It’s their culture…the three words that have gotten me thinking lately…the three words that have made me feel both resistant and naive. These three words are the basis of what I need to share with you.
Although not all my students are Dominican, these three words are ones that refer most to the DR (Dominican Republic), and I will therefore be describing mostly stories from interactions with my Dominican students and my readings from celebrated (and incredible) Dominican author Junot Diaz. (I know I have told many of you that 100% of the students at my school are Dominican, but I was incorrect…it’s about 95%).
When you walk into my school – Academy For Language and Technology – it’s more likely that difficult-to-understand Spanish will be the first language you hear spoken – Spanish that takes the speed of Puerto Rican Spanish and mixes it with the cutting off of consonants that Cubans are famous for. This is Dominican Spanish, and I have grown to love it. (I find that if you put me near any Latin American culture for more than a couple weeks it’s not gonna be hard for me to find love for it).
More than the language, though, I have come to realize what makes a Dominican a Dominican (in a lot of ways) – social roles. Now, again, my opinions or theories have come from my brief interactions with my students, readings of Junot Diaz, and conversations with both American and Dominican teachers. Let’s start with the mujeres – that is the females. The role of Dominican woman seems to be a familiar one, but with a little bit of spice. A Dominican woman is expected (at least in the DR) to be in the house, cooking and taking care of the kids. This absolutely does not mean she is quiet and submissive though (that spice part). Rather she tells you how it is – especially to her kids. I know many parents in America tell their kids “You don’t know how good you have it.” Or begin sentences like, “When I was a kid…” (you fill in the rest). But, man, when these women say “When I was a kid” they make their children feel twice as angry and twice as crappy. They’ll even throw in a few “fea’s” (“ugly’s”) and “no te quiero’s” (“I don’t love you’s.”) This knowledge comes from a few places. One was when, today, the Dominican school counselor gave an amazing speech to my students in one of my classes on why graduating from high school is so important. She, in incredible Dominican Spanish, explained that she knew the place my students were in: New to the country, taking part in the great Dominican Diaspora (massive movement of peoples to a new place), with the same mami and the same papi who never seem to care. “They tell you things like “No te quiero” but they care. They love you.” She animatingly mimicked her mother, “I came to this country to give you all the opportunities in the world, hija! I came from the campo!“ (Hija meaning daughter, campo meaning Dominican ghetto). “She expected a lot from me…more than I was capable of.” The students silent, nodding their heads, wanting no one else to see that this too was, in fact, their home life. “And my Dad, machisimo as they come.” (We’ll get to the Domincan Father next.) “I would come home from school and show him how well I was doing in school…show him my ‘A’ papers and he shrugged it off like it was nothing.” The students paying attention more than ever. “I’ll tell you this: On my graduation day, my Dad, who never showed up to anything I have ever done in my life was there…sitting in the grandstand. As I received my diploma, I looked at him in the crowd as I saw tears running down his face.” The students tearing up at the imaginary sight of their fathers crying, so full of orgulloso (pride) and amor and physically showing it.
My knowledge of the Dominican mother comes also from Junot Diaz and his writings that have been called painstakingly realistic.
“ For a long time I let her say what she wanted about me, and what was worse, for a long time I believed her. I was a fea, I was a worthless, I was an idota. From ages two to thirteen I believed her and because I believed her I was the perfect hija. I was the one cooking, cleaning, doing the wash, buying groceries, writing letters to the bank to explain why a house payment was going to be late, translating. I had the best grades in my class. I never caused trouble, even when the morenas used to come after me with scissors because of my straight-straight hair. I stayed at home and made sure Oscar was fed and that everything ran right while she was at work. I raised him and I raised me. I was the one. You’re my hija, she said, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. “ (Now I know that I said the ‘woman’ was supposed to stay at home, but the mother in this book is a single mother and therefore has to work, but I think you get the idea. You can also see where my Spanglish inspiration comes from).
The girl in who’s voice this passage is written in could very well be one of my students.
Now for the Dominican man; the manly man; the “machisimo.” Dominican men “never die virgins” it has been said. El hombre is expected above all else to be a ladies man…and to cheat...and to learn how to be a player from age 12 so future days of cheating won’t get a man caught. Even the “ugly” and “fat” ones find chicas to sleep with (Diaz writes). Last year one of the students at my school had a problem with a “maricon” student (the ‘f’ word that means gay) and said he would never work with a maricon again. The parents were called in to discuss matters and Papi, fresh from working on his car in his wife-beater and bling in sight, proceeds to tell the school administrators that his son shouldn’t have to be near a “mariposa” (butterfly, fairy). That’s that. “It’s their culture” we hear as an explanation of what we’re supposed to do when we encounter these positions.
My administration and colleagues are not the type of people who give up, who think that this mentality is ok. But what can we do? It’s their culture. Our students will be having sex, molding into their expected social roles so what am I supposed to do? It’s their culture…how can I change that? Who am I to even think it’s okay to try? It is, in fact,
their culture and not mine.
I have decided this much: my class is not the DR. My class is not your home. While you are in my class you will learn to treat everyone with respect, work as a team, shake my hand and be courteous. You will not use derogatory language, and sexism and homophobia will warrant a discussion. In my class you will be expected to be leaders and to act like leaders.
If I have learned anything about change over the past month it’s this: Change comes from you; it comes from within. If you don’t change, try to do something different, streak, then you can’t expect change a thing in this world. So I will first change me, then bring change to my classroom, and only then can I expect any change from my students. Only then can I even come close to making an impact on their lives when they leave the classroom.
So, yes, this is their culture. But it’s also my culture. When you are in my classroom this is my culture, and your culture, and when cultures collide it’s a beautiful thing.
For the wild,
Andrew
