The Cost of Salvation
by Antonio Johnson-smith, January 2021
The book Solito, Solita is a collection of stories compiled by Steven Mayers and Jonathan Freedman that tell the diverse journeys immigrants embark on from across the globe in their quests to reach the US border. After reading and writing about two narratives in the book, I’ve come to understand that Gabriel and Josué faced many human rights abuses while growing up in Central America. I also got the chance to interview a friend of mine from EL Salvador during which we discussed abuses he also experienced growing up there, and related them to his experiences after moving to the US. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) is a document passed by the United Nations General Assembly that was created in an effort to ensure all human beings equal protection to rights, such as the right to life, with which one is allowed to freely attain personal wellbeing; the rights in the UDHR are inherited by every human the second they are born. Gabriel is a Honduran immigrant who escaped his country to seek the protection of his human rights, and is now working to become a lawyer to prevent children from experiencing human rights abuses. Josué is a Salvadoran immigrant who fled his country because of gang violence and the little to no chance of upward mobility. He is now running his own trucking company. Marlon, also a Salvadoran immigrant, who experienced much discrimination while growing up because of his sexuality. Fortunately, he was given the opportunity to move to the US, and is an aspiring anthropologist. The depletion of government services in Central America, the rise of debilitating corruption, and gangs that have more authority than the police, have led many people to be vulnerable and likely to experience human rights abuses: factors that force one to flee.
Gabriel’s experience not having a say over his own body violated his right to being treated humanely by others; Josué’s experience being persecuted by gangs that dramatically limited his quality of life violated his right to live freely; Marlon’s experience being bullied for his sexuality violated his right to also live freely and express himself without repercussions. In the article “Trump Defends ‘Animals’ Remark, Saying It Referred to MS-13 Gang Members,” Julie Hirshcfeld, a congressional editor at the New York Times, and Niraj Choski, a business reporter at the New York Times who focuses on transportation and trends in state politics, recorded how Trump stated: ‘“You wouldn’t believe how bad these people are,’ the president added. ‘These aren’t people, these are animals, and we’re taking them out of the country at a level and at a rate that’s never happened before”’ (2018). Even though President Trump said this in the context of criminals crossing the US border— specifically MS-13 gang members— he never addressed the thousands of families suffering tremendously to reach a country where they can raise a child in a secure environment. This poses the question of whether Trump even understands that the-vast-majority-of Central American refugees are ordinary citizens, or whether he sees Central Americans, in general, as simply criminals who are less than human. How do the experiences of Gabriel, Josué, and Marlon break the narrative of young Central American males being criminals and gang members? From their shared yet distinct experiences as young men growing up in Central American countries, to their journeys to the US, as well as their lives once they successfully arrived at our shores, break the false narrative of young Central Americans males, and immigrants in general, of being criminals who seek to steal this nation’s wealth; their humanity is revealed through their stories, which do not reflect the ways immigrants are negatively portrayed in much of society.
Gabriel grew up in Honduras, where at an early age he was raped by numerous cousins and witnessed the violent abuses his father inflicted on his mother. He frequently moved in with different family members because of the instability at home, or to get away from gangs and drugs at school. At age fifteen, he convinced his Mom to pay a coyote[1] to bring him to the United States, and subsequently he made the long dangerous trek across two borders. Once he reached the desert between Mexico and the US, his coyote used inhumane tactics, like drugging him, to get him across in a short period of time. The coyote also frequently increased the cost he was charging his mom to smuggle Gabriel across the border and threatened to kill Gabriel if the increased ransom was not met. Once Gabriel arrived in San Francisco, he began attending school and eventually came out to his mother as being gay. He is now attending UC Berkeley, working towards becoming a lawyer, with the goal of preventing children from going through the countless abuses he faced growing up.
