ECHs trying to Selena their way through Marc Anthony.

You’re not fooling anyone. As Educated Chicanos attempt to “broaden” their experiences and look to join the growing U.S. “pan-Latino” world that seems to celebrate Shakira way more than Los Tigres del Norte., ECHs will attempt to step into the brave new world of Hector Lavoe, Celia Cruz and El Gran Combo. Well, it’s not a new world (since those artists have been around since the 1970s) but for ECHs, that clave sound seems so unique, yet so familiar.

Salsa! So much more appealing , urban and crossover than that country-ass stuff abuela made you listen to at all those quinceaneras! You can even bring your non-ECH friends along and not be embarrassed. They’ll find it so exotic, sexy, and “it,” and will ask you, the connector of all things to the Latin American world, to guide them through this wonderful experience.

However, you have no idea what you are doing. Until now, the only clave you’ve known are from those few Carlos Santana songs with congos. Oye Como Va? Yeah, right. More like Mira Como, Nah. You can’t dance it. You fake it with cumbia steps, and that gets you by, but there’s always that one Cuban asshole on the dance floor who calls you out.  You almost show that punk you Che shirt underneath in response (see # 20).

Ashamed, you quietly take lessons. You sneak inside the class, and find (gasp!) that your mad-hot-salsa-ballroom teacher is white, and she’s always calling on you to show the class the new steps. But, alas, as you reach for your inner JLo, all that comes out is Selena. You’re just an ECH from the block, alright, just not one from the Bronx.

To be sure, some ECHs can dance salsa and do it pretty well. After all, getting educated on the East Coast for some does has its perks. How else could an ECH deal with all the isolation than with trying to connect with any fellow grad students with similar backgrounds. You’ll be also to pick up some moves, learn about the artists, even invent new turns. You’ll be all ready when you return home and go to that ECH wedding with the few salsa songs. You’ll know what to do. Just don’t expect to find another ECH with the same salsa skills. And if you can’t, remember, no matter what you’ve learned, don’t become that Cuban asshole and try to dish out on-the-spot lessons. Someone in the crowd is bound to be wearing a “Harvard ain’t shit, homes,” tee somewhere. Or on a tat.

Could have made us proud, hermano

It sounds like an old mariachi song.

In walks a tall, dark, handsome Educated Chicano, straight out of Texas A&M University and Harvard Kennedy School (with two Master’s degrees on that ass) who becomes the first Latino mayor of a U.S. major city. Elected four times, he transforms the once poor Mexican-American city of San Antonio into an economic and tourist powerhouse. The brother dresses in slick suits, stays in shape, and ain’t no long-haired radical type still lost in the 1970s. He marries his high school sweetheart, has three wonderful children and appears in 1980s Texas social studies books as the possible “future first Hispanic president” of the United States.

‘You, too, could be the next Henry Cisneros,’ school teachers tell future ECHs from Texas to California. Estimated date he could become president? Around 2004 or 2008, teachers promise.

Our middle-class Mexican Moses has arrived…

Then scandal hits. He admits to an extramarital affair with his chief political campaign fundraiser, a white woman. He leaves public life to reconcile with his wife (whom he’s still married to today). He later become Secretary of Housing and Urban Development under President Clinton, but is indicted on 18 counts of conspiracy, giving false statements and obstruction of Justice relating to hush money to the former mistress.  Eventually, he pleads guilty to a misdemeanor charge but his pardoned by President Clinton.

Since then and despite Latinos practically begging, Cisneros declines to run for Senate, Texas Gov., dog catcher or take a cabinet job again. Instead, he stays in the private sector as president and chief operating officer of Univision Communications then builds an urban real estate business. He’s too ashamed to reenter the public eye.

Meanwhile, let’s be honest, ain’t been a political replacement for years and miles since. There are no current ECH Senators (again, Cubans don’t count). The one ECH governor is about to be term-limited out of office. That ECH mayor in Los Angeles, yep, got caught in an affair. That ECH current Secretary of Interior is bald and fat. One ECH elected sister, as one blog put it, “is more known for her Christmas cards than for her advocacy.”

