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.

Our Lady blessing a $4.99 sale somewhere in Cali.

Let’s be honest. If you’re an Educated Chicano, it’s probable your ass hasn’t been practicing Catholicism for years, hasn’t been to Mass much except for weddings and funerals, and hasn’t prayed save those few times after you had a little too much to drink at those parties. It’s a wonder that your enlightened ass hasn’t all but denounced your family’s religious ethos given your recent history of heathenism.

Then She walks in.

For some reason, ECHs still love La Virgen de Guadalupe, Nuestra Señora, Our Lady, The Patron Saint of Mexico. Her image can be found on ECHs’ apartment walls, hanging from car mirrors, on bags, on necklaces, tatted on arms, painted on the side of businesses, blessing flea markets, on robes of boxers, on boxing gloves of boxers, on stickers, drawn across grad school notebooks, on blankets and above the toilet. Family members call ECHs and speak about Her latest sighting on trees, tortillas, windows, irons and via bird poop on the windshield of a truck (no joke…look it up.) ECHs just can’t get enough of Her.

Why? Maybe it’s because of her dark skin. Maybe because she’s a hybrid of the Spanish and the Aztec Goddess Tonantzin. Maybe it’s because She unites the diaspora across class, immigration status and politics — norteño listening migrants, bandana-wearing cholos, the corporate ECH MBAs and Macy’s-shopping pochas doing their thang at business conferences. Or maybe it’s because Her image reminds the ECH, that no matter how many degrees you get or how much dough you might bring in, She’s looking at you and your ass is still brown. Like Her.

To be sure, scholars have argued that Our Lady is just another element of Latino patriarchy, that Her image is the one half of the Virgin-Whore dichotomy used to defined and subjugate Latinas. Others say Her image is sometimes exploited and defaced (think about that gangsta T-shirts of Her holding a dead gang member or corrupt politicians hanging Her around at rallies).  All true, sadly.

Still, after 500 + years, La Virgen remains here to help, and that means help ECHs, too. Why else would the future ECH divorce lawyer give Her a shout out before taking the bar, or the PhD sociologist studying neo-Marxism ask Her for guidance right before oral exams? She has, and always will, come through.

Pancho's Mexican Restaurant in Pittsfield, Mass. (real name of city)

So ECHs are on road trips or they’ve just landed phat academic or professional jobs where most ECHs have yet to grace (think Connecticut or North Carolina). While in seclusion, the tamale/enchilada /fajita/caldo de pollo/menudo homesickness kicks in, and ECHs just can’t take it anymore. Those undercover-on-the-downlow trips to Taco Bell make them too ashamed, and something must be done for the sake of Aztlan.

What’s a ECH to do? Why let’s try that Mexican restaurant we keep passing! You know, the one that doesn’t look like it belongs here in Maine, Mississippi, Long Island or Massachusetts! In strut the ECHs with their ever so critical eyes and palettes ready to challenge whatever dish is thrown in front of them. Ordering, is of course, a challenge since the staff only speaks Spanish (only immigrants in these parts; no pochos). Excitement. Love. Wow, that Mariachi music is the background sounds nice. It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas…

BAM! Food comes and then there’s the expected WTF  look from the ECHs. ‘This isn’t Mexican food!’ they say. ‘Chocolate on my chicken?!’

Well, it is but not the type of Mexican food ECHs have known (ie San Antonio Tex Mex or East LA King Taco or New Mexico’s Little Anitas). It’s likely regional Mexican dishes from Puebla (if you’re in New York) or from Jalisco (if you’re in New Hampshire). Yeah, there’s Corona beer. Yeah, there’s Dos XX. Yeah, you can drink the water. But don’t expect the taquitos like grandma used to make.

You see, while ECHs were getting their graduate degrees, a funny thing happened: more immigrants from Mexico and Central America started migrating to new areas of the United States where ECHs didn’t live. The immigrants didn’t have to respond to ECHs needs, just their own. They’ve created their own communities (circa Houston 1910 but in Chelsea, Mass.) and have fostered a new diaspora that ain’t part of Rudy Acuña’s “Occupied America.”

