“BEYOND ‘SPANGLISH’”: IDEOLOGIES OF LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY IN BILINGUAL CHICANA/O CULTURAL PRODUCTION

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE DEPARTMENT OF IBERIAN AND LATIN AMERICAN CULTURES AND THE COMMITTEE ON GRADUATE STUDIES IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN SPANISH

Doris Margot Madrigal May 2010

© 2010 by Doris Margot Madrigal. All Rights Reserved. Re-distributed by Stanford University under license with the author.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial 3.0 United States License. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/us/

This dissertation is online at: http://purl.stanford.edu/ns580hx8058

ii I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Guadalupe Valdes, Primary Adviser

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, Co-Adviser

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

J. Brotherston

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Ramon Saldivar

Approved for the Stanford University Committee on Graduate Studies. Patricia J. Gumport, Vice Provost Graduate Education

This signature page was generated electronically upon submission of this dissertation in electronic format. An original signed hard copy of the signature page is on file in University Archives.

iii Abstract Prompted by the following research question: How is the relationship between language and identity conceptualized, articulated, and represented in cultural productions by, for, and about Chicana/os?, this dissertation interrogates linguistic assumptions and expectations of Chicana/o identities. By foregrounding the study of bilingualism in analyses of coming-of-age novels, autobiographical narratives, and feminist writing, it argues for the identification of language ideologies in Chicana/o cultural production. Doing so allows for the necessary examination of social constructions of language and the systems of power they reproduce within Chicana/o cultural studies, as well as the recalibration of limiting linguistic expectations of Chicana/o identity. The first chapter presents a conceptual framework based on the study of bilingualism, identity work, language ideologies, and Chicana/o cultural studies as a critical entry into the analysis of representations of bilingualism and/or bilingual representations. The second chapter compares the proto-Chicano development of bilingualism and Mexican American identity in the protagonists and texts of José Antonio Villareal’s Pocho and Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez. The third chapter elucidates the intricate identity work required to choose and maintain a bilingual Chicana/o identity in Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy, Arturo Islas’s The Rain God, and Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo. The fourth chapter examines the conflictive relationship to Spanish as a heritage language in writings by Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García that scrutinize the negation of bilingual Chicana/o identities.

iv Acknowledgments

In our Mexica/Aztec teachings every thought and act is an opportunity for gratitude and prayer. I offer these words in this tradition, recognizing those who have touched my life and contributed to my accomplishments in the completion of this dissertation. I give thanks for the blessings and honor of having these individuals in my life; without them, I would have forgotten how to appreciate the challenges set before me and the beauty of perseverance.

Tlazocamati ~ Gracias ~ Thank You

To my querida familia. Despite physical distance, they have deeply and gracefully shared in all my doctoral turmoil; I dedicate my greatest achievement—this dissertation—to: Gloria Beatriz Madrigal (my mother, the strongest woman I will ever know), Carlos Alejo Madrigal (my father and role model for quiet but steady progress), and Alejandro Madrigal (my brother and absolute favorite person in the entire world).

To my dissertation committee who through their academic and personal mentorship helped shape me into a better student, teacher, scholar, activist, and human being: Professor Guadalupe Valdés, Professor Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, Professor James Gordon Brotherston, and Professor Ramón Saldívar.

To all my friends who sensibly kept me grounded and consistently gave me strength as I ventured the realms of academia: Gabriela Ulloa, José Escalante, Jessica Reveles, Ivan Pérez, María Luisa Ruíz, Patricia García, María del Carmen Cifuentes, Atezcazolli Nelda Pérez…

To every spirit in danza Mexica whose giving energy has selflessly guided my soul, when disturbed, to harmony: Iztacoatl Carol Ruvalcava, Xochitecpatl Victor Juárez, Yaocuauhtli Danza Cultural, and Calpulli Tonalehqueh

To all my colleagues who expressed sincere interest and kind words of support for the fulfillment of my academic goals at: El Centro Chicano, Comparative Studies for Race and Ethnicity Program and Research Institute, Lucille Packard Children’s Hospital Interpreter Services, Department of Spanish and Portuguese, and Nuestra Casa.

To my immensely patient and relentlessly optimistic dualidad for his presence and love: Tinechpactia nomaza Tlahuitollini Ernesto Colín Álvarez

Nehuatl in Tehuatl, Tehuatl in Nehuatl Yo soy Tú, Tú eres Yo ~ I am You, You are Me

Ome Teotl

v

Table of Contents

Introduction...... 2 “Beyond ‘Spanglish’”: Ideologies of Language and Identity in Chicana/o Cultural Production

Chapter One…………………………….…………………….……….…………….11 “(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in Representation”: A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Bilingual Representation

Chapter Two……………………………………….….……….…….……..………..71 “Growing up Bilingual; Growing up Proto-Chicana/o”: Bilingual and Mexican American Identity Development in Pocho and George Washington Gómez

Chapter Three…………………………………….….……..……………….……..124 “Doing Being a Bilingual-Chicana/o”: Choosing and Maintaining Bilingual Chicana/o Identities in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo

Chapter Four…………………………………………….....………...…………….184 “Not Bilingual/Chicana Enough”: Spanish as a Chicana/o Heritage Language in Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García

Epilogue…….……………………………………………………………………….236 “Personal and Academic, and Vice Versa”

Works Cited and Consulted……………………………………………………….242

Introduction Beyond “Spanglish”: Ideologies of Language and Identity in Bilingual Chicana/o Cultural Production During my first year of graduate studies I became overwhelmed by the realization that my Spanish language was being challenged by the type of discourses and interlocutors with which I was being asked to engage. Along with heightened insecurity in my language abilities I felt particularly disturbed by the perception I was developing of myself as a flawed English-Spanish bilingual: not quite proficient enough in either language for academia. My lived experience as a heritage language speaker of Spanish and circumstantial bilingual had become increasingly difficult in this realm of higher education, where I was forced to doubt my identity as a “true bilingual” when compared to the Latin American students and second-language learners that moved within these contexts and discourses with more perceived ease than me. It was through the study of bilingualism and sociolinguistics that I began to understand the various factors that had not only affected the perception of my and others’ language use, but also that these were indeed actual linguistic phenomena that many other individuals and communities experienced around the world. This knowledge then allowed me to re-conceptualize and validate my own linguistic lived experience as a Spanish-English bilingual and heritage speaker of Spanish. I have thus maintained a strong belief in the importance of understanding bilingualism and sociolinguistic phenomena in order to allow language users, particularly heritage language speakers and bilinguals, to reflect on their identities and how they view others. Although I felt confident in my formation within sociolinguistic theory, I had yet to clearly understand how to incorporate that knowledge base into literary criticism, which is the academic training I had received during my undergraduate studies and was further developing in pursuit of a graduate degree. The discord I felt between my training in bilingualism and sociolinguistics and how to position myself academically within cultural criticism was resolved by my introduction to Chicana feminist discourse. I have gravitated towards this academic discourse because it

2 centers and prioritizes lived experience as the space from which to dialogue. This tradition claims that it is both a right and necessity to interrogate one’s subject position as a cultural producer and/or academic before entering into critical practices. Chicana feminist discourse has offered me examples of critical self-awareness as a scholar; it not only discusses the bilingual topics I study, but through its first-person exposition presents personal statements about the interpretation of language and self. My path into Chicana/o studies has been long and full of obstacles, to say the least. Exposed to deprecatory perspectives on ethnic studies of mainstream academic currents as a first-generation undergraduate with no accessible models to prove otherwise, I had to undertake intense, extensive, and painful reflection in order to understand the circumstances that aided in my resistance to the study of the communities I love and admire, and from which I descend. It has been through the study of bilingualism, individual and societal, that I have discovered a way to begin to articulate my cultural criticism of Chicana/o communities and their cultural productions. A developing Chicana feminist bilingualism scholar, I marvel at the unequivocal attention paid to issues of bilingualism within Chicana/o cultural productions. Films and theater enact seamless codeswitching from one variant of English to another in Spanish. Literature addresses the transmission, or lack of transmission, of Spanish as a home language and its effect on identity politics. Art and criticism center language in discussions of community building and formation. Language maintains an unquestioned importance within Chicana/o cultural production and studies, and this realization was the catalyst for this project. An unexpected scholarly quirk that developed through the writing of this dissertation can be found in the introduction to each chapter, and merits acknowledgment here for the reader’s benefit. Upon reflection on this initially unconscious trend I realized that it is one of the many gems of academic advice I’ve received during my graduate studies. One of my mentors1 advised, when reading (and especially when writing) any type of work, to always “begin at the beginning,” that is, quite literally with the title. This seemingly obvious and simple piece of advice has

1 I am indebted to James Gordon Brotherston for this essential and illuminating piece of advice.

3 stayed with me and has manifested itself through this project as I begin each chapter with an analysis of its title as a means to introduce its argument. It is therefore only fitting that I do the same for this introduction. Beyond “Spanglish” As the first substantial segment of this project’s title, the phrase “Beyond ‘Spanglish’” establishes the central argument of my dissertation, which contests the popular use of the term “Spanglish” to explain English-Spanish language contact and bilingual phenomena. It also indicates that what we see occurring in bilingual cultural production, in this case, Chicana/o, is much much more than this reductive notion. Discussions with colleagues resulted in transforming the wording from “Not ‘Spanglish’”2 to “Beyond ‘Spanglish’,” for the preposition beyond denotes a wider breadth of complexity than the mere contestation and negation provided by the adverb not. “Spanglish” is a popular term used to denote linguistic phenomena resulting from language contact between the Spanish and English languages. Typically used in discourses regarding Latina/o and Spanish-speaking populations within the US, this term labels complex linguistic phenomenon as a strange mixing of two languages, where the resultant product is neither fully Spanish nor English. Along with other popular linguistic variants such as Chinglish for Chinese-English, Franglais for French-English (or more accurately Français/Anglais), etc., “Spanglish” works against any redemptive view of the language produced by bilinguals. Although the word has been (and continues) to be used to promote validation of the intricacy of bilinguals’ language use, it more often than not used in a derogatory fashion to uphold a deficit model of the languages produced by bilinguals. My project therefore not only contests the use of such terms, in this specific case “Spanglish,” but argues that bilingualism is a much more complex and adequate term, as well as analytic framework, for the study of bilingual productions.

2 Research Institute for Comparative Studies in Race and Ethnicity Graduate Dissertation Workshop, “Interdisciplinarity and the Academy,” with special recognition of colleague Matthew Daube’s comments.

4 Ideologies of Language and Identity The next substantive phrase in my project title is comprised of three weighted theoretical terms, which will be more fully explained in the discussion of the conceptual framework for this project. My working definition of ideology is a system of ideas through which hierarchies of value and power reproduced. Ideologies deal with the realm of the imagined, the believed, what we think and uphold as truths. This term leads into language, which emphasizes my focus specifically on ideas about languages and those who speak them. Language use and attitudes are the terms typically invoked when descriptions of language perceptions are studied but I have consciously shied away from these. Although attitudes are implicitly described in my argument, moving from the individual level to a collective form of hierarchization of languages, I foreground ideology as a more productive concept to my argument. It is important for me to retain the presence of value implicit in judgments made about language because too often they are overlooked. Language is a term invoked to indirectly criticize other aspects of an individual or group. Targeting ethnic and racial minorities’ linguistic proficiency, for example, can mask racial discrimination. Such prejudices attack individuals’ sense of being, or identity, to which language is inextricably linked. I use the term “identity work” to appreciate the fluid nature of how we are viewed and view ourselves. Language becomes one of the key ways in which we are able to communicate our identities, although not the only one. We are defined by how we identify ourselves through our language use as well as how others use language towards us. Therefore it is necessary for me to keep these three terms together because they function best as a conceptual unit to articulate a guiding principle in my project: the hierarchization and valorization of languages and identities in ideologies. Bilingual Chicana/o Cultural Production The final phrase of my title describes the research subject of my project. Invoking the term bilingual to describe certain creative writings produced by Chicana/os is essential to my work. Where “Spanglish” fails to capture the intricacies of linguistic phenomena produced by English-Spanish language users, bilingual works

5 to valorize these languages individually and together. Integrating the study of bilingualism in discussing any bilingual work is critical to the valorization of the languages and identities represented through that work. I fall in line with the belief that bilingualism is itself best envisioned as a continuum that, like identity work, changes depending on contexts and domains across spatial-historic time. If we accept this complexity then we are not only validating these languages but also their speakers. This helps combat the nationalist monolingual ideology that is perpetuated in the US. As a Chicana feminist I value the work done by early Chicanas in contesting the sexism exhibited during the Chicano movement and prioritize where possible the female presence. Therefore the third person personal pronoun will by default be feminine unless specifically referring to a masculine subject. Instead of delimiting my research subject with the term “literature,” as my literary training and the texts analyzed might suggest, I have decided to use cultural production in order to establish that I will not just be analyzing the written presentation of language. Although these will be the primary objects of my analysis, I embrace the contemporary cultural studies focus that accepts the idea of text as cultural practices as well. Throughout this project then, I will describe the linguistic and identity ideologies in cultural productions produced by Spanish-English bilingual Chicana/os. I will argue that “Spanglish” does not suffice to understand the complexity of linguistic phenomena and ideologies that are at once conflictive and similar within Chicana/o communities and their US national setting. Chapter Breakdown The first chapter of this project titled, “(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in Representation—A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Bilingual Representation,” presents the underlying conceptual framework prompting my dissertation. It foregrounds the study of bilingualism in order to present my central argument for the use of “bilingual” to describe Chicana/o cultural productions and the identities they represent. This chapter brings together the various disciplines and fields of study that form the basis of my theoretical and methodological approach to the study of bilingualism (from a sociolinguistic perspective), language ideologies, and

6 Chicana/o cultural studies. Here the reader will find a clear delineation of the central research questions and necessarily interdisciplinary approach to the analysis of the texts. This introductory chapter reviews the study of bilingualism, organized by key questions, namely the “who, what, when, where, and how” of bilingualism. Beginning with an overview of the complexity of defining the term bilingualism I assess the conceptual terms used to identify and describe bilinguals. This leads to an outlining of the processes of bilingual development at the individual and community level, that is, when and how bilingualism develops, is enacted, and studied. Following the establishment of bilingualism as the critical base for my conceptual framework, I assert the importance of language ideology studies and Chicana/o cultural studies in order to approach the often ignored but crucial relationship between language and identity in cultural analysis. I argue that bilingualism must be incorporated into critical study of the representational work of Chicana/o cultural productions, which requires an intimate understanding of the ideologies at play in understanding relationships between language and identity—a focus all too often ignored by current scholarly trends in the study of historically multilingual individuals and communities. Chapter two, “Growing up Bilingual: Growing up Proto-Chicana/o: Bilingual Mexican American Development in Pocho and George Washington Gómez,” analyzes bilingual development and its influence on ethnocultural identity formation in Chicana/os. The guiding question for this chapter, then, is where and how does growing up bilingual intersect with growing up Chicana/o? By applying the conceptual framework described in Chapter One, I highlight the diversity of Chicana/o identity outcomes by comparing and contrasting two pre-Chicano movement novels, José Antonio Villarreal’s Pocho (1959) and Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez (1991). Focusing on the process of bilingual Mexican American identity development in protagonists Richard Rubio and Guálinto Gómez as proto-Chicanos, I reveal the diversity of bilingual Chicana/o identity outcomes, and argue that this diversity is prompted by (and not in spite of) shared linguistic and cultural contexts. My analysis of the protagonists’ development, as well as literary and cultural criticism

7 on the novels and authors, demonstrates the necessity of including language within the list of factors that are used to examine Chicana/o identity formation and politics. Following a review of the elements required for the development of bilingualism at the individual level, namely, exposure and access to languages, as well as the validation of these languages, I describe the main domains of language use and language networks for each protagonist. The primary domains and networks I use to analyze the ideas that each protagonist receives regarding their languages and cultural identity are the home domain and family network, the school domain and network of educators and classmates, and finally the community domains consisting of friend and peer networks. The literary and cultural criticisms both novels receive reveal the importance of sociohistorical context in Chicana/o identity politics. As proto-Chicanos anticipating the Chicano movement’s identity politics, the novels’ protagonists share similar upbringings yet different identity outcomes. These similarities and differences in their bilingual and bicultural identity development establish the need for a broader conceptualization of Chicana/o identities inclusive of a bilingual continuum within a paradigm of inclusion, even in retrospect. The third chapter of this project is titled “Doing Being a Bilingual – Chicana/o: Choosing and Maintaining Bilingual Identities in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo” and explores the language and identity work of choosing and maintaining a bilingual Chicana/o identity. Asking how Mexican Americans choose to enact their identities as bilingual Chicana/os, I analyze Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy (1971), Arturo Islas’s The Rain God (1984), and Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo (2002) to elucidate the multifarious quality of Chicana/o bilingual identity work. The protagonists of each work employ different modes of doing and being bilingual that reveal the unequivocal importance of language choice and use in the maintenance of Chicana/o identities. I therefore argue for critical recognition of the intricate work through which Chicana/os elaborate their identities by mining their rich linguistic repertoires as bilinguals. I begin this chapter with a review of the factors contributing to language choice and use at the individual level, and how patterns of choice and use develop and

8 maintain language at the community level. For bilingual individuals and their communities, the choices available for use within and between languages enhance their linguistic repertoires and therefore sophisticate their abilities to represent their identities. I then continue with my analysis of the three novels by centering their protagonists’ choice and maintenance of Chicana/o identity. Ernie’s experience as a first-generation Mexican immigrant to the US in Barrio Boy allows him to conserve a Chicano identity adamantly based on his Spanish language and Mexican cultural heritage. Miguel Chico in The Rain God negotiates the intergenerational transmission of language ideologies that come along with the maintenance of his family’s bilingualism to distance himself from earlier generations through education, even as he cannot fully escape their influence. Celaya in Caramelo embodies her bilingualism on each side of the US-Mexico border, which allows her to not only claim a Chicana identity transnationally through her family’s constant travels to and from Mexico, but also share her sensorial experiences as a bilingual Chicana. “Not Bilingual/Chicana Enough”: Spanish as a Chicana/o Heritage Language in Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García,” the fourth and final chapter, explores the incongruity present in the articulation of Chicana/o identity with regards to language by focusing on the deeply conflictive relationship to Spanish as a heritage language and how this conflict influences the stability of ethnic identity. The assumptions and expectations of Spanish language proficiency imposed on Chicanas/os without a critical understanding or acceptance of the factors contributing to language shift and loss foster a negation of these phenomena as painful lived experiences in historically bilingual communities. I analyze the work of Chicana feminists Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, Michele Serros, and Vida Mía García to provide a forum for examining this problematic equation of Spanish proficiency and Chicana/o identity. I begin this chapter with a discussion of the definition and description of heritage languages and their speakers in order to situate the linguistic assumptions and expectations directed at Chicana/os as heritage speakers of Spanish. This is followed by a review of the processes of language shift and loss, and the resultant cultural

9 ostracism as described by the authors. This ostracism is enacted by the various communities in which Chicana/os participate as a reaction to their perceived linguistic and therefore cultural inadequacies. I go on to address the strategies of language recovery projects the writers use in dealing with this ostracism within their communities (or “linguistic terrorism”). Language recovery projects as presented by these Chicanas entail interrogation of linguistic terrorism, retaining the desire for Spanish as their heritage language and actively seeking it out, re-valuing their linguistic abilities, reclaiming their Chicana/o identity, and finally exposing linguistic terrorism and its agents. Through this process they are able to re-claim their place in the communities that have questioned and/or negated their participation and identities. Such work then reveals the need for a meta-critical interrogation of assumed bilingual proficiency within Chicana/o communities and our own roles in maintaining cycles of “linguistic terrorism” and the myth of the perfectly bilingual Chicana/o.

10 Chapter One “(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in Representation”: A Conceptual Framework for the Study of Bilingual Representation Introduction The title of this chapter, “(Re)Presenting Bilingualism: Bilingualism in Representation,” contains three main concepts. The first is bilingualism. The second is representation. And the third reflects the interplay of these two, captured by the punctuation mark known as the colon. The colon in this title works to emphasize the relationship between the phrases on either of its sides as one of added description and commentary. A type of mirror, the colon mark here offers an inverted reflection of what the two terms (bilingualism and representation) together can provide as a conceptual unit. To the left of the colon I parenthesize the prefix in order to highlight representation as repeated presentation. This division, ordering, and phrasing speak to my investment in the study of bilingualism, and in particular, my responsibility in its accurate presentation to those outside of the field’s purview in research and knowledge, as well as representation to those from outside my particular training or lens. On the other side of the colon is the complementary and perhaps more explicative motivation and concern in my research, which is to look at bilingualism, as the subject of representation, or that which is being represented. The layers of representation then are at the very core of this chapter. The purpose of this chapter is to present the working conceptual framework that I have developed as an inquiry into how all the critical facets of bilingualism can be taken into account in order to accurately portray and analyze its representation. This chapter will guide the reader through this conceptual framework, which has bilingualism as its base and core, as well as through the various approaches to language and representation that have informed my analysis in the following chapters. These include the study of language ideologies, identities, and Chicana/o cultural production. This chapter begins with a presentation of bilingualism, that is, the representation of my understanding of the linguistic phenomena captured by the concept of bilingualism. To do so I will take the reader through questions pertaining to

11 a basic understanding of bilingualism: What is bilingualism? Who is bilingual?, Where and how does bilingualism occur? The answers to these will quickly reveal themselves as much less straightforward than their formulaic questions and offer insight into the difficulty of a simplistic representation of the inherent complexity of bilingualism. The next segment of this chapter then will pull back to look at the ideological weight of languages, particularly as they interact with and affect the appreciation of multilingualism. In order to ground this more theoretical discussion of ideas about language and their roles and combined effects in larger conceptions of the world, the chapter will continue with a look at how these larger issues are at play within individuals, specifically individuals with bilingual identities. We shall look at what is important about the study and understanding of identities as ways through which we represent ourselves and are represented in real life. From this segment we will turn to Chicana/o cultural studies as the catalyst site for this project, as well as a place for contribution in these discussions of bilingualism, identity, and cultural production. Throughout this walk-through of the conceptual framework guiding this project I argue that bilingualism needs to be included as a component of any conceptual framework used to analyze and study communities historically marked by multilingualism. Literary and cultural productions (as forms of representations) are not exempt, on the contrary, they benefit from such an analytical lens. Presenting Bilingualism There is no better way to begin presenting the complexity of bilingualism than to discuss the issue of its definition. Definitions of bilingualism are attempts to define the nature of language phenomena3 resulting from contact between two languages. However, as Li Wei notes, despite the fact that language is perceived as a separate

3 William Mackey states that “[b]ilingualism is not a phenomena of language; it is a characteristic of its use” (26). I use “phenomena” here to capture the sense of observable occurrences resulting from language contact situations without losing sight of the actual operators of language. Mackey’s statement emphasizes what gets done with two languages (highlighting their ties to their users, or speakers) and therefore rejects “phenomena” as a descriptive for bilingualism as it can formulate language as an abstraction. Appreciating this emphasis on agency and application of language by users, particularly bilinguals, I refer to the specific occurrences of languages coming into contact as phenomena in order to at once pull back and view them as concretized and verifiable occurrences (things that we can clearly see, observe, and describe) as an entry point into discussing the interpretation and representation in and of language use, which is not only enacted by the user herself, but mediated by layers of agency, both internal and external such as power relations, ideologies, social forces, institutional structures, etc.

12 entity, “a living organism, which is born, grows and dies,” it is ultimately “a human faculty: it co-evolves with us, homo sapiens. … When we speak of ‘language contact,’ we are therefore talking about people speaking different languages coming into contact with one another” (3). Language cannot be isolated or separated out from the human condition. In attempting to define bilingualism scholars set parameters around who can be considered a bilingual and can potentially critique, limit, and even exclude certain abilities, uses, knowledge, and experiences of language by individual and groups of humans. It is therefore critical to underscore the importance of carefully examining definitions of bilingualism in order to best identify and understand their parameters of inclusion. What is Bilingualism? Keywords in Definitions of Bilingualism Existing definitions of bilingualism can be placed on a continuum of expansiveness depending on who is included or allowed within their parameters of description. At one extreme there are the most open and embracing of definitions, best exemplified by John Edwards’s claim that “[e]veryone is bilingual” (Multilingualism 55). This claim suggests that strict monolingualism is quite an anomaly as every individual has been exposed to, and therefore has some degree of knowledge in, another language. There is no de-valuation of any degree of acquaintance or use of language in this conceptualization of bilingualism; it actively rejects such qualification through its unbiased over-generalization. At the opposite end of this claim is a much more unyielding definition that falls in line with the popular notion that a bilingual is the perfect balance of two monolinguals in one body.4 This type of definition prescribes the linguistic abilities of bilingual individuals as native-like proficiency in each separate language without any observable interaction between the two. Along this continuum is the plethora of attempts made to approximate a definition of bilingualism inclusive of its multifaceted dimensions.

4 Although contemporary research on bilingualism and bilingual individuals has repudiated the fact that acquiring more than one language has negative cognitive effects and requires a different perspective than that typically used to understand monolingualism, scholars continue to work to convince those in and outside of academia of these facts. For a discussion on the difference of these perspectives please see Grosjean, Studying Bilinguals.

13 There are several helpful definitions of bilingualism and below are three in particular that have most influenced my own articulation of its role in this project. The first of these is from psycholinguist François Grosjean who has consistently defined bilingualism as “the regular use of two or more languages (or dialects), and bilinguals are those people who use two or more languages (or dialects) in their everyday lives” (Studying Bilinguals 10). This definition of bilingualism highlights frequency of use and the inherent diversity of languages as its key characteristics. His parenthetical insertion of the term “dialects” validates the variations of languages and reminds us that individual languages are made up of many different varieties that can and should be acknowledged and included in understanding the composition of bilingualism. The phrase “regular use” indicates that there must be a frequent use of each language variety composing an individual or groups’ bilingualism, but does not specifically quantify this usage or frequency. There is also a differentiation made between the concept of bilingualism and its presence in an individual. My attraction to Grosjean’s definition of bilingualism uses in its characterization of bilingualism as a lived experience that emphasizes frequent use of varieties of languages. This project has also adhered to sociolinguist’s Guadalupe Valdés definition and discussions of bilingualism. According to Valdés, “[s]imply stated, it can be said that bilingualism is the condition of ‘knowing’ two languages rather than one” (Bilingualism and Testing 7). This definition of bilingualism underscores the “condition” or state of being bilingual, one that is situated in a particular time frame or phase. That is to say, bilingualism as a condition is not fossilized or immutable. Indeed, bilingualism varies over a span of a lifetime in an individual. Valdés here underscores the mutability of bilingualism. Also, by emphasizing and drawing attention to the term “knowing” Valdés highlights the source of the issue in defining bilingualism not as multilingualism itself but rather relative and subjective definitions of knowledge. This point stresses the relative and subjective nature of qualifying knowledge. The issue of who gets to decide what is “knowing” a language and how that evaluation is applied is at the very heart of this pivotal definition for my work.

14 The key words in both Valdés, and Grosjean’s definitions of bilingualism call attention to the ideological complexities present when attempting to define bilingualism. Each of these definitions allows for flexibility and questions the core of popular and fixed notions about bilingualism, primarily that it is easily definable and objectively determined by those who choose to define it. By drawing attention to the relative and subjective nature of the characteristics most often used to identify bilingualism, these definitions have allowed me to appreciate the value-laden complexity of defining bilingualism. This is not to say that I have not found any other definitions that approximate a thorough appreciation of the issues at play. Josiane F. Hamers and Michel H. A. Blanc propose the final definition that has influenced my work: The concept of bilingualism refers to the state of a linguistic community in which two languages are in contact with the result that two codes can be used in the same interaction and that a number of individuals are bilingual (societal bilingualism); but it also includes the concept of bilinguality (or individual bilingualism). Bilinguality is the psychological state of an individual who has access to more than one linguistic code as a means of social communication. (6) Extremely clear and detailed in stating the complexity of issues and perspectives needed to understand bilingualism, Hamers and Blanc offer a strong example of how best to incorporate all these facets into a definition that encompasses not only what bilingualism is as a phenomena, but how it is grounded in lived experience. This definition of bilingualism details the differentiation of bilingualism at the individual and societal level. We can see then how Grosjean’s emphasis on use and lived experience, as well as Valdés’s prioritization of contextualized temporality and decentralization of qualification are reiterated. Hamers and Blanc offer a concise and encouragingly accurate representation of the complexity of bilingualism through their definition. From these three sample definitions of bilingualism it is clear that either a seemingly simple and brief definition, or a lengthy detailed definition both require precision and responsible wording.

15 In sum, the defining of bilingualism highlights the ironic relationship of language to itself, as we require language to describe language. Simultaneously a mode and subject of description, the language to define bilingualism requires precise wording to best exemplify and represent the nature and result of language phenomena when two languages come into contact. As the three examples of defining bilingualism above display, any definition must be thoroughly examined to best understand how bilingualism is presented. For the sake of our discussion, we can state that there is no one single best definition of bilingualism. Instead, as scholars invested in this subject we should be responsible in thinking about what we want to highlight, how, and why. For this reason I have presented the best examples that have influenced my representation of bilingualism. Thanks to the careful wording and presentation of bilingualism by scholars like Grosjean, Valdés, Hamers and Blanc, I have been able to develop a working definition of bilingualism for this project and myself. This definition states that bilingualism is a linguistic phenomena displayed by an individual or group that has access to and use of two or more languages. Along the continuum of definitions of bilingualism described earlier, I would fall closer to, but not quite next to, Edwards’s all-inclusive claim. I strongly believe that it is always better to validate what someone can do with language than focus on what they cannot. I adamantly oppose any hint of prescriptivism in notions of language and therefore embrace all abilities and types of knowledge in whatever shape they take, especially in bilingual individuals. Who is Bilingual? Describing Bilingualism and Bilinguals5 Because of the complex nature of bilingualism and attempts to adequately define it, much attention is usually channeled to its description. The description of

5 All the terminology that will be reviewed in this and the following section (How “Bilingual” is a Bilingual?) have been compiled from the shared wording, references, and lists in Carol Myers-Scotton, Multiple Voices: An Introduction to Bilingualism (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), François Grosjean, Life with Two Languages: An Introduction to Bilingualism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982) and Studying Bilinguals (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), The Handbook of Bilingualism, eds. Tej K. Bhatia and William C. Ritchie (Malden: Blackwell Publishers, 2004), Suzanne Romaine, Bilingualism, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1986), Josiane F. Hamers and Michel H. A. Blanc, Bilinguality and Bilingualism. 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), Guadalupe Valdés and Richard A. Figueroa, Bilingualism and Testing: A Special Case of Bias (Nordwood: Ablex Publishing Corporation, 1994), and Li Wei, “Dimensions of Bilingualism,” The Bilingualism Reader, ed. Li Wei (London: Routledge, 2000) 3-25.

16 bilingualism hinges on characterizing its presence first and foremost at the individual level, within a single person. To approximate descriptions of bilingualism within individuals and their collectives, critical terminology has been developed by numerous scholars. Ultimately these terms serve to classify individuals as types of bilinguals. Thankfully the plethora of terms indicates recognition of what we have begun to see as the multifaceted nature of bilingualism in the definitions reviewed. The critical terminology I refer to can be divided into three main dimensions in the description and study of bilingualism: language acquisition, language function and/or use, and language competence. The terms used within these dimensions raise many of the same issues present in attempting to define bilingualism. Terminology focusing on language acquisition attempts to describe the context of acquisition of all languages present in a bilingual individual. Influenced by the fields of first and second language acquisition where it has become evident that there is a correlation between age and the production and retention of language, the terms used to describe the context of language acquisition for bilinguals seek to capture the quality of this age-specific exposure. A principal concern in understanding language acquisition in bilingual individuals has been to focus on cognitive development and age. Patsy Lightbown and Nancy Spada review “The Critical Age Hypothesis,”6 which “suggests that there is a time in human development when the brain is predisposed for success in language learning,” noting the differentiation in “accent, word choice, or grammatical features” that may distinguish older language learners and users from younger ones (60). Because age of acquisition can affect the extent to which a language is acquired and produced the question of just when and during what phase in life a person began to acquire a language has produced the majority of terms used for identifying a bilingual. The three main life phases/stages identified are: childhood, adolescence and adulthood, each of these sometimes further divided and qualified by “early” and “late” periods. These terms help situate a bilingual individual’s languages

6 For a discussion and definition of The Critical Age Hypothesis please see An Introduction to Language, 7th ed., eds. Victoria Fromkin, Robert Rodman, and Nina Hyams (Boston: Thomson Heinle, 2003) 51-52.

17 developmentally, specifically their cerebral development.7 However, none of these terms will necessarily tell us exactly what to expect from the bilingual individual identified or being classified. To begin identifying the language acquisition of bilingual individuals is to begin situating their language exposure within their individual life timeline. Regarding language acquisition and its contextualization there is also the facet of ordering of acquisition, that is to say, in which order languages were acquired. Simultaneous bilingualism denotes when both languages are acquired during the same period of time (for example, a child who is raised with each parent communicating with her in a different language from the onset of birth) and is counterpoised to consecutive bilingualism, which refers to the acquisition of one language before another (such as is the case with a child who was raised in one language but at school age begins to acquire another). Both simultaneous and consecutive bilingualism are typically used in reference to the period of childhood bilingualism and will not be as useful to help identify individuals whose bilingualism significantly developed after this time. As will be noted in the following section, for adolescent or adult bilinguals the description of their language acquisition and the relation between their languages is different. The ordering of languages acquired is also described via the relationship between the exposure and learning of languages. Additive bilingualism refers to the complimentary acquisition of languages (so that the acquisition of one language does not negatively affect or hinder the acquisition and development of another) and is contrasted with a subtractive bilingualism where the two languages are in a more fraught relationship and one language may potentially hinder the development of the other in terms of dominance (such as in the enforcement of a new language to eradicate the first/home language). In reviewing Wallace Lambert’s additivity- subtractivity theory, Hamers and Blanc emphasize that additive and subtractive bilingualism are heavily influenced by the sociocultural environment (99-100). These two sets of terms, subtractive and additive and simultaneous and sequential bilingualism help situate a bilingual individual’s exposure to language. They do not

7 This is one of the particular foci of neurolinguistics, which looks specifically at how language functions in the brain as an organ.

18 however further identify the nature of this exposure, which has many areas of variation. It is also critical to remember that the order in which languages are acquired does not necessarily indicate or gauge how a bilingual individual functions in both or one of her languages. What these terms do offer however is an introduction to the characterization of how a bilingual individual was exposed to the languages that will comprise her repertoire as a base, the starting point for an insight into her bilingual trajectory. The last set of language acquisition descriptors that I would like to review are some terms that I have not yet found in introductory texts to bilingualism, but are increasingly relevant and prominent in areas of study that are very much influenced by its research. This last set of terms I include because as mentioned above, there is a difference between exposure and acquisition. I would therefore include classroom learners, second language learners, and heritage learners/speakers to help contextualize the language acquisition of bilingual individuals and their classification. The term classroom learner refers to an individual who began learning and acquiring a language within a formal institutionalized educative context, that is, in a classroom. These types of learners can be differentiated from heritage learners who are individuals who have been exposed to and acquired the language they begin to formally study outside of the classroom first, in an informal setting such as the home and which is linked to their cultural heritage. These can also be differentiated from second language learners, known as foreign language learners because the second language they acquire is viewed as inherently distinct in acquisition to their first. Unlike heritage language learners or bilinguals with heritage language backgrounds, second language learners begin to acquire a second language (in addition to their first) in a strategic and formulaic fashion. Second language learners are for the most part classroom learners and where their learning is not conducted in a classroom, these two types share their language learning as additive and above all, critically different from heritage learners.8 These three terms refer to the manner in which languages are exposed to individuals. Specifically, second language learners have a sanctioned

8 I will enter into a more detailed discussion of heritage language learners and speakers in Chapter Four of this dissertation.

19 choice in their language repertoire development. It is critical to note, as Valdés has differentiated throughout her work in heritage language pedagogy, that elective (which includes second language/foreign language learners) and circumstantial (under which heritage speakers fall) bilinguals differ at the core.9 To be schooled academically in a language with a strong tradition of prescriptivism and monolingual notions of language development is drastically different from acquiring a language at home and within communities that are not dominant or recognized in society. These sets of terms therefore need to be included in our descriptions of types of bilinguals to better give us a sense of the type of exposure to a bilingual’s language(s). There is a formality, an established and administered structure to the classroom learning of languages much more so than in the impromptu, unscripted, and informal schooling that heritage language users and learners experience. This latter experience is no less valuable, but essentially different and will mark a bilingual and her linguistic experience and repertoire in drastic ways. I believe these terms are not usually included because they are kept in their separate spheres of study, specifically foreign language pedagogy. However if the ultimate result of second and foreign language pedagogy is indeed that speakers approximate, to the best of their abilities, native-like fluency, then these fields and speakers benefit from an understanding of what type of bilinguals they have the possibilities of becoming. To review then, in beginning to understand the plethora of terms used to classify and identify bilinguals we must first begin with the contextualization of their language acquisition. The terms that refer to language acquisition attempt to describe the age during which language(s) were acquired, the order in which they were acquired, and the manner through which they were acquired. All these indicators do not determine the specific type of bilingual speaker one will be, but help situate and describe potential characteristics they may exhibit throughout their lives because of how and in what manner they were first exposed to their languages.

9 I further discuss circumstantial bilingualism beginning on page 29 of this chapter.

20 How is a Bilingual “Bilingual”? Describing Bilingual Skills The second major dimension in the description of bilingualism focuses on language use and function. The terms falling under this dimension attempt to answer the question of how bilingualism manifests at the individual level. This dimension invokes the four major language skills which are reading comprehension, writing ability, listening comprehension, and oral production or speech. Referring to the gauge of an individual’s bilingualism in terms of degree, William Mackey has suggested that bilinguals be tested “for comprehension and expression in both the oral and written forms of each language, for the bilingual may not have an equal mastery of all four basic skills in both languages” (27). Because each of these four basic skills are particular to a specific type of language use, to clearly understand a bilingual’s skills would require seeing how they function in each of these individual skills in each of their languages. Receptive bilinguals are those with listening and reading comprehensive abilities who are not necessarily able to effectively produce (in writing or speaking) one or both of their languages. Productive bilinguals have writing and speaking productive abilities but this does not necessarily equal comprehensive receptive abilities. Both of these terms can be a bit difficult to envision as it becomes odd for us to separate out comprehension from production and vice versa. However, they work to differentiate the fact that some abilities are not necessarily indicative of others and address the manner in which the context of acquisition can influence language use. If an individual was raised being spoken to in one language but only answered in another, then it would be fathomable that they comprehend a lot more in that first language than they can produce. This pair of terms is used interchangeably with passive and active bilinguals and highlights the skills that bilinguals possess in each of their languages. Terms that describe the type of relationship between a bilingual’s languages are mostly focused on the frequency of use of each language in comparison with the other. Bilinguals are referred to as dominant or balanced depending on the extent and functional use of each language. A balanced bilingual is viewed as someone who has a similar command of each language, lacking a stark distinction between her abilities in

21 each. Although researchers have worked to dispel the notion that a bilingual is two monolinguals in one, the term “balanced” is used to highlight a similarity in abilities in languages and does not necessarily mean a “perfect” or solid uniformity. However, the notion of a “balanced” bilingualism has been challenged as it can easily be misinterpreted to convey equal function abilities in both languages, and connotes a static sense of language usage, which is not the case. As Valdés notes, the construct of a bilingual range is best suited for describing bilingual individuals’ functions. She defines bilingual range as: [T]he continuum of linguistic abilities and communicative strategies that an individual may access in one or the other of his or her two languages at a specific moment, for a particular purpose, in a particular setting, with particular interlocutors. From this perspective, at a given moment of interaction, a bilingual is considered to have a particular range in Language A, a particular range in Language B, and a particular range when both languages are used together. (“The Teaching of Minority Languages” 316) The repetition of the adjective “particular” cements the idea of specificity of context to understanding a bilingual individual’s functioning in her language(s). Paired with balanced bilingualism is dominant bilingualism, which refers to the prominent use of one language over another. Dominant and even balanced bilingualism are not fixed qualities of bilingual individuals but momentary states of being along a continuum of possible functional abilities in their languages. Because language skills can vary greatly during an individual’s lifetime the bilingual individual being described must be placed within a specific time-place context, which takes into account various outside factors and influences on language use. The way that a bilingual uses her language can signal the way it is organized cognitively. Not as overt a description of the relationship between languages, compound and coordinate bilingualism is a pairing that attempts to distinguish individuals by the way in which they practically access their languages. Looking specifically at lexicon then we see that compound bilinguals share their vocabulary across both languages. That is to say the total lexical inventory possessed by an

22 individual is shared by the two languages, so that one single concept is not necessarily known or referred to in each language. Coordinate bilinguals on the other hand can access a lexical concept in both languages. Both these terms again, are linked up to the way languages were acquired. Coordinate bilinguals acquired their languages in a manner that facilitates separating the two systems, for example, as late adult bilinguals learning a second language in a classroom, where there is already an established reference point for the concept in their first language and they are simply adding on another word to refer and access this concept when their communication needs call for it in the second language. Compound bilinguals however, do not necessarily easily separate out both of their linguistic systems, having one superimposed on the other. Heritage language speakers for example, having received their linguistic upbringing outside of the classroom, cannot readily access vocabularies of certain registers (such as formal academic) to which they have not yet been exposed. The way that bilinguals cognitively organize their languages has produced terms that help describe the predicted functional use and access to their languages as separate systems. Unfortunately, less attention is paid to how a bilingual’s two languages function together, a critical requirement for understanding bilinguals, according to what Grosjean calls the “wholistic view” of bilingualism: The bilingual or wholistic view of bilingualism proposes that the bilingual is an integrated whole which cannot easily be decomposed into two separate parts. The bilingual is not the sum of two complete or incomplete monolinguals; rather, he or she has a unique and specific linguistic configuration. The co-existence and constant interaction of the two languages in the bilingual has produced a different but complete language system. (Studying Bilinguals 13) Even as Mackey called for describing bilingualism through gauging skill and level, his interest in describing bilingualism stemmed from the recognition that at the heart of bilingualism are two separate languages coming into contact, underscoring the fact that there are verifiable distinct functions and uses for both languages interacting together in bilinguals. As codeswitching has become the most pronounced area of

23 research in the study of bilingualism, resulting analysis may begin to produce terms that best describe and typify the way that both languages will be used together in an individual. My hope for this is much less to predict bilingual language usage as to follow in bilingualism scholars’ intent to fully grasp and appreciate the complexity of skills that bilingual individuals possess, thereby redeeming their status within academic and general communities. In order to describe bilingual skills then it is necessary to separate out the functional abilities and access to language for an individual. As noted by these pairings, this dimension of the description of bilingualism is particularly concerned with the ways in which an individual displays bilingualism through her form and use of each language. An individual bilingual language use is described more in terms of frequency of use for each language comparatively in relation to each other and leads to a quantification as the degree of this language use. My unease with using the term “degree” will be noted in the following section, where the question of quantification illuminates that of qualification. How “Bilingual” is a Bilingual? The Issue of Bilingual Competence More complex and insidious than quantifying usage of language is the qualifying of language use. Unfortunately, the presence of another language makes bilingual individuals suspect and their functional abilities in language are scrutinized as indicators of their general cognitive competency (or lack thereof). In attempting to qualify bilingualism, the question posed is just how bilingual a bilingual truly is. Implicit in this query is the idea that language can indeed be qualified, and that there are models through which to identify, determine, and ultimately hierarchize bilingual functions, skills, and knowledge. This belief has produced terms that have had immediate negative consequences for specific populations of language learners and has promoted unfounded conceptualizations of bilingual competencies. The set of terms I group here, namely semilingual, ambilingual, and equilingual are related to upholding the idea (and idealization of) the perfectly balanced bilingual. Semilingualism, also referred to as limited bilingualism, describes the result of a failed bilingual existence and education, where an individual does not

24 and cannot achieve an adequate knowledge base or skill set in either of her languages. Semilingualism, as failed bilingualism, is contrasted to ambilingualism and equilingualism as successful modes of bilingualism. Ambilingual individuals are considered two native speakers in one individual. Along the same line of thought, equilinguals are referred to as bilinguals possessing exact similar mastery of both of their languages (the keyword to note and question here being mastery). Ambilingualism suggests that there be a distinct separation between languages so that a bilingual could ideally pass for a native speaker in each language. This assumes the ability to hide the presence of an additional language, which even for consecutive bilinguals would be difficult to achieve. Although equilingualism refers more to a similar knowledge base and skill set in both languages, as an antonym to semilingualism it connotes a (superior) level of these both. Semilingualism denotes a deficit model of bilingualism where the bilingual individual described has a below average or insufficient knowledge base and skill set in either of her languages. A once (and disturbingly, perhaps still) popular term in educational research, this term has been used to explain the low academic achievement rates of minority language children, specifically in English language learning. In combating the nefarious effect of the construct of semilingualism on the education of minority language children, Jeff MacSwan pinpoints the non-universal application of this term for all bilingual speakers, as “semilingualism can only be an attribute of language minority children in the United States but not of majority language children” (14). This is a specific example of the ideological and practical stakes involved in the presentation (through definition and description) of bilingualism. The final two terms that I include here are attempts to gauge a bilingual’s degree of bilingualism as ascendant and recessive. Ascendant bilinguals are just that, ascending in their bilingualism or bilingual functions. Valdés lists this as specific to the functional ability in the second language (Bilingualism and Testing 11), implying that the importance in this type of bilingual descriptor is not the proficiency or abilities in a first, much less if it is a minority, language. Recessive bilinguals are quite the opposite, and in a state where their functional abilities in one of their languages, either

25 the second or first, are receding or decreasing. This particular pair of terms relies on (but does not necessarily explain) that access to languages, which is controlled by various forces outside of an individual’s influence is pivotal in the development of bilingualism to whatever extent. Although these two terms attempt to identify a bilingual individual through the stage of life she is in, I group them here under terms that qualify bilingual individuals because they imply a judgment on aptitude rather than life period. Both these terms also help underscore the fact that even seemingly clear terminology used to identify bilinguals is heavily influenced by, or can be used to assume, a certain degree of their cognitive capacity at many levels. All of the above terminology is used to infer a description of the competence or proficiency of bilingual individuals. The very concept of competence however, is not so simple and clear. Dell Hymes calls attention to the issue of redefining competence in linguistic theory, specifically identifying communicative competence as a unit of analysis that requires inclusion of sociocultural features to do justice to the performative aspects of language use.10 As Carol Myers-Scotton notes, competence refers to at least two distinct areas regarding language, grammatical competence and communicative competence (40). Grammatical competence, also referred to as linguistic competence, is the “ability to produce what are considered well-formed utterances in the language in question” and is differentiated from communicative competence as “the ability to use those utterances in ways that are considered unmarked or appropriate in one situation as opposed to another in the relevant society” (40). Grammatical competence invokes the elaborations of the linguistic code and system, specifically the lexical, semantic, morphological, and phonological. Metalinguistic knowledge, which is still very much held to be a marker of overall linguistic competence, falls into this category. Much the focus of various methodological trends in second language pedagogy, grammatical competence has proven to be fruitful for learners in only certain kinds of receptive and communicative skill development. It becomes clear to these learners very quickly however, that being able to consciously discuss the intricacies of your linguistic code does not mean you

10 Please see Dell Hymes, “On Communicative Competence,” Linguistic Anthropology: A Reader, ed. Alessandro Duranti (Malden: Blackwell Publishers, 2001) 53.

26 know how to appropriately use this code in social and interactive settings. So communicative competence highlights the functions of language at the psychological and sociological levels, that is, how we as individuals use our codes to express ourselves and have others understand us. It is exactly these abilities that are typically overlooked and/or taken for granted in bilingual individuals while resolutely sought after by monolingual second language learners. Of the two, linguistic competence may very well be more easily thought of as being subject to qualification; standardized tests and grammar quizzes in language courses attest to this. Communicative competence on the other hand, although highly desirable, may not be as easy to objectively test. Looking towards competency as a definition of what it is to “know” a language means traversing into the issue of how this competence should be measured. Although we may want to believe that there is a method through which to measure linguistic competence, this does not easily translate into communicative competence, much less understanding competency as a combination of both. This holds true for monolingual individuals and is even truer for bilingual individuals. Although various instruments have been created, modified, and employed to measure bilingualism, each of these must be critically examined, for as Valdés and Figueroa make clear: “The fact is that currently there is no agreement among researchers about how bilingualism should be measured or even about whether it can be measured meaningfully” (29). No current instrument can provide a comprehensive and totalizing measurement of bilingualism. Great caution must be taken with instruments that are used under this claim because in attempting to measure bilingualism there is the possibility of limiting its complexity and dynamic nature to a certain narrow and perhaps biased focus. Although instruments may capture specific skills and abilities in bilingual individuals, they should very much be understood as context-based and a snapshot of only a part of what a bilingual may be able to do. Hamers and Blanc review some of the psychometric tests and methods used to measure overall bilingual language competency, emphasizing “the importance of using a variety of measures in order to capture a state of bilinguality” because of “the difficulties inherent in the attempt to define and quantify languages in contact at all levels of analysis” and “the

27 absence of adequate measures and the lack of refinement of existing ones” (49). This preempts their warning: “The quantification of a concept, however, should not be confused with the concept itself” (330). Any instrument proposed to measure bilingualism cannot be safely assumed to prove that a complete qualification of bilingualism is ultimately possible. It is all too easy to conflate formulas that equate numbers to abilities with the idea that the parts represent the whole. When measurements of bilingualism are invoked in its description we run the risk of reducing this complex phenomena to only one of its dimensions. As Jean-Marc Dewaele, Alex Housen, and Li Wei state: “Bilingualism, both at the individual and social level, is a phenomena of such complexity that the wider the lens through which it is viewed, the more complete the resultant picture will be” (8). The need to qualify bilingualism through any form of measurement is prompted by the underlying desire to place an inevitably subjective judgment on intricate multi-language users and can only result in a limited perspective. Because it is impossible to completely avoid qualification of language competency in our educational system and therefore society, it is our responsibility to adequately expose the manner in which desires and instruments to do so are implemented. Not all bilinguals are created equal, much less so are the terms that are used to qualify them even as they attempt to identify and describe them. As we have seen, the complexity of defining and describing bilingualism is made up of quite a bit of terminology that must be further defined and described! Who gets to define these terms, the contexts out of which they are produced, and their potential mis- identification, mis-interpretation, and mis-application to certain populations of specific individuals and their language experiences are only a few of the pressing issues at stake. Because, as Valdés notes, “[i]nterestingly, the scholarly discourse on bilinguals and bilingualism continues to feed existing popular negative views about the phenomena,” we must be responsible in appropriately and justly labeling individuals (“The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 258). It is quite necessary to accept bilingual individuals as unique and valuable examples of the intricate and varying nature of languages coming into contact and resulting in bilingualism.

28 For this project, the model I primarily invoke to describe Chicana/o bilingualism and its representation is Valdés’s work on circumstantial bilingualism.11 Developed through an impressive research agenda centering on the study of underserved and stigmatized minority populations, this framework has been critical to my personal understanding of the study bilingualism and my formation as a sociopolitically aware, responsive, and responsible researcher. The first point to be made about this rubric for studying immigrant minority bilinguals and their communities is the critical intervention it makes by offering a completely different label. Prior to this intervention relabeling the differences between elective and circumstantial bilingualism was the use of elite/academic bilingualism on the one hand and natural/folk bilingualism on the other. The term “elite bilingualism” immediately qualifies this type of bilingualism as superior and atop a hierarchy based on class and education. “Academic bilingualism” may less obviously invoke a socioeconomic class marker yet still implies access formal education and its resultant commodities. The ideology behind using the term “elite/academic” bilingualism then highlights the priority that this type of bilingualism, one of choice and formal study, is already given. Counterposed to this old reference is “natural” or “folk” bilingualism. Natural bilingualism may seem harmless enough but when placed alongside elite or academic bilingualism it pales and suffers in comparison. “Natural” connotes informality and this type of bilingualism appears antiquated by the term “folk.” We can see then how these labels evoke strong classist ideologies. Valdés’s relabeling of these two different types of bilingualism posits them instead as contextually based in order to understand their difference in terms of “circumstances.” In her description of these types of bilinguals Valdés highlights the way in which ideologies come into play in the formation of their differing bilingualism: The fundamental difference between elite and minority bilinguals, however, has to do not just with conditions in which languages are acquired, but also with class membership, opportunities, and access. Elective bilinguals become

11 Although Valdés’s work on circumstantial bilingualism can be found throughout her scholarship, I refer specifically to its conceptualization through heritage language instruction in her articles, “The Teaching of Minority Languages” and “The Role of the Foreign Language.”