The real thing hasn’t come along.

As a result, every election ECHs wait, search, scout, or hope to blindly anoint the next Henry Cisnernos. Rather it’s a charismatic Latino city councilor in Albuquerque, a smart Latina county commissioner in Houston, a brainy superintendent of the San Fernando Valley, the new San Antonio mayor or his twin brother, hell, even a funny regional director of the border patrol in Arizona, the ECH is ready to crown the next Henry Cisneros to keep the dream alive. What’s the dream? Having a national leader — maybe even a president — who will let the country know that, yes, we are Americans. We’ve arrived.

“But the real truth is,” Tomas Rivera wrote in …and the earth did not swallow him,”we never arrive.”

Maybe.

But that’s not going to stop ECHs from searching. That’s not going to stop ECHs from voting. That’s not going to stop ECHs from putting their hopes in substitutes until the real thing comes along.

Truthfully, he or she, is out there but is probably just entering elementary school. He is from the next generation, maybe from Los Angeles or Tucson, maybe she’s the daughter of undocumented immigrants currently living in Phoenix or Atlanta or North Carolina. Eventually, he’s heading to Harvard, Columbia, or Duke, will read all the works before our time and his. No one will be able to touch her intellect, and if you and I are still alive, to hear her speak, hear her lay out her plans, man, it will shake something deep inside, re-awake aging dreams, re-plant that long-held hope that the world of our grandparents, parents, or children will finally change.

‘You’re late,’ we will say. ‘But it’s OK. You were worth the wait.’

L.A. Salvadorans trying to claim independence from ECH bigotry

So the Educated Chicano needs someone shorter to pick on. We get that.

You’ve endured and you shall endure all the short jokes and short insecurities compared to others. When someone shorter than you walks in the room, come on, it feels good to be the oppressor for once. We get that, too.

Just use the proper, freakin’ term when talking about the people and don’t come across like an illiterate idiot despite your multiple degrees.

Ever since Salvadorans have migrated to the U.S., the ECHs have looked at the population with curiosity, wonderment, and confusion. Here are some tiny Mexicans who cook some thick ass corn tortillas (pupusas), live in places we’d never live (New Jersey), and still manage to survive and thrive. Some ECHs give out the respect since Salvadorans are to be admired after that Civil War (more on that in a minute).  But ECHs managed to flush that respect down the Mayan toilet when they continue to call that grocery store owner around the corner “that El Salvadoran.”

“You know that Juanita in the science department isn’t Chicana,” the ECH English teacher will whisper. “She’s El Salvadorian.”

Eww….

The ECH lawyer: “Mira. Judge Sanchez in the 1st district. That vato is El Salvadoran, wey. I couldn’t even tell.”

Ahh…

“When are the El Salvadorans playing Team Mexico in soccer?” the ECH engineer asks.

Of course, the proper term is “Salvadoran,” but don’t tell that to the former MEChistas. They know all about identity and were down with that church that was supporting those poor El Salvadorans fleeing that brutal civil war. Yes, the war was brutal and filled with human rights violations. Great for novels and perfect environment to introduce a poor, Latina, traumatic, suffering character in a movie (see Mi Familia).  But that was 30 years ago. Can a Salvadoran brother or sister get another story line? It’s not like every time a white person brings up ECHs in movies they mention Edward James Olmos. (oh wait…)

And let’s not forgot, when a group of ECHs get together and the subject of “El Salvadorans” come up, the issue of MS 13 (aka Mara Salvatrucha) can’t go without a mentioning. “That El Salvadoran gang is dangerous,” the ECH will say, almost suggesting that the Latin Kings or Bloods back in abuela’s neighborhood are such great community organizers. “They’re crazy. Gotta watch out for them.”

Right.

