Chicano ConfidentialBy Sonny Boy Arias I was attending a professional academic conference on the topic of the “psychology of the Self” that was interdisciplinary in nature, being held at the Marriot Hotel in Orange, California, not far from John Wayne International Airport. Upon arrival at the Marriott, I noticed that the hotel service workers were all very busy attending to multiple activities, a business conference, an afternoon meeting of the Lions’ Club, our academic conference, and, to my pleasant surprise they were setting up for an evening of pugilism, you know, good old-fashioned fighting, punching, hitting and, if we’re lucky, maybe some head butting. It was going to be an evening full of professional boxing and guess what? The “card” included women’s boxing! Yahoo! To say the least, the hotel was “buzzing.”As I entered the front door of the hotel I was not yet into the lobby when I was greeted by a large aquarium-like water dispenser stock full of fresh lemons located in the vestibule, the interstitial zone, the area between the front door and the lobby, the “in between,” a place where symbolically, I love to be and that most people find uncomfortable. So looking up to the morning sunlight, I closed my eyes and took a drink of the lemon water only to be disrupted by a pair of academics (you know the snooty types) speaking poorly of the age-old sport of boxing as well as those who attend boxing matches. “Can you imagine entering a ring with the objective to beat each other’s brains out?” one said, and the other replied, “What sort of people would attend such an event?” And then it occurred to me, these chaps were in attendance at the conference I came to attend. I also realized that I would much rather be at the boxing match. I was reminded of how many years I tried to develop of my academic colleagues as boxing buffs, but to no avail as they all looked down their noses at the sport I so well loved. As a result my enthusiasm was driven underground and I had to watch boxing events at home by my lonesome. I have to admit that the reason I like hanging out in the vestibule (interstitial zone) is because others always hurry through so I felt like I had the specially made water all to myself, it was a space where I could temporarily seek refuge from the morning hustle-and-bustle I experienced at two airports and a quick taxicab ride. As I drank the cool water I was reminded of a going away gift a friend once gave me the day prior to departing Texas for California: a water dispenser just as large as the one I was presently faced with and filled with several rows of pineapple and, need I say, vodka, seven times distilled. Thing is, because we were leaving the next day we had to drink the whole thing. There too rests a dichotomy as my academic colleagues were either non-consumers of alcohol or alcoholics. The unspeakable truth is that many of them stashed bottles of whisky in their university office files alongside their winter breath mouthwash to disguise the smell of alcohol. University professors are a “walking contradiction” in this way, always preaching one thing and doing something else. Concomitantly, we are trained to search for the truth in our subject matter and we always land-up masking our findings with illusions of the truth. In the “interstitial zone of life” you might say, you are neither here nor there but you are always discovering something new. As I looked around the hotel I noticed to my right, a sign-up table for my conference; it looked drab, and the people staffing the table looked just as drab, just like the stuffed shirts academics I knew I would meet up with later in the afternoon, so rather than sign-up for the conference I decided that it could wait so I immediately went to the left to the hotel registration desk, signed into my room and proceeded to the gym for a quick workout. The gym was average in size (not bad) and had some of the best equipment I had ever seen at a hotel gym, complete with treadmills with fans, widescreen television sets and what looked like an “aquarium” filled with fresh cut lemons and cool drinking water just like the one located in the vestibule near the front door of the hotel. I mounted the treadmill, set the fans on high and rapidly worked up to a good self-paced jog for twenty-minutes. I was set to leave and started pouring lemon water when as if out of nowhere a female boxer walked into the gym. She had a long black pony tail, was very fit, and had the appearance of a Chicana Hilary Swank in the fight movie “Million Dollar Baby” produced by Clint Eastwood. She wore a bright red robe with matching red Everlast boxing gloves and there were large silver letters across her back that read, “Tap Out, San Antonio.” I later learned that this was the name of her boxing gym. In a very nervous manner, she looked me straight in the eye and asked me how my workout was going. As I drank the cool lemon water she began to nervously shadow box all about the gym. I asked her if she was from San Antonio and let her know that I was living in