Josué is from El Salvador. Growing up, he lived a poor but fulfilling life working with his father’s business collecting coconuts. He recounts how his mother made the best marquesotes[2] in town and how his father was beloved by all. Unfortunately, his mother died when he was a boy and so his father took on both parenting roles; Josué always had a deep admiration for him. One day, gangs took over his small town on the Pacific coast, and everyone was forced to pay them “taxes;” not paying would often lead to being violently murdered. In addition, he was being pressured to join the gangs, but Josué resisted, putting his life in direct danger, so he had no choice but to flee to the US. With the help of his father, he managed to make it to the US border, where he was detained by border patrol officers. Josué recalls being discriminated against by a couple of the guards who made it clear they didn’t value him as a human being. After the Border Patrol realized he was underage, he was sent to live with his brother in the Bay Area, where he was provided free legal services that led him to being granted asylum. Unfortunately, his father was killed by gangs back in El Salvador for refusing to pay their renta[3]. This shook Josué to his core, but through the help of a loving girlfriend and being granted asylum, he now is running his own trucking business he named Agosto and Beatriz Trucking, after his parents.
Marlon grew up in El Salvador, and moved to the US when he was fourteen because his grandma successfully petitioned him, as well as his mother, his sister, and his brother. While growing up in El Salvador, he experienced a lot of discrimination for being gay, particularly when he enrolled in a private school, where the kids were relentless in tormenting him because of his feminine attributes. He recalls how he used to be a very good student before enrolling in the private school, and how he started to involve himself with bad students after enrolling, which further led him into the wrong crowds once moving to the US. He also recalls his inability to openly express his sexuality in front of his family because he knew doing so would only lead him to being ostracized, which meant that he, in many ways, was neglected from receiving essential support from his loved ones. Overall, Marlon felt that being gay in a country that was completely intolerant of that way of life traumatized him in many ways that still affect him today.
In Central America, the lack of government resources provided to its citizens creates much instability and hostile living conditions. Human rights are typically not protected by governments and abuses spread rampantly, as in Gabriel Méndez’s story. Gabriel endured traumas by many of his close family members, such as his father and cousins. He suffered abuses to his personal privacy and his right to be treated humanely by others. When Gabriel was only a boy, his father regularly physically abused his mother in front of him. Gabriel would also be abused if he ever tried to intervene. “There was a lot of yelling at the house. My mom would cry and my dad would beat her in front of us—and beat me up as well. I felt awful because there was nothing I could do” (Mayers & Freedman 61). Gabriel’s early traumatic experiences in the developmental stages of childhood have contributed to lifelong scars. Early traumas experienced by children leave them more likely to follow the wrong path later in life, which in Central American countries, like Honduras, where abusers are often not punished for their acts, contributes to the never-ending cycle of human rights violations. According to the UDHR, “No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honor and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks” (12). Gabriel witnessing and having fallen victim to his father’s sporadic and drunken attacks degraded his privacy, as well as his sense of personal self-worth.
On top of experiencing abuse by his father, Gabriel was repeatedly raped by close members of his family. “I was just a boy of seven. My cousins raped me for a long time—for a year. They raped me at the river, where they collected water, and in my own home. Some of the cousins were brothers. One had a wife and his own children, yet he raped me” (Mayers & Freedman 63). The horrible acts Gabriel endured by his cousins went unnoticed by family members, leading to Gabriel having to cope with these traumas without the loving support and affirmation of a parent or guardian. A basic human right is the protection from being degraded and debilitated by violence; Gabriel did not have the luxury of having this basic right respected. “No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment” (UDHR 5). It’s apparent that the Honduran government providing little services, such as in criminal investigations and community prevention of abuses, leads to virtually nonexistent consequences for people infringing on the human rights of others. Cecilia Menjivar is a Professor of Psychology at UCLA who focuses on immigration, gender, and violence; in her academic journal article “The Architecture of Femicide: The State, Inequalities, and Everyday Gender Violence in Honduras,”she discusses gender-based violence experienced by women in Honduras, and quotes the work of Guillermo O’Donnell on the role the Honduran government plays in the impunity of criminals:
“Honduras is characterized by Guillermo O’Donnell’s conceptualization of ‘brown areas,’ that is, areas where the legal state is absent, resulting in a compromised rule of law. In these areas, ‘whatever formally sanctioned law exists is applied intermittently, if at all’ by subnational systems of power (e.g., patrimonial or even gangster-like), with informal legal systems that coexist with national regimes that have formal legal systems and are nominally democratic” (O’Donnell 2004, 38-39, 2017).