Why the ECH doesn’t use “Los” is a good point. Chalk it up to a lack of knowledge of the Spanish language. Then again, using “El” for these brothers and sister is just plain lack of knowledge.

How short-sighted of us.

Santana getting his Che on.

Oh, you radical, you.

The Educated Chicano is enjoying that wonderful middle-class life he or she has been so working so hard toward. You’ve got your HD TV working, the iPhone clicking, and a nice coche with some GPS on that ass. But deep in the ECH psyche is that insecurity that he or she is moving away from the radical ethos taught in those Chicano Studies classes by those aging, but lovable Chicano hippies with their boney-tails and greying goatees.

Just sport the Che Guevara tees, homes, and you’ll be a’ight.

At BBQs, MEChA reunions, socials at conference, dinner with old college friends, or just to piss off Cuban Americans (see #19), ECHs will yank out the Che tees so they can get their racial blood going. You know, make them feel all La Causa. After all, Che and his revolutionary background is great cover to get people looking away from those expensive shoe you’ve got there on your feet.  But with Che, ECHs can let the world know, yo, I’m still down with revolution and Che is down with me. It makes them almost feel like they’re still in MEChA, minus the boring lectures about neo-Aztlan and no salsa music at the after conference dance. ECHs can even get the latest Che gear at thechestore.com.

For years, ECHs have been using Che’s image as symbol of the old struggle. He is on Movement murals in East LA. He’s on flags at immigration rallies. He’s a tattoo on ECHs arms, chest, and asses. Student ECH activist use his image to fight rising tuition. ECH feministas sometimes, and this is my favorite, invoke Che in the cause against sexism (because Che treated his many lovers and his offspring with so much respect).

But few know the real Che. For example, he pressed Castro and the Soviets to nuke the U.S. during the Cuban Missile crisis (which would have blown your WWII-vet abuelo into ashes). He advocated violence to overthrow governments (including yours) and saw nothing wrong with certain human rights violations. But hey, nobody’s perfect.

All this can be overlook when ECHs want to let the world know, look, I’m still not down with that internal-colonialism you’re trying to force on me, ese. Mira, my Che tee, and get your eyes off my blackberry. I’m not playing, eh. One day, homes. One day.

Cuban Americans pulling out the 'marxist card'

Well, they kinda look like Educated Chicanos. Their grandmothers certainly complain like ECHs’ abuelas. Sometimes they even dress like ECHs.

Then they open their mouths…

Fidel Castro is the devil! they say. JFK was a Marxist! they assert. Democrats are Leftists and hate Elian! they allege. Keep the embargo on Cuba because Castro is going to fall anytime from it! they repeat (for the 51st year in a row).

For the average ECH, the Cuban American is a frustration. How can 1 million refugees/asylum winners/wet-foot-dry-footers/anti-Castro haters get all this attention, sometimes even over, I dunno, the 35 million other Latinos not living in such a backward state as Florida? Truth is, they speak Spanish much faster, they are louder, and their protests usually involve cool dancing, a few fights, maybe some fire and pro-GOP signs that make it all OK.

For most ECHs, keeping an embargo on Cuba doesn’t make sense. (Why, a city like Havana with their ’57 Chevys and free health care sure does sound like Paradise to an ECH!) In addition, a multigenerational Latino group’s hatred for a leader back in the homeland is puzzling to ECHs. Regardless of alienation, the ECH is an American, and like most Americans, is clueless of foreign affairs, even in the old country. (Don’t believe me, ask one ECH to name the current president of Mexico….See what I mean?)

But let’s be honest — the long tensions between Cuban Americans and ECHs have been political. Historically, most Cuban Americans have been Republican, and have even supported candidates (whom ECHs viewed as anti-immigrant) just because those candidates were strongly anti-Castro. Most ECHs side with the Dems and have been huge Kennedy fans. Cuban American have also managed to get their own immigration “wet-foot-dry-foot” policy passed. For Mexican immigrants, it’s back you go Juanito even if you are, too, escaping economic refuge (your ECHs should be voting GOP, main).