29 bilingual as individuals. Because of their class advantages, they have the opportunity to obtain access to the target language under the best conditions. Minority bilinguals, on the other hand, live in poor and underserved communities in which their schools are often underfunded, in which access to the majority language from native speakers is severely limited, and in which access to the immigrant language is restricted to a very narrow number of domains and functions. (Expanding Definitions 42) Ideologies of class and institutionalized social structuring affect the access and opportunities which individuals are offered in life for their personal advancement. Under duress of economic, educational, and thus social prejudices and restrictions given their minority immigrant status in a dominant society, circumstantial bilinguals are created from their circumstances. Elective bilinguals do not suffer the same limitations and thus can freely choose to add a language to their repertoire. Circumstantial bilinguals are forced to do so under these pressures to merely survive and thus have no positive or redeeming agency through choice. Valdés’s relabeling therefore speaks to the contextual difference that must be recognized as critical to the development of bilinguals. The context within which bilingualism begins is the second key point to take from Valdés’s formulation of circumstantial bilingualism. For the circumstantial bilingual that context is dire. Valdés defines circumstantial bilinguals as “individuals who, because of their circumstances, find that they must learn another language in order to survive” (Bilingualism and Testing 38). Need and survival are the “circumstances” that fuel circumstantial bilingualism. In order to participate at a level that will allow them to maintain personal health and social goods, circumstantial bilinguals find themselves without a choice in acquiring a functional level of the dominant language. Within the US that would be English as Valdés specifies that “[b]ilingual American minorities are, by definition, circumstantial bilinguals” (Bilingualism and Testing 12) because they come from a more immediate immigrant heritage and must acquire English under duress and at risk of not being able to participate in US society. American minorities, despite their generation, are marked by

30 an immigrant heritage and thus have been marked by circumstantial bilingualism in their home language and English. The final point that I would like to make in relating Valdés’s presentation of circumstantial bilingualism is how it differs from elective bilingualism at the individual and group level. Another critical difference between elective and circumstantial bilinguals is not just with conditions in which languages are acquired, but also with the relationship between groups of individuals… The group to which [elective bilinguals] belong has little to do with their decision to become speakers of another language. Circumstantial bilinguals, on the other hand, are generally members of a group of individuals who as a group must become bilingual in order to participate in the society that surrounds them. (“The Role of the Foreign Language” 39) The choice to become bilingual through formal study is reserved for elective bilinguals because of their socioeconomic stability. Elective bilingualism is an individual characteristic that need not be definitive of that particular individual’s larger social networks. Circumstantial bilinguals share circumstances of necessity as cycles of immigration are sustained. Communities can be characterized by circumstantial bilingualism because immigration patterns and the necessity for communication and survival are shared. Elective bilingual communities may well exist when elective bilinguals come together, but they are elective bilinguals first as individuals and form communities once their choice to enter into a bilingualism has been made. The process for circumstantial bilinguals is different, as Valdés explains: “Individual circumstantial bilingualism develops within specific contexts and in conjunction with specific experiences. It is the nature of these experiences that results in a particular type of bilingualism and even in the relative strengths of the two languages with regard to each other in different contexts and domains” (“The Role of the Foreign Language” 39). Among individuals within a community of circumstantial bilinguals we would see variation between their abilities and uses of their languages.

31 Circumstantial bilinguals will vary at the individual level but will share traits at the community or group level because [i]t must be remembered that individual circumstantial bilingualism can only be understood against a framework of societal bilingualism, that is, by taking into account the place and function of the two languages in question in the lives of particular groups of bilingual individuals who primarily share with each other the fact that they are not monolingual. (“The Role of the Foreign Language” 43) Valdés’s insistence that circumstantial bilingualism is characteristic of groups comes from understanding that an individual becomes bilingual due to her circumstances, which are shared by many in her community of minorities. To understand the differences at the individual level though is to keep in sharp relief the way that language development is inherently tied to its social uses and goods. Communities can be marked by circumstantial bilingualism because they are made up of individuals that share circumstances of socioeconomic duress that force them into a new language in order to survive. As is evident, circumstantial bilingualism includes extra-linguistic factors and ideological forces in its description of bilingual individuals and communities that are necessary for understanding not only the presentation of bilingualism in US minorities such as Chicana/o communities, but also their representation for this project. When Does Bilingualism Happen?12 Bilingualism occurs wherever speakers of different languages come into contact with each other and thus bilingualism is a result of language contact. Bilingualism has existed as long as migration has, in whatever form it takes. A necessary note on migration here is that a distinction must be recognized between voluntary and involuntary migration. Echoing back to the distinction between circumstantial and elective bilinguals, the distinction between voluntary and involuntary migration also lies in issues of power and choice. Voluntary migration for example, may consist of an individual or community’s active decision and

12 Please refer to footnote 7.

32 unpressured consensus to physically move to another geographic area. Involuntary migration consists of the inforced movement of people to another region. Both types of migration share similar factors that prompt this movement, such as political, educational, economic, geographic, and socio-cultural influences but may reveal themselves in different forms. Political motivations for migration can include a change in governmental rule, such as those encountered during moments of conquest, war, and colonialism. The difference here lies between those who are in positions of power and dominance to electively choose their destination (or tell others to abandon theirs) and those who are forced to relocate to avoid physical harm and even death. Educationally, individuals may be asked to learn another language as part of their general education but as we have seen, there is a great distinction between adding on a highly valued second language to a recognized first and acquiring a dominant and preferred language as part and parcel to encouraged replacement of a first that is deemed inadequate. The levels of competence attained within the added language here mainly rely on the individual’s opportunities to pursue study, acquisition, and mastery of a language. Economically, bilingualism may result from the presumed or actual financial benefit of access to a greater variety of markets and territories as well as seeking work in areas where another language is spoken. However, existing inequities in social stratification reproduce hierarchies in socioeconomic status and delimit such access. Geographic proximity can also be a context for bilingualism as in the establishment or existence of national borders that do not ultimately restrict physical interaction between neighboring groups of people. These interactions, should they be positive, can produce exogenous marriages and/or reinforce religious and heritage links to languages in an endogamous fashion. Any and all of these factors, alone or in any combination can contribute to contexts in which bilingualism may exist. However, the above listed factors if and when present, do not guarantee bilingualism will occur. There are varying levels of coexistence between people and their languages and similarly varying levels of language contact. As Joshua Fishman notes, if there is a functional use for both languages then there is a better chance that they will continue to coexist: “Without separate though complementary norms and

33 values to establish and maintain functional separation of the speech varieties, that language or variety which is fortunate enough to be associated with the predominant drift of social forces tends to displace the other(s)” (“Bilingualism with and without Diglossia” 87). If however, one language begins to take over linguistic domains that usually pertain to the other language, then language shift to the dominance of one language over the other may occur. Language shift, like bilingualism, develops over time and can lead to monolingualism, and in extreme cases, language death of the relegated language. What is referred to as language death is the abandonment of a language so that it “is spoken by fewer and fewer people until. ... the language disappears with its last speaker” (Hoffman 187). Language death comes about then with the death of the last surviving speaker of a threatened or endangered language.13 This situation however is at the opposite end of the situations that can prompt bilingualism to develop and become a stable language situation. For bilingualism to become a stable language situation both languages must be maintained, which requires complementary valorization, need, and use of each language. This implies individuals who promote and apply these acts upon language. It is important here to note that bilingualism at the individual level does not necessarily equal bilingualism at the group level. Although this phenomena is influenced by similar factors at both levels, at the group level, as we are dealing with more than one individual, factors multiply and function differently and interactively. The many factors that catalyze the development, maintenance, and stabilization of bilingualism at the individual and societal level are best understood through the construct of “diglossia.” Conceptualized by Charles Ferguson and further developed theoretically by Fishman,14 diglossia has been used to describe the potential for relatively stable bilingualism at the societal level. Key to this stabilization of bilingualism is the functional separation and need for each language into certain domains of language use.15 As long as every and any language is needed and used for a specific purpose of communication or expression, and that need is

13 For a definition and discussion of threatened languages please see Tove Skutnabb-Kangas, “What is Happening to the Languages of the World,” Linguistic Genocide in Education or Worldwide Diversity and Human Rights? (Mahwah: Erlbaum, 2000) 3-62. 14 See Fishman, “Bilingualism with and without Diglossia; Diglossia with and without Bilingualism.” 15 For a discussion of “domains of language use” please see Chapter Two of this dissertation, page 81.

34 maintained through societal enforcement (whether conscious or not) then each language will continue to be used and thus persist in a group or society. However, the moment one language begins to be used to meet the functional needs and uses typically covered by another, the possibility of language shift to dominance in that language may occur. It is important therefore to note that the various factors that contribute to the development, maintenance, and stabilization of bilingualism at the individual and group level require separate attention but combined application. Where Does Bilingualism Occur? Despite the pervasive linguistic ideology of countries like the US, monolingualism is not a global norm. Although one language may be promoted for standardization at the national level, bilingualism exists throughout most of the world. The sheer ratio of existing languages and countries proves this. Ethnologue lists 6,912 world languages (as of 2005) and there are 193 countries in the world. This would mean that, if equally divided, there would be approximately at least 35 languages per country. This number does not take into account the various once endangered and now deceased languages, or the number of languages which have since arisen in the almost five years since these counts were produced. Historically, the US has been (and presently continues to be) the home of a variety of bilingual populations. Ethnologue lists approximately 223 languages throughout this country amongst the almost three billion people who populate its borders (again, keeping in mind that this number was established almost 5 years ago and therefore does not include any languages possibly identified during time to publication). English is the nationally recognized dominant language of the US, however the fastest growing linguistic population is Spanish-speaking. According to Miranda Stewart’s research, “Spanish is currently spoken as a first language by approximately twenty-two million people in the United States. Approximately 60 per cent are Mexican in origin and are concentrated in the south west; Puerto Ricans (12 per cent) tend to live in the north east, and principally New York, while the Cubans (4 per cent) favour Florida” (6). Movements such as English-Only highlight the unrest felt by citizenry seeking to impose the preeminence of English within this country by

35 lobbying for legislation to establish it as such. Spanish is popularly referred to as the unofficial second language of the country; it is the “first foreign language in schools in the United States where it is studied by more than 60 percent of pupils” (Stewart 12). These statements highlight the pervasiveness of the Spanish language and its speakers within this country’s national landscape. The largest Spanish-speaking populations within the US are Puerto Rican, Cuban, and Chicano. However, census data does not distinguish the many other nationalities from Central and South America and thus does not recognize the growing Dominican presence for example, among others. Migrant populations such as those that are Spanish-speaking become minority language (not to mention ethnic) populations once they traverse the national borders into this country. In his review of the history of heritage languages in the US, Fishman observes that indigenous and colonial heritage languages16 have not been supported and maintained as heritage languages given that there is no discernable record or traceable history of their survival through intergenerational transmission. Immigrant languages, such as Spanish, have little institutional assistance for their continued survival. History teaches us that languages are eradicated with the people who are targeted as unwanted citizen in nation-state building projects. Minority populations within the US, such as Spanish- speaking immigrant communities, must struggle to survive socioeconomically in a dominant society that does not recognize or desire their linguistic (much less ethnocultural) presence. How is Bilingualism Studied? As I have attempted to foreground in this presentation of critical issues in the study of bilingualism, the manifestation of bilingualism from its inception to its identification is dynamic and complex. Its elaboration through formal study has been achieved through various fields and their subfields, as well as combinations of both. Early approaches and current major trends in the study of bilingualism mainly arose from the discipline of formal linguistics as the study of language and its structure at

16 Fishman defines indigenous heritage languages as the Amerindian languages that existed in the US prior to European colonization and the establishment of the US as a nation-state and colonial heritage languages as the non-indigenous languages established here prior to existence of the US (“Three Hundred-Plus” 12-14).

36 the semantic, lexical, morphological, and phonological levels. Through formal and applied linguistic study the description and analysis of grammatical structuring of bilingual language production is achieved. Charlotte Hoffman lists language contact features such as interference (at the phonological, grammatical, lexical, morphological, and semantic level), borrowing, individual creations, mixing, and codeswitching as produced by the simultaneous direct influence of both languages in bilingual individuals, which are also described through formal and applied linguistic approaches (95-109). Psycholinguistics, the study of the psychological processes of language use, perception, and acquisition, has produced analyses of the internal processes of language production. Work through this approach has helped in understanding the complex nature of language choice and use at the individual level in bilinguals. Following this interest in language processing, neurolinguistics seeks to discover how each hemisphere of the brain is affected by the presence of multiple languages. The most anatomical and physical of approaches to the study of bilingualism, its methods tend towards comparative studies with monolingual brains in order to identify visible physiological differences. This approach has been criticized by other linguistic approaches, questioning the validity and use of identifying such possible anatomical differentiation.17 Expanding the focus in the study of bilingualism from the individual to the group level marks the development of sociolinguistics. As the study of social aspects of language, sociolinguistics brings to the study of bilingualism a focus on the differences in language in society and how languages are used to convey social meaning.18 Sociolinguists look at language in society and pay attention to the various social factors that are used to identify individuals and groups (such as race, gender, and class) and how these affect language use. Fishman has differentiated two types of

17 For such an analysis see Michel Paradis, “Language Lateralization in Bilinguals: Enough Already!” The Bilingualism Reader., ed. Li Wei (London: Routledge, 2000) 394-401. 18 Please see J. K. Chambers, Sociolinguistic Theory: Linguistic Variation and its Social Significance, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 2003), Ralph Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1984), Janet Holmes, An Introduction to Sociolinguistics (London: Longman, 1992), Sociolinguistics: The Essential Readings, eds. Christina Bratt Paulston, and G. Richard Tucker (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), and Bernard Spolsky, Sociolinguistics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998).

37 sociolinguistic approaches, namely dynamic and descriptive.19 In his conceptualization the difference between these two lies in which aspects of language are being studied. Dynamic sociolinguistics will tend to focus on understanding processes and change in language, where descriptive sociolinguistics will do just that- describe language and its changes. This is not to say however that the useful complimentary relationship between the two and its effect on providing a well-rounded perspective goes unrecognized in sociolinguistic methodology; indeed a balance of both approaches is typically applied. Early self-reflection from scholars interested in undertaking the study of bilingualism has helped prompt the development of new methods that have resulted in further collaborations between previously unrelated disciplines and their subfields. As a key figure in this movement Mackey described the focus of many of these fields and an ultimate need for more comprehensive approaches: Bilingualism cannot be described within the science of linguistics; we must go beyond. Linguistics has been interested in bilingualism only in so far as it could be used as an explanation for changes in a language, since language, not the individual, is the proper corner of this science. Psychology has regarded bilingualism as an influence on mental processes. Sociology has treated bilingualism as an element in culture conflict. Pedagogy has been concerned with bilingualism in connection with school organization and media of instruction. For each of these disciplines bilingualism is incidental; it is treated as a special case or an exception to the norm. … However, it seems to add little to our understanding of bilingualism as such, with its complex psychological, linguistic, and social interrelationships. What is needed, to begin with, is a perspective in which these interrelationships may be considered. (53) As an incidental byproduct of these disciplines’ foci and study, bilingualism could not be appreciated, understood, and formally investigated through approaches not specifically designed to adequately capture its complexity. I would dare say that bilingualism has a history and tradition of being “othered” within academic study,

19 See Fishman, “The Sociology of Language.”

38 viewed as a non-normative and inconsequential phenomena that only limited and equally inconsequential populations have as a real, lived and valid experience. Moving bilingualism to the center of a disciplinary focus as Mackey suggested requires not only a shift in the ideological perspective that it is a subject worthy of such centering, but also requires an openness to the creation and adaptation of new methodological approaches from other disciplines. To effort to capture the complexity of bilingualism and the interplay of factors from and within the social, psychological, educational, cultural, political, and economic realms has led to the realization that “bilingualism is best studied as an interdisciplinary phenomena” (Romaine 22). The interdisciplinary study of bilingualism has been interpreted and enacted by some of the various approaches that have been developed through the adoption and engagement of methods from other disciplines. Linguistic anthropology and anthropological linguistics are primary examples. As the names of these areas suggest, each one may overlap in the literal root words but they have developed out of distinct traditional and formal academic disciplines. Along with the “historical overview of the methods, goals, and academic affiliations of the researchers involved,” Alessandro Duranti goes on to describe the differences between these two in terms of their foci (31). He states that anthropological linguistics: [R]eveals a strong identification with the discipline of linguistics as opposed to anthropology and a “service” mentality, that is, a view of linguistics as a tool for training social or cultural anthropologists to do fieldwork. The term “linguistic anthropology” … places the enterprise squarely within the field of anthropology and starts from an understanding of speaking as an activity that has its own cultural organization, to be studied by a means of a combination of linguistic (read “structuralist”) analysis and ethnographic methods. (31) In addition to the synonymic relationship these two areas share Duranti also adds sociolinguistics. Given the development of linguistic anthropology from anthropological linguistics through Hymes’s call for a refocusing of the paradigm of the ethnography of communication in the 1960s, the development of sociolinguistics around the same period, and initial shared methods, it is no wonder that such

39 similarities allow for these fields to continue on as synonyms for each other. This is only one example of the way in which the interdisciplinary requirement for the study of bilingualism has been accepted. Thankfully interpretations continue to flourish and as interdisciplinary relationships develop, our knowledge of bilingualism and its adequate representation as a complex phenomena worthy of sustained academic attention will grow. This project is the culmination of the dominant and recurring concerns during my graduate studies around the very issue of the necessarily interdisciplinary study of bilingual communities and their representations. My initial formal disciplinary training during my undergraduate education in the humanities (literature in particular) brought me to a graduate career in the Spanish language and literature in Spanish. Early courses in bilingualism, heritage languages, Spanish dialectology and Chicano language use concretized my profound personal and academic interests in the way that my literary training brought an incisive look to (and also benefitted from) other humanities disciplines. These courses molded my perspective and approach to language study through sociolinguistics and applied linguistics. I align myself and this project with sociolinguistic inquiries and interests in multilingual communities, language choice and use, linguistic variation, codeswitching, as well as language shift and maintenance. Applied linguistics’ underlying concern with the practical application of knowledge gained through the study of language appears in this project via my preoccupation of maintaining sustained attention to and appreciation of language users and their lived experience. By examining the educative processes of minoritized language users such as heritage speakers (both in and outside of formal schooling contexts), I seek to ground my arguments about bilingual representation as complementary (if not supplementary) to understanding the sociocultural and material reality of these speakers and their communities. I also recognize the development of my interests and foci (such as identity, socialization, ideologies, social space, ethnicity, language, and culture) as shared with those scholars working in linguistic anthropology and anthropological linguistics and have taken from their work in understanding these concepts and their interrelationships. Indeed, a powerful influence

40 on my formation and this project is the pivotal work of the self-identified “anthropolitical linguist” Ana Celia Zentella. Unabashedly foregrounding her social justice and political investment in research subjects (both in the sense of subject matter and actual human subjects), in Growing up Bilingual Zentella provides an example of how exposed personal investment can and should be a cornerstone of academia: Despite their significant contributions, linguistic anthropology and sociolinguistics often fall short of capturing the way language is linked to issues of survival, that is, the language for survival dynamic that permeates verbal behavior in oppressed ethnolinguistic communities. Most important, both fail to advocate change, with significant exceptions. … A primary goal [of anthropolitical linguistics] is the repudiation of crippling notions like “dialectal inferiority,” “true/ideal bilingual,” “alingualism,” etc., that exert symbolic domination over a group and promote its subjugation. Achieving this goal requires participating in the community’s challenges of the policies and institutions that circumscribe the linguistic and cultural capital of its members. … The acts of supplying or omitting socio-political facts are both political. … When the stakes are not only loss of language and culture but a decent life, as they are in many ethnolinguistic minority communities in the US, the tasks of a responsible linguist must include political action. By incorporating the word “political” in its name, anthropolitical linguistics openly declares its intention to discuss the language and politics connection and to make it clear that, whether we choose to discuss it or not, there is no language without politics. (13-4) Language is heavily imbued with political investments, whether we choose to or are able to recognize them as such. What I find inspiring in Zentella’s eloquent and determined statement is not only that she is brave enough to make her position widely known, but also that she calls the academy to make a similar commitment. As one of the anthropological linguists who has most influenced my own formation as a scholar through her work, Zentella is a clear example of how the interdisciplinary approach to

41 the study of bilingualism continuously validates the complex bilingual experiences of individuals and communities. In a time where “interdisciplinarity” and its offshoots are buzzwords in academia, I work to do justice to what embracing such an approach to research and practice means. Because of the hardships in finding sufficient and appropriate models of applied interdisciplinarity in academic writing and research in my fields of study and training, paying attention to my interdisciplinary formation, focus and therefore work on this project has become an important concern. My hope in communicating to the reader the various fields of inquiry and research that have deeply marked me as a scholar is two-fold. Firstly, I deeply believe that as interdisciplinarity is more and more embraced as a coveted goal of the academy, we are responsible for fairly consider each academic discipline and its research traditions. Interdisciplinarity although highly coveted, is still regarded with suspicion by traditional scholars working within the paradigm of separate disciplinary realms. Similar to the negative views of bilingualism where two languages can come to mean not “knowing” either well, interdisciplinary work is looked on as insufficiently grounded in any particular discipline, and therefore not intellectually rigorous. To combat this I take the stance of being responsible for the influences that have shaped my work, making sure to identify how I use them for my research. Interdisciplinarity does not mean a “free for all” of academic trends and influences. Secondly, I offer this insight into the self- reflective processes through which I developed this project and my own scholarly interests as a means to simultaneously hold myself, and the reader, accountable for maintaining an open perspective to the ever-growing nature of interdisciplinary work. Taking to heart the advice a mentor offered that as scholars we cannot just simply take what we want from whom or what we want without ethical academic accountability. Although this may at first sound didactic and limiting, I have come to understand and embrace the idea of respect for what each scholar (and therefore the academic discipline which forms her) contributes to our overall knowledge of humanity. This project then, identified by and charged with the weight of this commitment, carries my

42 self-conscious reflection as a hopefully fruitful example of what interdisciplinary work offers even as it continues to develop and take shape in the academy. Representing Bilingualism Having offered a presentation of bilingualism through my review of the critical issues in its study and foregrounding it as the fundamental base for the conceptual framework of this project, I now turn to the issue of representing bilingualism. As mentioned in the introduction, my conscious use of the term representation is one that plays on the idea of presentation repeated. Representations are always renderings and subjective, resulting from specific contexts and forces (social, psychological, economic, political, racial, etc.) that influence their production. Representations are at once additional and alternative interpretations of some subject, intangible or physical, that are then interpreted by those who are exposed to and willing to engage them. Interpreters of representations are just as shaped in their modality of interpretation by the specific context and factors influencing them at a given moment and over a period of time. Language, as one of the primary methods through which representations are presented, interpreted, and discussed, is also in and of itself subject to all the factors influencing perception. Ideologies of Language Language is invested with implicit values, judgments, and ideas. This phenomena is referred to as language ideologies. In her introduction to the critical anthology Language Ideologies: Practice and Theory, Kathryn A. Woolard discusses just what ideas about language can reveal: Ideologies of language are not about language alone. Rather, they envision and enact ties of language to identity, to aesthetics, to morality, and to epistemology. Through such linkages, they underpin not only linguistic form and use but also the very notion of the person and the social group, as well as such fundamental institutions as religious, ritual, child socialization, gender relations, the nation-state, schooling, and laws. (3) When we discuss ideologies we are dealing with perceptions of the external world, the interpretation of these perceptions, as well as the practice of qualifying these

43 interpretations and their influence on materialized action. This process of perception, interpretation, and qualification applies to language as well, and is mediated not only by a subject’s individual lived experience but also by the society the individual inhabits. Exterior influences come from larger institutions of power within a society that seeks propagation of its value system, which can be referred to as the dominant ideology and which holds hegemonic power. Ideologies of language then become a category of analysis that reflects many of the accepted beliefs of an individual’s experience of her language and that of others. Woolard goes on to state that “using language in particular ways is not what forms social groups, identities, or relations (nor does the group relations automatically give rise to linguistic distinction); rather ideological interpretation of such uses of language always mediate these effects” (18). Language, when produced, is interpreted and received in specific ways that are directly linked to what is thought about the individuals that produce that language. Ideologies of language can therefore reveal individual and societal applications of judgments. Ideologies are best understood as they work in this framework when differentiated from attitudes. Typically language use and attitudes is what has been used to study behavior towards language. Edwards helps clarify some of the confusion that occurs when attempting to understand attitudes: Attitude is a disposition to react favourably or unfavourably to a class of objects. This disposition is often taken to comprise three components: feelings (affective element), thoughts (cognitive element) and, following upon these, predispositions to act in a certain way (behavioural element). That is, one knows or believes something, has some emotional reaction to it and, therefore may be assumed to act on this basis. … there is sometimes confusion between belief and attitude; this is particularly so in the domain of language attitudes, and often shows up clearly on questionnaires and interviews designed to tap them. Attitudes include belief as one of its components. … To gauge attitude one would require further probing into the respondent’s feeling about her expressed belief. (Multilingualism 98)

44 It is important to establish this delineation of what the term “attitude” covers, especially in the study of language and its perception. The term “belief” can easily mislead us to believe (ironically enough) that what one feels, thinks, and hence may act upon falls under the purview of ideology and not attitude. Belief is not actually attitude either; attitude requires conscious reflection on said beliefs. Therefore to discuss someone’s language attitudes would mean to get them to talk about how they feel and what they say they believe about language. These discussions would then provide some insight to estimating how that person might act in regards to language or its use. Myers-Scotton notes that attitudes towards language differ from ideologies in power and intentionality: Think of attitudes about language as assessments that speakers make about the relative values of a particular language. Attitudes are largely unconscious, but this doesn’t mean that people can’t make judgments or act on the basis of their attitudes. As for language ideologies, think of them for now as perceptions of language and their uses that are constructed in the interest of a specific group. Again, speakers typically are not consciously aware that they even hold such ideologies, nor are they necessarily aware of the potential effects of such ideologies. But it seems that because ideologies refer especially to group interests, leaders are likely to make them the basis for mobilizing a group to action of any sort. So, in this sense, ideologies rise more easily to the level of consciousness. (109) The marked distinction between ideologies and attitudes made above is critical to this project exactly because it has to do with power. As Myers-Scotton points out, both attitudes and ideologies can lie dormant in the unconscious. Ideologies however, cross over into the realm of the conscious because they are tied to specific interests; there is an investment in action being taken under their tenets. Although attitudes may be able to offer us some insight into how a person may be prone to act with respect to language, ideologies are reflected in actions because these actions are prompted by purposes, conscious moves for power by certain groups. Ideologies more than attitudes take us into concrete effects and in relations to language, are a conceptual tool with

45 which to identify when and how language is invoked as a source of ideological formation. Taking a language ideology to be “a system of ideas about social and linguistic relationships that reproduce and legitimate the social order” allows us to concretize the ideational realm of language ideologies (Valdés “The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 253). Ideologies of language help maintain power relationships and institutionalized social order by outlining the permissible usage and form of language of the polity. By investigating what ideologies of language are present in a given society we are better able to understand how they function as forms of influence in the shaping of individuals into a given social structure. Language ideologies dictate the way in which we should think about, use, accept (or reject), and ultimately function in language as part of our identities in a society and nation-state. I prefer to use ideologies because as a concept they apply to the realm of the ideational and can therefore broaden the typically studied form of language use (speech) to various forms of texts, such as cultural practices and productions. The study of language ideologies has been taken up in an unavoidably interdisciplinary fashion. The 1998 compilation under the title of Language Ideologies exemplifies the diversity in approaches used in its presentation of research in the fields of anthropology, ethnography, linguistics, and sociology, to name a few. The introduction highlights that the study of language ideologies has been a field of inquiry without specifically being identified or recognized as such. However, projects on language ideologies can indeed be found under this subject heading, although they are few. In Voices of Modernity (2003) the authors present a study of the way language is constructed as a means to modernize Europe, which has hitherto gone unexamined as this topic has centered on the construction and development of science and society in projects of modernization. In the compilation titled Ideologies of Language (1990) the articles work to challenge the field of linguistics and the study of language as a closed system impervious to ideological influences. The linguistic anthropologists whose collective work on integrating politics and language produced Regimes of Languages in 200 outline four main features of language ideologies, which provide a framework

46 for understanding the politicization of language and linguistic politics of identities at the national, ethnic, and economic levels. These works, although critical to the understanding of the complexity and necessity of studying language ideologies, do not engage with the politics of representation in written and mediated texts. My project provides an example of how literary and cultural study aided by sociolinguistic perspectives can contribute a nuanced application of the study of language ideologies. Ideologies of Monolingualism and Bilingualism The specific ideologies of language that pertain to this project are those of monolingualism and bilingualism. I identify and define an ideology of monolingualism by the following characteristics: (1) Upholding the belief that it is the normal and natural human state to speak only one language. (2) That this one language spoken should be a prestige variety of an officially recognized standard language with an established literary tradition20 (in and by a Western nation-state). (3) That humans can be allowed access to high levels of formal education and ultimately social realms in this language only if it is to be the primary language acquired and the one with which they most identify socially. Monolingualism emerges and is ultimately fostered through purist and prescriptivism approaches to language. Linguistic purism depends on the belief that language can and should be pure from contaminated or corrupted forms of language and languages. In order for a language to be pure, it must be free from change and its essence protected. This of course implies that there indeed exists an initial and perfectly unadulterated variety of a language from which contemporary dialects and variations have developed. Language purists therefore cannot accept or cope with the natural permeability of language, much less the inevitability of language contact situations. For language purists “language change equals corruption” and therefore a language must be defended and protected from change (From kin et al. 456). A perfect example

20 Ferguson includes “literary heritage” as one of the defining characteristics of a prestige variety (“High”) of a language that distinguishes it in diglossia from the variety of less prestige (“Low”) (70).

47 of linguistic purism is the formal institution known as La Academia Real de la Lingual Espanola whose motto, “Limpia, fija y da esplendor,”21 Edwards notes, “makes clear the desire to clarify, purify and glorify the language” (Multilingualism 12). Formal institutions and academies such as La Real Academia, in addition to dictionaries, function in line with efforts to standardize languages and work in service of language purism. Equally limiting to a broader appreciation of the dynamic nature of languages is the prescriptivist approach. According to Edwards, purist and prescriptivist approaches to language go hand in hand as “prescriptivism is closely allied with language defence, with efforts to maintain the ‘purity’ and integrity of a language, with attempts to prevent other languages from breaching the barricades” (Multilingualism 12). Prescriptivism is all about the “shoulds” of a language and through its precepts seeks to dictate the terms and forms of a language’s use as the ultimate and only manner in which it must exist. Exemplifying a prescriptivist approach Edwards states that, “[t]he essence of this position, in language matters at any rate, is a sense that one variety is ‘correct’, or uniquely appropriate for all members of society, or the sole carrier of prestige and power or, indeed, the particular repository of aesthetic, social and logical value” (Multilingualism 12). Both linguistic purism and prescriptivism provide the ideological space for monolingualism to flourish and I would dare say even prompt monolingual ideologies. Under the tenets of an ideology of monolingualism, multilingualism and therefore bilingualism are unacceptable. In the introduction to the Handbook of Multilingualism and Multilingual Communication, Auer and Wei trace the inception of monolingualism to the development of Western nation-states and formal academic disciplines, an European inheritance which also involves the necessary marginalization of certain languages (immigrant, native, and colonial) through conquest and forced migration, where they became second languages only because they were still needed to fill the functional use of communicating with the still present non-ideal or unwanted citizenry. As an inheritor of this history, the US is a clear

21 “Clean, fixed and gives splendor,” my translation.

48 example of a nation-state with a monolingual ideology. Fishman outlines the specific reasons why: The view that America need not concern itself with LOTEs22 is supported by a small cluster of accompanying views: (i) that schools don’t really succeed in teaching languages anyway (“I had four years of French and I couldn’t say a blessed thing then and I certainly can’t do so now!”); (ii) that raising monolingual English speaking, reading, and writing children is the only decent and patriotic way to socialize children into “the American way of life”; (iii) that a multitude of languages will confuse the American mind as well as American society as a whole and result in lowered GNP, as well as a higher frequency and intensity of Civil Strife; or, even worse, (iv) that fostering multilingualism is tantamount to fostering political unrest, sedition, and other dangers to American stability; and finally, (v) that English is and of right ought to be the national or only official language of the United States (minor exceptions being made for Amerindians, most of which/whom are dying out anyway). (“Acquisition, Maintenance, and Recovery” 1-2) Lack of investment in fostering multilingual abilities through LOTE instruction reveals that American English monolingualism is projected as the linguist norm and patriotic responsibility for people living in the US. Multilingualism and bilingualism are by consequence regarded with suspicion in monolingual ideologies such as the American. Valdés identifies the manner in which this monolinguistic ideology presents itself in US society: The popular ideological discourse on bilingualism reflects not only a strong nationalistic philosophy that directly condemns the publicly supported use of non-English languages, but also a set of related beliefs that view bilingualism of indigenous and immigrant groups as problematic. Embedded in this discourse are strong beliefs about the dangers of early bilingualism, about the problems of language contaminations, and about the negative effects of bilingualism on individuals. (“The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 257)

22 Languages Other Than English

49 Monolingualism is reflected in this country not just through language instruction, but educative processes and their institutions. Widespread and all-too-easily accepted beliefs in the general public that the presence of multiple languages, whether in society or an individual, is antipatriotic and damaging are cyclical in their relationship to these educative processes, where they simultaneously uphold and are informed by a monolinguistic ideology. Valdés goes on to say that “[i]deologies of monolingualism are reflected in the very use of the term bilingual. … However, bilingualism in these [educational] settings is a euphemism for poor, disadvantaged, or newly arrived immigrant children who are, in fact, monolingual speakers of their immigrant language” (“The Teaching of Heritage Languages” 259). Discomfort and blatant attacks on bilingualism, especially in the US educational system are not so-veiled critiques of unwanted citizenry. “Bilingualism” and “bilingual” turn into politically correct code words that nonetheless identify individuals whose presence and first language is undesired in the American national landscape. Monolingualism as an ideology therefore explicitly negates and actively condemns multilingualism as a positive and beneficial state and ideology. An ideology of bilingualism is ultimately an ideology of multilingualism and holds the following characteristics: (1) Upholds that languages, just like humans, are complex and naturally come into contact, resulting in further and resourceful ends. (2) Embraces and accepts linguistic diversity as a resource and right for every human. (3) Requires a questioning of the access to standardized and prestige varieties of languages and their establishment as such. To embrace multilingualism and bilingualism, as I have shown through my review of the field of interest, requires we view challenge the manner in which traditional disciplines have asked us to view language (with a capital “L”). To accept bilingualism means to accept, through recognition and valorization, bilinguals’ language experiences and existence as resources for linguistic diversity. As Edwards aptly notes, “[t]he linguistic myopia that is so often a feature of monolingual

50 perspectives is sometimes accompanied by a narrow cultural awareness” (“Societal Multilingualism” 448). Referring to the narrowed perspectives on language and their speakers (such as is required for monolingual ideologies) as nearsightedness wittily draws attention to the need for not just cultural awareness, but its acceptance as well. Multilingual ideologies inherently recognize and embrace diversity of all types, as it is this diversity that creates multilingual speakers and communities. Acceptance of multilingualism and the factors that produce and sustain it through diversity of peoples and their languages has prompted organizations to uphold linguistic rights at all levels. The Universal Declaration on Linguistic Rights,23 for example, addresses throughout its fifty-two articles the basic human right to be understood in one’s language. What this practically means is that each of us as humans has the right to be heard, implying that there is someone who comprehends our language and accepts it as a valid means of communication. However, for such a right to be recognized and services (such as interpretive) to be provided requires that the language and speakers of this language be seen as worthy of the inevitable bureaucratic and financial investment. Edwards goes on to describe that “[l]inguistic rights are usually meant to have an effect at the group level – indeed, their existence is generally motivated by the plight of small groups whose languages and cultures are considered at risk – and this may sit uneasily with traditional liberal-democratic principles that enshrine rights in individuals, not collectivities” (“Societal Multilingualism” 454). The idea of upholding linguistic rights can come into direct confrontation with the way that political rights are typically conceptualized and acted upon. The documentation of linguistic rights is a critical asset to the survival of linguistic diversity as a local, national, and worldwide resource and is a cornerstone of multilingual ideologies. Ideologies of language, and particularly of monolingualism and bilingualism, are essential to the study of multilingual communities and their representations. Because language ideologies are not usually acknowledged or included as a factor in the study of these representations, deprecatory views of certain languages, their uses, and the people that use them in such ways are continually produced and reproduced.

23A document produced by UNESCO out of the discussions held during the World Conference on Linguistic Right in 1996: http://www.unesco.org/most/lnngo11.htm

51 These are linguistic prejudices, which Bonnie Urciuoli describes in her influential book Exposing Prejudice: Language, dialects, and accents are constructs that classify people, as do race, nationality, ethnicity, and kinship. Each of these categories assumes a natural boundary. The tendency for people to see these categories as neatly separate is how they operate as signs. The terms monolingual and bilingual let people assume that words, sounds, and rules come into neatly monolithic packages, that individual speakers are carriers for these packages, and that speaker competence can be neatly gauged in terms of these packages. (3) Identifying individuals as monolingual or bilingual immediately brings specific characteristics and linguistic expectations to mind. These ideas about what bilingual and monolingual means as a descriptor will affect the overall perception of the individual’s competence, as we have seen, and not just at the communicative level. Urciuoli goes on to state that “[w]hen people are subject to language prejudice, they are judged communicatively incompetent. Their knowledge of language forms is judged inadequate and contaminated: rules are said to be broken, boundaries crossed, languages mixed, accents unintelligible. This is a quantum leap past simple communication misfire” (3). Linguistic prejudice therefore begins with what ideas we have about who monolingual and bilinguals are or should be. Negative judgments and subsequent actions coming from these same judgments are acts of prejudice and should not be overlooked as miscommunication. How individuals are attacked via linguistic prejudices stemming from ideologies sanctioning deprecatory views of individuals as incompetent language users and humans is an immediate indicator of the need to examine ideologies of language in the representations of multilingual communities. Identities Through and In Language Critical to this project is the intricate relationship between language and identity. Indeed, I believe that one cannot be wholly discussed without mention of the other. In her most recent work, Visible Identities, Linda Martín Alcoff emphasizes the ways that bodies are visibly marked by their identities. She goes on to state: “When I

52 refuse to listen to how you are different from me, I am refusing to know who you are” (7). This statement is one that I am particularly drawn to because of its emphasis on communicating identities. The manner in which we communicate our identities also becomes a possible source for having our identities ignored or overlooked. We must indeed “listen” to the language through which we communicate ourselves because it is part of our identity. Within the study of language therefore, identity is a critical aspect. Myers-Scotton observes that, “languages are often the single most important symbol of group identity” (9). Language does not only lie at the base of individual identities but those of groups. Edwards further explains the relationship between individual and group identity: “Speaking a particular language means belonging to a particular speech community and this implies that part of the social context in which one’s individual personality is embedded, the context which supplies the raw materials for that personality, will be linguistic” (“Foundations of Bilingualism” 23). Although we must definitely look at the contextual factors that influence identity (for they are many), we must incorporate how language works within and alongside these factors. In order to begin to unpack the relationship between language and identity we must first establish a view of just what identities are, how they are communicated and manipulated through language, and how they can be analyzed through various forms of language. I refuse to accept any notion of identity that claims it is a static or totalizing definition of an individual for this delimits the agency of the individual as well as the power of external forces on an individual. A guiding principle in my primary conceptualization of identity then is the notion of identity as continual work, or “identity work.” I take this phrase as a guiding term in how I envision identity within this project from the work of Etienne Wenger in Communities of Practice. As Wenger argues, because identity “mirrors practice,” identity is influenced by the negotiation of experience (validating the lived experience of the individual), community membership (recognition of the extra-individual relationships that influence individuals and are contexts for negotiation of experience), learning trajectory (the idea that an individual’s life and identity is a trajectory onto which we can map phases or contexts that are in motion along different groups and these, along with those that are actively

53 not-participated in, together can provide insight into an identity), and the relations between the local and the global (because identity work is in constant flux between these two realms and not just isolated to the internal or just the external). Wenger therefore provides a meticulous and inclusive framework for understanding identity as continually shifting and growing. Identity, as I engage it, is first and foremost dynamic work. My understanding and use of identity has also been heavily influenced by the work of scholars in the Future of Minority Studies Research Project.24 A key figure in this research project, Paula Moya proposes a definition of identities through a postpositivist realist theoretical lens in Learning from Experience: I understand identities to be socially significant and context-specific ideological constructs that nevertheless refer in non-arbitrary (if partial) ways to verifiable aspects of the social world. Moreover, I contend that it is precisely because identities have a referential relationship to the world that they are politically and epistemically important: indeed, identities instantiate the links between individuals and groups and central organizing principles of our society. Consequently, an examination of individual identities can provide important insight about fundamental aspects of U.S. society. (13) Complimentary to the conception of identity as work, Moya’s definition of identities embraces the relationship between individual identities and larger social groups and structures. Because identities are produced in a real, concrete, and verifiable world they most definitely represent this world and understanding these representations is of the utmost importance. Understanding the knowledge base of identities, their political implications, and relevance to society is fundamental to this collective’s research project as well as my own. In Identity Politics Reconsidered, Satya Mohanty and Linda Martín Alcoff further describe this realist approach to identity: Realists about identity further argue that identities are not mysterious inner essences but rather social embodied facts about ourselves in our world; moreover, they are not mere descriptions of who we are but, rather, casual

24 Please see www.fmsproject.cornell.edu

54 explanations of our social locations in a world that is shaped by such locations, by the way they are distributed and hierarchically organized. The real debate is not over whether identities have political relevance, but how much and what kind. The theoretical issue concerning identities is not whether they are constructed (they always are, since they are social kinds) but what difference different kinds of construction make. (6) This understanding of identity then is not essentialist, instead it takes identities as constructed through our individual social experiences in this world and is pivotal to my own view. Taking identities seriously, as this collective of scholars has, allows us to look at the various social categories that interact with and influence the way we are constantly identified and self-identify in our social realities without losing sight of the way this work can come to represent and signify outside of ourselves. How identities come to signify for individuals and society relies on their communication, of which language is key. Identity work manifests itself through language as discourse, defined as “connected series of utterances; a text or conversation.” For this framework I view language conceptualized as discourse because discourse highlights the communicative aspect of language, where it is at once produced and received. Approximating how discourse interacts with identity requires a conceptualization of that relationship, which the work of James Paul Gee enacts. Gee, like Wenger, emphasizes the social aspect of identity, where recognition of the “kind of person” one is being is critical to identity work. That is, like identity, discourse is not isolated or static but rather interactive and dynamic. In “Identity in Educational Research” Gee presents four ways in which identity can be viewed, where Discourse- identity is defined as “an individual trait recognized in the discourse/dialogue of/with ‘rational’ individuals” (25). This definition of identity in and through discourse emphasizes recognition at the individual level in order to capture the exchange between “rational” individuals and befits my project in understanding how identity is recognized through linguistic interaction. Influential in working through this idea of discourse identity is Gee’s definition of discourse as an “identity kit”:

55 By discourse I will mean: a socially accepted association among ways of using language, of thinking, and of acting that can be used to identify oneself as a member of a socially meaningful group or “social network.” Think of a discourse as an “identity kit” which comes complete with the appropriate costume and instructions on how to act and talk so as to take on a particular role that others will recognize. (“What is Literacy?” 3) Gee establishes the relationship between language and identity as mutually constructed. As is discourse, language is conceptualized socially. Discourse allows for the complexity of value and power systems that are created, maintained, or governed through language. Gee outlines that discourses are ideological, resistant to internal criticism, defined by oppositional discourses, prioritize certain values at the expense of others, and are related to the distribution of power in society (“What is Literacy?” 4). Discourse is a unit of language that allows us to focus on these social factors in linguistic production and exchange. Given this description we can begin to approximate critical analyses of language via discourses as processes of meaning making. How this meaning is made and knowledge attained (or not) relies on the interaction between an audience and producer. Identity then undergoes the same processes within discourses. Identities are established, contested, negotiated, recognized, and continually challenged by and through language in discourse. If we take identity (as I do) to be the constant working through categories that we know to be socially constructed (such as ethnicity, race, class, gender) in language as discourse, what is required to understand identities through multilingual discourse? Benjamin Bailey states that “[i]f multilingual talk is an especially meaningful mode of speaking, it is not the nature of the forms that make it so but rather particular social and political histories” (363). Identity work in and through multilingual discourse requires a serious engagement with all the aforementioned social categories as they influence language production and perception. We must take these into account as influential factors on both identity work and language production. The indexing of identity work through language and vice versa, however, is not solely what I am positing here. Keeping in mind the realm of the ideational and systems of ideas that

56 influence interpretation of languages and identities is critical to understanding the relationship between language and identity work in order to not lose sight of the real lived experiences of our social world. Studies on the relationship between multilingualism and identity have mostly centered around language choice, variation, and mixing features of bilingual speech exactly because these aspects in language use bring to the forefront the presence of more than one language for multilinguals. In order to better understand the relationship between language and identity in bilingual individuals however requires more than focusing on these important features as indexical of identity work. Focusing on what these features of bilingual language can come to represent in and for individual and collective identities is my key interest. Although English and Spanish each contain their own set of monolingual ideologies, complete with “axioms of standardization and correctness” Spanish-speaking populations within the United States do not simply index their identity through one or the other language (Urciuoli 258). As Zentella notes, “[b]ecause bilinguals are not passive recipients of cultural models, but active agents who exploit both traditional and new ways of ‘doing being an X,’ bilingual repertoires of identity may incorporate diverse rules and include hybrid linguistic and cultural practices that defy narrow classification” (Preface 6). Agency is essential to understanding identity work, especially as Zentella phrases it, because bilinguals do not solely subscribe to the typical models of bilingual language behavior as composed of separate and distinct models in each of their languages. Zentella references Auer’s concept of “doing being bilingual”25 in order to emphasize the doubly active nature of bilingual existence. As we know that being bilingual is more than just the sum of two languages, identity work in and through multilingual discourse requires a sustained gaze at how bilingual identities defy expectations. To understand and begin unpacking the relationship between multilingualism and identity work then we must see both as complex processes of social construction that simultaneously interact and run parallel in specified contexts (Bailey 345). My ultimate goal is not to say which language indexes or represents each culture or when and which language is used in what ways with

25 Chapter Three in this dissertation offers further discussion of “doing being bilingual” as a guiding concept and key phrase in that chapter’s introduction and argument.

57 whom, but why and how that language use and choice is reflective of larger ideologies and assumptions about identities through their representation. Bilingualism in Representation Having presented, and represented bilingualism in the first two major sections of this chapter, I now move into the section of this chapter’s title that lies on the right hand side of the colon. As an explicative and descriptor, the phrase “bilingualism in representation” grounds bilingualism as the subject of representation. This phrase asks us to look for bilingualism in modes of rendering and interpretation, such as cultural production. This is a tiered endeavor, where bilingualism is in and of itself the subject matter of representation as well as the possible mode through which multilingual individuals are represented. That is to say, just as we have seen that identities are constructed and conveyed in and through language, so in representation will bilingualism be the form and matter of interest in this project. Bilingualism as a topic of interest in cultural productions, such as literature, can be represented through the description of bilingual characters and their ways of being and speaking within their intentionally crafted narrative worlds. We have seen how bilingual individuals come to be labeled, described, and identified through the study of language contact and resultant bilingualism. The act of identification, of being ascribed an identity as a bilingual and identifying as a bilingual falls into the category of representation. Representations here refer specifically to cultural productions, the literature analyzed in the subsequent chapters. We must remember that at stake in the representation of bilingual individuals and communities is the acknowledgment and valorization of their lived experience. Through the first two major sections of this chapter I have led the reader through a review of the critical fields of interest, disciplines, and inquiries that have most influenced this project. In this section I will present the field of Chicana/o cultural studies as the principal defining area of study in which this project is located. I will first review the critical issues in Chicana/o cultural studies that this project is framed by and speaks to, namely that of Chicana/o identity and representation in order to situate this project’s intervention in the understanding of language within Chicana/o

58 cultural production. As the case study for a sustained interest in the importance and repercussions of bilingual identity assumptions and expectations, Chicana/o literature and cultural productions offer a prime example of the work that representations of, in, and through bilingualism enact for communities. The Chicana/o in this Project Chicana/o cultural studies partake of a shared history with most other ethnic studies as a rather contemporary field of study and discipline. As ethnic minority groups demanded greater access to and support from institutions of higher education during the 1960s civil rights movements, ethnic studies programs, centers, and departments began to be established at community colleges and universities. Chicana/o studies has continued to develop and evolve in conjunction with (and typically against) the ideological and scholarly shifts that have swept across the domain of academia, specifically that of cultural studies. Angie Chabram- Dernersesian’s introduction to the Chicano Cultural Studies Reader outlines the most prevalent questions that arise in the “contested terrain of social analysis” between American/British cultural studies and Chicana/o cultural studies: Where is the culture in cultural studies? Whose culture is represented in cultural studies? What languages does it speak? Who is its audience? Where does it travel? Where does it stop? Can cultural studies read the writing on the (international) border? Where are the legacies of immigrant, working-class, and transnational women of color in cultural studies? How do Chicana/o and cultural studies converge? How does “cultural studies” respond to the social conditions and cultural legacies of socially differentiated transnational Chicana/o and Latina/o communities and other Third-World communities? Where can effective, socially viable networks of cultural studies be formed? (11) These queries interrogate the continued exclusion of Chicana/o and other minority populations within the intellectual projects of traditional cultural studies and reveal some of the major concerns for Chicana/o cultural studies. These questions also indicate and proclaim the inherent use of cultural studies approaches within the

59 organic multidisciplinary formation of Chicana/o studies. George Lipsitz describes that cultural studies approaches “provide sophisticated and convincing arguments about the ways in which the commonplace and ordinary practices of everyday life often encode larger social and ideological meaning” (51). It is therefore a tenet of cultural studies that the analysis of the “everyday” and “ordinary” can lead us to understand the broader socio-cultural and historical implications of the contexts in which these occur. A defining trait of Chicana/o cultural studies then is to responsibly center, seriously examine, and thoroughly research quotidian Chicana/o existence. To do just this, an essential concept used within Chicana/o cultural studies is “borders.” As Chabram-Dernersesian states: “Historically the border as a knowledge formation figures prominently within a critical vernacular pertaining to the cultures of imperialism, nationalism, and neocolonialism as well as the polyvalent cultures of resistance and affirmation” (95). The epistemological trajectory of Chicana/o existence has been traced to the concrete geographical space of borders, which in turn has been theorized as a conceptual space of knowledge. As the Chicana/o border par excellence, the US-México border holds geographical, political, social, cultural, economic, and historical importance for the study of Chicana/o communities. Gloria Anzaldúa’s famous description of this border as “an open wound” elucidates the repercussions its presence creates within its surrounding physical and psychological landscape: “A borderland is a vague and undetermined place created by the emotional residue of an unnatural boundary. It is in a constant state of transition” (Borderlands 3). Borders create borderlands and both are concrete material locations that actually and metaphorically symbolize the formation of Chicana/o individuals and their communities. Within Chicana/o cultural studies borders hold an interpretative and representational importance for understanding Chicana/o populations. Through the analysis of the tangible borders that have created, shaped, and continue to influence Chicana/o populations, Chicana/o cultural studies center the subject formation of Chicana/o identities. As Mary Pat Brady states, “the border looms large and figures mightily in the production of identities” (151). The encounter between predominantly Mexican and American cultural landscapes is definitive for

60 comprehending the concept of Chicana/o identity. The fluid nature of the immaterial spaces borders create signifies that the identities produced and functioning in and around these areas are similarly unfixed. Rosalinda Fregoso and Angie Chabram state: “Identities thus assume a provisional nature in our society and communities—they are subject to revision and interpretation over time and space” (31). As a conceptual element and primary concern of Chicana/o studies, Chicana/o identity is recognized to have an ephemeral quality that cannot be held to static and unchanging analyses. Thus, Chabram-Dernersesian affirms that “Chicana/o cultural studies identifies a number of complex and oftentimes contradictory (Chicana/o Latina/o) positions that are unheard of in foundational, authoritative discourses of community that appeal to a uniform ideological field and find a degree of safety in the social systemic binaries of ‘us/them’ and the imaginative boundaries of a separate nation” (5). Chicana/o cultural studies contests impulses to claim an essential unitary Chicana/o identity by embracing perceived contradictions that arise from its intrinsic multiplicity. Moving beyond simplified (and simplifying) paradigms of subject formation, a Chicana/o cultural study examines and upholds the heterogeneous and plural nature of Chicana/o identity and its investigation. Just as Chicana/o identity instantiates the diversity of Chicana/o experiences, so too does it imply an equally sundry conceptualization of Chicana/o language. In her introduction to Anzaldúa’s pioneering work Sonia Saldívar-Hull accurately synthesizes this notion: “there is no one Chicano language just as there is no one Chicano experience” (Borderlands 8). Embedded within the material and metaphorical borderlands surrounding the US-México border are the repercussions of a history of Spanish-English language contact. The resonances of the language contact between predominantly American English speaking communities and predominantly Mexican Spanish speaking communities are intimately felt by Chicana/os. Carmen Fought notes that although “Latino communities in the USA provide a good lens for observing the multiple and overlapping layers of identity, and how these are reflected and reproduced in language. … Language in Latino groups is often simplistically reduced by the dominant culture to ‘English’ and ‘Spanish,’ but the actual number of linguistic

61 varieties is much more extended” (71-73). Chicana/o cultural studies has taken up a pluralistic and diversifying concept of language that can do justice to the study of the linguistic heritage and realities of the Chicana/o experience, since questioning “whether or not Anglophone cultural studies is capable of generating multilinguistic and multicultural project identities” (Mariscal 73). As a critical component of the Latina/o and Spanish heritage speaking population in the US, the study of Chicana/o language shares and benefits from existing and continual research on Spanish in the US. As a component of the linguistic repertoire of this nation, Spanish varieties found in the US have been widely contested as impure, deviant, and corrupted versions of their Latin American and Peninsular counterparts.26 Heritage language speakers of these Spanish varieties therefore encounter similar reactions along with erroneous assumptions previously discussed in the study of bilingualism.27 Sharing this concern, the study of Chicana/o language has focused on documenting language attitudes and use within and towards Chicana/o communities.28 The identification and description of the languages and subsequent

26 See Bilingualism and Identity: Spanish at the Crossroads with Other Languages, eds. Mercedes Nino-Murcia and Jason Rothman (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2008), Margarita Hidalgo, “Criterios Normativos e Ideología Lingüística: Aceptación y Rechazo del Español de los Estados Unidos,” La Enseñanza del Español a Hispanohablantes: Praxis y Teoría, eds. M. Cecilia Colombí and Franciso X. Alarcón (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1997) 109-120, Research on Spanish in the United States: Linguistic Issues and Challenges, ed. Ana Roca (Somerville: Cascadilla Press, 2000), Spanish in the United States: Sociolinguistic Issues, ed. John J. Bergen (Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), and Guadalupe Valdés, , Joshua A. Fishman, Rebecca Chávez, and William Pérez, Developing Minority Language Resources: The Case of Spanish in California (Clevedon: Multilingual Matters Ltd., 2006). 27 See Bilingual Education for Hispanic Students in the United States, eds. Joshua A. Fishman and Gary D. Keller (New York: Teachers College Press, 1982), Heritage Languages in America: Preserving a National Resource, eds. Joy Kreeft Peyton, Donald A. Ranard, and Scott McGinnis (McHenry: Delta Systems Co., 2001), Mi Lengua: Spanish as a Heritage Language in the United States, eds. Ana Roca and Cecilia Colombí (Washington: Georgetown University Press, 2003), Language and Culture in Learning: Teaching Spanish to Native Speakers of Spanish, eds. Barbara J. Merino, Henry T. Trueba, and Fabián A. Samaniego (London: Falmer Press, 1993), La Enseñanza del Español a Hispanohablantes: Praxis y Teoría, eds. M. Cecilia Colombí and Franciso X. Alarcón (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1997), and Guadalupe Valdés et al. 28 See Juan C. Guerra, Close to Home: Oral and Literate Practices in a Transnational Mexicano Community (New York: Teachers College Press, 1998), Language and Language Use: Studies in Spanish, eds. Terrell A. Morgan, James F. Lee, and Bill Van Patten (Lanham: University Press of America, 1987), Latino Language Use and Communicative Behavior, ed. Richard Duran (Norwood: Ablex, 1981), Lucía Elias-Olivares, Ways of Speaking in a Chicano Community: A Sociolinguistic Approach (Diss. University of Texas, 1976), and Susana Victoria Rivera-Mills, New Perspectives on

62 varieties that affect Chicana/o linguistic repertoires has also been a primary concern.29 Since the prominent methodological approaches in Chicana/o language studies have been sociolinguistic, much research has centered on how language maintenance, shift, and loss presents itself in Chicana/o communities.30 These prevailing concerns in the study of Chicana/o language use are pivotal to the continued understanding of the Chicana/o experience. However, Chicana/o cultural studies has not specifically looked at the ideological aspect of Chicana/o language as part of its prioritized analysis of the representation of Chicana/os. Fregoso and Chabram define representations as “embodied in the forms and practices of culture,” that is, cultural productions (28). Cultural studies redefines analyzable and critical texts to include practices through which relevant social and cultural meanings are produced. Representations of Chicana/os are therefore sought and found in cultural productions of which literature has been, and continues to be, foundational. In the realm of Chicana/o literary criticism, language has not been given much attention in terms of ideologies represented through its explicit and implicit use in Chicana/o cultural production. Instead, the criticism that does engage with issues of language tends to center its

Current Sociolinguistic Knowledge with Regard to Language Use, Proficiency, and Attitudes Among Hispanics in the United States, (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 2000). 29 See The Dictionary of Chicano Spanish = El diccionario del español chicano, 2nd ed., comp. Roberto A. Galván and Richard V. Teschner (Lincolnwood: National Textbook, 1995), Form and Function in Chicano English, ed. Jacob Ornstein-Galicia (Malabar: R.E. Krieger, 1988), Carmen Fought, Chicano English in Context (New York: Palgrave, 2003), Leodoro Hernández, Language of the Chicano (Los Angeles: National Dissemination and Assessment Center, 1979), El Lenguaje de los Chicanos: Regional and Social Characteristics Used by Mexican-Americans, eds. Eduardo Hernández-Chávez, Andrew D. Cohen, and Anthony F. Beltramo (Arlington: Center for Applied Linguistics, 1975), Joyce Penfield and Jacob L. Ornstein-Galicia, Chicano English: An Ethnic Contact (Amsterdam: J. Benjamins Publishing Company, 1985), Rosaura Sánchez, Chicano Discourse: Socio-historic Perspectives (Rowley: Newbury House Publishers, 1983), Otto Santa Ana, “Chicano English and the Nature of the Chicano Language Setting,” and Hispanic Journal of the Behavioral Sciences 15.1(1993): 3-35. 30 See John Amastea, “Language Shift and Maintenance in the Lower Rio Grande Valley of Southern Texas,” Bilingualism and Language Contact: Spanish, English, and Native American Languages, eds. Florence Barkin, Elizabeth A. Brandt, and Jacob Ornstein-Galicia (New York: Teachers College, 1982) 261-277, D. Letticia Galindo, “A Sociolinguistic Study of Spanish Language Maintenance and Linguistic Shift Towards English Among Chicanos,” Lenguas Modernas 18(1991): 107-16, Garland D. Bills, Eduardo Hernández-Chávez, and Alan Hudson, “The Geography of Language Shift: Distance from the Mexican Border and Spanish Language Claiming in the U.S.,” International Journal of the Sociology of Language 114(1995): 9-27, Glenn A. Martínez, Mexican Americans and Language: Del Dicho al Hecho (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2006), and Fernando Peñalosa, Chicano Sociolinguistics: A Brief Introduction (Rowley: Newbury House Publishers, 1980).