Kingsville, Texas (just south of San Antonio). At this, she made direct eye contact and in a heavy Chicano accent told me about how this was her first time in “Loz Angeles.” She went on to say that she had come a long way to fight a well-known boxer (undefeated) from Los Angeles and that this was the biggest fight of her career with 8 wins, 1 knockout and 0 losses. She said that she was nervous and “a little afraid.” I told her that I loved boxing, had boxed as a young man for the Boy’s Club of San Diego, undefeated for two years and that I had often reflected upon my feelings of fear (when first entering the ring) but had come to a point of enjoying the feelings of fear; especially once I demonstrated some boxing competency to myself. Besides a good dose of adrenaline does the body good! I added that I had employed this strategy throughout my life and that today in my capacity as a social psychologist had come to inculcate this behavior in everyday life. In other words, I overcome fear by “diving straight into it,” the phenomenon that is causing the fear in the first place, that is, and always find that by doing so this method can assist with the fear factor. She caught my eye again and said she had earned a degree in psychology and business at the downtown San Antonio satellite campus of the University of Texas; I had once consulted there for start-up development. She did not work out long as it appeared that she had some nervous energy to keep in check. As she worked the stair-stepper, she jabbed into the air as professional boxers often do. After ten minutes or so her manager came by, knocked on the window and just before exiting the gym, she turned and invited me to the fight. I told her I would be there “in her corner.” Now that I think about it, I noticed that she had a quick conversation with her manager, pointed to me, and left the hallway. After my workout, I took a shower and tried to psyche-up for conference mode. I walked through the “buzz” generated by hotel personnel and signed-up for my conference at the conference desk with a rather bored looking woman who afforded me a mountain of materials along with a sizeable name tag and one-hundred percent cotton bag made by some poor kid working out of a sweatshop in Bangladesh. Now that I was all “labeled” up, I could identify myself with several hundred other colleagues all walking around the hotel aimlessly or talking on their cell phones acting as if what they were talking about was somehow important. As I sat through the conference workshops that morning I made it a point to get up and walk the hallways of the hotel about every forty minutes. Frankly, I did so mostly out of boredom (I just have to be honest with you), to get some exercise and also to pee as I was on “pee pills” as part of my kidney stone regimen. Our conference was being held on the furthest side opposite the front door of the hotel, maybe some fifty yards away. In between our conference room and the front door was a very large hall where the evening fights were going to be held that looked like it could fit up to 2,000 people; it actually looked like a ballroom. There were any number of vendors, service and lighting people, and professional boxing types everywhere. I must say this certainly made my trips to the restroom quite interesting. As I walked the hallways of the hotel I kept asking people where I might purchase a ticket for the fights. Well, it soon became common knowledge that the fight was sold out. I understood this but I kept asking anyway and felt that the $28 dollar investment would be well worth it and at the same time give me an excuse not to hang-out with the stuff-shirt academics who only wanted to talk about their boring work. In search of tickets I happened to meet the promoter of the fights near the giant Tecate beer bottles being set up near the main bar. He acted busy so I was surprised he gave me a few minutes of his time as I asked him a number of questions, like how many fights were there going to be, who was fighting and the like. After this conversation I noticed a guy who looked like a “ticket scalper” and asked him if he had tickets; he did not, but he did encourage me to keep checking with him and I heard him on his cell phone trying to locate a ticket for me, these were all good signs and at the same time reified in me my tenacious behavior. Later that day, on another trip to the restroom I noticed some people wearing “Tap Out” shirts setting up a booth with pictures of what looked like the female boxer I had met in the gym. A young woman (that looked like the boxer’s sister) said I had to go to the fight to watch “Norma kick some ass.” I found her confidence contagious and even a little intimidating and agreed. Just as she directed me to purchase a $9 picture with “Norma Cha Boom Boom” she (Norma) came around the corner out of the staging room, how could I refuse to purchase a picture? The camera was not yet set-up, but the “sister” gave me the “look” as if to say “Why not just purchase one of these pictures asshole we need the money” so