And lastly, seriously. ECHs are really sick and tired of hearing how much land Cuban Americans lost when Castro came to power. Really? You want to talk to us about LAND LOST? As playwright Rick Najera says, if it’s true about all the land you lost, Cuba would be a goddamn continent, not an island.

Still, that world is changing and so are Cuban Americans. The young generation isn’t as hard core as the viejo hard-line pro-embargo types. They tend to be independent and charting their own directions. They barely speak Spanish in that same rapid pace. And they aren’t as predictable.

You know, sort of like some of those new generation of ECHs? You know, the ones voting Republican and hanging out at Tea Party rallies?

Weird.

All About Learning the Language of the Conquistador

The Educated Chicano mind has been expanded. If ECHs are to spend their hard earned dollars at such class-mixing facilities like the cineplex, it better be something that makes them think, inspires them, upsets them, (confuses them) .  Dollar movies out. Art house/foreign films in. The ECH has moved on. No more is it all about horror movies and popular romantic comedies. It’s All About My Mother.

Of course, the most obvious move to show their “expanded” minds is to become avid fans of Spanish-language movies. ECHs will flock the latest film starring the likes of Gael García Bernal, Penelope Cruz, or Javier Bardem. Filmmakers Pedro Almodóvar or Alfonso Cuarón have something to show? ECHs have something to watch. They’ll drag their white, black and Asian friends along and play visual tour guide. They’ll answer cultural questions, explain iconic cities, and help translate.

As long as the English subtitles are on.

Like a farm boy in Iowa or a University of Alabama cheerleader, the ECH is just as lost in a Spanish-language movie without the English subtitles under the action. (And God-forbidden, the actors have accents of Spain or Argentina. Cuba? Forget it.) No matter how well the ECH did on his or her required Spanish graduate class, a subtitle-less Spanish movie might as well be in Farsi. The ECH does can’t keep up, no matter how hard the front. Call it a victory for internal colonialism. Or just call it sad.

To be sure, many ECHs can follow along with the typical novela on Univision or Telemundo. However, the literally ethos of those great work of arts are, how can we say, somewhat less challenging. After all, anyone can follow the plot of a Spanish-speaking poor white girl (yes, they are always white, not Mestizo) trying to win over the Spanish-speaking wealthy white boy (yep…him too) with little ease. It’s much different than trying to comprehend why transsexuals are running around in circles in Barcelona or how a heartbroken cook can cry into cake batter and make the whole wedding party burst into collective tears.

The Spanish-language movie is about not giving up the fight. United we stand in trying to learn the lost language of Cortez. Just keep the subtitles on. The ECH only needs them for the more difficult phrases, not the curse words.

'Model minorities' just before getting ghetto on some ECHs.

The Educated Chicano can spot racism in pop culture, movies, songs, speech, and cultural event. Those Speedy Gonzalez cartoons? RACIST! That pendejo Lou Dobbs? RACISTS. That New Haven bakery that won’t let its workers speak Spanish? RACIST! Those Victoria Secret catalogs without a Latina? RACIST!

The ECHs likes to use their academic training to call it out, then preach to the world why those messed up images further stereotypes. The ECHs love to point of dumb comments, stupid traditions and offensive actions that make them get all Malcolm Mex. It’s an honorable thing, to be so educated and so down with The Cause. It’s their responsibility to make sure those ugly days abuela and abuelo encountered never come back. Honorable, I say.

Want to see The Cause flame out and the fists go down for ECHs? Bring up that Korean kids back in high school who’s now a doctor? ‘I yeah. I remembers,’ the ECH will say. ‘That chino was smart.’ Do you recall that Thai girl who owns her own engineering firm? ‘Wow. I always knew that china would do good (well),’ the ECH says. What about that half Cambodian-Filipino who wanted to be a hip hop artist? ‘That chino was ghetto,’ the ECH says. ‘Probably in jail now.’

