A case for olive branches

I hate the term, “Latinx.”

There. I said it. It’s awkward, like Latin@. Latino/a is not much better. I cringe at the odd permutations of a social construction that is, ironically, a distinctly USA product. I agree with Richard Rodriguez who long ago wrote in Brown, “What Hispanic immigrants learn within the United States is to view themselves in a new way, as belonging to Latin America entire—precisely at the moment they no longer do” (2002: 118). I prefer the generic Hispanic, a term that Rodriguez also favors because it acknowledges a distant relationship with Latin America in English—also paradoxically, a distinctly American feature in an increasingly diverse society.

My reasons, however, are a bit more pedestrian. It’s a term that doesn’t pretend to be anything more than what it is; a census term which made its first appearance in 1976 when U.S. Congress authorized the unprecedented enumeration of people from varied nationalities, all of who happen to share a common language: “Americans of Spanish origin or descent” (Passel and Taylor, 2009). You can’t squeeze HispaniX out of it, thank you very much.

I hold my breath for a moment and a thought flickers through my mind. I am going to piss people off. What is it about political neologism that seems to generate so much outrage? But, I also wonder about the harm caused by confusing the use of politically correct semantics with actual empowerment. I square my shoulders; one is not a substitute for the other. But, before I go on, I will preface this editorial with some background information; or as some might argue, my “street credentials.” Not to insert a sense of moral rectitude but so that the reader has a sense for what experiences shaped my particular perspective.

I grew up in the projects of the South Bronx, daughter to two immigrant parents from Central and South America with very little formal education. As such, I grew up with a front seat to the challenges that many poor immigrant families encounter and the power of community to help and sometimes, harm. I have witnessed the way that, for many, language, education, and income prove to be linchpins in the quest for upward social mobility and greater social inclusion—for entire families as well as for individuals. However, I also saw that institutional supports and responsive people could make all the difference. This latter revelation has fueled my attraction to social work and inspired me as a scholar and educator.

Perhaps because so much is at stake for vulnerable populations—and frankly, who among us has not been part of such a group at one time or another—I worry that shrill preoccupations with inclusive speech obfuscate a more important discussion for what constitutes full (meaningful) participation in our communities and institutions. If we accept that we are flawed, messy creatures with inherent biases and prejudices, perhaps rather than seek to “correct” the very things that make use human, we find ways to open pathways that permit people to redeem themselves and encourage positive engagement despite lapses in judgment and sensitivity. Such thinking means less stones thrown and more olive branches extended.