The horrific experiences Gabriel went through with his family members are an example of what many experience living in poverty; unaccounted human rights abuses force people to flee. These abuses also erode the stereotype that Central American males come here to bring violence and spread disease, as Gabriel fled out of the necessity to survive. Gabriel witnessing and experiencing physical abuse from his father, and silently suffering for years with the act of rape repeatedly inflicted on him by his cousins, violated the rights a human being is entitled to be protected from by the simple act of being born.
Gabriel and Josué both lived in countries where gang violence was a daily reality, a reality that infringed upon their rights to feel secure in their own communities, where making the most of the little they had was completely taken out of their control; leading them to an inevitable journey to the US, not as criminals but as refugees. Josué’s experiences growing up in El Salvador were not perfect, as he lost his mother at a young age, but for a time collecting coconuts off a nearby island with his father and later selling them served as a good enough way to sustain life. Unfortunately, this peaceful and tranquil way of life was abruptly halted by the insurgence of maras[4] in his town, which forced anyone at his age to join; in fact, resisting joining would often end in lethal consequences. “They’ll just pass by your house and boom! It doesn’t matter to them who you are or if they are right or not. they just kill people. they even kill the police” (Mayers & Freedman 42). Resisting would only exacerbate his danger, but one could look at the situation as a double-edged sword: If one joins, they’re likely to get killed by a rival gang; if one doesn’t join, the gangs will likely kill them. The International Human Rights Clinic at Harvard Law School published the book No Place To Hide, in which they investigate the causes of extreme gang violence in El Salvador; in their book they state: “Young people in certain regions of El Salvador increasingly find themselves coerced into some form of association with a gang. Indeed, resisting such association often means being targeted for physical abuse or death” (Fariña Pedraza et al., 22 2010). This seemingly inescapable fate is the motivation for Josué making the trek across Mexico to the United States. Gabriel also faced similar challenges in his neighboring country of Honduras, where the protection of the lives of citizens is seldom enforced, leaving people to fend for themselves. “I’m from Tegucigalpa, Honduras, from a very dangerous neighborhood called Villa Franca. The people there are very poor. there are a lot of maras, many negative things happening with the government, and a lot of ignorance in the community” (Mayers & Freedman 62). The constant stress of living with the terror of not knowing when or for what unjustified reason one might be killed is a violation of the right to be alive. “Article 3: Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person” (UDHR). Living in an environment with the high insecurity that for whatever reason a person’s—or their family’s—life could be in danger, leads many people to abandon the only places they’ve ever known, and to enter into the unknown. Josué and Gabriel’s experiences of the constant threat of death looming around a nearby corner is a violation of their right to live freely, to express one’s desires without consequence, and through these experiences they’re shown to be the victims, not the perpetrators of abuse and violence.
Gangs like MS-13, whose presence in Central America is strong, were actually founded in the US, and this key piece of US history in itself debunks the false narrative that immigrants coming from countries like Honduras are all criminals. “At the least, the deportation of gang members from the U.S. in the late 1990s helped trigger the rapid development of organized gang activity in El Salvador” (Fariña Pedraza et al., 22 2010). Gangs that were founded in Los Angeles, like MS-13, saw their members being deported rapidly because the US felt that their presence was not their problem since many of them were not legal citizens. This led to an increased amount of instability in countries like El Salvador, whose judicial system was not adept to handle this new crisis of American gangs in a fragile post civil war state; thus these gangs found it easier to take advantage of this fragility, and now hold firm power in the region. The understanding that gangs in Central America started in the US debunks the false narrative that males from this region are bringing the gangs here, and through the abuses that Gabriel, Josué, and Marlon faced it becomes clearer that the-grand-majority of young males fleeing Central America are not criminals; they are humans seeking a better standard of life.
