No Hood Like Pochahood
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been victimized by the word pocha 🙋🏻♀️ According to Wikipedia, the word pocha “is often used pejoratively to describe a Mexican expatriate or a person of Mexican ancestry who lacks fluency or the ability to speak in Spanish and knowledge of Mexican culture. It derives from the Spanish word pocho, used to describe fruit that has become rotten or discolored.”
If you’re anything like me, you may have been called a pocha before. Because you didn’t know how to say a certain word in Spanish, or you used the wrong word, or you don’t speak Spanish at all and got made fun of for it. Even worse, you may have been told that you were a “bad” Mexican, “not Mexican enough,” or worst of all, a “MexiCANT.”
I have experienced all of these and they all hurt equally. Growing up in San Diego, my elementary school was so close to the border, you could see Tijuana from the playground. I went to school with kids who lived in Tijuana and crossed the border to come to school every day, and kids who just moved to the U.S. and spoke almost no English, if at all. All of my Mexican friends spoke Spanish, and it was always better than mine. They would sometimes playfully tease me about my accent, or say “you’re not Mexican, you’re MexiCANT” or “you talk like a pocha” which made me feel like a lesser Mexican. Although I spoke just as much Spanish as English at home, I could never shake my pocha accent. Even some of my family members called me a pochita as a term of endearment, but I never liked the fact that my Spanish was not as good as theirs pointed out.
When I went to middle school, I was surprised at how many white kids there were. When I would meet other Mexican kids, a lot of them didn’t even speak Spanish. For once I felt like I was a “better” Mexican for even knowing how to speak Spanish! But then, I observed what the white girls were wearing and doing and noticed what they had, and started to want the same things; like real Tiffany heart chain necklaces and bracelets, real Ugg Boots and clothes from Limited Too and Abercrombie & Fitch. I don’t think I ever wore those exact brands, but definitely tried to replicate the looks, just like I tried to replicate white girl-ness. Then when I started hanging out with white boys, I started to take interest in what they liked, bands like The Misfits, The Cure, and English punk music. With my new white friends, I didn’t have to worry about being called a pocha or a bad Mexican because they didn’t know what either meant. I never denied or tried to hide being Mexican, but I definitely didn’t embrace it.
It wasn’t until my Latino History class in college that I really learned the language for the struggles of being a Mexican-born American in the United States. Words like “assimilation,” “white-washing,” “code-switching,” and “internalized racism.” Behaving or acting differently to appear more white, appease white people, and trying to blend in as much as possible, which is exactly what I was doing up until then. I was “whitewashing” the fact that I didn’t grow up with money like the upper middle class white kids did, having to explain why my mom looked so young (answer: because she was young), and growing up feeling like my Spanish wasn’t good enough. I liked white guys because they were what I was told was attractive by the media, besides Ricky Martin and turns out I couldn’t have him anyway! I would say I wasn’t attracted to Latino guys because it would feel like dating a family member, and the one I’ve dated turned out to have a lot of control issues so he ruined the chance for all other Latino guys. In all the ways I was denying my pochahood, I now realize I was also internalizing white supremacy. The closer to whiteness I was, the more I’d be able to get ahead. Sound familiar?
In hindsight, I feel so much guilt for treating myself that way. However, these internal racist messages are not our fault. We are taught to assimilate so we’re more accepted. We’re taught to speak in an emotionless, passive way to not come off as “aggressive” to white people in our environment. We’re taught that we need to speak perfect English so that we’re accepted by white culture so they know we’re just as good as them since they are the default societal standard. Then when we go home, we better speak perfect Spanish and eat all the habanero salsa they feed us even though it hurts and make our family dreams come true because they sacrificed everything for us to get here and to not realize our dreams is a disappointment. As Edward James Olmos playing Abraham Quintanilla in the movie Selena says, “We gotta be twice as perfect as anybody else…it’s exhausting!”
Nowadays when I ask myself what being Mexican means, the answer is…ME! There is no definition of what it means to be a “real” Mexican. This idea is very hard to unlearn, but I’m trying every day to be comfortable and even confident in my beautiful brown skin. Even though my Spanish isn’t perfect, I don’t like spicy food, and my white husband cooks better than me, it doesn’t make me any less Mexican. I can like white people things like Wes Anderson movies, super Mexican things like churros, and things that overlap like The Smiths 🤪
Jokes aside, I’m here to tell you that even if your Spanish isn’t good or you don’t speak it at all, you’re not any less Mexican. Whether you are light skinned-Mexican, o tienes el nopal en la frente, or are Afro-Mexican, our experiences of Mexicanidad and American-ness are all unique and valid. We are not a monolith. I’ve learned to love and appreciate my upbringing, my culture, and my privilege as an American-born Mexican. I embrace pochahood, because it highlights my cultural duality and is a part of my life story, and is a reminder that there is nobody else like me.
