Is Spanglish even a real thing?

On Thursday, October 27th Linfield College will host our first National Spanglish Day celebration on campus. On this day, the Linfield community will come together to promote bilingualism, biculturalism and diversity through Spanglish. Students will share original creative pieces that speak of their own bilingual experiences.

What language do you feel most comfortable speaking? When I arrived in the United States as a teenager, I was frequently asked about my native language. I grew up in a bilingual home, with a Spanish-speaking mother and Portuguese-speaking father, a home where both languages were used interchangeably from the start. As a young child, I was not aware they were different languages; the words that I processed and used, though they drew equally from Spanish and Portuguese, were for me a single and natural form of communication. What wasn’t clear to me then is clear to me now – it was our form of communication, a language unique to my home and family. When we moved to the United States I incorporated English into my repertoire of daily languages, further enriching the complex linguistic household milieu. As I look back on my years studying language acquisition and identity, from all of my experiences and the places languages have taken me, one thing has become evident: I am most comfortable around those who can translanguage. Translanguaging is a dynamic process where multilingual language users generate new meanings and create new ways of communication using the resources they have as a result of their multiple languages. In situations where all of my native languages interact with one another, I can fully express myself. As a bilingual, I have learned to appreciate those spaces where I feel most free to speak from within, without translating or facing judgments about accuracy, from all parts of me.

Language evolves, and my comfort level in any one language has never been fixed, having changed at different times of my life. For instance, English was not my strongest when I first arrived to the US, but trying to belong and form a new community forced me to work on it until eventually encounters did not routinely end with inquiries of where I was from or why I had an accent. I was later told I sounded “native.” My Spanish re-thrived when I finished a Masters in Spanish, and finally my Portuguese received an extra boost as I went to Mozambique for my doctoral research. Regardless of my temporary strength in one or another, comfort for me is the ability to switch and combine languages, it is creating a space where my hybrid identity is whole.

Why should we celebrate Spanglish as a practice? In its most basic conception, Spanglish is a mixing of Spanish and English, a dynamic fusion of both into something unique. It is a form of language contact that includes linguistic features such as borrowings, extensions, calques, and code switching. Spanglish is not indiscriminately interspersing Spanish and English; like any language, Spanglish has rules. In practice, it follows a set of highly complex and structured guidelines, sociolinguistic strategies, and constraints. Spanglish is not random.

It can come as a surprise to some to learn that the majority of people who code-switch do not do so because of a deficiency in one or the other language. Instead, code-switching is often used to emphasize a point, cite someone directly, to express a concept that doesn’t exist in one language, to change the topic of conversation, to build solidarity among speakers, and as an identity marker. In the US context, Spanglish is often employed as a mark of bilingual competence and shared community, enabling a particular group of people to identify with one another and increase effective communication. In other words, in the majority of instances we use Spanglish because we can, because we choose to, and because it is part of our identity.

There are language purists dismayed by Spanglish, who argue that it should not be promoted, much less celebrated, that it is a mixed and incorrect way of speaking, one that should be emphatically discouraged. In stigmatizing speakers who fail to use a “standard” or correct Spanish, they lament the loss of “true” Spanish in the United States. An alternative view, shared by proponents of Spanglish, sees languages not as static units but as part of a shared social existence. From this perspective, language evolution is natural as global and diverse cultures increasingly connect. In communities all over the US, including our very own in McMinnville, many see Spanglish as the form of communication that most enables them to express themselves fully.

Spanglish and Spanish are not mutually exclusive. As my bilingual students and I discuss in class, Spanglish is not “incorrect”, though it may be more appropriate in certain situations and might be inappropriate in formal discourses. For heritage language students, Spanish class is there to support them in maintaining their languages, develop academic skills, increase their options in both writing and speaking, encourage students to explore prestige and stigmatized forms of Spanish and expand their bilingual range. By changing the negative attitudes associated with particular languages and dialects, students develop cultural awareness and reinforce their own identity.

