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Tcahr Issue 23
TCAHR - Better Living Through Memetics
Issue 23
I, Race Traitor 03/15/01
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I was born in 1974. I am part of the first generation of
my respective bloodlines who can call themselves Americans.
Growing up as an American has been both a blessing and a
curse.
Most people who were children in the 80's will remember the
music and the movies. I, myself, think fondly of cultural
memes and virii such as Culture Club, Michael Jackson,
Molly Ringwald, Japanization, Beat Street, and the immortal
Breakin' 2: Electric Bugaloo. For the mainstream, the 80's
were a fantastic and amusing time.
However, the thing that breaks my heart to this day is that
for most of my life I have never been considered a son of my
ancestral lineage. I remember quite clearly how being
Puerto Rican in the 80's meant living up to a sterotype I
wasn't willing to partake in. One mental image which has
stayed with me is that of a cousin crying in the dark bittery
wishing that she was not Puerto Rican. While some whites did
make stupid comments and treat me differently due to my
African features and ethnic background, it was by the hands
of those which would be considered my own people that I have
suffered most.
My youth was spent living in Chicago's notorious Logan Square
and Humbolt Park districts. Most people would look at my
clothes and attitude today and think I was raised to be
street-tough. Most people would be wrong; I was a proud nerd
then just as I'm a proud nerd now. I never went anywhere
without a book. I received straight As on my report cards.
I was also heavily interested in the arts.
This marked me as different. I can't remember how many
times I was told by other Puerto Ricans that real Puerto
Ricans do not read books. Most despised about me was my
insistance that Puerto Ricans are a ethinicity rooted in
cultures of Spain and Africa. Spain most Puerto Ricans have
no problem with indentifing with. Bring up our African
heritage and quick, angry denials are not uncommon. To this
day, I've heard many Puerto Ricans with dark skin deny our
history or lower their voices an octave when they speak of
their "black blood".
It was insistance on being myself which made me street-tough.
I never ran with a gang and I never committed a crime. My
fists were trained by the defense of my ideas against the
ideas those with my color skin and my color eyes.
A little before I was to begin seventh grade, we moved away
from the ghettos and into the Rodgers Park neighborhood.
Rodgers Park is a strange and beautiful place. This
neighborhood's greatest strength is in the people. African-
Americans, Jews, Indians, Pakistanis, Germans, Arabians --
all in the same neighborhood!
I don't wan't to give off the impression that everyone was
mingling happily. But can you imagine the thrill this was
for a boy of 12 who has lived surrounded and rejected by his
own people all his life and never realizing all the sights,
smells, and sounds of other people's lives? I lived in the
Jewish section of Rodgers Park. In a short walk I would be
transported into a world filled with spices and saris. A
little more walking and I could gaze at brightly colored
toys in Korean speciality shop.
I could travel the world in less than an hour. To this day,
the magic of Rodgers Park isn't lost on me.
Eventually, I entered high school. I ran with Indian gang-
bangers and Jewish skinheads. Feeling the pangs of puberty
setting in, I lived through crushes on women from all over
the world. I was just as happy munching away on potato
pancakes as I was feasting on sushi. I studied the words
of both Malcom X and Gandhi with equal respect and interests.
I marched against the Gulf War and drew political cartoons
about human rights issues in China. I began to listen to rap
as well as industral and new wave. Looking back on everything,
I now realize these were incredibly happy and blessed years.
I was lucky to have spent my teenage years in a cultural
renacense.
After school, I still continued to suffer indignities at the
hands of other Puerto Ricans and other people of African
desecent. Unfortunetly for them, I had grown tall and strong.
My natural meekness was changed by the study of various
philosophies. My quiet and reflective manner making me a
favorite target for bullies. However, I would never allow
myself to be pushed around by cultural pressures to conform
again. So I began to fight back and my victories have given
me a attitude which overshadows my meekness.
Something weird happened in the late 90s. Latinos and
American blacks weren't being cast as criminals on
television and in the movies as much as they were before.
Now you could see Puerto Ricans and Mexican playing lawyers
and doctors. We hit mainstream acceptance and now Latinos
scrambled to reclaim the wasted years. Now when I hang out
with other Puerto Ricans and they go on and on about their
Taino/Spanish/African heritage I can only smile at their new
found passion. I'm looked up to as a fountain of knowledge
by other Latinos I know. They call me a revolutionary and a
rebel; words I am incredibly uncomfortable with today. Finally
after more than 15 years I am now treated with respect as a
son of my people.
Only now I'm not nor do I wish to be. I can't believe in
the concept of ethnic culture as I did 10 or so years ago.
Haven't I become something else? While I have studied my
people's culture, I am made up of small experiences of all
cultures I have ever dealt with. My beers are European; my
cigarrettes Russian. All of my girlfriends have been Jewish.
My fighting style comes from Thailand, China, and France. I
follow the philosophy of Taoism and have prayed to Greek
goddesses in the past. My radio is never tuned to anything
other than Jazz or The Blues. I've been a Goth and a
skinhead. I've eaten more samosas and curries than anyone
I know other than Indians. I've even been a bouncer in a
Korean hip-hop club! Can I now squeeze myself into a
cultural label which doesn't jive with all I've done, do,
and seen?
I don't believe race is an easy solution in America. Their
are too many cultural memes running around! How can you say
this-is-black or this-is-white when the country is getting
to the point where you no longer know what makes up black or
white! We're all mixed up and that can be a wonderful fun
thing if you let yourself enjoy it! Why would I choose to
be a Puerto Rican when I'm enjoying being a Human far too
much for that.
In other words, Americans (and Canadians and Europeans and
anyone else who's reading) shouldn't fear the changes
happening in their own backyards. The white man isn't going
to swallow your culture whole; the black man isn't goint to
wipe your culture off the planet. The Asian hordes taking
over the world prophecy isn't going to happen. Hell, I'm
still playing heated games of dominos and drinking Cuba
Libres while listening to 1940s Puerto Rican love ballads.
No one is losing their cultural identity; you can be proud
without being an asshole.
Even if you find yourself infected by the memetic ideals of
another race, so fucking what? Is it really that disgusting
to experience joy through a fresh set of eyes? Are new
things and people of wonder that deserving of hatred? Isn't
joy joy? Isn't wonder wonder?
The world is changing, but don't worry. It's going to be
fun. Promise.
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tcahr@hotmail.com Copyright 2001