63 discussions on the use and presentation of English-Spanish codeswitching and popular varieties of Chicano language, such as Caló. Certainly the genre that has received much of this focus is that of poetry as the most popular form of expression in the early stages of the Chicano cultural nationalist movement and its invocation of the community’s multilingualism. The analysis of language in these poems emphasizes the phenomena of codeswitching as a way that bilingual poets can stylize their work given their ability to draw from both languages and each’s varieties, as well as the ways in which the poetic use of codeswitching does or does not reflect the Chicana/o community’s actual language use and cultural heritage.31 Criticism on Chicana/o theater has also taken up this same focus but has added to its discussion the relationship of the production’s language to the target audience and the attitudes reflected.32 Interviews with Chicana/o cultural workers produce narratives about language histories and ideas about language used and represented in Chicana/o texts and serve as a possible source of language ideologies.33 However these discourses are never further pursued or interrogated with this specific interest by interviewers or researchers. General literary criticism of longer prose in Chicana/o literature with respect to language use addresses issues of the bilingual heritage in this literature as an identifying marker of Chicana/o texts but does not interrogate the qualification or

31 See Alfredo Arteaga, Chicano Poetics: Heterotexts and Hybrities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), Cordelia Candelaria, Chicano Poetry: A Critical Introduction (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1986), Zaida A. Cintrón, Salsa y Control: Codeswitching in Nuyorican and Chicano Poetry, Markedness and Stylistics (Diss. Northwestern University, 1997), Carla Jonsson, Code-switching in Chicano Theater: Power, Identity and Style in Three Plays by Cherríe Moraga (Umeå: Institutionen för moderna språk, Umeå universitet, 2005), Gary Keller, “The Literary Strategems Available to the Bilingual Chicano Writer,” The Identification and Analysis of Chicano Literature, ed. Francisco Jiménez (New York: Bilingual Press, 1979), Raquel León-Jiménez, Identidad Multilingüe: El Cambio de Código como Símbolo de la Identidad en la Literatura Chicana (Logroño: Universidad de La Rioja, 2003), Rafael Pérez-Torres, Movements in Chicano Poetry: Against Myths, Against Margins (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), Guadalupe Valdés, “Code-Switching in Bilingual Chicano Poetry,” Hispania: A Journal Devoted to the Teaching of Spanish and Portuguese 59.4(1976): 877-886. 32 See Jorge Huerta, Chicano Theater: Themes and Forms (Ypsilanti: Bilingual Press, 1982), Elisa Kondor, The Chicano Experience as Seen through Theater (Diss. University of South Carolina, 1991), and Guadalupe Valdés, “Language Attitudes and Their Reflection in Chicano Theatre: An Exploratory Study,” New Scholar: An Americanist Review 8.1-2(1982): 181-200. 33 See Juan Bruce-Novoa, Chicano Authors: Inquiry by Interviews (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1980), Karin Rosa Ikas, Chicana Ways: Conversations with Ten Chicana Writers (Reno: University of Nevada, 1992).

64 evaluation of this bilingual marker.34 Two works that do move beyond these aesthetic discussions are the studies by Laura Callahan and Manuel M. Martín-Rodríguez. Callahan’s book, Spanish-English Codeswitching in a Written Corpus studies the use of codeswitching in a variety of texts, from poetry to novel. Callahan’s sociolinguistic approach is used to present this study as an exposition of a large-scale study of Spanish-English codeswitching, where the relationship between the two languages used is not limited to a Chicana/o framework. She goes on to explore the possible economic costs of codeswitching for authors when one incorporates national perception of both languages and their mixing but centers her concluding remarks on outlining the correlations between known sociolinguistic phenomena and their reflection through these texts. Martín-Rodríguez’s book, Life in Search of Readers, takes up the issues of publishing, editing, and marketing of Chicana/o literature. Language choice and use within textual production is viewed in terms of the creation of a target audience with which authors seek to connect and communicate. The presence of diverse languages in Chicana/o literature means for Martín-Rodríguez that linguistic diversity is still very much alive within the US. He therefore explores how basing communication through literature to a heterogeneous audience can work. Both these works attempt to explore the extra-linguistic features of texts, but do not factor in analysis of the attitudes or ideas about the languages used in their objects of research. Literature as materialized object and manipulated product of language reflects ideologies of language. How language is used and discussed within textual representation can therefore illustrate some of the relationships of power within the society in which it is produced. In his work on developing a literary theory and critical approach to Chicano narrative, Ramón Saldívar holds that this literature is produced in a context of conflictive histories and ideologies. He states: “Chicano narratives, individually as texts and together as a genre, confront and circumscribe the limiting ideologies imposed upon them (and sometimes created from within Mexican

34See The Identification and Analysis of Chicano Literature, ed. Francisco Jiménez (New York: Bilingual Press, 1979).

65 American culture itself) and how they have in complex ways determined the horizons within which their literary history has emerged” (Chicano Narrative 6). Chicano literature then works to oppose, through its representations of Chicana/o subjectivity, the dominant ideologies that have oppressed the subjects represented. The contestation of oppressive ideologies is not limited to the dominant Anglo-American culture but also provides internal critiques through its narratives and production. Saldívar further delineates the relationship between literary representation and ideology: Ideology is much more than that. It is an authentic way of grappling with a Real that must always transcend it, a Real into which the subject seeks to enter, all the while painfully learning the lessons of its own ideological closure and of history’s resistance to the fantasy structures in which it is itself locked. A text can thus be said to refer not to concrete situations so much as to the ideological formations that concrete situations have produced. (Chicano Narrative 212) The fear of falling into the trap of equating narrative representations with the very immediate and materialized “Real” is eased by an acceptance of the pervasiveness of ideologies throughout. Language as the medium and product of texts then will reflect the ideologies of its producer. When narrative subjects enter into metacritical discussions of language itself, either as produced by other subjects or as a general aspect of humanity, language ideologies are at play. Chicana/o literary criticism guides approaches to these narratives and texts via an acceptance that ideologies are a valid category of analysis and a framework through which to analyze the work a literary text does. Ideologies of language then can fit into criticism of the ideologies represented in Chicana/o cultural productions. This is the critical intervention and aim of this dissertation. Although each text that provides the analytical substance for this project is given individual and sustained attention in its allotted chapter, I must here acknowledge my critical (i.e. my scholarly/academic) gesture in identifying them as Chicana/o. I do so for the same reasons and with the same motivations that lead me to include individuals that may not be identified and accepted as bilinguals within that descriptive term, category, and field of study. My desire to always prioritize the

66 recognition and validation of traditionally marginalized groups to the best of my abilities in whatever endeavor (especially academic) prompts me to label José Antonio Villareal’s Pocho (1959), Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez (1990), Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy (1971), Arturo Islas’s The Rain God (1984), Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo, o puro cuento (2002), the writing of Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, along with the works of Michele Serros and Vida Mia García as Chicana/o. However much I doubt that any of these would be contested as verifiably Chicana/o, my Chicana/o cultural studies formation prompts me to responsibly acknowledge and account for this act of identification. I identify these works as Chicana/o because 1) they share concerns about and focus attention on the encounter between Mexican and American cultures in varying facets as a prevalent theme of their narrative content, 2) contribute to our knowledge base of Chicana/o existence through their representations of this encounter, and 3) are cultural productions by Mexican Americans, that to the best of my research and knowledge have not directly or openly rejected Chicana/o classification. Because identification is, as Sánchez states, “a two-way process” in which “one identifies and is identified” then I identify myself as a Chicana through my identification of these authors and their works as Chicana/o (“Mapping the Spanish Language” 111). Chicana/o is at once the primary adjective and noun that describes the main subject(s) matter of this project, the disciplinary field that has inspired and offered a space for it to exist, and my personal and scholarly identity. As is indicative of the multivalent application of this term for the various components of this project, the term Chicana/o is polymorphous. The multifaceted nature of the term Chicana/o is my prevailing motivation for housing this project and myself within its connotative and denotative realm. As Karen Mary Dávalos indicates: “Whether by design or default, at each stage of research—from development to publication—Chicana/o scholars open a dialogue about their position and identities inside and outside of the academy. In addition, their positionality is often more than a simple matter of first-person narrative; it is a profound bias to empower the people under investigation” (608). As a Chicana scholar then, I am not only working to share my own narrative of personal and

67 scholarly formation within Chicana/o studies, but also to legitimate the subject matter I engage in this project. Conclusion The study of bilingualism is the foundation upon which this conceptual framework is built. Indeed, it was a course centering on issues in the study of bilingualism during my first years of graduate studies that gave voice to my personal and intellectual concerns. Through my review of the key words in favorable definitions of bilingualism as well as the critical terminology used to describe bilinguals I introduce my concern and preoccupation with the politics of inclusion and exclusion in the conceptualization of Language and its users. Because of its attention to social and economic power dynamics, I uphold circumstantial bilingualism as the framework most befitting this project. As a result of language contact, that is, the movement of groups of different language users coming into communicative proximity, most of the world’s population can be described as bilingual. The human body’s penchant for movement at the individual level coupled with the rapid growth of globalization bring more individuals with different languages into contact, meaning bilingualism will continue to flourish throughout our world. The formal academic study of bilingualism has developed through the combined interests, methods, and approaches of traditional disciplines, of which sociolinguistics, linguistic anthropology, and applied linguistics have been the most influential in the articulation of this project and scholar. Exploration of the extra-linguistic features of language is required in order to understand the conceptualization, perception, and interpretation of language and its users. Ideologies of language are the conceptual unit of analysis this work explores in the focused subject matter. They offer a connection between the realm of the ideational and concrete material reality by keeping issues of interest and power as a motivating source in representations of languages and their speakers. Ideologies of monolingualism, such as mark the US, are prompted by prescriptivist and purist notions of language that cannot abide the recognition and appreciation of the linguistic pluralism defining multilingualism and inherent in ideologies of bilingualism. As a

68 result of monolinguistic ideologies, acts of linguistic prejudice simultaneously mask and siphon blatant and politically incorrect discrimination against individuals and their communities. I examine individuals and the communities in which they participate through studying their first and third person identities, that is, the way that they and others conceive of their selfhood. Because language is an integral part of communicating and responding to identities, the intricacies in the relationship between language and identity are the pervasive throughout my analysis of representations in the subsequent chapters of this dissertation. Identity cannot be defined in a singular fashion for it is multifaceted and unfixed, varying during an individual’s lifespan as she externally and internally navigates her lived experiences. To account for this I apply the concept of identity analytically as continual work. Language as the means through which this work is conveyed and enacted is therefore discursive, for it is not produced or received in isolation but in dialogue, whether actual or notional. The particular representations of language and identity I examine in this project are Chicana/o. I am able to accomplish this through the analytical principles of Chicana/o cultural studies that embrace multiplicity in its understanding of Chicana/o identities, interdisciplinary approaches that provide multifaceted and open interpretations of representations, and understanding of the ideological weight of cultural productions. Chicana/o individuals and communities are historically marked by bilingualism in Spanish-English and therefore work as a case study for the analysis of the relationship between language and identity in representations of multilingual populations. Although the study of Chicana/o language has not included ideologies of language as a concern of representational analysis, such a focus is merited and substantiated by the field’s tradition of unearthing external and internal ideologies and relationships to power. Chicana/o literature, as the particular mode of cultural production that is the focus of this project, reveals the historical and contemporary markings of its communities’ relationship and experiences in bilingualism. In order to answer the final one word question I intentionally omitted for this conceptual framework up to this point, that is, why even study bilingualism? (much less in the fashion and manner in which I am doing), I would like to share a quick

69 anecdote from my experience teaching a course modeled on this dissertation as illustrative of the importance of bilingualism to the understanding of self and others. As an introduction to the course, one of our first discussions centers (as this chapter does) on the students’ personal definitions and understanding of bilingualism. I offer students a compiled list that concisely defines many of the terms used to describe types of bilingual individuals that we have seen here. Without fail, it is one of the pieces that most engages and immediately prompts reaction from students. The fact that each of them can go through this list and circle at least one term that defines and describes them as a bilingual is unanimously transformational. Even predominantly monolingual students with an incredibly modest sense of their own language abilities and experiences are able to find confidence in exploring and validating their linguistic ventures, and proceed to valorize their recognizably bilingual classmates’ epistemologies. This is just a minute example of not just the intellectual impact of the understanding of bilingualism but also of its inter- and intra-personal ramifications.

70 Chapter Two “Growing up Bilingual; Growing up Proto-Chicana/o”: Bilingual Mexican American Development in Pocho and George Washington Gómez Introduction Perhaps the most trying of my dissertation chapters to title, this chapter presented me with the primary dilemma of how best to relate the processes by which one grows up bilingual to the processes by which one grows up Chicana/o. My debate between the use of a colon or semicolon resulted in the latter. Although a colon would invite the reader to deliberate on the existence of a relationship between these two subject formations, a semicolon states that there is in fact an established relation between these two processes. The aim of this chapter then is to help articulate that relationship, by looking at the subject formation processes of the protagonists in two early Chicana/o coming-of-age novels,35 José Antonio Villarreal’s Pocho (1959) and Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez (1990). Contemplating the differentiation between their literary histories as proto-Chicana/o narratives reveals the relevance of sociohistorical context for the reception, identification, and analysis of these works. I join these two novels because they anticipate the discourses of Chicana/o representation established by the Chicano movement in the 1960s. The sociohistorical context of each work’s publication and reception is additional proof for the necessary study of the relationship between bilingual and Chicana/o identity formation because it is not a static relationship. Here we have two cases of two different protagonists who share similar sociocultural circumstances and settings but distinct developmental trajectories in identity. The differences in both their identity development and its representation add to my argument for the diversity of Chicana/o bilingual identity outcomes that must be accepted within the spectrum of what being bilingual and a Chicana/o means. As the first analytic chapter of this dissertation, I offer this segment of my project as a starting point to begin guiding the reader through a critical incorporation of language as conceptual unit of ideological analysis in the reading of bilingual

35 I use coming-of-age novels to describe both works as both Pocho and George Washington Gómez have generally been categorized and analyzed as “bildungsroman” in their literary criticism.

71 representations and the communities on which they focus. Before applying the conceptual framework I have outlined in the introductory chapter, I will first introduce the two novels. These brief introductions will provide the reader with some insight into my rationale for selecting these texts for analysis of bilingual identities and their representations as well as introduce the key issues that I will address in the final section dedicated to their critical reception. From the introduction of these texts we will move on to a review of the key concepts necessary in understanding bilingual language development. This will be followed by my readings of both novels in consecutive fashion, focusing on the ideas about language and identity that both protagonists encounter in their lives and reflecting upon how these affect their identity development as bilingual Chicana/os. Pocho and George Washington Gómez A target of early criticism due to his self-proclaimed resistance to insular Chicana/o politics,36 José Antonio Villarreal produced an ambiguous Chicana/o identity in the protagonist of his first novel Pocho, Richard Rubio. Initially drawn to the novel because of its title,37 I was not disappointed in my hope to find a complex discussion of Chicana/o identity formation. Of particular interest was the statement made by the omniscient narrator: “To be just, no one could be blamed, for the transition from the culture of the old world to that of the new should never have been attempted in one generation” (135).38 Here the novel seems to posit an unavoidable one-way transition from the Mexican to American culture for Mexican migrant families and Chicana/o identity development, but it is unclear if the new culture by

36 Please see Juan Bruce-Novoa, “José Antonio Villareal,” Chicano Authors: Inquiry by Interview (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1980) 37-48, and Francisco Jiménez, “An Interview with José Antonio Villareal,” Bilingual Review/Revista Bilingüe 3.1(1976): 66-72. In both these interviews Villareal highlights his discomfort with the conflation of politics and aesthetics that he feels spurred negative reception and readings of Pocho. He attributes this tendency towards the non-literary conceptualization and critique of his work and other literature to the Chicano movement’s political agenda. 37 “Pocho” is a term that has come to be understood as derogatory for contemporary Chicana/os because it highlights the American influence and aspect of a Mexican American identity, although like the term Chicana/o itself, its definition has changed over time. Villareal himself refers to the term as one of endearment and camaraderie during his youth (see Bruce-Novoa “Interview”). 38 For this and subsequent citations of Pocho I will use pagination from the 1959 first edition published by Double Day.

72 necessity negates or eradicates the old. I would argue that it does not, although I recognize that other scholars have not been so generous in their approach to this novel.39 I find it interesting that Richard, as the novel’s protagonist, has been viewed as a timorous and unlikable character for his inability/refusal to take on a strong Mexican American identity that embraces the cultural ideals and values of Chicana/o communities as well as social political activism and awareness. As my analysis of the novel will reveal, Richard is always disturbed and torn by the “demands of culture” placed on his individuality, but never rejects or negates his Mexican based identity. I read the ambiguous ending in line with Ramón Saldívar’s view that although Richard “will consistently choose not to choose” from the absolute values with which he is presented throughout his development, it is a “preliminary step in a dialectic of developing protopolitical understanding” and that Richard “may turn to the politics of change” (Chicano Narrative 64-65). I intend to explore Richard’s development in this novel, asking why he maintains this outsider/insider position within Chicana/o cultural criticism. Despite Richard Rubio’s ambiguous Chicano identity I would say I am much more sympathetic towards him than Guálinto in George Washington Gómez. Américo Paredes’s novel has received much attention because of its specific sociohistorical emphasis in presenting us the conflicted world in which Guálinto is produced. We are told at the moment Guálinto is born that: Born a foreigner in his native land, he was fated to a life controlled by others. At that very moment his life was being shaped, people were already running his affairs, but he did not know it. Nobody considered whether he might like being baptized or not. Nobody had asked him, whether he, a Mexican, had wanted to be born in Texas, or whether he had wanted to be born at all.40 (15)

39 Please see Raymund A. Paredes, “Mexican-American Literature: An Overview,” Recovering the Hispanic Literary Heritage, Vol 1, eds. Ramón Gutiérrez and Genaro Padilla (Houston: Arte Público, 1993) 31-51. Representative of unforgiving critique Villareal’s work, Paredes’s description and analysis of Pocho as an “assimilationist book” centers on Richard’s “near obsession to win acceptance by the dominant culture” (41). 40 For this and subsequent citations of the novel I use pagination from the first edition of George Washington Gómez (1990).

73 Guálinto’s lack of input on how his life as a Mexican will be run is significantly emphasized throughout this section. This introduction to Guálinto as the protagonist precipitates the concern of agency. I appreciate Paredes’s move to highlight and center the sociocultural and historic forces that are at play in Guálinto’s formation, but believe that Guálinto never really tried to look past his lack of input into what he was able to control. Guálinto uses his agency to pretend he has none. Saldívar describes Guálinto’s transition into George G. Gómez41 as inevitable given “the circumstances of modernity and modernization on the border are such that the only pragmatic pathway available to someone like him is full assimilation and the complete negation of the past” (The Borderlands of Culture of Culture 187). I coincide with reading Guálinto as a product of his opposing ideological environments and my reading explores these in the hope we may find in the survival of an active Chicano identity lies not with this protagonist but other characters within the novel. Growing up Bilingual In my outline of a conceptual framework that bases its analysis in the study of bilingualism I highlight the complexity of defining and describing bilingual individuals. In reviewing the typology of bilingual individuals I present Guadalupe Valdés’s model of circumstantial bilingualism as the most productive framework for understanding bilingualism in this project. Richard and Guálinto are circumstantial bilinguals because their circumstances as first-generation Mexican immigrants in the US dictate their acquisition and development of English. First and foremost describing Richard and Guálinto as circumstantial bilinguals allows us to situate the critical variables that are generally required for bilingualism to develop, which are exposure, access, and validation. Richard and Guálinto begin to formally acquire and learn English when they enter school, which is around five to six years old. Prior to this they are primarily Spanish speakers as it is the dominant language of their parents and family. Carol Myers-Scotton states that “there is plenty of good evidence that very

41 Many scholars use “Guálinto/George” when discussing the protagonist of George Washington Gómez in order to highlight the dichotomy and tenuous relationship between the childhood nickname version of his given name that is used throughout the majority of the novel and the legally-changed version he adopts at the novel’s end. I will use Guálinto throughout and signal the switch to George only at the final section of my reading of the novel’s end.

74 young children do acquire more than one language as long as they are exposed to speakers of the languages” (36). For any type of language acquisition to occur the first and foremost requirement is exposure to language. When two languages become present in children, Myers-Scotton goes on to clarify that “little bilinguals are not linguistic wizards; they are simply doing what children of normal intelligence can do. That is, they acquire the language varieties to which they are exposed” (325). Exposure to the languages that will comprise a child’s bilingual development and repertoire is essential. If children are not exposed to a language then there is no way that it can be acquired. The second requirement needed for bilingualism to develop is access. Guadalupe Valdés reminds us of “access to particular styles and registers as an important factor in language acquisition” (Expanding Definitions 45). A child’s exposure to language depends on their access to that language, whether it be through ideal forms such as interpersonal and direct communication or mediated sources such as audio-visual or textual media. Access, as has been mentioned, is something that will inevitably be affected by the socioeconomic context in which a child is raised. If (as is the case for Guálinto and Richard), the bilinguals in question are circumstantial, then we know that access to their primary language (Spanish) is mediated within a new geographical context where it is no longer the dominant language. But English will also be accessed differently as their minority status will inadvertently affect their schooling and educational access to both their society’s dominant language (English) and their personal home languages (Spanish and later, English). This second requirement for bilingual development requires sustained critical attention because when discussing the context in which languages are accessed, there are a variety of factors that will dictate the nature of this access and the majority of those factors are out of the individual bilingual’s control. Access therefore is pivotal to bilingual language development. Even with exposure and access to languages, bilingual children require validation and valorization. By this I mean not only to suggest that their learning be validated and highly-valued, but specifically that their languages receive positive

75 attention. As Josiane F. Hammers and Michel H. A. Blanc pinpoint, “the degree of relative valorization attributed to each of the languages” as pivotal in describing a bilingual’s sociocultural development and surroundings (102). Valuing the languages one is exposed to and accesses is central to maintaining a strong attachment to these languages, as well as supporting their continual use. If one thinks that either language is not useful, good, or beneficial, then it will be disregarded and put aside in preference for that which is valued. In order to hold value for languages we must be exposed to positive validations of these languages. Therefore social networks become critical in the valuing of languages for bilingual language development. Even if an individual thinks highly of her linguistic repertoire, if it is not similarly valued or blatantly disparaged by her communities and networks, it will become much more difficult to continue investing in the development of that language. As children one of the most important skills we begin to develop is literacy and for this “[v]alorization of L1 and of literacy in the child’s social network are both crucial” (Hamers and Blanc 103). This same point holds true for bilingual development. If valorization is an essential component to a monolingual child’s literacy development, then it is multiply so for a bilingual child. Exposure, access, and validation being the key elements to successful bilingual development, we must understand the central arenas where these occur for an individual. The first is of course through personal relationships of different kinds. As Hamers and Blanc state, “The roots of bilingual development are to be found in the interpersonal interactions occurring in the child’s social environment, and these provide the child with a model of language behaviour comprising more than one language” (126). Linguistic modeling and immediate models for bilingual language use are the best type of exposure for children being raised bilingually. The personal connections forged in and through language help provide models for how to use both languages at the grammatical and communicative levels as they observe and take in their surrounding environment. These interpersonal interactions take place within important networks that organize their social environment:

76 The relevance of a network, centered on the individual, lies in the fact that, on the one hand, it provides the child with a function and formal linguistic model (or models) and with shared schemata acquired through routines, and, on the other hand, it transmits to the child the system of societal values, attitudes, and perceptions relating to the languages and their users. (Hamers and Blanc 101) Networks, as collections of relationships tied to the individual, are essential not just in fostering exposure to bilingual language behavior but to the validation required for it to flourish. Networks are also a way to access bilingual language behavior and models. Particularly for children the family, peer, and school networks are identified as the most important (Hamers and Blanc 102-103). As will become evident in the analysis of the Pocho and George Washington Gómez, these three networks are the most pronounced in Richard and Guálinto’s narratives. In addition to embracing the concept of networks for understanding bilingual language development in children, we must also address how bilingual language behavior is exposed to and accessed by children. “Domains of language” has become a central concept to the study of language choice and behavior and is defined by Joshua Fishman as “major clusters of interaction situations that occur in particular multilingual settings” (“Who Speaks?” 93). This concept advances the individual factors (group, situation, and topic) that are the focus of researchers’ attempts to predict influences in language choice at the societal level. Suzanne Romaine expands on this definition: “A domain is an abstraction which refers to a sphere of activity representing a combination of specific times, settings and role relationships” (30). Domains of language can be used to describe and identify the ways in which language(s) will be used within networks and are a necessary supplement that we must take into account when describing bilingual language behavior. To be more specific, domains of language are ways that we know and expect to know which language to use and how to use it in a given moment. “Family, friendship, religion, employment and education” (Romaine 30, Myers-Scotton 77) are the most widely recognized domains where language use is predictable. During my discussion of Richard’s and Guálinto’s bilingual development I will be focusing primarily on the family,

77 friendship, and education domains of language use because they will fall into the most important networks in these coming-of-age narratives. Although a review of the history of bilingual education is beyond the scope of this chapter and project, we certainly must address the issues faced by ethnic minority children entering US formal schooling. In my discussion of Richard and Guálinto, experiences in education and schooling are fundamental and loaded with the potential to cause great long-term effects on the development of bilingual minority identities. In particular I would like to take a moment to clearly delineate what I mean when I refer to education and schooling. I refer to education as moments of learning centered and aimed activities. Schooling is both informal and formal, where formal schooling offers education within a state-sponsored institution and informal schooling offers impromptu lessons without a specifically designated institution or set curriculum. In order to explain this discussion I return to Valdés, whose ethnographic study on childrearing and educational practices in Latino communities defines the importance of informal education and schooling: What English speakers call education is school or booklearning. What Spanish speakers call ‘educación’ has a much more broad meaning and includes both manners and moral values … Educando a los hijos, then, included teaching children how to behave, how to act around others, and also what was good and what was moral. It included teaching the expectations of the roles that they would play in life and the rules of conduct that had to be followed in order to be successful in them. This teaching, or rather, this indoctrination, began very early and generally took place whenever there was any verbal interaction between adults and children. (Con Respeto 124-125) My use of education then implies and is heavily influenced by the concept of “educación.” Through the term of schooling I differentiate more specifically between types of education, that is, formal and informal. This distinction is important given the sustained attention Richard and Guálinto’s formal and cultural education receives within the novels. As we shall see, school is one of the most profound network sites

78 and domains of language use that marks the their ultimate development and identity formation. In summary, to answer the question of how one becomes bilingual requires an appreciation of the complexity of the various factors at the individual and social level that influence language development as a whole. As children, we will learn a language as long as we are exposed to it, can continue to access it, are validated in our efforts, and have our language(s) valorized. The most important networks and domains of language use that influence bilingual language development are those pertaining to the family, friends, education/school and neighborhood/community. Circumstantial bilinguals, such as Richard and Guálinto, acquire an additional language because their circumstances dictate its need to survive economically and socially. Having reviewed the central terms and concepts that pertain to an understanding of the development of bilingualism, I will now turn to the novels themselves to position and describe the protagonists’ experience of becoming bilingual. Both Pocho and George Washington Gómez are novels centering the experience of Mexican descendants within the US during the decades of the 1920s through 1940s. The Mexican Revolution is the catalyst for the migratory trajectory of Richard’s and Guálinto’s families as first-generation Mexican migrants to the US Southwest. Their parental figures invest economically and psychologically in their future identities and careers as middle-class Mexican males because they are the first and only male children of their families. Richard and Guálinto are part of the second generation of their migrant family’s heritage but part of the first generation to go to school in the US, graduate from high school, and learn English in a formal school setting. At home they are expected to maintain traditional Mexican cultural practices and identities and are explicitly taught to do so even as they become marked by their experiences in the American culture that influences and surrounds them. Villarreal and Paredes provide pointed historical context and commentary in order to understand the socioeconomic situations in which Richard and Guálinto grow up and which their working-class families experience. Both characters are raised in predominantly Mexican enclaves, in communities where traditional Mexican cultural practices offer

79 migrant families a way to negotiate their new country of residence while still keeping their heritage and identity based on their country of origin. Each of their groups of friends reflect a diversity found in the larger community and provide immediate socialization, which in turn influence their relation to dominant society. These similar circumstances mark both Richard and Guálinto’s identity development. Both novels end with an unresolved tension, leaving the protagonists’ final identity open to reader interpretation. For each character, however, these influences emerge quite differently and it is these differences that play a major role in their final identity outcomes. Richard Rubio’s Home Domain and Family Network Within the critical home domain of language use, Richard is exposed to gendered expectations for his Mexican cultural identity through his family network consisting of his father (Juan Rubio), mother (Consuelo), and sisters (Luz and others). Juan Rubio establishes the priority of his idealized Mexican identity as a patriarchal ex-Revolucionario who is self-educated, defends the rural working class. His mother Consuelo expects Richard to replace his father as patriarch through a prosperous career choice. Richard’s sisters do not present him with identity expectations but rather the opportunity to enact the patriarchal model his parents expect. Juan Rubio values education as part of his identity as a Mexican male and will therefore support Richard’s access to his intellectual pursuits. Being self-taught, Juan values and defends the education his son receives through book-learning: “Blind? Bah! The boy is learning to see by reading in the poor light.” And he turned to Richard and said, “Learn, my son. Learn all you can in the English, for next year by this time we will be in our country, and your knowledge will be of great benefit to you. Of course, I want you to learn our language also. What a shame it would give me if we arrived with our people and they would think I had a brute for a son.” (96) Juan Rubio’s expectation for his son’s bilingual development and education is in service of his own Mexican identity. The more learned and fluent Richard is in English and Spanish, the more proud a Mexican man Juan will be upon his return to

80 México. Richard’s identity as a Mexican male is based on a formal education and Spanish-English bilingualism, in the eyes of his father. Therefore the influence of American culture on Richard’s identity development challenges Juan Rubio’s Mexican identity through the very facets that compose it: education, language, and patriarchy. When Juan Rubio is vexed by Richard’s breaking of curfew and voiced discontent with his father’s expectations for his life, Juan blames the education he is receiving at school (130). Unable to engage with the possibility that Richard’s platform against the expectations of Mexican patriarchy he has modeled for his son are organically Richard’s, Juan points to school as a site where American culture influences his son’s behavior and opposition. Similarly, once English begins to infiltrate his house, Juan Rubio must contest it as a clear marker of the American cultural identity that is now affecting his family’s Mexican identity. Without any prompt we are privy to, Juan Rubio demands, “‘Silence!’ …. ‘We will not speak the dog language in my house!’ ... ‘But this is America, Father,’ said Richard. ‘If we live in this country, we must live like Americans’” (133). Juan’s roaring demand for silence, his refusal to identify the English language by its proper name, and his reference of its subhuman quality reveal his ideological resistance to its use within his home and family in dramatic fashion. Juan counters his son’s proposal for linguistic acceptance and adaptation of English in order to survive and participate in the US with an example of his experience of English as oppressive to his identity: “‘Hahm an’ ecks,’ his father interrupted. ‘You know, when I was in Los Angeles for the first time, before your mother found me, all I could say in the English was hahm an’ ecks, and I ate all my meals in the restaurant. Remember! What makes you think I have to remember that I am not in México?’” (133). And when his daughter echoes her teacher’s melting point ideology and claim to an American identity, he responds: “‘You are an American with a black face? Just because your name is Rubio does not mean you are really blond’” (133). Juan interrupts Richard’s discourse on language and nation in order to share an alternative perspective. He signals the hardship he has suffered through the imposition of English as the American dominant language and effectively discounts the possibility of an American identity based on race, relaying

81 that it trumps even the most rehearsed linguistic allegiance. The English language proficiency and education Juan Rubio once championed for Richard’s identity becomes the means through which his Mexican cultural and national identity is contested within the family and gives him reason to rebuke its exposure, access, and validation within the home domain. Linguistically, it is Consuelo who anchors Richard in Spanish throughout his identity development. With no other character do we receive as conscious a reflection via Richard or the narrator of Spanish language use within the home and Richard’s internal contexts. After Richard returns from confession he unsuccessfully explains his confusion to his mother: “‘He asked me if I liked to play with myself, and I said yes, and he was angry.’ With his limited knowledge of English, the translation into Spanish was a literal one, and she did not fully understand his meaning’” (35). Miscommunication between Consuelo and Richard is signaled through the use of English. Consuelo chastises him and sends him away to his father for indicating that he has some knowledge of inappropriate behavior or “play” with girls (35). Eight-year old Richard is here Spanish dominant with receptive English skills. He understands the priest’s literal use of the English language but not his metaphoric formulation for extricating information about his sexual development and behavior. Consuelo refuses to participate in Richard’s linguistic and cultural translation, marking her adherence to a Spanish dominant identity and relationship with her son. Consuelo is the guardian of Spanish in the home domain and family network. Upon being chased there (by Zelda), Richard seeks refuge at home. In front of her home, “Richard’s mother began to scold her [Zelda] in Spanish. The girl turned to her. ‘Shut up, ya sonuvabitchen black Messican! Shut up!’ Tears of impotent rage streamed down her dirty face” (68). Consuelo effectively disempowers Zelda even as the girl is attempting to discursively abuse her with racial slurs because her Spanish monolingualism protects her and thwarts Zelda’s English linguistic violence. When an English speaker, Mary, does enter this domain, Consuelo is able to protect her home by marking her as a cultural other:

82 Richard was reading in the bedroom when his mother called him. “There is an americanita outside, son. I think she wants to see you,” she said. He ran out and brought her in by the hand. “It is the protestantita, Mamá. Her name is María, and I am going to show her my books.” “She is very skinny, this one,” said his mother aloud. She cannot possibly be any good for bearing children, she thought. Mary stood speechless with wonder as Richard and his mother spoke to each other in Spanish. “My mother says that you are welcome and that this is your house,” Richard told her. “My house?” she asked dumbly. This was an entirely new world to her. She had a sudden urge to make her excuses and flee. “She means to make yourself at home,” he said, feeling suddenly sorry that she could not speak their language. (72-73) Consuelo’s initial identification of Mary requires her English name be changed into its Spanish equivalent. Because of Consuelo, Richard can effectively translate not only Mary’s identity to fit his mother’s linguistic and cultural paradigms for the home but feel pride in the recognition of his bilingual skills and identity as Mary requires assistance in navigating their home space. Consuelo is therefore the gatekeeper to English language in the home and maintains her relationship with Richard and his dominant linguistic identity at home, in Spanish. More so than Juan, Consuelo specifies her identity expectations for Richard as patriarch through his future socioeconomic status. A discussion about gender roles in México and the US leads Richard to ponder: But he did not say this to her, because his thoughts suddenly switched into English, and it occurred to him that his mother always followed rules and never asked the why of them. ... Back in Spanish, he remembered what she had just said about the professions, and knew that she wanted that for him and the family more than any other thing, with the possible exception of the priesthood. (62)

83 At this point we realize that English has become the language of Richard’s internal dialogues, and only through this language can he question his mother’s adherence to Mexican cultural norms. However, even within his internal dialogues, Consuelo’s voice remains in Spanish, indicating the depth to which he identifies her and his role in the family as a future professional with a Mexican cultural identity. Consuelo goes on to audibly verify her expectations of Richard’s role as the future patriarch of the family: “But all this reading, my son,” she asked. “All this studying-surely it is for something? If you could go to the university, it would be to learn how you could make more money than you would make in the fields or the cannery. So you can change our way of living somewhat, and people could see what a good son we had, and it would make us all something to respect. Then, when you married and began your family, you would have a nice home and could be assured that you would be able to afford an education for your children.” (63) Consuelo clearly expects Richard to follow the model of Mexican cultural patriarchy revealing her dependence on him for the family’s socioeconomic survival and esteem. From Consuelo, Richard receives a materially based expectation for his identity as future patriarch of the family. After Consuelo’s confrontation with Juan and dismissal of him as patriarch, her remaining emotional frustration spills onto her children but Richard explains and defends Consuelo’s emotional outburst to his injured siblings, offering a generous final interpretation: “‘She doesn’t mean it the way it sounds,’ he said to them, in English. ‘She’s very lonely, and a little heartsick, and her jealousy makes her proud—too proud to admit that she wants Papá back. That is all—try to understand her as long as you remain with her.’ He changed his speech into Spanish without pause. ‘I go now, Mamá’” (186). Richard’s unconscious codeswitching between English with his sisters and Spanish with his mother indicates the progression of his bilingual identity and practices, where such behavior is automatic and natural. Richard speaks his final words in the novel to Consuelo, in Spanish. Through Consuelo, Richard successfully develops a bilingual identity because she has been a successful protector of the linguistic and cultural domain in her home. Consuelo

84 proposes a model of a Mexican identity for Richard that is similar to Juan Rubio’s only that she is better able to keep him emotionally tied to it through her identity as a Mexican Spanish monolingual mother who needs the financial support of her son. He does leave home and his mother, but in Spanish and with a job. Richard is also able to play out the expectations of his Mexican identity as patriarch of the family through his relationship with his sisters. Although Juan Rubio and Consuelo are prolific parents, their daughters generally remain a nameless collective throughout the novel. His sisters prompt Richard’s recognition of the gendered sociocultural weight of his parent’s Mexican identity expectations as he reflects on his mother’s questioning of his father’s patriarchy: “Then, suddenly, clearly, he saw that she, too, was locked up, and the full horror of her situation struck him. He thought of his sisters and saw their future, and, now crying, he thought of himself, and starkly, without knowledge of the words that would describe it, he saw the demands of tradition, of culture, of the social structure on an individual” (95). This is a commonly cited passage used to signal Richard’s problematic relationship to his Mexican cultural heritage and identity, specifically as an indication its future negation.42 However, I use it here to note that his sisters (along with his mother) trigger his thought processes and frustration about having to negotiate this identity with the other cultural influences he is receiving outside the home. His sisters represent this plight exactly because they have no agency or place in this negotiation as Richard can and does have. I do not argue that this recognition exonerates Richard from any responsibility in contributing to his sisters’ unidentified role within the family and their future. In fact, Richard allows for this to continue through his actions. Upon returning to a disheveled home he begins ordering his sisters: “He was angry

42 See Juan Bruce-Novoa, “Pocho as Literature,” Aztlan 7.1(1977): 65-71, Daniel Gilden, “Pocho y la Identidad del Chicano.” Espéculo: Revista de Estudios Literarios. 25(Nov. 2003-Feb. 2004). Web. 5 April 2008, Rafael F. Grajeda, “José Antonio Villarreal and Richard Vásquez: The Novelist Against Himself,” The Identification and Analysis of Chicano Literature, ed. Francisco Jiménez (New York: Bilingual Press, 1979) 329-357, Manuel de Jesús Hernández-Gutiérrez, El Colonialismo Interno en la Narrativa Chicana: el Barrio, el Anti-Barrio y el Exterior (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 1994), Genaro M. Padilla, “Chapter I: The Pocho’s Failure to See,” The Progression from Individual to Social Consciousness in Two Chicano Novelists: Jose Antonio Villarreal and Oscar Zeta Acosta, Diss. (University of Washington, 1981) 6-65, and Timothy S. Sedore, “Solace in Solitude: An American Adamic Alienation and José Antonio Villarreal Pocho,” LIT: Literature Interpretation Theory 11.2(2000): 239-59.

85 and impatient, and his voice was harsh. ... He turned to his little sister again and said, “‘Go!’ She jumped to her feet and ran out the door. The girls came into the house one by one. There was a frightened look in their faces, and they immediately began to clean the house. They knew what he wanted, for this was not the first time this had happened” (146). The little girl’s immediate reaction signals a learned response, indicating Richard’s behavior is of repeated occurrence. Richard’s sisters indeed begin cleaning the house, but this does not temper his anger, which turns to violence and is directed at the one named sister, Luz, because of her defiance of his orders. Richard implements the Mexican patriarch identity that his parents have proposed for him in his relationship to his sisters, revealing that he has retained this cultural value throughout his development. At home Richard has exposure to, access to, and validation of a Mexican cultural identity primarily modeled by his father, supported by his mother, and followed by his sisters. As the patriarch of Richard’s family, Juan Rubio models a Mexican cultural identity based on the values of education, rural working class and indigenous racial heritage. He is unable to preserve all aspects of this identity for himself and Richard due to Richard’s American linguistic and cultural education as well as Consuelo’s rebellion against Mexican gender norms. Consuelo attempts to keep Richard’s Mexican identity safe from American cultural influences, as Juan does, because she never engages with English and is ultimately more successful in influencing the compliance of Richard’s bilingual and identity development. Richard’s sisters are doubly exposed to this identity model as their brother takes on the airs of patriarchy while adapting these identity influences. Richard’s home language and identity experience must be negotiated with the de-valuation he has experienced and accessed to at school. Richard’s School Domain and Network School is the principal domain through which Richard is introduced to the English language, and inevitably the site where Richard’s home language and identity are challenged. The adults guiding his education in school primarily negotiate his linguistic and cultural identity, beginning with his elementary school teacher.