Josué, Gabriel, and Marlon were also denied their inherent right to free and accessible education that provides a safe space for their personalities to be cultivated. Access to adequate education is fundamental in the ability of an individual to better understand the politics of the world that surrounds them, which partly explains why many Central American governments have been so successful in maintaining corruption. Josué grew up without the option of ever attending school. Even though he was content working with his father and had a fulfilling life doing so, Josué never learned to read or write, which can make it easier for someone to take advantage of him, or make it harder for Josué to know when danger might be lingering close by. “The gang left a piece of paper under the door. I didn’t know how to read. Nor did my father, but my little sister read it aloud: ‘We’re coming for you tomorrow morning. We’re not playing around’” (Mayers & Freedman 43). It’s highly probable that if Josué’s sister wasn’t around to warn them of what the note said, he and his father would have been completely blindsided; adequate education can prevent these types of scenarios. Josué’s experience never attending school went directly against his human right to free education. “Everyone has the right to education. Education shall be free, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages” (UDHR 26.1). Had Josué or his father been given the option of education to learn fundamental skills, like reading, they would’ve been able to use those skills to potentially be more informed about the specific ways the Salvadoran government’s corruption is linked to the uncontrolled gang activities that seem to plague their lives. The Salvadoran government’s negligence, which inhibited Josué from every attending school, broke his basic right to free and available education, and also acted as a catalyst that led him to immigrate to the US for security of life, not to participate in illicit activities once moving there.
Gabriel and Marlon were both bullied at school for their feminine attributes, and the fact that no one would stand up for them violated their right to express themselves freely without being condemned. Their shared experiences of being queer in an intolerant environment riddled with machismo[5] shows that staying in their native countries would only prove futile. Gabriel stuck out like a sore thumb when he attended school because his mannerisms did not align with how a boy “should” act. This is a common experience felt by queer youth universally, but the fact that the school he attended provided no support for the bullying that he faced only made it harder for him to find acceptance for himself. “Everybody at school was calling me ‘gay,’ ‘faggot,’ ‘homosexual.’ I didn’t know what that was or what they were referring to. They wouldn’t tell me. In time they began to say that I walked funny, that I walked like a woman. I didn’t like it” (Mayers & Freedman 66). Even the teachers would shame him for the way he was naturally acting, which violated Gabriel’s right to express himself without being put in harm’s way. “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression” (UDHR 19). Schools play a vital role in shaping the way young minds think, which is evermore a reason why education systems have the responsibility to uphold the human rights of their students; particularly, rebuking attitudes that violate equality of expression and opinion. Article 26 in the UDHR, regarding education states: “It shall promote understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups.” It’s clear that Gabriel’s experience in the Honduran education system was not one that aligned with these rights. In Central America, schools are not allocated sufficient funding to provide those countries’ youth with opportunities to reach higher education. Jordan Levy is a political anthropologist, and in his academic journal article “Decentralization and Privatization of Education in Honduras,” he describes how the education system in rural Honduras is not properly funded by the government, and the ramifications this lack of funding leads to:
“An unprecedented set of school finance reforms now ‘decentralize’ state funds for academic programs and facility maintenance—stipulating that money will come not from the central Ministry of Education offices in Tegucigalpa but from each school’s corresponding municipal governments. From there, regional authorities can demand that teachers actively seek funds from private businesses, nongovernmental organizations, and philanthropists in the area as a condition of transferring government funds to local schools” (2019).
This lack of government funding for schools in Honduras, especially in rural regions, leads to teachers having to find private resources for the survival of their classrooms, which is funding that is not guaranteed. The cost of school and the need for kids to contribute to their families’ income leaves many children accepting school as something they will never take part in, which is a human rights violation Josué and Gabriel experienced firsthand.
