This is a fragment from the intro to the Fourth Chapter of my next book. It is
unedited and in English (the only part I have written in this language). The
final version will be in Spanish.
AO
--
I crossed State lines on the first of June. It was still dark… darting
southward through Interstate Highway 95. Crossing the State line was not
significant, I had already crossed three State lines in my travel southward. I
didn’t even notice leaving Virginia. It hit me when I saw the well-lit North
Carolina “welcome center”. I had at least three more hours of driving... Two of
which would be through rural roads.
My travel started a few days back. Departing from Upstate New York, I stopped
in one of the poor counties of Maryland. The one where most Latino immigrants
choose as their new home. Where is cheap to live, because most of the
population is black. There I spent part of the weekend with my Latino friends.
Eating Latino foods (from mofongo to pupusas), drinking Medallas, Don Q y Pitorro, hearing Latino music, mostly
the Caribbean variety… and speaking Spanish. The different varieties of Spanish
that can be found in a mix and diverse Latino community.
At that time I did not realize it, but it would be a while before I
could find someone from Latino origin who was willing to speak Spanish in
the South... I am still looking.
“You will be missed” and “Be careful” were the last words I heard in
Maryland. “Be careful” were also uttered many times when I was leaving New
York.
In the weeks preceding my departure, my New York coworkers were making
fun of me. They were teasing of what my life would be “in the South”. “Remember
that IQ is positively correlated with the number of teeth” and “if you see
someone toothless run away” were jokes that I heard a lot. Inbreeding and
shoeless jokes were also common. As well, as references to love of guns,
religion fanaticism and ignorant rednecks.
In their mind, when compared to the “progressive North”, I was leaving
for a different country, to an exotic land, less civilized, less tolerant and enlighten.
They were partially right. Because in the big cities and main urban centers,
there is little difference in culture and attitudes from the ones in the North.
But I was not to live in a “big city”… I was to live in the Rural South.
In 1995, I experience racism and prejudice in New York, when a cop tried
to arrest me for been Latino. In the Rural South I experience racism and
discrimination as never before. It was after living in the Rural South that my
opinion of the United States changed.
I was in Washington, DC, when the ultra-conservative Tea Party had their
first big “congregation” at the National Mall. A simple coincidence… yet, a
profound experience. Because there I was witness of the tolerance of bigotry. I
heard the yells against Latinos and Blacks and other minorities… the signs that
proclaimed “Racism is OK”. These did not make the evening news. These were in
the back of the main event, the rear guard of the most conservatives in the main
stage... these ideas could be in the back of everyone’s mind.
But that was just a blip in the radar. In my mind and isolated event, a
group of crazies… It was my stay in the Rural South where I learned that racism
and prejudice is alive and well.
When I got to my duty station, the jokes from my coworkers in the North
came to life. Because among the first few things that I had to face was that
in my lease agreement, it was clearly stipulated, that I would clean the house
and wash my linens. I was befuddled. For me clean linens is a given, a clean
house is a most (one of the reasons why I broke with my “American”
girlfriend). Yet in this place, you must legally oblige people to be clean.
That was not the only time this happened. During orientation at my duty
station, I was told that when reporting to work “you and your cloths must be
clean”. They stressed that I must wash my clothing, take a bath and use
deodorant or cologne. I thought they were making a joke. Since when you had to
tell people that they must take a shower? That their clothes need to be clean…
as time passed I discovered they were not joking.
In the rural parts of this Southern Country basic hygiene is not what I
am accustomed.
Leaving Interstate Highway 95 my heart started racing. After a short
while the state highway, turned into a small 2-lane rural road. Even with less
lighting than the Interstate had. Still dark, the interminable trees didn’t let
pass the faint glow of morning, the one I saw from the highway. As I ventured into
the darkness of the Rural South, the faintness of my life in Puerto Rico (and
in the North) was present... and the fears of my friends and coworkers became a
reality.
