On
Becoming White

by

Felix Alvarado

 I was helping a friend in a local campaign when I walked into the office and heard one of the campaign workers come in and explain the problem they were having selling the candidate.  Apparently, someone started the rumor that the candidate was a “sellout”.  Having heard the term before and knowing what it meant disgusted me completely.  This is a value that is learned at home.  I was shocked that young people would be using the term to describe a person of their own race.  It used to be called politics of personal destruction, and it shows that even in the Mexican American community some politicians will stoop very low to get elected.   

Our Mexican American community suffers from a cultural deficit.  We do not know our own history.  I am not talking about what we all know about, the “say it in English” times, the hangings in South Texas, the atrocities go on forever.  The cultural defect that we have is that we never had the civil rights icons like Martin Luther King, Malcom X, Jesse Jackson, and the list goes on.  These icons were able to mobilize most of the African American community behind them.  We had four. They were called the Four Horsemen.  They awakened this passion that had been hiding for years and suddenly, we started asking the question “What is going on?”   That was the Chicano Movement.   

Those of us that went through the Chicano Movement remember the White on Brown racism, discrimination and bigotry.  What made the Chicano Movement so difficult was the Brown-on-Brown racism, discrimination and bigotry. There were Mexican Americans and other Latinos that were comfortable in their crystal palace and did not want to interrupt their daily routine to help a fellow Brown person that was not well off.   

The rest of us had to be satisfied with “migas”.  Leftovers.  In school, we learned that Davy Crocket and company were heroes.  We did not learn that we had been in Texas since the early 1700’s and much longer if you consider the strolls Spaniards and other Europeans took through Texas.  We did not learn of Spanish Colonial Texas.  Our academia and Mexican American legislators did not press hard for classes that taught us our history.   

We have a proud Spanish Texas history and a prouder Mexican North Texas history.  Our children are entitled know their history.  Perhaps if Rinaldi knew that during the coal mining era Italians and Mexicans lived side by side in Thurber, he would have a different opinion of Mexicans.  Perhaps if he knew that they intermarried he would wonder why.

The most iconic figure of the Chicano Movement was Cesar Chavez.  He was not a member of academia, but he was a leader.  He helped all Mexican Americans from those that picked the grapes to those that drank the wine.   

The term “sellout” has a meaning.  I will describe my journey from South Texas to the Army, to the Air Force and teaching to be able to fully describe what the term means.

My youthful days were spent in South Texas and the cotton fields of West Texas. Our yearly journey would take us as far north as the New Mexico border.  When we had picked all the cotton it was back to South Texas for the winter.  I can remember my dad returning from WWII.  Then my memory fades into first and second grade at Orange Grove Elementary School and picking cotton.  At best, I had a sporadic education.  Somehow, I managed to go through twelve years of high school.  Given that I was only eighteen when I joined the military, I like to say that I grew up in three places, Germany, Spain and Fort Worth.   

Cotton picking began at such an early age that smaller cotton bags were manufactured for children.  In between cotton fields, I would somehow find my way to school.  My high school transcript has a notation that I attended 24 public schools’ grade 1 through 5.  When the cotton-picking machine appeared, our job picking cotton disappeared.  We were no longer needed and we had no income.

One year the cotton-picking machine appeared.  The next year there was no more cotton to pick.  Of the families that trekked north when there was no more cotton to pick many went to cities like San Antonio looking for work. Others made West Texas their home, never to return to South Texas.  We went to San Antonio.  I went to Burleson Elementary in the Edgewood ISD.   

In Jr High, I played sports.  We did not win many games, but we tried.  I also joined the band.  Started with the trumpet ended with the trombone.  The only president that I have seen face to face was Harry S. Truman who came to dedicate Roosevelt JHS.   

In high school, I joined the Naval Reserve.  I wanted to follow in the footsteps of my older brother.  My dream of joining the Navy was shattered as was a scholarship to college.  Instead, I ended up joining the Army.  I spent twenty-eight years in the military six and a half in the Army and twenty-one in the Air Force. That in addition to one year in the Naval Reserve.  I was blessed my entire time in the military.   

Little in my upbringing prepared me for the challenges I would face in the military.  It was more than a radical change.  Perhaps it was a sign of the times, but we grew up dirt poor.  Like most Mexican Americans from the barrio, I grew up eating tortillas, papas and frijoles.  That was our main staple.  We had an occasional helping of chicken, armadillo and liebre.  In the Army, all the menu that I ate was foreign.  I now had a choice.  All the food items were strange to me, morning, noon and night.  I learned the names of the menu by listening to the person in front of me and behind me.  What they ordered and what they got.  I had no problem with the Navy menu.  You got in line, grabbed a metal tray, as you went through the line all you heard was “slop” which is what the food was called, “slop”.   This was a process of acculturation that took time.  It was a steep learning curve.