Meanhile, ECHs are left wondering if they should eat this taco with a folk.

Middle-Class Educated Chicanos dressing up for Halloween

So after all the years of schooling, grad school and professional development – not to mention networking meetings and joining advisory boards for this or that — there comes a point where ECHs will want to “return” to their cholo past…even though they don’t have one. It’s a game ECHs play with non-Chicanos whose only perceptions of Latinos come from those positive images displayed in media.  So some ECHs will “get into character” and play the cholo/a to scare non-Latinos just because.

“Yeah, bro. I used to have a teardrop tattoo when I was in high school.  I have since removed it but you can still make it out. You see it?” the Harvard educated Chicano will tell a co-worker, even though that Chicano was too busy with the math team back in the day to kick it with his ghetto-ass cousins. “I see it! I see it!” the co-worker will say.

The act also comes out when ECHs get together and cholo-it-out with each other. “I know y’all are always in my esquina!” one will say, after a shot of tequila and around of hugs. “Don’t make me take off my hoop earrings, ruka!” the Columbia-educated ECH sociologist will yell during a debate over neo-stratification. “Orale, wey!” says the ECH journalist who can’t even pronounce his last name correctly. “That pinche bartender better give me my change back or there are going to be some chingasos thrown!” The ECH scientist: “Pendejo lab mice are gonna the needle. For reals.”

Non-ECHs see this all as authentic. Social scientists call this behavior reappropiation. Real cholos just get pissed and threaten to return the favor  and act like scholars one day, you watch.

Chicanos marching in Aztec gear

Ask most Educated Chicanos what “kind of Indian are you?” and they’ll bust out with the Aztec bomb. ‘Yeah, my folks back in Mexico were Aztec,’ they’ll say. ‘My great-grandmother in photos look like those Navajos in Gallup, New Mexico, because, you know, I’m Aztec,’ they’ll claim. ‘I feel some much of a connection with the Mayans in Chiapas because of my Aztec lineage,’ they’ll add.

Right.

True, a number of ECHs are mestizos — a hybrid of the Spanish and New World. But very few — if any — can really claim Aztec. That’s because ECHs’ families come from all over Mexico like border towns, Michoacan, Zacatecas, Jalisco, Chihuahua and the like. So, statistically, it’s more likely that most ECHs living in present-day Los Estados Unidos are most likely descendants of Indian tribes that got beat up by the Aztecs (hence, the reason a small band of Spanish where able to conquer present-day Mexico City.) Still, that doesn’t stop ECHs from decorating their homes with Aztec calendars and that painting of that Aztec warrior holding an Aztec princess over his knees with that waterfall in the background. That doesn’t stop those MEChista from performing Aztec danza at university multicultural day and wearing big-ass eagle-head sets and ankle shells.

Why do ECHs do this? Blame it on the Mexican Revolution. After the war, the ruling party encouraged the citizenry to look into its indigenous past. Murals were painted and old Indian sites were turned into tourist attractions. That was also the same time that the US saw a big migration from Mexico. Enter the Chicano Movement, and the hippies began romanticizing the Aztecs as a way to battle white supremacy and self-hatred of their brown bodies. When all is said, it’s better than what those weirdos New Mexico ECHs claim. Those brothers and sisters are adamant that they are descendants of the conquistador Juan de Onate. Right…

Maybe it’s out of guilt, maybe it’s because the previous generation had to do it to survive, or maybe it’s because the correct response to injustice would take too much of a commitment, but ECHs love to boycott shit. Whether it’s Wal-Mart because of their low wages and sweatshop-made clothes, or some movie about a Chicana with a lead role played by a Puerto Rican actress (see Selena), or grapes because some ECHs didn’t get the memo 20 years ago, a good-old fashion boycott is the favorite ECH reply. It does not matter that ECHs are wearing Nikes and chowed down at McDonald’s right before that rally outside of the local hip-hop record label. It does not matter that the call to stop drinking Coors is followed by a group of ECHs smoking out with that non-conflict free weed. For ECHs, a boycott will solve all.

