By Carmen Baca
Elegía por mi español I entered junior high with anticipation Of new teachers, classes, friends, and more. Instead, I encountered intimidation Delivered with a hand heavier than before. No one mentioned a strict and cardinal rule Dispatched with a warning finger to my face About my native language being too uncool Best forgotten, from my memory erased. “Spanish isn’t spoken in these halls,” The voice of authority singled me out, “Only within Spanish classroom walls.” His harsh tone left no room for doubt. A brown kid amongst the different majority. I let myself be silenced, adapted and conformed. Felt the sting of being a part of a minority, Until bilingualism became educational reform. For over a decade educating myself for success, I took every level of español I could find Yet somewhere in the learning process The rhythmic melody of my fluency declined. My generation is among the very last Unlike all the rest which came before To speak it closest to how it was in the past. Each new progeny loses a little bit more. Our Norteño español is special, one of a kind, Woven of indigenous, Latin, Náhuatl y más Or it was until Spanglish threads intertwined. Over 400 years old, it will be our greatest loss.
Rasquache, Defined & Declared Rasquachismo, a Náhuatl word we claim as our own. Born from the perspective de mi gente Chicana, Reflecting our simple ways and humble roots. Rasquachismo is us, and we are rasquachismo. Somos Raza, strong of heart and soul, solos o unidos. Rasquache defines us philosophically and aesthetically. We showcase it, put it on exhibit, give it a visual voice, A kaleidoscope de todo we display con orgullo y amor. The archaic farm machinery russet brown with rust Becomes our yard décor for gawkers and aficionados. Our adobe casas, beautified with antiques, relics, and Hand-me-downs priceless to us, eccentric to others. The basín becomes a flowerpot, so does grandma’s olla. Tío’s latilla ladder holds our quilts and toallas too. And the washboard prima used hangs in the ’scusado. Unconventional in our art, we make the past new again. We fashion altars from cómodas adorned with velas, Sanctified con santos y rosarios, oraciones y rezadores, Or la Virgen sagrada in a nicho hecho de baño o adobe, Each unique to cada familia—rasquache individualism. Like the crocheted doilies on the arms of our sofases, Made by skilled hands of our abuelas y madres or The square jewelry holder hanging tilted on the wall, The one grampo re-crafted from a weaving loom. Functional or antique art we use or put on exhibit Holds cherished memories and outlasts all of us. It’s our past, our present and future querencia. You see it and la Raza comes to your mind ¿qué no? That’s rasquache, rasquachismo of Norteño homes. Hecho con alambre, cabresto, cuerno, y mucho más. Algo usable con algo precioso equals eye-appeal. Más classy, one-of-a-kind, gracing covers of magazines.
Carmen Baca taught high school and college English for thirty-six years before retiring in 2014. As a Chicana, a Norteña native to New Mexico, she keeps her culture’s traditions alive through regionalism to prevent them from dying completely. She is the author of six books and multiple short publications from prose to poetry in a variety of genres. She is also a recipient of New Mexico Magazine’s 2023 True Hero award for preserving her culture through story telling.