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Tuesday, September 09, 2003
|link| Posted
12:30 PM
by Brian Linse
I've been arguing that the popular translation of the phrase, "Por La Raza todo. Fuera de La Raza nada." which is part of one of the founding documents of MEChA, is incorrect and misleading. The popular English version is, "For the race, everything. For those outside the race, nothing". My translation is more along the lines of "Through The Race, everything. Outside The Race, nothing." The difference should be clear. The popular translation implies that the slogan declares "everything for us, nothing for them", while my version is a unity slogan as in "United We Stand..." I have contacted several native Spanish speakers who all agree that my translation is the most likely intended meaning, even though some pointed out that the popular translation could be considered correct as a literal translation. Context, a few pointed out, is everything. The one point of agreement, however, was that even in the narrow context of the phrase itself, Por cannot mean For. If the phase were intended to mean For The Race, it would have used the word Para. But what of the broader context of the slogan in question? Well, here's where it gets really interesting. Professor Roberto Ignacio Diaz of the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at USC responded to an email with an interesting take. Here's part of his note: This is very hard to translate, as "por" is a famously unstable preposition that can mean "for," "by," through," etc. The common translation strikes me as literally more accurate than yours, but I do agree with you that the general meaning is something like "United We Stand"--except that this union seems to invoke the exclusion of other "razas" (whatever "raza" may mean, and this is probably much more complex than "race" in the U.S. context). In any case, what I find interesting about the slogan is the echo of "Dentro de la revolucion, todo; fuera de la revolucion, nada," a phrase that Fidel Castro used in a June 1961 speech now known as "Palabras a los intelectuales" and which ultimately served to justify serious abuses against writers (such as Heberto Padilla) and other artists in Cuba who were perceived as, well, being outside the Revolution. I'm not sure if anyone has explored the possible connection between Castro's phrase and the MEChA slogan, but it would be interesting to find out--not that it would help Mr. Bustamante in the recall election. To give the whole thing one more twist, some writers (like Edmundo Desnoes in his edited book, "Dispositivos en la Flor", pages 541-42) have noticed in Castro's words an uncanny resemblance to such Catholic pronouncements as "Fuera de la Iglesia no hay salvacion," so go figure. [emphasis added] Go figure, indeed. That's right, it's everybody's favorite man in green, The Beard himself. And that sound you hear is the sound of a thousand wingnuts' wood hitting the bottoms of their desks. The Castro speech to which Professor Diaz refers is the "Palabras a Los Intelectuales", delivered June 30, 1961. The document, El Plan Espiritual de Aztlan, that contains the MEChA slogan in question was drafted in March of 1969 at the First National Chicano Youth Liberation Conference in Denver, organized by the Crusade for Justice. These were militant organizations typical of the 1960's. I was unable to find much information on the people behind the document, other than the name of one organizer, Rudolfo "Corkey" Gonzalez. There is some background on him in this brief history of MEChA. To my knowledge, no one has denied the militant origins of MEChA. Is it possible, then, that the Plan Espiritual slogan was inspired by Castro? Given the dates, and the political orientations of the groups that pre-dated MEChA, I think it is very likely. So what, then, was the context of the original Castro slogan? Here is the section that contains the phrase (taken from a Cuban government website), followed by an English translation: La Revolucion se lo debe renunciar a aquellos que sean incorregiblemente reaccionarios, que sean incorregiblemente contrarrevolucionarios. Y la Revolucion tiene que tener una politica para esa parte del pueblo; la Revolucion tiene que tener una actitud para esa parte de los intelectuales y de los escritores. La Revolucion tiene que comprender esa realidad y, por lo tanto, debe actuar de manera que todo ese sector de artistas y de intelectuales que no sean genuinamente revolucionarios, encuentre dentro de la Revolucion un campo donde trabajar y crear y que su espiritu creador, aun cuando no sean escritores o artistas revolucionarios, tenga oportunidad y libertad para expresarse, dentro de la Revolucion. Esto significa que dentro de la Revolucion, todo; contra la Revolucion nada. Contra la Revolucion nada, porque la Revolucion tiene tambien sus derechos y el primer