86 Richard’s intellectual curiosity leads him to inquire about unknown English words he encounters in his home and community domains: It [his family’s home] had been a store at one time, and faded lettering was still legible on its high front. “CROCKERIES” and “SUNDRIES,” it read. Below that, in smaller lettering, “Livery Stable.” The “sundries” had bothered him for a long time, until finally, one day, he asked his teacher what “soondries” meant and she did not understand him. When he spelled the word out for her, she laughed and told him it meant “a great many things.” She then taught him to pronounce the word. Although he liked his teacher, he never forgave her for laughing at him, and from that day he was embarrassed whenever he was corrected by anyone. And when he daydreamed in class and she asked, in exasperation, “Richard, of what are you thinking?” he answered, “Sundries.” He waited patiently for the day he would run across the word when reading aloud in class, and when that day came, it was before a different teacher, and instead of the elation he had anticipated, he was left with a curious dissatisfaction. Now, as he stood before his house, he pronounced the word almost soundlessly. He was afraid of being caught talking to himself. (34) Richard’s inability to pronounce or spell the word according to his teacher’s Standard English expectations prompts his teacher’s laughter, which although seemingly innocuous, has a deeply negative effect resulting in an unresolved grudge, internalization of mockery, and an emotional and mental distancing from the most important relationship Richard will have during his schooling. Richard’s experience with English in the school domain is one that permeates his sense of sense as a simple vocabulary word becomes heavily imbued with fear, rejection, and shame for him as a burgeoning English speaker. As he progresses we are told: “At school, Richard was the favorite of his teachers, because his old-country manners made him most courteous in contrast to the other students. He was also a good student, and stood near the top of his class without seemingly trying” (103). When inevitably compared to his classmates, Richard is held in high-esteem because he embodies a rural working-class and Mexican cultural background through his courtesy and manners. His intellectual

87 and scholarly abilities are secondary to these facets of his identity, and we are led to question how vigilant and attentive teachers are to the discipline and effort his educational achievements require: And the adviser in the high school, who had insisted he take automechanics or welding or some shop course, so that he could have a trade and be in a position to be a good citizen, because he was Mexican, and when he had insisted on preparing himself for college, she had smiled knowingly and said he could try those courses for a week or so, and she would make an exception and let him change his program to what she knew was better for him. She’d been eating crow ever since. What the hell makes people like that, anyway? Always worried about his being Mexican and he never even thought about it, except sometimes, when he was alone, he got kinda funnyproud about it. (108) When attempting to prepare Richard for his future and identify adequate career goals the counselor disparages his interests in higher education, exemplifying her need to fit his identity into the socioeconomic stratification that produces and maintains white middle-class Americans. As a first-generation student and brown working-class Mexican she attempts to limit his career possibilities to trade work or manual labor. Richard rebels and re-inscribes his Mexican working-class identity as intellectually capable and deserving of higher expectations. The adult educators Richard accesses through school expose him to limiting interpretations of his Mexican cultural and working-class identity. Richard also faces contestation of his Mexican cultural and racial identity by his classmates. After asking his bully why he picks on him, “he [Richard’s bully] told him because he was Mexican and everybody knew that a Spaniard was better than a Mexican any old day, and Richard told him that his father said that in Spain if a guy had a burro, he was a king; but he did not know what Richard was talking about” (41). Richard experiences an inversion of the Mexican versus Spaniard racial prejudices his father has used to help define his identity and is made the target of incessant disparaging remarks about his Mexican racial identity and cultural practices (for example, the type of food he eats). However, Richard always directly counters the

88 cultural and racial discrimination he faces by validating his identity the way it has been validated by his family at home. As his bully “started saying things to him to make everyone laugh, like, ‘Why don’t you go home and eat some tortillas,’ and Richard told him he had just finished eating, and anyway he did not see anything funny about it, because he liked tortillas better than bread any old day” (41-42). The confidence his parents instill in Richard as a Mexican allow him to feel victorious after these confrontations: “He did this with a sense of triumph, because he felt he had defeated them by enduring their contempt and derision openly. For almost a year, he had purposely eaten where he could be easily observed, refusing to be driven into hiding because they laughed about the food he ate” (47). Although Richard is exposed to attacks on his Mexican identity at school he consistently validates it through public demonstration of his cultural practices. As an adolescent returning to night school after a hiatus of fulfilling his role as bread-winner for the family, Richard encounters classmates that do validate his Mexican cultural identity, but in their own terms and for their own uses: And it bothered him that they should always try to find things in his life that could make him a martyr of some sort, and it pained him when they insisted he dedicate his life to the Mexican cause, because it was the same old story, and he was quite sure he did not really believe there was a Mexican cause—at least not in the world with which he was familiar. They thought him very interesting some more, and showed him off, but they made the mistake of thinking him a child, and in the end it turned out badly, because one of them, a Marxist, became very middle-class when he found Richard in bed with his extremely pretty wife. (175-176) Richard rebels against his classmates’ focus on his identity as a physical synecdoche for his entire culture and race. They expose him to their discourse on social justice, which requires that lived experience be re-categorized to fit their sociopolitical desires. Their inappropriate expectations and uses of Richard’s identity throw him into a politics of representation with which he refuses to engage. He therefore turns to his

89 sexual prowess in order to excise the contradictory nature of not only their differing class positions, but the hypocritical nature of his classmates’ discourse. As a microcosm of the cultural, racial, and class tensions of the diverse socioeconomic and political context of US Southwest migrant communities in the 1920s-40s, school is the first domain where Richard encounters the immediate contestation of his Mexican identity. He must negotiate the exposure he receives to dominant cultural values and the de-valuing of his heritage and background. This is difficult for the key networks of access to educational pursuits and influences are through adults and classmates that definitely rely on ideologies of American socioeconomic stratification. Interactions with his classmates reveal that as a child and adolescent Richard finds he must defend his Mexican identity from outside negative interpretations. He at once defends his Mexican cultural identity through affirmation of his heritage and home development even as he rejects simplistic overgeneralizations that turn him into the representative of an entire culture and race. Richard’s Peer Networks and Community Domains Some of the most formative friendships that Richard has throughout the novel are with women. The first are two white Anglo women, Zelda and Marie, who could not be more different at every level. Zelda is the town tomboy and bully that more than once physically beats Richard. Mary is a proper Protestant daughter who shares Richard’s affinity for reading and writing. With Zelda Richard has a sexual outlet and is able to enact the dominance of Mexican masculine social norms outside of his home and culture; Zelda becomes a vehicle through which Richard can dominate physically. In one of the most difficult scenes to read in the novel, it is Richard who instigates Zelda’s loss of authority and dominance over Richard’s friends and himself through sex. Richard admits his ultimate selfishness in prompting her sexual relations with the group: “I didn’t care about them, but I wanted it, and that was the only way I could get it” (142). Once Richard has overcome Zelda’s physical dominance and threat, he goes on to dictate the terms of her behavior: “She responded to his newfound and now ever present dominance, and made token resistance to his whims only because it pleased him that she occasionally showed spirit” (143). Zelda is aware of Richard’s

90 expectations for her as his girlfriend and future wife, fulfilling them willingly. Richard’s relationship with Zelda therefore is one where Richard develops his Mexican cultural expectations of male sexual dominance. In Mary, Richard finds an intellectual equal because her interests run with his as an avid reader and writer, someone with whom he can introspectively share his linguistic development and identity. Richard tells Mary that he cannot remember consciously learning Spanish because it is natural as his first, but he is able to explain his conscious development of English: “I don’t remember. Talking this way was hard to learn, though. You want to know something? ... A long time ago, the Spanish was the only way I could talk. Then I went to school, and they taught me to talk like this. I’ve been trying to teach my father and mother to talk English, but I don’t think they really want to learn” (73). He makes English the foreign and difficult language, inverting her ideology that Spanish is “other,” strange, and unnatural. He further informs Mary that English is not a coveted or required part of his identity at home as he reflects on his parents’ resistance to learning English. In his two most important female friendships then, Richard is able to cross-culturally enact his expected Mexican gender role and norms through the English language. Richard is exposed to cultural and racial diversity he cannot access at home by the male friends that compose Richard’s peer network at school and within his community from childhood to adolescence. His primary circle of friends includes Ricky (Italian), Thomas (Japanese), Ronnie (white American Protestant), and for a brief period of time João Pete (Portuguese). There are other Mexican boys that compose this group though they remain unidentified in order to highlight the diversity Richard is exposed to during his development. When discussing and comparing leg hair growth with Ricky: “Richard tried not to show how uncomfortable he was. ‘Nah, not me. Indians aren’t hairy like Eyetalians’” (110). Richard’s discomfort stems more from embarrassment of his hygiene practices as evidenced by his dirty legs, than identifying and embracing racial difference between Ricky and him. He identifies himself with indigenous ancestry to justify the contrast between their physical development since acceptance of racial difference is the norm with his friends. Later,

91 when Ricky tells Richard of his future plans: “I hafta work with him at first, but after the whole thing will be mine. He told me that himself. I’m going to get myself an American name, ‘cause Malatesta’s too Dago-sounding. I’ll change it to Malloy or something” (111). Richard is upset and surprised at Ricky’s decision to legally change his name and registered social identity. He challenges his friend’s need to take on another racial identity that he dislikes based on a stereotype for economic betterment, revealing his desire that Ricky keep the identity that his friends have always embraced. Sharing his family’s forced migration to an internment camp, Thomas tells his friends: “I’m an American, just like you guys. I just come to say goodbye, ‘cause we gotta go away to a relocation center in a few days” (181-182). Despite temporary awkwardness with Thomas’s Japanese identity in light of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Richard’s friends embrace him as part of their group. Richard goes on to secure vengeance for the hate crime Thomas suffers. Amongst his friends then Richard encounters racial and cultural acceptance that allows him to keep his Mexican identity as part of a multicultural and ethnic collective. Richard only experiences insecurity in his identity through language when he is among other Mexicans. Upon meeting a recent migrant from México—Pilar— Richard becomes self-conscious of his Spanish: Once, she giggled as he spoke and he flushed, for he knew she was laughing at his Spanish, which was a California-MexicanAmerican Castilian. “I am a Pocho,” he said, “and we speak like this because here in California we make Castilian words out of English words. But I can read and write in the Spanish, and I taught myself from the time I had but eight years.” “It matters not,” she said. “I understand you perfectly well.” (165) Explaining his language use as representative of the American cultural and national influence in his identity development, Richard is able to embody this narrative and accept “Pocho” as a type of Mexican American identity. Although sensitive to Pilar’s perspective (which lead her to laughter), Richard’s description of his language declares its validity. He can explain it in this manner because he has come to accept and understand his language variety and use as part of his identity. This interaction

92 with Pilar indicates that those with Mexican identities lead Richard to most clearly demarcate his Mexican American identity. To a lesser degree, this becomes clear with the pachuco friends with whom he temporarily replaces his more Americanized childhood friends. Friendship notwithstanding, he has difficulty approaching them because of aesthetic and linguistic disparity: The most difficult moments for him were when he was doing the talking, for he was conscious that his Spanish was better than theirs. He learned enough of their vernacular to get along; he did not learn more, because he was always in a hurry about knowledge. Soon he counted a few boys as friends, but had a much harder time of it with the girls, because they considered him a traitor to his “race.” Before he knew it, he found that he almost never spoke to them in English, and no longer defended the “whites,” but, rather, spoke disparagingly of them whenever possible.... and felt strange because she [the girl he begins to date] was a Mexican and everyone around them was also Mexican, and felt stranger still from the knowledge he felt strange. (151-152) Amongst this group of friends Richard encounters layers of interpretation and consciousness of being both an insider and outsider because of his Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic identity. He accesses a different type of Mexican identity that is based on Spanish linguistic variation and anti-American racial politics. Through exposure to these friendships with different types of Mexican-based identities, Richard is able to further develop his own Mexican American identity. Through Richard’s multiple friendships then we see that his childhood and local friends offer a space for Richard’s linguistic and cultural identity as a Mexican American bilingual to exist without blatant racial discrimination. When such discrimination is faced, as exemplified by Zelda and Mary’s interaction with his mother, he claims his identity as a Mexican male and Spanish speaker. Only when faced with friends with similar cultural and linguistic heritage such as Pilar or the pachucos does he feel linguistic and cultural insecurity in his Mexican identity and Spanish speaking abilities but in light of this is able to claim and validate a Mexican

93 American identity. Richard’s friends are therefore a source of multilingual and multicultural normalcy in his identity. Richard’s peer networks reflect the multicultural and linguistic diversity of his communities located within and around Santa Clara, California. The town meetings Richard attends with his father “were conducted in four languages—English, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian—but as the group grew, it became increasingly difficult to maintain order” (48). Each language here represents a distinct migrant group and their recent arrival to the US. No one language is imposed and each group is respected as necessary participants in local politics. Because of the migratory status of Santa Clara’s inhabitants, separate cultural enclaves develop in which Richard can safely explore his Mexican identity. We know that as a child “Richard had Mexican friends … and sang Mexican songs, and danced typical dances, so that there, in the center of Santa Clara, a small piece of México was contained within the fences of the lot on which Juan Rubio kept his family” (43). As Richard grows so does the Mexican population in and around Santa Clara. When he is able to travel outside his local neighborhoods in Santa Clara, in which he is slightly more limited in his direct contact with other Mexican families because of their fieldwork and temporary residence, Richard is exposed to a diversity of Mexican identities. As he observes and interacts with these groups Richard further understands something that has typified Richard’s communities, namely “self-segregation as a means of expression” (150). Richard is exposed to Mexican identities that define themselves in reaction to and against dominant American culture that has repressed them in ways Richard has not experienced. Throughout the development of Richard’s hometown Richard has access and exposure to diversity within and outside of a Mexican cultural identity. Along with the exposure to racial and cultural diversity, Richard experiences the depreciatory perspectives on these identities held by the dominant American culture, specifically represented through officials of law enforcement. Richard’s first experience with the police is at a young age, when after witnessing a murder during a labor riot he is questioned: “The boy was frightened, and had difficulty phrasing his answer in English. … ‘I don’t talk English too good,’ answered Richard. ‘I almost

94 answered you in Spanish’” (59). Because Richard recognizes state power and the expected discourse he must produce as a Mexican and migrant, he explains his delay in not producing English by minimizing his language abilities. Richard displays the internalized knowledge of how he must relate his identity to the dominant American culture, doubly inverting these expectations since he does so to avoid betrayal of the people who instigated the riot. When questioned by the police a few years later regarding his relationship with João Pete, Richard effectively defends his own heterosexuality while articulating the term and concept of homosexuality the officer attempts to avoid (89). Richard becomes aware of the different manners in which his identity is vulnerable to state power because of its ideologies against minorities. Indeed he is exposed to racial profiling because of his Mexican identity. During his third, final and most formative experience dialoguing with the state Richard must defend himself and his friends from becoming scapegoats of a hate crime against a white American female (161-163). Richard does so by first questioning the officers’ ability to correctly and accurately identify nationality or citizenship through race and ethnicity, his eloquent discourse and competent rhetoric impressing the police officer enough to court him with a potential career in law enforcement. Richard is so upset after surviving this event that he pulls back all together from his identity, community, and social networks in a reflection of the reincarnation of oppression in humanity: Now, for the first time in his life, he felt discriminated against. The horrible thing that he had experienced suddenly was clear and he cried silently in his bed. In México they hang the Spaniard he thought, and here they would do the same to the Mexican, and it was the same person, somehow, doing all this, in another body—in another place. What do they do, these people? (163). While Richard is successful in placing his experience within a larger history of oppression that traverses national borders he begins to see the way that violence cycles through power relationships. Because his communities are made up of unwanted identities in the American dominant culture he must detach from that identity. Richard

95 is exposed to the de-valorization of his cultural, racial, and linguistic identity through this access to the dominant American society in which his communities are situated. In his immediate local communities Richard is exposed to multicultural and linguistic diversity that allows him to validate his Mexican American identity practices and development. He validates diverse identities not only within his Mexican communities but also the ethnic minority status of other migrant communities, which allows him to claim the American component of his identity. However, access to larger communities exposes him to the dominant pejorative views on his identity that effectively work to devalue his own sense of self. Reading Richard (and Villarreal) as Proto-Chicana/os Through my discussion of Richard’s identity development we have seen the variations of linguistic and cultural exposure, access, and validation he receives in his primary domains of language use and networks. Throughout the novel I find in Richard a constant investment in the negotiation of his identity so that the novel’s end is not as bleak as has been read. The literary criticism Pocho has received attempts to situate the novel within American literary history,43 highlight Richard’s journey as existentialist leading towards American individualism,44 and deal with the novel’s content and role in Chicana/o literature and history.45 Those critiques and readings that fall within the first two trends have a tendency to describe Richard and even Villarreal himself in terms of assimilation. I argue Richard retains the pride and valorization of the Mexican culture and Spanish language aspects of his identity offered as the primary base for his development in this home and family, which is also supported by his multicultural friend network and immediate surrounding communities. He is able

43 See Luther S. Luedtke, “Pocho and the American Dream,” Minority Voices: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Literature and the Arts 1.2(1977): 1-16, Timothy S. Sedore, and Carl R. Shirley, “Pocho: Bildungsroman of a Chicano,” Revista Chicano-Riqueña 7.2(Spring 1976) 63-68. 44 See Lupe Cárdenas, “Growing up Chicano—Crisis Time in Three Contemporary Chicano Novels (Pocho, Y no se lo tragó la tierra, and The Rain God),” Confluencia 3.1(Fall 1987): 129-136, Rafael Grajeda, Daniel Gilden, and Joe Rodríguez, “The Chicano Novel and the North American Narrative of Survival,” Denver Quarterly 3(Fall 1981): 64-70 and “God’s Silence and the Shrill of Ethnicity in the Chicano Novel,” Explorations in Ethnic Studies 4.2(1981): 14-25. 45 See Bruce-Novoa, “Pocho as Literature,” Hernández-Gutiérrez, Padilla, Juan Velasco, Los Laberintos de la Mexicanidad: La Construcción de la Identidad en la Autobiografía Chicana Contemporánea, Diss. (University of California, Los Angeles, 1995), and Saldívar Chicano Narrative.

96 to validate the American culture and English language he is exposed to and accesses within these same networks and domains. Although he finds resistance to the balance he achieves by the dominant society as expounded by state-sponsored authority figures within the school and larger community domains, he effectively defends his identity and never fully negates or rejects his Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic heritage and identity. He remains a Spanish-English bilingual to the end. Although he questions the gendered patriarchal model of the Mexican cultural identity proposed for him at home, he does work to fulfill his role as economic provider for his family. Leaving for the war guarantees his socioeconomic survival, as well as that of his family. Villarreal’s own description of the novel’s end is invested with aspects of group solidarity and commitment. He expresses his belief that Mexican, African, and Western European immigrants are historically unrecognized American pioneers and that the general population of the US “should be told we existed, and that we were human. That was the general side of the work, and I balanced that off with the specific story of Juan Rubio, which was the fall of man, and that of Richard Rubio, which was the hope of man. Affirmation of life comes from the fact that I did not allow Richard’s tale to arrive at a resolution” (Jiménez 69-70). Richard’s unresolved narrative ending is positive and hopeful for Villarreal exactly because Richard’s story amends the historical omission of ethnic minorities within the narrative of the US. As Saldívar notes: [T]he historical phenomenon of cultural consciousness expressed by later Chicano writers can become a reality only after Richard Rubio postulates his own identity as a new and different source of personal, cultural, and political consciousness. … Richard’s story is an operation of rectification, an attempted ontological restitution of values that have ceased to be effective in a new cultural, historical, and ideological space. (Chicano Narrative 70) Richard therefore does not need a clear resolution because as his father’s antithesis he is representative of change and the work of developing, balancing, and maintaining a Mexican based identity in the US.

97 Reading through Villarreal’s interviews with Jiménez and Bruce-Novoa, as well as his article “Chicano Literature: Art and Politics from the Perspective of the Artist” I cannot help but find key aspects of representational politics that the Chicano movement developed in Villarreal’s own words. Although Villarreal expresses resistance towards the term “Chicano” to describe and categorize his written work and vocation as a writer, it stems from what Bruce-Novoa defends as a justified skepticism of unjust interpretations suffered “at the hands of nonliterary critics” (38). Indeed, Villarreal’s responses in these interviews reiterate the need during the 1970s to develop adequate analytical paradigms to deal with the growing body of literature being produced by Chicana/os as well as a focused re-conceptualization of its definition. As the Chicano movement’s call for cultural productions centering on its communities was answered, Villarreal’s statements merit recognition as predicting what indeed has come to pass with the development of Chicana/o academic study and disciplinary fields. As Villarreal notes the changing definitional nature of the term “Chicano” itself throughout generations, he displays a pronounced solidarity with the US Mexican population: Today, of course, it has become a slogan, a political term of utmost validity. And it has come to mean “el pueblo mexicano en el extranjero, inclusive en Norteamerica.” Whatever we choose to call ourselves—Mexican-American, Latin-American, sometimes even Spanish American—we are Chicanos because we were born in America or came here at an early age. Yet it must be understood that for a majority of our people, our people here being those of our ethnic and cultural background, the term can never mean other than what it meant to us when we were growing up as second- or third-generation Americans. To us it was a term of endearment, very much like the word pocho, a term our parents used in those days when we were alone in a new country— alien, striving, expending our every energy merely to keep ourselves alive. This means, of course, that we who call ourselves Chicanos are a minority within a minority, and we as writers or scholars form an even smaller minority which pretends to speak for all our people. Nevertheless, the word “Chicano,”

98 because it was a term implying freedom and equality, a symbol for an end to inequities against all our people, whether they are with us or not, is dynamic and important. (“Chicano Literature” 161-162) Throughout this reflection on the term “Chicano” as a cultural identity, Villarreal constantly uses the pronoun “we” to indicate his self-inclusion with the communities represented by this term, simultaneously revealing a socio-political awareness and advocacy of these communities. Although I do not ignore Villarreal’s outright challenges to the term “Chicano” and the movimiento’s political agenda, I focus on these typically ignored declarations and statements because they support a rarely accepted proto-political reading of the novel and Richard. Villarreal instigated a necessary dialogue for the development of Chicana/o studies as he vied for transcendence of “the codes of the Movement as we create” (“Chicano Literature” 167) through his own words as cultural producer and his creative narration of Richard’s identity development. Having provided my reading of the first circumstantial bilingual protagonist of this chapter (and dissertation), we now turn to Richard’s counterpart, Guálinto in Paredes’s George Washington Gómez. Guálinto’s Home Domain and Family Network The naming of Guálinto has been given much attention, and rightly so, by scholars as representative of the identity conflicts Guálinto will confront during his development as a Mexicotexan.46 During his naming the members of his family network “offer each in turn a variety of symbolically loaded names for the child. Each option indicates an alternative narrative within which the child’s destiny might unfold” (Saldívar, The Borderlands of Culture 157). The context in which the childhood

46 See Lene M. Johannessen, “The Appropriate(d) Hero: Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez,” Threshold Time: Passage of Crisis in Chicano Literature, eds. C. C. Barfoot, Theo D’haen, and Erik Kooper (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2008) 81-99, María Josefina Saldaña-Portillo, “‘Wavering on the Horizon of Social Being’: The Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo and the Legacy of its Racial Character in Américo Paredes’s George Washington Gómez,” Radical History Review 89(2004): 135-184, Ramón Saldívar, The The Borderlands of Culture of Culture: Américo Paredes and the Transnational Imagination, José David Saldívar, Border Matters: Remapping Cultural Studies (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), and Leif Sorenson, “The Anti-Corrido of George Washington Gómez: A Narrative of Emergent Subject Formation,” American Literature: A Journal of Literary History, Critcism, and BIbliography 80.1(2008): 111-140.

99 nickname of Guálinto as the Mexican Spanish adaptation of his given name occurs foreshadows the influences Guálinto will receive at home from his uncle and father- figure Feliciano, his mother María, and sisters, Carmen and Maruca. Feliciano will need to constantly negotiate his racial politics against Gumersindo’s dying wishes and emotional politics as he prioritizes a Mexican cultural and Spanish language identity for Guálinto. María, enacting her gendered role as the Mexican mother and protector of the family’s values, will instill the Mexican values of respect and domestic privacy along with the Spanish language in Guálinto. His sisters serve as models for the negotiation of his identity as an English learner, student, and protector of the private home sphere once he enters public domains. Feliciano prioritizes Spanish as the language through which he will guide Guálinto’s development. We are privy to Feliciano’s internal conceptualization of the role Spanish plays in his worldview as he fixates on the word “mormon” while remembering his final interaction with his brother (18-19).47 The final syllable is textually adapted to represent Feliciano’s inability to accept it as an English word, varying between using the appropriate Spanish accentuation mark (“Mormón, mormón”) and capitalization of the final syllable (“MorMON, morMON”), emphasizing its pronunciation in Feliciano’s imaginary and memory in Spanish. Taking in the structural power relations at the diner where the serving staff and customers are Spanish-speaking, he cannot justify the lack of Spanish as the primary language in that domain wondering “why they didn’t say it all in Spanish” and wishing “they would say it all in Spanish” (19). Feliciano situates people’s language use according to their race and regional background as he differentiates the white American priest’s discourse on love and Gumersindo’s engagement with this discourse within the geopolitics of violence on the border he knows well.48 Feliciano’s distaste for the English language and preference for Spanish in all his domains of language use is based on his experience of racial violence and very locally situated to

47 Christopher Schedler aptly describes this as the way “words as signifiers become displaced from the objects signified and take on a materiality of their own” for Feliciano, and later, for Guálinto (165). 48 This is an instance that reflects what José David Saldívar refers to as “Paredes’s preoccupation with geocultural identity, representation, and the politics of location” (Border Matters 41).

100 his experience on the border. Because Feliciano will always make things fit into his expectations and desire for Spanish first, when it comes time for Guálinto to begin receiving compulsory education he wills its inception at home in Spanish by contesting María’s implication that he can already begin attending public school: “I know. But he will learn his letters the Gringo way. It is not the same. How good it would be if he learned to read in Spanish before that” (49). Feliciano begins Guálinto’s formal education in Spanish, establishing Guálinto’s Spanish literacy skills as cultural and linguistic protection from the dominant English language and American culture that will inevitably threaten his heritage and identity at school. Feliciano continues the protection of Guálinto’s Mexican linguistic and cultural identity by overseeing his entrance into public school. While overseeing Guálinto’s school registration, Feliciano efficaciously uses his own Spanish literacy to change Guálinto’s institutional identity. When asked Guálinto’s name during the registration process “Feliciano struggled with himself for a moment. Then he said firmly, ‘Guálinto. Guálinto Gómez’” and goes on to clarify its appropriate spelling and indigenous heritage (110). Feliciano effectively changes Guálinto’s name from what Gumersindo had originally wanted despite the fact that we know he can pronounce “Guáchinton” (109) and refuses to place Guálinto into the narrative of American national origins. Feliciano establishes Guálinto’s access to a Mexican identity by securing his first language to be Spanish even as he enters American English learning. In order to keep Guálinto with strong ties and access to his Mexican identity, Feliciano must educate him on how this identity differentiates from others, particularly the American. Recounting his own family’s loss of land and rights when the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed, Feliciano corrects Guálinto’s imagined response of combat by expounding the discourse of American (i.e. Gringo) law: “They tell you, these Gringos, ‘If you don’t like it here, don’t want to be American, get out. Go back to your own country.’ Get out? Why? Let them get out, they came here last. And go where? This is our country. This is our home. They made it Gringo land by force, we cannot change that. But no force of theirs can make us, the land’s rightful people, Gringo people.” (102-103)

101 Feliciano presents Guálinto with the history behind the geopolitical conflict over Texas land that he has lived and which Guálinto inherits. This history marks the Gringo as the true migrant and establishes Texas land as Mexican. Having given voice to the anti-Mexican sentiment that Anglotexans have, Feliciano goes on to clarify the relationship between "rinches" and Gringos for Guálinto (103). Guálinto, confused at the categorical difference between gringos and rinches, treats them as separate entities. Feliciano lumps all gringos into rinches, explaining that although the rinches have the particular job function of violence against the Mexican population, “the rest of them” Gringos benefit from their actions. Feliciano is therefore introducing Guálinto into his racial politics where white American = Gringo = Texas Ranger and the oppressors of Mexicans. Feliciano’s teaching of the cultural differences between México and America is through the discussion of Santa Claus: “Because your father lived in Mexico when he was a boy, and Santo Kloss doesn’t go to Mexico. He gives away toys just in the United States. … He is a Gringo saint, come to think of it. He speaks English only and he gives away gifts only on this side of the river” (104-105). Feliciano keeps the border as a marker of the clear cultural separation between México and US for Guálinto. He indulges Guálinto’s desire to hear about the fancies and gifts of Christmas time but emphasizes the difference in these positive aspects for Mexican and American children. Both Santa Claus (written as Feliciano pronounces it, which is decidedly not American English) and the Three Kings can only help celebrate the season holiday within the limits of their political nations, where Santa Claus is nationally and culturally bound only to Americans. Feliciano must educate Guálinto to these differences in cultural traditions so that he knows that he does not necessarily have access or rights to American traditions and handouts because of his Mexican identity. Feliciano therefore educates Guálinto on the way that he and others must be identified within his accepted paradigm and politics on race, culture, and religion. Guálinto is Mexican because of his heritage and ties to the land and will be a target of anti-Mexican sentiment by white Americans. The border defines a large part of the cultural and religious traditions Guálinto will see and Feliciano here highlights the

102 Mexican in order that Guálinto can access it even if he is on politically defined American land. María maintains Spanish as Guálinto’s home language and adherence to the Mexican cultural code of respect throughout his identity development. Saldívar notes that María cannot act outside her role as a Mexican mother within the novel (The Borderlands of Culture 178), and it is exactly because of this that Guálinto has access to the Spanish language and respect for his cultural traditions and manners as he grows up. Guálinto appreciates Spanish because of María’s linguistic production: “Extrañ-ñ- ño. What a pretty word. It felt like a piece of candy rolling back and forth in your mouth. That kind of rock candy that has many colors and tastes and that crumbles slowly in your mouth as you move it around with your tongue. It was a nice-tasting word—extraño” (84). Guálinto is enticed by the word his mother produces, as it is not only conceptualized as aesthetically pleasing, but orally pleasurable. The pronunciation of this word triggers Guálinto’s memory of the taste and texture of sweets as well as concentrated attention on the tongue’s movement required for its utterance. As a child Guálinto delights in the Spanish language that composes his mother’s monolingualism throughout the novel. Guálinto, and his siblings know that not only must they speak to their mother always and only in Spanish, but follow the rules she values as part of their Mexican cultural value system and identity. We know María keeps traditional Mexican cultural beliefs as she brings in a curandera to heal Guálinto’s illness and completely loses her composure when discovering that Maruca is pregnant. She also explicitly educates Guálinto on his manners and to not share what is discussed at home outside of the house (66). The children know that María’s rules must be followed in school as well for fear of further reprimand at home, which is what keeps Guálinto subjecting himself to the incredible torture he receives from his teacher (145). As Guálinto develops his identity through adolescence and adulthood, he never disrespects María’s ways. Upon his return home her overly emotional response is cut short as she finally meets Guálinto’s wife: María stopped wailing and said, calmly enough, “So this is your gringa.”

103 “What did she say?” Ellen asked, smiling. María’s face registered mock surprise, all traces of her fit of weeping gone. “Did she understand what I said? She speaks Spanish?” “You know she doesn’t, except for a few words,” he said. “But anybody knows what gringa means.” (289) María snaps out her devoted-Mexican-mother-awaiting-her-son’s-return enactment with the presence of Guálinto’s white American wife. She clearly addresses Guálinto in Spanish and through this exchange exposes her intentional slighting of Ellen. Guálinto however internally embarrassed does not challenge his mother overtly, accepting Ellen’s anthropological analysis of her culturally appropriate response (289). Later, wanting to rejoin Carmen and Ellen’s conversation María asks: “What are you two talking about?” “About Maruca’s babies.” “Guálinto was a darling little boy. But always getting into trouble. I’m sure Elena would like me to tell her about him.” (290) Having subtly expressed her dislike for Guálinto’s wife, she goes on to make sure she is in linguistic dominance of Ellen’s identity while in her home. She changes Ellen’s name to Elena in order to engage her on the topic of her son as a child, while she still held the role of important female in his life. Guálinto is fearful of what traditional aspects of his childhood she will reveal but does not censure his mother in any way, showing a strong tie to the code of respect and her ways even if they incur on his final identity. In the end then, it is María who through her cultural education for her children as Mexicans, keeps Guálinto speaking Spanish as an adult and conscious of, even if he is in opposition to, her cultural practices and values. Carmen and Maruca, as Guálinto’s older and only siblings, provide distinct models and influences for his identity at home. Carmen is essential to fostering Guálinto’s interest and perseverance in school as a model of English language and learning as well as duty within the family. We are told that Guálinto “liked to hear Carmen talk” and she “read stories and little verses from her school books to Guálinto, who was not yet in school. Guálinto liked the verses that Carmen was always chanting

104 through they were in English and he didn’t understand everything they said. He caught lines here and there and could say them himself, and that pleased Carmen” (84). By sharing her knowledge and exposing Guálinto to the English language at home, Carmen provides critical access necessary for Guálinto’s successful English language learning and educational development in school. Indeed, Guálinto never struggles with the content or language of instruction in school. So great becomes his appreciation of school that Guálinto is moved by deep sympathy to reciprocate educational support for Carmen when she must leave school to tend to her mother: “‘Remember when I was little,’ he continued, ‘and you used to read to me from your schoolbooks and sometimes you asked Uncle Feliciano for money to buy me books you thought I should read? I’ll get books for you now. And when I’m in the eighth grade I’ll lend you all my schoolbooks. We’ll study them together’” (154). Guálinto clearly remembers Carmen as an inspirational model and advocate for his education as a child even as he develops in adolescence. Although bittersweet, Carmen also models self- sacrifice and duty to the family that Guálinto will later attempt to employ. Maruca at once vocalizes and prompts Guálinto’s American and Mexican cultural value conflicts at home. When Feliciano is confused at Guálinto’s unexplained behavior on his way home, Maruca fills in for Guálinto’s silence, accurately interpreting his behavior as shame and embarrassment (156-157). Maruca expresses the layered shame Guálinto experiences through his conscious recognition of feeling mortified by his Mexican home because of the values of American materialism. After having been slighted by his ex-girlfriend, Guálinto reacts swiftly and aggressively to Maruca’s public interaction with her ex-boyfriend and chastises her: “‘You ought to be ashamed,’ he said, ‘running like that after a man. And him a Gringo too. Do you know what kind of women let themselves be seen with a Gringo in this town?’ … ‘A Gringo’s a Gringo and a Mexican girl is a Mexican. You were acting like a common soldier-woman’” (221). Guálinto’s reprimand is based on Feliciano’s racial politics and his mother’s cultural value of protecting the private home space from public scrutiny. Guálinto upholds and applies these Mexican cultural values through his interpretation of Maruca’s behavior as inappropriate given her gendered role as a Mexican woman who

105 should not be relating to a white American man. Both Carmen and Maruca provide critical input for Guálinto’s identity as a future successful English learner and student, as well as dutiful protector of the family’s Mexican cultural values and identity. Guálinto’s Mexican cultural and Spanish language identity is prioritized within his home domain and network. Feliciano cannot but establish the Spanish language and Mexican culture as the base from which Guálinto’s identity must develop when he must venture into school given his personal lived experience of racial politics and violence on the border. María’s status as an adamant monolingual Spanish speaker and Mexican mother keeps Guálinto tied to Mexican cultural practices throughout his adulthood as he can never disrespect or challenge her value system. His older sisters allow Guálinto to incorporate English language learning and American cultural resistance as he witnesses their own experiences as students and serve as models for navigating the home as private sphere outside this realm. Through his family interactions at home Guálinto is exposed to the Mexican cultural value system and Spanish language which he will need to defend once he begins to access the American cultural and linguistic systems. Guálinto’s School Domains and Network Paredes exemplifies the importance of Guálinto’s identity development in school by centering this section of the narrative as the third part of the novel.49 Its title, “Dear Old Gringo School Days,” immediately signals the school domain and network Guálinto will enter as the social, cultural, and political realm of white American Texas. In the larger national context of segregation, Guálinto’s school system necessarily employs strategies to deal with language and racial diversity that maintain some semblance of integration at the political level given the large influx of Mexican students into the elementary school system, one of which is referring to them as “Latin Americans” (116-118). The layers of prejudice and weighty concerns surrounding identifying students through language is evidenced in this discussion, where Paredes goes so far as to focus on the distasteful mechanics of enunciating Mexican identities

49 Crystal Parikh notes that “Paredes’s depiction of George centers largely on his education” given the educational system’s reflection and goal of American racial, economic, and social stratification as an ideological state apparatus (263).

106 in English. It is no surprise therefore that within the school domain and networks Guálinto’s linguistic and cultural identity as a Mexican will be most severely challenged. The introduction to Miss Cornelia, Guálinto’s first teacher and caretaker, is situated in the aforementioned discussion, foreshadowing her tyrannical relationship to and constant attacks on Guálinto’s identity through language.50 When asked to write out the alphabet as part of his language arts education, Guálinto’s linguistic written production is questioned: “‘What is this?’ demanded Miss Cornelia. ‘Why did you write down these letters?’ She red-penciled the CH, the LL, and the Ñ. ‘This is not a Mexican school. These letters do not belong in the American alphabet. Do it all over again, and this time do it the way you were told!’” (123). Instead of valuing and praising what Guálinto is able to do, which is successfully write out the alphabet, Miss Cornelia disparages Guálinto’s home schooling and Spanish literacy by demanding an explication of its inappropriate presence in an English-only task, context, and culture. The Spanish language as representative of Mexican culture and identity is in direct confrontation with the English language, as representative of the American culture and identity Guálinto must develop in school. Having begun to deconstruct Guálinto’s Mexican identity through his home language literacy skills, Miss Cornelia goes on to target its presence in his English pronunciation when he explains the mathematical formula “1+1=2”: “‘Eckles?’ cried Miss Cornelia derisively. ‘ECKLES?’ Though she knew that he meant ‘equals.’ ‘Sit down, Eckles, and don’t think you know everything. One plus one is two, Mr. Eckles’ … From then on his name was Eckles and he hated Miss Cornelia just a bit more” (125-126). As an English language learner Guálinto reveals traces of his home language when speaking in class. The teacher again disregards any content-based knowledge Guálinto clearly owns, or the opportunity to provide a learning moment for Guálinto and his classmates by recasting the word “equals.” Instead, it is mockingly recast as Guálinto’s name and identity in class, leading to a deep affective change in Guálinto’s attitude towards his teacher. Having

50 For María Josefina Saldaña-Portillo, Miss Cornelia is “another example of an annexed Mexican in the text who strives toward assimilation into U.S. character” and because only few are allowed this recognition by the nation she “takes it on herself to miseducate the annexed Mexican children in her charge, or rather to properly educate them on their distance from acceptable, civilized character” (155).

107 been educated to express and own his identity through the Spanish language and Mexican cultural norms, Guálinto writes his name as he is taught to by Feliciano: “When she got his paper Miss Cornelia called the class to attention and informed them that Guálinto had married a gentleman named García and that now he was Mrs. Guálinto G. García. The class really appreciated that one. It was slightly tinged with sex and those jokes are the best” (126). This mockery is not only “the best” (and here of course I read best as worst) because it contains slights on Guálinto’s sexuality, but because it is targeted at the very essence of his sense of self. His very identity is targeted as a point of humiliation as his instructor undermines the knowledge base gained at home regarding his being, using his name in Spanish to critique his sexuality and gender. When Miss Cornelia is made aware of the true origin of Guálinto’s name, she again renames him for insidious purposes of humiliation. Never explaining this switch, his classmates misinterpret her action as validation and follow suit: “They [his classmates] began calling him George Washington outside of class, as a new and flattering nickname. But he knew Miss Cornelia was taunting him, and he came to hate his name, as well as the real George Washington who was supposed to be the father of his country. At times he even hated his dead father for having given him that Gringo name” (137). The constant assailing Guálinto receives on his personhood and identity from his teacher leads Guálinto to foster a great resentment towards his Mexican heritage, language, and identity. Unfortunately the teacher is successful in leading Guálinto to question himself through her incessant attacks. His experiences in English at school then are deeply infiltrated by a negation of his home language and upbringing, which adds to his difficulties in growing up as a bicultural individual. Being marked at such an early stage of his education with this conflict and social psychological battering, Miss Cornelia’s attack on Guálinto’s identity through school form the base for his ultimate change in identity. Within the domain and networks of school Guálinto will undergo a series of experiences that will indelibly effect the stability of his Mexican identity because it is

108 a site where Mexican identities must be relabeled and can be changed.51 In school then, Guálinto can and will be given the possibility to change his identity and as an adolescent coursing through high school Guálinto must develop a discourse that contests the discriminatory practices against his Mexican identity. At school he first identifies himself as a Mexican in order to not be identified as a Spaniard by his debate partner: “‘I’m not Spanish,’ said Guálinto stiffly. ‘I’m a Mexican’” (161). This foreshadows the collective and decisive confrontation of his identity as a Mexican by his girlfriend and establishment policy during their graduation party. After racializing and denying Guálinto’s Mexican classmates entrance into the restaurant where they would celebrate their graduation: The bouncer was looking at Guálinto with interest. “Are you Mexican?” he asked. “I am,” Guálinto answered. “He’s not,” María Elena said, tugging at his arm. “He’s a Spaniard. Can’t you see he’s white?” “I’m a Mexican,’ Guálinto said. María Elena released his arm. … Mildred Barton came up, her face as pink as her evening dress. “What’s the trouble?” she inquired. “They won’t let us in,” Orestes said. “Because we’re Mexicans,” added Guálinto.” (173) When offered the opportunity to racially “pass” as a Spaniard with María Elena as a complicit witness, Guálinto clearly denies it; he announces the racial discrimination to his teacher when she comes to investigate the delay. This is the moment that his friends will later cling to in hopes of his return to their ranks in defending their community of Mexicans because this moment solidifies their collective solidarity: “There was now a marked division between the Anglo majority and the four Mexican members of the senior class. … For what was left of the semester Guálinto, Elodia, Orestes, and Antonio Prieto stayed together and rarely spoke to anyone else outside of

51 Through the discussion of Guálinto’s tragic first romantic relationship with María Elena Osuna, who inherits a Spanish identity through her grandfather who “was no longer a Mexican,” we know that all who speak Spanish and are of Mexican descent do not necessarily retain that identity since wealth can change one’s race (138).

109 class. … Guálinto, usually talkative in class, spoke little and only in answer to a teacher’s question” (177). Guálinto’s identity here is first cemented as part of a larger group or community. The “four Mexicans” in the student body console Guálinto after a breakup, which results when Guálinto refuses to engage in the racial politics in which María Elena is clearly involved. Guálinto is deeply affected by this moment, refusing to participate as he once did in school. Therefore at graduation it is no surprise that he reflects on the racial discrimination enacted upon Mexicans by Anglos, with an unfortunate outcome for his family: He thought how there had always been an Anglo blocking his path to happiness, to success, even to plain dignity. An Anglo had taken away his girl, an Anglo had ruined his sister. Because of the Anglos he would never find decent work. And even when his uncle had made a few dollars, an American banker had stolen most of them. … At least, [his family] had not embarrassed him by coming tonight. (273) At the end of his school career Guálinto is overcome by the presence of anti-Anglo- American sentiment as the source of his individual turmoil as a Mexican. He has been subjected to the racial discrimination of the country and becomes overwhelmed by its presence to a point of futility. Such hatred cannot be appropriately channeled by him and therefore turns towards his family as a site of release. His embarrassment foreshadows the leaving behind of his Mexican identity because of it being a target for Anglo discrimination. Through school Guálinto experiences the racial politics of American society. As a child he is subjected to constant attacks on his Mexican identity through his language and although he is able to fight back as an adolescent, the scars of such emotional and psychological injuries seem to run too deep. At school he has access to and use of the English language, but only at the expense of his Spanish language and Mexican heritage, neither of which receive validation within this domain. School therefore runs in contrast to the exposure, access, and validation of his Mexican identity at home. This is further accentuated by his future experiences as a young adult facing the racial discrimination against Mexicans that marks his environment.

110 Guálinto’s Community Domain and Friends Guálinto’s neighborhood provides a safe space for his Mexican identity. Feliciano’s destination point for the family’s relocation is Jonesville because of its renown as a culturally familiar space for Mexican migrants: “For more than half a century Jonesville remained a Mexican town, though officially part of the United States. A few English-speaking adventurers moved in, married into Mexican landowning families, and became a ruling élite allied with their Mexican in-laws. But Spanish remained the language of culture and politics, and Mexican money was legal tender in local commerce” (36). Feliciano is drawn to Jonesville because of its embedded and contemporary Mexican sociocultural ambience. Although exogenous marriages have occurred, Jonesville is clearly a town where Mexican culture and Spanish language are dominant. Within this Mexican enclave Guálinto grows up with reinforcement for his Mexican identity fostered at home. Even as a child however he is exposed to a general fear and knowledge of state violence when he witnesses a neighbor’s murder: “The law! The words pulsed in Guálinto’s head. Half-pronounced, they set his throat throbbing. The law. He pushed himself deeper into the clump of weeds. They would come. They would take him away, pushing him along in front of them and cursing him. Then they would beat him to make him tell all he knew. They would make him a witness. The horror of the word struck him like a blow” (57). This traumatic experience physically produces terrible guilt and fear, which are triggered by the Spanish use of the word “law.” We come to appreciate the depth of this pronounced reaction through Guálinto’s body and imaginary. Conceptually, Guálinto has learned from his community what this word comes to mean in a very immediate and physically threatening way even if he does not yet have full discourse on its nature. Guálinto takes pride in his community because it is where he can relate to insiders and feel protection from outsiders. It is clear that those who enforce the law are “others” to this community. During a moment of being teased at church he is identified by his neighborhood: “Guálinto bristled just a little at being called a rowdy; being tough was the Two Twenty-Twoer’s greatest pride. Yet he did not like the way the two boys looked at him. … He felt an urge to trample the little ‘gentleman’ into

111 the dirt. Then his hate drained away, leaving him weak and crushed. … Then they turned from Fourteenth Street into the Dos Veintidos, and he felt better” (61-63). Despite the fact that Guálinto is being teased and is upset at the racial and class differentiation his teasers subject him to, he is still proud to be part of his neighborhood. He cycles through deep anger that dissipates the moment he begins to enter his neighborhood, indicating that Guálinto’s neighborhood is a peaceful safe- haven for his Mexican identity. We also know that within his community Guálinto is able to enjoy Mexican cultural traditions through church sponsored events: “Anyway, it was a good show, and it filled quite adequately a certain empty spot in the Mexicotexan’s life. … Thus the kermesse re-created the basic characteristics of the Mexican city plaza and the border ranchero’s función, or country festival” (213). A common source of support for his Mexican cultural identity is his community and its local events. We also know that through his community María is able to find his first teacher and curandera. Guálinto’s community is a space where Mexican identities can survive even if they are targeted as unwanted by the larger community in which they are segregated. Guálinto has access to Mexican cultural traditions and norms that help him feel secure in and supported by the identity being shaped at home through his neighborhood and Mexican community. Guálinto’s community however, is not safe within the dominant society in which it is embedded. Through identities that are influenced by the dominant American sociopolitical system as well as the economic context of the Great Depression, Guálinto is exposed to anti-Mexican racism that ultimately prompts a detachment from his Mexican cultural and linguistic identity. As Guálinto grows up, Paredes introduces more and more commentary on the nature of identity politics for Mexicans in Texas. Before Guálinto and his classmates are rejected from their own graduation party, Paredes’s narrator describes the town to which they travel: “Whatever the predominantly white citizens of Harlanburg might think of Mexicans as a race, they recognized their potentialities as a source of local color. Time was when tourists were told in Harlanburg filing stations, ‘Don’t go any further south. There’s nothing between here and the river but Jonesville, and it’s just a dirty little Mexican

112 town’” (171). The local outsider’s disparaging perspective on Guálinto’s town centers on the Mexican identities it houses as a population that must be ignored and only worthy of exploitative attention such as occurs at La Casa Mexicana. Through the narrative technique of unidentified character speech (literally placing these words in the mouths of unknown outsiders), Paredes situates the dialogue on Mexicans’ experience within the US in the larger sociopolitical context of labor exploitation and poverty. Before the effects of the Great Depression are felt in Guálinto’s hometown, the hearsay is reflected upon by his community: “The Mexican laborer, who had subsisted on tortillas most of his life, wondered how people who could afford biscuits and bacon could be so poor. He heard how people in the big cities were lining up to receive free soup and bread because of the Depression, and he would joke with his friends, ‘I wish what they call the Depression would come down here so we could get some of that’” (195). The Mexican laborer’s ominous words work in a two-fold fashion: first to unsettle the reader with insider knowledge of the inevitable reality this character and his community will suffer once the economic crisis arrives to Jonesville and secondly to sarcastically reflect on the normalcy of poverty for this community. Paredes places these disembodied comments into direct dialogue that exemplify the power relationships between the benefactors of American dominant society and those discriminated against such as Guálinto’s Mexican community. The list of racial attacks on Mexicans in the US is revealed throughout four pages of a series of dialogues concerning the vulnerable positionality of Mexicans according to their race, migratory status, and poverty, to name a few (196-200). Harvey K., as a representative of current-day ideology on Mexicans, becomes an expert at extolling the virtues of Mexican culture within the paradigm of American racism. Embodying the insidious discourse that creates the “conveniently dual personality” of the Mexicotexan where this identity is praised only in as much as it can be exploited and rejected when it is not beneficial for the US’s socioeconomic system, it is no wonder that Guálinto’s internal monologue at graduation is one of despair. His initial and final experiences of school are marked with the infiltration of racial discrimination and harmful ideologies of American dominant society that rejects his community.

113 Guálinto is able to find comfort in his community from these outside influences through his main community network, which is made up of his childhood and school friends. These include Elodia, Orestes, Antonio, Francisco and El Colorado. Each friend offers Guálinto examples of solidarity through their similar yet varied Mexican identities. Orestes is the first friend Guálinto makes at school and he situates Guálinto to the nature of his teacher’s character as well as the reading materials he will encounter in his classroom, providing him with vital information to prepare him for the challenges he will face (14-15). Elodia is the one who reclaims and names their collective identity as “los cuatro mexicanos” in high school, providing along with Antonio and Orestes, the psychological and social support Guálinto requires to surpass his breakup and the racial discrimination they encounter. Although El Colorado is unable to continue on with Guálinto in traditional school, he teaches a lesson in humility by outlining the importance of Guálinto’s continued education: “‘Our people will need us here. It’s time we quit being driven like sheep by the Gringos. And you are the one who can be our point man.’ … ‘You’re full of anger inside. All of us are, but you can speak out about it. You have that gift. You can get people to listen’”(250). El Colorado not only protects Guálinto while they are together in school as an older brother would, he also extols Guálinto’s individual and collective social responsibility towards their community. Guálinto is able to refocus his Mexican identity and cultural values when he compares their situations and decides to cut back on his work hours in order to get back into his studying (253). Guálinto is also able to appreciate the variety and scope of Mexican identities as exemplified by his defense of Francisco: “There you go again,” complained El Colorado. “Why can’t you talk plain castellano like everybody else?” Francisco smiled. “I’m talking Castilian, Colorado.” “Aw,” said El Colorado, “you’ll never learn.” “He was born in Mexico,” Guálinto said in Francisco’s defense. “That’s the way they talk down there” (131).

114 Guálinto can defend Francisco against Colorado’s rebuke because he has come to understand that the way Spanish is spoken can indicate a difference in the regional heritage of a Mexican. Guálinto’s friends are a large reason that he is able to get through his difficult school experiences and feel safe in his communities as a Mexican. Guálinto’s neighborhood and friends are rich sources for the sustenance of his Mexican cultural and Spanish language identity. He nourishes the communal aspect of his identity through the social and personal relationships within his community domain and network. Although the larger social context of the Great Depression and dominant American racism in which his neighborhood is situated infiltrates his critical school and even work domains, he is able to find refuge in his community and especially friends. Therefore it is through his final interaction with them when he returns to his neighborhood that we come to learn just how dramatically he has changed and share in the betrayal of his Mexican identity. Guálinto and Paredes as Acceptable Proto-Chicana/os Ultimately Guálinto turns his back on his ethnic and linguistic upbringing by rejecting his Mexican and Spanish language identities. Although during the reunion with his friends he expresses his lack of concern or desire to advocate for the Mexican community in which he grew up, it is his uncle Feliciano who clearly and directly discovers his true new identity. George must adhere to his Mexican cultural norms when Feliciano reproves him for offering a cigarette: “With the flustered look of a child caught misbehaving, his nephew dropped his cigaret and ground it out with the toe of his shoe. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said” (299). George cannot but follow the code of respect with his uncle having broken it in the past. Feliciano still has that sway over George, so much so that he can get his nephew to confess his career and ideology: “‘Then you see no future for us.’ ‘I’m afraid not. Mexicans will always be Mexicans. A few of them, like some of those would-be politicos, could make something of themselves if they would just do like I did. Get out of this filthy Delta, as far away as they can, and get rid of their Mexican Greaser attitudes” (300). George completely negates any hope for the advancement of the Mexicotexan community, which he disparages with a pejorative term. The only way he can see that some of his friends

115 can succeed is to assimilate fully into American society and negate their identities as he did. Feliciano goes on to inquire about Feliciano’s wife in order to gauge the depth of George’s negation of his Mexican identity: “Does your wife know Spanish?” Feliciano asked. “No. Just a few words. But Carmen is translating for Mama and her. I’m sure they’re getting along all right.” “Is she learning Spanish?” “No. There’s no reason for her to. We won’t be here that long.” “What about children. Do you plan to have any?” “There’s one on the way. And I suppose we’ll have others. But if you mean whether they will learn Spanish, no. There’s no reason for them to do so. They will grow up far away from here.” (301) It is through his discussion of the Spanish language that George solidifies his complete rejection of his Mexican identity. He negates it for his wife and their future children. Because he no longer identifies with his Mexican cultural identity he has no need to pass on its language. Feliciano must end the discovery of George’s identity rejection by bringing back the memory of his father’s wishes in order to remind George of the manner in which he has not fulfilled his “greatness” to his Mexican “people.” Many of the scholars writing on Guálinto’s development throughout the narrative accept his assimilation at the novel’s end as unavoidable and to a certain extent, determined by his environment. Tim Libretti understands Guálinto’s story as a tragedy intended to represent “the dangers involved in the seduction of Americanization” for Mexican-Americans during the era in which Guálinto develops (126). Paredes tell us that this was indeed part of the novel’s goal: “I tried to represent through Guálinto Gómez how members of this new middle class were trying hard to assimilate” (Saldívar The Borderlands of Culture 124). In coupling Guálinto’s narrative with Richard’s I was intrigued, pondering why Guálinto is read and accepted as assimilationist within Chicana/o identity politics when Richard is derided for his much more ambiguous and inconspicuous stance. I would agree with Crystal Parikh’s observation that “[w]hile much has been written about Américo Paredes’s exploration

116 of identity and hybridity in the Texan The Borderlands of Culture” in George Washington Gómez “critics have generally not commented on the significance of the protagonist’s decision to become a spy at the novel’s end” (263). Guálinto’s final return as his “assimilated persona”52 George is tempered by Paredes’s introduction to this final chapter with the description of adult George’s dreams. Hectór Perez describes them as “accentuating Guálinto’s difficulties in coming to terms with himself” (12) while María Josefina Saldaña-Portillo suggests that contrary to what George intends, the “G.” in his new legal name “stands for Guálinto, as it is the resistant Indian character of his youth who haunts the adult George, not the patriot of the Potomac” (156). Both these statements exemplify the hope read into adult George’s nightmares as a reflection of a yet unaccepted change and continuous internal conflict. Although Paredes himself explains that this “deeply seated conflict was supposed to be foreshadowed by his dreams as described in part 5” this scene was in service of an alternative/extended version in which he would indeed “change his mind about assimilation” and return to his hometown “a reborn Guálinto” fulfilling his father’s dreams that Paredes ultimately did not decide to write, deeming it “much too sentimental” (The Borderlands of Culture 124). Likewise, the narrative gap in the years that cover Guálinto’s college years, explained by Paredes as his inability to personally relate to his protagonist’s experience,53 allows for exoneration of his ultimate disavowal of Mexican heritage, community and identity as all we see is the final discrimination he experiences when meeting his Anglo father in-law (283-284). Interestingly, Paredes’s negation of George’s reformation and editorial decision to keep George “what he was, a follower” is not enough to alter sympathy towards Guálinto’s final outcome. I believe Guálinto’s final identity outcome, lacking ambiguity, is accepted as assimilationist given the field’s critical emphasis on historical, social, and political

52 Paredes’s own words as included in Saldívar’s transcription of Paredes’s recorded reflections on his life’s work (The Borderlands of Culture 123) 53 Paredes explains: “The problem was that though I could send Guálinto Gómez to the University of Texas, I could not go with him. I had never been to Austin or a university campus. The closest thing to a college campus I had ever experienced was the Brownsville Junior College“ (The Borderlands of Culture 123).

117 contextualization for the analysis of cultural productions, which did not exist during or after Richard’s debut. As Paredes finally published the 1940 manuscript of George Washington Gómez in 1990, the field of Chicana/o studies was better equipped to critically engage its history. Paredes himself was already well-established within the further developing field of Chicana/o studies as his published scholarly and creative work centered on the US Mexican population; his curriculum vitae proclaiming an easily identifiable alliance with the precepts of contemporary Chicana/o studies and the Chicano movement.54 While Sorenson and other scholars have centered “the battle of form” in their analysis of the novel, Saldívar describes it as more of a social history (115, personal communication). Indeed, a majority of the scholarship on this novel centers on analyzing and fronting its historical emphasis.55 Equipped with these new paradigms for cultural critique that were not afforded to Villarreal or his work by the Chicano movement, the literary criticism on George Washington Gómez can successfully recognize the sociohistorical and political contribution of Paredes’s work. Within this particular context then, Guálinto is more readily accepted as a proto- Chicana/o. Reflecting on the term itself, Paredes explains his experience and use of “Chicano”: A number of critics have gotten interested in my verse lately because they think it reflected an early interest in community identity that Chicanos would later develop more fully, using for the most part different literary techniques. I used mostly the very well-known traditional techniques. But I saw, of course, the relationship there. That’s why I have called myself a proto-Chicano. Except that the word Chicano was not used in that way at the time that I first started

54 Please see Cida S. Chase, “Américo Paredes.” Chicano Writers.Third Series, eds. Francisco A. Lomeli and Carl R. Shirley (Detroit: The Gale Group, 1999)182- 193 as well as María Herrera-Sobek, “Américo Paredes: A Tribute,” Mexican Studies/Estudios Mexicanos 16.2(Summer 2000): 239-266. 55 To garner the variety of ways the narrative form of George Washington Gómez is described and analyzed (which includes modernist, naturalist, heavily influenced by the corrido tradition on which Paredes focused much of his scholarly work, proletarian, and historically in light of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and US lore) please see Johanssen, Libretti, Pérez, Saldaña-Portillo,Schedler, José David Saldívar, Ramón Saldívar The The Borderlands of Culture of Culture, Sorenson, and Roumiana Velikova, “Américo Paredes’ George Washington Gómez and U.S. Patriotic Mythology,” Recovering the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage, Vol 5, eds. Kenya Dworkin y Méndez and Agnes Lugo-Ortíz (Houston: Arte Público Press, 2006) 35-54.

