12/9/2009
OPEN LETTER ON THE RENAMING OF EL MUSEO DEL BARRIO'S SPOKEN WORD
SERIES "SPEAK UP/SPEAK OUT"
El Museo Del Barrio has responded to the controversy surrounding their
spoken word series, formerly titled "Spic Up/Speak Out." The full
text of this response, entitled "You Spoke Out/We Listened," can be
read at their website: http://www.elmuseo.org/en/explore-online.
A publicly-funded, community-founded arts institution should know
better than to market to audiences, poets, or anyone else using the
word "spic."
In the last two weeks, this simple principle has led several diverse
communities of artists, writers, teachers, and community members to
gather, discuss, organize, and express their disappointment toward
this unfortunate word choice. In recognition of this fact, and in
response to the community's postings, letters, and emails to museum
staff (including its executive director), El Museo has chosen the
correct path and changed the name of the show to "Speak Up/Speak Out."
Unfortunately, El Museo has also chosen to continue concealing its
poor artistic custodianship and community engagement behind the false
fig leaves of free artistic expression and an ex post facto linguistic
"context" of reappropriation (i.e. the act of reclaiming the word
"spic") for the original naming of the series.
Among the items unaddressed in El Museo's three-page statement is that
from the spring of 2008 until the summer of 2009, El Museo never
claimed this context in its advertising, mailings, show flyers, or
show descriptions. In fact, the first noted dispute over the title
came from some of the very artists they sought to showcase, who in the
summer of 2009 engaged in an email debate about the word choice in
question. Then,
and only then, did El Museo and its defenders attempt to supply a context of
reappropriation to the series title. And only until an article
appeared in the New York Times did the institution seem interested in
entertaining a change in the name.
This alleged context for the naming of their series perpetuates the
false parallel between individual acts of expression and the
programming choices of a community-founded, publicly-funded
institution.
To be perfectly clear, we believe that no artist should be censored or
ostracized for their word choices, even those deemed offensive. We
have never called for this series' cancellation, nor have we pressured
individual artists to back out of the series. We reject any such
calls. Instead, we encourage all artists contracted to perform in
this newly-renamed series to use their considerable artistic talents
to voice their agreement or their displeasure with the Museo's word
choice as part of their performances.
We agree that the use of the word "spic" has a history in Latino
literature. However, contrary to El Museo's statement, the history is
not an altogether positive one. Not every creative use of a slur
implies a reclaiming or reappropriation of that slur.
We take particular issue with the interpretation of Pedro Pietri's
poem "Puerto Rican Obituary." Neither of the two instances of the
word's use within the poem can be construed as reappropriation.
Ironically, the one true instance of reappropriation in the poem is
found in the Spanish word "negrito," a word used by some Caribbean
Latinos as an expression of love and a backhanded slap at the racist
traditions our cultures have historically engendered. Notice,
however, that Mr. Pietri's line reads, "Aquí to be called negrito
means to be called LOVE." It does not read, "Aquí to be called spic
means to be called LOVE."
Regardless of the poetic interpretations offered or refuted, we reject
out of hand the notion that individual uses of an epithet by
themselves constitute an excuse for an institution to use an epithet
as a program name. Our intent here is to remind El Museo Del Barrio
of the difference between artistic expression and curatorial
responsibility, a responsibility that has clearly been abdicated by
means of El Museo's latest statement. We read it as neither a true
acknowledgment of the community's outrage, nor as an apology. The
fact is, nowhere in its missive does El Museo accept responsibility or
explicitly apologize for offending people to whom they refer as "those
for whom this term is offensive." They have instead attempted to
define a serious curatorial miscue, the use of an epithet by an arts
institution, as an act of free speech and artistic license. To say El
Museo misses the point is a gross understatement.
To date, we have yet to receive full disclosure as to how this series
name was conceived in the first place. We still do not know which
curator, intern, administrator, or
committee was responsible to putting the title to paper. No staff
member, senior manager, or board member of El Museo was willing to put
his or her name on the statement. El Museo's executive director,
Julian Zugazagoitia, has not responded to a single email sent to him.
We continue to be hopeful for a fruitful community dialogue with El
Museo and its management, given the activist history and community
roots of the institution itself. To that end, we would suggest a
community roundtable, one attended by the public and the Museo's Board
of Trustees and management, to give a public, face-to-face airing of
all points of view on this particular matter.
We also renew our call for Mr. Zugazagoitia, in his capacity as
executive director, to engage this community positively and take steps
to ensure that this incident and incidents like it do not recur. And
we call upon Mr. Zugazagoitia, the Board, and the public and private
funders of El Museo to examine their own statement of purpose and ask
themselves if the original choice of the word "spic" in its public
programming truly serves "to enhance the sense of identity,
self-esteem and self-knowledge of the Caribbean and Latin American
peoples by educating them in their artistic heritage and bringing art
and artists into their communities."
Signed,
Richard Villar
Sam Vargas Jr.
The Acentos Foundation
Carmen Pietri-Diaz
Sam Diaz
Jesus "Papoleto" Melendez
El Puerto Rican Embassy
Fernando Salicrup
Taller Boricua
Previous articles for context:
"Poetry Series Spurs Debate on the Use of an Old Slur Against
Latinos," by David Gonzalez. New York Times, November 20, 2009.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/21/nyregion/21poets.html?_r=1&emc=eta1
"Leaping The Barricades," by Rich Villar. "El Literati Boricua"
(weblog), November 25, 2009.
http://literatiboricua.blogspot.com/2009/11/leaping-barricades-reaction-and-call-to.html
"El Museo Changes Word That Got in the Way of the Meaning," by David
Gonzalez. New York Times, December 4, 2009.
http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/04/at-el-museo-a-word-got-in-the-way-of-the-meaning/
"Museo Del Barrio Changes Spic Up/Speak Out Poetry Series," Village
Voice New York News Blog. December 5, 2009.
http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2009/12/museo_del_barri.php
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Leaping the Barricades: Reaction and a Call To Action Concerning El Museo Del Barrio's SPIC UP SPEAK OUT
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Leaping the Barricades: Reaction and a Call To Action Concerning El Museo Del Barrio's SPIC UP SPEAK OUT
1
We have never been called spics by people who actually enjoy our company.
Never in high school, never in college, never at work.
White people who used the word used it with intention. Or they were trying to be cool with their Latino friends by tossing out truth: Ah, but you aren't one of those. You're the good Puerto Rican. Ah, you silly spic, we like you anyway man. And we quickly passed them the memo: We don't know what a spic is. And by the way, screw you.
We didn't hear it from other Latinos. We didn't inoculate ourselves against its weight by hollering it from our cars, or our hallways, or our windows. In our homes, our parents never used it. Because our parents were chased by it, had it bounced off their skulls, found a fist at the end of it. Because we knew better. Because we were taught better.
We don't use the word because it's a throwback with no resale value. It is bankrupt. It is wack. It's the kind of word that conjures the cops from West Side Story. We will admit to the acronym: Spanish People in Charge. Yes, we still claim John Leguizamo. But we didn't use it for identifier, salve, naming, or renaming. We didn't invent it like we invented Nuyorican, Xicano, Latino. It was invented for us, like slavery and colonialism was invented for us. And we reject it.
Thanks, but we have our own names. We have our own stories, and we have survived every attempt to make us disappear. And because we won't disappear, our kids often prefer to call themselves Dominican, or Puerto Rican, or Cuban or Mexican or Ecuadorian. Guatemalan. Honduran. Latino. Latino-Americano. Americano. American.
But not spic. Not now. Not ever.
Why do I have to remind you of this?
2
The end of days is not coming because Manny Xavier decided to host a series for Museo Del Barrio called "Spic Up, Speak Out." The poets who have taken part in the series over the last couple of years will not have their cool cards revoked, or cease to be good artists. But the reactions to the naming of this poetry series, coupled with the last day or two of responses to a New York Times article by David Gonzalez, has revealed a series of interesting divides, generational and otherwise, in attitudes about the word "spic" itself. And it reveals a troublesome tendency toward double standards, double talk, insensitivity, and cultural amnesia surrounding both the power of language, art, and the purposes for which we create both.
In the first of two Facebook notes in response to the Times article, a note entitled "Reflections of a Queer Spic," Manny Xavier writes the following.
However you feel about the word, "spic" is taking on great momentum. The reality is that people use it. Not just 'back in the day' but today as well.
Interesting word, "reality," que no? I'm not sure what reality Manny's talking about, but it is not mine, and it is not the reality of anyone my age.
Now, having said that, if there's a book detailing the instances of the word's usage among young people, or a scholarly study of some sort, a survey, a Quinnipiac University poll, I'd surely like to hear it. I didn't come across any in the two days or so I gave myself to write this essay. So instead, I've attempted to define reality with an admitted logical fallacy: I went and asked my homies about it. Teachers, since they interact with kids the most. People my age who grew up with the word. A few writers and bloggers. All Latino or Latina. I figure it couldn't be worse than a blanket statement about reality.
Teacher and blogger Jose Vilson was the first to respond to my query. "Not at all," he said, when I asked him if the word "spic" was in common usage with his kids. "It's mostly the n-word," he reminded me.