derecho de la Revolucion es el derecho a existir y frente al derecho de la Revolucion de ser y de existir, nadie. Por cuanto la Revolucion comprende los intereses del pueblo, por cuanto la Revolucion significa los intereses de la Nacion entera, nadie puede alegar con razon un derecho contra ella. [emphasis added] In 1969, the true nature of Castro's attitude toward artists and intellectuals would certainly not have been known to the Chicano organizers whose documents were used in the founding of MEChA, and given this clear context, I think we can now assume that the slogan in question was meant to be a revolutionary unity statement. The fact that it was ripped from a now-infamous speech by a now-disgraced dictator is historically unfortunate, but it's meaning should at least now be clear. Bustamante may yet need to answer his critics with regard to his use of identity politics, but the silly issue of this mis-translated slogan should now please go away. It won't, of course, and I wouldn't be surprised if some Right Wing idiot started asking Bustamante to renounce his association with Fidel Castro. UPDATE: Atrios has a fine post that serves as a useful addendum to this issue. Monday, September 08, 2003
|link| Posted
1:59 PM
by Brian Linse
“My career is over.” Warren proclaimed this to me the second time I ever saw him. We had met a few weeks earlier, sometime in mid ’96 I believe, and had enjoyed cigars, rude talk about girls, argued a bit about philosophy (until I wisely changed the subject to something I had a chance of keeping up with him on – girls again, I think), and had exchanged numbers and planned a future smoker. But my second encounter with him found him a bit down. Me: “Bullshit. Why do you say that?” Warren: “I’ve been reduced to playing company parties.” Me: “Well, uh… did the check clear?” Warren: “Yeah.” (silence) Me: (gingerly) “Who was the gig for?” Warren: “JBL” Me: “JBL? The speaker company?” Warren: “Yeah.” Me: “That’s not a company party! The John Deere Family Picnic is a company party!” Warren: “Well…” Me: “Where was the gig?” Warren: “House of Blues” Me: “Fuck You.” Warren: “What…?” Me: “You gigged for a major music-related company at the House of Blues. They prolly paid you a fortune. ‘Career over’ my ass…” Warren: “Well…” And so the tone was set for the day. Warren had been disappointed by the response to his album Mutineer, and had yet to hook up with Artemis Records’ Danny Goldberg to ink the deal that would result in three of his best albums. It was a weird afternoon because we were just getting to know each other and he was still more “Warren Zevon: Hero” to me than “My pal, Warren”. I would soon learn that the honesty and vulnerability that he displayed that day was not a fluke, but rather a central part of his special brand of friendship. Over the next few years I was thrilled for Warren when his first two Artemis albums came out to great critical praise. He had quickly found his form, was producing some of the best work of his career, and he knew it. He had just released My Ride’s Here a couple of months earlier when he dropped by the second LA Blogger Bash at my house in July of last year. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year and he looked fantastic. He’d become “Gym Boy”, he reported, and was feeling great. A girl was flying in that evening to see him, and all was good. We had spoken earlier in the day of working on a film project together with our mutual friend, Nigel Dick, and Warren was full of great ideas. A few weeks later, of course, the terrible news of his illness hit the street. He had not been aware of it at the party, but had been diagnosed within a few weeks after. Our mutual dentist, “Dr. Stan”, had forced him to a cardiologist when Warren mentioned that he was feeling tightness in his chest. Warren got the news that day. When I heard the news I called Warren at home, but the call was forwarded to his manager’s office. I left a message, but also shot an e-mail off to him. I’ve debated sharing the contents of his response, but here it is: I have a new secret number, XXX-XXX-XXXX. We're fending off the extraneous well-wishers and one-night-stands who've lined up for Closure. You can imagine. Dying takes a lot out of you, but, man, the love'll kill you! Call anytime. Warren spent his remaining time recording a remarkable album, enjoying time with his children, and even attending the birth of his twin grandsons. The dignity and grace with which he faced his death was inspiring to all who were witness, but the additional efforts that he made to insure that his passing would be easier for his family and friends was something that I will never forget. Warren was as brilliant, kind, and brave a man as I have ever known. His friendship will stay with me for the rest of my life, and I will always keep him in my heart.
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