The stats are in, and Hispanics voted for Obama/Biden by a margin of more than two-to-one, 66% versus 32% (source: Pew Hispanic Center).
It is a personally touching experience to be part of a movement that is fueling change. And this movement runs deep in my family as it starts with the votes of my 83 and 95 year old grandmothers.
Both my grandmothers experienced trying times: one raising seven children as a single mom, the other losing her one true love at a early age and left to care for nine children. Despite the circumstances, they persevered and raised successful families.
They recall the Great Depression and know what it is like to seriously be affected by a bad economy. They recall the segregation against Hispanics in San Antonio, and how even Hispanic men dressed in military uniforms could not enter a restaurant.
Despite all they experienced, they are optimistic and hopeful, and even more so about the President-elect. They anticipate the change Obama brings and are proudly talking it up within our family and at their adult day-centers with the other viejitos/as.
They believe the opportunities are boundless for Hispanics. If they can recognize (at their age) that change is coming, then we truly are very, very fortunate to live in this time.
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thank you abuelas. thank you for your experienced vote.
Guest post by Adrienne Pulido
“In the Heights” on Broadway is a magical bicultural, bilingual, biflavorful night of great theatre. You could tell Latinos filled the back rows last Friday night, and it wasn’t just because you could smell our doggy bags from dinner. It was because we waved our hands to “Pa’arriba esa Bandera,” we cried to “Alabanza Señor” (tribute to all Abuelas), and we were on our feet for the “I’m Home” Finale.
I had the honor of being accompanied by la líder Becky of Mambo and the infamous Nora Comstock, founder of Las Comadres who promises that she’ll bring the show down to Texas soon. “In the Heights” is good theatre in any culture, but for a Latino, it hits hard. The masterful Lin-Manuel Miranda created the show (he’s only 27 years old, chihuahua!); and with it, captured every push & tug of generations of Latinos. I flashed back so much you’d think I had some bad tequila. I could swear he knew how much I missed my abuelita, that my mom was that sexy hairdresser, and that I ditched my high school boyfriend (el más chulo) because he skipped-out on college.
We’ve heard it before & it’s true, we Latinos live parallel lives. “In the Heights” has found the thread that ties us together. It is a joyful, raucous declaration of what keeps us bound to our roots and to each other.
Ramon Villarreal, an art director here at the Mambo best known for creating his own t-shirts and wearing Pumas como si fuera Maradona (that was a Manu Chao reference, but I’ll post about that later), has made his Austin fashion debut!
The Statesman (our local paper) came out with a piece comparing the wardrobe of 60’s-inspired tv show, Mad Men, with today’s fashion.
Take a look for yourself:
My dad’s side of the family is Mexican; my great grandmother came from Coahuila. My maternal great grandfather came over on a boat from Lithuania.
I’m the only one in my dad’s family that attempts to honor any sort of cultura mexicana. I’ve celebrated Dia de los Muertos for several years, complete with homemade sugar skulls, pan de muerto y un ofrenda. I had to learn about this tradition from a project I did in a college Spanish class - not my family. After the death of mi abuela last summer, I brought my Dia de los Muertos supplies home and set up my altar there; it was then that I felt like my family really understood what I was doing and why.
Some of my cousins on my dad’s side dismiss their Hispanic heritage; instead, they claim their mom’s Irish roots. They celebrate all things Irish, and I respect that completely. But a part of me cringes every time I hear them say our last name: they pronounce it “VAIR-uh” instead of “VAWR-uh”.
Okay. I get that a lot by people who don’t know me. I’ve even come to expect that I’ll have to correct people. And as soon as I do, the next sentence out of their mouth is always, “Oh, so you’re Hispanic?” I also get that same comment when I mention my hometown is San Antonio.
But my cousins, who are just as biologically Hispanic as I am, are the ones doing the butchering. So just what is it that makes someone Hispanic?
Clearly more than just un nombre.
Hola todos,
I’m a new intern at the Mambo; I like to write about random musings that translate into bigger cultural ideas.
The blistering heat that swept across Austin yesterday got me thinking about what I used to do as a kid to combat those hot Texas summers.
When that magical mix of leather and sweat begins to paralyze you to your car seat, you know there’s nothing powerful enough to break that superhuman bond like a snow cone. With a sparkle in his eye, my dad would sing, “Who wants a raspa?!” before veering off the road to our local snow cone stand. Leche canela always trumped other flavors.
Mi abuela had her own concoction to ward off the heat: vanilla ice cream and crushed fresh strawberries topped with sweetened condensed milk. One styrofoam cup of that and it was off to the backyard once again.
My great grandmother didn’t have air conditioning in her lime green house, so she created her own: lo ultimo homemade iced tea. Sorry if you’re drooling.
We’d sit in her tiny kitchen, eat Nacho Cheese Doritos and play a round (or two) of dominoes.
This summer, seek out the cositas that help you beat the heat. Chances are, when you think back, it’ll be the memories that stick out in the forefront. And the heat, just a distant detail in the background.