I placed the $9 in the plastic jar, said a few encouraging words to Norma and decided to walk through the “staging room” where both male and female boxers were hanging their garments, taping-up their hands and getting ready to mostly kill time by shadow boxing and of course to “talk shit” about their opponents. I could tell that “Norma Cha Boom Boom” was real tough, a street fighter who rest assured could take a lot of pain and give some, too. My sense is that she is probably a better fighter with her gloves off and out of the ring on the street some fighters are just that way, hence, they might lose in the ring, but they will always win a fight on the street. The paradox is simply there are far too many rules to follow in the ring it’s not like back in the day. Each boxer had a very small area in this large room where they would prepare themselves for the fight, there were both male and female boxers, their managers and their “handlers” just like the ones I had just met selling pictures. I was now an official “Norma Cha Boom Boom fan” and was determined to go to the fights that evening. I returned to my academic conference and found a speaker, a professor of rhetoric from the University of Pennsylvania, preparing to give his lecture. I also noticed a number of copies of a very thick book (over 500 pages) placed at every table. It was a book written by the speaker (“good old what’s his name) and the subject matter was “self-development for adult learners.” Anyway I sat about three tables down from the podium where he was addressing over 300 academics from a variety of disciplines. At one point he conducted an exercise asking every table in the room to meet for a few minutes and come up with a definition of the word “plisky.” Beyond working in collaboration with others, I am not sure what the point of the exercise was, but the speaker made it a point to tell the audience that he had spent two hours trying to identify a word that “this group” (Ph.D.’s) might not know the definition, so each table came up with a definition, presented it to the greater group, and by a show of hands, each respective definition was either accepted or rejected by the entire group of 300. It didn’t take long to reject a number of excellent definitions. At our table, like all of the other tables, no one was forthcoming with a “true” definition. As a group we lacked vibrancy and imagination, the exercise was suddenly boring and uneventful. Even though I was not feeling it and didn’t really care to collaborate with others at my table (as I was busy trying to figure out how to get a ticket to the fights), I shared my knowledge of a “plisky” and told them how I knew what it was. This is what I shared. While serving as a Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at Texas AandM University, I told them, I once proposed to the Chancellor’s Office that we fund a Center of Excellence every two years. The Chancellor thought this was a “great idea,” funded our university, and as a result we competed for the prize within our own university. I reflected upon the “excellence” I found in each of my 18 departments and ascertained a need for a grand Steinway piano in the Music Department. I was convinced that the only way we would attract top artists was if we had a Steinway, as artists will often not provide a concert without a Steinway or Kawai piano. So I met with the chair of the Music Department with the idea of writing a proposal for this purpose. He told me that he loved the idea but had never written a proposal. At this, I told him I would write the proposal on his behalf as long as he didn’t tell the other chairs that I had done so; since I could not focus in my Dean’s Office I set up a time to visit the Music Department to find a place to write. The chair took me into a piano room with no windows but with a few hundred boxes of old sheet music that smelled like musty paper and a very old Bösendorfer grand piano (a unique prototype made in Vienna) stacked high with even more sheets of music. Suddenly, without warning he stretched his arm out across the top of the piano and moved it rapidly from one end to the other, clearing everything atop the piano to the floor; “now you have work space,” he blurted, smiled, and walked away. It took me about three hours to write the proposal that was subsequently funded for around $700,000. Again, it was the first award in the Texas AandM University System of its kind. I had proposed it, and I was proud of the fact that it was awarded to our Music Department. With a sizeable check in hand I immediately made contact with the Steinway Piano Corporation in New York City and they in turn placed me in contact with their representative in their Houston corporate office. I was invited to the “Steinway showroom” in Houston. I must say that all of the Steinway people I had met were very professional. They began our meeting with champagne and a brief history of the Steinway piano. I learned that only a particular kind of wood from the Black Forest in Germany was used to make their pianos