By Regina Marie Brink
As a child, I had no idea we were poor. I knew my grandmother on my mother's side rushed in from work sometimes when we were there, smelling of fish because she worked at the cannery. I didn't know then she worked 10-hour days and was not allowed to sit down. She still made a full meal of rice, beans, fresh homemade flour tortillas, and some kind of meat or main dish every day. Things like tamales or enchiladas or chicken mole (my favorite) were for holidays and special occasions.
I grew up hearing Spanish spoken and sung around me. However, unbeknownst to me, my mother and father were severely punished as children for speaking Spanish in school, including my mother being struck with a paddle by the principal when she was six. My family, as a result, stressed English. Other Hispanic children looked down on us when we went to school. I still find myself deflecting disparaging comments about my family and me because my siblings and I are not fluent in Spanish. I tried to teach myself in high school, and my uncle taught me to sing in Spanish. I can write out what I want to say and read it fluidly. This still does not mean I am fully accepted by other bilingual speakers.
I also realized early on that my skin was much lighter than the rest of my family. Each of my brothers, who appear Hispanic and have darker features, have been beaten by the police, though never arrested or charged with any crime. They also received a very different and much lower quality of education than I did. Most likely, this was because I received services through the resource program for the blind and I attended different schools than my brothers. I also realized that I was sometimes treated much better when the rest of my family was not around. Aside from black, curly hair, I have hazel-green eyes and a lighter complexion. Without my family, people think I might be Italian or Greek. Someone who went to my predominantly Caucasian high school once asked me if my grandmother was our maid.
I have had to sit in groups where Hispanic people are disparaged and called derogatory names. Early on, I decided I would not pass for Caucasian. I would speak up and defend the family I loved. I soon realized, too, that my connection to my ancestors and traditions was much stronger than most of the children around me.
My mother and father, however, were fighting battles of their own. They insisted on bringing me up to be self-sufficient and independent, teaching me blindness skills themselves as I was able to do them, just as sighted children grow up with increasing responsibilities. However, this went against the customs and traditions of our culture. The urge to take care of me and to just keep me safe within the family was very strong. My parents were berated for the way they were raising me. My uncle once asked my father: "Why are you sending her to college? All she's going to do is wash dishes and have babies anyway!" This could not be further from the truth. I have worked since I was 16 and have been very active in my community, sitting on boards, participating in parenting and advocacy organizations, and serving in various capacities at church, all while raising four children, partly as a single parent.
Many times, people who wish to embrace the Hispanic community concentrate on those who need Spanish translation. This is valuable. However, many of us speak English just fine. Our issues surrounding inclusion, dignity, and micro-aggressions are very different. We must fight our families to achieve independence and the rest of society to receive equity, even among our fellow blind and low-vision advocates. I have been in many uncomfortable situations where a colleague who is blind or has low vision has made an ethnically charged or very bigoted statement in front of me, and I am faced with a choice. Do I say something, or let it pass to keep our focus on the work we are doing together? If I let it pass, how much worse will it get? What do I do with the hurt I feel? What if it drives others like me away from the cause?
I have chosen, whenever I can, to be as courteous as possible, but to insist on equity and inclusion wherever I go, not only for Hispanic people, but for all people no matter their race, who they love, or their limitations/disabilities. Not everyone was blessed with parents like mine, who taught me to speak up and stand strong! Join me in this resolve so we can make a better, safer world for all!