118 writing. I knew the word Chicano as an affectionate way of saying mexicano. (The Borderlands of Culture 134) Reading his critics’ readings, Paredes accurately provides his own conscious reflection of his role in relation to the Chicano movement and contemporary Chicana/o studies. Realizing the shared thematic and concern with identity politics, Paredes asserts his “proto-Chicano” role as scholar and cultural producer. He must however qualify what and how this identity marker has come to mean for him: “In those days, the vernacular expression we used for Mexican American was not Chicano but pocho” (The Borderlands of Culture 135). As reclamation of an originally derogatory term, Paredes goes on to state that, “I decided that I was going to call myself a pocho and be proud of it. [laughter]” but with the trend and popularization in identity politics that favored Chicano in service of honoring Mexican indigenous heritage he switched because “it was just a matter of using Chicano instead of pocho” (The Borderlands of Culture 135). Paredes’s laughter throughout this transcribed reflection indicates a lighthearted acceptance of the changing and dramatic nature of Chicana/o identity politics. Like Villarreal, he outlines that “Chicano” itself has had its own developmental history and as a signifier must also be contextualized when applying and analyzing its use. Paredes further clarifies his specific usage of the term: I’ve always used the term Chicano itself in the political sense. I call myself a Chicano when it’s a political matter. Otherwise, I prefer to think of myself as mexicano. Of course, I applauded the Chicano movement, and I encouraged it. I got to know many of the first generation of Chicano activists pretty well. … I was arrogant enough to think of them as my intellectual children. Of course, they had started on their own, but I think I did influence them to a certain extent. (The Borderlands of Culture 135) Again reflecting a similarity to Villarreal’s consciously strategic use of the term “Chicano,” Paredes shares his preference to predominantly identify as “mexicano.” Interesting to note is that throughout Paredes’s discussion of the term “Chicano” he interjects his role in anticipating the concerns of the Chicano movement. The two become unavoidably linked in his imaginary because he recognizes their relationship

119 as he reflects upon his life’s work. He is therefore able to claim his role as a major influence and anticipatory figure without hesitancy and like his protagonist, receive acceptance as a proto-Chicana/o. Conclusion Upon comparison of Richard Rubio’s and Guálinto Washington Gómez’s identity development we find that both share similar backgrounds as first-generation American-raised Mexicans with working-class backgrounds. During their early childhood development both are invested with high career and identity goals from their families. For Richard this means becoming the patriarch of the family and for Guálinto this means becoming a leader of and for his community. In terms of race, Richard receives a dichotomy of Spaniard versus Mexican primarily from his father who emphasizes the indigenous in their identities as Mexicans. The racial dichotomy shaping Feliciano’s socialization of Guálinto replaces the Spaniard with the white American Texan. Both Richard and Guálinto’s mothers are the relationships that cement their Spanish speaking skills and identity. Neither Richard nor Guálinto speak to their mothers in English even as they begin to develop their skills and identities in and through this language. The sisters of Richard and Guálinto allow both characters to enact cultural values and traditions of their Mexican identity as males. Each character is encouraged to succeed in their formal education although not at the cost of sacrificing Mexican identity cultural values received at home. Through examination of each characters’ home domains and family networks then we see how the bases for Mexican cultural, racial, and linguistic identities are set. We must appreciate the intricacies of what ideas they are exposed to about their Mexican identity in order to understand how they negotiate them outside the home. As they grow and mature, both must traverse the American school system that introduces them to the English language and American dominant society. Here Richard gains access and exposure to the larger social commentaries about his Mexican identity and what American identities are. These take shape in conflictive interpretations of his Mexican identity by non-Mexicans. The adults that make up his network in the school domain only read his Mexican cultural identity as a hindrance to

120 his educational achievement. When his identity is validated it is only in light of its appealing cultural traditions fitting within the established American identity paradigm of social stratification. His classmates confront him and challenge his identity through bullying as a child and over-racialization of the Mexican heritage from which he comes. He however contests all of these readings his Mexican identity because it has been securely validated through his home. Guálinto’s experience at school is much more traumatic and detrimental to the development of his Mexican identity. At school he is tyrannized as a child by who should be his primary caretaker in the classroom, his teacher. Assaults on his language cause him to internalize devaluation of his Mexican identity socialization. Once he matures he is able to revalidate his identity through school by accessing the discourse of inequality and discrimination achieved through questioning his school materials and classmates. The racism he encounters in the classroom also allows him to solidify a common identity with his other Mexican friends. The American identity he begins to develop in this domain incipiently prepares his disavowal of a Mexican self. At school both Richard and Guálinto encounter challenges to their Mexican identity through the need to embrace the English language to survive their education and with it negotiate the American cultural influences that instruct them. Both characters grow up in predominantly Mexican communities that are housed in larger communities of a dominant white American middle-class population. As children they are supported by their community experiences to develop their Mexican cultural identities. Richard encounters discrimination that unsettles his Mexican and American identities through his interactions with the police where he is the target of their racial profiling and interrogation. His community is linguistically and culturally diverse because of its migrant populations and therefore he can negotiate an American identity without ever completely negating his Mexican identity. Guálinto on the other hand always has his community’s fear of the violence they are the target of as Mexicans. He is safe and supported by his Mexican community and neighborhood but all the residents know that they are ultimately not protected against violence because it is enacted by the state itself. The difference between living on the

121 contested border between México and US is palpable in the type of violence against their Mexican identities Richard and Guálinto fear they will experience. This is one of the major reasons that Guálinto cannot negotiate a Mexican identity in any capacity towards the end of his identity development. Richard leaves behind his role as the Mexican patriarch of his family but not much else. Although Richard and Guálinto’s final identity outcomes are similar in that they remain open for interpretation, Guálinto offers no hope for the development of a Chicana/o identity based on negotiation of his Mexican heritage and raising. Richard may leave behind certain aspects and values of his Mexican identity, but does so without ever negating its continued presence in his memory and practice. As proto- Chicana/o characters both Richard and Guálinto merit examination of the narrative development of their identities. Evidenced by their author’s own words and reflected in literary and cultural criticism, Richard and Guálinto also represent the manner in which Chicana/o identities were read and re-read according to their particular time- space. The novels, their criticism, and their creator’s reflections are layered with multivalent and changing terms used to describe their identity development, which work to position Richard in a more demanding paradigm of expected Chicana/o identity work. This is not to say that I therefore advocate a more demanding and harsher interpretation of Guálinto in service of Richard’s redemption. I merely wish to highlight the manner in which our work as Chicana/o cultural critics can and should be historiographically mapped by our criticism and analysis of texts. For this particular chapter, reading the readings of both characters adds to my argument for the necessary inclusion of the bilingual continuum in our conceptualization of Chicana/o identities in order to expand our paradigms of contextualization onto language in Chicana/o studies, especially cultural productions. Richard and Guálinto quite frankly share many of the same circumstances when we compare their upbringings and as I have done, outline the exposure, access, and validation they have within their bilingual and bicultural environments. Their differing treatment within criticism and narrative literary placement within the growing body of Chicana/o literature speaks to our responsibility of re-inscribing recovered narratives of Chicana/o identity with equal

122 validation and acceptance. As Carmen Fought states, “Even where two speakers might identify as members of the same ethnic group… their life histories may lead them to construct ethnicity in strikingly different ways, so that their use of language in reflecting and reproducing elements of their identities varies accordingly” (40). As examples of “strikingly different” Chicana/o identity outcomes and acceptance, Richard and Guálinto serve as models for the need to continuously question and broaden our idealized conceptions of Chicana/o identities. Accepting the complexity of bilingual development allows us another lens through which to better engage historically and politically the seemingly incongruous Mexican American identities as proto-Chicana/o. Reclaiming both these character’s linguistic and cultural development within a continuum of not just bilingual development but Chicana/o identity broadens the heterogeneity and diversity within our fictional and scholarly, as well as our civic communities.

123 Chapter Three “Doing Being a Bilingual-Chicana/o”: Choosing and Maintaining Bilingual Chicana/o Identities in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo Introduction The issue of hyphenation became an unexpected concern in this chapter’s title. To hyphenate orthographically results in a joining of two words for a combined meaning; to hyphenate an identity results in a metaphorical joining of two influential and pivotal heritages (usually ethnic56) that inform an active identity. This linkage, both orthographic and metaphoric, can be interpreted as validation of what may seem to be differing fragments of an identity. Charged with this potential to highlight difference even as it represents fusion, the hyphen is perfect for this chapter’s concern with the joining of Chicana/os ethnic and linguistic identities. Instead of asking whether Chicana/os should hyphenate their identities as Mexican Americans, I transpose the concerns raised by the presence of a hyphen onto the linguistic identities of Chicana/os. Equally important to this chapter’s argument is the concept of “doing being” with which the title begins. Building on Peter Auer’s work on “doing being bilingual” Ana Celia Zentella applies this phrase to describe the linguistic strategies that Latina/o bilinguals employ.57 These two verbs coupled together in their present progressive tenses emphasize the simultaneity of bilingual ontology.58 Bilinguals enact their bilingualism through their language use or choices while owning these practices as part of their identity. “Doing” bilingualism is inherent in “being” a bilingual. To

56 “To hyphenate or not?” becomes a controversial question for ethnic minority populations when defining and representing the cultural heritages that influence their identities. However, it can and has also been negatively interpreted by outsiders and non-hyphenates as an ideological refusal to integrate into the larger political nation in which a minority population resides. The presence of a hyphenated identity impinges on melting pot ideologies that wish to neatly subsume and ultimately erase any cultural difference in their populace. Although current minority identity politics has trended away from using the hyphen, this little punctuation mark remains a topic of concern. 57 Peter Auer originally uses “doing being bilingual” in his book Bilingual Conversation. Zentella’s adaptation of this concept for Latina/o communities can be traced throughout her work, most notably in her book Growing up Bilingual, and article “‘José, can you see?’ Latin@ Responses to Racist Discourse.” 58 Inspired by Michel Holquist’s work to dispel the theoretical assumptions and basis of upholding monolingualism as a global norm, I use “ontology” with his recognition that it is an “over deteremined term” but for my argument in particular, it allows us to begin discussing the nature of doing and being a bilingual (24).

124 return to the chapter’s title then is to ask how does a Mexican American “do” a bilingual Chicana/o identity? In this chapter we will therefore look at the issue of language choice, use, and maintenance for circumstantial bilingual Chicana/os. This chapter follows my discussion of the factors that influence the development of a linguistic and cultural identity in Chapter Two. Pocho and George Washington Gómez serve as examples of the ambiguous nature of bilingual and Chicana/o identity formations in decades prior to the Chicano movement, where the term “Chicano” itself does not quite yet exist as a political, much less redemptive, entity. As proto-Chicana/os, Richard and Guálinto anticipate the conflicts the Chicano movement will have to come to terms with during the formation of their nation and its articulation as a familia. Having looked at the issues that are present for bilingual and cultural identity development then, this chapter moves us into the issues present in choosing and maintaining a bilingual and Chicana/o identity in Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy (1971), Arturo Islas’s The Rain God (1984), and Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo, o puro cuento (2002). I begin with an introduction to the texts, followed by a discussion of language choice, use, and maintenance. Reviewing the factors that influence and contribute to bilingual stability at the community level allows us contextualize our individual protagonist’s modes of doing being their bilingual Chicana/o identities. This will be the backdrop onto which I will present my analysis of the novels. Unlike Pocho and George Washington Gómez, Barrio Boy will emerge as a representative text of the Chicano movement’s idealization and re-vindication of the Chicana/o identity59 and of the manner and reason Spanish is maintained as a sign of Mexican heritage and ethnic pride for the Chicana/o. In The Rain God we will see how intergenerational transmission determines the inheritance of racial and class ideologies through language for the protagonist Miguel Chico and his generation. And finally in Caramelo we will see how bilingual and Chicana/o identity is embraced as a

59 Because of Galarza’s renown for his work on advocating for the migrant Mexican communities in the US through labor organizing as well as scholarship on immigration, he came to be known as a pioneer and dean of Chicano studies. Antonio Burciaga dedicates a chapter in Drink Cultura to Galarza’s influence on early Chicano movement students such as his family noting: “To us Galarza was a giant. We read his work as college students.… No one has ever expressed more eloquently what a Chicano is” (130).

125 type of Mexican identity through Celaya’s intricate bilingual abilities. Together, these novels reveal the expansive diversity of bilingual Chicana/o identities if and when bilingualism is recognized for its pivotal role in their expression. Chapter Texts Ernesto Galarza’s Barrio Boy offers itself as a clear counterpoint to the ambiguity of bilingual Chicana/o identity represented in the novels of the previous chapter. This is because Galarza recreates himself as a completely self-assured bilingual and bicultural Mexican in his autobiographic narrative.60 Galarza’s adherence to a Mexican identity becomes obvious in the text’s preface where he emphasizes its almost too-confident expression: “I, for one Mexican, never had any doubts on this score. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know who I was; and I have heard much testimony from my friends and other more detached persons to the effect that I thought too highly of what I thought I was. It was to me unlikely that out of six or seven million Mexicans in the United States I was the only one who felt this way” (1-2). Galarza offers his narrative as a positive example of when growing up bilingual and Mexican goes right. I chose to include this text in order to truly understand what factors are represented that allow for this undoubtedly secure Mexican-based identity. Galarza presents Ernie’s development as the “true story of the acculturation of Little Ernie” (2). Ernie’s Mexican enculturation is followed by a successful American acculturation that proves compensatory to make up for the millions of individuals who could not embrace Chicana/o identities. The distinct set of circumstances that work for Ernie’s successful development as a bilingual and US Mexican will be my focus. As almost two-thirds of the narrative focuses on Little Ernie’s migrations through México and only the last third addresses what could be

60 The extant literary criticism on Barrio Boy is minimal and typically identifies the work generically as an autobiography. Although I do not disagree with this description, I prefer to use “autobiographical narrative” in order to emphasize its crafted nature as a representation and cultural production. Please refer to the following works for analysis of Barrio Boy as autobiography: Gilbert Cardenas, “Barrio Boy by Ernesto Galarza,” International Migration Review 7.2(Summer 1873): 203-205, Lauro Flores, “Chicano Autobiography: Culture, Ideology and the Self,” The Americas Review 18.2: 80-91, Antonio C. Márquez, “Self and Culture: Autobiography as Cultural Narrative,” Bilingual Review/Revista Bilingüe 14.3(Sept. 1987/Dec. 1988): 57-64, Ramón Saldívar, Chicano Narrative: The Dialectics of Difference (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990), Juan Velasco, Los Laberintos de la Mexicanidad: La Construcción de la Identidad en la Autobiografía Chicana Contemporánea, Diss. (University of California, Los Angeles, 1995).

126 said to be the most complex time for his “acculturation” as a newly arrived American immigrant, even structurally we are shown that the emphasis for Ernie’s identity development is always located firstly in his Mexican enculturation. Through this enculturation Ernie can prosperously incorporate American cultural and English language influences for his bilingual Chicana/o identity. In the mid-1970’s the manuscript of Arturo Islas’s first novel, Día de los muertos/Day of the dead, met with lukewarm reception among East Coast publishers incapable of dealing with its explicit queer and ethnic content.61 Almost a decade later Islas’s reworked novel entitled The Rain God: A Desert Tale had received academic and literary recognition. In the novel, the matriarch of the Ángel62 family endows her favorite grandchildren with advice derived from her life experience: “‘Just remember to have respect for your parents,’ Mama Chona told Miguel Chico and his cousins in her beautiful Spanish, ‘and everything will be all right’” (163). Through this seemingly appropriate and simple piece of advice, Mamá Chona begins to educate her family, transmitting her own language and class ideologies. Indeed, Miguel Chico, the primary focalizing63 character metaphorically describes himself as a plant throughout the novel, speaking to the influence that Mamá Chona’s and his family’s words have on Miguel Chico and his generation. The Rain God serves as a model of Chicana/o narrative that focuses on the intersections of language and generational change. The emphasis on linguistic ideologies as revelatory of socioeconomic and racial elitism within The Rain God implicates its readers in accepting and understanding the contradictions of a bilingual and bicultural Chicana/o identity. The concept of intergenerational transmission of language is acutely upheld even when fictionalized. I

61 For further information of the novel’s publishing and editorial trajectory please refer to Frederick Luis Aldama, Dancing with Ghosts: A Critical Biography of Arturo Islas (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), José David Saldívar, “The Hybridity of Culture in Arturo Islas’s The Rain God,” The Dialectics of our America (Durham: Duke University Press, 1991) 114-126, and Karen E. H. Skinazi, “Out of Personhood, Out of Print: Cultural Censorhship from Harriet Wilson to Arturo Islas,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 115-138. 62 Spanish accentuation is not used in the novel. Therefore, within direct quotations from the novel I will use Islas’s orthography but use Spanish accentuation in my own references towards characters (especially for Mamá Chona, Félix, María, and Ángel family). 63 Paula Moya describes focalization as a narrative technique that “refers to the mediation (the prism, perspective, or angle of vision) through which a story is presented by a narrator in the text” (185).

127 expose the transmission of language ideologies and through them the processes by which hierarchies of socioeconomic status and race are produced within the novel. As we shall see, language, race, and class hierarchies are present in the first (foreign- born) generation and, through academic as well as cultural education (educación),64 they are transmitted to subsequent generations. Each family member in turn negotiates this linguistic upbringing inevitably integrating language hierarchies into individual worldviews. As Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano has commented, Caramelo, o puro cuento by Sandra Cisneros is “a novel about language.”65 Indeed, for the protagonist Celaya, bilingually is the primary way in which she experiences her world and enacts her Chicana identity. Her family’s constant migration to and from México fosters this embodiment: “As soon as we cross the bridge everything switches to another language. … Every year I cross the border, it’s the same—my mind forgets. But my body always remembers” (17-18). The bridge is a representation of the geographical and national border she routinely crosses alongside her family. These crossings trigger physical memories of the required shifts Celaya must make to navigate her bi-national, -cultural, and -linguistic reality. These shifts encompass her entire identity as a bilingual Chicana as she must redefine herself on each side of the border. As part of our “Pilón”66 at the end of the novel Celaya describes her place as a bilingual Chicana: “And I don’t know how it is with anyone else, but for me these things, that song, that

64 Recall discussion on Valdés’s differentiation between linguistic and cultural differences between “education” and “educacion” in Chapter Two, page 78. 65 Personal communication. Certainly, much of the available literary criticism on Caramelo mentions, if not centers, on language. Please see Bill Johnson González, “The Politics of Translation in Sandra Cisneros’s Caramelo,” Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies 17.5(2006): 4-19, Gabriella Gutiérrez y Muhs, “Sandra Cisneros and Her Trade of the Free Word,” Rocky Mountain Review 60.2(2006): 23-36, Juanita Heredia, “Voyages South and North: The Politics of Transnational Gender Identity in Caramelo and American Chica,” Latino Studies 5(2007): 340-357, Eleazar Ortiz, “La Lengua y la Historia en Dos Escritores Latinounidenses: Sandra Cisneros y Miguel Méndez,” Divergencias: Revisa de Estudios Lingïísticos y Literarios 2.2(2004): 81-90, Margaret Randall, “Weaving a Spell,” The Women’s Review of Books 20.1(Oct. 2002): 1-3, Antonio Torres, “Heterogeneidad Lingüística e Identidad en la Narrativa de Sandra Cisneros,” Espéculo 41(March-June 2009), and Lisa Wagner, “Ni Aquí, Ni Allá: Lenguaje e Identidad en Caramelo,” Espéculo 37(Nov. 2007 Feb. 2008). 66 Gabriella Gutierrez y Muhs defines this chapter as “the ‘little bit extra’ that merchants give their clients and which Cisneros in a culturally relevant and polite manner fits into our shopping basket of letters” (27).

128 time, that place, are all bound together in a country I am homesick for, that doesn’t exist anymore. That never existed. A country I invented. Like all emigrants caught between here and there” (434). Reflecting on the emotional and physical memories of México triggered by listening to a Mexican song while in the US, Celaya realizes there is no tangible geographic nation to which she belongs as an “emigrant” that has moved from an unspecified “here” to “there.” This lack of specificity in identifying the country of origin and habitation is the novel’s contribution to Chicana/o identity politics. Because of the shifting nature of Mexican heritage identity, Caramelo offers a transnational Mexican identity, where Mexican ethnicity is displaced from a fixed national setting. As the narrator, Celaya offers a beautiful example of what “doing being a bilingual Chicana” is through her language use. Language Choice, Use, and Maintenance As we have seen in the previous chapters, there are a multitude of factors at the individual, group, and societal levels that influence the development of bilingualism. Once factors coincide to prompt the migration of a group of language users into close geographical proximity with another group of different language users, a language contact situation is created. The development of bilingualism from situations of language contact will be dictated by patterns of language choice and use, that is, how these groups begin to incorporate and configure both languages into their lives as individuals and within their communities. The maintenance of languages in a bilingual community largely depends on the relationship between both languages’ usage and can offer insight into the survival of each language and the stability of bilingualism in said community. In the previous chapter I examined the exposure, access, and validation that two characters negotiated in their domains of language use and networks in order to understand their linguistic and ethnic identity development, specifically the ideological materials they were offered to developed linguistically and ethnically as Chicana/o bilinguals. Here I look at the issue of choosing between multiple codes and identities and their maintenance for bilingual Chicana/os. Language choice is familiar albeit typically unconscious for all who use any language. We are rarely self-reflective and aware of the processes through which we

129 decide to use our language because these processes are automatic, instinctual. At any given moment, for any given interaction, we choose the manner and form in which we communicate through oral language, whether to others or ourselves. We can vary the manner in which we produce and use our language, in such areas as intonation, word choice, pronunciation, dialect, etc. These become available resources during language choice and use. The factors that influence the way we manipulate language to communicate are manifold--even for monolinguals--and these multiply for bilingual and multilingual individuals. For bilinguals, the resources for language variation proliferate with the implicit addition of dialects, varieties, and their combinations through the incorporation of another language. Ralph Fasold outlines three types of language choice: amongst whole languages (i.e. Vietnamese and Turkish), pieces of separate languages (such as in code-switching), and varieties within a single language (African American English and Standard American English) (181). For this whole project and this chapter in particular I concentrate on language choice between and within whole languages, specifically English and Spanish, focusing on the exploration of what these choices represent about our protagonists Ernie, Miguel Chico, and Celaya, especially in terms of their identities. Exploring bilingual language choice and use necessitates understanding non- linguistic factors influencing a decision to use language in a particular way. Joshua Fishman’s advancement of the concept of domain analysis and configuration as a method through which language choice can be studied and summarized at the individual and group level requires identification of group, situation, topic, media, and participants within each domain of language use (“Who Speaks?” 90-92). Each of these factors can be broken down further in order to explain the layered influences on language choice. François Grosjean outlines some of these, highlighting: participants (language proficiency and preference, socioeconomic status, age, sex, occupation, education, ethnic background, history of speakers’ linguistic interaction, kinship relation, intimacy, power relation, attitude toward languages, outside pressure), situation (location/setting, presence of monolinguals, degree of formality and intimacy), content of discourse (topic,

130 type of vocabulary), and function of interaction (to raise status, create social distance, exclude someone, request or command). (136) As is evident, each major factor outlined by Fishman is a complexity in and of itself. Factors that influence language choice and use are therefore composed of non- linguistic forces that are primarily social, cultural, and economic. Appreciating this fact broadens our understanding of how language choice and use is not just based on a specific language but takes into account the user of that language and her particular life experiences and circumstances. Given the sheer amount of potential influences and factors in language choice, Grosjean reminds us that: “Rarely does a single factor account for a bilingual’s choice of one language over another. … Usually some factors are more important—have more weight—than others and thus play a greater role when combined with other factors” (143). For every bilingual, each moment of language choice is determined by a particular set of factors and linguistic interactions, which are quite specific to that speech act. A central preoccupation of the study of language choice (particularly in bilinguals) is the prediction of which language will be chosen and used in a given situation. Such prediction however is “extremely difficult” because of the complex and weighted formulas that bilinguals unconsciously broker and implement during language choice and use (Grosjean 145). Indeed, bilingual language choice and use is an extremely complicated phenomenon to study and interpret. A facet of language choice and use for bilinguals, which has garnered great scholarly attention, is codeswitching. At any given moment bilinguals, especially when interacting with other bilinguals, are able to choose to use both their languages within and among the sentences they produce. Grosjean lists a variety of reasons why bilinguals codeswitch: filling a linguistic need for lexical item, set phrase, discourse marker, or sentence filler; continue the last language used (triggering); quoting; specify addressee; qualify message, amplify or emphasize “topper”; specify speaker involvement by personalizing message; mark and emphasize group identity and solidarity; convey confidentiality, anger, annoyance; exclude someone

131 from conversation; change role of speaker, raise status, add authority, show expertise. (152) The numerous factors that influence language choice for a bilingual deciding between whole languages in a given interaction, along with the reasons for choosing between languages in a single interaction, underscores the impressive linguistic abilities bilingual individuals possess. Because codeswitching is consistently viewed as an example of linguistic and cognitive deficiency, the concrete motivations for switching amongst languages have been ignored in favor of regarding codeswitching as haphazard behavior. Reviewing Grosjean’s summary of potential motivations for codeswitching in bilinguals concretizes the psychosocial depth of language choice and use. Although motivations abound in any given interaction to trigger a code-switch or influence language choice, Carol Myers-Scotton notes “that the major reason is the symbolic value of speaking that language, not to fill gaps … choosing a variety is both a tool and an index of interpersonal relationships (143). Here then is where the representational profundity of language choice and use lies. Each moment of language choice and use is infused with meaning, whether conscious or unconscious, on behalf of the bilingual individual. This meaning is inherently tied to that individual’s identity. Myers-Scotton goes on to explain: For a bilingual, choosing to speak one language in a given encounter rather than another says something about how that bilingual thinks of himself or herself. When a bilingual (or a monolingual) makes such a choice, it “says something” about how the speaker wishes to relate to others in the conversation, too. It is in this sense that making a code choice is indexical of the self. All linguistic varieties are indexical in this way. (145) All of our linguistic choices carry meaning and much of that meaning has to do with our perception of self, amongst others and individually. The indexical nature of codeswitching in bilinguals and language choice for all speakers is dependent on speaker and receiver (de)coding. We are constantly interpreting and being interpreted as we represent our identities through our language choice and use. The symbolic and metaphorical meanings of language choice for bilinguals merit sustained interpretative

132 attention as representations of selves. I present such analysis in the literary representations the bilingual Chicana/os Ernie, Miguel Chico, and Celaya. In order for bilinguals to continually possess a multiplicity of linguistic resources, both languages must be maintained. Charlotte Hoffman explains that “[t]he expression language maintenance refers to a situation where members of a community try to keep the language(s) they have always used, i.e. to retain the same patterns of language choice. Language maintenance can thus be said to reflect collective volition” (185). Language maintenance is therefore dependent on the similar and repeated individual choices that bilingual community members make. The repetition of language choice and use form patterns and maintaining these patterns allows for the continued use of both languages for specific purposes and in specific ways alongside each other. Because bilingual communities are produced by language contact situations between groups with different languages, a language group’s efforts to sustain patterns of language choice are made more difficult as a result of the dynamics of dual language contact space. Guadalupe Valdés emphasizes other factors that cannot be ignored in the description of language maintenance: Language maintenance refers to the continued use of an indigenous or immigrant minority language in a majority language context. To be considered language maintenance, it is not sufficient for a language to be present in a particular community and for it to be spoken, for example, by newly arrived immigrants. The process of language maintenance refers to the retention of language and its transmission over several generations. (“The Spanish Language” 36) Language maintenance goes beyond temporary access to a different group of language speakers, as well as temporarily disregarding the social power dynamics of group relations. The inherently marginalized position of minority language speakers (as we know circumstantial bilinguals such as Richard, Guálinto, Ernie, Miguel Chico and Celaya to be) significantly influences language maintenance. The term “maintenance” itself denotes a continued process, which relies on an extended period of time. Language maintenance in bilingual communities must therefore be understood, first,

133 as dependent on language choice transferred into patterns of language by a minority group of speakers over time and, second, against or alongside the language of the dominant society or group. In order for a minority language to survive and be maintained and a stable bilingual situation achieved for its community of speakers, there must be above all positive reinforcement, support, need, and use for both languages. Ethnolinguistic vitality is a concept that has been used to anticipate the linguistic survival of a minority language group. Suzanne Romaine explains the need for institutional support, high status and a demographic concentration of a language’s speaker population for positive and strong ethnolinguistic vitality. These are pivotal in the maintenance a community’s language (39). Regarding the ethnolinguistic vitality of a group Myers- Scotton summarizes: “The idea is that the more positive a group is in regard to such features, the more likely its language will survive” (75). In addition, the issue of validation and systems of value present in popular ideologies regarding bilingual communities is of import. A minority language’s survival is contingent on maintaining a relatively high symbolic value to individual and group identities, and in relation to the dominant group or society in any particular context. In the face an ideology of rigid monolingualism that disparages multilingual practices and identities, linguistic minorities must retain a strong sense of value for their languages and identities in order to maintain them. This phenomenon is manifest in Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo. In addition to the vitality of the community’s speakers, the need and use of their language will influence its maintenance. Here we return to Charles Ferguson’s concept of diglossia (the separate functional use of a high and low variety of a language) and more specifically Fishman’s formulation of diglossia with bilingualism. Among the four possible combinations of describing a speech community through diglossia and bilingualism, Fishman explains that diglossia helps sustain bilingualism: Wherever speech communities exist whose speakers engage in a considerable range of roles (and this is coming to be the case for all but the extremely upper and lower levels of complex societies); wherever access to several roles is

134 encouraged or facilitated by powerful social institutions and processes; and finally, wherever the roles are clearly differentiated (in terms of when, where and with whom they are felt to be appropriate), both diglossia and bilingualism may be said to exist. (“Bilingualism with and without Diglossia” 84) For a relatively stable bilingual situation to be achieved, much less sustained, diglossia must be stable. When diglossia is not present, bilingualism is only transitional. Glenn Martínez aptly describes the relation of diglossia to bilingualism: “Diglossia may be viewed as regulating bilingualism” (42). Therefore, both languages require separate uses and functions where patterns of language choice effectively keep languages relatively distant from each other in the manner in which they are used. When languages begin to invade each other’s domains the diglossia that kept them separate becomes unstable, which in turn destabilizes the community’s bilingualism. Similar to the list of factors that play a role in language choice and use, the factors that affect language maintenance are many. Grosjean’s helpfully recapitulates these factors, separating them into: social aspects: size and birthrate of group, immigration (time of, continuation, permanent), geographic concentration, urbanization, isolation (from other minority groups, majority groups, home country), intermarriage, social configuration of group, social mobility, religion, activism (linguistic, cultural, political), mobility within family, occupations, education policy of group; attitudes (of minority group towards their language, the majority language, cultural pluralism, bilingualism, linguistic “purity”; of majority group towards minority group); use of languages (domain, function, topic, interlocutor); government policy (laws pertaining to languages, educational policies); and other factors which include periods of nationalism, the assimilative power of majority group and cultural support by a foreign state. (107) Not all of these factors will be influential in the same manner and to the same degree as others for a speech community. Myers-Scotton notes that in regards to the stability of bilingualism “there is no ‘magic set’ that predicts what will happen in a given community. The reason seems to be that while the same features count everywhere,

135 how much each one counts can vary from community to community” (69). Particular to each community then will be the interaction of certain factors deemed to be important. The selection, combination, and ultimate effect of those factors are subjective in nature and specific to each group. Josiane F. Hamers and Michel H. A. Blanc explain that “[t]his maintenance is dependent upon relatively stable relations between the groups of the community. When these relations change, however, and one group begins to assimilate to another, language maintenance starts to break down” (296). The relationship between languages in a bilingual situation is analogous to the relationship between the groups of language users that have come into contact. For minority language groups like Mexican migrants and their Chicana/o offspring in the US, the assimilative force of the dominant society can weigh heavily and impact the way languages are used, as well as how much of the minority language can and will be maintained. The stability of bilingualism and successful language maintenance for minority language communities therefore relies on an intricate coalescence of individual, group, and societal systems of value. Language use, choice, and maintenance are complex matters for bilingual individuals and their speech communities. Linguistic minorities negotiate the numerous factors of their particular circumstances in order to help protect and maintain their languages. I now move to look at these factors and their interaction in the choices and maintenance of bilingual Chicana/o identities for Little Ernie, Miguel Chico, and Celaya. Bilingual and Bicultural Mexicanity in Barrio Boy I begin with Barrio Boy because as mentioned earlier, Little Ernie’s experience of growing up bilingual and Chicana/o contrasts so poignantly with that of Richard and Guálinto.67 The differences I highlight will help transition us into this chapter’s focus on choices and maintenance. The essential difference is that Little Ernie has

67 Renato Rosaldo offers a comparative reading of Galarza’s work in relation to Américo Paredes’s With a Pistol in His Hand, centering on the displacement and transformation of “primordial patriarchs so that they can play an emancipatory role in Chicano struggles of resistance” (“Changing Chicano Narratives” 160). Although Rosaldo does not directly address George Washington Gómez, because it shares similar thematic content and representation of Mexicotexan reality during Guálinto’s time-space I believe the comparison holds. Please see “Changing Chicano Narratives” and “Politics, Patriarchs, and Laughter” for further comparison between Galarza’s and Paredes’s narratives.

136 choices, whereas Richard and Guálinto are more limited in their exposure or access to models for “do-able” bilingual Chicana/o identities. Ernie does not inherit a migratory experience as a second-generation circumstantial bilingual; he experiences it first-hand alongside his family as part of the first-generation migrating to the US. Ernie is able to successfully negotiate the linguistic and cultural influences on his personal development throughout this experience, choosing a positively self-affirmed bilingual and bicultural Chicana/o identity. We will now look at the ingredients that allow for Little Ernie’s identity development as a bilingual Chicano to work out so well, namely the early positive development, support, and reinforcement of a solid Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic base (his enculturation) as well as the introduction of American cultural and English linguistic influences (acculturation) as non-threatening or overpowering forces bearing on his Mexican identity base. Ernie’s enculturation begins in the idyllically represented town of Jalcocotán,68 where children are raised communally with neighbors monitoring their social and cultural development. Ernie is therefore conscious that “[g]rowing up in the pueblo, we would become like the jalcocotecanos” (41) and that doing so requires a certain code of conduct that centers on the community’s definitions of good manners. Ernie’s experience of growing up in this community is directly tied in to the identity he projects for himself in the future. As a jalcocotecano Ernie knows what is expected of him linguistically. Because “[r]eading, writing, and arithmetic were held in great esteem by the jalcocotecanos” and because “[i]n Jalco, people spoke in two languages—Spanish and with gestures,” Ernie is able to foment acuity in his communicative competence of reading extra-linguistic cues (33, 19). He develops an innate perception of the power words carry: “Guessing at what people meant, I came to feel certain words rather than to know them. They were words which came from the lips of the jalcocotecanos with an accent of suspicion, of fear, and of hatred.… They

68 For Américo Paredes, Galarza’s representation of Jalco is: “a very idealistic view of that little town. For example, the book begins with the Mexican Revolution. When the revolutionaries come into town and the boys of military age go into the mountains to hide so that they won’t be forced into service. Now we are spposed to believe that there wasn’t a single person in that town who belonged to the revolucionarios and wouldn’t tell the revolutionaries where those boys were hiding!” (Saldívar, The Borderlands of Culture 69-70).

137 [outsiders] always came asking questions, which the jalcocotecanos answered politely but roundabout” (59). Ernie becomes attuned to sensing words given their context and pronunciation, accurately inferring their connotations even as he must “guess” their formal definitions. He observes the way that speech patterns and interactions take place with loaded vocabulary that present potential threats to his community, be it by government or unknown individuals. Growing up in Jalco fosters an early fascination with words in Ernie that will help him mold future career and identity aspirations. Ernie’s fascination with words is evidenced by his attraction to the way in which words are written and spoken in Jalco. Because of the absence of institutional formal education in his community, Ernie shares that “[f]or me and my cousins until we were six, book learning was limited to a glimpse now and then of my mother’s cookbook. Our school was the corral, the main street of Jalco, the arroyo, and the kitchen” (34). There is no need to have a formal schoolhouse when his community helps educate him in the classrooms that nature provides. Ernie is able to appreciate the experiential non- book or informal education he receives in his community because it is so invested with practicality. He is able to apply this appreciation to written text and literacy: The idea of making printed words sound like the things you already knew about first came through to me from her [his mother’s] reading of the recipes [from the inherited family cookbook]. I thought it remarkable that you could find oregano in a book as well as in the herb pot back of our house. I learned to pick out works like sal and frijoles, chile piquín and panocha—things we ate. From hearing my mother repeat the title so often when she read to us, and from staring at the cover drawing, I guessed that the beautiful girl in the colorful costume was the Cocinera Poblana. The words above her picture were obviously her name. I memorized them and touched them. I could read. (33- 34) The cookbook that becomes Ernie’s first reading material and textbook joins the practicality of literacy with that of sustenance. This sacred family possession and his mother’s literacy combine to provoke Ernie’s amazement at the representational nature of letters and words. Their ability to identify and signify the material world he

138 already knows enraptures Ernie. As Ernie contemplates future careers as a jalcocotecano, he will therefore prioritize the way language can be used as a main criterion. Ernie is drawn to his “mother’s letter writing. When she wrote one for a neighbor, she explained to us that in the large cities there were escribanos in the public squares who wrote letters for people who didn’t know how. Since the escribanos were men, I thought that letter writing might also be a worthy profession for me” (38). Because community gender norms dictate that Ernie not model his career aspirations on female skill sets or work, Ernie does need to know that men can write. However, this gendered limitation does not keep him from valuing the production of written text as an intriguing endeavor befitting his life’s work. He also contemplates being an “arriero: driver of pack animals” because “the arriero shouted words we were not allowed to repeat—words, in fact, we were not supposed to know” (267, 41). While punished for breaking the linguistic prohibition of using arriero vocabulary Ernie wonders “how you could grow up to be an arriero unless you could talk like one” (41). His compulsion to own certain words makes language an attractive force that dictates the types of professional identities Ernie considers as a child. Ernie’s fascination with words is inspired and encouraged throughout his experience of growing up in his community of Jalco. Ernie’s sense of the intriguing power of words provides the foundation upon which his literacy and arithmetic skills develop in Tepic. Having left Jalco in order to protect her younger brothers (Ernie’s uncles) from military recruitment and forced participation in the remnants of the Mexican Revolution, Ernie’s mother (Doña Henriqueta) takes charge of his formal schooling at home, setting up their temporary residence in Tepic as his first classroom: My first lessons were demonstrations on the slate and the abacus. On the slate my mother drew horizontal lines between which she wrote the letters of the alphabet. … From the remarkable tip of the slate pencil in her hand there came outlines of oxen, a donkey’s head like Relámpago’s, carnations, trees, and bananas. She drew numbers and gave their names to each of the beads on the abacus. Up and down and across she made the beads bounce and add up to

139 fantastic sums that sounded like rhymes—“cientos y miles y millones.” (93- 94) Even in his non-language instruction Ernie is enamored with the production of textual representation as writing turns into a visualization of his most beloved memories of Jalco. The motility of the abacus beads colliding produces an enticing sound that a captivated Ernie relates to concordant and melodic words. Although Doña Henriqueta is not a teacher she develops and executes successful lesson plans for her son’s developing knowledge base and skills: We combined writing and reading and spelling as my mother called out the combinations she had already written for me at the top of the slate. I learned vowels and consonants in surprising arrangements, writing the syllables as I heard them and then combining them to make complete words. … We always started with the easy ones I had already learned, and which I wrote down and read from the slate. The new ones I had to listen to first, putting them together as well as I could from the sounds. At the end of the lesson I had to listen to formidable words that sounded more like trapezes in full swing, like ca-pi-ro- ta-da or Po-po-ca-té-petl. Doña Henriqueta repeated them every so often until I was able to put them together. The sound and the rhythm of the words intrigued me more than what they meant. (94) Ernie’s mother is able to provide for him a solid skill set in language arts through teaching of the Spanish alphabet, its phonology, syllabication, and semantics. Ernie is able to conceptualize difficult multisyllabic words in Spanish and Náhuatl as the fluid- like motion of a pendulum. The process of discerning the exact meaning of words is not as appealing to Ernie as an intrigue with sounds and usage. He contemplates the relationship (or lack of relationship) between sign and signifier that factors in word comprehension. This will be particularly important when he begins his English language education. Ernie’s first “formal” schooling at home in Tepic provides him with a critical foundation for his education at school and encourages the desirability of language arts.

140 The experiences Ernie collects in his community of Jalco and in his Tepic home are tied to his material reality and serve him in school. Ernie is therefore able to claim that “with workshops of the neighborhood, the brewery gang, my job with La Pozolera, the lectures on manners, and José’s enthusiastic reports on the progress of Don Francisco Madero’s revolution, my education was well started when I was enrolled in the first grade of the Escuela Municipal de Varones Número Tres” (148). Ernie has an expansive definition of education that is not limited to the book learning he will receive in school. He is confident in his educational level and knowledge base because it is grounded in his material reality. When he finally enters school in Mazatlán he states: “From my door a new world of letters spread over Mazatlán. The signs over the shops where we traded were read to me until I could read them back…. Most remarkable of all was my discovery of stone writing, like the sign chiseled on a sidewalk in front of a shop... Before I finished the first grade I was able to read, more or less, and write somewhat” (160). Because reading and the expansion of his knowledge base is never taken out of the context of the real world and its practical applicability, Ernie’s fascination with words translates into “remarkable discoveries” of the mundane. His first experiences in formal education and institutionalized schooling are therefore mere extensions of the social, cultural and environmental education he has received through his home and community all along. The intrinsic relationship between learning and education and his immediate environment inspires a confidence in Ernie in his identity development that will permit him to easily negotiate his English language and American cultural learning. Ernie’s introduction to American culture and its English language are mediated through his family. English finds its way into the home from the outside via his young uncle Gustavo’s work and “slim gringo” boss who “joked with the men about the dirty words in Spanish they taught him in exchange for the dirty words in English he told them. When he gave orders he made himself understood in a mix of both languages, practicing his funny Spanish and laughing at himself with the men. It was from him that Gustavo picked up phrases and brought them home” (124). Between the superintendent and his workers is a pact of language learning (however vulgar the

141 lexical items) and appreciation of its stumbling nature. There is an implicit cultural exchange peaceably administered here, where pejorative views on either side do not seem to arise. Ernie begins to learn English through Gustavo’s recital of the phrases he acquires at this job and from his boss: “Do you know what the superintendent wears instead of zapatos?” Gustavo asked. “He wears chews! Ernesto, say zapatos in English.” “Chews.” “Correct.” “When he means sombrero he says “hett.” Ernesto, say sombrero in English.” “Hett.” “Correct.” So my lessons proceeded with “chairt” for shirt, “pa-eep” for pipe, “huatine-ees” for what time is it, “tenks yu” for thank you, “hau-mochee” for how much, “wan” for one, and “por pleeze” when asking a favor. … Between lessons my mother and I practiced “chairt” and “chews” and the rest of our growing vocabulary which Gustavo brought directly from our gringo professor. (124-125) Gustavo develops a sense of linguistic ownership of English vocabulary that he transmits to Ernie through impromptu but no-less-structured lessons. By explaining the relationship between the Spanish and English words for similar lexical items and concepts, Gustavo prepares Ernie to compound his linguistic inventory in English onto his Spanish base. Language learning is communally shared in the family so that this linguistic and cultural education is not limited to the individual. Therefore English comes in as part of a cultural exchange that seeps into Ernie and prepares him for its incorporation into his bilingual identity. The differences that Ernie and his family begin to note through the experiences and descriptions Gustavo shares with his American boss at work are marked racially and culturally, but in a humorous and non-threatening manner: To us the superintendent, like all other Americans, was either a gringo or a bolillo. What gringo meant nobody was very sure of; but bolillo was simple. It

142 came from the fact that most Americans preferred, instead of tortillas, the small baker’s loaves with a nipple on each end and a curl of crust between. Two remarkable things about the American bolillos were the way their necks turned red with sunburn, and their freckles, both good reasons why no Mexican could ever become an American, or would want to. (125) The racial marking of American identities as white (read here as easily sunburned and reddened) along with their distinct food choices are two clear reasons why Ernie will never feel that his Mexican self will be transformed into an American one. There is simply no mode or desire to embrace these differences and as they are based on preference they do not have negative connotations. Using their Spanish language to rename and identify American individuals, Ernie and his family control the force of the American culture to which they are exposed. In the glossary at the end of the novel Galarza incorporates Ernie’s family’s redefinition of American cultural and racial identities: “bolillo: a small French loaf, or an American; a name for both on account of the strong resemblance between them in complexion and crustiness” (268), “gringo: a white-skinned foreigner but especially an American” (270). The cultural and racial tags that are used to identify and define American in the novel share the light-hearted nature with which Ernie and his family approach understanding American differences. This demonstrates a confidence in the Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic base that forms their identities, allowing American cultural and English language learning to be embraced in an untroubled fashion. As Ernie and his mother begin their final migration into the US they begin to have their own direct experiences with Americans, which they negotiate together. Although initially reluctant to allow himself to be helped off the train for a quick rest by an American soldier, Ernie shares that “[m]y gringo, smiling and saying something I could not understand, put me down next to our baggage. My mother thanked them with smiles and bows and Spanish words and they went off to unload other rain soaked refugees off the flatcars” (182). Encouraged by his mother, Ernie is able to overcome his resistance to physical engagement with this American and appreciate his help. She does not censor attempts to communicate with the Americans and uses her

143 language regardless of knowing if it will be understood. Her cordial interaction sets a positive example so that by the time Ernie refers to his first direct contact and interaction with an American he is able to confidently claim total ownership in the relationship, referring to his personal helper as “my gringo.” Gustavo likewise prepares Ernie for increasing contact with Americans through language: He turned to me. “Now, Ernesto, you are the man of the family. You will take care of your mother until we are together in Sacramento. How do you say por favor?” “Plees.” “Right, how do you say cuanto es?” “Hau-mochee.” “How do you say qué hora es, por favor?” “Hau-tinees, plees.” “Correct.” “Now say the numbers.” “Huan, too, tree.” “Correct. If you don’t know the other numbers, hold up your fingers and count in Spanish.” (184) Gustavo reviews the English phrases that will allow Ernie to acquire necessary basic information while expressing courtesy and politeness. Navigation of this new cultural and linguistic space is posited as a gendered endeavor so that English becomes one of the ways Ernie must develop as a Mexican man in America. The linguistic differences between English and Spanish as encountered on the train to America are negotiated through maintaining the home language of Spanish as the prized referent: I spelled them out silently as I watched him—c-o-n, con, d-u-c, duc, t-o-r, tor, conductor. In a whispered conversation with my mother over the subject, we agreed that a gringo conductor would not be wearing Mexican letters on his cap, and that conductor in Spanish was the same as conductor in English. This started a guessing game that kept us amused the rest of the trip. Some words

144 worked out neatly in both languages, like conductor, others failed to match by a syllable or a letter, in which case we thought English spelling idiotic. (188) Ernie applies the literacy skills he has learned at home in order to read and understand the English words he encounters. In the process of applying Spanish phonology to the cognate English word “conductor” he finds a dichotomy, where the image and word do not match. The mismatch, disturbing the flawless junction between sign and signified, is caused by the race of the conductor. Since the conductor is a white foreign male, he cannot have a job title they only know as Mexican and thus the word is tagged as English. Having no qualms about not differentiating Mexican letters from American identities, this racial and linguistic separation helps them enjoy noting further differences. Discovering more linguistic differences leads them to develop concessions through which to better navigate the English language and begin to appreciate cultural differences: The Americans, we discovered, put practically everything in cans on which they pasted fascinating labels, like La Vieja Dotch Kle-ser. Doña Henriqueta admired the bright colors and the delicious pictures of fruits and vegetables. We spelled and sounded out as well as we could the names of unfamiliar foods, like corn flakes and Karo syrup. On the kitchen shelf we arranged and rearranged the boxes and tins, with their displays of ingenious designs and colors, grateful that the Americans used pictures we knew to explain words that we didn’t. (196-197) The repetition of positive nouns and adjectives (“fascination,” “admiration,” “delicious,” “ingenious”) marks this description of American consumer culture and the practice of canning and labeling food. Embracing this cultural practice as an offering for the survival of their family in the US, Ernie and his mother conceptualize it as an American concession for non-English literate individuals to comprehend what they are buying and quite frankly, eating, to survive. Ernie shares his interest in the unification of words and images with his mother as they both begin to practice English. En route to the family’s final settlement in the US (Sacramento) Ernie first begins his

145 negotiation of America in a complimentary linguistic fashion, which prepares him for more direct contact with American culture and individuals. Upon arrival into the US Ernie negotiates direct contact with Americans as non- threatening cultural others. Navigating these new interactions with Americans continues, under the guidance of his mother and his uncle, as Ernie states that “[w]e found the Americans as strange in their customs as they probably found us” (204). Ernie recognizes and accepts that he is a foreign “other” to the Americans but also that this is not a one-way interpretation. Cultural interactions are not necessarily clashes because of their reciprocal nature, where both parties are foreign to each other. This balances Ernie’s developing cultural interpretations in harmonizing equality. The list of cultural incongruences and the need for their interpretation grows as Ernie delves further into an Mexican emigrant/American immigrant identity in the US. He shares: “It was Doña Henriqueta more than Gustavo or José who talked of these oddities and classified them as agreeable or deplorable. It was she also who pointed out the pleasant surprises of the American way” (205). The whole family interprets intercultural exchanges together and his mother as the eldest and the matriarch takes the lead in balancing their positive and negative qualifications. Pleasing surprises in cultural differences can exist alongside the more disliked: “With remarkable fairness and never-ending wonder we kept adding to our list and pleasant and the repulsive in the ways of the Americans. It was my second acculturation” (205). The quantification of continuously encountered differences suggests an inherent reference to an established Mexican cultural identity within the family and therefore in Ernie. There can be a list of differences because American and Mexican are never the same. The dual processes of qualification and quantification of American cultural differences is named as the process by which Ernie assimilates into the cultural system of the US. He is “acculturated” to American culture and nationality through constant reference to his Mexican national and cultural identity. Therefore, Ernie is able to accept the American culture and nation he becomes immersed in because it never threatens his already established Mexican identity; he simply adds to it.

146 Ernie easily transitions into the US because he has not only his family to help him negotiate the new influences on his cultural identity, but also a larger network in the communities in which he resides: “The Poles, Yugo-Slavs, and Koreans, too few to take over any particular part of it, were scattered throughout the barrio. Black men drifted in and out of town, working the waterfront. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and languages and customs that surprised and absorbed me at every turn” (199). Ernie’s family’s first US neighborhood is predominantly composed of fellow newly arrived immigrants, creating its racial and ethnic diversity. Ernie’s initial American community life is therefore marked by a similarity in migratory experiences as well as multiculturalism. Within the Mexican segment of this neighborhood we see a similar diversity: For the Mexicans the barrio was a colony of refugees. … Some had come to the United States even before the revolution, living in Texas before migrating to California. Like ourselves, our Mexican neighbors had come this far moving step by step, working and waiting, as if they were feeling their way up a ladder. … From whatever place they had come, and however short or long the time they had lived in the United States, together they formed the colonia mexicana. (200) Ernie does not permanently link his Mexican community to an American ethnicity since there is a perceived sociohistorical prompt for its members’ presence in this country as “refugees”. As a Mexican outpost, Texas is the site of a historical progression from México to the US for Mexicans like Ernie and his neighbors. The diversity of Mexican identities within México translates into a community that strengthens Ernie’s Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic identity in the US. Within the diversity of Mexican identities, Chicana/os69 and pochos are contrasted to each other on the basis of American cultural influence. Chicana/os are first and foremost identified through their relationship to México as their (and Ernie’s) cultural and national home:

69 Where the term Chicana/o is thus represented (capitalized and with a/o) it indicates my personal use and where it is written as “chicano” it is Galarza’s spelling.

147 Crowded as it was, the colonia found a place for these chicanos, the name by which we called an unskilled worker born in Mexico and just arrived in the United States. The chicanos were fond of identifying themselves by saying they had just arrived from el macizo, by which they mean the solid Mexican homeland, the good native earth. Although they spoke of el macizo like homesick persons, they didn’t go back. They remained, as they said of themselves, pura raza. So it happened that José and Gustavo would bring home for a meal and for conversation workingmen who were chicanos fresh from el macizo and like ourselves, pura raza. Like us, they had come straight to the barrio where they could order a meal, buy a pair of overalls, and look for work in Spanish … As an old maderista, I imagined our chicano guests as battle-tested revolutionaries, like myself. (200-201) Ernie begins to incorporate length of residence in the US as part of his conceptualization of Mexican identities because it indicates the level of difficulty with and acceptance of American culture. In the glossary at the end of the novel “chicano” is defined as “a Mexican recently arrived in the United States and definitely a working-class type; a term of sympathy and identity among persons of this class” (269). Because Chicana/o is defined and described as a type or subset of Mexican identity, Ernie can relate and identify with the term. Although he never boasts the label, the repeated use of “like” to mark the simile between his identity and that of Chicana/os proves he is in support of the experience and individuals it defines, as seen through the expansion of his immediate family: “At about this time my mother remarried. We made room for my stepfather, a chicano who had come to California not too long after us. His problems with the Americans were the same as ours, especially their language” (234). The solidarity between Ernie’s identity and those of Chicana/os justifies my belief that Ernie would accept the term, which is not the case for “pocho.” Unlike “chicanos”, “pochos” are not given an entry in the novel’s glossary and are contrasted to Ernie’s customer service clients: [W]ho were not pochos, Mexicans who had grown up in California, probably had even been born in the United States. They had learned to speak English of

148 sorts and could still speak Spanish, also of sorts. They knew much more about the Americans than we did, and much less about us. The chicanos and the pochos had certain feelings about one another. Concerning the pochos, the chicanos suspected that they considered themselves too good for the barrio but were not, for some reason, good enough for the Americans. Toward the chicanos, the pochos acted superior, amused at our confusions but not especially interested in explaining them to us. In our family when I forgot my manners, my mother would ask me if I was turning pochito. Turning pocho was a half-step toward turning American. And America was all around us, in and out of the barrio. Abruptly we had to forget the ways of shopping in a mercado and learn those of shopping in a corner grocery or in a department store. (207) Pochos are marked by a national and cultural identity in the US revealed through their language use and sociocultural adaptation to Americans. Revealing tensions between superiority and inferiority complexes on either side, the conflict between Chicana/os and pochos permeates Ernie’s family’s conceptualization of a US-based Mexican identity. Pocho becomes a derogatory term indicating the loss of a Mexican national and cultural identity in exchange for the American. Again, because Ernie embraces a communal identity as a Mexican migrant he embraces a Chicana/o identity much more than he would ever a pocho identity. Ernie’s identity practices are therefore in line with a Chicana/o identity because it is based on a Mexican national and cultural source. Having settled in the US, Ernie must enter the American educational system where his Mexican/Chicana/o identity is never threatened or compromised. Before even setting foot inside his new school, Ernie and his mother are assured by their community networks that his Mexican identity will not be threatened since “there was always a person at the school who could speak Spanish. Exactly as we had been told, there was a sign on the door in both Spanish and English: “Principal.” …

149 What Miss Hopley said to use we did not know but we saw in her eyes a warm welcome and when she took off her glasses and straightened up she smiled wholeheartedly, like Mrs. Dodson.” (208) As a cognate, the first word Ernie reads allows for peaceful coexistence of Spanish and English, a positive omen foretelling the supportive linguistic environment he is entering. As Ernie moves through the curriculum, the educators clarify the multicultural pedagogical aims of instruction: “Miss Hopley and her teachers never let us forget why we were at Lincoln: for those who were alien, to become good Americans; for those who were so born, to accept the rest of us. … The school was not so much a melting pot as a griddle where Miss Hopley and her helpers warmed knowledge into us and roasted racial hatreds out of us” (211). Galarza’s metaphor for Ernie’s American cultural education in formal schooling merits attention. As a griddle, the school as institution does not “overheat” racial tensions but rather uses tepid educative methods to promote intercultural understanding and tolerance through an overarching American ideology of respect and tolerance towards difference. Ernie goes on to explain what this looks like on the ground and in practice: At Lincoln, making us into Americans did not mean scrubbing away what made us originally foreign. The teachers called us as our parents did, or as close as they could pronounce our names in Spanish or Japanese. No one was ever scolded or punished for speaking in his native tongue on the playground. … It was easy for me to feel that becoming a proud American, as she said we should, did not mean feeling ashamed of being a Mexican. (211) Their school completely validates their heritage and present identities. Linguistic diversity is embraced by educators as students are not forced into American identities and citizenry. Ernie’s American formal schooling experience validates his Mexican cultural and Spanish linguistic identity so that he can peaceably negotiate the growing American cultural and linguistic influences he encounters.70

70 Juan Velasco states that “se enfatiza el acceso a la educación y el acceso al lenguaje (bilingüismo) como elementos capaces de desarrollar el necesario proceso de fortalecimiento ideológico y económico de al comunidad chicana” (142).