because it was that particular forest where the Steinway Family was having a picnic one afternoon when lightning struck, killing the entire family with the exception of one man who (at the time lightning struck) heard a significant tone (a reverberation of a sort) in the trees. It was that sound and that event that changed the life of young Steinway. ![]() At the same time, Steinway pianos are known not to utilize wood glue to hold the pieces inside the piano together. Rather, the wood is placed in such a manner so as to hold itself together, using wooden doles and support design. At the same time, each piano key stretches from the front side of the piano (ivory key side) into the inside of the piano through an extended wooden arm, and at the end of the arm is a “hammer head” made of hardened felt – that is the “plisky.” A professor in the room (someone I had never met) reified my definition by adding that once he had worked for the Hammond Organ Company and that my definition was true. I think he was simply full of himself and wanted others to know that he had a life outside of academe. I successfully argued that the “plisky” was the part of the hammer made of hardened cotton that struck the piano string. The “plisky” is located beneath the black hammers in this picture, but of course my point is that it was not true, I was dreadfully bored and was looking for a cheap thrill, plus, I just wanted to be powerfully convincing and I was. Read on. The entire group of 300 cheered at my story and voted mine as the best definition of the word “plisky.” Fact is, when the speaker read the real definition of the word, “plisky,” no one believed him. He said that according to Webster’s Dictionary a “plisky” was a joke, something made up as when someone “kids around.” When I told the group that I had made up the definition they did not believe me! It took some re-explaining to undo as several of them became adamant and few were on to my boredom and trickery. Following the “plisky exercise,” I took a break and sought refuge in the hallways only to run into Norma, the female boxer. She said that the fighter she was originally matched-up with was a “no show” and that she would now be matched-up with “that girl over there,” a young woman dressed in “Irish greens” with red hair, big freckles, and bright green eyes who looked like she possessed a thick Irish accent and could hold her own in the ring, Norma sensed that the young woman was a “push over” and said as she shook her head, “Look at her, now what a plisky that is!” ![]() Sonny Boy Arias, a dedicated contributor to Somos en escrito via his column, Chicano Confidential and a stone-cold Chicano, has been on hiatus while on a world tour of Europe and the Subcontinent telling stories. He writes under the general rubric of historias verdaderas mentiras auténticas–true stories and authentic lies. He has found this the most effective manner to convey his stories about Chicano life. Copyright © Arts and Sciences World Press, 2018.
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Chicano Confidential My nephews have a rock-and-roll band (Chicano ska) and recently they invited me to hear their new song, “I Don’t Speak No Spanish," that they sang completely in Spanish. I was immediately reminded of my cousin Avelino who years ago (while we were children) used to sing every single Beatle song in English; thing is, he didn’t speak English. Concomitantly in my capacity as the founder of the Salinas Valley Mariachi Conference and Festival, I brought a mariachi from Japan that wowed the primarily Mexican audience when the curtain opened. The Japanese Mariachis could not speak Spanish or English, but sang beautifully from the heart in Spanish. These are but a few concrete examples that cause us to temporarily do what Carlos Castañeda used to call, “Stopping the world!” Castañeda’s paradigm for looking out at the world was to “bracket” situations, “stop them,” and provide detailed analysis to the situation at hand (see Journey to Ixtlan: A Yaqui Way of Knowing). When we are caught off-guard by such experiences, when we temporarily “Stop the world!” as Carlos puts it, and examine social situations at the micro level, we experience a cognitive shift in our assumptions. Even so, I have to ask “What is the real message behind my nephew’s song?” or “What is it about the contradictions in their mixed message?” And why did they make it a point to bring it to my attention? These are young boys whose grandfather was a radical Chicano activist and whose father was a Mexican-American turned Hispanic. They are more than aware of their would-be Chicanismo yet prefer to refer to themselves as “multiracial millennials” and are quite comfortable with that label, just as they are comfortable with the results their father received from FamilyTreeDNA.com, which places his DNA mostly in Western Europe far from Aztlan. For the purposes of this discussion, we will use the term “Latino” to refer to individuals who refer to themselves as Hispanics, Mexican-Americans, Chicanos and/or