Humanity in "Citizen Rex"

I chose this sequence from "Citizen Rex" because of the contrast of human and non-human faces that the artist uses; specifically, I enjoyed that how the individual's face is represented determines where the sympathies of the reader are placed. In the second chapter of Scott McCloud's "Understanding Comics," he spends a great deal of time talking about what people will identify as being a representation of a human face, and how detail, or lack thereof, can make the face of a character either more realistic or more iconic, respectively. Aside from the fact that the illustrations in "Rex" employ a beautifully minimalist style, conveying a more impressionistic feel, I was struck by how McCloud's words applied to the robots of the story; though obviously detached from the human form, they somehow seem just as lifelike as their organic counterparts. Even solely within the middle panel, one can observe the diversity of emotions expressed by the several robots present, feelings of frustration, contempt, and indifference. On the other had, note the lack of empathy or compassion conveyed by the Truth Takers in the top panel. Not only are their faces presented as dark, menacing, and unfeeling, but they are all in uniform amongst one another. There is no room for individual expression in their presentation, and as a result they become dehumanized, and are now just a force of opposition rather than anything that a reader could identify with. This irony does not seem lost on the artist, as the technique has been used in other contexts and mediums, such as the Storm Troopers from Star Wars. In a story that is so concerned about humanity, what it means to be human, and I found the depiction of the human face, and the effects of its variance, to be of particular interest. What do you believe this says about human nature, and out ability to read feelings and emotions into inanimate objects?

Two Multi-layered Questions on "Miss Clairol"

1. What is the name of the friend that loans Arlene her blue dress? Why do you think that this dress, make-up, hair dyes, and other physical attributes constitute the majority of Arlene's characterization? Do you believe that this characterization of Arlene is the result of Viramontes' personal experiences, or a broader social critique? Explain.

2. At what age, and to whom, does Champ lose her virginity? What is the purpose of this brief exploration into Champ's future sexual life?  Based on your answer, how does Viramontes believe that sexuality relates to female and/or Chinano/a identity?

A Comparison of "Aria" and "...y no se lo trago la tierra"

Both Tomas Rivera’s experimental narrative, …And the Earth Did Not Devour Him, and the chapter “Aria” from Richard Rodriguez’ self-reflecting childhood memoir, Hunger of Memory, are successfully able to project the migrant experience onto the reader, and expose them to a facet of American life that was previously ignored. What stands out in both of these stories is how the respective authors portray the alienation and separateness that they felt from “gringo” society. However, both men have drastically different methods of conveying their estrangement; while Rivera largely resorts to metaphor and parable, appealing to a more visceral and immersive sensibility, Rodriguez’ more conventional auto-biography emphasizes the importance of language in the formation of one’s identity, providing a more realistic portrait.

Segments such as “The Lost Year” and “It’s That It Hurts” from Earth particularly concern themselves with the disorientation and confusion of culture shock. This imagery is more directly employed in the prior, with the description of a boy losing his identity and becoming disconnected from his surroundings to the point that he “even forgot the name he had been called” (83). Similarly, the latter of the stories, though more literal in its reading, similarly depicts the solitude of its protagonist, only this time in the context of the modern school environment. In the story, the boy blames the community for his feelings of seclusion, citing instances of discrimination by “gringos,” such as being separated from the rest of the students in a classroom, and being singled out and stereotyped by a bully. At one point, he comments, “This one didn’t laugh at me” (93), implying that this is by no means an isolated incident, and that his less hostile classmates will often settle for discrimination from afar. Though these short stories are not meant to be taken as factual accounts, one can assume that Rivera himself experienced similar bigotry growing up in Texas among migrant workers.

“Aria,” despite presenting a similar theme, has a completely different conclusion about the significance of separation. While Rivera portrays the public as hostile and inaccessible to Chicano citizens, Rodriguez stresses the importance of Mexican Americans to incorporate themselves into this society, and form a public identity in addition to their private selves. According to him, being set apart from others is not equitable with forming individuality; he argues that one needs “inmates,” i.e. family, in order to define their independence. Language is used as a symbol of this duality, the thing separating the private from the public. To him, assimilation into American life is not detrimental to the Chicano movement, but, as portrayed by him, essential in order for young immigrants to be able to rise above their migrant backgrounds. Ultimately, he concluded movements such as bilingual education deprived children of “the right – and the obligation – to speak the public language of los gringos” (19).

Truly, these are two wildly differing interpretations of the role of Chicanos, and the responsibility that America has towards them. In today’s society, does Richard Rodriguez’ philosophy still apply, if it ever did? On what issues would these two authors, Rodriguez and Rivera, be in arrogance?

Never Marry a Mexican

“So, no. I’ve never married and never will. Not because I couldn’t, but because I’m too romantic for marriage. Marriage has failed me, you could say. Not a man exists who hasn’t disappointed me, whom I could trust to love the way I’ve loved. It’s because I believe too much in marriage that I don’t. Better to not marry than live a lie” (69).