Alexa Muñoz, who teaches in Washington Heights, when asked if fellow Latinas had ever called her a spic growing up: "Not to my face."
Lorraine Maldonado, my former classmate who is now a registered nurse in New Jersey, answered the question this way. "Nope, only the white kids called me a spic. Little bastards."
"It was typically only ever used by ignorant people or racist folks," said Raymond Daniel Medina, a poet and musician who spent his formative years in South Carolina. "It has never seemed an acceptable or respectful term. And almost never used by anyone remotely Hispanic."
Nikki Roman, a wife and mother to two daughters, seemed to prove Mr. Xavier correct. At first. "I hear some people calling themselves spics. Same way some people call themselves or people they know a nigga." But when I told her there was a poetry show called Spic Up, and that the organizers claim the word is in vogue, she responded, "Just because everyone is doing it doesn't make it okay. How often do you hear white people calling each other cracker?"
My partner at the Acentos Foundation, Sam "Fish" Vargas, minced no words: "As we continuously fight to be accepted as legitimate writers, words like 'spic' keep us back, down and out. There is no time to backpedal to fix what has kept us down. What we are concerned with is moving forward."
And finally, blogger and freelance writer Monika Fabian put this fine point on it: "To me, the event name was an uninspired wordplay; and an unfortunate & unnecessary attempt at reclaiming a comatose epithet."
(It should be noted that no one in this highly unscientific sampling was older than 36 years of age. The youngest was 26. This should, hopefully, come as some comfort to the poet Julio Marzán. Some of us young bucks have some institutional memory and consciousness after all.)
People are using the word, and increasingly, says Xavier. What people? White people? Young people? Latino people? I don't use it. Do you use it? Did I miss the memo? Were we supposed to apply that name to our friends and our neighbors and to elders, and to artists? Were we supposed to say yes to naming our poetry after it? Why? To bring people to a museum? To attract a crowd? To get our names in The New York Times? To battle publicly about this? I thought we just put a Boricua on the Supreme Court. I thought we just put a Boricua WOMAN on the Supreme Court. Who parked the time machine in front of El veinte y tres? (Who understood that reference?) When did I land in Fort Apache the Bronx?
Words don't retain power simply because they have definitions and redefinitions. Words, like tools, only have power when they are used in context. I'm for letting dead words, useless words, words that work violence, stay dead.
Xavier, in the Times article, also says the following:
“Look at everything we have done and accomplished. And it is a play on the word. We are speaking out our truths and identities in very perfect English.”
Except that the show's play on words, and this unfortunate quote, plays precisely into the word's original etymology. To "spic" English improperly is to speak with a Spanish accent. And the epithet "spic," in its original context, was a word used to separate, discriminate, and commit violence against people whose English was less than perfect (at least in the UnitedStatesian paradigm). Xavier falls precisely into this faulty thinking, however unintentionally, by suggesting that only those Latinos who now speak in very perfect English have the right to speak out, and reclaim this dead epithet as their own.
"The allusion to 'perfect English' appears to be a subscription to the teleological belief that unaccented English is somehow necessary or superior or legitimizing," added Mr. Medina in an email. "There are communities of poets (and people in general) who write and perform in English and Spanish, with varying degrees of accent and dialect. Poetry, language, activism are all human tools – human traits. So long as they are understood, they are perfect to their cause."
Bottom line: It was a thoughtless word choice on the part of Mr. Xavier, and it was a thoughtless word choice by the organizers of this show. And this seeming thoughtlessness, this ex post facto explanation for the title of a public program that has been running at El Museo since 2008, is the reason why people like me have now chosen to speak out.
And so has Ray Medina. "Despite any rights to those descriptors I might claim," he writes, "I will not use them save in referential or historical context. I do not use them casually because I know what they mean, and more importantly, I know what they might mean to someone else hearing or reading them."
3
From Xavier's Facebook note:
"As one of my fellow Latino writers said, '...for many it’s an act of constructing an identity outside of those people who have a different relationship with the word. It’s an act of independence from others’ fears and anxieties. And, no, many of us won’t like it, but we can’t stop it. I see that event at El Museo last night as an effort to give that word context and substance, not just voice and visibility.'"
[Xavier later attributed the quote to poet Rigoberto Gonzalez.]
If we are to accept these statements at face value, then we'd have to accept several premises. Chiefly, though: a) that the show was meant to spark debate about the word "spic," and b) there actually should be further context and substance around the word itself.
Was the show's original aim a linguistic one? A reclaiming? A challenge? A quick search of El Museo's website for the November 21st event turns up a splashy flyer for the show, Xavier's picture, a list of performers, and the following statement about the show:
About this Series:
Recognizing the power and influence of the spoken word in New York City, El Museo del Barrio provides established and emerging Latino/a poets with a platform for expressions; and El Museo's audiences with some of the hottest word wizardry in town. Spic Up!/Speak Out! features an exciting line-up of urban poets who have voiced their minds in speakeasies and clubs around the city. Each evening is organized and hosted by a guest poet. After the performance, the audience is encouraged to grab the mic and speak up!
Another internet search reveals a 2008 entry from El Museo's staff blog featuring a video of Xavier and a similar promo for Spic Up's April 2008 installment:
SPIC UP! Speak out! Latino Spoken Word Open Mic
Saturday April 19, 7:00 pm – 9:00 pm
In celebration of National Poetry Month, Def Poetry's Emanuel Xavier curates and hosts an evening celebrating the many contributions of Latino/a spoken word artists to the poetry scene. Stepping up to the mic, together for one night: Def Poetry on Broadway's Lemon; Def Poetry's Rachel McKibbens; El David; True; and special musical guest, DGuevaras. Featured performances will be immediately followed by a Latino/a open mic hosted by Emanuel Xavier.
In neither page is there any mention of the word "spic" aside from the title. No attempt to deal with the word's history. No intellectual engagement with the community actually affected by the word. No panels. No Q&A's. No specific reckoning with the epithet, or the promise of any reckoning. The only promise made was for "the hottest word wizardry" for El Museo's audience, and "an exciting line-up of urban poets."
So how did this event morph from piping hot wizardry to an intellectual exercise in context and substance?
Here's what we do know. When poet Edwin Torres approached fellow poet Aracelis Girmay about appearing in the show, Girmay did not hesitate (despite her relatively tender age) to refuse a spot in the show, owing to the title of said show. An email exchange between the participants and organizers followed, and Torres agreed, with a degree of reluctance, to remain on board. A chapbook of work from the show's participants was distributed at the event, and it included the email exchange in question. Meanwhile, Girmay's story appeared in the Times, and Torres publicly pondered his participation in the event in a blog for the Poetry Foundation. And here we are now, resurrecting terminologies.
Curiously enough, once The New York Times picked up the story, once a poet decided she would not be involved with the show, once people began expressing their indignation at the show title, various displays of pride ensued, and various victories were claimed. El Museo Del Barrio was, according to its director, Julian Zugazagoitia, "proud and excited to act as a platform for all of these issues to be discussed." Manny Xavier proudly proclaimed on his Facebook page that he was featured on Page A15, for some controversy surrounding the show. And the crowd, as they say in showbiz, went wild. The place was packed on Saturday night. And I found myself in a hotel room in Philadelphia, answering various emails about how this show happened in the first place, and answering two friends about the utility of public debate.
Another way to say it is, those of us who were home sulking missed out on the opportunity to engage ourselves in an internal struggle about using the word spic to sell poetry.
While we're in the linguistics business here, there's another word I'd like to define. Serendipity (n.): the effect by which one accidentally stumbles upon something fortunate, especially while looking for something entirely unrelated.
That must be it. Serendipity. Adjective: Serendipitous. As in: How serendipitous for El Museo Del Barrio to simultaneously create controversy AND provide the platform to solve it. See also: Dumb luck. Irony. Related word: Complicity.
4
We're here to talk language. We're here to deconstruct, debate, discuss. We're poets. That's what we do. So let's do it.
In the second of two notes reacting to the Times article, entitled "A Few More Reflections of a Queer Spic," Manny Xavier says the following:
It was El Museo del Barrio which came up with the title for the event, "SPIC UP! SPEAK OUT!" I had no issues with the title as I understood the context it was being used in for a spoken word poetry series. I use the word myself within the context of my poetry as a Latino artist for the same reason it was being considered by an "institution which prides itself as being the leading voice in Latino art.
I can only suspect that Martín Espada used it for the same reason he titled one of his poems, "Beloved Spic." I can only speculate that Willie Perdomo titled one of his poems, "Nigger Rican Blues," to challenge a word often used to demean him as an individual...
Here's the complete text of Martín Espada's "Beloved Spic."
BELOVED SPIC
--Valley Stream, Long Island 1973
Here in the new white neighborhood,
the neighbors kept it pressed
inside dictionaries and Bibles
like a leaf, chewed it for digestion
after a heavy dinner,
laughed when it hopped
from their mouths like a secret,
whispered it as carefully as the answer
to a test question in school,
bellowed it in barrooms
when the alcohol
made them want to sing.