Spanish. What makes a Latino a Latino (genetically speaking)?" has been recently complicated by the growth of the consumer genetic ancestry testing industry, such as FamilyTreeDNA.com, Ancestry.com, etc. When one is even more specific and asks “What makes a Mexican a Mexican?” or “What makes a Spaniard a Spaniard?” again, genetically speaking the realities of any response is even more complex. For many years, scientists, social and behavioral scientists, and anthropologists have known that the short answer to this question is that, "Being Mexican or Spanish means being multiracial." But that is also true for the majority of humans (whether they personally believe so or not). Humans have always migrated and intermarried. By the end of the first Human Genome Project (2003) and as a result of the popularity of the genetic ancestry testing these as well as other related tests have influenced many DNA test consumers to reassess their identity. How individuals interpret and use genetic test results to affirm or reconstruct their identities varies widely and is an excellent topic of social inquiry. Genome sequencing allows scientists to isolate the DNA of an individual person and identify different codes. A byproduct of this research is the ability to match the physical DNA (materials or the stuff one is actually made up of) to a geographic place—this is what gave birth to the thinking surrounding the consumer ancestry and genetic research industries. My theory is that the widespread use of such tests is in fact changing how the general public views race (genetically determined) and/or how individuals socially construct their self (social psychologically speaking) in everyday life. In short, both of these issues deserve more large-scale study and analysis, most especially as they may contribute to alienation, detachment, self-isolation and the curtailment of the evolving self. Take Dolores as an example: a stone-cold Chicana from the East Side Barrio in San Jose, Califas. Her sisters purchased a genetic ancestry test and the results documented their family's 50% Apache ancestry. Since Dolores became aware of that, she has all but dropped her Chicana identity and become active within the local Native Advisory Council. Now let’s be clear I am not pitting Chicanos against Native Americans; this is not my point at all. My point is focused on how it is that in the evolution of the self (in a social psychological sense), people who take the genetic ancestry test suddenly find themselves presented with new information about their genetic make-up and are immediately impacted by the new information; they “stop the world” and begin to question common assumptions about who they really are and what they stand for. Consumer recipients of new ancestry information like Dolores are often transformed on the spot, experiencing a cognitive shift about common assumptions, what Nietzsche calls a “transvaluation of values,” adopting a new set of values predicated on a new vision for one’s future self-development and evolution of self. Prior to the test results, Dolores identified with her Chicana/Mexican heritage; she was generally aware of her Native heritage through conversations with relatives in California and in New Mexico. The genetic test results have enabled her to rethink/expand/alter her personal and social identities; the results are the fall of one identity (Chicana) and the rise of a new identity (Apache, Native-American Chicana), a more empowered self. From a social psychological perspective, with new information about her ancestry, Dolores transformed from a softer identity to a much stronger one and she is a lot clearer and stronger, empowered if you will, about whom she is and what she stands for as she looks out into the future. Fact is, people with these experiences often look out at the rest of their lives with a new found purpose not yet clearly defined but certainly impacted by a truer self-esteem. Now take the case of Juan in his own words: “My self-development has been problematic since birth and I guess not yet fully realized because I have always lived with the question, “What makes a Mexican a Mexican?” Born in Querétaro, raised and elevated to full teenage-hood as a chilango in Mexico City, I am the grandchild of Asturian immigrants to Mexico. Half of my brothers, bless their hearts, stick to their Spanish heritage and way of speaking. I always suspected they “cling” to it as a form of distinction from the rest of the ‘natives.’ This is indeed a widespread belief among Mexicans of any European descent in Mexico, so there you have it.” You may be interested to know that I know a family of five in South Texas, each with a different Texas accent. Much like Dr. Doolittle, I have observed that accents are tied to values and ideological beliefs. As Juan grew in consciousness in early developmental years, “I started feeling uncomfortable with such consideration that at best cherished my Spanish ancestral side as a source of pride and identity–nothing wrong with that–and at worst accepted the long held belief that the Mexican middle and upper-classes, that in order to be better, you have to be the more European and whiter. Hey, not their fault that it was an official policy of Mr. Porfirio Díaz during the late 19th Century to whiten the nation, blanquear la raza, to improve la patria. While Díaz was ousted at the onset of the Mexican Revolution, the country never quite got rid of the idea of the blanqueo: ¡Ay! comadre, mire nomás que chulo niño tan blanquito y con sus ojitos azules…” Juan continues: “I have always remained proud of my ancestral roots (ironically the poor and dispossessed peasantry of Northern Spain), but I also came to the realization that having been born in Mexico, I was a Mexican, with a Mexican self. And despite being güerito, or a light-skinned Mexican, I would not let anyone question my Mexicanidad.” Having lived in California for the better part of the last 20 years, he has continued consciously to embrace the Mexican identity. Conversely, Juan’s son took the DNA test, and as suspected, he had a 99% European background, with–to Juan’s delight and surprise–a 1% Native American marker. Perhaps a mischievous ancestor traveled in colonial times to Mexico to come back with a regalito. Juan refuses the concept that Mexican-ness ought to be defined solely in terms of genetic ties to ancestral peoples of Mesoamerica, and he salutes and celebrates the profound relationship between the current identities present in Mexico and the United States regarding being Mexican and those cultures and peoples. Brown, the color, bronce, if you prefer, like Vasconcelos once did, is to be celebrated, admired and unequivocally acknowledged as a marker of identity. A Mexican can claim to be Spaniard, indeed, but unfortunately it will carry with it a colonial legacy of a caste-like system that so much determined the development of a society where privilege and injustice has so much hindered the equitable distribution of the wealth of the nation. Juan has chosen to distance himself from such insidious perception. Let me be clear: scientifically speaking there is no common gene pool for "Spaniards" or any other grouping for that matter. In other words, there is great genetic, linguistic, and cultural variation among all Spaniards, past and present. First off, the Spaniards from south of Madrid (the largest geographic area) were all the product of mating with " North Africans," as they were conquered, colonized, and ruled by the Moors (Moros) for over 900 years. This makes them "mestizos" or people who are the product of two distinct peoples. And, nearly all "Spaniards" who came in the early years of the Conquest of the Americas (when Mexico was settled) and who came in search of wealth and to explore the new world are from the province of Andalucía in Southern Spain, and for sure all the "Great Conquistadores," Cortés, Alvarado, Pizarro, etc., the great oppressors, came from the same area in Southern Moorish Spain, specifically the towns of Trujillo and Badajoz, this last one itself a Moorish name, in the province of Extremadura. So that, for example, in beginning any line of inquiry about, “What makes a Mexican a Mexican?” if your parents and their parents are born in Jalisco, Mexico, with a lineage of ancestors in both Mexico and in that region of Spain, anyone claiming to be “Spaniard” must also take into account whether or not their ancestors come from northern or southern Spain, for that divides many of the gene pools of Spain since the 13th century. Again, generalized "tests of genetic inheritance" (like the human genome project, FamilyTreeDNA.com, or Ancestry.com, etc.) do not account for these fine points. This is another way of saying that Mexicans from Jalisco, Mexico, (with traces of Western European DNA) are likely closer descendants of North Africans, for example. Claiming to be Spaniard also stakes a claim to the likelihood that one is of Moorish descent (nearly 1000 years of intimate social interactions); however, this does make them at least partially “Spaniard.” But again, let’s not forget that DNA testing of Spaniards is providing proof that people from Spain are really from everywhere else, just like all other groupings of peoples, how else can I put it? From a social psychological perspective, I’m beginning to get the sense that the genetic testing industry (groups that gather DNA samples from people as seen on television) is causing a shift in the identity of individuals in American society, for those who remain perplexed about who they are or what they stand for; you might even say the project is causing a breakdown in social identity. As a direct result in what the project is reporting to individuals you are hearing more and more people in daily life break down their DNA when asked, “What is your ethnic background?” “I am 20% this and 35% that, etc. just as in the commercial for FamilyTreeDNA.com as seen on TV. It’s a very peculiar time we live in. Alongside alienation caused by modern day social media, we now have this to contribute to the loss of identity. You might say