To be sure, sometimes a boycott is needed. Remember that pendejo Ken Burns and his WWII documentary? Guess what group of people were excluded, even though they were the largest group of Medal of Honor winners? And that crap going along the border with young women getting killed does deserve a massive response. But since ECHs have called for boycotting that liquor store for not stocking Tecate, when the real thing comes, the movement is gone. Sadly, without even knowing it, ECHs end up boycotting caring.

El Smokey

Tejanos like that Tejano music. The Californians go nuts for their banda. South Texas are mostly 80s head bangers. In LA and H-Town, there’s a Latino gangsta rap scene. How do you unite ECHs with such diverse musical taste?

Throw on some oldies, ese’.

“Have you ever tried/reaching out to the other side? I may be climbing on rainbows/but baby here it goes.”

For some reason, Smokey Robinson’s “Crusin’” or Stacy Lattisaw’s “Love On A Two-Way Street” can united ECHs better than any LULAC voter registration drive. No matter when your folks came North (if they ever did), Sam Cooke will relax ECHs as they iron clothes, wash their cars, and chill out in the backyard with the grill. Some sociologists believe maybe it’s because during the 1950s we started to see the development of the first large, Mexican-American middle class, and that when ECHs listen to oldies, it reminds the ECHs’ collective memory of that hopefulness. Or maybe, as poet Diana Marie Delgado argues, it’s a chance for those emotionally, exterior tough ECH males to open up via the lyrics of “Baby, I’m For Real.” Who knows. We do know that you haven’t felt true love unless you’ve seen 150 ECHs slow dancing at an Albuquerque casino to Gladys Knight.

The king of Oldies show is still Art Laboe’s “Killer Oldies” out of Southern California. (You can catch it Sunday evenings at killeroldies.com) For isolated ECHs living in New York, Florida or New England, it’s a great chance to kick back and think of home. That is, until ECHs hear the “shout outs” from girlfriends and children to men on lock down in various prisons. It gets the ECH thinking: that maybe…after all this education, after all that upward mobility, after all the reaching up, maybe, We’re On The Outside Looking In. Oh, How it Hurts.

But We Can Make It If We Try. Together.

What other people get so excited by a candle in a paper bag, or a candle with an image on it. I mean, we’ve really created an industry around it. Throw a candle in a paper bag and call it “luminaries” and we go crazy. Get a candle with a saint’s image (any saint) and we’ll act like it has secret powers. 

The ECH doesn’t lose that sense of candle-love. In fact, the ECH will try to “out candle” each other during dinner parties, weekend brunches or just hanging out on movie nights. “My grandmother used to have a lot of candles in her house,” the ECH will explain. “Mira, this one will get you a man.” It’s as if we light it and try not to let the past burn away as fast as the wax. But we know it is. So we say a little prayer anyway, hoping we don’t let it get too far gone so we won’t forget.

It’s not like a lot of ECHs grew up speaking Italian. Or Spain Spanish for that matter. But listen to ECHs after their summers abroad in Europe. Or listen to ECHs after a semester in grad school where the only other Latinos are international students from Latin America. ‘Ciao!’ they’ll say when they are leaving a party. ‘Ciao! they blurt out before kissing you on the check (or both checks).  ’Ciao,’ their bubbly voice whisper before hanging up a cell phone during a play’s intermission. 

By using ‘ciao’ the ECHs are trying to exhibit their internationalness, their worldliness, their education, their arrogance, their skills, their open minds. Still, ECHs didn’t use ‘ciao’ when they were children; neither did their parents or grandparents. (Hell, most ECHs can barely order a taco in Spanish).

But saying ‘ciao’ is another measure of their evolution. It’s something else they pick up along to way to picking up a couple of degrees and a few new friends who don’t have shaved, bald heads or severe  eyeliner. Ciao is the new oy! Until next time…

Ciao!