So I saw it
spraypainted on my locker and told no one,
found it scripted in the icing on a cake,
touched it stinging like the tooth slammed
into a faucet, so I kept my mouth closed,
pushed it away crusted on the coach's lip
with a spot of dried egg,
watched it spiral into the ear
of a disappointed girl who never sat beside me again,
heard it in my head when I punched a lamp,
mesmerized by the slash oozing
between my knuckles,
and it was beloved
until the day we staked our lawn
with a sign that read: For Sale.
What's missing from the poem is present in El Museo's marketing campaign to Latino spoken word artists. Like a missing tooth and the threat of a missing tooth, the word "spic" is absent from the text yet present in our heads. We are hit with the word in the title and forced to deal with its echo in the poem: the pronoun "it." This is not unlike how people of color deal with blunt racism and its softshoe postracial resonance. But Martín is not reclaiming the word, or using it in the title lightly. He's not selling books with it. He's not interested in using it in everyday speech. He's rejecting it out of hand. And had anyone bothered to ask Martín, he would have rejected the title Spic Up, too.
Here's an excerpt from Perdomo's "Nigger Rican Blues."
I'm a Spic!
I'm a Nigger!
Spic! Spic! No different than a Nigger!
Neglected, rejected, oppressed and disposessed
From banana boats to tenements
Street gangs to regiments
Spic! Spic! I ain't nooooo different than a Nigger.
I've quoted the end of the poem here. The piece stakes some heavy ground in the
weight and history of both the words "spic" and "nigger." But this is a statement of condition, not a reclamation; a lament or a resignation, not a celebration. Perdomo's dual-identified speaker (Black and Latino) does challenge the terminology but is not particularly glad to be to naming his condition of double oppression, nor does he implicitly accept the epithets. He is neglected, rejected, dispossessed. Does Perdomo use the word? Yes. Does he use it because he thinks it should used on a regular basis? Or to name a poetry show after it? I doubt it.
The only context these poems provide for the epithets named is righteous indignation at their continued use. The context provided for the spic epithet by the event at Museo Del Barrio is hot wizardry and urban poetry. They are not the same contexts. The Museo is a publicly funded, community founded, arts institution. The use of the epithet by the organizers of Spic Up, Speak Out should be challenged. Not just challenged. Eliminated. Would the community stand idly by if the Studio Museum of Harlem resurrected the N-word to promote the appearance of poets at their establishment, even if its use is prevalent? What if it was the Whitney Museum? Or the Metropolitan? Do we want Latino art in any way associated with a word that could be used to do violence to Latino artists, or Latinos in general?
5
Xavier, again quoting Gonzalez:
"'We will continue to intellectualize the use of the word. The fact of the matter is it exists and thrives outside of our conversations and email exchanges. Art is a reflection of our communities and not the other way around. May we continue to write and sing and dance, but never silence.'"
In the 1970's, the poet and translator Jack Agüeros put a vision into the world and brought it to fruition. A museum, Jack reckoned, should not be an inaccessible place to regular people, to the non-elite. El Barrio, la gente, needed a safe space for its artists and its residents to enjoy art without the permission of the establishment.
Martín Espada, a longtime friend of Jack's, describes Agüeros' tenure at the institution in his essay "Blessed Be The Truth Tellers."
From 1977 to 1986, Agüeros was Executive Director of the Museo del Barrio in East Harlem. He invigorated the institution, assembling an impressive collection of carved wooden saints from Puerto Rico, providing space to local Puerto Rican artists and writers, and organizing an annual Three Kings' Day Parade in the barrio, complete with sheep and camels. This position also ended in controversy, as Agüeros was forced out of the Museo by arts administrators at the New York State Council for the Arts and the Mayor's Office, who saw him as a political threat.
The parade exists to this day, despite the persistent threat of budget cuts.
Martín's father, the photographer Frank Espada, has spent a lifetime documenting the lives of Puerto Ricans throughout the diaspora. He spent many years in the Puerto Rican community as an organizer and a leader of the civil rights movement. He was also on El Museo's board during Agüeros' tenure. Frank's recollections are a vital part of the poet's task: to serve as memory for the citizens, culture, and institutions that they find themselves a part of. Frank might not call himself a poet, but he has accomplished the poet's job.
Of the Spic Up Event, Frank Espada had this to say:
Not being a recent resident (we left in '73, best move I've ever made), I fail to understand how this shameful event was allowed to happen.
Risking sounding like an old fart, we would have stopped it cold, by hook or crook. And Jack would have been the first over the barricades.
So, as I asked another friend, 'Where is the Puerto Rican leadership?' His answer: 'What leadership?'
Even typing this shameful epithet in the same sentences as these two towers of our community fills me with an unspeakable rage. But it must be spoken. Have we gone mad? Has El Museo, have poets and cultural workers, strayed so far from their purposes as to disregard the physical scars of the generation that put these institutions in place, in the first place? Manny Xavier tells us, "We must write for the future, not the past." No. We will write for a future where words mean things. No art, Latino-centered, or otherwise, will succeed unless it is conscious of the universal, the infinite, the best of human understanding and knowledge. The work of our elders, the cultural work and struggle accomplished in the faces of those babbling words like "spic," is the best we have to offer as human beings. This we must honor, and it is right to point out wrongs, no matter who is doing the wrong.
Art is a reflection of our communities. Yes. Absolutely. But I submit that this showboating exhibition passing for art reflects neither Latinos, nor spoken word, nor Latino poetry and literature, nor any of the communities that a poet named Jack Agüeros built El Museo to service. The title "Spic Up" was not an intellectual exercise in 2008, and it did not become one until the summer of 2009, when another poet rejected the term outright.
All Latinos, all people, regardless of ethnicity, need to be cognizant of the power of language, in a way that the organizers of this event failed to be. No public program of El Museo Del Barrio...the neighborhood's museum...should ever possess the word "spic." At the end of the day, the argument here is not about words on a flyer, or exciting the patrons of an arts organization trying to stay in touch with what it perceives as its community. And to be perfectly honest, it's not really servicing the public's need for art by Latinos that moves or inspires. This is about common human decency. The word spic is not a rallying point. It wasn't so "back in the day," and it is not so now. Where it continues to gasp for breath, let us not throw it a lifeline by rendering our elders mute and hiding behind false intellectualism, privilege, or artistic license.
CODA
Here's the mission statement for the Acentos reading series in the Bronx, which was founded in March of 2003 by Oscar Bermeo and Sam "Fish" Vargas: "The Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase is a twice-monthly reading series showcasing nationally recognized Latino/a writers alongside emerging voices in a setting that stimulates open dialogue and an increased sense of community."
The reading series has since evolved into a writers' workshop at Hostos Community College. I came on board shortly after the reading series came into existence, and I've been working with Fish, Oscar, and a host of dedicated volunteers, patrons, and Latino/a poets from around the nation ever since.
We've organized these kinds of readings before. We brought in 33 Latino and Latina poets to read before a full auditorium at Hunter College in February 2008. Our anniversary shows routinely challenged the fire codes at the various clubs we found ourselves in. We've hosted panels, read, and lectured to students and audiences alike. We are organizing a Latino poets' festival at Hostos Community College in April of 2010. Never once did we have to insult our audiences or our patrons, or risk anyone's wrath, by stapling the word "spic" to our flyers.
I'm not saying this because I need you to know we exist. The communities we need to sustain us know about us and support us. We write for them. It is in that vein that I am calling on El Museo Del Barrio to end the disgraceful practice of naming a poetry series with a hateful epithet. The museum's management and the reading's organizers do not understand why this furor is coming down on them now. They have no further excuses. The problem confronting us now is not just about a word. It is about honoring what came before us and mentoring a new generation of writers to move beyond the language of violence and into the language of creativity without permission.
I urge everyone reading this piece to do what communities do: spread the word. Demand that El Museo cease using the word "spic" in its marketing, its programming, and its attempts to reach communities of Latino writers. Write to their director. Write to their board members and corporate sponsors. Write. They must listen. And if they will not, then we will do what our forbears did: We will leap the barricades.
Pa'lante.
Rich Villar
Leaping the Barricades: Reaction and a Call To Action Concerning El Museo Del Barrio's SPIC UP SPEAK OUT
1
We have never been called spics by people who actually enjoy our company.
Never in high school, never in college, never at work.
White people who used the word used it with intention. Or they were trying to be cool with their Latino friends by tossing out truth: Ah, but you aren't one of those. You're the good Puerto Rican. Ah, you silly spic, we like you anyway man. And we quickly passed them the memo: We don't know what a spic is. And by the way, screw you.
We didn't hear it from other Latinos. We didn't inoculate ourselves against its weight by hollering it from our cars, or our hallways, or our windows. In our homes, our parents never used it. Because our parents were chased by it, had it bounced off their skulls, found a fist at the end of it. Because we knew better. Because we were taught better.
We don't use the word because it's a throwback with no resale value. It is bankrupt. It is wack. It's the kind of word that conjures the cops from West Side Story. We will admit to the acronym: Spanish People in Charge. Yes, we still claim John Leguizamo. But we didn't use it for identifier, salve, naming, or renaming. We didn't invent it like we invented Nuyorican, Xicano, Latino. It was invented for us, like slavery and colonialism was invented for us. And we reject it.
