A 1999 Neuyorquina Horacio Alger Non-Story

Irma Almirall-Padamsee
Syracuse University

Abstract

This autobiographical narrative in code-switching format reflects the social and educational impact of bilingulism and bilingual education on the author. It also aims to redefine the contemporary multicultural character of a bilingual American

When I was a freshman in college, I used to wonder from time to time, "Who am I?" Questioning my identity and how I fit into the grand scheme of things was normal for me as a college freshman. I know that now. I was a 17-year-old puertorriqueña first generation college student from the South Bronx, attending a Jewish university in Massachusetts (because they gave me the biggest scholarship). My roommate was the first "white" girl I had ever met up close and personal. Wondering about who I was went way beyond a philisophical inquiry. My existence then was an amorphous mass of Latin tradition and gender biased rules, of dreams to become someone who'd make a difference, but a lack of clarity of who or how exactly. My Mami's soft but strict love, my Papi's true grit lessons on how to live in New York City, and a knowledge of the impact of racism were the main vehicles defining me then.

Having the chance to temporarily leave "the City" and go out to an "institution of higher education" gave me the tools with which to successfully challenge the system, from the inside and out. It also set the stage for me to enter the public school system in Massachusetts as a second grade bilingual teacher. I had the baccularate from my university and the approval from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to help a group of second graders not only to learn English but maintain their Spanish as well. I was a maintenance bilingual teacher, and I was being paid to teach my group of Latinitos how to navigate the system and excel academically via a federally mandated educational policy, without negating their bilingualism or biculturalism.

The first year, when I finally decided to open the students' permanent school records and read what had been written by their previous monolingual teachers, I was shocked to discover that nine of the children were given comments such as "mentally impaired." This was very alarming because there was nothing unusual about how many of the children, except one, had learned the material or related to the other children. I had these nine kids professionally evaluated, and only that one child needed special support. By the end of the year, with the help of all the new bilingual teachers assigned to the same school, my students became fluent bilinguals. They learned at such an accelerated pace that I

Neuyorquina Horacio Alger Non-Story "jumped" them into their appropriate grade levels for the next school year so they'd have a better chance of succeeding. I was really proud of the type of teacher I was because I was using skills I grew up with and the tools I maximally related to.

Maintenance bilingual programs have died nationally since that time. They dared validate the eventual existence of a fully functioning bilingual American adult. American philosophy introduced Horacio Alger stories supporting a work ethic and the willingness to merge with the mythical American dream—one citizen united to another with a common set of cultural values and one common language. I never understood why it was so hard to see the blatant impact of oppression—an American melting pot which existed only fictitiously in the minds of those privileged few who had the power to dictate whose cultural values and language were "American" enough. I believed then, as I do now, that transitional bilingual education programs were as incapable of supporting the Latino identity as being called "Hispanic." These were ways of defining myself superimposed by the non-Latino for comfort, profit, and power over the non-Latino. These labels negate the inherent linguistic and cultural strengths of who I was and still am. It saddens me to know that even though Latinos are large in number, as a community we have not been able to, nor been allowed to, influence the basic definition of "American." Spanish, dark-skinned, and arroz con habichuelas¹ are not automatically incorporated and used within the definition of an American. Rather, these characteristics connote a "cute" ethnic enclave within the United States represented by 1999 gyrating Latino Elvis Presleys. Going away to college and negotiating my first job, indirect products of the Title VII legislation, allowed me to empower myself without betraying my Latin-ness in the process.

Bilingual education means much more than simply teaching a student how to function in two languages. It means encouraging a student to fully develop via the cultural richness of two realities, of using linguistic systems to challenge boundaries, of defining your American-ness biculturally. Title VII provided a structural backdrop and philosophical validation of my identity, and the identity of each child I taught.

During my first year of college, I met a young, thin international student from Bombay. He too was far from home, on a scholarship, and wondered how he fit into the universe around him. And through his eyes—the dark eyes, black hair, and copper skin of my most handsome Latino—the parameters defining a world I thought I knew broadened, softened, and merged with unknown experiences and pressures common to his world. My ability as a bilingual individual, again, allowed me to work outside of limitations and understand the commonalities between two people who both believed in one God yet called to Him with different names, who both cherished and deeply respected their mother and father, who shared a role-modeled understanding of what a lifetime commitment in marriage was all about, and who loved and nurtured their children as the purest extensions of themselves. Years later, in the first-class section of a plane heading to St.Croix, we take a week off from our respective jobs to celebrate our 30^th wedding anniversary, and I am secure with who I am. But the answer isn't simple because the multilayered, multicultural, multilingual, multipressured world, which I define and which defines me, doesn't fit neatly piece by piece into one another like a puzzle. In fact, it is precisely this ability to think beyond boxes which bejewels me with the most sparkling of diamonds and the yellowest of golds. Without my bilingual reality, there would be no room for a merengue in one's chanklas² in the kitchen, or for a little code switching just for the hell of it, or for a crunchy samosa³ dunked in homemade lemon pickle, or for the satisfying and validating mess of pastelles.⁴ There would be no more room to juggle yet one more responsibility, no more chance to use the magical ability inherent in my identity to create a new approach, a new explanation, a new broken boundary.

