Relating to my last post: Wikipedia tells me that Andalucia (Al-Andalus) was once a place of notable racial tolerance, which was then replaced with extreme segregation and expulsion of racial and religious Others. Perhaps it has nothing to do with the current atmosphere, but I found the connection interesting all the same.
"Richard E. Nisbett has said that the question of racial superiority may go back at least a thousand years, to the time when the Umayyad Caliphate invaded Hispania, occupying most of the Iberian Peninsula for six centuries, where they founded the advanced civilization of Al-Andalus (711-1492). Al-Andalus coincided with La Convivencia, an era of religious tolerance, and with the Golden age of Jewish culture in Iberia. It was followed by a violent Reconquista under the Reyes Catolicos (Catholic Kings), Ferdinand V and Isabella I. The Catholic Spaniards then formulated the Cleanliness of blood doctrine. It was during this time in history that the Western concept of aristocratic "blue blood" emerged in a highly racialized and implicitly white supremacist context, as author Robert Lacey explains:
It was the Spaniards who gave the world the notion that an aristocrat's blood is not red but blue. A nobleman demonstrated his pedigree by holding up his sword arm to display the filigree of blue-blooded veins beneath his pale skin--proof that his birth had not been contaminated by the dark-skinned enemy. Sangre azul, blue blood, was thus a euphemism for being a white man--Spain's own particular reminder that the refined footsteps of the aristocracy through history carry the rather less refined spoor of racism."
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
And bones in our hair
This past summer, the Spanish Olympic basketball team took out a full-page ad in a newspaper showing all the players pulling the sides of their eyes so as to look "Chinese" as an expression of solidarity with the host city of Beijing. Americans were outraged, the Chinese less so, and the Spaniards simply confused. How, they wondered, was this perceived as racism? How, the Americans wondered, could it not be perceived in such a way?
On Thanksgiving, I was with a gathering of some Americans, a few other varied English speakers, and several Spaniards. At the end of the evening, as most guests were leaving, one fellow American brought up the concept of racism in Spain; he argued that Spaniards were the most racist people he knew. He cited the incident of the Spanish basketball players. In the midst of Spaniards, he was fighting a losing battle. They countered that their potential ignorance should not be misinterpreted as discrimination. Should they be expected to know the difference between Chinese people and Vietnamese people, they wondered, if they'd never seen representatives of either? Hoping we Americans would support him, he turned to us. Yet, at the time, I could not say I agreed with him. I couldn't support the idea that ignorance is an allowable excuse for racism, yet I doubted racism could be determined by the same gestures and terms from one country to another. Moreover, could it not be a form of racism to overlook the reasons for another set of cultural assumptions, taboos, allowances? Certainly, Spaniards are not politically correct in the cautious way of Americans; at times this can even be refreshing for me. Yet I am still thoroughly American, with an American's capacity to be offended.
Tonight at choir practice, our directory passed out a new song. One I had sung previously, in fact, in my church choir: Siyahamba, a song of Zulu origin. The women to my left--fellow altos, women I love dearly--laughed. "Zulu?" they said. "We should paint our faces black for the concert!" one said, doubling over. "And put bones in our hair!" said the next, gleeful. Blackface--unequivocally racist in the USA--is still featured prominently in Spain's Christmas celebrations, as children sit not on Santa's lap to ask for presents, but on the laps of the three kings, one of whom wears dark brown makeup to portray Balthasar (Caspar being European and Melchior Asian in Spanish folklore). However uncomfortable I was seeing these blackface kings, the jokes from my altos were much further over the line into inexcusable xenophobia. My personal line, clearly, yet a firm one nonetheless.
On Thanksgiving, I was with a gathering of some Americans, a few other varied English speakers, and several Spaniards. At the end of the evening, as most guests were leaving, one fellow American brought up the concept of racism in Spain; he argued that Spaniards were the most racist people he knew. He cited the incident of the Spanish basketball players. In the midst of Spaniards, he was fighting a losing battle. They countered that their potential ignorance should not be misinterpreted as discrimination. Should they be expected to know the difference between Chinese people and Vietnamese people, they wondered, if they'd never seen representatives of either? Hoping we Americans would support him, he turned to us. Yet, at the time, I could not say I agreed with him. I couldn't support the idea that ignorance is an allowable excuse for racism, yet I doubted racism could be determined by the same gestures and terms from one country to another. Moreover, could it not be a form of racism to overlook the reasons for another set of cultural assumptions, taboos, allowances? Certainly, Spaniards are not politically correct in the cautious way of Americans; at times this can even be refreshing for me. Yet I am still thoroughly American, with an American's capacity to be offended.
Tonight at choir practice, our directory passed out a new song. One I had sung previously, in fact, in my church choir: Siyahamba, a song of Zulu origin. The women to my left--fellow altos, women I love dearly--laughed. "Zulu?" they said. "We should paint our faces black for the concert!" one said, doubling over. "And put bones in our hair!" said the next, gleeful. Blackface--unequivocally racist in the USA--is still featured prominently in Spain's Christmas celebrations, as children sit not on Santa's lap to ask for presents, but on the laps of the three kings, one of whom wears dark brown makeup to portray Balthasar (Caspar being European and Melchior Asian in Spanish folklore). However uncomfortable I was seeing these blackface kings, the jokes from my altos were much further over the line into inexcusable xenophobia. My personal line, clearly, yet a firm one nonetheless.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Jenna, the exotic zoo animal
I don't know all that many people in Arcos, so I always get excited to see one of my 300 or so Spanish schoolchildren around town. I have come to realize, however, that seeing me usually inspires some excitement for the kids, and then fear. Miss Jenna, out in the wild? What to do?
Similar to a zoo, the children are thrilled to see me move around and make utterances when in the confines of a classroom. Sometimes they chant my name when I enter or cheer or even take pictures. This adds to my sense that the kids might actually, you know, like me.
In the supermarket or on the street, though, it's more like the kids are on safari. They spot me, they grin, and then they get nervous. Avoid eye contact! She might growl (in English)! She might advance toward me! She might....well, I'm not even sure of all that they're afraid of. But I do remember when I was a kid that some people just didn't exist out of a certain sphere of my life. Schoolteachers were NOT real people and therefore had no need to buy groceries or be anywhere outside their cages...ahem, classrooms.
Lesson: lions are cute and cuddly when you watch them from outside a protective glass barrier, but when you could be prey to their claws and golden manes (allow me that), you're best off just freezing, hoping they haven't seen you, and slinking off in the opposite direction as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Which is exactly what my children do.
Similar to a zoo, the children are thrilled to see me move around and make utterances when in the confines of a classroom. Sometimes they chant my name when I enter or cheer or even take pictures. This adds to my sense that the kids might actually, you know, like me.
In the supermarket or on the street, though, it's more like the kids are on safari. They spot me, they grin, and then they get nervous. Avoid eye contact! She might growl (in English)! She might advance toward me! She might....well, I'm not even sure of all that they're afraid of. But I do remember when I was a kid that some people just didn't exist out of a certain sphere of my life. Schoolteachers were NOT real people and therefore had no need to buy groceries or be anywhere outside their cages...ahem, classrooms.
Lesson: lions are cute and cuddly when you watch them from outside a protective glass barrier, but when you could be prey to their claws and golden manes (allow me that), you're best off just freezing, hoping they haven't seen you, and slinking off in the opposite direction as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Which is exactly what my children do.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Happy Holidays to all!
I have been on an extended vacation for approximately the past month and therefore have not been so faithful to my writing. I will try to catch up on all the adventures I've had through Spain and Morocco...stay tuned.
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