TCAHR - Better Living Through Memetics Issue 23 I, Race Traitor 03/15/01 ------------------------------------------------------------ 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. ------------------------------------------------------------ tcahr@hotmail.com Copyright 2001