Críticas Magazine

In honor of Hispanic Heritage Month, I would like to post a personal essay I wrote last year. Biting Words by Laurel Anne Hill I pick up a glossy newsletter from the stack of daily mail. The words “of Mexican descent” in the middle of an article grab my attention, like brake lights during a commute. My father’s grandparents, Hipolita and Emilio Medina, were born in Mexico. Perhaps this piece will have special meaning for me. The article’s author, of British and Scandinavian lineage, addresses current immigration issues. He questions plans to construct a wall along the U.S.-Mexican border. True, an estimated 12 million illegal immigrants already live in our country. Our economy’s ability to accommodate millions more has limits. Yet the article’s author has no desire to hide behind a monstrous mega-barrier or force others to dwell in front of one. I applaud his viewpoint. The piece is sensitive and well-written. But something in the content feels wrong. What is it? A paragraph in the article describes “A Day Without a Mexican,” a movie in which everyone of Mexican descent in Los Angeles disappears for 24 hours. No Mexican day laborers, nannies, landscapers, farm or restaurant workers report for duty. The heart of California’s economy goes into cardiac arrest. I finger the smooth pages of the newsletter and reread the paragraph. I’ve not seen “A Day Without a Mexican.” The film appears to emphasize the essential contributions of low-paid Mexican workers in the United States. Yet the article’s author mentions nothing about professional jobs that should have been affected. Where are the comments about elementary school teachers, college professors, physicians, lawyers, engineers, musicians or highly skilled craftsmen? Should we equate the entry-level work status of many Mexican aliens, who must often accept whatever jobs they can find, with the status of all of their descendants? I stand and face my image in the dining room mirror. My short blond hair and freckled nose reveal my own British and Scandinavian ancestry. I have something in common with the article’s author. Yet I am a Medina, too, the great-granddaughter of a seamstress who wrote poetry, and the great-great granddaughter of a woman whose passion supported revolution in Mexico. How do I--and other professionals of Mexican descent I have met--mesh with this article’s portrayal? Furthermore, the author mentions the assimilation of his own European forefathers, without acknowledging that any Mexican immigrants wove their way into America’s fabric. As a result, the shadow of stereotype mars his piece about a complex social issue. As a writer, I understand the difficulties of proofreading, juggling content and editorial deadlines. But we need to beware of stereotypes--in writing and in life. Attention-grabbing words are often a plus. Yet what we forget to say can surface and bite us.