Thanks, but we have our own names. We have our own stories, and we have survived every attempt to make us disappear. And because we won't disappear, our kids often prefer to call themselves Dominican, or Puerto Rican, or Cuban or Mexican or Ecuadorian. Guatemalan. Honduran. Latino. Latino-Americano. Americano. American.
But not spic. Not now. Not ever.
Why do I have to remind you of this?
2
The end of days is not coming because Manny Xavier decided to host a series for Museo Del Barrio called "Spic Up, Speak Out." The poets who have taken part in the series over the last couple of years will not have their cool cards revoked, or cease to be good artists. But the reactions to the naming of this poetry series, coupled with the last day or two of responses to a New York Times article by David Gonzalez, has revealed a series of interesting divides, generational and otherwise, in attitudes about the word "spic" itself. And it reveals a troublesome tendency toward double standards, double talk, insensitivity, and cultural amnesia surrounding both the power of language, art, and the purposes for which we create both.
In the first of two Facebook notes in response to the Times article, a note entitled "Reflections of a Queer Spic," Manny Xavier writes the following.
However you feel about the word, "spic" is taking on great momentum. The reality is that people use it. Not just 'back in the day' but today as well.
Interesting word, "reality," que no? I'm not sure what reality Manny's talking about, but it is not mine, and it is not the reality of anyone my age.
Now, having said that, if there's a book detailing the instances of the word's usage among young people, or a scholarly study of some sort, a survey, a Quinnipiac University poll, I'd surely like to hear it. I didn't come across any in the two days or so I gave myself to write this essay. So instead, I've attempted to define reality with an admitted logical fallacy: I went and asked my homies about it. Teachers, since they interact with kids the most. People my age who grew up with the word. A few writers and bloggers. All Latino or Latina. I figure it couldn't be worse than a blanket statement about reality.
Teacher and blogger Jose Vilson was the first to respond to my query. "Not at all," he said, when I asked him if the word "spic" was in common usage with his kids. "It's mostly the n-word," he reminded me.
Alexa Muñoz, who teaches in Washington Heights, when asked if fellow Latinas had ever called her a spic growing up: "Not to my face."
Lorraine Maldonado, my former classmate who is now a registered nurse in New Jersey, answered the question this way. "Nope, only the white kids called me a spic. Little bastards."
"It was typically only ever used by ignorant people or racist folks," said Raymond Daniel Medina, a poet and musician who spent his formative years in South Carolina. "It has never seemed an acceptable or respectful term. And almost never used by anyone remotely Hispanic."
Nikki Roman, a wife and mother to two daughters, seemed to prove Mr. Xavier correct. At first. "I hear some people calling themselves spics. Same way some people call themselves or people they know a nigga." But when I told her there was a poetry show called Spic Up, and that the organizers claim the word is in vogue, she responded, "Just because everyone is doing it doesn't make it okay. How often do you hear white people calling each other cracker?"
My partner at the Acentos Foundation, Sam "Fish" Vargas, minced no words: "As we continuously fight to be accepted as legitimate writers, words like 'spic' keep us back, down and out. There is no time to backpedal to fix what has kept us down. What we are concerned with is moving forward."
And finally, blogger and freelance writer Monika Fabian put this fine point on it: "To me, the event name was an uninspired wordplay; and an unfortunate & unnecessary attempt at reclaiming a comatose epithet."
(It should be noted that no one in this highly unscientific sampling was older than 36 years of age. The youngest was 26. This should, hopefully, come as some comfort to the poet Julio Marzán. Some of us young bucks have some institutional memory and consciousness after all.)
People are using the word, and increasingly, says Xavier. What people? White people? Young people? Latino people? I don't use it. Do you use it? Did I miss the memo? Were we supposed to apply that name to our friends and our neighbors and to elders, and to artists? Were we supposed to say yes to naming our poetry after it? Why? To bring people to a museum? To attract a crowd? To get our names in The New York Times? To battle publicly about this? I thought we just put a Boricua on the Supreme Court. I thought we just put a Boricua WOMAN on the Supreme Court. Who parked the time machine in front of El veinte y tres? (Who understood that reference?) When did I land in Fort Apache the Bronx?
Words don't retain power simply because they have definitions and redefinitions. Words, like tools, only have power when they are used in context. I'm for letting dead words, useless words, words that work violence, stay dead.
Xavier, in the Times article, also says the following:
“Look at everything we have done and accomplished. And it is a play on the word. We are speaking out our truths and identities in very perfect English.”
Except that the show's play on words, and this unfortunate quote, plays precisely into the word's original etymology. To "spic" English improperly is to speak with a Spanish accent. And the epithet "spic," in its original context, was a word used to separate, discriminate, and commit violence against people whose English was less than perfect (at least in the UnitedStatesian paradigm). Xavier falls precisely into this faulty thinking, however unintentionally, by suggesting that only those Latinos who now speak in very perfect English have the right to speak out, and reclaim this dead epithet as their own.
"The allusion to 'perfect English' appears to be a subscription to the teleological belief that unaccented English is somehow necessary or superior or legitimizing," added Mr. Medina in an email. "There are communities of poets (and people in general) who write and perform in English and Spanish, with varying degrees of accent and dialect. Poetry, language, activism are all human tools – human traits. So long as they are understood, they are perfect to their cause."
Bottom line: It was a thoughtless word choice on the part of Mr. Xavier, and it was a thoughtless word choice by the organizers of this show. And this seeming thoughtlessness, this ex post facto explanation for the title of a public program that has been running at El Museo since 2008, is the reason why people like me have now chosen to speak out.
And so has Ray Medina. "Despite any rights to those descriptors I might claim," he writes, "I will not use them save in referential or historical context. I do not use them casually because I know what they mean, and more importantly, I know what they might mean to someone else hearing or reading them."
3
From Xavier's Facebook note:
"As one of my fellow Latino writers said, '...for many it’s an act of constructing an identity outside of those people who have a different relationship with the word. It’s an act of independence from others’ fears and anxieties. And, no, many of us won’t like it, but we can’t stop it. I see that event at El Museo last night as an effort to give that word context and substance, not just voice and visibility.'"
[Xavier later attributed the quote to poet Rigoberto Gonzalez.]
If we are to accept these statements at face value, then we'd have to accept several premises. Chiefly, though: a) that the show was meant to spark debate about the word "spic," and b) there actually should be further context and substance around the word itself.
Was the show's original aim a linguistic one? A reclaiming? A challenge? A quick search of El Museo's website for the November 21st event turns up a splashy flyer for the show, Xavier's picture, a list of performers, and the following statement about the show:
About this Series:
Recognizing the power and influence of the spoken word in New York City, El Museo del Barrio provides established and emerging Latino/a poets with a platform for expressions; and El Museo's audiences with some of the hottest word wizardry in town. Spic Up!/Speak Out! features an exciting line-up of urban poets who have voiced their minds in speakeasies and clubs around the city. Each evening is organized and hosted by a guest poet. After the performance, the audience is encouraged to grab the mic and speak up!
Another internet search reveals a 2008 entry from El Museo's staff blog featuring a video of Xavier and a similar promo for Spic Up's April 2008 installment:
SPIC UP! Speak out! Latino Spoken Word Open Mic
Saturday April 19, 7:00 pm – 9:00 pm
In celebration of National Poetry Month, Def Poetry's Emanuel Xavier curates and hosts an evening celebrating the many contributions of Latino/a spoken word artists to the poetry scene. Stepping up to the mic, together for one night: Def Poetry on Broadway's Lemon; Def Poetry's Rachel McKibbens; El David; True; and special musical guest, DGuevaras. Featured performances will be immediately followed by a Latino/a open mic hosted by Emanuel Xavier.
In neither page is there any mention of the word "spic" aside from the title. No attempt to deal with the word's history. No intellectual engagement with the community actually affected by the word. No panels. No Q&A's. No specific reckoning with the epithet, or the promise of any reckoning. The only promise made was for "the hottest word wizardry" for El Museo's audience, and "an exciting line-up of urban poets."
So how did this event morph from piping hot wizardry to an intellectual exercise in context and substance?
Here's what we do know. When poet Edwin Torres approached fellow poet Aracelis Girmay about appearing in the show, Girmay did not hesitate (despite her relatively tender age) to refuse a spot in the show, owing to the title of said show. An email exchange between the participants and organizers followed, and Torres agreed, with a degree of reluctance, to remain on board. A chapbook of work from the show's participants was distributed at the event, and it included the email exchange in question. Meanwhile, Girmay's story appeared in the Times, and Torres publicly pondered his participation in the event in a blog for the Poetry Foundation. And here we are now, resurrecting terminologies.
Curiously enough, once The New York Times picked up the story, once a poet decided she would not be involved with the show, once people began expressing their indignation at the show title, various displays of pride ensued, and various victories were claimed. El Museo Del Barrio was, according to its director, Julian Zugazagoitia, "proud and excited to act as a platform for all of these issues to be discussed." Manny Xavier proudly proclaimed on his Facebook page that he was featured on Page A15, for some controversy surrounding the show. And the crowd, as they say in showbiz, went wild. The place was packed on Saturday night. And I found myself in a hotel room in Philadelphia, answering various emails about how this show happened in the first place, and answering two friends about the utility of public debate.
