Hispanic Feminism
by Maria Nunez
Feminism in Latin America still remains a silenced subject, something declared in secrecy. It is whispered to your friends during lunch, or subtly hinted in an attitude but never yelled at the top of anyone's lungs. If it was, then it would be immediately expected that the screamer be completely devoid of anything "feminine," meaning she was expected to have a buzz cut, baggy pants, and dress like a man. But what always struck me as interesting was why in order to assert one's feminist ideals, it was always assumed that they dress in a masculine way? Shouldn't it be quite the opposite? Well, my culture certainly hasn't come to this conclusion yet.
By taking courses such as Women Hispanic Writers, I've discovered a wealth of authors that I had no idea existed. They are women who used writing as an outlet to declare their taboo feminism, going against their family's opinions, going against what their entire culture has dictated as correct and valid. Judith Ortiz Cofer questions her Puerto Rican identity as she feels inundated with expectations of what a proper "senorita" should be. Rosario Castellanos and Rosario Ferre questioned the plight of women in their countries from their high rankings in Mexican and Puerto Rican societies. There is Isabel Allende, who is the complete opposite of what Chilean society demands her to be. What all these women had in common was that they were the pioneers in their countries – they were some of the first to openly write and admit their feminist ideals. Going against what they had been taught to be good wives and mothers, to be silent and obedient, they completely tossed that world upside down in order to find their own voice. Amidst the mess that "la sufrida" (one who suffers much) and "la llorona" (the crying woman) had left in their cultures, they are able to forge a new identity where women have strength.
My experience with feminism and being a Hispanic differed drastically than the aforementioned writers. I was fortunate to be surrounded by a silent warrior, subconsciously declaring feminist ideals through her actions. She wasn't a writer or a philosopher – she is my grandmother. What today we call feminism, she called survival.
My grandmother Esther is a beautiful woman who was educated by nuns in the hills of Colombia. She never went to college, and the highest education she received was how to type on a typewriter in order to become a secretary. When she met my grandfather, an executive for the World Bank, she was thrown into a high society world of hosting lavish parties and wearing designer jewelry. It was a far cry from her childhood in San Juan de Nepomuceno, when she would commute to her convent school on a donkey's back. When she discovered that a few of my grandfather's favorite pastimes included having secret affairs with other women, she did the exact opposite of what any respected socialite would do at that time and left him.
After coming to the United States with a basic knowledge of English, she worked as a secretary for 30 years at a high profile legal firm in Manhattan. Little did she know that she was stirring the current of feminism that would eventually trickle down to my heart. For her it wasn't about burning bras, protesting, or throwing out all her razors; for her feminism came in the form of raising her kids as a single mother, and migrating to the only country where she could make a decent living and send them to college. Her feminism was indirect and covert, yet the positive outcome it yielded reverberated throughout our entire family.
This is the type of Hispanic feminism that's most present in immigrant women today. When sprawling estates are filled with women who don't speak English but are in charge of the cleaning, cooking and child care, it's assumed that they are immediately acquiescing into the only social roles that they are able to fulfill, that of a domestic. Yet what most people fail to recognize is that the women who work tirelessly at scrubbing floors do it so they can send money to feed their families back in their homelands. They come here to become the sole providers for their children. They venture out of their comfort zones and encounter barriers of language, geography, and education to award their families with new opportunities. For me as a Hispanic woman, that's a true definition of what it means to be a feminist, risking it all for a cause greater than yourself, to bring a new hope and inspiration to the generations that follow.
