A fragment from the Fourth Chapter of my next book

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

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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.

JGO y las Becas Tony

Rep. Jennifer González, Saludos:

El escándalo de las “Becas Tony” no es un asunto nuevo. Es sólo el más reciente.  Si los políticos que fungen en el legislativo y ejecutivo fueran honestos admitirían que tanto el PPD y el PNP han estado haciendo lo mismo durante años.

Cuando era estudiante graduado solicité al Programa Córdova y Fernós de Internados Congresionales. En el proceso llegué hasta la entrevista y tuve, lo que considero, el honor de haber sido entrevistado por usted. Aparentemente hice una buena entrevista y causé alguna impresión en usted. Porque meses más tarde cuando nos encontraos en Washington, DC, en el edificio Congresional Cannon me presentó a sus compañeros legisladores como “uno de los muchachos del Córdova y Fernós”. Su reacción al encuentro fue uno sincero. De esa verdadera alegría que se siente cuando un puertorriqueño de la isla encuentra a otro puertorriqueño en el extranjero.

No logré una posición en el Córdova y Fernós… sin embargo competí  a nivel de  toda la nación y obtuve un internado más de más prestigio y mejor paga. El cual me abrió más puertas que las que el Córdova y Fernós me hubiera podido abrir. Una de ellas era la de participar en el proceso de cabildeo en el Congreso.

En esas visitas al Congreso encontré a la hija de un prominente alcalde… ella era del Córdova y Fernós. No sé las cualificaciones de los demás internos (de ese semestre) del programa Córdova y Fernós. Lo que sí sé, es que la hija de ese alcalde no tenía algo en su expediente que pudiera competir conmigo… excepto el nombre de  su padre.

Mis familiares, activistas en el Partido, me recriminaron cuando les conté de no ser elegido en el Córdova y Fernós. En tono serio me escaldaron “debiste llamarme”.

Tal vez, usted de forma directa no ha incurrido en el “paleo” y los privilegios que se le dan a los activistas políticos… pero personas en su oficina si lo han hecho. Ser miembro del PNP le dio privilegios de su versión de las “Becas Tony”. Si fuera seria en su planteamiento abriría los archivos del programa Córdova y Fernós a una auditoria externa como lo ha pedido para la UPR.

Estaba equivocado en pensar que por mis méritos podría lograr una posición en el Córdova y Fernós. Sin embargo sé que no me equivoco en tratar de “mantener tener honesto a aquellos que están en el gobierno”.

Respetuosamente,

Dr. Alejandro Ortiz

Ps.

Igualmente investigue la forma de selección al CSAP's Prevention Fellowship Program Graduate Student Internship. En especial en el 2010, cuando ASSMCA, bajo la jefatura de la Dr. Nidia Ortiz, le quitó el “fellowship” a una persona (que compitió a nivel nacional) para dárselo a otra persona que nunca compitió. ASSMCA ni siquiera sabía que “fellowship” existía hasta que el seleccionado se presentó a sus facilidades.

Alumni (English Version)

I owe nothing to my Alma Mater. Since before graduation I have been bombarded, by my colleagues, professors and alumni, with ideas that I must be grateful to my university for what it has given me. That I must give back (especially financially) to the institution that “granted” my diploma.

I wasn’t granted anything. I earned my academic title. I was the one that went through the imposed Herculean Labors to achieve my academic goals.

More importantly is that I was given nothing my university. I wasn’t the recipient of some sort of charity. The professors and instructors didn’t take me in their class room out of pity. In a country where education has become a profitable business, everything in the university has to be paid for.

I paid for everything during my schools years. My classes, the use of a library and the computers, the professor’s office hours, even the bathroom use is computed in the tuition (and all other special fees). Even when I needed a service outside the paid tuition (transcripts, tax certifications, etc.) I would have to pay extra for those.

When the alumni or schools officials ask me to be grateful, and show it by giving back to the university, I reject them. As should everyone. What they are spewing is sentimental none-sense designed to rob me of my earnings. It is ridiculous to be grateful for something that was sold and paid for. And sometimes overpriced and not what was agreed upon.  Gratuities are given for an excellent service, not when they were unearned; alms are given for pity sake, not when they are demanded.

Alejandro Ortiz

Alumni

Le debo a mi Alma Mater… nada.

Desde mucho antes de mi graduación, colegas, profesores y egresados, me bombardearon con la idea de que le debo estar agradecido  a la universidad por todo lo que me ha “dado”. Que le debo dar (especialmente en financieramente) con creces la institución que me confirió, que me “dio”, mi diploma de graduación.

A mí no se me “dio” un diploma. Yo, gané mi título académico. Fui yo quien cumplió las Labores de Hércules, que se impusieron, para lograr mis metas académicas.

Más importante, nada fue dado por la universidad. No fui el beneficiario de algún tipo de caridad. Los profesores o instructores no me impartieron conocimientos por piedad. En un país donde la educación es un lucrativo negocio, todo en la universidad tiene que ser pagado.

Pagué por todo durante mi tiempo en la universidad. Por mis clases, por el uso de la biblioteca y las computadoras, las horas de oficina de los profesores, hasta el uso de los baños está computado en el pago de la matricula (y todas esas cuotas especiales). Inclusive, pagué “cargos por servicios” cuando necesité de alguna prestación especial (transcripciones, certificaciones para impuesto, etc.).

Cuando algún  egresado u oficial universitario me dice que tengo que estar agradecido a mi universidad por lo que me ha “dado” y que lo tengo que demostrar sosteniéndola financieramente, rechazo esa noción contundentemente (como debería hacerlo todo egresado). Lo que estas personas están intentado hacer es robarme los fondos que he generado por mi esfuerzo con tonterías sentimentalistas.

Es ridículo estar “agradecido” por algo que estaba a la venta y fue comprando. Muchas veces pagado a sobre precio, sin ser el producto por el cual se había pactado. Las propinas se otorgan cuando se ha dado un servicio excelente, no cuando han fayado en ganárselas; las limosnas se dan por piedad, no por exigencia.

Alejandro Ortiz

Acknowledgements…

Draft Page from my Doctoral Dissertation


To my friends… talent and skill can only take you so far. The rest of the way you will need friends. These friends need to be acknowledged:

Lisa Miranda, not only did she mentored this research project, she had faith in me by allowing my clinical internship at her private practice (despite vehement opposition by an harpy) and Norma Maldonado who helped me pull through the clinical infernship (a portmanteau, in case you were wondering).

Javier Meléndez and Ilia Rosario (with Rosa Rivera and Lening Olivera) that jumped at the opportunity to help me, when lobby was hard against it.

Hernán Vera and Elsie Ruiz who rescued me from the mean-evil-psychologists.

Liliana Alvarado (Jeannette too) without whom I’ll still be reading the manual and trying to figure out deadlines.

Does grandma count as a friend?

And those childhood friends Sergio, Cheo, Cesar, who had stood in the line and (quite literally) shed blood with me…

And new friends, Adrián Flores, who protects me from the legion of enemies that travel from East to West (or the other way around)…

The rest can go and f