Thank goodness Hispanic Heritage Month is almost over. There is only so much contrived celebration anyone can handle. The four weeks between September 15 and October 15 are on the scale of a massive obligatory Thanksgiving Day dinner that leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
The annual celebration of my people is like a wax chocolate cake. Old-guard mass media and some school systems once again acknowledge that Martin Sheen is really Martín Estevez, that there's salsa you can dance to and salsa you can eat. Poets hit the stage (Sandra María Esteves at Springfield Technical Community College on Sept. 28), writers are invited to speak (Alberto Sandoval Sánchez at Mount Holyoke College on Oct. 2), and mucho, mucho más.
This is not to demean the Latino artists, academics and professionals who stand in for 40 million plus, and growing, Latinos nationwide. Those who didn't catch Sandra María Esteves' declamations missed a world of words infused in rhythms produced by masters Desmar Guevara (piano) and Ray Martínez (bass) with musical direction provided by Ibrahim Gonzalez (percussion).
And Sandoval Sánchez, author of José Can You See? (on Latinos on and off Broadway), among other books, is a survivor of things far worse than a forced national celebration. He is a survivor of the national AIDS epidemic. He is the broken-hearted survivor of his longtime companion, who died of a heart attack four years ago.
In José Can You See? Sandoval Sánchez distilled the difference between "Latino" and "Hispanic" in an essay that spills over with fury and reason: "The term 'Latino' not only demands the usage of a Spanish word, but also incorporates present and past migrations of people to El Norte from Latin America and the Caribbean. …Hispanic is a term imposed by the U.S. Census Bureau in 1980 to lump together all immigrants from Latin American and Spain with those born and raised in the United States."
Yet Latino Heritage Month wouldn't suffice, either. We should have the opportunity to laugh at George López's nuanced reconstructions of childhood any time of year. We should be able to hear María Esteves launch her poetry in deep December. Sandoval Sánchez feels his "midnight" may set at any moment as he monitors his skin for signs of revealing spots with the one eye with which he can see.
These four weeks seem like an attempt to appease Latinos with a soft-glow spotlight. But when it turns elsewhere the rest of the year, its harsh light usually points to one-sided stories on how we all are non-English speaking, border fence-jumping, carjacking, needle-pushing and coyote-guiding animals.
Hispanic Heritage Month is as condescending as Black History Month, only a week longer. Neither celebration has educated those who most need to know about diversity. For instance, recently Bill O'Reilly, keen on seeming non-racist, put his entire body in his mouth. On his radio show he recounted what a great time he had at a black-owned restaurant: "I couldn't get over the fact that there was no difference between Sylvia's restaurant and any other restaurant in New York City. I mean, it was exactly the same, even though it's run by blacks, primarily black patronship."
NBC's Today Show hosted a debate the next day, with Matt Lauer channeling O'Reilly and becoming his apologist, saying that he knew that O' Reilly would have asked for a "do-over" had he known how his words would be misinterpreted.
Black History Month falls in the shortest month of the year. If O'Reilly-Lauer and their ilk could celebrate black history and Hispanic Heritage in a nanosecond, they would.
On CNN, Anderson Cooper becomes an old-guard media hero and bumps Aaron Brown from the air (yes, Brown's smugness was annoying, but at least he didn't stare into the camera and say, "That's fascinating!" after every story). Cooper's rise is rooted in his gentle rebuff of a politician in the early days of the Katrina debacle. Thousands of blacks displayed great grit in the face of the White House indifference; not one became an icon for it. We may have to wait until next February to find out about them, however. At least it's a Leap Year. Regarding Latinos, we have two more weeks left before the curtain comes down again.
Natalia Muñoz is editor of La Prensa of Western Massachusetts (www.LaPrensaMa.com).