I am loved by an incredible man who looks up at the night sky and sees what there is, not what there is not. A man who refuses to allow the understanding of the science he loves become the right of the elite or the ploy of the politician. My husband and I are two sides of a spiritual being which lives in the hearts, minds, dreams, and successes of our two daughters. And although we are housed in two physical entities, we exist as one in the students we mentor, the alumni who remember us at Christmas, the writings we author, and the warm handshake of a mother at commencement ceremonies.

Veo a mi mami, y mi abuela, y mi papi en los ojos de mis nenas. Ya son mujeres con sus propias aspiraciones. Mantienen una determinacion que esta vida sera mejor como producto de sus existencias y el conocimiento que ellas pueden influir este mundo a ser mejor no solo para su propio beneficio, pero para el bien de otros.⁵

Had I not been raised bilingually, had I not taught bilingual elementary children, had I not secured my own education, cognizant of what bilingualism really implies in terms of inherent linguistic creativity, had I not facilitated the college experience for the thousands of Latino students I've been lucky to know, I believe my life would be a small iota of what it is now. Being bilingual and having reaped the benefits of Title VII have everything to do with it.

My younger daughter is an activist. She has taken over buildings, sat in the middle of four way traffic, and been on a hunger strike to support what she believed in. She's a bilingual elementary teacher for "Teach for America" in the South Bronx. She is determined to do everything she can so that being poor and being Latino does not equate with being less.

My older daughter works toward her own doctorate. Her elementary level educated grandparents and her Ph.D.'ed parents see another true leader in her. Race, class, and gender issues constitute the core of her studies and expertise. She chose a socially conscious architect-turned information studies specialist as her life partner, and she stands before classes of graduate and undergraduate students as a Latina/Indian scholar and role model of how multilingualism and multiculturalism are alive and well. And in time, she will continue the cycle and pass on the incredible pride in being the bilingual and bicultural person she is.

The language one speaks represents the cultura⁶ one identifies with. If that language is valued both from within the community that speaks it and from without, the culture affiliated with that language is valued as well. Title VII dared to say that Spanish was one of the languages spoken by Americans which was as important as English. The myth of the poor Horacio Alger immigrant rising from the ashes via hard work to reach personal and economic success is just that—a myth. The truth is that it does matter who you are, what your color is, what your culture dictates, and what language you speak. It influences where you can find a place to live, what school you can afford, and what job you can get. If you are a light-skinned Hispanic, maybe you can find a part in a major network TV series. If you are tall enough to play basketball, you may get a scholarship to college. Only certain Americans have wanted to, or been allowed to, give up their cultural and linguistic roots to accept a cultural non-identity for the promise of economic gain. Hard work at school or in industry is the mythical ingredient for success. This means that you can throw away the rest of your cultural treasures. But America is the sum of its treasures. Did Horacio have any concept whatsoever of the incredible gift he gave up? What did Horacio give up?

I'm fifty now and know well that Horacio Alger never existed. I know what racism, sexism, and classism feel like. Papi kept pushing me to study so that "no tendrás que trabajar como burro en una factoría como yo."⁷ Education isn't the key to everything. It's what you do with the education that counts. In and of itself, education doesn't level the racist, sexist playing field. I do know that I've been very lucky, and that my bilingualism and biculturalism are at the core.

NOTES

¹ Rice and beans

² Slippers

³ Indian snack

⁴ A seasoned plantain dough filled with cooked pork and chick peas, rolled in banana leaf, and boiled.

⁵ I see my mother, my grandmother, and my father in the eyes of my girls. Now they are grown women with their own hopes and dreams. They stay firm in their determination that life shall be better as a product of their existence and the knowledge that they can influence this world to be a better place, not only for their own enhancement but for the good of others.

⁶ Culture

⁷ You will not need to work like a donkey in the factory like me.