I don’t know if I can make this sound nicer, or if I will sound offensive. I will at least be objective and express how I feel.
Growing Up
I was kind of racist against my own race as a child. I suppose I got enough social cues that being “mexican” was a bad thing, with phrases like “wet back” or “beaner,” meant to degradet the dignity of brown-skinned people. In fact, I tried to not identify as being Mexican, perhaps as a survival move. I also endured racist snarks from white people, as they oh so kindly told me to “go back to Mexico;” to them, I was too dark skinned to be here.
Despite that, at home habits persisted. Yes, indeed bean and cheese tacos were a staple for breakfast, with occasional barbacoa on the weekends, as bought by my dad. We also had other traditional Mexican habits, actions, and culture, like maybe low budget cascarones (like using old Christmas paper as the top paper and to cut out own confetti), piñatas for birthdays (even into my college age), and blends of Spanish language into daily life. I even felt embarrassed and resisted when my dad would try to teach me Spanish, as I perceived it as not being as valuable as English.
As I Got Older
I began to appreciate my heritage. I realized, it is simply me and there was nothing wrong with it. I also learned the nuisances of my heritage. As we know, Tejas used to be part of Mexico, so being labeled by others as Mexican, was to be labeled as Tejano. Honestly, part of this was also helped was the comedy set by John Leguizamo, “Latin History for Morons.” With the guys comedic approach, I honestly felt like I learned a lot about Native people more than I ever did in Euro-centric school. It kind of shined a light on how little the school system valued Native history. I mean come on, this one comedian was able to dig up a ton and present it in an easy to understand format. I came to the obvious realization that Mexicans are Native Americans. Like, there are North Native Americans, South Native Americans, and Central Native Americans, as these are the 3 continents. Sure, you could nit-pick between the variances (and sometimes you should), but at the end of the day, recognizing your blood and ancestors was nothing to be ashamed of.
In My Recent History
After my sister did a DNA test sometime during the pandemic, confirming as we already knew: our “Mexican” blood was Native American blood and it was in the majority. It seemed there was a lot more to find out.
I suspect, in survivors’ moves, my ancestors would have let go of some traditions and languages. After all, it was safer to do so. The US government wanted Native people gone, or to assimilate, but mostly gone. In order for the European settlers to settle, the Natives would have to be cleared of their land. The people who assimilated had to lose their languages and speak only English. There are even cases where Native children were taken to boarding schools, separated from family, and not taught anything about their ways. For the longest time, even things like pow-wows were illegal. Many times any treaty that was made between Native tribes and the US government, only the Natives upheld their end of the deal.
So, for me to not know a Native language, is exactly the outcome that was desired by the US government. I even corrected a woman at work, who was saying that Spanish was the native language to Mexicans; it’s really not. Spanish is a language from Spain. It is as equally foreign as English for any Native American.
Where the Trouble Happened
Well, all of that was just to explain where I am coming from and what really bothered me. I can’t shake it off. I kind of wish I could, but I feel how I feel I suppose. It even bothers me that this situation has such power to bother me, but I suppose it makes sense because it challenges my ancestral blood.
A few months back, I was talking to one of my co-workers. She was a new-ish employee and I was trying to be friends with her, after all, she was crammed in the small office right next to me. Sure, even when she brought up non-safe-for-work topics, like sex, I’d even go along with them in the sake of being friendly. I don’t even remember what brought it up, but for some reason I proudly said I was part Native American by blood.
The woman quickly shut me down. She was on a mission to “correct” me. I was dumb-founded. Like, I kept telling her it was in my blood and that is the factual lineage of my heritage. The woman felt like since I did not grow up on a tribe, I had no right to say I was Native American by blood. She even went on to say that the tribe needed to be one recognized by the US government. It was quite a hoot. Like, there are plenty of Native tribes out there; just because the US government does not recognize it, doesn’t mean it does not exist. I mean, come on, how many times has the US government made a mistake? Furthermore, living on or off tribal land has nothing to do with my blood. I even told her I knew a Native American that was not living on a tribe, but he is still Native. The woman told me that was just one case and it should not be counted as common. It was not like I was preparing a paper about this when I went into work that day, but I thought if I could easily name one person who was Native and not living in a reservation, surely there must be more.
