Coming home one day from school I thought to myself:
I’ve learned a new term, I can define it, identity with it and I can share this information with my mom.
I entered the house, said my hellos and proceeded to tell my mom that I was a “pocho“.
The look of horror on her face was followed by a long conversation about what words are and are not appropriate.
She proceed to explain the subtle differences between: Latinos, Hispanics, Chicanos, Pochos, and Mojados.
After the lesson I verbalised the most important question:
Well, what am I?
She held my hands and told me:
You’re Mario. You’re not a label, if you have to use a label, know that people will push you to use whatever label they want for you.
Imagine my (non)surprise when I read an article about a reporter who was pressured by his superiors to use ‘Latino’ instead of ‘Hispanic’ in his reports.
The politically-correct police are sounding the sirens and normalising how all people of a single facet are described.
Isn’t that the epitome of generalisations?
All people of a certain identifiable trait are (pick your adjective)?
Shouldn’t you be allowed to describe yourself however you want?
As a child I learned that.
That’s the beauty of America, no one can label you but you, unless someone doesn’t like it, then they will force you to change it.
For example: “Bandidos” restaurant, in San Francisco.