While growing up, Marlon attended public school in El Salvador, and he was an excellent student earning high grades; however, he experienced bullying from the students at the private school he attended because of his lower socioeconomic status, and the fact that he was naturally feminine, which violated his right to be himself in a safe place without becoming a target for physical and verbal harassment (UDHR 19). He recounts feeling proud of himself and having a strong sense of confidence for being one of his public school’s best students. Then around fifth grade, he had the opportunity to transfer to a private school because of the grades he was earning. Once he transferred, Marlon remembered noticing the stark socioeconomic differences between the public school he attended, and the private school he was now enrolled in. “I remember the very first day of school. So, they dropped me off [pause]. By foot. Somebody went to drop me off. We went to the bus. We went to the school, and then… I see this: A lot of kids getting off like, umm, big cars, big busses and stuff. Like private busses” (Marlon 2020). Marlon immediately noticed how the other students had privileges that he was never afforded, which intimidated him and also made him feel envious because of how much wealth his new peers had. From the moment Marlon stepped onto the campus, he stood out, and not in a good way either. “She [the teacher] would be like, ‘Oh can you do a summary of this?’ and I didn’t know what a summary was. I would ask them and they would laugh because I didn’t know what summary was” (Marlon 2020). He was ridiculed by the other students for not knowing what in their eyes were basic concepts, but for Malron these were concepts he had never been taught at the public school he had formerly attended. This bullying he received for being from a different economic background at the private school violated his right to have a safe place for his personality to be cultivated, and a place that promotes understanding between all ways of life (UDHR19).
Marlon was also discriminated against because of his sexual orientation while attending private school in El Salvador, which restricted his ability to express himself naturally without the fear of receiving aggressive backlash (UDHR19). Marlon was harassed for being feminine:
“So, as soon as I got there I think they noticed my flare. They knew right away that I was gay, so I was teased a lot about that actually. Actually, I laugh about it, and we [referring to me and him] laugh about it, umm, because I try to make it funny, but actually it was not funny at all honestly. I was super super scared. I was. I felt like I lost a lot of self confidence there because of the way they would treat me. They would treat me really bad” (2020).
Marlon was an easy target for the other students because he was not only a new student, but was from a poorer, more rural neighborhood, and he was also gay. “I asked: What would they say? He responded: Well first, you know things like ‘faggot, like maricón, marica, una niñita,’ umm, what else, I have so many words” (Marlon 2020). This harassment led Marlon to do poorly in school, and he started making friends with the “bad” students, who were ironically the ones who were nicest to him. Malron’s right to adequate education was not upheld even though he attended a private school that had quality education. The treatment that he received from his peers pushed him away from his studies, especially since he was being harassed and no one would stand up for him. “Education shall be directed to the full development of the human personality and to the strengthening of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. It shall promote understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups…” (UDHR 26). The opportunity for free education that equally values its students and promotes their best qualities was absent in Josué’s case, as he never attended school in El Salvador, and deficient in Gabriel’s and Marlon’s, as they both faced discrimination for their sexuality. Starting a new life in the US for all of them would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have access to education that promotes ones best qualities, which they or their potential future children could benefit from, and shows that moving here would certainly not be to perpetuate the myth that they are criminals.
Gabriel and Josué both fled their countries because they knew coming to the US would give them a better chance to have their human rights upheld, as well as gain access to upward mobility; however, the journey through Guatemala and Mexico is one that presented many dangerous circumstances, and their rights were oftentimes thrown out the window; for example, Gabriel was given drugs to keep him walking through the desert, and was held against his will by his coyotes; Josué was accosted on a bus traveling through Mexico, where he could have easily lost his life. Many Central Americans on their path to the US are taken advantage of by cartel gangs or even by the Mexican government, where they are often subjected to inhumane acts. Josué eventually had no other choice but to flee El Slavador because his resistance to joining a gang was putting him and his family’s lives in direct danger. While traversing Mexico, he was in-close-proximity-to many dangerous people. Fortunately, the coyote he was traveling with was able to protect him through the journey. In one instance, he was on a bus and it got hijacked by thieves who were taking people’s money. “We were accosted on a bus in Mexico, and thieves demanded money. We didn’t have much, but it was something that I wouldn’t want to go through again” (Mayers & Freedman 46). Josué was detained by thieves who sought to exploit his vulnerability because he was an unprotected immigrant. This was a violation of his right to freely pass through another country without being targeted for not being a native of that region. “Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each State” (UDHR 13). Josué was fortunate to be traveling through the first part of his journey with an experienced and intimidating coyote who protected him in moments when people could have easily picked up on his vulnerable conspicuousness, which gave Josué a much better chance of surviving the journey through Mexico than if he was traveling with a coyote who didn’t have his life at best interest.