For reasons unknown, ECHs continue to refer to all Asian Americans as ‘chinos,’ even when those Asian Americans are not Chinese, even though ECHs know better, even when we are in the Year of Our Lord 2010. The ECH teacher will brag about the best place to get your nail done is at that ‘Chino’ place (owned by Vietnamese) in Long Beach. The ECH banker will proudly show his cultural skills by inviting clients for Teriyaki at his ‘chino’ friend’s restaurant. Of course, let us not forget that ‘Asian’ looking cousin everyone calls ‘Chino,’ or when ECHs get really drunk they say they get ‘chino eyes.’

Maybe it’s because this was how ECHs were taught. Maybe it’s because some ECHs didn’t grew up with any Asian Americans until high school or college. Maybe it’s because ‘chinos’ don’t mind (because they have their own terms for your ignorant ass). Or maybe it’s because ECHs simply don’t know the Spanish terms for other Asian groups other than ‘chino.’ If that’s the case, learn those term. You’re, uh-hem, furthering stereotypes. The ECHs does want to come across a well-versed, racism-searching, preachy ECH(ino).

ECHs learning the art of oppressive tamale making.

We romanticize about the past. We romanticize about our childhood. And Educated Chicanos romanticize about those glorious days of making from scratch, The King of Kings, The Prophet of the Great Migration, Our Dear Leader, El Rey…the tamale.

And it sucks to make them.

Don’t tell that to those ECHs who email each other around the holidays who say the crew should have a “tamale making party” just like abuela use to have back in the day (only she wasn’t doing it for kicks; she was slaving away for a church fund-raiser, and then would steal a few dozen and freeze them for her family to eat months later). If the ECHs are away from family, they will hold said parties after much discussion. Someone promises to make the chicken or pork. Another will cough up the rice and beans. And some sorry clown will vow to get the corn masa he saw for sell in New Jersey at that Mexican store. ‘The prepared kind, right?’ one ECH will ask. ‘Oh yeah, yeah,’ the ECH clown will say. ‘I got this.’

He does not. Instead, he gets the ‘instant mix’ masa that ain’t too instant. ‘Prepared masa’ is only a California, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona thing. This jacked up instant stuff needs a lot lard and a lot of mixing. By hand. ‘I ain’t making this!’ the ECH neo-feminista will say. ‘The guys are doing this shit!’

And they do. From scratch, a posse of ECH males will mix the masa while ECH neo-feministas talk junk in their faces. ‘Reparations, bitches!’ ECH neo-feminista say while the ECH males slave away. Meanwhile, everyone sits back and looks, and occasionally someone will say ‘wait…we actually put THAT in this?’ Abuela gets a few phone calls to see if the ECHs are doing it right.

To be sure, this is when regional difference come out. The Tejanos want to stay with pork. Californians don’t mind a little chicken. The Northern Californians want to throw in some black olives. Some weirdo vegetarian ECH wants only masa or only potato. And of course, there’s always that one Colombian or Central American who can’t help but brag, ‘You know, our tamales are much bigger. We put much more in them.’

Dinner time comes and the peeps are proud. They walk around their finish batch like it’s a shrine. Invited to eat the final product are other ECHs and friends of ECHs. Most say the dishes aren’t that bad. Other are surprised after how the whole thing started. Then, comes that one vegan woman who ask the makers of the masa if animal fat was use in any of this. ‘Is lard animal fat?’ the ECH ask himself. F— it. ‘No,’ he’ll tell the vegan. ‘Everything is fat free and organic.’

Chuy's big day as la familia and 3 blinged-out vatos wait.

Having the baddest car? Check. Brightest-color painted house on the block? Check. Busting out the slickest Nativity Scene within miles? Damn! We’re missing a few donkeys. The Sanchezes down the street have 12. We only have 10.