All of us arrive at our language use through different trajectories. One of these might be the path of a Chilean-Brazilian-Oregonian, speaking Spanglish and Portuñol; others may have an entirely different, equally unique blend of experiences. With this in mind, I urge us to move away from the guilt associated with an “imperfect” language, and instead validate Spanglish as a pathway to promote bilingualism and biculturalism, to celebrate our diversity by communicating in a language that is part of who we are.

The idea that bilingualism is an identity in itself, not simply two identities in one, is what motivated me to help provide a space for bilinguals to celebrate their diverse experiences and share their voices through their own perspectives of biculturalism. Bilinguals are not two monolinguals in one. I am proud to host our first college-wide Spanglish Day celebration.

Please join us in celebrating National Spanglish Day at Linfield College this Thursday, October 27th from 4:00 pm to 5:30 pm at the Multicultural Center in support of student experiences. Prizes will be awarded and music and snacks will be available.

Hope to see you there!

Sandra Elena L. Terra received her Ph.D. from the University of Wisconsin-Madison in Second Language Acquisition. Dr. Terra is an Assistant Professor of Spanish at Linfield College.


Empowering Latino Student Identity Through Writing and Creative Projects

If you asked me some years ago what entering Latino students need most to thrive in a university environment where they are threading through unfamiliar territory, given my background in languages and literatures, I would have said, they need to strengthen their writing skills as it is essential in so many areas of their college education. I’ve slowly begun to change that mentality in favor of a more personal investment in their learning approach. It’s not that I no longer think writing is crucial to their success in college, but rather as an educator of the whole person, I’ve moved toward using writing, and other forms of creative communication, as an opportunity for students to reflect on their experiences. Our Latino student population, many of whom are first generation students, specifically benefit from these types of activities that help them come to grips with their identity. Through journaling and end of semester creative projects they have delved into aspects of their identity that perhaps they’re exploring for the first time. Not only have they reflected individually on what being a Latino college student means, but they have also collectively developed a sense of group identity and bonding that goes beyond the confines of the classroom. However, in order for this type of work to happen, a safe space, where their stories are validated, needs to be created.

For many incoming first year students at Linfield the Inquiry Writing Seminar is a dreaded class that all are required to take regardless of their previous experience with writing. Even the ‘experts’ need to think of themselves as novices, as a famous article suggests. With this motto, for over five years in my class for bilingual and heritage speakers of Spanish, I set out to reinforce writing skills by immersing this population of students in the Spanish language that for many of them is their native tongue. To support their search for identity we deal with topics that touch upon bilingualism, interculturality and social issues that continue to impact Latinos all over the U.S. Yes, I confess, my aim initially was for us to create a sense of community and thereafter hammer the standard forms of Spanish while devoting a significant number of class hours to workshops on different aspects of writing. All our work would culminate in an end of semester research project where as expected, they would reflect the conventions of good writing in Spanish which they could then transfer to any class in English. To my chagrin, I found that year after year, while my intentions were well received by some students who produced quality work, there were others simply going through the motions, not feeling thoroughly invested. A number of questions began to pursue me about how to find a balance between skills students need to develop or enhance and how to redesign assignments to validate their cultural experiences. Given that one of our goals at Linfield is integrative learning, one year I asked them to think about how they might apply an aspect of their major to the novel we were reading. It so happened that year that there were two art students who collaborated on a painting. What they produced was truly illuminating in terms of how deeply the experience of the two young protagonists, whose paths cross at critical junctures in their lives, had touched them. It was then that I decided to sacrifice the more traditional pedagogy that framed my class objectives for a more personal approach that was more liberating.