150 The strong identity ties that language holds for Ernie are similarly validated outside of school as he integrates into American culture and society. While crafting a letter that will be sent to update his family back in México Ernie must fit his language to the American form: Western Union and I immediately had a misunderstanding. The clerk said my Spanish script was hard to read. Could I write it in English, and make it shorter? … The long letter was boiled down to telegram style, but there was one more problem, the signature ... The clerk refused to destroy my Mexican cultural image, returned the sheet and told me to sign Ernesto and after it my address in San Francisco, the Dover. (233-234) Ernie’s Spanish language choice and use is never deemed inadequate; rather the issue is one of negotiating how best to typographically integrate his language to the expected structure and format of the English language document. Ernie concedes translating his message into English because it does not threaten his “Mexican cultural image” or identity, but rather adds to his growing skill set as a US resident. This is aided by the recognition of the variety that American English holds: To begin with, we didn’t hear one but many sorts of English. ... There was no authority at 418 L who could tell us the one proper way to pronounce a word as it would not have done much good if there had been. ... Partly to show off, partly to do my duty to the family, I tried their methods at home. It was hopeless. They listened hard but they couldn’t hear me ... I gave up giving English lessons at home. (234-235) Ernie is most attentive to the phonological differences in the pronunciation of English in his diverse community. Because he understands that there are many forms of speaking English and he receives support at school to overcome such difficulties, he feels linguistically secure enough linguistically to offer his own family this help. They however, along with their community, find their own ways to cope with English: “The barrio invented its own versions of American talk. And my family, to my disgust, adopted them with no little delight. … But at pocho talk my mother drew the line, although José and Gustavo fell into it easily” (235). Ernie’s harsh assessment of his

151 family’s adaptation techniques reveals his refusal to lose his Spanish language skills by engaging in Americanized versions such as “pocho talk.” There is, however, a categorical difference between this and trying to learn English as he has in school, which is the model he attempts to transfer onto his family. Ernie successfully begins integrating American cultural and linguistic influences into his identity because doing so does not negate or invalidate the Mexican. The balance between Ernie’s domains and networks mutually supports the American and Mexican cultural and linguistic aspects of his identity. Ernie describes that within his home domain and family network, stating “ours remained a Mexican family. I never lost the sense that we were the same, from Jalco to Sacramento” (237). Ernie’s family fosters essential continuity throughout their transnational migrations, where there is never a sense of loss of their Mexican identity. Language is a critical aspect of this continuity: “We could have hung on the door of our apartment a sign like those we read in some store windows—Aquí se habla español. We not only spoke Spanish, we read it” (237-238). Ernie’s visualizes his pride in his family’s home language skills as public advertisement that simultaneously offer support for those newly arrived Mexican immigrants without such literacy skills (a role Ernie later enacts as translator while working at a pharmacy) and to exhibit their loyalty to this identity. This does not mean that they refuse to engage with the predominantly American society in which they reside: “Only when we ventured uptown did we feel like aliens in a foreign land. Within the barrio we heard Spanish on the streets and in the alleys” (239). The sense of foreignness they experience when venturing into predominantly English domains and networks is not debilitating. Their home and community offer respite from these reminders of their foreignness so that they can easily adapt. The American public sphere does indeed dominate their overall cultural landscape but this is offset by community cultural events that support their Mexican traditions and identities and make it difficult “for the Mexican images in my [Ernie’s] mind to bleach away. But over them new experiences were being laid, pleasant or interesting things the Americans did” (243). Ernie does not need to exchange his Mexican cultural and linguistic identity for an American one. Because he always

152 needs to know and use Spanish for his family and community networks and domains of language use and he also needs English for his school, work and larger social networks outside of these, Ernie successfully maintains his Mexican cultural and linguistic identity as an American. Ernie also succeeds educationally because his fascination with words is transferred onto his English language learning and American identity seamlessly. Upon switching schools he adds new skills in English that he can apply to Spanish as well: “It was at Bret Harte that I learned how an English sentence could be cut up on the backboard and the pieces placed on different lines connected by what the teacher called a diagram. The idea of operating on a sentence and rearranging its members as a skeleton of verbs, modifiers, subject, and prepositions set me off diagramming whatever I read, in Spanish and English” (249-250). Everything Ernie learns in and about English he is able to use in his Spanish language base because both these languages reside harmoniously in his life. His fascination with words has traveled with him during his migration: where it once had a base in Spanish that was used to negotiate English, it is now becoming stronger in English and can be reciprocated in Spanish. This is a significant factor in his educational success, which leads him to continue advancing in his schooling even: Mrs. Stevenson assigned me to read to the class and to recite poems by Amado Nervo, because the poet was from Tepic and I was, too. Miss Crowley accepted my compositions about Jalcocotán and the buried treasure of Acaponeta while the others in the class were writing about Sir Patrick Spence and the Beautiful Lady without Mercy, whom they had never met. … He [Mr. Everett] sat on his desk, one leg dangling over a corner, behind him the frame of a large window and the arching elms of the school yard, telling me he thought I could easily make the debating team at the high school next year, that Stanford University might be the place to go after graduation, and making other by-the-way comments that began to shape themselves into my future. (257)

153 As Ernie continues on in school his awareness of being one of, if not the only, Mexican origin students is unproblematic because this heritage continues to be validated. His teachers incorporate his interests as part of his educational development, encouraging him to project his future in this sphere, where it is an almost assumed route. The narrative ends with the image of Ernie indeed literally headed in this direction: “It was two hours before time to cook supper. From the stoop I looked up and down the cross streets. The barrio seemed empty. I unhooked the bicycle, mounted it, and headed for the main high school, twenty blocks away where I would be going in a week. Pumping slowly, I wondered about the debating team and the other things Mr. Everett had mentioned” (265-266). As Ernie rides through his now more barren community his destination is firmly set on the high school he will attend, with the specific goal of discussing his future educational activities. His thoughts are all centered on the vast possibilities for his future offered to him through school. Ernie can indulge in the hopeful prospects for his future because his identity as a Mexican American has been validated throughout his travels and life, especially at school. Little Ernie’s development as a bilingual Chicano begins with the capitalization of his open and receptive identity as a Mexican. The supportive and collaborative networks found between his family and in his various communities foster confidence in Ernie’s sense of self, a sense of self that allows for linguistic and cultural difference. This characteristic is augmented by his family’s constant migration through México and the encouragement he receives for his fascination with language. As their journeys take his family into the US, Ernie successfully negotiates American cultural and English language influences on his identity development. In Barrio Boy then, Ernie’s is able to maintain his Mexican cultural identity and Spanish language as he chooses to become a US Mexican through accepting the American acculturation he receives through school and his new communities. In this way Little Ernie achieves “doing being a bilingual Chicana/o” in the US as a first-generation Mexican immigrant and circumstantial bilingual.

154 Intergenerational Transmission in The Rain God In The Rain God we find that Spanish is passed down as Miguel Chico’s circumstantial bilingual family’s heritage language from generation to generation, that is, through intergenerational transmission. Scholars of bilingualism have continuously noted that this is one of the most assured ways that minority heritage languages continue to survive in their speakers’ communities and dominant societies. Language however, is not the only thing that is transmitted from generation to generation. The manners and moral values regarding race and socioeconomic status are also passed on through the generations as revealed through the language ideologies of the Ángel family. Each generation incorporates these ideologies into their personal worldviews, never being able to fully negate or ignore them.71 In order to facilitate the discussion of generational language change I must first delineate the particular genealogy of the Ángel family. The first generation consists of Mamá Chona and Tía Cuca (as well as Tía Cale, Juanita and Nina’s aunt who appears only once exercising her right to vote as a new US citizen). This generation is born in México and migrates to the United States.72 The second generation of Mexican-born children is comprised of Miguel Grande, Félix, Jesus María, and Eduviges in the Ángel family, Juanita who marries into the family, and her sister Nina. The second generation becomes what their teachers call “first generation Americans” since they move to, and are academically schooled in, the United States (127). The third generation of the Ángel family (2nd generation Mexican American and 1st generation American born) is Miguel Chico (son to Miguel Grande and Juanita), JoEl, Roberto, Magdalena and Yerma (all born to Félix and Angie), and Ricardo (illegitimate child of Mema adopted by Mamá Chona). In order to simplify we shall refer to the first

71 Rosaura Sánchez refers to each generations’ changes and adaptations of the older generation’s ideologies as counterdiscourses that naturally do “not formulate a distinctive alternative,” only reaffirm it them through opposition (66). 72 For focused discussions on the representational politics and structure of the Ángel family please see Julie Minich, “The Body Politic of Aztlán: Disability and the Reformulation of Nation in the work of Arturo Islas, Jr. and Cherríe L. Moraga,” National Bodies/Embodied Nations: Reading Disability in Chicana/o, Mexican and Spanish Cultural Production, Diss. (Stanford University, 2009) and Wilson Neate, “A Family Affair,” Tolerating Ambiguity: Ethnicity and Community in Chicana/o Writing (New York: Peter Lang, 1998) 217-250.

155 generation, second generation and third generation of the Angel family as denoted above. Language ideologies are cemented in the first generation that directly experiences physical and cultural migration. Because the first generation of a migratory family will find it more difficult to acquire fluent and native-like English than the subsequent generations, there must be a compensation for their lack of social success or assimilation. Miguel Chico, as Mamá Chona’s particularly favorite grandchild, is chosen to be the one who shall make Mama Chona’s dream of having a “university professor” in the Ángel family come true (5). Expectations for full integration are therefore placed onto the subsequent generations that will experience national birth in the new country. It is however always in this first generation that the hope for increased assimilation and class status begins. These challenges are experienced by the matriarch of the Ángel family, who initiates the migration of the family to the US. Due to this experience, Mamá Chona and her sister have definite and established views on their language, racialized appearance, and class: Tia Cuca was lighter-skinned than her sister Chona. Nevertheless, like Mama Chona, she was unmistakably Mexican with enough Indian blood to give her those aristocratic cheekbones the two sisters liked the younger generation to believe were those highborn Spanish ladies who just happened to find themselves in the provinces of Mexico. Their Spanish was a cultivated imitation of the Castilian Spanish they believed reigned supreme over all dialects, and they despaired that anyone in Miguel Chico’s generation, because they were attending “American” school, would ever master it. They were right. (141) The irony in these women’s elitist views of their heritage and language is that both are inevitably and “unmistakably Mexican,” as revealed not only by their racial traits but their nationality. As Enrique G. López states, “Chona’s real name, Encarnación Olmeca de Angel, translates into English as ‘angelic incarnation of the Olmec,’ with this Mesoamerican Indian culture reflecting one of the most advanced and influential

156 Amerindian civilizations” (54). As indicated by her name, Mamá Chona becomes the embodiment of contradiction. She refuses to appropriate the very aspect of her identity that is actually tied to her possible European heritage, that is, the indigenous Mesoamerican culture. The Spanish she and her sister speak may indeed be “cultivated,” but this only signals its artificiality and rehearsed attainment. The Spanish dialect from Spain is preferred by these two figures and thus the younger generations realize the pejorative treatment of their Mexican heritage: “[T]he snobbery Mama Chona and Tia Cuca displayed in every way possible against the Indian and in favor of the Spanish in the Angels’ blood” is a source of “a constant puzzlement to most of the grandchildren” (142). Only later can the third generation reflect upon this irony. However confusing their grandmother’s and great-aunt’s prejudice is, it inevitably affects the ideologies of the second and third generation. As seen above, Mamá Chona and Tía Cuca reject their Mexican heritage and dialect. This ideology is passed down through advice and interactions with the subsequent generations. One of the most interesting reflections of this ideology is the first generation’s views on literacy. The prejudice against the indigenous Mexican heritage spills over onto those less socioeconomically privileged. Immigrant women hired to take care of the children are viewed by Mamá Chona as “ill educated and she thought them very bad influences, particularly when they were allowed to spend much time with her favorites” (14). The “ill” education of these women stems from their apparent illiteracy and warrants them incapable of being decent language models for the grandmother’s favorites. Her ideology on language and heritage is internalized to the degree that even in her last stages of life, Mamá Chona retains her stereotype of “lower class” Mexicans. “‘Is the Indian here yet?’ Mama Chona would ask from the heights of her sickbed, even after she had forgotten most of her own children’s names. … Having forgotten her question, Mama Chona would comment grouchily on the terrible accent of the illiterate masses” (143). Even the loss of memory attributed to old age and illness cannot erase Mamá Chona’s prejudices against those she views as inferior due to their language and literacy, or lack thereof. “Accent” becomes

157 indicative of poor education and illiteracy, thus revealing the connection between both language and education within this generation’s ideologies. Education therefore becomes a specific interest for Mamá Chona and her grandchildren. In Spanish, Mamá Chona advises her two favorites, JoEl and Miguel Chico: “‘listen to your teachers at school, … and learn to speak English the way they do. I speak it with an accent, so you must not imitate me. I will teach you how to speak Spanish properly for the family occasions’” (141-142). Mamá Chona recognizes the importance of fluent and “accent-less” bilingualism for her grandchildren’s success. However tainted her English, she holds herself to be the sole adequate model for their Spanish education. Spanish is reserved for intimate family occasions, establishing a separate language domain and functional use that will promote and maintain their bilingualism. Mamá Chona then is already establishing a need for Spanish within subsequent generations and preparing them for a bilingual development, under her control. From her aspirations for Miguel Chico we know that Mamá Chona certainly wants subsequent generations to assimilate in order to gain social status. Although she refuses bilingual education in school because she wishes her family to have English without Spanish interference, she takes on the role of bilingual educator, focusing on her model Spanish to make her relatives bilingual for their familial interactions. She goes on to reinforce that “[a] truly educated person … speaks more than one language fluently” (142). Her push for second-language acquisition results in a bilingualism that her children (the second generation) and grandchildren (the third generation) have the privilege of acquiring. Because of her ideologies and decisive inclusion in her grandchildren’s educación, subsequent generations must deal with her influence. Although I have designated Mamá Chona’s children as the second generation of the Angel family, they are also part of the first generation of immigrants. This generation will reflect more of an adherence to the ideologies established by Mamá Chona precisely because of the financial stability they enjoy in their new country. Depending on how financially stable and socially established this generation is, the solidification of class ideologies will also vary. For the second generation of the Angel

158 family, we see an application of Mamá Chona’s ideologies because of their status as “first generation Americans.” The second generation adheres to the ideology of their social position as Americans. This second generation then can better function in the new country and language because they have greater access to it. Under the subscription to language hierarchies, they are further prompted to acquire and develop a bilingual ease. Miguel Grande along with his best friend were some of the first Mexicans on the police force and recognized that “they were Americans now, even if privately and among themselves they still called each other chicanitos. Their great, great grandfathers had long since left Castile to conquer and mix their blood with the natives of Mexico, and death in Madrid meant nothing to them” (59). Their Spanish heritage is overlooked in order to privilege their American assimilation. Although they acknowledge their mixed heritage, it is only among themselves that they address each other by their status as Mexican American, or Chicana/os. The social position and economic stability their American-ness has given them is a great source of enjoyment. This financial security allows them certain dispensable income and time so that “on weekends the four of them went to nightclubs across the border, danced all night, and acted like the rich gringos who lived on the hill” (59). Acceptance of the American myths of social mobility has taken place in this second generation. Miguel Grande recognizes that “the North American dream had worked for him. Only his family reminded him of his roots, and except for his mother he avoided them as much as possible” (77). We see that Miguel Grande and the rest of his generation have found lower middle-class stability in their lives. They are content with life as Americans but unfortunately reveal some of the earlier generation’s superiority complex. This generation can never fully reject or abandon Mamá Chona’s linguistic and social prejudices. Miguel Grande, Félix, Jesus María, and Eduviges all share the discriminatory views on “lower class” or newly arrived immigrants from México. Miguel Grande refuses to even directly speak to women his wife hires to help her with the house duties, referring to them as “wetbacks” (143). His sisters likewise avoid direct interaction and “left notes for the ‘domestics’ (the Spanish word criadas is

159 harsher) and spoke to them only when they had not done their chores properly. Mamá Chona had taught all her children that the Angels were better off than the riff-raff from across the river” (15). By using the English translation of “domestics” first, Islas highlights the discriminatory and pejorative nature of its Spanish equivalent, “criadas.” Marta R. Sánchez interprets this translation as a cue Islas offers his readers: He prefers the less accurate but softer ‘domestics,’ inserting it within quotation marks. At the level of the plot, the narrator informs both groups of readers that he disagrees with the family’s harsh attitude toward undocumented women upon whom they depend. At the level of narrative voice, however, he is letting his Anglophonic readers know that they are not the only audience and that the harsh term criadas cannot be translated into English. A certain level of experience is inaccessible to them. Its untranslatability defends this text against being homogenized or essentialized. (301) Even Félix, who is presented as one of the Mamá Chona’s most controversial and “sinful” children, reflects discriminatory attitudes towards his own workers. After a heated argument with his son, Félix finds it all too easy to take out his displeasure on one of his immigrant workers: “Hey, Jefe, it was only a joke.” The young Mexican pronounced the English ‘j’ like a ’y’ and Felix said to him angrily, “Hey, pendejo, why don’t you stop being a stupid wetback and learn English?” Then, murmuring an apology, he walked toward the man as if to embrace him, gave him a strange look, and walked away. (117) Islas again draws attention to the linguistic variation of the two speakers. Highlighting the Mexican accent Mamá Chona hates, Félix quickly targets it as a defect to criticize. Privileged because of his bilingual fluency, Félix looks down on his worker’s accent and lack of education or assimilation, just like his mother. And despite the self- realization of his malice, he can only “mumble” an apology and keep himself from physical contact with this worker in order to make amends.73 Thus we see in all Mamá

73 Although here Félix uses his language to exert his power over this worker as his boss, he also exploits his workers’ positionality in service of his homosexual desire. For detailed readings on the importance of the queer body and its desires in this novel please refer to Michael Hardin, “Make a Run from the

160 Chona’s children that she has accomplished the transference of a sense of superiority in class and language. Even those only attached to the Ángel family by marriage, Juanita and her sister Nina, (despite their refusal of the Ángels' snobbery), adhere to some of the shared ideology on literacy and language. Juanita (Miguel Grande’s wife) rebels against their hypocritical actions: “They’ve eaten beans all their lives. They’re no better than anyone else,’ she said to her sister Nina. ‘I’m not going to let my kids grow up to be snobs. The Angels! If they’re so great, why do I have to work to help take care of them?’” (15). Juanita refuses to accept the Ángel family’s sense of superiority over the illiterate hired help. She defends her child’s caretaker (María) because she can appreciate her hard work. Juanita does not want to pass on such prejudices to her children. Her disgruntled comment, however, results more from that fact that she herself has to work to help “support” the family. Juanita also realizes that her sister Nina needs to advance her own literacy skills: “‘You’re going to remain an illiterate Mexican all your life,’ Juanita told her as she kissed her son good-night” (42). Nina does not reject literacy as such, but rather the type of literacy Juanita implies. Juanita’s tastes run with the Western tradition of upper middle-class society narratives. Nina claims: “I can read what I need to know. Anyway, in this country, all you really need to know is how to count” (42). She refuses to pick up her sister’s reading habits and questions the lack of narratives based on Mexican heritage and lives; it is only in this cultural literacy that Nina is interested. Hence, Juanita as an Ángel by marriage differs from her sister. Although she realizes the elitist tendencies displayed by Mamá Chona’s children, Juanita subscribes to their views on literacy. Nina wholly rejects this, opting for Mexican-centered culture and literature.

Borderlands: Arturo Islas’s The Rain God and Migrant Souls and the Need to Escape Homophobic Masternarratives,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 219-242, John Honerkamp, “Awash in a Valley of Tears: The Dialectics of Generation in Arturo Isals’s The Rain God,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 77-90, Vivian Nun Halloran, “The Monstrous Pseudopregnant Body as Border Crossing Metaphor in The Rain God,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 91-102, Minich, Rosaura Sánchez, “Ideological Discourses,” and David N. Ybarra, “Another Closet in the House of Angels: The Denial of Identity in The Rain God,” Critical Mappings of Arturo Islas’s Fictions, ed. Frederick Luis Aldama (Tempe: Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2008) 103-114.

161 The second generation displays solidarity with each other based on their linguistic identities and ideology. During a family poker game everyone also plays with language: “‘Tenk joo berry mahch,’ she [Juanita] said in a hammed up Mexican accent” (72). Others also play up their Mexican accent when in each other’s company. Nina responds to her sister’s word and card play: “‘That’s my herman,’ she said to her hermana. They had Anglicized the word for sister and used it as a term of endearment with each other” (74). This generation manipulates their two languages, reflecting an adherence to the ideology of accent in speech, but enacting linguistic play through code-switches and phonetic imposition between the languages they own. Using a heavy Mexican accent is part of the game. It should not however be confused for solidarity with those of a different (i.e. “lower”) class. Instead it is group solidarity that unites them as a family in their shared experience as the first generation of American Angels. In the second generation of the Angel family we also see the assimilation into American society. For David Rice, “the older second generation also struggles with being Angels, even if they do so in hushed tones and with unofficial comment” (187). As the first generation of Americans working to stabilize themselves in a new country and society, it becomes difficult to disassociate their pride in social status and achievement with the sense of superiority that Mamá Chona has transferred to them. Although those related to the family by kinship and marriage disapprove of the discrimination and snobbery displayed by the Angel family, they too adhere to prejudices. One of the most controversial characters within the Ángel family is Félix’s wife, Angie. Her mere presence within the family contradicts and problematizes the family’s race, class, and language ideologies. She becomes the receptacle for the family’s discriminations. Introduced to the family as an act of rebellion herself, she maintains an outsider status, being looked down on because of her class status, racialization, and language skills. When she discovers Félix’s intent to marry Angie, his sister Jesús María has the most intense response:

162 “How could you do this to us? After all the sacrifices we’ve made for you? Now you’re going to marry that India and leave the burden of this household to us.” Jesus Maria had light skin and anyone darker she considered an “Indian.” She said she did not understand how Angie had even gotten through school. Obviously she belonged to that loathsome group of Indians who were herded through the system, taught to add at least since they refused to learn any language properly, and then let loose among decent people who must put up with their ignorance. Jesus Maria knew that her family was better than such illiterates and she would prove it by going on to college. (127-128) Jesus María considers Angie an illiterate and language-less Indian unworthy of her family’s name. In fact, she does not care about the supposed “sacrifices” the family has made for Félix, she wants merely to be able to attend college. This of course will become increasingly difficult without a stable family income, the position Félix is refusing to fill. By labeling and referring to her sister-in-law as Indian, Jesus María denotes Angie as socially and intellectually inferior to her family. Angie is conscious of her status within the family. She rebels against their discriminatory ideologies by indulging in the very heritage they try so hard to forget. She incorporates her rebellious act in the home: “Angie painted the rooms brilliant colors to annoy Felix’s sisters, knowing that Jesus María and Eduviges disapproved of her and thought her a ‘lower class Mexican.’ She had also chosen the colors for their names: Perico Tropical and Sangrita del Rey” (120). Indeed, Angie displays her “Mexican-ness” in order to further infuriate her sisters-in-law. She brings the heritage they overlook vividly to life as she paints her house with the vivid colors of Mexican culture. However, this is not to say that Angie herself accepts the family’s view of her as an illiterate non-English speaker. Addressing her son JoEl she states, “‘You are just like your father … Stubborn and too proud for your own good.’ She spoke English with a heavy Mexican accent and used it only when she wanted to make ‘important’ statements” (119). Like her second-generation counterparts, Angie’s bilingualism is functionally specialized. She reserves English for disciplinary action with her children, but also indulges their playfulness through her language choice. This same rebellious

163 nature is later taken up by her daughters and they accept her accent, despite their distaste for its sound. Angie becomes the dichotomy of the family, for although she fulfills their linguistic and classist nightmares, she is twice the Ángel any of them are. Her name literally translates into “Angelic Angel,” however Indian the family may want her to remain. As we have seen earlier, even among the generation following Mamá Chona, linguistic prejudices reveal racist and classist views. The character of Angie serves as a catalyst for all of these to surface, even in the subsequent generation. The third generation of the Ángel family is the most assimilated of all, enjoying a native bilingualism and extensive education. Rice explains that “[f]or many of the younger Angels, education has become one way that they have attempted to get a hold on the shifting border of their cosmopolitan ethnic identities” (190). I would argue that the two boys, or Mamá Chona’s favorites, are indelibly marked by their grandmother’s race and class ideologies. It is in these two that we see arrogance prompted by superiority towards not only the second but first generation. The narrative voice Islas always returns to is Miguel Chico’s. Through his point of view we see that in their maturity: [H]is cousins and he smiled at each other when she [Mama Chona] began telling her tales of family incidents and relatives long since dead and buried. By then, in their young adulthood, they knew the ‘truth’ and were too self- involved in their educations away from her and the family to give her credit for trying to spare them the knowledge that she, too, knew it. (27) Their shared smile comes from their collective recognition of the underlying irony in the Angel family ideology. Added to by Mamá Chona’s decrease in health and mental coherence, the third generation begins to exercise the privilege of mocking the earlier generations. They reflect an arrogance that is especially taken up by Miguel Chico because of his university education. Miguel Chico begins to distance himself from the family early on in order to protect his hidden sexuality. He rejects the ways of his parents’ generation: It was, he thought, another sign of the Catholic guilt and desire for punishment that plagued his parents’ generation and from which there seemed no escape.

164 In his arrogance, Miguel believed he was finding ways out of it through his university education. He had not yet had time to combine learning with experience, however, and he still felt himself superior to those who had brought him up and loved him. (91) This naive sense of superiority (because there is no life experience to sustain it) turns to disdain, especially towards she who doted on him. Later on in life his attitude towards Mamá Chona becomes strongly defined by this disdain: “Miguel Chico hated her for this very trait, seeing it as part of the Spanish conquistador snobbery that refused to associate itself with anything Mexican or Indian because it was somehow impure” (27). Only through his university-acquired knowledge of the Spanish Conquest does his “hatred” towards his grandmother begin. However, he does not completely disregard the ideology of class and language that she transposed onto him. Instead they are combined into his worldview. This becomes obvious when María, his childhood nanny, reappears in his life: “He was feeling bitterness toward her and all people who thought like her because they seemed so literal and simpleminded. … He was still seeing people, including himself, as books. He wanted to edit them, correct them, make them behave differently. And so he continued to read them as if they were invented by someone else, and he failed to take into account their separate realities, their differences from himself” (26). This is one of the most fascinating descriptions of Miguel Chico’s worldview at one point in his life because not only does he show discrimination against the “lower class” literacy of his childhood caretaker Maria, but he generalizes his experience with her to a wider populace. Those of María’s “kind,” an inherently different subset of people, are too simplistic for his cultivated knowledge. Their “literality” seems pathetic to Miguel Chico since he “edits” others’ presence within his life.74 He is detached from his life story and refuses to take into account the web of narratives that form each presence. Miguel distances himself so well from his family, and himself, that they become fictional characters rather than people.

74 This instantiates Erlinda Gonzáles-Berry’s reading of Miguel Chico remaining “emotionally detached, intellectually aloof, and disturbingly reticent about his life” throughout the novel (20).

165 Along with Miguel Chico, JoEl is one of Mamá Chona’s favorite grandchildren. He displays arrogance towards his family and his attitude towards his mother reveals his internalization of Mamá Chona’s language ideology: “after his first year in school JoEl learned to be ashamed of the way his mother abused the language. The others, including Felix, loved to tease and imitate her. Their English was perfect and Spanish surfaced only when they addressed their older relatives or when they were with their Mexican school friends at social events” (119). Despite Angie’s tolerance and acceptance of her children’s American education and the linguistic and cultural distance it creates in her relationships to them, JoEl cannot help but feel ashamed by her. Her use of the English language, heavily influenced by her heritage language, is experienced as “abuse” to his bilingual ears. Along with his education comes the devaluation of his mother. Encouraged by his father’s mockery of her language, JoEl views his mother as an inferior linguistic entity. Angie’s language garners her little respect and sympathy from her youngest child JoEl. The two girl cousins of this generation, Yerma and Magdalena (Lena), display the greatest rejection of their grandmother’s and relatives’ ideologies through their relationship to Angie. Neither of these two is included as one of Mamá Chona’s favorites. Yerma is the reason for Mamá Chona’s tolerance of Angie within the family because when she was born, “Mama Chona forgave Felix for marrying beneath him when she saw her granddaughter, for whom she would have felt unrestrained affection had Yerma’s skin been lighter” (128). Yerma inherits the racial traits of her mother and therefore cannot be fully embraced by Mamá Chona. A good student and musically talented, Yerma is the more prudish of the two daughters. Complaining about her mother’s choice of paint colors for their house, Yerma remains bothered by Angie’s “Mexicanness.” She, along with Lena, “had long since despaired of teaching Angie the good taste they had learned in their home economics classes at school” (120). Like their brother and male cousin, both girls share the opportunity to use their “good taste” and education against their mother, but neither do. Yerma vocalizes her distaste of her mother’s color choice and finds her mother’s response comical: “[W]hen Yerma figured out that her mother had combined current slang with a French

166 dessert, she was too amused to insist on a subdued version of the colors already drying on the walls. From then on, anything white they disliked gave them all the ‘suzie creeps’” (121). Angie’s linguistic mix-up pacifies and endears her to Yerma. Yerma concedes to her mother’s color choice and goes on to adapt and appropriate her mother’s new phrase, using it as a source of familial bonding. Yerma, although not as rebellious as her sister, challenges the rejection of her mother by the rest of the Ángel family by showing acceptance towards her mother’s language and class. Of all the third generation children, the most overtly rebellious to the family’s ideologies is Lena. Inheriting her mother’s spunky nature, she intentionally pushes the family to their discriminatory limits: Lena was a scandal to the family because she ran around with the “low class” Mexicans in her high school. She was not a good student like Yerma or her cousin Miguel Chico, whom she judged “goody-goodies.” To Lena being young meant having fun and she enjoyed herself in ways that horrified her father’s sister and would have shocked Mama Chona had she known. Lena helped organize a club of Mexican girls called “Las Rucas,” and they sponsored dances which the pachucos attended faithfully. … She did not speak to her aunts, and when family occasions demanded that they be together, Lena put on more makeup than usual and wore the shortest, tightest skirt she could find. … The hypocrisy of the family enraged her. (85) The irony of the family’s ideologies is intensified in Lena’s view and turned to blatant hypocrisy. She reorders the family’s hierarchies, placing emphasis on her Mexican heritage and lower class status. Her family’s prejudices become an extension of society’s discrimination toward her identity. She manipulates her language in order to resist her family, adapting her Spanish to the much-resisted Caló version. After the death of her father and her uncle’s disgraceful failure to defend Felix, Lena responds to his apology with: “‘Tell it to the judge, you fucking hypocrite.’ She slammed the door and ran into the house. A few months later she was glad to find out that he had not been selected chief, thinking it might force him to understand what life was really like for ‘low class’ Mexicans in the land that guaranteed justice under the law for all”

167 (88). The discrimination against “lower class” Mexicans exhibited by her family drives Lena to revel in her uncle’s unsuccessful bid for professional and social promotion. She finds comfort in knowing that he must sooner or later face the hypocrisy he has created. Lena goes above and beyond Yerma’s acceptance of her mother’s status within the family. Although we might assume that Lena is just as likely to tease and mock her mother’s language as Yerma, she proves otherwise. When Angie calls Lena to come inside in her broken English, Lena begs for her to repeat her request: “‘No, Ma, not in Spanish. Say it in English.’… ‘Magdah-leen, kahm een.’ Lena shrieked with delight. … ‘Oh, Mama, just a few more minutes.’ She said ‘mama’ in the Spanish way. ‘No senorita. Joo mas kahm een rye now.’ More howls… Lena barely noticed [when her boyfriend left]. She was too taken up by her mother, whom she adored” (119-120). At first glance it is easy to interpret Lena’s request for her mother’s accented English as a request for more substance to mock, especially because of a present third party. But when we realize that Lena does not even notice the absence of her boyfriend, we recognize that her “adoration” for her mother goes beyond any temporary love interest. She prioritizes her relationship with her mother above her current significant other and shows unconditional love and appreciation for her mother’s language and position within her family. The third generation of the Ángel family all find themselves on a continuum of the family’s class and language ideologies. Vacillating between the two extremes of complete rejection and complete acceptance, all the children share American-born citizenship and assimilation. The focus on their individual formal education interferes only slightly with their educación when, as shown through the arrogance of the two boys, they find added knowledge with which to judge their family. On the other side of the continuum are the two girls. Decisively not Mamá Chona’s favorites, they embrace their mother and the language and social status she represents, as well as the ideologies she disrupts in the family. The Rain God introduces us to an immigrant family whose generations seek to find their place and identities in a new country. Passing on her ideologies on language

168 and class, Mamá Chona is reflected in her children’s attitudes towards newly arrived immigrants and views on literacy. Her children and their spouses find themselves contented to be new Americans. The financial stability of their social status and fluent bilingualism allow for the adherence to their mother’s ideologies. Angie becomes the exception to the claims of racial superiority in the family. Receiving the family’s constant disapproval, she in turn reveals some of the third generation’s attitude towards language and class. This third generation, inheriting their parents’ assimilation and bilingualism, find a distance from their family through education. The two boys retain a sense of superiority and arrogantly apply that judgment to their own relatives. The girls on the other hand, embrace their mother and in doing so rebel against the family’s language ideology. Embodying Bilingualism in Caramelo As in The Rain God, the protagonist of Caramelo, Celaya, inherits Spanish through her family’s migratory experiences to the US from México. Unlike Miguel Chico however, Celaya grows up always returning to México for annual trips. She is able to cross and re-cross the border along with her extended family network so that she has access to models of Spanish as a dominant language. She is part of the third generation of her family, US born to a second-generation Mexican national and a first generation Mexican American. Intergenerational transmission, as well as continued access to México, has allowed Spanish to persist and be maintained in her generation. Although the third generation’s Spanish is perceived deplorable by the ruling matriarch, Soledad (aka Awful Grandmother), their bilingualism as exemplified through Celaya is quite exquisite. Celaya does being a bilingual Chicana by claiming her cultural identity as a Mexican, especially when she is on the US side of the border. By doing so, non-Mexican national identities (such as Chicana/o or Mexican American) that are traditionally excluded because of their cultural and geographical relationship to the US are redefined, affirmed, and validated as types of Mexican identity. Throughout the narrative Celaya employs her bilingual language usage to help readers understand the sensorial relationship of language to her identity and

169 environment, aptly sharing her multisensory experience of the intricacies of a bilingual existence as a Chicana. As mentioned in the introduction, the novel posits Mexican as an ethnic identity category that supersedes citizenry or national state of birth. The typology of Mexican identities includes Mexican American, American Mexican, Mexican Mexican, American, Spanish, and Chicana/o. The definition of each of these depends on who you ask, on which side of the border you are, on which side of the border you are from, on which side of the border they are on and which side of the border they are from. The US-México border becomes a reference point for Mexican identities on both sides, creating fluidity versus the typical one-way fashion of ascribing Mexican cultural and national identities. Celaya grows up knowing that her Mexican identity shifts and is constantly redefined according to this paradigm. Celaya’s mother tells her that “–[i]f a woman’s crazy jealous like Licha you can bet it’s because some one’s giving her reason to be, know what I mean? It’s that she’s from over there, Mother continues, meaning from the Mexican side, and not this side. –Mexican women are just like the Mexican songs, locas for love” (11). Celaya’s mother, an American Mexican (born and raised on the US side of the border) identifies differences in Mexican Mexican (born and raised on the Mexican side of the border) women’s behavior given this formulation and reference to the border. Likewise, Celaya knows how to shift her interpretation of “this side” and offer it to us as readers because of her implicit knowledge of the shifting nature of the border as a reference point. While in México with her aunt Licha, she is told: “She was like you, Lala, a girl born on the other side who speaks Spanish with an accent” (266). For her aunt, a Mexican national and citizen, Celaya’s identity as a Mexican is located on the US side of the border, “the other side” from her aunt’s perspective. Celaya’s Mexican identity is also linguistically marked by her aunt who does not negate or question her ability to speak Spanish, but must accentuate its difference, inferring the American or English influence of being on the “other” side. Through the constant redefinition of her Mexican identity by others Celaya becomes an expert interpreter of the border as a reference point for identities she is ascribed.

170 This expertise allows her to successfully claim her identity as Mexican, especially when it is questioned on the US side of the border. Celaya is confronted twice by her peers and classmates, first by a group of young men: –Hey, hippie girl, you Mexican? On both sides? –Front and back, I say. –You sure don’t look Mexican. A part of me wants to kick their ass. A part of me feels sorry for their stupid ignorant selves. But if you’ve never been farther south than Nuevo Laredo, how the hell would you know what Mexicans are supposed to look like? ... Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about when you say I don’t look Mexican. I am Mexican. Even though I was born on the U.S. side of the border (352-353). Despite the fact that the extremity of her annoyance leads her to feel violent anger and pity, Celaya uses her wit to retort, deconstructing the questioning of her Mexican identity based on her race and physical appearance. Her classmates display an ignorance of the complexity and diversity of Mexican identities that Celaya achieves given her access and frequent trips throughout US Mexican communities as well as México.75 Celaya is further questioned by her female classmates: Heat making white people goofy pink, and brown people shiny. Is hell Cookie Cantú and her yappy perras talking shit like, –Brown power! Making fists and chanting, –Viva la raza. Or, –I’m Chicana and proud, wha’chu wanna do about it, pendeja? Give me a break already. When they catch me alone, –Bitch! Pretending like you’re Spanish and shit.... Pisses me off. What can you say when you know who you are?

75 Juanita Heredia argues that Cisneros “also demonstrates that the Chicana narrator may not appear like a Mexican but she identifies with her Mexican heritage because through visits to Mexico she has witnessed and learned about the internal cultural diversity and discrimination within the nation” (345).

171 They call me bolilla when they cross my path, or worse, gabacha. Who wants to be called a white girl? I mean, not even white girls want to be called white girls. Words I can ignore. It’s the chingazos that do the damage. (354) Because she confesses to sharing indulgent tales of her family’s royal Spanish heritage, her female classmates target her reluctance to claim a Mexican identity like theirs. Their confrontational Chicana identity politics lead them to violent interactions with Celaya, who does not engage with their tactics because she is solid in her sense of Mexican identity. Celaya feels no need to dissuade her harassers from their erroneous interpretation of her identity, as she knows that she is inherently and unquestionably Mexican like them. Like individual Mexican-based identities, the relationships between the varieties of Mexican identities change once on the US side of the border. Unlike her granddaughter, Soledad is unprepared for the interpretive shift her identity takes once she arrives to the US: “Instead of being treated like the royalty they were, they were after all Mexicans, they were treated like Mexicans, which was something that altogether startled Grandmother. In the neighborhoods she could afford, she couldn’t stand being associated with these low-class Mexicans, but in the neighborhoods she couldn’t, her neighbors couldn’t stand being associated with her” (289). Soledad is shocked upon entering the US’s racial and class system because she is no longer hierarchically safe from discrimination. What “being Mexican” means to her does not hold in this new social, economic, cultural, and geographical ambience and so she is humbled by her socioeconomic reality, which keeps her from changing class and reinterpreting her Mexican identity for higher symbolic and material value. Inocencio, Celaya’s father, explains that the American Mexican and Mexican Mexican conflict that lands him in jail is based on distinct notions of patriotism and honor: People think because we carry the same blood we’re all brothers, but it’s impossible for us to get along, you have no idea. They always look down on us nationals, understand? And so whenever we scored, some pocho would shout an insult ... Worse was their lack of respect during the Mexican national anthem ...

172 And then they started with, “We didn’t come to this country because we were starving to death,” that’s what they said. “No,” I said, “you came because your fathers were a bunch of cowards and deserted their patria during its time of need.” ... And the Mexicans from over here more American than anything, and us Mexicans from over there even more Mexican than Zapata. (216-217) The impossibility of peaceful and coalitional relationships between American and Mexican Mexicans is based on the exaggerated patriotism that results from their competitive interaction. As the soccer game intensifies the Mexicans begin to accentuate each other’s difference as based solely on cultural and national affect, targeting their relationship and loyalty to their Mexican homeland and heritage as exemplary of their true identity ties. The difficulty in redefining and accepting Mexican identities within the US leads to conflict amongst Mexican identities. Although the general outcome of interactions between Chicana/os and Mexican Mexicans is foreshadowed by Celaya’s and Inocencio’s experiences, these relations are not completely impossible. When returning from México, Celaya’s father runs into an old friend: –Well, he talked a Spanish like he came from another planet, but he was Mexican too, a Mexican from the other side. From Texas, that is ... At this point Mars interrupts, –Aw, it’s cause we’re raza, ése ... –But the day I met my friend here … he walked me over to the train station, gave me the Mexican good-bye—un abrazo and the double pat on the back... –Because we’re raza, Mars says, shrugging. –Know what I’m talking about? Because we’re familia. And familia, like it or not, for richer or poorer, familia always gots to stick together, bro’. Then Mars does the funky raza handshake with Father, like Chicano power, and Father, who is always ranting and raving about Chicanos, the same Father who calls Chicanos exagerados, vulgarones, zoot-suiting wild-talking,

173 mota-smoking, forgot-they-were-Mexican Mexicans, surprises us all. Father handshakes the funky handshake back. (280-281) Although Celaya and her siblings are shocked at this friendship because they have already been exposed to their father’s pejorative views on Chicana/os, Inocencio highlights Mars’s community building values and generosity as foundational in establishing their relationship. Mars is able to embrace Inocencio because of their Mexican heritage and Inocencio can accept their linguistic and national differences on these same terms. This long-standing friendship comes to an end with Celaya’s father “cursing all Chicanos for acting like Chicanos and giving Mexico a bad name” only when Inocencio’s citizenship is questioned by the state: –You it was who called la Migra! –What’chu talking about, man? –You it was. You called la Migra. Explain. How is it the Immigration only came to my shop that day, and not yours, eh? –Man, estás zafado. You shitty chilangos always think you know everything! –Baboso. Can’t even speak your mother tongue! –I can speak my mother tongue all right, but you can bet it ain’t Spanish. (380) Inocencio immediately accuses Mars of instigating the immigration officials’ visit to his shop because he assumes Mars’s citizenship goes unquestioned as a Mexican from the US. In the face of this threat to his sense of stability in his new nation of residence Inocencio must cut ties with those he identifies as established and linked to an American identity. Inocencio targets the differences between him and Mars as indicative of Mars’s and other Chicana/os’ inadequate representation of México through language and behavior. Although ultimately temporary, the prolonged friendship between a Chicana/o and Mexican Mexican reflects that within the novel’s identity politics this is one of the most viable.

174 Indeed, Celaya is able to sustain her own long-lasting relationship with a Chicana. The beginning of Celaya’s and her best friend Viva’s friendship is marked by their shared Mexican heritage: –Stupid! My name is Viviana. And they named that friggin’ paper towel after me! Honest to God, you don’t know shit. It’s true. I don’t know a thing. I mean, compared to Viva. At least until we talk about Mexico. –I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been there, Viva says. –No way. You’ve never been to Mexico? –Only to Nuevo Laredo. My family’s from here. Since before. –Since before what? –Since before this was Texas. We’re been here seven generations. I can’t even imagine staying in one place for seven years. (327-328) Celaya accepts Viva’s critiques of her inadequate cultural knowledge as a newcomer to Texas, acknowledging Viva’s insider expertise. She is however shocked by Viva’s permanent residency and heritage in Texas as her own development has been marked by constant migration to and from México. Viva herself is undisturbed by this fact because she does not locate her identity in the current-day México that Celaya knows but the region that historically belonged to México prior to the present day border. Viva’s knowledge base and friendship is appealing to Celaya because they share cultural and national heritage: “—Gold hoops look good on us, Viva says. She means Mexicans, and who am I to argue with the fashion expert” (337). Celaya welcomes Viva’s advice because Viva has looked past the differences in their Mexican identities. Viva upholds Mexican national and cultural heritage above all and, as a Chicana, exemplifies (as did Mars) values of coalitional identity politics within Mexican identities. Unlike her father, Celaya is able to develop and maintain a significant relationship with another Chicana because they recognize their similarities as US-born Mexicans. Having looked at the ways in which Celaya can successfully claim her Chicana identity within the Mexican identity politics tied to the border and her migrations, I

175 now turn to the ways Celaya exemplifies her bilingual identity through simultaneous literal and cultural translations and interpretations, sensitivity to language at the lexical, semantic, and phonological levels, explication of lexical gaps, and metaphorical code-switching. All of these uses of her languages are natural to her as they are representative of the ways in which her bilingualism shapes her reality. As the readers’ guide, Celaya as narrator employs her bilingualism to continuously translate and interpret possible cultural and linguistic incongruence. When introducing her family in Chicago she states: “everyone knows Uncle Fat-Face by his Italian nickname, Rico, instead of Fat-Face or Federico, even though ‘rico’ means ‘rich’ in Spanish, and Uncle is always complaining he is pobre, pobre. –It is no disgrace to be poor, Uncle says, citing the Mexican saying, –but it’s very inconvenient” (10). The layers of translation here are clear as Celaya begins by offering us the English version of her uncle’s Spanish nickname, whose literal translation would not be culturally understood to an English-language culture such as the American.76 Because of this she moves on to define the abbreviated version of his Spanish first name, which she can pinpoint as inherently contradictory to her uncle’s perceived and actual socioeconomic status. By highlighting the “Mexican saying” Celaya begins to play a politics of translation that simultaneously allows non-Spanish linguistic and cultural others to follow along while maintaining their outside status. There is ultimately only so much that Celaya as a bilingual can do for English monolingual and non-Mexican cultured individuals. Upon sneaking into their grandmother’s room in México, Celaya and her cousins read the text on her pillows: “—Amor de mi vida, Ito whispers. –Solo tú. Eres mi destino. Amor eterno—Narciso y Soledad.*” … “*Mexican pillows embroidered with Mexican piropos, sugary as any chuchuluco. Siempre Te Amare, I’ll Always Love You. Que Bonito Amor, What a Pretty Love. Suspiro Por Ti, I Sigh For you. Mi Vida Eres Tú, My Life is You. Or the ever popular, Mi Vida, My Life” (42-45). Although these are not immediately

76 Lisa Wagner indicates that this use of language in Cisneros’s works “hace accesible a los lectores no hispanohablantes un mundo ajeno y consigue presentar la idea que nose puede llegar a coocer una cultura mediante una simple tradución de una lengua a otra” (2 of 6).

176 translated for readers,77 we are offered a description of the flowery and sweet nature of the language being described. Celaya is sensitive to the different register of Spanish language used on the pillows and how to interpret this as part of Mexican cultural niceties and compliments. Differences in language use are evident for Celaya in her family’s traditions as exemplified on special occasions such as her father’s birthday: “That’s why on the mornings of Father’s birth we wake to ‘The Little Mornings,’ and not ‘Happy Birthday to You’ … –¡Felicidades! Happinesses!” (47-48). The tradition of singing a celebratory song dedicated to the person whose birthday it is changes to Spanish when in México. The literal translation of the name of the song in Spanish to English as well as the literal translation “felicidades” allow readers to feel the shifts in language use Celaya must enact when traveling to México. The literal translation is Celaya offering as narrator for readers to understand the linguistic and cultural shifts, as well as linguistic play, from English to Spanish and back, which she naturally performs as a bilingual Chicana. Literal translations however do not always suffice to convey sociocultural and intrapersonal emotional ties to languages that Celaya owns as a bilingual, so she offers her own interpretations as well. Celaya shares a strategy for coping with the emotional lows experienced as a growing adolescent young woman: I buy a ball of cotton string and double-zero needle at the Woolworth’s and crotchet a dirty knot of lace because my hands always sweat, and I can’t keep the string clean. There’s a poem by García Lorca we had to memorize once in school. It has a line that goes “Who will buy from me this sadness of white string to make handkerchiefs?” Something like that. It sounds kind of goofy in English. ¿Quién me compraría a mí, este cintillo que tengo y esta tristeza de hilo blanco, para hacer pañuelos? This sadness of white string. That’s how I feel when I get the funkadelics. An endless white string full of tiny knots. (316)

77 Cisnero’s literal translation is given within a footnote, which Ellen McCracken describes as one of the author’s “innovative narrative techniques” used to guide an audience not versed “in the history and customs of Mexico and Mexican-Americans” as well as “ethnographic counter-narratives that correct the gap in the master narrative of U.S. and Mexican history” (4, 6).

177 Celaya can only describe her mood swings by invoking the lyricism of Spanish. She visualizes her depression as an intricately knitted yarn, the principal metaphor of the poem that has remained in her memory. She discards her own English literal translation as “goofy” and prioritizes the fluidity of sound and meaning of Spanish for describing her internal emotional state. Later, when describing her grandmother’s growing emotional relationship to her grandfather she states: “Like all novitiates, Soledad sincerely believed the piropos Narciso tossed her way, a word in Spanish for which there is no translation in English, except perhaps ‘harassment’ (in another age, these were called ‘gallantries’)” (156). Celaya cannot translate the Spanish word describing the type of language used to court women by Mexican men into English but in her attempt to define it she includes her own critique of its coercive and outdated nature. This foreshadows the way that love relationships are inevitably and necessarily marked by language in the novel and Celaya’s life. In her bilingual capacities as cultural interpreter and literal translator Celaya upholds Spanish as the best language through which to represent her emotional life. As a compound bilingual whose vocabulary is spread across two languages, Celaya accesses both her languages together in order to accurately interpret and experience her world. After questioning her father’s decision to stay in Chicago he responds: “–Because it wasn’t my destino. And I wonder if he means ‘destiny’ or ‘destination.’ Or maybe both” (246). Although “destino” is a Spanish word that her father, a predominately Spanish language user, is speaking to describe his travels, Celaya does not isolate its possible intended meaning or definition to Spanish. The interpretive depth of this Spanish word traverses into English because that is how Celaya understands the world and its words, through both, simultaneously and without neat separation. The play of meanings in Spanish is critical to her experiences and interpretation of the world through her bilingualism. When in a depressed mood at school Celaya is told: “–The trouble with you is you’re too somber, a nun at school would tell me. Somber. I wonder if the word comes from the same place as sombrero” (316). The English word somber is also not limited to an English-only etymology or definition. Turning the adjective into a noun, Celaya understands the description of her

178 mood as something that can be worn, easily put on and taken off—an appropriate metaphor for her teenage mood swings. Through her reflections on the meaning and origins of words Celaya reveals the necessary unity of her languages in her understanding and navigation of her self and her world. Celaya is extremely sensitive to the sounds of her languages, which she experiences through their visualization: “Father pays no attention to Mother’s complaints. Father laughs that laugh he always laughs when he finds the world amusing. That laugh like las chicharras, a laugh like the letter ‘k’” (49). In Spanish Celaya names the creatures that reproduce in a similar fashion the primary phoneme that composes her father’s laughter. In English she isolates and highlights the specific letter, which represents the same sound. In either and definitely both languages we can hear and see the sounds which Celaya experiences. The same occurs with another man’s voice: “Father’s compadre Señor Coochi is playing his guitar. The sound of Señor Coochi’s voice trembling like tears, like water falling clear and cold. … It’s funny to have someone singing to you like in the movies. When he starts singing to me, I can’t help myself and start laughing” (51). The quiver of Señor Coochi’s voice is immediately experienced and visualized as moving water by Celaya. Her memory of romantic scenes in Mexican movies causes her discomfort in imagining herself the recipient of a serenade. When attempting to explain her refusal to ingest her grandmother’s food Celaya tells her: “—I can’t eat it, Grandmother. Pica. It makes little needles on my tongue” (55). Celaya’s grandmother (a vehement critic of her grandchildren’s language, Spanish monolingual, and spicy cooker) must be made to understand Celaya’s digestive trouble through Celaya’s bilingualism. Celaya communicates her message by tactile interpretation, the burning sensation she is experiencing as an added descriptor to her Spanish word choice of “pica” or “ it stings.” These moments of sensorial and visual conceptualization of the sounds of language represent a unique facet of the way Celaya practically applies her bilingual sensitivity to languages to her interpretation and experience of the world. Although bilinguals have two linguistic codes to continuously access as Celaya does, like monolinguals, they experience moments of lexical gaps, when neither

179 language offers them the word needed at a given moment. Moments of being without language are shared throughout Celaya’s family, although she is the only one who offers an explanation for them and learning through them. In one such instance, Celaya’s eldest brother returns from a lengthy stay in México that was intended to support his Spanish language skills: That’s true. It is a year before we see him. And when he comes back to us in a clean white shirt and with hair shorter than we’ve ever remembered it, his Spanish is as curly and correct as Father’s. … He tries talking to us in Spanish, but we don’t use that language with kids, we only use it with grown-ups. We ignore him and keep watching our television cartoons. Later when he feels like it and can talk about it, he’ll explain what it’s like to be abandoned by your parents and left in a country where you don’t have enough words to speak the things inside you. –Why did you leave me? –It was for your own good, so that you’d speak better Spanish. Your grandmother thought it for the best. (23) A marked change takes place in the emotional and communicative relationships with his siblings and cousins, which speaks to the power that being in a different linguistic space has over one’s being. Breaking the norm of English language choice and use for communication amongst the third generation of Celaya’s family the young man receives only silence for his Spanish. Expectedly, the trauma of the entire experience is attributed to their grandmother as a regulator of their Spanish language. Celaya’s own personal experience of being without language is not imposed on her as in her brother’s experience, but is a poignant part of her linguistic development as a child. Celaya struggles to express that the roof has caved into an area of the house: I scramble downstairs to tell everyone, only I don’t have the words for what I want to say. Not in English. Not in Spanish. –The wall has fallen, I keep saying in English. … –La pared arriba, es que se cayó. Ven, Papá, ven. … Mother shouts downstairs. –Everybody, quick! The ceiling’s fallen!