 In the Army, I was a clerk-typist.  A good one.  I had good command of grammar and spelling.  As the clerk typist, I had to make sure that the grammar was correct and understandable. Later I would also write endorsement or letters to other agencies.  They still had to be approved by my boss but so did everybody else’s.   

Learning the different meanings of words, phrases and sayings I had to learn quickly.  This was the most important part of my acculturation because the officers that did the writing would use all sorts of expressions when writing.  I also got a Top-Secret clearance which given my background was easy to obtain I had a clean background.   

I lived in two White worlds.  At work, I was surrounded by college educated officer.  They were the pick of the crop.  Very sophisticated and intelligent.  My race to them meant nothing or at least they did not show any type of discrimination.  They were concerned about the Top Secret plans they produced and getting them typed perfectly.  The plans had to be approved by generals, so they were very picky.  It was a joy working for them.  This was the breeding grounds for future generals.

After work, another world awaited me.  The White racist world from the South and the tolerant White world from the North.  The Southern rebs were ugly racists.  They were the cream of the crop of the racist South.   

I saw other Latinos and African Americans who were also the victims of racism fight back in anger.  They got beat up and the next day they were processed for discharge as troublemakers.  For us it was a lose-lose situation.  After a while I learned to fight words with words.  I decided to separate from the Army after six and a half years.   

I met some Spanish ladies my first week in Germany.  I started hanging out with Spaniards.  Their Spanish was different than mine, but we could understand each other.  Eventually, I would speak flawless Castilian.  Given my social isolation in the Army, I acquired the German cultural value of food, beer and their oompah music.  I became detached from my Mexican American cultural roots.  This was the irony of my situation linguistically, The Spaniards poked fun at me because I could not speak Spanish, in the barracks the Whites poked fun at me because I could not speak English.   

I must admit to my fear of failure.  I asked to attend the 7th Army NCO Academy.  I was afraid of marching people in formation, doing the cadence count, hup two three, etc.  I never overcame this reluctance.  Graduating meant that I had overcome one fear.  I also became more confident.  I could not let fear hold me back.

On the way to get an education I met an Air Force recruiter who showed me what the Air Force had to offer.  There was only one minor catch.  I had to pass the electronic score with a percentile of 85%.  That was very high.  One that most Latinos or African Americans could not reach.  I passed the test and joined to be in electronics.  Again, I found myself surrounded by very bright, very young high school graduates that I would have to lead.  This was a huge challenge in a very technical world.  Somehow, I acquired the technical knowledge that I needed to be an effective leader.

The Air Force was different than the Army in that I was no longer surrounded by officers.  I was surrounded by technicians, mostly White.  They had to pass the same electronics test that I passed.  The Army and Air Force had one thing in common.  Both were concerned with performance.  If you made your supervisor look good, you were okay.   

Sometimes we overemphasize the good and forget about the bad.  In the Army and the Air Force you had your share of God-awful supervisors.  Starting with the ones that thought they were going to save the US from communism, Hitler, Mussolini, you name it they had it all.  What they usually crated was massive morale problems.  Until eventually, someone up the chain learned of what was going on and the person was reassigned immediately.   

There is a term used in the military to describe a person that gives it all, gung ho.  That was me.  Most of the assignments I had I was the leader, so I wanted to do the best job.  Then one day a reservist taught me a lesson about my enthusiasm.  He explained things to me this way; “Alvarado, since we have been here, we have seen people like you come and go.  They change everything around to look good.  Then they day they are gone, we put everything back the way it was.”  I looked at him and told him; “you may be right.  In the meantime, you are going to do what I tell you.”

As I matured, I saw myself changing.  I started being conscious of whom I was.  I was not White.  I was Brown and would never pass for White.  I learned that what mattered was not the color of your skin but how Whites perceived you.  If they perceived, you as White you were one of the crowds.  Because I worked with only Whites, I acquired their values.  Another way to put it is “I was a sellout.”  I was a proud sellout because I never stopped knowing who I was and where I came from.  I knew that everyone was looking at me.  I was a role model for young Latinos and an example to Whites that Mexican Americans can be just as good as them.  I consider the term sellout to be very offensive.  Perhaps, politicians that use the term should go back to the time that I was a Private in the Army and be treated like I was.  Then they would stop this Brown-on-Brown racism.

In the Army, I was promoted to Staff Sergeant.  A high rank for a Mexican American before the civil right era.  I recall how differently I was treated as an NCO.  Yes, rank does have its privileges (RHIP).  In the Air Force, I was promoted to Chief Master Sergeant (CMSgt) and that is when I really saw the difference.  Especially when you are treated like royalty.  I went to school part time, and I got a Bachelor’s and Master’s in the Air Force.  That put me in a very rare group, CMSgt, master’s degree and Mexican American.  I will be asked occasionally how I was able to get promoted to the highest enlisted grade.  My reply; “In a dog eat dog world, I ate the other dogs.”

Along the way I lost my Mexicanness, I lost my Mexican accent, learned perfect Castilian Spanish and in short, I became White.  Yes.  I am a sellout.