Why, one could ask is this turning to the self something first generation Latino students or others, for that matter, benefit from? Well for starters, research on bilingual/heritage learners shows that they need to feel a sense of connection to the materials they are engaging to spur their motivation. “Identity trumps grammar” is what leading linguists who work with this population are telling instructors. Do I hear in these words the mandate to do away with grammar and the conventions of writing? Not quite so blatantly. Rather, I have learned that by foregrounding activities and assignments that allow students to explore the many layers of their identity as individuals learning to live between different worlds, they must first grapple with conflicting narratives about who they are. Often they feel torn between their family identity and that of young college students. Add to that a gender lens, given that most of my students are young Latinas living away from home for the first time, and their identity gets all the more complex. All this plays itself out in one form or another during their college years and in our classrooms. Why then, not use the classroom space to reflect critically and constructively about these matters that are foremost in our students’ minds?

In recent years, through creative projects that reflect themes in the novel we read, my students have begun to make sense of their often entangled identity web. I have seen a family tree tracing deep cultural roots through several generations; a rosary with beads symbolizing different aspects of their Catholic faith; a stitched butterfly that reminds a young woman of the freedom she longed to have as a college student getting ready to further expand her wings to take her abroad; or a poem about the movement of waves as a way to inhale and exhale to feel life in all its vibrancy but also in its most vulnerable stages. The possibilities for connecting the self with experiences described in the novel are endless, as I’ve come to realize. And only by giving students free rein to find those connections, can they really tap into the fountain of free expression that’s swelling up in their innermost being as they learn to become young adults.

Nonetheless, this seemingly haphazard way of engaging with a work in an academic class, has a shape and form, an introduction, development and conclusion that can then be transformed into a piece of writing that’s engaging, meaningful and innovative. But most importantly, it leaves students with a takeaway, not just for their own personal growth but also for that entire class community they have all helped to build and that toward the end of the semester becomes very cohesive. That creative energy is so eloquently released as students share with fellow classmates those deep underlying currents the novel moved in them or those dormant fears, images or memories it awakened and that they now display through an artistic medium. Often the session when they present their work, turns into a catharsis of sorts and for some even a rite of passage to emerge renewed, with a new layer of skin to help them face challenges ahead. Thus, is the power of art that no well-structured essay with language perfectly polished, can unleash.

Conversely, such creative energy reverberates in my veins long after those end-of-term presentations have concluded, reminding me too of my own fluid identity as a person constantly negotiating between all the spaces I inhabit and that I’ve learned to make my own. My fifteen years at Linfield witnessing the institution change from a primarily White middle class student body to our present day population of students of color hovering around 35%, as well as my own background as a Latina and first generation college student, puts me in the position of being a teacher-mentor, a role I have embraced with conviction. In the end, my hope is that classes and the projects I’ve described above, serve to remind students of how far they have come and how vital those cultural roots they now nurture will be as they find their own path in the myriad of possibilities college life offers them.

To my fellow colleagues I pose the question: If we’re not already doing so, why not make our classrooms spaces where students’ with diverse backgrounds feel their experiences are validated? This should not only happen in classes such as mine where they operate within their own cultural frameworks but also in the larger college context. Consider, for instance, encouraging students to find those connections that speak to them, their culture or their communities in class assignments as much as possible. By doing so, we strive for more inclusivity and diversity in our curriculum. And if we provide the space to share with others, we can uphold in our classes one of the tenets of the Diversity Advisory Committee’s mission which involves “Ensuring a sense of place where ALL community members can engage, model, and celebrate our diverse identities and differences.”


Dr. Sonia Ticas received her Ph.D. from the University of California at Berkeley in 2001 in Romance Languages and Literatures. She has been at Linfield since 2001 teaching courses in Spanish language at all levels, Latin American literature and culture classes including Latin American cultures through film, Latin American women writers and historical figures. A native of El Salvador, her published work focuses on the history of women’s suffrage in the region and the study of women’s literature from the first half of the 20th century. She has published a number of articles studying the interplay of literature and women’s changing societal roles and is working on a book on the Salvadoran women’s suffrage movement.


