the journey back alan trachetenberg jstor

THE JOURNEY BACK ALAN TRACHETENBERG JSTOR HOW TO

So when I first arrived in France, I decided to pursue geneological research and take a DNA test. Into my adult life, I wrestled with the idea that I didn’t fit in. “We’re” part Taíno… but who were “we”? Was I really included in that “we”? I felt ashamed of my own existence from A to Z, starting with my cultural identity. I didn’t feel like I fit in at school, at gatherings with other Puerto Rican families, or even in my own skin. I was behind, and desperately wanted to catch up so that I could prove that I belonged.

THE JOURNEY BACK ALAN TRACHETENBERG JSTOR HOW TO

I’m not sure why I felt the need to be so secretive, but I suspect it’s because I felt I was behind in doing something I should’ve already known how to do. In short, I felt an urgent need to “do my homework.” I started learning Spanish on my own, curled up on the blush-pink carpet of my childhood bedroom, behind my locked door. (I wrote a piece about this experience, called “Suitcase Nuyorican,” which you can read here). I didn’t look the part, I couldn’t speak Spanish, I wasn’t born there, and my connections to this far-off place were foods brought in via suitcase, music, secondhand stories that I would savor. I wanted desperately to fit in, but somehow felt that I would never succeed. I wish I had understood then that to be of Puerto Rican heritage means to be part of a diaspora.

I remember feeling hurt, not because they needed to speak amongst themselves, but that Spanish was used as a tool of exclusion. As a child, adults around me would speak in Spanish to have coded conversations, almost like passing on secret messages to each other (surely to protect my little ears from hearing things I shouldn’t). I was born on the mainland United States. I have fair skin, blue eyes, and light brown hair, so I don’t look “typically” Latin. It was assumed that any Indigenous blood that was left in our veins was so far removed, it was more of an urban legend.īut this question of identity has been on my mind for as long as I can remember. Our Indigenous ancestors were all either killed by the Spanish, or intermarried with African and European arrivals to the island. I grew up thinking that the Taíno Amerindians were gone. I grew up hearing the same thing as many other Puerto Rican kids: “You know, we’re part Taíno!” It was whispered reverently, like a vague promise. You, the Reader, may be wondering: Why is it that the word “Taíno” piqued my interest? Taíno origin, you say? I knew I had to investigate. While doing some reading, I once came across a tidbit that caught my eye: the word “barbecue” is of Taíno origin. (This year, of course, we have to observe these traditions with the spirit of social distancing.) For me, summer is about the smells: fresh-cut grass, chlorine, and meat on the grill. It’s summer, and many of us associate this season with outdoor gatherings, vacation, the beach, and barbecues.

It is a continuation of this Food Questions series: free, monthly, in-depth essays, all researched and illustrated by me. Future Lari here: If you’re interested in illustrated food history essays like this, consider checking out my newsletter, RENDERED.

The journey back alan trachetenberg jstor