Somewhere, Educated Chicanos can remember family breaking out the Nativity Scene right around Dec. 12 (La Virgen de Guadalupe Day) to stand through Christmas, and until Jan. 6 (Three Kings Day). Sometimes it was small, surrounded by Christmas lights in a hallway. Other times in was large and in the lawn for the world to see (actually it was abuela’s annual way of calling out that bitch who lives across the street and is always bragging about her kids). Without ever saying it, families were competing against each other by trying to come out with the most creative, and over-the-top way to take the Nativity Scene to the next level. Flashing lights. The emerald eyes of baby Jesus. Automatic Christmas music going off as you get close. The Nativity Scene was the holiday hydraulics of the home.

But the absence of the personal Nativity Scene becomes evident as ECHs move away and venture to new places. To recreate the wonders of an ECH childhood and the old excitement around the holidays that doesn’t involve buy-one-get-one-free sales, ECHs need their Nativity Scene collection, despite the confusion of their non-ECH friends. Sometimes, the ECHs will buy a Nativity Scene package during a summer trip in Mexico. Other times they’ll cough up the coinage to get the expensive one at that Latin America import store owned by the white hippie gal. (The more artsy the ECH, the most likely you’ll even see those Peruvian Nativity Scenes where Mother Mary and Joseph are dressed in Andes Indian gear…minus that cool flute, or course). Back in the day it took abuela years to stack up her collect. ECHs, however, can just look to ebay for more miniature llamas and get theirs up within days.

One thing, however, remains the same. No baby Jesus in the crib until Christmas. As a child, so you were told, this was done to signify The Birth. But as the ECH gets older, it becomes clear on the real reason why abuela was holding out–it was her way of anticipating that one day when everyone came over to visit and exchange gifts. It was that one day everyone just ate tamales, family didn’t talk shit about each other, people sang in the street, no one played their music loud outside, and no matter how poor you were, no matter how bad the economy was, no matter how ripped up or dirty the block seemed, beginning at midnight, when the lights came on, this place, this neighborhood, this spot–was beautiful.

Sometimes, the ECH, now living in Indiana or New York, skips that whole baby part for their personal Nativity Scene. Their cribs stays empty.

ECHs breaking down the paintings

 Part of the perks of being an Educated Chicano is getting free time. Work ends, the ECH doesn’t want to stay home and watch TV all night, and, more than likely, the ECH doesn’t belong to a country club. The ECH also doesn’t want to become a bar fly, and the coffee shop is getting old. What about supporting those Latino brothers and sisters who are opening that art show?! 

There gather the ECHs who gather more ECHs for an exhibit of those weird paintings, sculptures, multimedia projects and hanging things from the ceilings. ECHs drink their red wine (even though they really want Corona), eat their cheese (what? no ‘real’ food here?!)  and follow the program guide closely as if they understand all the post-modern art terms. 

‘This is a statement against Capitalism,’ the ECH says about the all red painting. ‘I see a struggle with multiple identities here,’ the ECH remarks about a backwards Aztec Calendar print. ‘Mira, this is our discomfort with modern technology,’ says the ECH about a statue of an Aztec god texting on an iPhone (title is called, of course, ‘HighTech Aztec’). 

As expected, there is always that one ECH who always sees Frida Kahlo is everything (see #2). It doesn’t matter that it’s a piece of a demon eating a tamale at Dodger Stadium, the ECH will try to show her art intelligence by citing Kahlo works from memory to compare the piece before her. Other ECHs nod their heads. They know who Kalho is, so this ECH must be right. 

Do the ECHs buy any of the work? Of course not. Why pay $1,000 for a piece when a velvet painting of a Mayan playing basketball in a Lakers jersey will cost you $30 in TJ or Juarez? 

But if the ECH is inspired, the ECH will ask the organizer if they have any posters of the paintings for sell. ‘No,’ the exhibit organizer will say. ‘But we have posters publicizing the event with date, time, and artists for free with a donation.’ The ECH grabs the poster and folks over $5.’ Hopefully, that poster store down the street has a frame that’s the right size for this.