White Mom, Brown Kid: Worry for My Boy of Color

Nine years ago, when I joined the Linfield English department, I remember introducing myself at the new-faculty orientation by saying, “If I look like I haven’t brushed my hair for three weeks—I haven’t.”

This was not because I felt casual in the face of the Linfield adventure then beginning for me.  It was because, three weeks earlier, I’d begun another adventure: binding my life with that of a baby boy whose birth mother in Guatemala had placed him for adoption.  That baby, Joaquin, rode with me around Linfield on my hip in a blue and white gingham sling, sporting two gleaming teeth and displaying a great zest for drama (he once tried to eat a microphone as I spoke into it).

He was—and is—a merry and magnetic person, lodged so deep in my heart that I sometimes forget that his experience of the world is significantly different from mine.  It’s not just that adoption has separated him from his birth family, country and language, and he must grieve that loss—his dad and I can help him, but we can’t do it for him—it’s also that he’s a brown kid in a white family.  He’s a brown kid in a browning-but-still-white-dominated country.  He’s a brown kid who, as recent events have shown, will always be more vulnerable than a white kid to prejudice and discrimination, and at worst, physical harm.

During Joaquin’s lifetime, a black man has been elected president and a Latina woman has ascended to the Supreme Court (give’em hell, Sonia).  In the same period of time, thousands of black and brown men and boys and women and girls have been unfairly profiled, targeted, injured or killed by police officers.  They have been attacked and murdered by vigilantes. They’ve been tried, sentenced and incarcerated in unfair ways and at unfair rates.  And their school experiences have prepared them for this trail of tears: statistically, black and brown kids are much more likely to be suspended and expelled from school than white children are for identical offenses.

Some white Americans have ways of deflecting our attention from these problems, usually by blaming the victims: “Well, they must have done something wrong.  They didn’t show proper respect to police.  They shouldn’t have had outstanding warrants, they should have paid their child support, they shouldn’t be trying to hustle a little income selling cigarettes or CDs, they shouldn’t have fought back, they shouldn’t have mouthed off, they shouldn’t have run, they shouldn’t, they shouldn’t, they shouldn’t…”

What about what white America should and shouldn’t do?

When I began to write this piece, two black men had been killed by police officers in the span of a couple of days.  By the time I got to the second paragraph, five officers were dead in Dallas, Texas, killed by a deranged mass murderer who (this time) happened to be an African-American.  Ferocious verbal combat has broken out, without any effect except to further a useless sclerosis of rhetoric, pitting police against people of color.  Please. The fact that a group of cherished, honorable men are killed in the line of duty by a maniac should not distract us from the long, slow bleeding of liberty, potential, and life itself from people and communities of color.

In a few years, my Guatemalan-American boy will be driving a car, hanging out with his buddies, beginning to establish his independence from the umbrella of care I placed over him when I became his mother. When I read the news, I flinch inside.  It feels like anything could happen out there to my beloved, irreplaceable child.  It already has happened to the beloved, irreplaceable Trayvons and Tamirs and Erics and Sandras and Philandos of many other mothers.  It just takes one hinky situation, one bad night, for all of our lives to go forever sideways.

Admittedly, my son will experience a thick layer of the protections that come with being part of an educated, healthy and financially stable family.  He won’t be driving a beater car he can’t afford to keep registered.  If he has the misfortune to become physically sick or addicted or mentally ill, he’ll have heath care and people to nurse him and to intervene on his behalf. If he’s ever arrested, he’ll have a decent lawyer.  If he’s treated unfairly, he’ll have people to advocate for him—white people– who have the time and the skills to show up in court, write an op-ed, or contact a congressman.  He’ll know the ropes of white culture; he’ll speak English, understand his rights, and expect to be treated with respect and fairness.