Another way to say it is, those of us who were home sulking missed out on the opportunity to engage ourselves in an internal struggle about using the word spic to sell poetry.
While we're in the linguistics business here, there's another word I'd like to define. Serendipity (n.): the effect by which one accidentally stumbles upon something fortunate, especially while looking for something entirely unrelated.
That must be it. Serendipity. Adjective: Serendipitous. As in: How serendipitous for El Museo Del Barrio to simultaneously create controversy AND provide the platform to solve it. See also: Dumb luck. Irony. Related word: Complicity.
4
We're here to talk language. We're here to deconstruct, debate, discuss. We're poets. That's what we do. So let's do it.
In the second of two notes reacting to the Times article, entitled "A Few More Reflections of a Queer Spic," Manny Xavier says the following:
It was El Museo del Barrio which came up with the title for the event, "SPIC UP! SPEAK OUT!" I had no issues with the title as I understood the context it was being used in for a spoken word poetry series. I use the word myself within the context of my poetry as a Latino artist for the same reason it was being considered by an "institution which prides itself as being the leading voice in Latino art.
I can only suspect that Martín Espada used it for the same reason he titled one of his poems, "Beloved Spic." I can only speculate that Willie Perdomo titled one of his poems, "Nigger Rican Blues," to challenge a word often used to demean him as an individual...
Here's the complete text of Martín Espada's "Beloved Spic."
BELOVED SPIC
--Valley Stream, Long Island 1973
Here in the new white neighborhood,
the neighbors kept it pressed
inside dictionaries and Bibles
like a leaf, chewed it for digestion
after a heavy dinner,
laughed when it hopped
from their mouths like a secret,
whispered it as carefully as the answer
to a test question in school,
bellowed it in barrooms
when the alcohol
made them want to sing.
So I saw it
spraypainted on my locker and told no one,
found it scripted in the icing on a cake,
touched it stinging like the tooth slammed
into a faucet, so I kept my mouth closed,
pushed it away crusted on the coach's lip
with a spot of dried egg,
watched it spiral into the ear
of a disappointed girl who never sat beside me again,
heard it in my head when I punched a lamp,
mesmerized by the slash oozing
between my knuckles,
and it was beloved
until the day we staked our lawn
with a sign that read: For Sale.
What's missing from the poem is present in El Museo's marketing campaign to Latino spoken word artists. Like a missing tooth and the threat of a missing tooth, the word "spic" is absent from the text yet present in our heads. We are hit with the word in the title and forced to deal with its echo in the poem: the pronoun "it." This is not unlike how people of color deal with blunt racism and its softshoe postracial resonance. But Martín is not reclaiming the word, or using it in the title lightly. He's not selling books with it. He's not interested in using it in everyday speech. He's rejecting it out of hand. And had anyone bothered to ask Martín, he would have rejected the title Spic Up, too.
Here's an excerpt from Perdomo's "Nigger Rican Blues."
I'm a Spic!
I'm a Nigger!
Spic! Spic! No different than a Nigger!
Neglected, rejected, oppressed and disposessed
From banana boats to tenements
Street gangs to regiments
Spic! Spic! I ain't nooooo different than a Nigger.
I've quoted the end of the poem here. The piece stakes some heavy ground in the
weight and history of both the words "spic" and "nigger." But this is a statement of condition, not a reclamation; a lament or a resignation, not a celebration. Perdomo's dual-identified speaker (Black and Latino) does challenge the terminology but is not particularly glad to be to naming his condition of double oppression, nor does he implicitly accept the epithets. He is neglected, rejected, dispossessed. Does Perdomo use the word? Yes. Does he use it because he thinks it should used on a regular basis? Or to name a poetry show after it? I doubt it.
The only context these poems provide for the epithets named is righteous indignation at their continued use. The context provided for the spic epithet by the event at Museo Del Barrio is hot wizardry and urban poetry. They are not the same contexts. The Museo is a publicly funded, community founded, arts institution. The use of the epithet by the organizers of Spic Up, Speak Out should be challenged. Not just challenged. Eliminated. Would the community stand idly by if the Studio Museum of Harlem resurrected the N-word to promote the appearance of poets at their establishment, even if its use is prevalent? What if it was the Whitney Museum? Or the Metropolitan? Do we want Latino art in any way associated with a word that could be used to do violence to Latino artists, or Latinos in general?
5
Xavier, again quoting Gonzalez:
"'We will continue to intellectualize the use of the word. The fact of the matter is it exists and thrives outside of our conversations and email exchanges. Art is a reflection of our communities and not the other way around. May we continue to write and sing and dance, but never silence.'"
In the 1970's, the poet and translator Jack Agüeros put a vision into the world and brought it to fruition. A museum, Jack reckoned, should not be an inaccessible place to regular people, to the non-elite. El Barrio, la gente, needed a safe space for its artists and its residents to enjoy art without the permission of the establishment.
Martín Espada, a longtime friend of Jack's, describes Agüeros' tenure at the institution in his essay "Blessed Be The Truth Tellers."
From 1977 to 1986, Agüeros was Executive Director of the Museo del Barrio in East Harlem. He invigorated the institution, assembling an impressive collection of carved wooden saints from Puerto Rico, providing space to local Puerto Rican artists and writers, and organizing an annual Three Kings' Day Parade in the barrio, complete with sheep and camels. This position also ended in controversy, as Agüeros was forced out of the Museo by arts administrators at the New York State Council for the Arts and the Mayor's Office, who saw him as a political threat.
The parade exists to this day, despite the persistent threat of budget cuts.
Martín's father, the photographer Frank Espada, has spent a lifetime documenting the lives of Puerto Ricans throughout the diaspora. He spent many years in the Puerto Rican community as an organizer and a leader of the civil rights movement. He was also on El Museo's board during Agüeros' tenure. Frank's recollections are a vital part of the poet's task: to serve as memory for the citizens, culture, and institutions that they find themselves a part of. Frank might not call himself a poet, but he has accomplished the poet's job.
Of the Spic Up Event, Frank Espada had this to say:
Not being a recent resident (we left in '73, best move I've ever made), I fail to understand how this shameful event was allowed to happen.
Risking sounding like an old fart, we would have stopped it cold, by hook or crook. And Jack would have been the first over the barricades.
So, as I asked another friend, 'Where is the Puerto Rican leadership?' His answer: 'What leadership?'
Even typing this shameful epithet in the same sentences as these two towers of our community fills me with an unspeakable rage. But it must be spoken. Have we gone mad? Has El Museo, have poets and cultural workers, strayed so far from their purposes as to disregard the physical scars of the generation that put these institutions in place, in the first place? Manny Xavier tells us, "We must write for the future, not the past." No. We will write for a future where words mean things. No art, Latino-centered, or otherwise, will succeed unless it is conscious of the universal, the infinite, the best of human understanding and knowledge. The work of our elders, the cultural work and struggle accomplished in the faces of those babbling words like "spic," is the best we have to offer as human beings. This we must honor, and it is right to point out wrongs, no matter who is doing the wrong.
Art is a reflection of our communities. Yes. Absolutely. But I submit that this showboating exhibition passing for art reflects neither Latinos, nor spoken word, nor Latino poetry and literature, nor any of the communities that a poet named Jack Agüeros built El Museo to service. The title "Spic Up" was not an intellectual exercise in 2008, and it did not become one until the summer of 2009, when another poet rejected the term outright.
All Latinos, all people, regardless of ethnicity, need to be cognizant of the power of language, in a way that the organizers of this event failed to be. No public program of El Museo Del Barrio...the neighborhood's museum...should ever possess the word "spic." At the end of the day, the argument here is not about words on a flyer, or exciting the patrons of an arts organization trying to stay in touch with what it perceives as its community. And to be perfectly honest, it's not really servicing the public's need for art by Latinos that moves or inspires. This is about common human decency. The word spic is not a rallying point. It wasn't so "back in the day," and it is not so now. Where it continues to gasp for breath, let us not throw it a lifeline by rendering our elders mute and hiding behind false intellectualism, privilege, or artistic license.
CODA
Here's the mission statement for the Acentos reading series in the Bronx, which was founded in March of 2003 by Oscar Bermeo and Sam "Fish" Vargas: "The Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase is a twice-monthly reading series showcasing nationally recognized Latino/a writers alongside emerging voices in a setting that stimulates open dialogue and an increased sense of community."
The reading series has since evolved into a writers' workshop at Hostos Community College. I came on board shortly after the reading series came into existence, and I've been working with Fish, Oscar, and a host of dedicated volunteers, patrons, and Latino/a poets from around the nation ever since.
We've organized these kinds of readings before. We brought in 33 Latino and Latina poets to read before a full auditorium at Hunter College in February 2008. Our anniversary shows routinely challenged the fire codes at the various clubs we found ourselves in. We've hosted panels, read, and lectured to students and audiences alike. We are organizing a Latino poets' festival at Hostos Community College in April of 2010. Never once did we have to insult our audiences or our patrons, or risk anyone's wrath, by stapling the word "spic" to our flyers.