She told me knowing the Native language was also a requirement to being a real Native. I asked her if black people had to speak an African language to be considered black, but she said that this was an unfair comparison.
Anyways, I tried to defend myself and my heritage, but this woman kept going on, repeating the same reasoning for an hour. Honestly, I just wanted to work. I did not have any chance of having her recognize my blood. I felt berated and tired. I finally told her I was just going to turn around now and work. She kind of started looping her reasons again, like a chihuahua that won’t stop biting, and then I repeated, I just wanted to work and proceeded to turn around. It was so awkward the rest of that day. I did not even want to say a word to her. She tried to say something else like to break the ice later and I tried to appease her, but it felt weird appease someone who had just attacked me. I suppose I had to do it for my sake, to let her think it was okay so I could get back to minding my own business.
To rub some salt into the wound, the woman started to bring this topic up the next day. She really wanted to prove she was in the right. She apparently asked a Comanche in Oklahoma if it was okay I called my self part native, and that person said no. I highly doubt that the question was fairly asked (I was simply claiming Native blood in the argument), and if the situation was anything like mine, the person might have just agreed to get the situation over with.
Honestly, from that day I have not felt comfortable sitting near her. I already hated going into the office to fill a ego-quota, but now, I have to site near this person. I don’t try to be her friend. Someone who does not respect me is not a friend. It actually kind of burnt me entirely from work comradery. I don’t trust people anymore. I don’t want to give out any personal data. I go in to work, and try to avoid talking. I even IM people on Teams, to avoid talking beyond necessary questions about tickets.
The unfortunate part of my job is there are a ton of chit-chatters. During the pandemic, many of the high-productive workers moved to permanent WFH jobs. I am the only hybrid employee, working 1 day a week in office. Everyone who did not have any strong grounds to defend themselves was pulled back in to the office, such as visa workers who would not afford to lose their jobs. The new hires that were on-boarded had less tech skills than their predecessors, but they were willing to work in office to warm the seats. The office room mate in fact chose an in-office job, so she would have people to talk to her.
To me, I don’t see work as a primary source, or now, any source for friends. There are other places to meet friends, where work specifics won’t be the common thread. Bonding over spirituality, art, music, or cats seem like good jumping points.
If you aren’t careful, you could spend all day chit chatting to the co-workers. I almost think they must not have enough work to do or something, which is weird, because I feel like I often pick up Business Analysts tasks when I am supposed to be a graphic designer. If I did not, the business would not move along, so I don’t know where these people get their time from for chit chat.
Anyways, back to the point. I don’t know which god imbued this woman as the gate keeper to who was dark enough to be Native American; it was kind of confusing to for the first time in my life to be told I was too light skinned. Tribes get to set their own standards for blood percentage in regards to tribal recognition, some could be only recognize 100% blood in a person, or some could be 1/8th Native by blood.
The odd thing was just last week the IT director said he was part Native on a Teams call, but the woman did not bat a lash at him.
The Best Positive Energy I Could Harvest from the Situation
Family Tree
I guess one of the productive things that came from this I began to draft up a family tree. Of all things, my eldest uncle nearly died in a house fire and was living in my house about 2 weeks at this time. He was able to share a good amount of detail on my dad’s side of the family. My paternal grandpa’s memory seemed less specific, but my uncle’s was pretty detailed. Per my uncle, his grandma (Ihenya Vega) was Comanche (Nuh-muh-nuh). Honestly, there is likely more Native blood in our family blood, but it may be lost to time and US government efforts. ((Comanche is a Ute word for “the enemy” but that is the word the US government uses for the tribe. The tribe itself calls themselves, “the people.”))
He told me that the Comanche used to have a small tribe in south Texas, but they fled to Monterey to escape the white people. That’s where they lived for awhile, but my grandpa (who would be 1/2 Comanche) was brown-carded back to the United states during WW2. My grandpa was actually born out of wedlock, and another man claimed him into the family, so that is how our entire family has the name Sanchez to this day. Apparently, his blood-father was Austrian and somehow a Nazi, which is not something I am touting about, just a fact of lineage. It was my grandpa’s claimed father who had the skills needed to work on planes, and was the reason the entire family got brown-carded in.
My Appearance
Another refreshing thing that my uncle said was that there were a lot of people that looked like me around the border. My skin shade and facial structure was common amoung Mexicans, so to say I was too white, was not considering all Mexican types.