Still.  This kid’s mild layer of ADHD, his slight speech impediment, combined perhaps with adolescent impulsivity, a sneaked beer or two, and a break-up that’s left him surly or spaced out?  He’s already got attitude, and like everybody, he makes some lame choices.  It would be easy for him to piss somebody off, to look like some smart-mouthed Latino kid who had it coming.  Would I hear then that he shouldn’t have talked back?  Shouldn’t have run away?  That he “charged” somebody with a knife?  Whatever I’d hear, it wouldn’t matter, because life for me would be over.

And when I imagine that feeling, when I get close enough just to begin to imagine it, I am full of rage at the forces that have made those feelings an unholy reality for so many families. People say, “Well, that kid was no angel.”  Nobody is an angel! These forces, of course, are not just the poor judgment or bad training of a few police officers. They include also the toxic masculinity of a handful of creeps with guns as well as weak gun laws—yes, they are weak, despite the paranoid foamings of the National Rifle Association–and judges and lawmakers who get “tough on crime” by throwing more and more disadvantaged people in jail without education inside or support when they get out.  Above all, I resent the systemic racism that has kept people of color poor, segregated and powerless.  I began benefiting from the disparity before I was born, and my son began suffering from it when he entered the country with a baby-faced green card.  It is truly painful for me to admit that this is America, but it is.

In his monumental book Far From the Tree, the great writer and interviewer Andrew Solomon explores the ways in which children may have “horizontal identities,” aspects of their selves that they share with no one in their family of origin.  My child’s horizontal identity is to be Latin American—in looks, if not culture.  My inherited racial privilege can protect him somewhat, but not wholly.  I can only tell him, “If a police officer tells you to do something, sweetie, do it.  Keep your hands in plain sight, and don’t ask questions.”

But I can ask questions, and so can Linfield students.  College is a time of questioning, as well as learning.  I see Linfield graduates out there making a difference every day, helping this nation, incrementally, to become the exemplar of justice it was founded to be.

We can do it.  Si, se puede.  Yes, we can.

Anna Keesey teaches English and creative writing at Linfield College. Her work has appeared in a number of journals and anthologies, including Best American Short Stories. 


Latinos, Black Lives Matter!

For centuries Black people have been fighting an uphill battle and standing up against a system meant to repress, a system that continues to be unfair, unjust, and dare I say, inhumane. Standing up against injustice, Black people have taken the lead in defense of their communities, which we all benefit from and we have seen a steady growth in the Black Lives Matter movement. At the same time, it is not hard to see that we Latinos have been largely absent from widely standing up with Black people. Why? Are Black people’s struggles so much different than our own that we’ve lost empathy? Are we so engaged in oppression Olympics that we think, “at least it’s not us”? Or are we light-skinned and privileged just enough that we don’t have to think about Black lives? The reality is the Black struggle is our struggle and we need to be present and vocal in support of Black people.

There are many parallels in our communities’ struggles, and I struggle to come up with reasons why we Latinos have not been more vocal. Black and Brown men are over-represented in our prison system. Our communities have been affected for decades; Crips, Bloods, Norteños, Sureños, what’s the difference? They’re all detrimental and divisive. From rap to corridos, we both have resistance music. Black women and Latinas are still at the bottom of the earnings ladder, and we all know how hard they work. The Black community is demanding fair treatment by police, an end to racial profiling, and justice where justice is due. Is that not what we expect both from police and in our case, la migra?

Injustice and grief is difficult regardless of whom the perpetrator is, we too have experienced the pain of losing loved ones due to institutionalized repression in our own Latin American countries. Through centuries of conquistas and religious missions that have wiped out millions of indigenous people and all the residual effects of manifest destiny, we know suffering, we know pain. Today our Latino communities continue to have many needs and it’s important to continue to fight for our needs. But we also need to follow the lead of our Black brothers and sisters as the Black community fights against systems keeping our communities in fear. Fairness and justice for Black people is fairness and justice for Brown people, what’s good for Black people is good for Brown people.  In the face of racism, discrimination, and stereotypes, can one really distinguish the difference between Black, Cubano, Dominicano, Puertoriqueño, or Veracruzano? In a world where race continues to matter, the darker the skin, the harder the battle.