I'm not saying this because I need you to know we exist. The communities we need to sustain us know about us and support us. We write for them. It is in that vein that I am calling on El Museo Del Barrio to end the disgraceful practice of naming a poetry series with a hateful epithet. The museum's management and the reading's organizers do not understand why this furor is coming down on them now. They have no further excuses. The problem confronting us now is not just about a word. It is about honoring what came before us and mentoring a new generation of writers to move beyond the language of violence and into the language of creativity without permission.
I urge everyone reading this piece to do what communities do: spread the word. Demand that El Museo cease using the word "spic" in its marketing, its programming, and its attempts to reach communities of Latino writers. Write to their director. Write to their board members and corporate sponsors. Write. They must listen. And if they will not, then we will do what our forbears did: We will leap the barricades.
Pa'lante.
Rich Villar
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
the blog?
It feels good to write as I am getting my flow back. For a little while, I would sit down and not be bale to type two words together without making a mistake. I couldn't pick up a pen and slice it across a piece of paper without crossing out words, letters, or jumbling the content.
Today, I am comfortable where I am at with my work. I am not reading much in public but that isn't my priority. I'm just trying to become a better writer and practicing everyday at it.
I don't know in which direction my book will go but I will have it finished before I move to California.
Fish
Today, I am comfortable where I am at with my work. I am not reading much in public but that isn't my priority. I'm just trying to become a better writer and practicing everyday at it.
I don't know in which direction my book will go but I will have it finished before I move to California.
Fish
Friday, September 18, 2009
Acentos writers workshop welcomes Sammy Miranda and Jeff McDaniel on Sept 20th
Acentos Writers workshops hits a double with Jeff McDaniel and Sammy Miranda.
So we have started our workshops. We tackled a few obstacles to start this year and we were actually a little afraid of losing our energy from last term. So we put it all in the hands of Marie-Elizabeth Mali. She brought with her a beautiful smile and a soft voice. With all that she pulls out 32 packs of index cards and made everyone get in contact with their senses. It was an incredible class that found our energy and mojo immediately. We had a packed house with 32 people and we were back home. It’s time to rock!
Next week we have a great surprise. Sammy Miranda will be in the house running a workshop also. Not to mention that Jeff McDaniel will be bringing it. Come out because we are not playing this year!
Samuel Miranda is a teacher of English at Bell Multicultural High School. He has read at the Kennedy Center, The Arts Club of Washington, and as part of the "Dreams for America" series sponsored by the DC Commission on the Arts & Humanities and the Folger Shakespeare Library. He is the author of the chapbook Tossing Tokens, and is featured in Dropping Dime, a CD compilation of writers and musicians from Washington, DC. Mr. Miranda received his MFA from Bennington College
Jeffrey McDaniel is one of the few poets that has successfully united the distant cousins of poetry: spoken word and written poetry. His work has appeared in major publications: Ploughshares and Best American Poetry. McDaniel has performed at the Lollapalooza Festival, the Moscow Writers Union, the Globe in Prague, and poetry slams throughout the U.S. Manic D Press of San Francisco has published two collections of his poetry-Alibi School and The Forgiveness Parade with a third book, The Splinter Factory . McDaniel currently teaches creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, New York.
Get there at 12pm sharp and make sure you have Identification!!!!!!
Eugenio María de Hostos Community College •475 Grand Concourse,***ROOM A-329***12 pm sharp Bronx, New York 10451 • Phone 917-209-4211
Directions to Hostos Community College
Hostos Community College is located at a safe and busy intersection just steps from the subway station and bus stop.
By subway: take the 2,4,5 IRT trains to 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard) and the Grand Concourse.By bus: take the Bx1 or cross-town Bx19 to 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard) and the Grand Concourse.
By car:From Manhattan, take the FDR Drive north to the Willis Avenue Bridge to the Major Deegan Expressway (87N). Proceed north to Exit 3. Take the right fork in the exit ramp to the Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard)
From Queens, take the Triborough Bridge to the Major Deegan Expressway. Continue north to Exit 3. Take the right fork in the exit ramp to the Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard).From Westchester, take the Major Deegan Expressway south (87S) to Exit 3. Turn left at the light. Turn left again at Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard)
.From New Jersey, take the George Washington Bridge to the Major Deegan Expressway south to Exit 3. Turn left at the light. Turn left again at Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard)
Fish Vargas
Poet
NYC
917-209-4211
The Acentos Writers Workshop was established with the purpose of nurturing the newer voices in the poetry community. With writers from across several genres donating their time, the workshop encourages newer writers to hone their craft, establish and create community, and perform their work in front of growing audiences.
The Acentos Writers Workshop offers opportunities for growing writers through contact with professional writers, poets, mentors, and teachers. The workshop accepts writers of all backgrounds and skill level to foster growth and maximize their full potential and grow as writers.
As part of the Acentos Foundation and the louderARTS project, the workshops continue to serve a multitude of generations, ethnicities and backgrounds. Located at Hostos Community College, the rich cultural diversity will always be kept at the forefront. As we accept and honor writers from all walks of life, we grow together through our writing.
Acentos Writers workshop facilitators
Sunday Sept 20 Jeffrey McDaniel and Sammy Miranda
Sun Sep 27, 2009 Tony Brown
Sun Oct 4, 2009 Blas Falconer & Helena Mesa
Sun Oct 11, 2009 Lisa Ascalon
Sun Oct 18, 2009 Patricia Spears Jones
Sun Oct 25, 2009 Cornelius Eady
Sun Nov 1, 2009 Sheila Candelario
Sun Nov 8, 2009 Cheryl Boyce Taylor
Sun Nov 15, 2009 Adam Faulkner
Sun Nov 22, 2009 R Erica Doyle
Sun Nov 29, 2009 Samantha Thornhill
Sun Dec 6, 2009 Sarah Gambito
Sun Dec 13, 2009 Christina Olivares
Sun Dec 20, 2009 Edwin Torres
Sun Jan 3, 2010 Tara Betts
Sun Jan 10, 2010 Annecy Baez
Sun Jan 17, 2010 Sammy Miranda
Sun Jan 24, 2010 Li-Yun Alvarado
Sun Jan 31, 2010 roger bonair agard
Sun Feb 7,2010 Jive Poetic
Sun Feb 14, 2010 Diana Marie Delgado
Sun Feb 21, 2010 Corie Feiner
Sun, Feb 28, 2010 Mildred Ruiz
Sun, March 7, 2010 Louis Reyes Rivera
Sun, March 14, 2010 Americo Casiano
Sun, March 21, 2010 Zora Howard
Sun, March 28, 2010 Rachel McKibbons
April 4, 2010 Vannessa Hidary
April 11, 2010 Ishle yi Park
April 17, 2010 Acentos Poetry Festival
So we have started our workshops. We tackled a few obstacles to start this year and we were actually a little afraid of losing our energy from last term. So we put it all in the hands of Marie-Elizabeth Mali. She brought with her a beautiful smile and a soft voice. With all that she pulls out 32 packs of index cards and made everyone get in contact with their senses. It was an incredible class that found our energy and mojo immediately. We had a packed house with 32 people and we were back home. It’s time to rock!
Next week we have a great surprise. Sammy Miranda will be in the house running a workshop also. Not to mention that Jeff McDaniel will be bringing it. Come out because we are not playing this year!
Samuel Miranda is a teacher of English at Bell Multicultural High School. He has read at the Kennedy Center, The Arts Club of Washington, and as part of the "Dreams for America" series sponsored by the DC Commission on the Arts & Humanities and the Folger Shakespeare Library. He is the author of the chapbook Tossing Tokens, and is featured in Dropping Dime, a CD compilation of writers and musicians from Washington, DC. Mr. Miranda received his MFA from Bennington College
Jeffrey McDaniel is one of the few poets that has successfully united the distant cousins of poetry: spoken word and written poetry. His work has appeared in major publications: Ploughshares and Best American Poetry. McDaniel has performed at the Lollapalooza Festival, the Moscow Writers Union, the Globe in Prague, and poetry slams throughout the U.S. Manic D Press of San Francisco has published two collections of his poetry-Alibi School and The Forgiveness Parade with a third book, The Splinter Factory . McDaniel currently teaches creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, New York.
Get there at 12pm sharp and make sure you have Identification!!!!!!
Eugenio María de Hostos Community College •475 Grand Concourse,***ROOM A-329***12 pm sharp Bronx, New York 10451 • Phone 917-209-4211
Directions to Hostos Community College
Hostos Community College is located at a safe and busy intersection just steps from the subway station and bus stop.
By subway: take the 2,4,5 IRT trains to 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard) and the Grand Concourse.By bus: take the Bx1 or cross-town Bx19 to 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard) and the Grand Concourse.
By car:From Manhattan, take the FDR Drive north to the Willis Avenue Bridge to the Major Deegan Expressway (87N). Proceed north to Exit 3. Take the right fork in the exit ramp to the Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard)
From Queens, take the Triborough Bridge to the Major Deegan Expressway. Continue north to Exit 3. Take the right fork in the exit ramp to the Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard).From Westchester, take the Major Deegan Expressway south (87S) to Exit 3. Turn left at the light. Turn left again at Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard)
.From New Jersey, take the George Washington Bridge to the Major Deegan Expressway south to Exit 3. Turn left at the light. Turn left again at Grand Concourse and proceed north to East 149th Street (Eugenio María de Hostos Boulevard)
Fish Vargas
Poet
NYC
917-209-4211
The Acentos Writers Workshop was established with the purpose of nurturing the newer voices in the poetry community. With writers from across several genres donating their time, the workshop encourages newer writers to hone their craft, establish and create community, and perform their work in front of growing audiences.