180 ¡Se cayó el cielo raso! Father says. And then it is I learn the words for what I want to say. “Ceiling” and “cielo.” Cielo–the word Father uses when he calls me “my heaven.” The same word the Little Grandfather reaches for when he wants to say the same thing. Only he says it in English. –My sky. (60-61) Celaya is doubly silenced as she cannot access the English or Spanish lexical item that she requires to communicate the quite notable structural failure that has occurred in the edifice. She is able to maneuver through this moment through circumlocution and added description and converts this experience into a learning moment in which she acquires vocabulary bilingually. After learning the word Celaya spirals into visualized phonological connotations to emotionally register the meaning and significance of the word into her bilingual repertoire. Celaya’s bilingualism solidifies and accentuates the emotional bonds that inform her relationships. The central relationship of the novel, that between Celaya and her father, is the best example of Celaya’s metaphorical codeswitching. Reflecting on her educational and emotional development as a child Celaya shares: “In first grade I remember feeling like this; so miserable, all I ever drew was pictures of my family. Every day the same thing. … Father’s name in Spanish with the accent on the end. Papá. The End. Tan tán. Like the notes at the end of a Mexican song that tell you to applaud” (393). To combat her childhood melancholy Celaya finds solace in imaging her family, particularly her father. Celaya must code-switch between English and Spanish in order to accentuate the musical inflection, the note that marks the significance of the representational weight the word “father” in Spanish holds for her. Their interactions are filled with English-Spanish code-switching as indicated by the bedtime ritual: “Father makes the same joke he always makes at bedtime. –¿Qué tienes? ¿Sueño o sleepy? –Es que tengo sleepy. I have sleepy, Father” (52). Celaya’s father both encourages and enacts his daughter’s bilingualism by offering her a multitude of choices to describe her drowsiness and readiness for a night’s rest. He plays off the Spanish and English cultural phrases used to describe sleepiness in order

181 to consciously make Celaya mix and integrate both languages in her communication and relationship with him. He uses this same technique to check in with her: –What’s the matter, Lala? ¿Estás “deprimed”? Father says, chuckling. It’s an old joke, one he never gets tired of, changing a Spanish word into English, or the other way around, just to be a wise guy. I think to myself, Yes, I’m deprimida. Who wouldn’t be depressed in this family? But I don’t say this. (238) As Celaya matures the bond between her father and her is expectedly strained and changes, as is evidenced by her detailing and explanation of his codeswitching technique. Despite her internalized cynicism Celaya can appreciate the linguistic tradition her father shares with her as well as its aim to foster emotional security in their relationship so she can share her thoughts and feelings. Metaphorical codeswitching permeates Celaya’s relationship with her father as it emphasizes and reflects the bilingual emotional bond she forms with individuals in her life. Celaya is the most poignant representative of the intricate nature of bilingualism and how beautiful doing being a Chicana bilingual can be. Celaya experiences language through physical sensation, a visual imaginary, and emotional memory all at once. She embodies her bilingualism as the interpretive center of her epistemology. Because Mexican identities are not fixed and are constantly uprooted from their national settings, Celaya learns to redefine her identity and its fluid nature in reference to the physical and metaphorical border that separates the two geographical nations that culturally and linguistically define her development. Her wonderful language choice and use are maintained throughout the novel because the ways she moves in the world can only be accessed through the combination of Spanish and English. Celaya therefore cannot but embody her bilingualism and Chicana identity throughout her narrative. Conclusion Barrio Boy, The Rain God, and Caramelo guide us as readers through the essential phenomena of bilingualism in and through our literary experience of the protagonists’ “doing being bilingual Chicana/os.” Through Little Ernie’s narrative we

182 are shown the positive impact that bilingualism can have on the otherwise stressful experiencing of migrating into a dominant unknown society. Because Ernie grows up with such a powerful relationship to his language, he is able to confidently develop his bilingualism and biculturalism. Ever the US Mexican, Ernie is an example of how and why bilingualism beneficially solidifies a strong sense of self for Chicana/o identities. Miguel Chico’s experience of the intergenerational transmission that keeps his family as Spanish-English bilinguals reveals the ideological depths language carries. He, along with earlier generations, inherits social, economic, racial, and educational prejudices along with their Spanish because these are critical to the worldview and survival of their predecessors as Mexican migrants to the US. Subsequent generations must not only re-contextualize their linguistic experiences and identities as bilingual Chicana/os, but also their varying nature even within a generation. Celaya reveals the immediate physical, emotional, and psychological reality of bilingual Chicana/o identities. As she mediates our entry into her world, she cannot but do so with all the splendor of her linguistic and cultural repertoire as a bilingual Chicana. Enacting her bilingualism requires embracing it, as well as its manifestations. Through a lens informed by the study of bilingualism we can better appreciate what and how it means to be a bilingual Chicana/o and do bilingualism as a Chicana/o.

183 Chapter Four “Not Bilingual/Chicana Enough”: Spanish as a Chicana/o Heritage Language in Michele Serros, Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherríe Moraga, and Vida Mía García Introduction I turn the reader’s attention to the heart of the chapter’s title, the easily overlooked yet poignantly weighted orthographic representation of selection or addition between alternatives: the virgule. Popularly defined as “or-and,” this symbol encompasses in a simple form the relationship interrogated in this chapter, specifically that between perceptions of idealized bilingualism and Chicana/o identity. One can be bilingual and one can be Chicana/o, yes. But does Chicana/o identity hinge on being bilingual in both English and Spanish? According to the personal narratives of the Chicana feminist writers who are the representative protagonists of this chapter’s analysis, and according to the communities they identify with and wish to be identified by, apparently so. And when this is indeed the case, what then happens to those Chicana/os that do not meet this conceptualization of Chicana/o identities as markedly Spanish fluent and perfectly balanced English-Spanish bilinguals? As will become evident through my analysis, the resultant enterprise of “non-bilingual/Spanish-savvy” Chicana/os is to reclaim—exactly through language—their identity as Chicanas. Unfortunately this process is undertaken as a reactionary tactic against a lived experience of very real and painful language prejudices.78 The chapter title and our little virgule, then, question the synonymy of Spanish fluency and flawless bilingualism with Chicana/o identity. This question does not however undermine or reject the notion that linguistic affinity and ties to ethnic and cultural identities are bad. Instead, if we are to embrace the concept of Chicana/o identity as inherently bilingual, we must understand the “other” results of two language coming into contact, namely that of language shift and loss, as well as appreciate the difficulties of returning to a heritage language that has been actively withheld from an individual. In doing so, we can then broaden the scope of what Chicana/o communities can do to further cement, in a less insular and repressive manner, our ties to Spanish as one of our heritage

78 Please refer to Chapter One for a discussion of the definition and use of language prejudice in this dissertation, which is based on the work of Bonnie Urciuoli, Exposing Prejudice (1996).

184 languages. In this chapter I argue that the assumptions and expectations about Spanish language proficiency foisted onto the identity of Chicana/os without a critical understanding or acceptance of the factors contributing to language shift and loss as a real and painful lived experience impinges on Chicana/o community building. As the fourth and final analytical chapter of this dissertation, this work comes after having taken the reader through an exploration of the subtle yet pivotal and recurring thematic of bilingualism as part of Chicana/o identity formation in the coming-of-age narratives Pocho (1959) and George Washington Gómez (1991) in Chapter Two, as well as the manifestations of bilingual Chicana/o identities in Barrio Boy (1971), The Rain God (1984), and Caramelo (2002) in Chapter Three. Whereas the protagonists of these works enjoyed the exposure, access, and validation necessary for bilingual development, as well as environments within which to manifest their bilingual and bicultural identities, the writers examined in this chapter express the very real, material, sociocultural and historic situations that impaired a positive development of English-Spanish bilingualism and Chicana identity confidently based on language. The texts analyzed through this chapter brutally explore being excluded from bilingual and/or Chicana/o communities based on perceived language inadequacies. The pain of this conflict, of both being questioned from within and from outside the communities one seeks to be recognized by, is the impetus for the words that compose the primary texts we will look at in this chapter, namely Michele Serros’s Chicana Falsa (1993) and Role Model a Chicana Role Model (2000), Gloria Anzaldúa’s Borderlands (1987), Cherríe Moraga’s Loving in the War Years (1983), and Vida Mía García’s “This Wild Tongue Tamed” (2007). First, I will introduce their works, after I will explore the issues of Spanish as a heritage language for Chicana/os within the US. This will be followed by a discussion of the processes of language shift and loss and their linkage to cultural ostracism for Chicana/os that fail to meet the proposed linguistic criteria of Chicana/o identity. I will then look at the importance of language recovery projects outlined and described in these Chicana feminist texts as a way to reclaim Chicana/o language and identity within our communities.

185 Chapter texts The title of Michele Serros’s79 first work, Chicana Falsa and Other Stories of Death, Identity, and Oxnard, establishes the precarious position of Chicana identity within her writing. Serros lets us know that her identity is caught between the final stage of life, the state of non-being (death), and her origins and first community (Oxnard). This transitional aspect of identity places it within a context of questionable authenticity and self-determination. By means of an introduction to this work Serros shares the story of being asked to author her mother’s obituary after her unexpected death: I was the so-called writer of the family, and this was to be my first published piece. When I described my mother as an artist, someone questioned it. “Are you sure you want to say that? I mean, it isn’t like she sold anything. Not like she had her art up in galleries or anything. She wasn’t an artist, really.” These accusations stung. Here was a definition of an artist. Someone who just didn’t make art, but who was recognized for it. Someone who just didn’t sell art, but made good money from it. Definitions have always played a big part in my life: a true Mexican versus a fake Mexican, a good student versus a lousy one, a true artist versus a wannabe one. (Chicana Falsa xi) Because she does not base her definition of an artist on public recognition and economic compensation but rather on the sheer act of artistic creation, Serros is doubly confronted with skepticism towards her mother’s identity as an artist as well as her own identity as a writer. The recognition that defining an identity is not necessarily accepted as an organic or self-determined process is a painful one that leads Serros to present the three most important facets of her identity (ethnicity, education, and art) as dichotomies. By claiming the major role or “big part” defining her identity through these aspects has had in her life, Serros prioritizes the issues of contrasting self- definition and definition from the outside, the crux of the paradigm through which identity is worked. Throughout Serros’s writing then, we know to expect the

79 Literary criticism on Michele Serros’s works is sparse to say the least. However, popular and critical reviews of her writing are available through her Wikipedia entry and personal website at www.muchamichele.com, and include articles in periodicals such as The Los Angeles Times, Newsweek, Sunday Start, Si Magazine, Press Enterprise, Estylo and Urban Latino.

186 engagement with the issue of validity in personal identity work when it meets outside critique and doubt. As a key spokeswoman of Chicana feminism,80 Gloria Anzaldúa established the unquestioned reliance on the relationship between language and identity for the success of women of color feminist projects.81 In the canonical text This Bridge Called My Back, Anzaldúa offers “Speaking in Tongues,” as a guide to the women of color identities she prioritizes in her writing. Anzaldúa constructs “speaking in tongues” as the necessary voicing of women of color feminism and identity through reclaiming language, acknowledging historical erasure, and “putting shit on paper”: Our speech too is inaudible. We speak in tongues like the outcast and the insane. Because white eyes do not want to know us, they do not bother to learn our language, the language that reflects our culture, our spirit. The schools we attended or didn’t attend did not give us the skills for writing nor the confidence that we were correct in using our class and ethnic languages. I for one, became adept at, and majored in English to spite, to show up, the arrogant racist teachers who thought all Chicano children were dumb and dirty. And Spanish was not taught in grade school. And Spanish was not required in High School. And though now I write my poems in Spanish as well as English I feel the rip-off of my native tongue. (183-184) From the paradigm of erasure lesbian women of color experienced within white feminist coalitions Anzaldúa highlights the manner in which language uttered from

80 For critical reviews and essential discussions of the history, development, and trajectory of Chicana feminism, please refer to Chicana Feminisms: A Critical Reader, eds. Gabriela F. Arredondo, Aida Hurtado, Norma Klahn, Olga Najera-Ramirez, and Patricia Zavella, (Durham: Duke University Press, 2003), Chicana Feminist Thought: The Basic Historical Writings, ed. Alma M. Garcia (New York: Routledge, 1997), Aida Hurtado, Voicing Chicana Feminisms: Young Women Speak Out on Sexuality and Identity (New York: New York University Press, 2003), Living Chicana Theory, ed. Carla Trujillo (Berkeley: Third Woman Press, 1998), and Paula Moya, “Chicana Feminism and Postmodernist Theory,” Learning from Experience: Minority Identities, Multicultural Struggles (Berkeley: University of California Pres, 2002) 58-99. 81 Please refer to Entre Mundos/Among Worlds: New Perspectives on Gloria E. Anzaldúa, ed. AnaLouise Keating, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005) for the most recent published compilations of critical work on Anzaldua’s writing.

187 overlooked identities is silenced.82 This leads her to share her childhood and adolescent experiences of her languages, specifically Spanish as her home language, which had no place in her formal education. Anzaldúa conceptualized this silencing as a personal challenge during her adolescence; her educational trajectory was marked by the need to construct herself as a counter-example of the uneducated semilingual child of color stereotype she was ascribed at school. Despite being able to function at a stylistic level in Spanish (which is no small feat if one is not formally educated and trained to do so in that register for any language), Anzaldúa retains a deep sense of loss—the theft of her heritage language development. In her writing, Anzaldúa explores the theme of reclaiming silenced voices and their languages in order to redress such larceny. An icon of Chicana feminism herself, Cherríe Moraga83 is one of the most fearless writers in describing and analyzing problematic conceptualizations of

82 The following works were pivotal in my understanding of the breadth and depth of Anzaldúa’s work in Chicana feminism and Third world women of color feminism: Making Face, Making Soul: Haciendo Caras, ed. Gloria Anzalúa (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Foundation Books, 1990), Emma Pérez, The Decolonial Imaginary: Writing Chicanas into History, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999) and “Gloria Anzaldúa: La Gran Nueva Mestiza Theorist, Writer, Activist-Scholar,” National Women's Studies Association Journal, 17.2 (2005 Summer; 17 (2): 1-10, Sonia Saldívar-Hull, Feminism on the Border: Chicana Gender Politics and Literature (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, 3rd ed., eds. Cherríe L. Moraga and Gloria E. Anzaldúa (Berkeley: Third Woman Press, 2002), and Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, “Gloria Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera: Cultural Studies, ‘Difference,’ and the Non-Unitary Subject,” The Chicana/o Studies Cultural Studies Reader, ed. Angie Chabram-Dernersesian (New York: Routledge, 2006) 81-92. 83 For further discussion of Moraga’s works please see Norma Alarcón, “Interview with Cherríe Moraga,” Third Woman 3.1-2(1986): 127-134, Ana Castillo, rev. of Cherríe Moraga’s Loving in the War Years: lo que nunca pasó por sus labios, Third Woman 3.1-2(1986): 137-138, “City of Desire: An Interview with Cherríe Moraga,” Latina Self-Portraits: Interviews with Contemporary Women Writers, eds. Bridget Kevane and Juanita Heredia (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2000) 97- 108, Dionne Espinoza, “Cherríe Moraga, Loving in the War Years: Lo Que Nunca Pasó Por Sus Labios,” Reading U.S. Latina Writers: Remapping American Literature, ed. Alvina E. Quintana (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003) 151-162, Karin Rosa Ikas, Chicana Ways: Conversations with Ten Chicana Writers (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2002), Paula Moya, “Postmodernism, Realism, and the Politics of Identity: Cherríe Moraga and Chicana Feminism,” Learning from Experience: Minority Identities, Multicultural Struggles (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002) 23-57, Ramón Saldívar, “The Dialectics of Subjectivity: Gender and Differnce in Isabella Rios, Sandra Cisneros, and Cherrie Moraga,” Chicano Narrative: The Dialectics of Difference (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990) 171-199, Sandra K. Soto, “Making Familia from Racialized Sexuality: Cherríe Moraga’s Memoirs, Manifestos, and Motherhood,” Reading Chican@ Like a Queer: The De- Mastery of Desire (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2010) 15-37, Yvonne Yarbro-Bejarano, The Wounded Heart: Writing on Cherríe Moraga (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2001), and Rebecca Joyce Zamora Lausch, Embodying Autobiography and Mothering Feminist Theory: Gloria Anzaldua,

188 identities within marginalized communities. Aware of the complex linguistic repertoire she owns given her racial and ethnic heritages, Moraga explains: “I am the daughter of a Chicana and anglo. I think most days I am an embarrassment to both groups. I sometimes hate the white in me so viciously that I long to forget the commitment my skin has imposed upon my life. To speak two tongues. I must. But I will not double-talk and I refuse to let anybody’s movement determine for me what is safe and fair to say” (vi). Moraga fiercely holds herself accountable for the privilege of her marked white Anglo heritage’s visible dominance by committing to represent, indeed highlight, all of her cultural heritage. Seeking out ways to communicate her identity through her language raises concerns in and for her writing: Some days I feel my writing wants to break itself open. Speak in a language that maybe no “readership” can follow. What does it mean that the Chicana writer if she truly follows her own voice, she may depict a world so specific, so privately ours, so full of “foreign” language to the anglo reader, there will be no publisher. The people who can understand it, don’t/won’t/can’t read it. … In Spanish, “compromiso” is also used to mean obligation or commitment. And I guess, in fact, I write as I do because I am committed to communicating with both sides of myself. (vi) Moraga realizes that pursuing her desire to accurately represent her identity through language is a commitment that may be difficult to fulfill. And this is because she realizes that speaking to and for the communities she identifies with simultaneously causes her language to be problematic. Her writing and texts may be inaccessible linguistically, not to mention epistemologically. This signals an emblematic marking in Moraga’s writing: the disjuncture between the lesbian writer of color’s heart and tongue.84 Moraga explores this disjuncture and its effect on communicating her

Cherrie Moraga, and the (Re)Visionary Practice of Auto/Historia y Teoria, Diss. (Arizona State University, 2003). 84 As Yarbro-Bejarano explains, “Moraga’s writing is courageous and polemical in both the Chicano and feminist communities. Speaking from the position of one who is both lesbian and Chicana, she breaks taboos about sexuality and calls for a critique of sexism and homophobia in Chicano culture; within the feminist community she analyzes the racism and classism of the White women’s movement and continues the dialogue on sexuality and sexual styles” (“Cherríe Moraga’s Giving Up” 113).

189 Chicana identity and experience to her various communities, and thus becomes a central figure in this chapter. The most recent piece analyzed in this chapter is found in Telling Tongues: A Latin@ Anthology of Language Experience, edited by Louis G. Mendoza and Toni Nelson Herrera. A central aim of this anthology is to create a space (from textual to corporeal communities) where different voices of Latina identity can be expressed in and through language. The particular piece that I chose to include in this chapter is authored by a fellow classmate and colega, a Chicana role model to myself and many other graduate students at our institution. Vida Mía García’s piece titled “This Wild Tongue Tamed: A Memoir, a Eulogy, a Diatribe, a Prayer” speaks alongside and back to both Anzaldúa and Moraga’s work. As evidenced by her title, she offers her work as a reflective personal essay that focuses on her linguistic experience as a bilingual Chicana. All four conceptualizations of this experience are necessary to capture the memories of her language, the sadness and honoring of that experience through loss, her invocation of and against the agents of her negative experiences, and finally her re- conceptualization of these as positive forces that have shaped her identity as a Chicana. As an introduction to her piece García provides an anecdote of an online chat she hesitates to engage in. Receiving a message in Spanish brings forth the queries that thematize her piece: Now, there is no reason why anyone shouldn’t write to me in Spanish. My name screams—or perhaps coos—latinidad … It is no great leap in logic for viewers/readers to assume that, yes indeed, I am Latina. … If my profile had been devoid of racial or ethnic markers, would I have received the same message, but in English? And are these my only options? Why not a message in Tex-Mex or Spanglish or Caló—or cripes, even Náhuatl? What assumptions are operating here? (121) García questions the basis for expectations and assumptions of Latina/o identity and language, scrutinizing the particular focus on the limited representation of Latina/o heritage as communicable only through English and Spanish. She is conscious of the extensive complex linguistic history of Latina/os, which such limited expectations and

190 assumptions negate. García literally speaks back to these assumptions, pinpointing their effects on her life with incisive clarity and poignant frankness. Her piece also offers an example of the way Chicana feminist texts shape and evolve throughout generations and/or “waves.” The grouping of these particular authors and texts itself works in a fashion representative of my development as a scholar. From the contemporary third- generation Chicana/o experience described in Serros’s creative non-fiction, I turn to the mixed-genre writings of Anzaldúa and Moraga as foremothers of Chicana feminism, and then back to García’s contemporary Chicana feminist personal essay. Serros uses humor that does not detract from but instead highlights the difficulty of dealing with linguistic assumptions and expectations that are not congruent with her lived experience and reality. Vida Mía García provides an unabashed and strong critique of these assumptions and expectations, directly addressing the equation of language=identity in our Chicana/o and Latina/o communities. And in the midst of these resonate critical analyses centering the Chicana and women of color’s experience provided by Gloria Anzaldúa and Cherríe Moraga. Hence these authors, with their powerfully engaging words, furnish the primary texts through which my argument will be made. Heritage Languages, their Speakers, and Chicana/os’ Spanish By understanding what heritage languages are, how they are learned, and developed by their speakers, it becomes easier to comprehend the damage caused by unrealistic assumptions and expectations about their speakers’ linguistic abilities that Serros, Moraga, Anzaldúa and García address. The developing field of heritage language pedagogy and learning concretizes the differing needs and linguistic histories of its heritage language speakers as learners attempting to reactivate not only their heritage language use but also validate their identity in that language. We will begin by exploring the main criteria whereby heritage languages are defined and identified in order to move on to the characterization of their speakers and learners. We will then move on to reviewing the critical principles of heritage language teaching and learning in order to address the linguistic expectations and assumptions made regarding these

191 speakers’ and students’ abilities and histories. Finally, we will look at the specific situation of Spanish as a heritage language of Chicanas/os that our Chicana writers center in their works. Many terms such as home languages, first and/or native languages, mother tongues, minority languages (to name a few) have been used to refer to heritage languages. Indeed, the term “heritage language” has only come into use in the US within the last few decades. Joshua Fishman notes: “Heritage languages is a designation that has fairly recently ‘arrived’ in the United States to indicate languages other than the nationally dominant one that are historically associated with the ethnicity (the ethnocultural heritage) of particular minority populations. Such languages, by whatever name, are currently, and have for a good long time been devalued in many settings” (“Acquisition, Maintenance, and Recovery” 2). Fishman’s definition highlights three critical points that must be at the forefront in our understanding of heritage languages. The first is that a heritage language is not a dominant language in whatever geopolitical setting it exists. That is, a heritage language is always necessarily in relation with another language, one that is more widely used and accepted at the societal and national level. Secondly, a heritage language is directly linked to its speakers’ ethnic and cultural heritage and therefore identity. Speakers of heritage languages have specific historical, social, cultural, ethnic, and subsequently personal ties to the language that deeply influence their sense of self. And finally, heritage languages are necessarily value-laden—both by the communities that deem them worthy of self-identification and preservation, as well as by the dominant society that disparage them as well as their speakers. In reviewing the challenges of defining heritage languages Terrence Wiley notes that “the elasticity of the term” prompts a series of concerns regarding the politics of identity, inclusion and exclusion, and “nonstigmatizing nomenclature” for speakers and learners of non- dominant languages (30-34). What is at stake in the definition of heritage languages is of particular ideological importance for the understanding of their speakers’ identities. The term “heritage language” is ultimately no mere description of formal linguistic attributes.

192 Because the definition of heritage languages has been of particular interest to the field of education, specifically in language instruction, its speakers are described in terms of their language development and learning. Guadalupe Valdés points out: “Within the foreign language teaching profession in the United States, the term ‘heritage speaker’ is used to refer to a student of language who is raised in a home where a non-English language is spoken, who speaks or merely understands the heritage language, and who is to some degree bilingual in English and the heritage language” (Introduction 1). The primary domains of language use for heritage language speakers are their home and in-group communities. The uses for which they require their heritage language are therefore intimate, familiar, and personal. Valdés goes on to explain that “[f]or the most part, the experiences of these heritage speakers have been similar. They speak or hear the heritage language spoken at home, but they receive all of their education in the official or majority language of the countries in which they live. What this means is that, in general, such students receive no instruction in the heritage language. They thus become literate only in the majority language” (Introduction 1). Heritage speakers are formally educated in the majority language they acquire and develop the more highly valued literacy skills in the dominant language of their society and nation. However, because they require their heritage language to meet non-academic and informal communicative needs, they retain many formally unrecognized skills and abilities in their heritage language. Heritage language speakers are therefore inevitably bilingual to varying degrees. They require both languages in order to meet all their communicative needs across their various domains of language use and networks. We cannot, however, become too immersed in the qualification of their linguistic abilities because as Valdés rightly specifies, “[i]t is the historical and personal connection to the language that is salient and not the actual proficiency of individual speakers” (“Heritage Language Students” 38). Instead of focusing attention on the linguistic abilities of heritage speakers as circumstantial bilinguals, priority must be given to the intrapersonal relationship to the language. In describing these speakers the importance of identity politics cannot be undervalued or disregarded, but rather, must be emphasized above all other aspects.

193 In addressing heritage language speakers as language students and learners, one of the most important principles for their instruction has been to recognize these speakers as markedly different from second language acquisition students. Valdés expounds on this same issue clarifying that “[t]he so-called home-background, residual, and quasi-native speakers about whom [language teaching and learning] professionals are concerned are not simply imperfect speakers” but are “complex individuals who are fundamentally different from monolinguals” and therefore second language learners (“The Teaching of Minority Languages” 316). One of the fundamental differences between heritage language students and second language students is their linguistic history and implicit bilingualism. Heritage students come into their language classrooms with prior experience and therefore developed proficiencies, to whatever varying degree, in the target language. Recognizing these proficiencies and their complex linguistic history is crucial in the success of any type of language development for heritage learners and their instructors. Heritage language students cannot be compared to second language learners because of their experiential differences with the language they are learning. However, Andrew Lynch is able to locate one important similarity between second language learners and heritage learners: “While researchers occupy their time comparing L2 development with monolingual native speaker norms, reality dictates that no L2 learner will ever become a monolingual speaker of the target language. The same is true of HL learners” (33).85 This statement should not be taken as a pessimistic commentary on the ability of heritage language students. Instead, it should be taken as indicative of the false expectations pressed on to these speakers when compared to a monolingual norm of second language learning. Despite the fact that it is acceptable and quite expected for learners of a second language to never fully achieve “native- like fluency,” the same criterion is not applied to heritage language learners. Lynch also notes that “[t]he term ‘heritage’ learner should not invoke any lesser or greater degree of bilingual competence through classifications such as ‘second,’ ‘third,’ or ‘fourth’ generation” (30). Additional descriptors such as generation can be used to

85 L2 and HL are shorthand for second language and heritage language, respectively.

194 further question a heritage learner’s inherent bilingualism instead of validating it. Comparisons between second language learners and heritage learners always result in the negation of heritage language learners’ abilities, although they are organically different language users and learners. Appreciating the intrinsic complexities and results of heritage language learners’ linguistic lived experiences of bilingualism is fundamental to conceptualizing them as students. As a relatively young but blossoming field of study and education, heritage language instruction lacks formal methodological and pedagogical theory but various principles have been developed in order to help guide instructors and researchers. Here I would like to note the principle that, as a heritage language instructor, I took to be essential in the formulation of my students as learners, myself as an instructor, and the work we were attempting to do in the classroom. That which became quintessential was the “social identity principle” which states that “HL speakers who psychologically relate one or more aspects of their social identity to the HL, either for reasons of utility or social relevance, will be more inclined to use it and purposefully acquire it (cf. Gardern 1985 in SLA research)” (Lynch 39). What has become clear to me (and other instructors who have engaged heritage language students) is that identity becomes central to the success of a heritage language educational project. If, as Lynch notes, students do not relate their identity, or some part of it, to their heritage language, the relevance for maintaining or expanding their skills in this language will diminish, along with motivation for doing so. If one does not find their language to be relevant or important, or centrally tied to her identity, she will not seek to devote and invest time into its development as Serros, Anzaldúa, Moraga, and García do through their writing. I would not like, however, for the reader to believe that utility, especially in a consumerist sense, is what marks the success of heritage language development. This fits with Lynch’s warning that “HL professionals cannot enter the classroom with assumptions about the linguistic abilities of their students or their motivations for being there” (31). Instead, it is key to understand the necessity of valuing the importance of one’s language at the personal level within the public arena of the classroom. Heritage language teaching and learning principles further reiterate the

195 identity work that must be brought to conscious attention for positive heritage language development. I end this section attempting to reinforce the importance of understanding these aspects of heritage languages and their speakers, as Chicanas/os fit into this paradigm with Spanish. As a heritage language, Spanish is the most prevalent non-dominant language in the US. It is the second most widely spoken language in the US after English. Examining the 2000 US Census and immigration patterns, M. Cecilia Colombí and Ana Roca believe that “we can safely assume that Latinos in the United States likely number more than 40 million and are, without question, the largest minority group in the country” (2). The Spanish spoken by this large Latino linguistic minority population is specific to the US national and social landscape. Lynch urges that “HL researchers, teachers, and administrators must never lose sight of the fact that the United States constitutes an autonomous social, cultural, political, and linguistic context for Spanish language usage in the Hispanic world” (43). Reiterating a sociolinguistic approach, context-specific understanding of the factors affecting language use and development is pivotal. At the larger national level we see that validating US varieties of Spanish similarly validates the language’s importance in our nation’s historical and social make-up. Lynch continues this thought by urging instructors to outline their goals for their Spanish heritage language students accordingly: Our pedagogical methods and aims must aspire to develop our students’ fullest potential as United States speakers of Spanish, and not as Mexican or Cuban or Colombian speakers of Spanish. With this aspiration, we move towards a broader social legitimization of Spanish in the United States, toward the linguistic and political empowerment of its speakers as representatives of a distinct variety of World Spanish, and toward the global future of our nation. (43) The primary steps in validating this language at the national level include understanding the complexity and innate difference of experiencing Spanish as a heritage language in the US, as well as its historically immigrant varieties at the

196 individual level. Ideologically then participants in Spanish heritage language development, whether they are educators, researchers, or even students have a sizable task at hand as they must compete with monolinguistic ideologies of English and Spanish. Within the notable Spanish-speaking Latino presence in the US, those of Mexican origin or descent, such as Chicanas/os, continue to be the majority population. In the section “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” Anzaldúa highlights some of the “lenguas” that make up Chicanas/os’ linguistic repertoires: “Some of the languages we speak are: 1. Standard English, 2. Working class and slang English, 3. Standard Spanish, 4. Standard Mexican Spanish, 5. North Mexican Spanish dialect, 6. Chicano Spanish (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California have regional variations), 7. Tex-Mex, 8. Pachuco (called Caló)” (77). Although Anzaldúa conflates dialects, regional and popular variations, and registers as languages, she establishes that Chicana/o linguistic repertoires hinge on the presence of Spanish and its variations.86 The variations of Spanish spoken in the US and specifically by Chicana/os (as historically migrant communities of circumstantial bilinguals) are not highly valued varieties that receive accolades within educational, much less social, arenas. Valdés explains this situation: [M]any immigrant students will often be speakers of non-prestige varieties of their heritage language. They may speak a rural variety of the language or a stigmatized variety associated with non-academic uses of language, or their productive abilities may be limited to a very narrow repertoire of style and registers. The spoken language of these students may often contain a number

86 The following works engage Anzaldúa’s multilingual discourse project in Borderlands: Alfredo Arteaga, Chicano Poetics: Heterotexts and Hybrities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), Martha J. Cutter, Lost and Found in Translation: Contemporary Ethnic American Writing and the Politics of Language Diversity (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2005), Anne Donadey, “Overlapping and Interlocking Frames for Humanities Literary Studies: Assia Djebar, Tsitsi Dangarembga, Gloria Anzaldúa,” College Literature 34.4 (Fall 2007): 22-42, María Lugones, “On Complex Communication,” Hypatia 21.3(Summer 2006): 75-85, Walter D. Mignolo, "Linguistic Maps, Literary Geographies, and Cultural Landscapes: Languages, Languaging, and (Trans)nationalism," Modern Language Quarterly 57.2 (June 1996): 181-196, and Sonia Saldívar-Hull, Introduction, Borderlands/La Frontera by Gloria Anzaldúa, 2nd ed. (San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 1999).

197 of features typical of casual and informal registers of the language. (“Heritage Language Students” 44) Those that migrate into the US have restricted access to the formal education and high status uses of Spanish in México that would provide development of academic, formal, and more prestige registers and varieties of Spanish. Because migration into the US from México is more often than not prompted by economic duress, varieties of Spanish spoken by the Mexican migrant predecessors of Chicana/os reflect their primarily rural and working-class background. Guadalupe Valdés and Michelle Geoffrion-Vinci conclude: In sum, the Spanish that is spoken in bilingual communities in the U.S. and that is acquired by Chicano bilinguals reflects the class origins of its first- generation speakers. Because in Mexico these speakers did not have access to the range of situations and contexts in which formal high varieties of Spanish are used, their language is characterized by a somewhat narrower range of lexcial and syntactic alternatives than is the language of upper-middle-class speakers. … As a result, many young people in bilingual communities may not acquire a full mastery of the registers and styles characteristic of even “ordinary” Mexican monolinguals. (“Chicano Spanish” 477) The Spanish Chicana/os inherit as a heritage language is therefore made up of varieties stigmatized not only in México but also the US, as the language reflects the historically low socioeconomic status of its speakers in both countries. This is a critical fact to bear in mind as we begin to discuss the effect of Spanish on Chicana/o identity. Spanish as a heritage language is a strong identity marker for Latina/o communities in the US. Carmen Fought explains that for ethnic minorities “fluency in a heritage language can also be used as a way of organizing expectations about ethnicity within the community. Individuals who do not speak the language may find their ethnicity called into question, and speaking the language … may be a way of explicitly asserting ethnic identity” (31). US Latina/os are expected to speak fluent

198 Spanish in order to authenticate their Latin American ethnicity and heritage. As García articulates in her personal essay: And Latina, apparently, means being able to speak Spanish. Pos sí, claro, you might be saying. Or, perhaps equally likely: well, duh. Being Latina means being able to speak Spanish—and though many never admit to it outright, the contrapositive is inevitably there as well, weighted, waiting: not being able to speak Spanish means not being Latina…. What (specious) cultural logic is at work that equates ethnicity with language fluency—or, to put a finer point on it, uses fluency as a litmus of ethnic identification and solidarity? (121) Latina/o cultural identity and ethnicity become synonymous with Spanish language use. And not just minimal use, but specifically functional abilities that parallel monolingual Spanish speakers, the all desired but elusive “native fluency” targeted in language instruction. However, as García rightly notes, although the positive relationship between Spanish language and Latina/o culture is taken for granted as “logical” and unquestioned, its necessarily includes a traditionally silenced but accepted negative conversion that serves as a test of Latina/o authenticity. For Chicana/os, not speaking Spanish fluently casts doubt on the strength and validity of their Mexican cultural heritage. Serros pinpoints this reaction in her poem “Mi Problema”: My sincerity isn’t good enough. Eyebrows raise when I request: “Hable mas despacio, por favor.” My skin is brown just like theirs, but now I’m unworthy of the color ‘cause I don’t speak Spanish the way I should. Then they laugh and talk about mi problema

199 in the language I stumble over. (Chicana Falsa 31) Although Serros indeed uses her Spanish quite appropriately to request a change in the tempo of the dialogue with her interlocutors, she receives only glances of suspicion. Her request is interpreted within the deficit model of unfulfilled linguistic requirements, which provokes mockery of her Spanish and devaluation of her Mexican ethnocultural identity. Ana Celia Zentella describes the interplay of linguistic expectations and assumptions as “a game of linguistic one-upmanship” where “[t]hose who claim to speak more or ‘better’ Spanish may claim to be more or better representatives of [their heritage] national culture” ( “Linguistic (In)Security” 31). Because Spanish offers Latina/o migrants a deep sense of pride in their heritage, the frequency, extent, and ways in which they speak it become criteria for validating their ability to continue representing their country of origin. Serros ends her poem by acknowledging the pride that can come from being deemed a worthy representative of her Mexican heritage: And then one day, I’ll be a perfected “r” rolling tilde using Spanish speaker. A true Mexican at last! (Chicana Falsa 32) The linguistic one-upmanship that produced criticism of her initial Spanish request leads towards a motivation to seek its “perfection.” This perfection is conceptualized as phonetic and orthographic mastery and leads to legitimization of Mexican cultural authenticity. Chicana/os find they are expected to not only speak Spanish, but the prestige (or “better”) varieties of Mexican high-status groups in order to adequately represent and claim their Mexican heritage in the US. The pressure stemming from these expectations of Spanish heritage language use in the US is elevated and “can be particularly strong where the language ties to an ethnic identity is perceived as threatened” (Fought 29). Despite the rising demographic trend of its speakers’ population within the US, because Spanish is perceived as a nativist threat to English dominance, the Spanish of heritage speakers is still a non- dominant language and therefore threatened by English within this nation. The

200 psychological, economic, social, cultural, geographic, and educational adjustments that migrants face once in the US offer no concrete sense of stability. This in turn prompts fear of the extent and depth of sacrifices at all these levels, breeding an insecurity that reveals itself through stronger ties to the heritage language as its existence becomes threatened within the new dominant society. Zentella explains that “[e]xtensive English in an individual or community’s repertoire is a sign of assimilation to US culture, casting doubt on the legitimacy of a Latin American identity” (“Linguistic (In)Security” 31). Although English language acquisition and use is required to successfully access socioeconomic stability in the US, its potential dominance over Spanish menaces Latina/o communities’ desire to uphold their cultural and linguistic heritage. The expected fluency and use of Spanish by Chicana/os is therefore also subject to comparison to their English language use, which must be monitored and balanced to not reveal a predominance which can be interpreted as culturally assimilationist. Moraga reveals her internalization of this rendering of English language use as a Chicana: Quiero decir that I know on the surface of things, this is not to make any sense. I spoke English at home. On the surface of things I am not supposed to feel that my language has been stripped from me—I am “born American.” College English educated, but what I must admit is that I have felt in my writing that the English was not cutting it. ¿Entiendes? That there is something else, deep and behind my heart and I want to hold it hot and bold in the hands of my writing and it will not come out sounding like English. Te prometo. No es inglés. And I have to wonder, is it so that I have felt “too much,” “too emotional,” “too sensitive” because I was trying to translate my feelings into English cadences? (141) Moraga’s confusion stems from having accepted that the predominance of English in her education and life, as well as her US born experience within her immigrant family history, negates a strong emotional tie to and desire for Spanish as her heritage language. However, the overpowering dissonance between her internal emotions and their external pronunciation challenges this perception, leading Moraga to question the

201 adequacy of English to fully communicate her feelings. As we will go on to see in the next section, the trend over time for US linguistic minority communities is indeed to mainly and sometimes solely use English. Read as the loss of the Spanish language and therefore heritage and culture, the linguistic insecurities Latina/o communities experience shape the experience of Chicanas/os. In sum, heritage languages cannot be described or characterized apart from their speakers. Heritage language speakers are historically migrant populations that become linguistic minorities as they travel to geopolitical settings where their language and culture are non-dominant. Heritage language speakers are by nature circumstantial bilinguals that have a lived experience and functional proficiencies in their heritage language that are central to their identity work. As students, heritage language speakers cannot be compared to elective bilinguals, such as second language learners, much less be expected to function in their language in the same ways. Heritage language teaching and learning principles insist on checking such linguistic expectations and assumptions at the classroom door. The heritage language of Chicana/os tends to be a non-prestige variety of Spanish that reflects the rural working-class and low socioeconomic status of Mexican migrants into the US. Chicana/os are expected to retain and use Spanish as their heritage language as a sign of cultural loyalty and authenticity. However, the Spanish of Chicana/os competes with English as the dominant and imposed language in the US. In order to further understand the linguistic exigencies demanded from Chicanas/os we must understand the trajectory of their US Spanish-English bilingualism, which cannot always be steadily maintained. Language Shift, Loss, and Cultural Ostracism As mentioned in Chapter One, contact between two languages does not always result in the stable and ongoing co-existence of both languages at the individual and community level through bilingualism. Bilingualism itself as we have seen is not an inherently static condition but is a dynamic state that must be maintained (as discussed in Chapter Three). If and when factors are not aligned for this maintenance to take place, then the processes of language shift and perhaps eventually language loss will

202 occur. In the following section we will review the processes of language shift and loss as potential outcomes of societal bilingualism and how they affect heritage language speakers. Linguistic minority populations in the US are subject to many of the factors contributing to the destabilization of bilingualism. Over time, the combination and influence of these factors may prompt a shift from bilingualism in English and their heritage language to English as their dominant language and the eventual loss of their heritage language. As Valdés states, “[r]ecent research on language use in Latino communities has made clear that in spite of the influx of monolinguals into Latino communities the shift towards English among Latinos is unmistakable” (“Spanish Language” 38). For Chicana/os, language shift to English takes place by the fourth generation at latest, but most frequently Spanish language use has significantly diminished by the third. Taken in conjunction with the intense personal history and identity marker heritage languages offer their speakers, we can best appreciate the difficult negotiation of unsubstantiated linguistic expectations and assumptions Chicana/os face and that Serros, Moraga, Anzaldúa, and García narrate. Ralph Fasold offers a clear definition of language shift: “Language shift simply means that a community gives up a language completely in favor of another one. The members of the community, when the shift has taken place, have collectively chosen a new language where an old one used to be used” (213). Succinctly defined, language shift is the process whereby one language takes predominance over another in a bilingual setting. That is, in language shift, one language displaces another based on a bilingual community’s repeated patterns of language choice favoring one language over the other. When one language in a bilingual community is no longer used, then language loss can occur. Fasold shares that “[l]anguage shift is sometimes dramatically referred to as language death. Language death occurs when a community shifts to a new language totally so that the old language is no longer used” (213). Although language death can indeed sound dramatic, it is an actual phenomenon and is seen to occur particularly in linguistic minority populations composed of the last

203 speakers of an endangered or threatened language.87 With the death of the last speaker of a minority language comes the death of the language itself. However, language loss does not necessarily result in the total demise of a language. Language shift and loss are both processes that occur at the community level. When an individual speaker does not use one language it does not mean the language has completely vanished within her community. Instead, language loss at the individual level is referred to as language attrition, as Glenn A. Martinez explains: Language attrition is an individual phenomenon that occurs when a person stops using a language and thus begins to forget something of its structure or vocabulary. Language attrition occurs because the occasion and opportunities an individual encounters for using a given language have contracted or become restricted in some way. Language attrition does not, however, normally refer to complete loss of a language, for even if someone seldom uses a language, the tacit knowledge of the language, even if it is somewhat flawed, normally lies nascent in the individual’s mind. (41) This is why heritage language teaching and learning principles emphasize reactivation and not rudimentary acquisition of heritage speakers’ language; there is still language retained and this is what must be recognized, validated, and further developed through instruction. An individual speaker may experience reduced functional abilities in language, but “[l]anguage shift, on the other hand, does refer to complete loss of the language” and is “always community based” (Martínez 41, 40). Only through an entire bilingual community’s pattern of language choices will one language begin to be consistently chosen over another for communicative needs. This important aspect differentiates language loss at the community level from language attrition at the individual level. It also reveals the collective, social, and therefore ideological nature of the factors that prompt and urge language shift. There must be two languages present in a community in order for a shift from one language to the other to occur. Bilingual communities inevitably experience factors prompting language shift and loss because they have more than one language

87 Please refer to Chapter One, page 34, footnote 13 for a brief discussion of endangered and threatened languages.

204 to choose from to fulfill their communicative needs. That is why the most basic condition associated with language shift is societal bilingualism (Falsold 216). However, “[i]t is important to notice that bilingualism is not a sufficient condition for shift, although it may be a necessary one” (Fasold 216). Although the mere fact that a community is bilingual does not mean that it will experience language shift and/or eventual loss, both these processes indicate that there once existed societal bilingualism in a community. Therefore, as Fasold states, bilingualism is a “virtual prerequisite for language shift” (240). The factors contributing to language shift are many and form part of the specific context in which each language and its community of bilingual speakers finds itself. Within the US, Ysaura Bernal-Enríquez and Eduardo Hernández Chávez note some of factors contributing to language shift for linguistic minority populations, where “las condiciones más destacadas son las políticas lingüísticas norteamericanas, las presiones socioculturales, y las condiciones sociolingüística que aceleran la pérdida lingüística” (97). Rosaura Sánchez outlines the way these sociocultural, political, and ideological pressures affect Chicana/o communities: The individualism, social mobility and assimilation myths created by American society are fully espoused by optimistic incoming immigrants. Like new converts, they perceive education and the acquisition of the English language as the keys to a prosperous future. In many cases first-generation parents reject bilingual education programs for their children since instruction in the primary language is seen as a retardant in the process of assimilating into the mainstream. (57) The monolinguistic ideology that ties English to US social and material goods instigates the desire for English language acquisition and mastery in immigrants. Therefore, first-generation Mexican migrants base decisions affecting their Chicana/o children’s future success in this country by limiting their access and use of their heritage language (Spanish) in school, for example, in order to accentuate and support their English language learning. This is the essential prompt to shift from Spanish- English bilingualism to English dominance in subsequent generations, who will

205 become increasingly stronger in their functional abilities in English while their Spanish heritage language development is limited by circumstances. Unfortunately, the result of linguistic assumptions and expectations incongruous to the lived experience of Chicana/os experiencing language shift and Spanish as a heritage language is cultural ostracism. Fought explains the negative reactions to the lack of use of a heritage language by linguistic minorities: “If the inability to use a code associated with ethnicity is stigmatized, the refusal to use that code is even more negatively sanctioned” (29). Chicana/os are deemed as “unable” to speak Spanish because their Spanish reveals the historical and accumulated lack of access and use throughout their families’ generations. If their Spanish language use is compared to their families’ first-generation and/or Mexican Spanish monolinguals, then their obvious difference in functional abilities and development are denounced as culturally unacceptable.88 It is, however, just as bad, if not worse, to not even try to speak their heritage language since “[s]imply not knowing the language well is not always seen as a reasonable excuse for refusal to speak it ” (Fought 29). The concrete reasons behind why Chicana/os may not use their Spanish and/or use it in the ways in which they do are of no concern to those who judge them linguistically. These negative interpretations of their Spanish use sanction their cultural ostracism from communities trying to maintain their strong ties to their Mexican heritage. Because the processes of language shift and loss as viable and known outcomes of societal bilingualism are not understood, Chicana/os’ Spanish heritage language abilities

88 Robert Luis Carrasco and Florencia Riegelhaupt’s development of “META: A Model for the Continued Acquisition of Spanish by Spanish/English Bilinguals in the United States” centered on a teacher education program in México with Chicana/o student teachers. They explain that: “The Mexican host families’ paradigm demonstrates that Mexican host families had the same expectations for educated Chicanos as they did for educated Mexicans and that these families did not expect as much from educated American non-Hispanics. Through interviews, the families cited the lack of finesse in language. “Hablan como de rancho; con un español mocho, hablan pocho.” After all, these Mexican families saw a brown face, a person who seemed to speak Spanish without an American accent, whose last name was Hispanic, who could communicate in Spanish, who was doing graduate work at a university and who was a professional teacher. They expected him/her to speak Spanish like educated people from their own community. They never even considered the fact that these same individuals could communicate in two languages and that they had been educated principally through English, rather than Spanish, as the language of instruction” (174). This is just one concrete example of how the linguistic expectations and assumptions for Chicana/os’ Spanish use operate.

206 and/or their dominance in English are justifications for their exclusion as representatives of their Mexican culture and heritage. As will become evident through the words of the Chicana writers we now turn to, Chicana/os are asked to be proficient in a language, indeed maintain it, when they have already inherited language shift towards English and the loss of Spanish as their heritage language. Because of this, they are critiqued and their cultural identities questioned. They end up having to reevaluate their relationships to their languages and in the process, inevitably reassess their identities as Chicana/os. As Fishman’s work has established, intergenerational transmission is crucial in maintaining minority languages. In order for a language to be intergenerationally transmitted, the earlier generation must actively pass it on. In order to do this, they have to believe that it is worth doing. And despite the fact that this may indeed be the case, certain experiences and the trauma of linguistic oppression in the dominant society can hinder this. We cannot, though, easily point the finger and look for culprits of language shift at the individual level as noted in my discussion of the processes of language shift and loss above. Instead, we must take into account the lived experiences and histories of Chicana/os’ linguistic repertoires in their communities and US society. Here we will look at a few examples from our Chicana writers, who come to understand the concrete reasons why earlier generations in their families did not transmit Spanish as their heritage language. The main reason is provided by Moraga, and as can be expected for migrant minority populations, centers around economic insecurity and status in US society: In fact, everything about my upbringing (at least what occurred on a conscious level) attempted to bleach me of what color I did have. Although my mother was fluent in it, I was never taught much Spanish at home. I picked up what I could from school and from over-heard snatches of conversation among my relatives and mother. She often called other lower-income Mexican “braceros,” or “wet-backs,” referring to herself and family as “a different class of people.” … But this is something she would like to forget (and rightfully), for to her, on a basic economic level, being Chicana meant being “less.” It was through my

207 mother’s desire to protect her children from poverty and illiteracy that we became “anglicized”: the more effectively we could pass in the white world; the better guaranteed our future. (51) Moraga comes to understand that although Spanish was allowed her via family gatherings, these tidbits were not to be expounded on as teaching points because of economic and class issues. Spanish was equated with Mexican immigrant laborers and this lower socioeconomic status prompted an active distancing from such identities by her mother. Moraga reveals that her mother is not without recognition of this prejudicial conceptualization, but her failure to transmit Spanish to her children was based on the desire to provide them with opportunities for higher socioeconomic status throughout their lives. For Moraga, however, the attrition of her Spanish compromised her racial and cultural heritage identity from brown Mexicana/Chicana to bleached anglicized Chicana. Anzaldúa shares a similar anecdote when she quotes her mother: “I want you to speak English. Pa’hallar buen trabajo tienes que saber hablar el inglés bien. Qué vale toda tu educación si todavía hablas inglés con un ‘accent,’’ my mother would say, mortified that I spoke English like a Mexican” (Borderlands 75-76). For Anzaldúa's mother, then, Spanish was seen as a possible deterrent as it could tinge her English language production. The fear of a “Mexican accent” and any hint that Spanish was part of her linguistic repertoire and heritage would counteract any educational advancement Anzaldúa could achieve. Her mother’s strategy was not so much to directly withhold Spanish transmission to her children, but to pass on the idea that it could negatively influence her daughter’s future. The power of the ideological reference of Spanish as Mexican and therefore low socioeconomic status in this country marked both Anzaldúa and Moraga’s relationship to, and abilities in, Spanish. García addresses the inherent contradictions in this type of thought process by earlier generations when she attempts to explain her father’s mockery of her Spanish language learning as a child: And what I have come up with is this: my father did what he did out of fear. He was afraid- afraid that I would become too masterful, that I would take up Spanish effortlessly and become fluent, indistinguishable from native speakers.