As Latinos, we have a long history of fighting political, religious, and social oppression and have great history of fighters who sought justice. Emiliano Zapata, Cesar Chavez, Che Guevara, Frida Kahlo, el Padre Romero, and Rigoberta Menchú to name a few, all stood up against injustice. I believe that if they lived in our community today, they would be standing side by side with the leaders of the Black Lives Matter movement. To date, according to the Washington Post, 509 people have been killed by police. If these deaths were proportional to the demographics of our country, 61 would be Black. 123 Black people have been killed by police, twice the demographic average. This is a problem that must be addressed and we Latinos have a responsibility to speak up and be part of the solution.

So how do you know it’s your responsibility and it’s time to support the Black Lives Matter movement? Here’s a start.

  • If you’ve experienced racism…it’s time.
  • If your foot trembles when you see red and blue lights in the rear view mirror…it’s time.
  • If you’re afraid someone you love will be incarcerated or killed…it’s time.
  • If you’ve gone to an immigration rally and wondered where the non-Latinos are…it’s time.
  • If you or someone you love fears la migra…it’s time.
  • If you’ve been followed by security at the mall…it’s time.
  • If you’ve dyed your hair blonde because it would make you look more White…it’s time.
  • If you’ve been told you are not college material…it’s time.
  • If you’ve ever played loteria and said buenas con el negrito…it’s time.
  • If people slowed their speech so you could understand their English…it’s time.
  • If your name has ever been changed so it’s easier to pronounce…it’s time.
  • If you’ve ever heard the word “illegal” in reference to brown people…it’s time.
  • If you’ve ever watched novelas and realized all the dark-skinned people are “the help,”… it’s time.
  • If you’ve ever been told to stop speaking Spanish…it’s time.
  • If you’ve ever been told to go back to your own country…it’s time.
  • If you’ve never experienced any of the above, it’s time to ask yourself what unearned privileges you enjoy and how you can use that privilege to make an impact in Black lives…it’s time.

As Latinos, we experience these micro and macro-aggressions and fight through implicit and explicit bias on a daily basis. We are also impacted by institutional isms (racism, sexism, ableism, etc.) in education, health care, the criminal justice system, politics, and business. These are the same battles Black people are fighting and in order to make collective progress, we must unite and support the movement. There is no doubt in my mind that our country, communities, and even our own families are divided. There are many divisions between Black and White, Black and Brown, Black and Blue, republican and democrat, rich and poor, men and women, and many others. Division cannot continue between police and our communities, we have a symbiotic relationship; we need each other in order to thrive. Is it too much of a stretch to think that if Black people feel safe in ALL our communities, then police officers will feel safe in their own police duties? Fear on all sides must be eradicated. Trust must be rebuilt, and that requires dialogue, collaboration, healing, empathy, and an end goal of love and peace. I challenge all of us to find ways to support the Black Lives Matter movement and to use whatever level of influence we have to demand respect, justice, and accountability. Como dijo Benito Juárez, “Entre los individuos, como entre las Naciones, el respeto al derecho ajeno es la paz.” Let’s unite and demand respect for Black lives…it’s time.

Gerardo Ochoa is Assistant Dean for Diversity and Community Partnerships at Linfield College.  You can follow him on twitter @gerardoochoa

Here’s further food for thought:

5 Steps Latinos Can Take to Combat Anti-Blackness

Latinos Cannot Be Silent to Alton Sterling and Philando Castile

11 Powerful Photos of Latinos Standing ins Solidarity With Black Lives Matter

The Problem with Saying ‘All Lives Matter’

The next time someone says ‘all lives matter,’ show them these 5 paragraphs