that when a Mexican American born of Mexican parents in Jalisco with a long lineage of Mexican ancestors says he is “Spaniard” projects such as Ancestry.com gives them a way out of not having to identify with being Mexican. Would be “Spaniards” who find the experience of being labelled as “Mexican” stigmatic prefer this logic, whereas Latinos who call themselves Mexican Americans or Chicanos will correct people who refer to them as “Spaniards” by stating “These are not my people!” The process of gathering DNA from people across the globe is at present at least raising many more questions than it can answer at this time. In addition they argue that the more DNA samples they acquire the better the accuracy of their information. But the reality is that just like many other things that have occurred with scientific discoveries, people find an angle for profiting by keeping science ambiguous; with the advent of Teflon for example, marketers sold the public a bill of goods; in pitching the non-stick pan they simply failed to report that over time it will cause stomach cancer. The unspeakable truth about all of the matching from far off relatives and ancestors is that once you have your DNA tested and recorded in the big data archives of FamilyTreeDNA.com you will undoubtedly locate and/or be discovered by close and distant relatives because the system works! You will receive emails like, “New Relatives Found! We found 111 new mtDNA HVR1 match(es) for Sonny Boy Arias (kit N10134299988)” do I dare click on “View My Matches”? Madre mia! It’s like FamilyTreeDNA.com says “Your mtDNA HVR1 test results can help you find new ancestors and relatives on your direct maternal line (your mother’s mother’s mother and so forth). You will want to look at their family tree and email them to find your possible common relatives and ancestors.” I have to ask myself, “Why on earth would I want to connect with relatives I have never known or have not had any contact with, ever? I moved a good distance away from my tightly knit, well organized huge family for the very reason of not making the “cut off” to family wedding, baptismals, birthdays and sometimes even funerals. Good god, that’s all I need right now is to find out I’m related to a serial killer or cannibal serving 3 life sentences in a nearby high security prison and he is eager to “meat” me. Whether it be human genome research, family or ancestor trees or gathering DNA materials what they are finding is that we are all human, but it serves well those who continue separating the world in a Spencerian way in higher and lower specimens of the species. It contributes little to the discussion on identity that is fundamentally a cultural phenomenon where phenotypical elements are at play. Genetically speaking, the Mexican gene pool is as diverse as it gets: from the Mayan, to the Paipai, to the Nahuatl and to the descendants of European immigrants, all of them culturally defined and genetically diverse. In other words, I might not be the descendant of Netzahualcoyotl, but I am darned proud of his insight and sophistication. ![]() Sonny Boy Arias, who writes science friction to educate, amuse and enrich, is a stone-cold, very self-aware Chicano and a dedicated contributor to Somos en escrito via his column, Chicano Confidential. Copyright © Arts and Sciences World Press, 2018. Below the break are some relevant sources that may be helpful and interesting in performing a search for Mexican identity.
DTC Genetic Testing Companies Compared https://wiki.uiowa.edu/display/2360159/DTC+Genetic+Testing+Companies+Compared Shifting Winds: Using Ancestry DNA to Explore Multiracial Individuals’ Patterns of Articulating Racial Identity, 2017 http://www.wcupa.edu/DNADiscussion/documents/identityInteracial.pdf The Genetic Ancestry of African Americans, Latinos, and European Americans across the United States, 2015 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4289685/ The Genetics of Mexico Recapitulates Native American Substructure and Affects Biomedical Traits, 2014 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4156478/ Genetic Ancestry Testing and the Meaning of Race, 2016 (12:21 minutes) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQlmX7gvYRA Latinos Get Their DNA Tested, 2016 (4:59 minutes) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCc1N52zSLg New Mexico Hispanics discovering and embracing their indigenous roots, 2016 http://www.santafenewmexican.com/life/features/new-mexico-hispanics-discovering-and-embracing-their-indigenous-roots/article_b951edd4-8002-5d15-876e-83730b71adcb.html From Diverse Origins We Come, |
The aim of the poet [writer] is to inform or delight, or to combine together, in what he says, both pleasure and applicability to life. In instructing, be brief in what you say in order that your readers may grasp it quickly and retain it faithfully. Superfluous words simply spill out when the mind is already full. Fiction invented in order to please should remain close to reality. |
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