The Chicanas in Chicago
(I originally published this Article on May 2nd 2020. Re- publishing it today in Honor of Hispanic Heritage Month)I started this blog like I start just about everything in my life, on a whim. Fortunate with the gift of gab and the ability to put a smile on someone’s face, it seemed right I revert back to my favorite form of communication: writing. To tell the stories of those before, during, and after me. I won’t promise to be as deep as the ocean, but I hope to bring awareness to important topics. I also hope to bring positivity, knowledge, and most of all CHISME!
Being a Chicana is already a controversial topic. You have those who prefer the new term Latinx, some who are strictly Mexican American, and the rest of us who honestly don’t really know where we fall. Sure we embrace our Mexican roots, fusing English and Spanish to create a new primary language. We take immense pride in the deliciousness of our foods. Our culture, a Crayola box of inspiration for authors, painters, and creatives alike. Yet, still we find ourselves assimilating. Despite our long hair framing a face that just screams "Brown". Our personalities are often a weird and misunderstood mix of our cultura Mexicana and our American. We are neither de aqui, ni de aya, as la India Maria would put it.
Chicago is home to the 2nd largest population of Mexican immigrants, but when the topic of immigration or Chicano culture is discussed, people always address California or Texas. Growing up, I felt like I had to relate to Cholas or other mainstream ideas of what being a Chicano was. My neighborhood, Little Village, was not like your stereotypical “barrio”. Sure we had gangs, and the lingering poverty that plagues every segregated area of the city, but growing up I never related to the West Coast representation of Mexicans. We were just different.
I lived in the part of town where Mexicans flourished, despite the very real economic divide.
Many Mexicans in Little Village started businesses. 26th St was our pride and joy, the street with the second highest grossing revenue outside of Michigan Ave. Mexican flag banners hung from the light poles and empty beer bottles littered the ground. It was a place where gang bangers shared beers with old men who don't speak English, and throw up gang signs while singing along to corridos. This was my culture, this was what being a Chicana was to me.
I guess that's why I could never relate to mainstream Chicano culture. We were never Cholas. The girls in my hood, they dressed like Aaliyah and sang along to R&B. Heavily inspired by Hip Hop culture, thanks to our neighbors on the West Side. Despite common misconceptions and a system that pits us against each other. The Chicana's from my hood related more to Mary J Blige then Barbara Streisand. They wore their gold chains and hoops proudly. Badges of a culture that we could barely cling to. Listening to Bone Thugs while our moms listened to Banda.
The Chicana's in my hood, they were book smart and street smart. I saw them protest, come together to defend and fight for our "illegal" parents. They raised the gangbangers, and mourned them too. The Chicanas in my city are part of a secret conjunto. We don’t all need to know each other, feel each other. We are each other. Cultured beyond our years. Multi-faceted reynas. In this city, at almost every turn, you will see a Chicana, chingona, making a name for herself.
The Chicanas in my city are trendsetters.
Facing hurdles, barriers, and even laws that refused their existence. The Chicanas in my city are making big moves, business owners, DREAMER's. They are the women I look up to. The women I'm related to. They are me. Proud of my Mexican culture and deeply rooted in the country where I was born. I want to dedicate the re-release of this Hispanic Heritage post to all my Chicana Cannabaddies. Being a Chicana is more than a language or way of life, and I am proud of all of those who I see in my city on a daily basis trying to making a living. Esta es para ti!