208 Not just indistinguishable; I would be a native speaker. I believe this prospect terrified my father. It wasn’t just the mimicking, you see. It was his continual anxiety around particular cultural markers. (130) Here García pinpoints the fundamental keyword in understanding motivations for withholding the transmission of Spanish, which is fear. Spanish as a strong cultural marker of Mexican heritage is targeted by earlier generations. The unease surrounding the potential hindering of life opportunities for their children’s and future generations success kept these Chicanas’ parents from transmitting Spanish. As their first-hand experience in this country made clear to them as immigrants from México, their Spanish language was one of the most obvious characteristics that would bring on prejudicial withholding of material goods that were needed for their children’s survival. The fear of the potentially harmful effects of the presence of Spanish in their Chicana daughters’ linguistic repertoires does not just center on hypothesized socioeconomic status or material goods. Anzaldúa’s experience of “being caught speaking Spanish at recess” at school and receiving “three licks on the knuckles with a sharp ruler” further grounds this fear of oppression in a material, i.e. physical, sense. The violence exercised on Anzaldúa’s body as punishment for her knowledge and use of Spanish in school exemplifies the sanctioned brutality that linguistic prejudice against non-dominant English speakers enjoy in the US. These women’s parents wished to protect them not only from future social and economic duress, but also physical danger and pain as Spanish speakers, and therefore did not transmit their heritage language. Because these tangible fears are not understood or appreciated, the ethnocultural ostracism faced by Chicanas because of their Spanish (or lack thereof) can go unspoken. This ostracism is experienced in the various domains in which Chicana/os participate, the first of these being those located outside their immediate linguistic and ethnocultural communities as circumstantial bilinguals. There is an expectation of linguistic proficiency in Spanish attributed to Chicana/os by those who do not necessarily identify with these communities or their language, namely the majority language speakers dominant in this country, that is, white American English

209 monolingual speakers. When Serros goes to study abroad in México and mentions taking a daytrip to Cuernavaca to her Anglo-American roommates, one cautions: “I mean, in Let’s Go Mexico, it says women in Mexico really shouldn’t travel alone.” “Well, maybe tourist-looking women,” I said. “But I mean, I think I can blend in.” “Yeah, until you open your mouth!” PMS Sock laughed. Then all five White Socks high-fived and I suddenly felt that chill again. (Role Model 109) Serros’s wit and humor in referring to her Anglo roommates as the collective “White Socks” that are distinguishable only by their moods cannot detract from the physical reaction she experiences from the slight on her language and identity. Indeed, the sharp physical reaction she experiences is one indicative of shock (i.e., the chills). When she is attempting to validate her racial and cultural heritage in her family’s country of origin, her roommates throw out the possibility of her acceptance into this community and nation because of her Spanish language abilities. As second language speakers and elective bilinguals, they have no ties whatsoever to the cultural heritage of the Mexican Spanish they are learning. They feel empowered to criticize and judge Serros’s Spanish to the point of barricading her self-identification with her own heritage and culture. García echoes this concern about dominant English and white American community acceptance/rejection when she shares her reaction to the anecdote that opens her piece, the possible Spanish online conversation with an ethnoculturally unidentified “friend”: Curiosity turns into wariness. What does he want? Who does he want? What does he expect of me? Why? I wonder if I am overreacting. I wonder if I should call him out. After all, this has happened before: how many times have I met white folks who, very shortly after our first acquaintance, express their excitement at finally getting to practice my Spanish with someone! ... So I am willful. Spiteful. I want to burst that bubble. I want all their patronizing assumptions and imperialist nostalgia to spill forth so that they have to reckon with the (historically contingent) oddity in front of them: a

210 Chicana who can’t speak Spanish, a Mexican-American whose first and most fluent language is English. So you want to practice your Spanish, ese? With who? Ain’t nobody here but us pochas. (123) What calls my attention about García’s reaction to an initially innocuous request to chat is the way in which García cannot but bombard us with questions, one right after the other. As a reader, I myself get caught up in these queries and their implications. The minimal phrase she receives in Spanish from her interlocutor prompts such a strong reaction precisely because she may have had prior experiences with such assumptions and expectations of her language and identity. Her “spitefulness” is not ungrounded but aimed at those that seek to use her for her language, as she has previously experienced. As Serros and García show, even those who do not identify with Chicana/o communities and their language, namely the majority language speakers dominant in this country (white American English speakers) critique Chicana/os’ Spanish language and Mexican cultural identities. Despite the fact that the critique from non-Spanish speaking communities is undoubtedly disturbing for Chicana/os, the ostracism that comes from within Spanish speaking communities (including but not limited to the Chicana/o-Mexicana/o communities) is more destabilizing for Chicana/o identities. Anzaldúa introduces this type of critique: “Even our own people, other Spanish speakers nos quieren poner candados en la boca. They would hold us back with their bag of reglas de academía. … Chicanas feel uncomfortable talking in Spanish to Latinas, afraid of their censure” (Borderlands 76, 80). Anzaldúa here invokes Spain’s Real Academía de la Lengua Española, whose motto “Limpia, Fija, y Da Esplendor,” exhibits ideologies of linguistic purism and prescriptivism for regulating and standardizing Spanish language use. Fellow Spanish speakers espouse these ideologies to Chicana/os in order to regulate their language, virtually “sealing their mouths with a lock and chain,” instead of recognizing linguistic and cultural affinity they share as Spanish speakers. The fear of censure from other Latina/os leads Chicana/os to internalize the fear of censure to the point of not communicating in their heritage language. This fear is, again, not unsubstantiated. As Serros’s enthusiastically volunteers to help during a Chicana

211 writers’ conference, her initial idealism of having a more pivotal role in the organization and execution of the event is discarded when she is asked to help serve the food. She nonetheless fulfills her role of food-server: The woman behind her then asked me something in Spanish. I answered her back and continued to scoop fruit salad onto her plate. She didn’t move forward but instead looked at her friend in the shoulder scarf, rolled her eyes, and remarked in Spanish, “I thought this was a Chicana writers’ conference and this one here can’t even speak Spanish!” (Role Model 8) Although Serros obviously responds to the woman’s question, she is not returned the same courtesy. Instead she is met with disregard through an as indirectly direct critique. Her linguistic critic seems to find Serros’s Spanish so deplorable that she refuses to acknowledge her with a response and refers to her as “this one here.” Serros’s language to a “fellow” Chicana is used against her to question her identity as a Chicana and admittance into the event. As an aspiring Chicana writer, Serros is shunned by a representative of her future career identity and the community in which she wishes to participate. García offers a similar anecdote of rejection by the Mexicana/Chicana community she identifies with while fielding a call at the nonprofit she worked at: “She cuts me off. Midsentence she cuts me off and my tongue my tongue is left hanging, a bloody stump. How can you not know Spanish? How can you call yourself a Mexican? What, don’t you have any pride in your background? I would be ashamed if I were you. You should have more respect for your culture than that” (135). García is literally silenced by the woman’s denunciation of her perceived “lack” of Spanish and therefore inadequate Mexican cultural identity. Through the pointed questions she rapidly fires at García the woman eradicates her abilities as a Spanish heritage language speaker and condemns her as a culturally deficient model of Mexicanity. Both Serros’s and García’s examples reveal the actual ostracism Chicana/os meet if they fail to meet the linguistic criteria of their ethnocultural communities.

212 Although these two examples horrify and sadden me because of their intense cultural ostracism and negation of Chicana/o identities, it is unfortunately not the only ostracism met by Chicana/os when their Spanish is deemed less than perfect. The final—and I would argue most destructive—level of cultural ostracism comes directly after such rejection from the communities in question, namely, that which the individual then internalizes against herself. Serros’s response to the indirect critique she receives is filled with self-doubt: “I looked up at her. What was that about? What had I said wrong? Did I use ‘muy’ instead of ‘mucho’? Rs not rolled out long enough? Oooh, I can get so sloppy with those. Should I have asked her?” (Role Model 8). Serros’s first thoughts, after recovering from the shock of her critique, are to question herself. Because she is caught off guard by the rude comment she begins to think about all the possible ways that she must have committed a linguistic blunder. She hones in on particular grammatical errors that she is already aware she may tend to make as a heritage language speaker. Her self-interrogation goes so far as pondering her responsibility in further engaging her critic for linguistic guidance. Yet all I can image as a reader (and heritage language speaker, and instructor) that would follow would be further critique and ostracism! García likewise responds to the negative response to her Spanish with equally condemning internalization: “The only person I can hate more than that woman is myself” (135). Although she justifiably feels resentment and disdain towards her critic, the main target of García’s harshest criticism is herself. This response is not uncommon when someone in the same linguistic community with which she wishes to identify criticizes a heritage language speaker. Even within the same family, these types of critiques occur with even more disastrous consequences for heritage language speakers’ confidence in their language. García recognizes her father’s mockery and imitation of her reacquisition of Spanish as “negative socialization”: I’d come home desperate to practice my Spanish, but instead of finding a proud and encouraging audience, I found only my father’s derision. My Mexican father’s derision. … All flat nasal whine and bolillo accent. As if to show me how ridiculous I sounded. … And slowly, almost (but not quite)

213 imperceptibly, my irritation turned inside out. Or, no – it turned outside in, the anger transforming into reticence and self-doubt: maybe he’s not joking. Maybe I do sound ridiculous. (129) The seemingly innocuous and jocular nature of her father’s words cannot be taken at a superficial level because they are attacks on García’s identity through the language she desires to master. As a representative of her Mexican cultural identity, her father shows García that her own communities will not accept her through her heritage language; her attempts at achieving this acceptance through her Spanish language use are laughable. Chicana Spanish heritage language speakers are left with no other recourse than to blame themselves when their Spanish language is questioned at these various intergroup levels. Anzaldúa accurately describes the further damaging results of this internalized criticism: “because we internalize how our language has been used against us by the dominant culture we use our language differences against each other” (Borderlands 80). This is what Anzaldúa coined “linguistic terrorism”— oppressive linguistic prejudices enacted within communities of speakers sharing similar heritage languages (58). The internalization of linguistic criticism leads to its reproduction and hence, cycles of linguistic terrorism develop and continue the cultural ostracism Chicana/os experience. Returning to my earlier discussion of language shift and loss, I ask the reader to think about the personal experiences of Chicana/o Spanish heritage speakers. Fishman reminds us of the pivotal importance of intergeneration transmission in the survival of languages: Without intergenerational mother tongue transmission (or the transmission of a written or spoken second language, if that should be the societal goal) no language maintenance is possible. That which is not transmitted cannot be maintained. On the other hand, without language maintenance (which is a post- transmission process) the pool from which successive intergenerational transmission efforts can draw must be continually smaller. (Reversing Language Shift 113)

214 Heritage language maintenance depends on the transmission of the heritage language from one generation to the next. Without this intergeneration transmission then language maintenance is not an option and the processes of language shift and loss will most likely occur. In his key work on working out the ways in which language shift can be reversed in linguistic minority populations whose language is threatened with loss, Fishman describes language shift and loss as an illness requiring proper diagnosis and treatment: When a patient is sick, there re several crucial preliminaries before a successful cure can be undertaken. First of all, it is necessary for those who would be curers to believe that finding a cure is worthwhile. … For a cure to “take,” there needs to be, at the very least, a resolve that “yes,” it is “worth” trying to cure the patient and, therefore, “yes” it is worth trying to find out what his/her illness is due to, so that its cure can be attempted and so that the patient’s life circumstances afterwards can be altered in order that a relapse need not be a foregone conclusion. (Reversing Language Shift 39) If language shift is in process, as is the case in Chicana/o communities as described by our authors above, how then can language maintenance, much less expectations of flawless Spanish proficiency and English/Spanish balanced bilingualism be upheld? Although earlier generations indeed value their Spanish language heritage in thought, in action they do not transmit it to following generations. The linguistic oppression earlier generations of linguistic minority populations experience deters this. What this means is that Chicana/os have already been set up to fail these linguistic expectations and have their ethnocultural identities challenged. The ostracism that is felt at multiple levels by these stigmatized Chicana/os therefore further challenges their possibility for Spanish heritage language retrieval or maintenance. Chicana/o Language Recovery Projects So what do you do in the face of such obstacles? What to do when your heritage language has been denied you, and various communities—including, if not especially, those you wish to identify with and be identified by—have criticized you for it at the linguistic, cultural and therefore extremely personal levels, and

215 unsubstantiated but accepted linguistic expectations and assumptions sustain the continuity of such critiques? In this final section we will explore the “language recovery projects” our Chicana writers offer as a solution. These projects are not only a reactionary tactic whose implementation is to temporarily transcend moments of critique and ostracism. Rather, they are fundamental principles for the active ideological re-conceptualization of painful lived histories and experiences at the individual level that instigate paradigmatic shifts and transformational identity politics at the community level. The steps proposed by the collective narratives of Serros, Anzaldúa, Moraga, and García to carry out a language recovery project are: (1) Question and reflect upon the nature of the linguistic terrorism you encounter. (2) Hold on to your desire for your language and communities. (3) Actively seek out and pursue your language. (4) Re-value and validate your existing linguistic abilities. (5) Reclaim your identity as a Chicana/o. (6) Expose the linguistic terrorism that occurs. The successful execution of these steps allows for the reclamation of Chicana/o language and therefore identity. I take the concept of “language recovery project” from the work of García, the exact reference of which we will see in the following paragraph. Language recovery projects highlight the necessary components heritage language speakers and circumstantial bilingual communities require for the positive appraisal and therefore active protection of their languages. Each step in this process lays the foundation for enactment of the next. Taken individually, each phase of language recovery projects are in-and-of themselves important components for individuals to move from a purely reactionary model of dealing with linguistic terrorism to proactively dismantling its continuation within their communities. Through the works of our Chicana authors we will come to appreciate the macrocosmic significance that language recovery projects offer Chicana/os as heritage speakers of Spanish.

216 The first step in the reclamation of Chicana/o language and identity through a language recovery project is to consciously engage in questioning linguistic terrorism. Referring to the internalization of oppressive forces on which cycles of linguistic terrorism are based within Chicana/o communities, García asks: But why? Is it that we embody the fear of acculturation, our clumsy tongues making a painful colonial history corporeal? This formulation understands language and culture as continually in peril, not as dynamic and developing, and certainly not as something that can be recovered and strengthened— indeed, it precludes the possibility that a linguistic recovery project might be the very source of the cultural strength and pride so often ascribed to fluency. (136) García questions the cultural ostracism encountered by Chicana/os in order to analytically deconstruct it. She arrives as the conclusion that it is not so much what she as an individual can or cannot do linguistically, but rather what she represents to her communities as a potentially flawed Spanish heritage language speaker. Ideologically her “clumsy” language embodies and makes immediately present the legacy of oppression her communities have faced. The changing and fluid nature of language as a potential source of successful linguistic collaborations and community building cannot be appreciated. By applying a deficit model for the evaluation of Chicana/o language only the negative is emphasized due to fear and rejection of facing the oppressive histories linguistic minority populations experience. As a result Chicana/os become what Anzaldúa names “deslenguadas,” people without tongues (Borderlands 80). This disembodiment of language, the excision of tongue from body as ultimate negation of inadequate Spanish language, is further explored by Anzaldúa: Nothing scares the Chicana more than the quasi Chicana: nothing disturbs a Mexican more than a Latina who lumps her with norteamericanas. It is easier to retreat to the safety of difference behind racial, cultural, and class borders. Because our awareness of the Other as object often swamps our awareness of ourselves as subject, it is hard to maintain a fine balance between cultural ethnicity and the continuing survival of that culture, between traditional culture

217 and an evolving hybrid culture. How much must remain the same, how much must change?” (Making Face 145). To be without the tongue and therefore language is something that invokes a fear of not being identified as one wishes within Chicana/o communities. Being without Spanish is a marker of being “quasi” Chicana/o, or not quite Chicana/o enough. This same fear is what drives the ostracism we have seen in the previous section, a fear of being differentiated from the community one holds on to as defining aspect of a social identity. Along with the fear of turning into the cultural “Other” comes a more fixed conception of how to remain “traditionally” ourselves. For Chicana/os this is expected through fluent Spanish heritage language use. Focusing on the “otherness” or foreign and unwanted aspects that do not match up with these expectations becomes easier than searching for the commonalities in linguistic histories and experiences. Serros’s poem “Mi Problema” brilliantly articulates this phenomenon: A white person gets encouragement, praise, for weak attempts at a second language. “Maybe he wants to be brown like us.” and that is good.

My earnest attempts make me look bad, dumb. “Perhaps she wanted to be white like THEM.” and that is bad. (Chicana Falsa 31) Her sincere and actual Spanish language production is held to higher standards of cultural authenticity that the racial and linguistic other does not have to contend with, and is rather praised for. Serros’s genuine desire and verifiable cultural heritage are negligible traits in the face of her “problematic” language, hence she is turned into an

218 “Other” worthy only of rejection from her communities. Because in linguistic terrorism the individual’s experience as reflective of their communities’ sociohistorical oppressions is not taken to account, one of the first steps in dismantling cycles of linguistic terrorism through a language recovery project is to directly interrogate this phenomenon. During the second phase of a language recovery project Chicana/os must preserve their desire for their heritage language in spite of the criticism they receive. This is easier to do after questioning its basis and continued existence in their communities, resulting in a deeper understanding of linguistic terrorism. Moraga writes: In conclusion, quiero decir that these changes scare me. Returning to la mujer scares me, re-learning Spanish scares me. I have not spoken much of la lengua here. It is not so much that I have been avoiding it, only that the conclusion brings me to the most current point in time: la lengua. In returning to the love of my race, I must return to the fact that not only has the mother been taken from me, but her tongue, her mothertongue. I want the language; feel my tongue rise to the occasion of feeling at home, in common. I know this language in my bones… and then it escapes me… “You don’t belong. Quitate!” (141) Moraga’s fear of returning to her heritage language does not deter her from acknowledging her desire to use her language in her writing. She discards the interpretation that the lack of Spanish in her texts is attributable to this fear. Her desire towards Spanish is much too strong for censure, even from her own personified tongue, because it evokes “home,” her family, and communities—a sense of belonging that surpasses all. This desire incites perseverance to dominate the resistance her own tongue challenges her with as it echoes rejection from the communion she want with others through Spanish. In letting go of her self-imposed censure, Moraga realizes that returning to her Spanish will be essential in securing her sought-after place in her communities. This realization of her desire for Spanish is embodied through sexual

219 pleasure. She shares a conversation with her friend about the language of their sexual identities and practices: Mi amiga says to me, she could never go back to not fucking in Spanish. And I think about this. Yo recuerdo a Carmela—su mano trazando los círculos de mis senos around and around bringing her square small hands down, moving my legs apart, opening my lips hovering, holding me there—her light breath on my thighs. No me lame, pero espera, mirandome, diciendo. “¡Qué rica! ¡Ay mujer, qué rica tú eres!” And I can’t quite relieve my ears, she is talking about me before su boca lo sabe. She knows before hand and mouth make it possible. She tells me my name, my taste, in Spanish. She fucks me in Spanish. (142) One of the most quintessential components of Moraga’s identity, her sexuality as a lesbian, is embodied through the tongue as both the organ for linguistic production and female sexual pleasure.89 The desire for her heritage language provokes the realization that her Spanish accentuates her sexual pleasure and experiences in a manner that English cannot. This is why her friend commits to maintaining sexual relations through Spanish only. García bases her continued desire for her Spanish language on its fluid nature that mirrors her communities’ cultural dynamism: I know the lasting comfort and deep contentment found in a rasquache Tex- Mex tongue that continually shape-shifts and reinvents itself, that resists the dominant language surrounding it by appropriating and reforming it, then claiming it as its own. Yes. This is cultura, processual and dynamic. Contradictory and recursive. We do not have the luxury of seamless bilingualism; in its place, we forge new sounds and sites of home. Parque el troque. Esta blinkiando. Oye, y’all. These are survivial strategies. This is ours… It has not been for lack of trying. Understand that. I have wanted this

89 Taking Moraga’s work as a “sexual/textual project,” Yarbro-Bejarano notes that “the mouth fuses two taboo activities: female speaking and lesbian sexuality. “Mouth” and “sex” merge, both represented as organs of speech and sex. In this context of speech/sex, the lesbian body is ‘whole’” (Wounded Heart 6).

220 tongue my entire life, have struggled since childhood to replace the clumsy dead weight in my mouth with a muscle lithe and lucid, as fluent in my mothertongue as it is in my mother’s tongue. (127) The Spanish García desires identifies her as a Texas Chicana and represents the importance of local regional variations within the identity work of Chicana/os. Despite the fact that she has not received a similar appreciation, García’s embraces the adaptive and ever-changing nature of her communities and language for “survival.” Revitalizing her tongue to produce that language requires more than physical muscle and practice, but memory of heritage. Like Moraga, García personifies her tongue through its representative imagery as active, spry, and “fluent.” The play on linguistic heritage as a “mothertongue,” but also the real product of her mother’s physical tongue further exemplifies García’s desire for renewing personal connections in her many communities, whether familial or extended. The desire for a place in the communities they love and therefore recognition of their identities is ultimately tied to Chicana/os’ desire for Spanish, which must be refreshed and maintained. Their desire undeterred, Chicana/os are propelled to literally seek out the language they desire as the third step in their language recovery projects. Serros does this through formal instruction: “I search for S.S.L. classes, / (Spanish as a Second Language) / in college catalogs / and practice / with my grandma. / who gives me patience, / permission to learn” (Chicana Falsa 32). Serros searches for opportunities that will offer her a place to fulfill her desire for linguistic expansion and ultimately validation in Spanish. Unfortunately she still sees her linguistic abilities as requiring the rudimentary language instruction elective bilinguals receive. She has not been able to see herself as a true heritage language speaker of Spanish, although we cannot assume that such courses/programs are available and offered at her institution. However, she materializes her desire through concrete action. Moraga follows the same path when she tells us that: “I called up Berlitz today. The Latino who answered refused to quote me prices over the phone. ‘Come down and talk to Mr. Bictner,’ he says. I want to know how much it’s going to cost before I do any train riding to Manhattan. ‘Send me a brochure,’ I say, regretting the call. Paying for culture. When I

221 was born between the legs of the best teacher I could have had” (141). Moraga’s actions are based on the lost opportunity to own Spanish as part of her inheritance from her mother. Her cost-benefit analysis of the economic investment of pursuing Spanish language instruction reminds her of its loss. Because she values her language as a critical part of her cultural identity, she questions the material value system that a price estimate requires. Both Serros and Moraga also represent the manner in which heritage language learning is first approached. If they have been questioned as valid speakers of their heritage languages why then would they seek out courses developed specifically for heritage language speakers? Instead, we see them both identifying within communities of learners of Spanish as a second language, minimizing if not totally rejecting their existing abilities in their heritage language as authentic and valid speakers, as others have done to them. This does not however minimize the concrete actions they are taking in seeking out their language. These steps exemplify the proactive nature of Chicana/o language recovery projects. Despite initially viewing themselves as learners and not speakers of Spanish, these women find a way to re-value and validate their existing linguistic abilities, which is the fourth phase of Chicana/o language recovery projects. In order to be economically savvy with her remaining time and units required to graduate, Serros decides to study abroad and fulfill her foreign language requirement through Spanish. Her counselor reiterates the typical assumptions we have seen made about Chicana/o identity and Spanish language ability: “You don’t speak Spanish?” my counselor asked, surprised. “Not really,” I told her. “I mean, I could improve.” (Role Model 101) Presuming Serros’s choice of Spanish to fill her foreign language requirement indicates Serros’s inability to speak it, her counselor is “surprised.” Serros’s response to this assumption begins with her expected and perhaps rehearsed response of minimizing her language abilities. “Not really” speaking Spanish is tantamount to inadequate linguistic knowledge and production of her heritage language. However, Serros corrects this automatic response, rephrasing it to establish an existing basis of her language, which can be expanded, not initiated, through instruction. After deciding

222 that she will indeed pursue the study abroad option discussed with her counselor, Serros states: “I picked Taxco as the place to learn—I mean, improve my Spanish” (Role Model 102). In both these moments we see Serros adjusting her own perception of her language in order to validate it. She is not going to México to be taught Spanish from scratch as a second language learner; she will enhance the abilities and skills she already holds as a heritage language speaker. She can indeed “improve” her Spanish because it has been reassessed as valuable and meritorious of additional worth through focused study. Towards the end of her piece García speaks of her desire and work towards building upon her Spanish: When I become fluent—and I am now more than proficient in Spanish, and have long been if you count all those moments when I successfully pushed the insecurity out of my head and off my tongue—does the complexity of my linguistic history disappear? Or will it be borne in my americana accent, for those who hear it (and care to listen)? This wild tongue is not tame. Ni tiene pelos. It slips and stumbles, pero también grita y canta. And for all those other aberrant appendages, it prays. (137) Here García recognizes that her proficiency is just that and “more,” not just qualitatively but also quantitatively since her proficiency has “long” existed. Although she still uses the term “fluency” as a differential marker of where she would like to be and perceives herself to be in the development of her Spanish, she also uses overcoming self-censure based on “insecurity” as a criterion. This justifies her previous silence as a learned response to imposed cultural ostracism and critiques, as well as heightens the virtue of breaking this pattern of censorship. The questions she posits as she breaks out of devaluing her Spanish lead her to further validate what she can do with her Chicana tongue and language, abilities that range from unedited words, to mistakes, to loud sharp cries, musical sounds and spiritual expression. The intense emotional conflicts that heritage language speakers experience in using (or not using) their language are appreciated and embraced as part of re-valuing and

223 validating their linguistic abilities. In this fourth step in language recovery projects Chicana/os move from minimizing to legitimizing their Spanish. Along with the validation of their Spanish linguistic abilities comes the necessary reclamation of Chicana/os’ identities and rightful place in their communities; this is the penultimate and extremely critical step in language recovery projects. To “reclaim” is to assert a previously negated claim as appropriate, justified, and legitimate. The prefix “re” provokes this remembrance and brings to light the past denials of claims that are legitimized in their reclamation. This is the ideological weight of this fifth step, which reminds Chicana/os of the internal conflict and fear that marks their Spanish language use. As Moraga tells us: “Quiero decirte, re-learning Spanish scares me. I feel like the same and a different woman in Spanish. A different kind of passion. I think, soy mujer en español. No macha. Pero Mujer. Soy Chicana— open to all kinds of attack” (142). Moraga understands that claiming her identity as a Chicana means she can be “attacked” for it through all the aspects that being a Chicana means to her. These include her language, gender, and sexuality, all of which compose the identity work of her Chicana identity. Her use of Spanish to direct these thoughts at her audience underscores the necessary difference her heritage language provides in adequately communicating and reclaiming her identity. The revalorized language and identity of Chicana/os strengthens the “attacks” targeted at them. This very fact makes the reclamation of her Chicana identity through language indeed frightening, but Moraga refuses to further postpone claiming a space within her desired communities. Likewise, García tells us: For my part, I know I became Chicana at the same moment I accepted my faulty Spanish. I know my ethnic politicization happened at the same moment I asserted my right to claim Chicana not in spite of my stuttering pocha bilingualism, but through it. This faltering tongue is tangible evidence of our historical presence and continual struggle in this country. And that is why it is so hard to let it go. (136-137) “Through” her lived linguistic experience as a bilingual (and here again we see the acceptance of this as part of her identity, not just as a Spanish speaker but a

224 Spanish/English bilingual complete with its perceptible incongruities in use) García has been able to re-claim her identity as Chicana. Although she refers to her Spanish as flawed or “faulty,” because she has successfully re-valued her language it works as the centrifugal point of release for her Chicana identity reclamation. Acceptance of her complex linguistic history and its present manifestations validates her identity work as a Chicana. She will therefore not “let go” of herself or the communities she seeks. Anzaldúa is also able to claim her identity through language: “I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing. I will have my voice: Indian, Spanish, White. I will have my serpent’s tongue—my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice. I will overcome a tradition of silence” (Borderlands 81). Anzaldúa claims her right to exist unashamed of her language or identity. Her voice is colored with the various races she has inherited through her ethnocultural heritage. Her language embodies all these and offers her the strength to enunciate her identity as a Chicana. Anzaldúa’s repetition of the future tense reiterates the strength of her claim to her language and identity as a Chicana. Reclaiming Chicana/o identity through its language does eradicate the possibilities of further ostracism and critique. However, the strength derived from the process of enacting language recovery projects magnifies the necessity of this reclamation as an inevitable next step. The reclamation of Chicana/o identity through language offers the strength to enact the final step of language recovery projects, which is to expose linguistic terrorism. The linguistic expectations and assumptions, as well as cultural ostracism and critiques experienced by Chicana/os are themselves the target of criticism as this step is enacted. García literally turns to her readers as an audience for this exposure: Please tell me, those of you who have ever mocked or scorned another Latinos’ tongue-tied Spanish: what exactly does this accomplish? You do understand this puts us in a bit of a double bind, you want us to learn the language, but ridicule and disparage our tentative or inelegant efforts. I can assure you that this response inspires neither confidence nor assiduous conversational practice. Yet perhaps there is an echo here of my father’s curious logic: if Anglo cruelty was disastrously effective in shaming the

225 Spanish out of us, mightn't Latino cruelty be equally effective in shaming it back in? (136) García scrutinizes us as her audience, recognizing potential linguistic terrorists within each reader and requiring us to contemplate this aspect within ourselves. She makes us individually and collectively accountable for the continued existence of linguistic terrorism by using the second personal pronoun to address us. As we are directly asked to contemplate the “curious logic” that motivates linguistic oppression and cultural ostracism, she exposes the counter-productive, ineffectual, damaging, and skewed expectations and assumptions about Chicana/o language within our communities. Anzaldúa also identifies the harboring of linguistic terrorists within her own communities: If a person, Chicana or Latina, has a low estimation of my native tongue, she also has a low estimation of me. Often with mexicanas y latinas we’ll speak English as a neutral language. Even among Chicanas we tend to speak English at parties or conferences. Yet, at the same time, we’re afraid the other will think we’re agringadas because we don’t speak Chicano Spanish. We oppress each other trying to out-Chicano each other, vying to be the “real” Chicanas, to speak like Chicanos. (Borderlands 80-81) Anzaldúa clarifies the interdependent relationship between language and identity in order to underscore the devaluation of individuals when their language is critiqued. For her communities, English is conceptualized as the appropriate medium for “neutral” communication that does not reveal systems of linguistic evaluation. Anzaldúa eradicates the possibility of English as a safe language for Chicana/o identities as she reveals the unspoken truth that its use becomes analogous to a presumed negation of Spanish. Anzaldúa successfully pinpoints the linguistic one- upmanship that exists within her communities and therefore denounces them as complicit in cycles of linguistic terrorism. After her friends’ prompting, Serros not only produces a poem denouncing linguistic terrorism, an accurate definition of “Mi Problema,” but decides to confront her critic by reading it during open-mic night at the Chicana writers conference:

226 Thirty minutes later my name was read from the sign-up sheet and I walked to the stage. From the podium I could see her more clearly. I quickly read my three poems saving the new one for last. Then I saw the woman laughing with that friend of hers. Oh, she must’ve heard someone speaking Spanish and caught a grammatical error, grammaticos wrongos. (Role Model 10) Similarly exposing linguistic terrorism by directly addressing her audience, Serros shares García’s strategy by putting her audience on the spot, so to say. It is with great anticipation that she gets to her poem, all the while narrating her internal thought processes at this emotional moment, which is intensified by recognizing the woman is not paying attention to her: “But all I could think about was getting the words out, reaching this witch of a woman and demanding she learn a lesson from me. But unfortunately, it looked hopeless” (Role Model 11). Serros is able to fulfill her commitment to exposing her linguistic terrorist even through the frustration of realizing her target audience is not listening. She doubly exposes her oppressor to us as readers, even if she cannot identify the “witch” to herself and audience within her narrative. Although Serros feels “deflated” because the woman never acknowledges her words, she gains the attention of a publisher interested in her poetry (specifically her Spanish language use and profound emotion) (Role Model 11-12). However thwarted her specific plan for the exposé of an individual linguistic terrorist may be, Serros’s sincere work will provide the opportunity for this unveiling to a wider audience. Exposure of linguistic terrorism is the final step of language recovery projects as it helps break cycles of this oppression and moves the reclamation of Chicana/o identity through language from the individual to the collective level. Although we have worked through all the specific steps that make up the process of recovering language and therefore identity through language recovery projects, specifically for Chicana/os, there is yet one more step to which I would like to draw attention and reflect upon. This step is not necessarily part of the projects themselves, but rather a motivational repercussion of Serros’s, Anzaldúa’s, Moraga’s, and García’s proposed language recovery projects. Through the committed narration of their painful lived experiences and conflictive relationships to their heritage

227 language, these writers provide a metacritical apparatus for other individuals to identify and engage the same issues for themselves and their communities. Doing so results in the building of positive relationships that are based on internalized and shared acceptance. After presenting as a guest speaker at a local elementary school, Serros has an enlightening exchange with a cafeteria worker: “Puede tener más… más salsa?” I ask the server in a hair net accross from me. “You want more… gravy?” she asks nervously. “Uh, yeah.” “I heard your stories, from the kitchen.” “Oh, really?” “Yeah, I stopped what I was doing ‘cause I didn’t want to miss a word. They were really nice. I enjoyed them a lot.” “Oh, thanks.” (Role Model 221) Serros’s request for additional gravy on her chicken pot pie is made in Spanish, indicating she not only recognizes ethnocultural traits of a Spanish-speaking background in the server, but also wishes to establish communication in that (hopefully shared) language. She hesitates as indicated by the ellipses because she is unsure of the correct translation of gravy into Spanish, and appropriately uses salsa. The server responds, equally hesitant and “nervous” about her own appropriate language use and role in establishing a desired connection with Serros in order to communicate her admiration for her writing. Although the specific language in which they continue their conversation is unclear, I assume it is in Spanish as it has been the marked code-switch in the narrative. That it appears to us as readers in English is probably an editorial choice to “dub” the Spanish dialogue for publishing purposes. By sharing her language and identity reclamation as a Chicana writer, Serros finds an appreciative if unexpected audience member in this woman, as well as establishes a positive relationship in Spanish from someone she recognizes as part of her communities. Serros ends her narrative work with her reflection on these comments:

228 I created something out of what I was told I could never do. The so-called obstacles in my life that so many people tried to make me feel ashamed about suddenly seem less important. So what if I’m still in junior college after six years? Big deal I’m not fluent in Spanish and that I still wear a corduroy smock to pay my rent. Here is someone telling me they actually stopped what they were doing just to hear what I had to say. It’s pretty cool having people listen to what you want heard. No, it’s very cool. I begin to feel an incredibly intense sense of excitement and happiness. And then, more than at any other time during my fledgling career as an aspiring Chicana role model, I sorta, in a way, actually feel like one. (Role Model 222) Although nobody in her “target” audience engages her in a similar fashion, through this singular interaction Serros gains a sense of immense accomplishment. The recognition of her work as a writer, in her own languages, and therefore her Chicana identity by someone with whom she wishes to identify produces an elation that Serros has not experienced during any other time of her life. She accepts her identity as a positive model for others to identify with and aspire to because of this connection with a potential community member. Moraga experiences a different sort of reaction when presenting her self and work to an audience as well: La boca spreads its legs to open to talk, open to attack. “I am a lesbian. And I am a Chicana,” I say to the men and women at the conference. I watch their faces twist up on me. “These are two inseparable facts of my life. I can’t talk or write about one without the other.” My mouth cannot be controlled. It will flap in the wind like legs in sex, not driven by the mind. It’s as if la boca were centered on el centro del corazón, not in the head at all. The same place where the cunt beats. (142) Moraga speaks her identity out loud to an audience whose members’ facial expressions reveal they are not necessarily receptive to her. Introducing herself firstly through her sexuality and gender, then through her ethnicity is a preemptive “attack” on the assumptions made about her identity. She refuses to divide the different aspects

229 of herself into acceptable components for her audience’s (or anyone else’s) comfort because they are inextricable within her identity work and are essential to who she is as a Chicana.90 She negates censure of her mouth, words, and therefore language, in expressing her identity. Indeed, she embraces her mouth as the essential conduit of her Chicana lesbian identity. Moraga inverts the power dynamic in relationships and/or communities that may not want to be identified with her or vice-versa. Instead of waiting to be identified through assumptions and expectations she proclaims her identity, making her audience recognize her on her own terms. Although this is not a moment of building community with a coveted constituency, Moraga does achieve this elsewhere, as evidenced in García’s essay: I remember reading Cherríe Moraga’s Loving in the War Years for the first time, her serrated prose pitching hard into my chest. Here was something that finally made sense, that spoke to and about facets of experience that had only been understood as fragments. … What’s more, Cherríe, this icon of Chicana feminism, was a self-professed half-breed who thought and wrote and loved in Spanish but was still anxious about speaking in Spanish. … It was a lifeline for me, to find my loss of language narrated, to find tangible proof that my existence wasn’t anomalous or aberrant—that it wasn’t, in some fundamental way, my own fault. (124-125)

90 For Yarbro-Bejarano: “This remarkable passage redistributes the anatomy of the lesbian body, decentering the mind and the head and locating ‘la boca’ (newly defined as ‘mouth/cunt’) in the heart. The process reveals that not only our attitudes about our bodies but our very bodies themselves are constructed. If this is so, Moraga’s writing seems to suggest, there’s nothing to stop us from reconstructing them from the blueprint of our own desire, however implicated those desires might be in hegemonic discourses of gender and sexuality” (Wounded Heart 7). Within this instance, then, Moraga is reconstructing her embodied identity and its desire for recognition. I would also say that her audience’s reaction can be read in light of Yarbro-Bejarano’s criticism of traditional models of unified and singular subjectivity, which depend on the exclusion of the collective and interactively dependent critical aspects of identity for queer colored individuals: “At the root of these problems is the focus on one issue, whether it be gender, race, class, or sexuality, as if it existed separately from the others. The insistence on keeping these analytic categories discrete indicates white people’s resistance to perceiving their own gender or sexuality as racially constructed and their tendency to assign the category of race exclusively to people of color (Gordon 105), as well as the resistance of people of color to perceiving their own gender or heterosexual privilege. The rigid separation of these categories reveals that people generally resist acknowledging that they experience racial and cultural identity inseparably from gender and sexual constructions of the self” (“Expanding” 127).

230 Moraga’s work provides García with an unequivocally important moment of recognition and community. The moment García reads Moraga’s narration of her linguistic lived experience indelibly marks her own identity work and incites her language recovery project. Feeling without community or anyone with whom to share her own language history García finds Moraga’s words are life-saving, so deep ran the emotional turmoil of her self-indictment for her Spanish heritage language concerns. García ends her essay with a note on the passing of Anzaldúa and this invocation additionally provides a beautiful example of the manner in which community can be built among Chicana/os through the sharing of language recovery projects.91 Indeed, my own words, would not be possible if all these experiences remained unwritten as texts. Conclusion I like to think of this chapter as an exploration of the negative side of the idealized relationship between heritage languages and ethnocultural identity for minority populations. This relationship correlates the use of the minority or heritage language to its cultural identity, whereby the degree of the latter is dependent on the former. In this equation, the more you speak and know your communities’ heritage languages, the more valid your heritage cultural identity. The negative side of this equation, to phrase it popularly, is what happens when the relationship between language and identity goes wrong. That is to say, when minority individuals fail to meet linguistic assumptions and expectations and are deemed unworthy representatives of their ethnocultural heritage by their own immigrant and linguistic minority communities, as well as the dominant society in which they live. If ethnocultural identity for minority populations hinges on their heritage languages as a sign of cultural pride, loyalty, and authenticity, we cannot ignore the very real,

91 This is an example of what Yarbro-Bejarano describes as the self and communal love present in Chicana feminist writing: “The love of Chicanas for themselves and each other is at the heart of Chicana writing, for without this love they could never make the courageous move to place Chicana subjectivity in the center of literary representation, or depict pivotal relationships among women past and present, or even obey the first audacious impulse to put pen to paper. Even as that act of necessity distances the Chicana writer from her oral tradition and not so literate sisters, the continuing commitment to the political situation of all Chicanas creates a community in which readers, critics and writers alike participate” (“Chicana Literature” 218).

231 material, sociocultural, and historic situations that produce speakers that do not meet linguistic criteria of flawless heritage language use and/or perfectly balanced bilingualism in the heritage and dominant languages of their communities. In order to recognize the factors producing speakers that do not meet these criteria, we must understand the less desired but more realistic outcomes of language contact situations and bilingualism, namely that of language shift to the dominant societal language, language loss at the individual and community levels, as well as the complexities of heritage languages and their speakers. As Chicana feminists, the writing of Serros, Anzaldúa, Moraga, and García directly address and center their lived experiences as women of color, in which formulating their identities in and through language is central. Through their words they expose the deeply personal weight of their conflictive relationship to Spanish as Chicanas. They accurately describe the realities that shaped their immigrant families’ history and decisions that led to their inheritance of language shift. The pain of being critiqued from the communities they wish to identify with as Chicanas because they do not meet the assumptions and expectations about their Spanish language prompts their language recovery projects, which challenge cycles of linguistic oppression and cultural ostracism within their communities, otherwise known as linguistic terrorism. Through questioning and reflecting upon the nature of the linguistic terrorism they encounter, retaining their desire for Spanish as their heritage language, actively seeking out and pursuing Spanish, re-valuing and validating their existing linguistic abilities in Spanish, reclaiming their Chicana identities as Spanish speakers within their communities, and exposing the linguistic terrorism that occurs, these Chicana feminist writers provide a space for ultimate communion based on language affinity for Chicana/os. I have kept for the end of this chapter my personal experience in these issues of heritage language and identity. Aside from identifying profoundly with the words written by these Chicana feminist writers as a Chicana feminist critic, particularly in relation to overcoming linguistic terrorism, I have had additional experiences and identities in this field of inquiry. A product of Spanish heritage language programs

232 myself (during my undergraduate education and only after much persuasion by my elective bilingual mentor, who unfortunately at the time was the only person I would believe regarding my language abilities), I have had the unequivocal pleasure of being a heritage language instructor during my graduate studies. This has marked my development as a teacher, scholar, and heritage language speaker profoundly, and continues to do so. The privilege of teaching these courses has only cemented my belief in the power of language to unite. Although I cannot say that I never question just how successful language recovery projects can be, I know that at the individual level, if one speaker can be validated, then it is a worthwhile endeavor. I would echo here the sentiment of Valdés who shares “feeling little hope that educational programs by themselves can do much to reverse the strong tendencies toward English monolingualism present in immigrant communities,” she is “often cynical about how much language programs can actually accomplish” but finds encouragement from students’ experiences: [M]y own work with bilingual Chicano students has convinced me that if one is able, in the classroom, to create a context wherein immigrant students are lead to value both their heritage and their language, an important transformation in social identity can, in fact occur. What this has implied for me is that instruction in heritage languages which is designed to take perceptions about their existing language strengths can indeed have positive effects on language maintenance. Very specifically, such instruction can impact significantly on choices made by individuals maintaining their ethnic language. It is obviously the case that for an individual circumstantial bilingual to make the effort to maintain or retrieve a language that has been little valued by the society in which she has struggled to become a part, she must believe, not only that her ethnic language is of value, but also that her own abilities as a speaker of that language are worthwhile. (“The Role of the Foreign Language” 51) The redemptive qualities of educative programs in heritage language maintenance and development at the individual level outweigh our temporary pessimism as instructors.

233 Indeed, this dissertation and my career paths are testament to the potential success for these programs. As Fishman notes, “If Spanish as a HL is to become what it should be, both for the country as a whole and for the Hispanic community in particular, it needs to become a youth movement rather than just a school course-sequence” (Developing 9). The types of programs that are now spreading and becoming available to heritage language speakers are not without their own challenges and indeed as other scholars themselves have noted, can actually prompt if not hasten language shift and loss to the dominant societal language. Schools can help and indeed, I have seen students grow through their personal conflicts and the development of their Spanish language, but it cannot be the only venue and requires community support. Communities are made up of individuals and these individuals need to be recognized by their communities as the authentic speakers of language and culture they are. We turn to our younger generations for the positive changes we have struggled to achieve in our own generations, and as educators many of us will continue to turn to our students with this hope. But we must also be conscious of the tools they need, and the support those of us with similar backgrounds and experiences are responsible to share in order for this to happen. Because of the writings of Anzaldúa and Moraga, García was able to find the words to validate her lived experience of Spanish as a heritage language and her Chicana identity. Through the sociolinguistic study of bilingualism and heritage language pedagogy, I have been able to do the same and provide my students with García’s and Serros’s words for their own language recovery projects. This is how positive cycles of linguistic identification and community building can occur to counteract the negative cycles of linguistic terrorism within our communities. As Zentella states: “It is in the dismantling of critiques of our English, our Spanish, and our Spanglish, and in an understanding of who benefits from the diminishment of our linguistic repertoires, that a powerful Latina/o unity can be rooted” (“Lingusitic (In)Security” 36). We must confront and “dismantle” the critiques that occur within our own communities before we can successfully continue to combat those from outside our communities. I have offered this chapter then as an example of the way in which Spanish as a contested Chicano heritage language finds its way out

234 of cycles of linguistic terrorism from within and without the communities in which it exists and Chicana/os are able to prove that they are indeed linguistically and culturally “enough.”

235 Epilogue “Personal and Academic, and Vice Versa” The personal is academic, the academic is personal. Among the many truths I have learned during my travails in academia, this has been the most resounding. The reverberation of its echo has indelibly marked my formation as a scholar. It has also guided the development of my comprehension of the need for academic self- interrogation, the critical analysis of an academic’s subjectivity. Personal experience is so often relegated to the sidelines (if not all together negated) in academic discourse that scholars begin to forget that we too are subjects of inquiry, not merely inquirers who are, and should continue to be, protected from a serious analytical gaze. What I offer here as a conclusion to this project may perhaps best fit conceptually with its introduction. However, I bring this project to closure by reviewing the influential personal/academic moments in my own experience as a bilingual Chicana/o that have been the catalyst for this dissertation. Here then I’ll present my own identity work as an offering for the continuation of this project’s work in the analysis of bilingual representation. My “growing up bilingual; growing up Chicana” followed the developmental pattern for most circumstantial bilinguals in the US. Born and raised in Boyle Heights, Los Angeles, California by Mexican immigrant parents, I grew up to the sounds of Spanish and English. English was the language of school,92 early childhood educational TV programs, evening TV programs and social life as an adolescent, and it became the primary language of communication with my older brother. Spanish dictated my relationship with my parents and most, if not all, communicative needs at home and in the community; the news, religion, and heated discussions were always in Spanish. Boyle Heights, a predominantly Latina/o (and specifically Mexican) immigrant neighborhood, required that social niceties and business transactions be conducted in Spanish. I never took a Spanish course in high school to fulfill my foreign language requirement because as my mother said, “El español ya te lo

92 My mother, a savvy sociocultural navigator, made sure to not “check the box” that would identify her children as second-language learners of English. She was aware of the linguistic prejudices that such a title brought given her own experiences of racism, as well as the way it could potentially affect our educational paths if we were tracked and detained in ESL ghettos.

236 sabes.”93 As an adolescent my codeswitching magnified as my peer network was composed of Chicana/o Spanish-English circumstantial bilinguals, like me, who never felt the need or desire to sever our languages. I cannot identify the exact moment I “became” a Chicana, I always just was. Once in high school a classmate pondered out loud why we identified ourselves that way. As my parents reiterated to my brother and I, we were Americans but came from a Mexican background. They never used the term Chicana/o, I don’t even recall the first time I heard it myself, but I knew that is was something different than Mexican American. I was aware of racial profiling, inner-city gang violence, institutionalized racism, under-resourced schools, and the systematic oppression of underserved communities even if I couldn’t refer to them in these exact terms at the time. They were my reality. The rich social, political, and cultural history of the Mexican and Chicana/o communities within Los Angeles was something that, like my bilingualism, I could not formally articulate. But I knew it, felt it, and lived it. It was my epistemology even if I could not produce meta-critical discourses on it. I left my neighborhood for a public state university education as a first- generation college student from a challenged socioeconomic background. Although I participated in the university’s educational opportunity programs to make the transition into academia smoother, the cultural shock was immense. My introverted personality amplified along with academic insecurity. I was not valedictorian at my high school; I could be best described as a slightly above-average student. I took honors courses and even passed my AP English exam (barely). But I rarely spoke up in my college classes, realizing that I had trouble understanding the academic register of my classmates, and I struggled daily feeling like the only non-white American body (which I usually actually was) in my courses. Among my friends, I was one of the few to leave our hometown and the first to finish. I refused to become another number in the statistics that were always used to define our communities, from the high rates of pregnancy in Latina/o youth to educational discontinuity and subsequent delinquent trends. I felt an anger that I could not express, a profound sadness that I internalized

93 “You already know Spanish,” my translation.

237 because clearly, I’d done something wrong if I had trouble keeping up with my not just my English major classes, but the English of all my classes. Yearning for community, I worked up the nerve to attend a meeting of the main Chicana/o – Latina/o student organization on campus. I must admit feeling intimidated. I’d never been actively involved in student organizations, never felt any of my actions to be “political.” My apprehension quickly vanished in the presence of so many fellow Chicana/os so that when one of the leaders came up to me, recognizing it as my first meeting, I even felt excited. The welcome was more of an interrogation aimed at discovering the reason for my previous lack of participation, which was apparently tantamount to my questionable status as a Chicana. “So how can you call yourself a Chicana?” I never went back. Then, my best friend strongly encouraged me to read Anzaldúa, whom she’d discovered in the Chicana/o Studies courses I was steered away from by well-intentioned but misinformed friends and mentors. It was beyond relief to feel, for the first time in my undergraduate education, that I was reading (and truly understanding) a work without the aid of a dictionary or study guide. I hungrily read through Borderlands—captivated as many have been and will continue to be—by the form and content of its cultural analysis. But I paused where Anzaldúa describes the differences between California and Tejana Chicanas.94 My confusion turned to indignation at what I felt to be a divisive overgeneralization. My susceptibility to internalizing critique at the time, combined with my quiet desperation at unsuccessfully finding community, kept me from pursuing its study. I only returned to this text again during my graduate education, and I cannot but feel that initial sting when I reread this section. I wondered if my Spanish too was so notably deficient, after all. Even after the addition of a Spanish major and coursing through the heritage speakers’ language program, one of my elective bilingual professors from México found more than enough errors in my writing. Combined with those of my classmates, and including our linguistic fumbling during discussions, there was ample room for what she thought

94 “With most California Chicanas I speak entirely in English (unless I forget). When I first moved to San Francisco, I’d rattle something off in Spanish, unintentionally embarrassing them. Often it is only with another Chicana tejana that I can talk freely” (78).

238 were lighthearted jests. My classmates and I always joined in her laughter, exchanging glances of embarrassed acceptance. Now I see the many disjunctures within our own Chicana/o communities, the differences upheld between northern and southern California, Texas, not to mention beyond the Southwest—and accept them as productive tensions that sustain our appreciation of diversity, even if at the time they were jarring. Despite the challenges of my undergraduate university life, I never disowned my Chicana identity. I chose to maintain it, accepting that I did not need to participate in any Chicana/o organization on campus, or major in Chicana/o Studies, or censure my nonstandard academic and informal registers of English and Spanish. I knew all the work I had done to be the first in my immediate and extended family to earn a college degree; this together with my commitment to education for my communities was my contribution and how I “did being a bilingual Chicana.” It was really in graduate school that my bilingual Chicana identity was the most seriously challenged in life-altering ways. I entered my doctoral program slightly dazed as to what this Ph.D. thing was really about, but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed nonetheless. Convinced that the strength I had gained through overcoming the cultural shock of my undergraduate education would sustain me through my transition to this new realm of academia, I was taken aback by the unexpected socioeconomic shock I encountered. Happily seeing more Latina/os and Spanish-speakers in my cohort and department, I automatically identified with them through our shared immigrant backgrounds, which were in actuality, worlds apart. I was the only identified US minority in our bunch, an authentic “discriminada,” as one of my colleagues jokingly called me. Recognition of these unanticipated differences made me feel utterly stupid, bereft of the community I applauded myself for having quickly found, and literally of an entirely different class. The socioeconomic disparities of our home realities were difficult to conceptualize. I regressed—deeply, quickly—into unexpressed intimidation, fertile ground for renewed academic insecurity. In addition to the socioeconomic shock I attempted to work through, I encountered a whole new set of expectations regarding my language production. Apparently once you enter graduate school you are already supposed to be able to

239 produce the high formal academic registers publishable research and conference presentations require. All my first papers received not-so-constructive criticism targeting my unrefined English and Spanish use. I was expected to successfully dialogue (read “debate”) with my elective bilingual classmates from Latin America and white America on topics that I had not yet been exposed to, much less developed academic discourse on. Challenged by the surprising foreignness of course texts and discussions, I carried the “weight of my race” as one of my advisors later explained, through stereotype threat. I did not feel adequate, “not bilingual or Chicana enough” to represent my communities as I was implicitly (and sometimes rather explicitly) asked to do. Stumbling to find classes that would fulfill my program’s first years of requirements, I ventured into the courses of professors who would become mentors in my chosen areas of specialization. I began to consciously develop my academic discourse through coursework in these areas that offered the concepts, terminology, and frameworks for critical analysis of my lived experience as a linguistic and immigrant minority in the US. Along with an upsurge in academic confidence, I began my preparation for language instruction. Becoming a linguistic and cultural authority figure in the classroom to second language learners and heritage speakers alike was almost paralyzing. To abate self-flagellation for my perceived representational deficit in these arenas, I sought community advocacy work through on- and off-campus positions. Each of these experiences was simultaneously encouraging and disheartening. Periods of excitement with the work I was doing in and out of academia brought on intense but fleeting moments of confident ownership of my individual contributions. These were followed by equally extreme moments of guilt for the privilege my education offered and how it would continue to change my socioeconomic reality, distancing me further from the reality of the communities I identified with. This cycle set the rhythm of my existential angst as a bilingual Chicana during these past few years. When an advisor overheard me apologetically explain to a student that I was Chicana but not really “political” she asked, kindly yet pointedly, “is that possible?”

240 Academic milestones and community work accumulated, and these achievements cried out for my validation. My students’ work demanded belief in the confidence I attempted to instill in them as bilinguals, first-generation college students, ethnocultural and socioeconomic minorities, dominant linguistic and cultural allies, etc. It has been continual work to process through cycles of internalized criticism; it is never a successively linear trajectory. To recognize, accept, and claim my sociopolitical awareness of the communities from which I descend I had to realize that the act of identifying as a Chicana was political in and of itself. My commitment to constantly better myself as a bilingual Chicana in order to best represent the communities with which I identify may even be more than “enough.” Through the process of completing this dissertation I have returned to all these poignant moments, the freshness of their memory speaking to the immediacy with which they still affect me. I will carry them with me as I renegotiate my bilingual Chicana identity in new contexts, both in and out of academia, now with a newly acquired title. Melding academic scholarship with personal experience has been the necessary ingredient in surpassing the social, cultural, educational, economic, and political obstacles that presented themselves before and during my identity work as a bilingual Chicana. It will undoubtedly continue to be so as a bilingual Chicana Ph.D. The academic is personal, the personal is academic.

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