The Acentos Writers Workshop offers opportunities for growing writers through contact with professional writers, poets, mentors, and teachers. The workshop accepts writers of all backgrounds and skill level to foster growth and maximize their full potential and grow as writers.
As part of the Acentos Foundation and the louderARTS project, the workshops continue to serve a multitude of generations, ethnicities and backgrounds. Located at Hostos Community College, the rich cultural diversity will always be kept at the forefront. As we accept and honor writers from all walks of life, we grow together through our writing.
Acentos Writers workshop facilitators
Sunday Sept 20 Jeffrey McDaniel and Sammy Miranda
Sun Sep 27, 2009 Tony Brown
Sun Oct 4, 2009 Blas Falconer & Helena Mesa
Sun Oct 11, 2009 Lisa Ascalon
Sun Oct 18, 2009 Patricia Spears Jones
Sun Oct 25, 2009 Cornelius Eady
Sun Nov 1, 2009 Sheila Candelario
Sun Nov 8, 2009 Cheryl Boyce Taylor
Sun Nov 15, 2009 Adam Faulkner
Sun Nov 22, 2009 R Erica Doyle
Sun Nov 29, 2009 Samantha Thornhill
Sun Dec 6, 2009 Sarah Gambito
Sun Dec 13, 2009 Christina Olivares
Sun Dec 20, 2009 Edwin Torres
Sun Jan 3, 2010 Tara Betts
Sun Jan 10, 2010 Annecy Baez
Sun Jan 17, 2010 Sammy Miranda
Sun Jan 24, 2010 Li-Yun Alvarado
Sun Jan 31, 2010 roger bonair agard
Sun Feb 7,2010 Jive Poetic
Sun Feb 14, 2010 Diana Marie Delgado
Sun Feb 21, 2010 Corie Feiner
Sun, Feb 28, 2010 Mildred Ruiz
Sun, March 7, 2010 Louis Reyes Rivera
Sun, March 14, 2010 Americo Casiano
Sun, March 21, 2010 Zora Howard
Sun, March 28, 2010 Rachel McKibbons
April 4, 2010 Vannessa Hidary
April 11, 2010 Ishle yi Park
April 17, 2010 Acentos Poetry Festival
Friday, July 10, 2009
My new but not so often rant
Well, I've been thinking alot on what to do to jump start my writing. I've taken to write poems at the Sunday Acentos Workshops; those are on hiatus for the summer so I am screwed there. So, let me introduce you to my new thing.
I am starting a food critique blog. I figure I eat at many many places so why not share my opinion on the establishment that ripped some money out of my pocket. As usual, the language will be colorful and the opinion truthful. Most likely I will offend someone but I don't tend to care.
So let's start with the latest restaurant
Agave Azul
839 west 181st street
NY 10033-4438 -
(212) 740-5222
(181st and Cabrini, formerly Hispaniola)
So Last night my wife and I decided to try this place. It was the grand opening and I've been coveting a new place in the neighborhood that would make my mouth water at just passing by. I had somewhat high hopes for it but I've kept an open mind.
The restaurant Agave azul was the former Hispaniola that shuttered it's doors a few weeks ago. I didn't cry a drop because once I passed by and it was horribly over priced and the food was mediocre at best.
Upon entering the establishment, it was incredibly disorganized. We were not greeted by anyone at the door and had to walk to the back until I met one of the owner that I recognized. They wanted to sit us downstairs but I jockeyed for a position upstairs on the second floor.
Once we get upstairs the colors were bright and the atmosphere was lively. I always liked restaurants where I could speak in a normal tone and not have to worry about speaking too loud. When we sat down the air conditioning must have been set on "artic" because my lovely wife immediately started rubbing her arms frantically to warm up.
At the first glance at the menu, they had a good array of mexican food. The yhad the enchiladas, fajitas, pollo al carbon and a few other things that made the place look promising. Our waiters were pretty frazzled running around because some of the people at the restaurant were asking for everything under the sun. We tried to be understanding but let's just say our experience almost led me out of the door before I got my food.
I went through the menu and set my eyes on a porkchop a la braza with a special Agave BBQ sauce. My wife had an enchilada stuffed with shrimps with rice and Re fried beans. Now, before all this, we ordered our traditional guacamole. We do this to gauge the quality of the food. There is no set science but let's just say it's is usually spot on.
The only thing that was a horrible turn off to me was the wait time for our food. We stood there waiting 25mins for our appetizer and a fully 2 hours from the moment of entry for our food. I will take into consideration that it was the very first day and they had to work out the kinks but it was jut a little too much.
Once the food came out, I was actually somewhat impressed. I enjoyed eating the porkchop as it was very tender and the sauce was thick, tasty and not overpowering. I swear it tasted a little like a bottle brought bbq sauce but it was tasty no less.
The only thing I had to do with my order was get a side order of rice. I usually eat something on the side and for some reason I figured the jicama wasn't going to do it for me.
I am going to try this place one more time. After that we will come to a better conclusion
I am starting a food critique blog. I figure I eat at many many places so why not share my opinion on the establishment that ripped some money out of my pocket. As usual, the language will be colorful and the opinion truthful. Most likely I will offend someone but I don't tend to care.
So let's start with the latest restaurant
Agave Azul
839 west 181st street
NY 10033-4438 -
(212) 740-5222
(181st and Cabrini, formerly Hispaniola)
So Last night my wife and I decided to try this place. It was the grand opening and I've been coveting a new place in the neighborhood that would make my mouth water at just passing by. I had somewhat high hopes for it but I've kept an open mind.
The restaurant Agave azul was the former Hispaniola that shuttered it's doors a few weeks ago. I didn't cry a drop because once I passed by and it was horribly over priced and the food was mediocre at best.
Upon entering the establishment, it was incredibly disorganized. We were not greeted by anyone at the door and had to walk to the back until I met one of the owner that I recognized. They wanted to sit us downstairs but I jockeyed for a position upstairs on the second floor.
Once we get upstairs the colors were bright and the atmosphere was lively. I always liked restaurants where I could speak in a normal tone and not have to worry about speaking too loud. When we sat down the air conditioning must have been set on "artic" because my lovely wife immediately started rubbing her arms frantically to warm up.
At the first glance at the menu, they had a good array of mexican food. The yhad the enchiladas, fajitas, pollo al carbon and a few other things that made the place look promising. Our waiters were pretty frazzled running around because some of the people at the restaurant were asking for everything under the sun. We tried to be understanding but let's just say our experience almost led me out of the door before I got my food.
I went through the menu and set my eyes on a porkchop a la braza with a special Agave BBQ sauce. My wife had an enchilada stuffed with shrimps with rice and Re fried beans. Now, before all this, we ordered our traditional guacamole. We do this to gauge the quality of the food. There is no set science but let's just say it's is usually spot on.
The only thing that was a horrible turn off to me was the wait time for our food. We stood there waiting 25mins for our appetizer and a fully 2 hours from the moment of entry for our food. I will take into consideration that it was the very first day and they had to work out the kinks but it was jut a little too much.
Once the food came out, I was actually somewhat impressed. I enjoyed eating the porkchop as it was very tender and the sauce was thick, tasty and not overpowering. I swear it tasted a little like a bottle brought bbq sauce but it was tasty no less.
The only thing I had to do with my order was get a side order of rice. I usually eat something on the side and for some reason I figured the jicama wasn't going to do it for me.
I am going to try this place one more time. After that we will come to a better conclusion
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
it's the countdown
so here we are, a few weeks out from me waiting at an alter for the most beautiful woman in the world to marry me. It has been somewhat worldwind but I don't really mind.
All throughout my life I just wanted to be loved unconditionally. I wanted someone to not condone but understand the things I have done. It hasn't been easy because you will always feel as if someone will judge you. Ok, I basically mean me. I have had this monkey on my shoulders for years. I am not the prettiest, smartest, or even the sanest person so when I am in the company of people who I feel are better then me, I shut down. I have so many people that tell me that I am intelligent but deep inside of me, I know I need to get something done to make ME feel that way.
Plenty of work ahead.
All throughout my life I just wanted to be loved unconditionally. I wanted someone to not condone but understand the things I have done. It hasn't been easy because you will always feel as if someone will judge you. Ok, I basically mean me. I have had this monkey on my shoulders for years. I am not the prettiest, smartest, or even the sanest person so when I am in the company of people who I feel are better then me, I shut down. I have so many people that tell me that I am intelligent but deep inside of me, I know I need to get something done to make ME feel that way.
Plenty of work ahead.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Be good Amy
It was a hard day yesterday. It wasn’t the usual type pf hard. It was the type of hard where my self control was tested. Where I had to put up a happy face because I cared for something so deeply that I didn’t want to jeopardize it in my eyes nor in anyone else’s.
Yesterday one of my good friends called me at 10am. I knew that as soon as I saw her number, something was wrong. Our relationship has been through text and e-mails so when the phone call comes, I knew it wasn’t good news.