To further my case of being, or not being, brown enough, I thought it was interesting to see mixed-race people in YouTube videos. In these videos, it seems that people did not harass them about being too white or too black, and forcing them to dis-avow their Native American blood.
go to about 40:00 min
Comanche Heritage
Anyways, the Comanche tribe allows for 1/8th blood to be recognized into the tribe. I wanted to be recognized as Comanche but the thing that stops me is I don’t know enough about my mom’s side of the family, at least at this time. To apply for tribal recognition, all great grandparents, and great great grandparents must be listed. My mom did not talk to her father. He used to be abusive to my maternal grandma, and actually had at least one other secret family. The family tried to reconcile with him at some point, but I guess he tried hitting on a cousin at a wedding, so all of the family just stopped talking to him. He died during the pandemic and even then my mom did not see him. Even if I dared to ask him, I couldn’t know his ancestors names since he is dead. I have tried to look in old census records or wherever, but his name is too common.
Furthermore, there is no Comanche reservation. It was disbanded in 1901 due to the Jerome Agreement, which was a scheme to get land into the hands of white business owners and settlers, because apparently they did not have enough land already… So it is not possible to live on a Comanche reservation. Even at that, I mean, the Comanche were independent bands, so that does not mean they had to all go to a reservation. At least my family fled to Monterey instead.
Unspecified Apache Heritage
When I was working on the family tree, I texted my aunt and asked her if that side of the family was part Native; I actually did this because on the Comanche tribal application, it asked to specify any other blood affiliations.
She said Apache, but did not specify who and to what degree. I actually texted her when she was at a funeral in Laredo, so I did not get too much info. My mom said she did not even know about the Apache ties. My mom and her sister grew up in different houses, so maybe they learned different tid bits.
Comanche Language
I have also tried learning some Comanche words. Me, being a graphic designer kind of distracted by the user-interface. The website to learn the words was very unintuitive, so I kind of want to design another word-learning site that makes more sense, in addition to learning the words.
You know, I don’t think French descendants have to learn French language to prove their lineage. I don’t know any Asian people who have to learn their respective Asian languages. I don’t think black people have to learn African languages to be recognized as black. But I suppose to be recognized as a Native American, one must speak the language to meet the white people’s bar of recognition of your blood.
I read on the Comanche website and even there it sounded like they were struggling to get young people to learn the language. With the language being critically endangered, I don’t think me not knowing much makes me special since the language is barely spoken by anyone.
I have enjoyed so far learning the unique sounds, and hope learning the language will help me learn a different way to think too. I only know a few starter chapter words at this point. I don’t know how much I can actually learn on my own by scraping words from different websites and YouTube videos, but I will try nonetheless.
I kind of want to ask my paternal grandpa if he knows any Comanche words, but he is 88 years old, so I also don’t know if it is something to bother him with; he also has cancer right now, so I am even more inclined to not bother him. I don’t know if his mom necessarily spoke the language to him or not. His first language is likely Spanish.
Also, the graphic designer in me had trouble writing in Comanche because not all fonts support the needed glyphs. I actually emailed the author of Raleway to add in the glyphs, but in the meanwhile, I have a list of compatible fonts for written Comanche language that I should be posting to a blog post soon on my design site, and on this site.
In my research, I even found the President of the Comanche Language & Cultural Preservation Committee admitting he learned Comanche (Taa Numʉ Tekwapʉ) from books, so for me to learn from web sources and dictionary books seems no less worthy than him.
I think the motivation to try is the most important thing and heck, if other people want to learn the language, that seems fine too. For example, I know a few Chinese (Mandarin) words, but I am not from China, but that is okay; it just helps us all understand each other a bit better and preserves/spreads/vitalizes the languages even more.
Conclusion
I kind of think though I have at least got the best of the situation personally, when I am not in the office. I now know more about my roots. Heck, I even had that song “Return to Innocence,” repeating in my head which might have been part of an energetic calling; sure those Native Americans singers are a different tribe, but it was the closest familiar message that spirit could send me to go on this ancestral quest, since spirit has to send messages in ways the target can recognize.
I actually want to try to add some Comanche words into one of my songs. I kind of thought making a song entirely in the language would be cool if I could learn the language enough, but only a few words would most likely get more traction in exposure. You can’t be too different from what people will accept and like.
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