Salazar is an Hispanic that I can understand. The turmoil of deposed Cubans rallying for their homeland or the angst of Spaniards over Basque unrest is foreign to me. Don't get me wrong - I can sympathize, but I have no empirical experience to term my feelings as empathy.

In my childhood, we considered ourselves Mexican-Americans, with the more cultural conscious proudly proclaiming themselves Chicanos. Then there were our grandparents, direct descendants of the conquistadores, refusing to concede that they were anything but purebred Spanish-American despite centuries of intermarriage with Native Americans. Back then, one didn't press a telephone keypad to select either English or Spanish. Yesteryear's Hispanics muttering "No hablo ingles" found themselves either an interpreter or in the dark. And the majority of Hispanics with and without English skills gained employment in housekeeping and construction.

I'm old enough to remember when Vail and Minturn merged elementary schools. The ethnic conflicts were mainly fought with words rather than fists, but students occupied two worlds in one valley bordered not by the Rio Grande, but the Eagle River.

My identity crises began long before the mixing of cultures occurred I public school. With a multiethnic background comprised of both Native American and Spanish settlers of northern New Mexico on my father's side, and a maternal lineage revered as pioneers in the Eagle Valley, it became difficult for me to reconcile the brown and the white. My grandparents, Ralph and Irene Meyer, arrived in Minturn during the Great Depression. My great-great Uncle Oscar Meyer became a local legend after James Sherbondy gunned him down. Oscar's wife, Ollie, assumed the mantle of matriarch after his death, becoming Eagle County's first female superintendent of school. I didn't have a clue where I fit into picture - pioneer, cowboy, Indian, conquistador or Mexican. Most Anglos of my youth, seldom bothered with genetic and genealogical nuances, made the decision for me. No matter our lineage or roots, my Hispanic peers and I were garden variety Mexicans.

What I like about Salazar is that he renders such distinctions moot.

"In my own role as attorney general, I always remind people that I'm very proud of my background, but I'm equally proud of the fact that I represent 4.3 million people in the state regardless of their background," Salazar told me several years ago. At the time, he wasn't yet on the national scene and one of the worlds' most visible Hispanics. But serving as Colorado's attorney general, Salazar engendered an immense pride and loyalty among the state's Hispanic population, particularly those claiming the same northern New Mexico ancestry.

I've encountered people in the past who transcended racial and ethnic categorization. Salazar's popularity stems from a widespread admiration of an American professional, not merely distinguished as an admirable Hispanic. Still, I believe that it's important to remember his roots. The Census Bureau released figures last year that created dismay within the political circles at the skimpy numbers of Hispanics earning high school diplomas nationwide - only about 57 per cent. That percentage is abominable, but all it takes I one exemplar to offer others hope and courage. If one can beat the odds, others might try.

Salazar's ascendancy in Colorado is visceral to Hispanics who have resided in the state for generations. The visage of tortillas, chile and posole surrounds Salazar's recounts of childhood. Families and homes long forgotten are suddenly revived by his words. His words also revive hope that a proud tradition and culture can thrive and grow in more than population statistics.

Salazar proves that Hispanics can aim high without having to submerge or bury their culture. He is an example of the all-American dream - graduating college and garnering a J.D. at a first-rate law school. His career has earned him acceptance, applause and votes from a heterogeneous society. The beauty of Salazar for me is that he never uprooted from the San Luis Valley to assimilate into the mainstream. I'm reminded of a response from Aretha Franklin when asked why her secular music didn't forfeit the the passion of her roots in the black Baptist church: "I never left the church, the church goes with me."

And, in Salazar's example, all I can say is "Amen."

(Originally published in slightly different form on October 7, 2004 in the Vail Trail)