When her voice chokes and she says “I’m the bearer of bad news”, I automatically knew that someone has passed away, died, gotten killed, committed suicide or something worse was about to come out of her mouth. She starts to cry and her voice starts to crack, it was bad. She tells me that Amy died. As appalled and shocked as I have been at other moments in my life; this was right up there.
Not so long ago a friend of ours committed suicide and it wasn’t as hard as this one. He left behind a wife and kids and I still didn’t bat an eyelash at the whole situation. The problem is that I recall how much this poor girl went through shit in her life.
Amy’s health was always bad. She suffered through a bout of a Staphylococcus infection. She was in the hospital for 30 some odd days; It left her with a massive scar on her back that I joke around on. “ You man will never hit you doggy style again”, I told her. She laughed hard and said; “only you would make me laugh like that”. I always spoke to her straightforward and for a few years, we were incredibly tight.
The biggest moment in our friendship came when she visited me for a nice dinner. She walked in through my door with a gift snuggled tight against her chest. It was wrapped neatly in a shiny gold and silver gift-wrap. I met her with a hug and a surprised enthusiastic look. She hands me this small gift and I open it. It was a poetry book by Saul Williams. At that point, I didn’t have a clue who Saul Williams was. The book came with a CD and when I played it, let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected. She said “I think you will like it eventually, you could be that big sammy”
She had this way about her that exuded faith in me. All this was when I met her in 1998, that was my very first year connecting to AOL. We maintained a friendship through AOL hometown, chat rooms, friendster, migente, myspace, and finally facebook. She followed my poetry and followed me and never hesitated to let me know that she knew I would do it big with my words.
It’s been interesting seeing some of the homage’s to Amy on her facebook page. She wasn’t as popular as she was before because she dropped friends like flies. She had a way about her that made some people either question her sanity or just merely create a small space between themselves and her. I never took it at face value because you always knew that deep inside of her, she meant well.
As unfortunate as it is, she lost her life this Thursday and it has affected a few people to the point that they can’t seem to function. As my heart goes out to her, it weighs heavy for her two kids, Nick and Jay. I’m sure they will be ok but at a moment they need a mother the most, I just can’t help but feel sorry for them.
my heart goes out to you
Yesterday one of my good friends called me at 10am. I knew that as soon as I saw her number, something was wrong. Our relationship has been through text and e-mails so when the phone call comes, I knew it wasn’t good news.
When her voice chokes and she says “I’m the bearer of bad news”, I automatically knew that someone has passed away, died, gotten killed, committed suicide or something worse was about to come out of her mouth. She starts to cry and her voice starts to crack, it was bad. She tells me that Amy died. As appalled and shocked as I have been at other moments in my life; this was right up there.
Not so long ago a friend of ours committed suicide and it wasn’t as hard as this one. He left behind a wife and kids and I still didn’t bat an eyelash at the whole situation. The problem is that I recall how much this poor girl went through shit in her life.
Amy’s health was always bad. She suffered through a bout of a Staphylococcus infection. She was in the hospital for 30 some odd days; It left her with a massive scar on her back that I joke around on. “ You man will never hit you doggy style again”, I told her. She laughed hard and said; “only you would make me laugh like that”. I always spoke to her straightforward and for a few years, we were incredibly tight.
The biggest moment in our friendship came when she visited me for a nice dinner. She walked in through my door with a gift snuggled tight against her chest. It was wrapped neatly in a shiny gold and silver gift-wrap. I met her with a hug and a surprised enthusiastic look. She hands me this small gift and I open it. It was a poetry book by Saul Williams. At that point, I didn’t have a clue who Saul Williams was. The book came with a CD and when I played it, let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected. She said “I think you will like it eventually, you could be that big sammy”
She had this way about her that exuded faith in me. All this was when I met her in 1998, that was my very first year connecting to AOL. We maintained a friendship through AOL hometown, chat rooms, friendster, migente, myspace, and finally facebook. She followed my poetry and followed me and never hesitated to let me know that she knew I would do it big with my words.
It’s been interesting seeing some of the homage’s to Amy on her facebook page. She wasn’t as popular as she was before because she dropped friends like flies. She had a way about her that made some people either question her sanity or just merely create a small space between themselves and her. I never took it at face value because you always knew that deep inside of her, she meant well.
As unfortunate as it is, she lost her life this Thursday and it has affected a few people to the point that they can’t seem to function. As my heart goes out to her, it weighs heavy for her two kids, Nick and Jay. I’m sure they will be ok but at a moment they need a mother the most, I just can’t help but feel sorry for them.
my heart goes out to you
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Man up son
There are many shows that come and go in nyc and I don’t think life changes if you miss them or catch them. I stopped heading out to most of these functions because I got a little tired of seeing rejiggered poems set to bad music with equally bad lighting. I certainly believe in supporting my peers but there is only so much I could take.
Let me tell you how I was treated to something refreshing today. I won’t reveal the actual show I caught until the end. I think it would be fun that way so if you don’t like it, double click and exit buddy.
I headed out to this small theater today and it seemed more like a crackhouse then a place where art is appreciated. The graffiti was prominent and the faint smell of urine was definitely in the air. I didn’t think anything of it because in actuality, it felt like home.
Once we got there, I saw a few friends and made my usual rounds of man hugs and friendly cheek to cheek kisses. As far as theater settings go, the point, BAAD, and countless other places all look exactly the same; dark, dingy, and funky. It was a little hot and my hunger headache kicked in.
The show started exactly at 8pm. So I am quite content that we started at the stated time and not the latino time of 8:45. Once it started I was hoping to see something different. It started with one mic and a performance, which looked like every other performance I’ve seen at Bar 13. The only thing that went through my mind was “ this motherfucker better not do this for an hour”.
5 minutes in, things looked up much better. The spoken word aspect was shot down and I saw something more intimate, emotional, loving, thought out, methodic. This is where the ride started and I decided to buckle my seatbelt.
Some of the content was typical and the shock value was present. I say this because in everyday conversation, you barely hear homeboy talk the way he did in his show. There came two points in the show where time stopped in that theater. One came with a loving portrayal of tough love and forgiveness between father and son. It was a solid moment where he opened himself and showed the audience how at that moment he knew he became a man. This first ride was smooth and I expected the transitions to be far rockier.
My next moment in the show that I fell in love with was the moment where he and another man became one. With one line in this sketch he wrapped it all up and put it in a tiny neat box. That box was placed on your lap and it was just another gift he gave us.
The show ran for 1 hour and 5 mins. It was a wonderful treat to have someone work hard to ensure they took you on an emotional ride. You felt a wide range of emotions and that is always the formula for a good show. I didn’t get to thank him for the show and for his work. I didn’t get to thank him or say goodbye because if the fat man gets up at 5am, I need to get my ass to bed.
If you are ever in NYC and you have an opportunity to catch Man Up with Carlos Andres Gomez, you won’t go wrong. He puts his life on a plate and is trusting enough of the audience to dissect his life with care.
peace
Let me tell you how I was treated to something refreshing today. I won’t reveal the actual show I caught until the end. I think it would be fun that way so if you don’t like it, double click and exit buddy.
I headed out to this small theater today and it seemed more like a crackhouse then a place where art is appreciated. The graffiti was prominent and the faint smell of urine was definitely in the air. I didn’t think anything of it because in actuality, it felt like home.
Once we got there, I saw a few friends and made my usual rounds of man hugs and friendly cheek to cheek kisses. As far as theater settings go, the point, BAAD, and countless other places all look exactly the same; dark, dingy, and funky. It was a little hot and my hunger headache kicked in.
The show started exactly at 8pm. So I am quite content that we started at the stated time and not the latino time of 8:45. Once it started I was hoping to see something different. It started with one mic and a performance, which looked like every other performance I’ve seen at Bar 13. The only thing that went through my mind was “ this motherfucker better not do this for an hour”.
5 minutes in, things looked up much better. The spoken word aspect was shot down and I saw something more intimate, emotional, loving, thought out, methodic. This is where the ride started and I decided to buckle my seatbelt.
Some of the content was typical and the shock value was present. I say this because in everyday conversation, you barely hear homeboy talk the way he did in his show. There came two points in the show where time stopped in that theater. One came with a loving portrayal of tough love and forgiveness between father and son. It was a solid moment where he opened himself and showed the audience how at that moment he knew he became a man. This first ride was smooth and I expected the transitions to be far rockier.
My next moment in the show that I fell in love with was the moment where he and another man became one. With one line in this sketch he wrapped it all up and put it in a tiny neat box. That box was placed on your lap and it was just another gift he gave us.
The show ran for 1 hour and 5 mins. It was a wonderful treat to have someone work hard to ensure they took you on an emotional ride. You felt a wide range of emotions and that is always the formula for a good show. I didn’t get to thank him for the show and for his work. I didn’t get to thank him or say goodbye because if the fat man gets up at 5am, I need to get my ass to bed.
If you are ever in NYC and you have an opportunity to catch Man Up with Carlos Andres Gomez, you won’t go wrong. He puts his life on a plate and is trusting enough of the audience to dissect his life with care.
peace
Saturday, April 4, 2009
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