In many ways, Sandra Cisneros’s short story Never Marry a Mexican could be considered a commentary on her more famous work Woman Hollering Creek, both of which were published in the same volume; the protagonists of both are hopeless romantics, but they chose radically different ways in which to express this. Cleófilas forms her notions of reality by what has been showed to her in books, songs and telenovelas, while Clemencia was raised on her mother’s advice to “never marry a Mexican,” and in fact has witnessed the disintegration of her mother’s own marriage. As seen in the passage above, she uses this trauma to justify her own cynical feelings towards love in the modern world, though she is not nearly as fixed in this mindset as she would have herself believe.

Through her subjective narration, it’s simple to glean that Clemencia’s character is build upon a startling paradox: a traditional, reverent view of love and relationships, and a pessimistic feeling about that idealism’s role and application to real life. She makes it clear that she feels no resentment towards marriage, and that in fact it is because she holds it in such high esteem that she refuses to subject herself to a social ritual that is merely an illusion. (Her references to her romantic nature could be considered a foreshadowing to the feelings that she develops later in the story.) Based on her observations, she remains unconvinced that there are any men left in society that can fulfill the unrealistic standards that she has for a successful partnership. As a result, she begins the story already knowing what it took Cleófilas the entirety of hers to learn: that subscribing to traditional marital roles for Mexican women often leads to trauma, heartbreak and despair.

But this is not the portrait of an empowered woman, as one might assume. Rather than a mood of self-liberation and independence, the text seems to exude an atmosphere of destruction and dark irony, and the story itself presents an open ending that leaves it unsure whether Clemencia will embrace her maternal instinct or return to her earlier, defensive stance. She takes part in unhealthy sexual encounters with adulterous men, a position which constantly reinforces in her the warped view that all men are cheaters. She places herself in a role that is devoid of the threat of a personal connection with anybody, utilizing her mother’s cautioning words and using her parents’ failed marriage as an excuse to avoid commitment of any kind. However, her apparent indifference is frequently contradicted by her attitudes towards the wife of one of her partner’s, Drew. Despite her greatest efforts, she becomes a slave to her own emotions, and ultimately takes the same position of bitterness that she forced onto the wives of the men she serviced.

The irony of Clemencia’s early statements, such as the one presented above, is how she comes to conform to the role of attached, caring lover, and how the distant, emotionally-barren nature of her life cause her to become victim to her own feelings, which can only be identified as human and natural. Above all, the theme of this story seems to be that a stance of overt disconnection and emotional aloofness can be equally as damaging as mindlessly subscribing to societal norms.

Discussion question: How do others in the class interpret the ending? Which stance will Clemencia take towards love in the future?

"I Am Joaquin" response

Among the numerous social movements of the 1960s, the Chicano Movement is perhaps the most underplayed of all, overshadowed by causes of civil rights, feminism, and widespread opposition to the Vietnam War. Yet it provided the entire population of Mexican Americans with hope that they could some day reclaim their ethnic identity, while at the same time finding financial success and acceptance in a country that seemed to depend on the suppression of their people. It is this dichotomy between the “victory of the spirit” (line 10) and “a full stomach” (line 12) that features so prominently in Rodolfo ‘Corky’ Gonzales’ 1967 long poem, I Am Joaquín, which was one of the first, as well as the most influential, works of poetry to emerge from this period. In the poem, Gonzales stresses not only the desire of mestizo immigrants to be given the same opportunities for success as white citizens, but also, most importantly of all, to do so while retaining their identification with Chicano culture. This is reflected, as seen both in the title and at the start of the majority of the poem’s lines, by the frequent repetition of the phrase “I am…”

The descriptions employed in the poem to define this culture, however, are not what people living at the time of the poem’s publications would identify as belonging to a Mexican heritage. Rather, Gonzales forms his sense of self by evoking very contradictory imagery, recalling both an Aztec ruler, proclaiming with valor “I am Cuauhtémoc, proud and noble” (line 20), as well as the Spanish Conquistador Hernán Cortés, claiming that he is “the sword and flame of Cortes the despot” (line 26). This conflicting assimilation of influences, though seemingly in opposition, particularly emphasizes the complexity of the mestizo heritage. They are not a people defined by a single time, place or event; instead, it is a culmination of differing societies and values, and they now share the legacy of “both tyrant and slave” (line 34). To this effect, Christianity is used in the poem as a symbol of unity by which the whole of their history is united; though the church was once used as a weapon against the Aztec society, Gonzales holds it in as a source of reverence and empowerment, stating that “Spaniard Indian Mestizo / were all God’s children” (lines 38-39).

While the first section of the poem is preoccupied with the past, the latter half seems more concerned with present action. It has a more immediate and active tone, with language like “My culture has been raped” (line 225), and with a barrage of assertions concerning the necessity to “fight” and “win this struggle” (lines 288-89). A great emphasis is also placed on the future, with the poet underlining the importance of later generations to carry on this cultural identity that he has just outlined; he warns against those who disregard their pasts, “and dissolve into a melting pot / to disappear in shame” (lines 162-63). Perhaps this is the reason Gonzales felt it so important to define the parameters of this heritage; before this poem, there was no single message under which the entirety of Mexican Americans could rally, and the word Chicano meant nothing even to the people it was meant to identify. The speaker of this poem wishes only to provide to future generations with something that their ancestors never had: an identity.