Gabriel also fled; he kept moving from family member to family member because he was being threatened by gangs, and people wouldn’t stop harassing him for acting “gay,” which pushed him to the edge; as a result, he left Honduras with the help of his mom. The journey through Guatemala and Mexico was not an easy one for Gabriel, as he witnessed discrimination, came into close contact with drug cartels, and traveled with coyotes who constantly demanded more money from him. The coyotes Gabriel was traveling with used extreme tactics to keep him on his journey to the US, tactics that completely disregarded his consent. “I began to feel extreme anxiety from the drugs they were feeding us; every three hours was another pill. Pill after pill. We felt no hunger, no cold, no weariness” (Mayers & Freedman 71). The coyotes were giving him drugs without explaining what they were, or what kind of symptoms he would most likely experience from taking them. Although the drugs Gabriel was given did help him get through the desert in a relatively short period of time, he was constantly taking new pills to keep him walking; furthermore, the drugs were causing him extreme anxiety, a feeling that never ceased because of his constant intake. The fact that Gabriel didn’t know what he was putting in his body, and the seemingly neverending torture he was experienceing from the drugs, violated his human right to be protected from inhumane treatment (UDHR 5). Josué and Gabriel’s experience being in constant danger while traveling through Mexico is unfortunately a very common experience for Central American immigrants. Wendy Vogt, who has a Ph.D in Anthropology and focuses on migrants, violence, and Latin America, wrote the academic journal article “Stuck in the Middle With You: The Intimate Labours of Mobility and Smuggling along Mexico’s Migrant Route,” which talks about the different criminal and government organizations that prey on vulnerable immigrants traversing Mexico:
“Most notable has been the rise of Los Zetas criminal gang, who demands migrants pay ‘taxes’ to pass through their territories. Those who do not pay are kidnapped, forced to work for Los Zetas in transporting drugs, weapons and people, or in some cases, killed. In a six-month period in 2010, Mexico’s Human Rights Commission (CNDH) documented 11,000 incidents of kidnappings of Central American migrants” (2016).
Kidnappings and the increased likelihood of experiencing violence for immigrants passing through Mexico are the direct result of their vulnerability due to factors such as not knowing the places they are traveling through, and the fear of being caught and deported, which makes them prime targets of criminal organizations for extortion. Josué and Gabriel both experienced human rights abuses in their quests to achieve a better quality of life. The sacrifices they made just to reach a place where they knew that their human rights had much better odds of being upheld set an example, and further break the false narrative that they came here with malignant intent.
If immigrants are fortunate enough to overcome the numerous obstacles on their journeys to the US-Mexican border, they face one last barrier that must be overcome before they can hopefully gain access to the prospect of guaranteed human rights, this obstacle being the US border patrol, and more specifically the policies that are passed by the US government to keep immigrants out. While Jousé experienced nativistic discrimination while being detained by the US border patrol, Gabriel’s life was threatened by his coyotes who demanded more money from his mom, and threatened to end his life if she didn’t pay. These acts violated the rights of Josué and Gabriel while crossing the US border. Once Josué reached the US-Mexican border, he was caught by the border patrol and detained, where he was discriminated against and treated poorly for no justified reason; his only crime was seeking asylum. “I told them I needed help, that I’d fled from gangs in my country. One agent said in Spanish, ‘All of them say this!’ Another yelled, ‘And when they get here they’re the ones that ruin our country! We don’t want people like you’’’ (Mayers & Freedman 47). The patrol officers displayed explicit nativism that degraded Josué’s human experience, as they didn’t know him on an individual level; they only categorized him as a criminal because of where he comes from. “All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination” (UDHR 7). Josué faced blunt discrimination and was treated less than human, which violated his right to be protected from prejudices that could potentially put his life in harm’s way.
Gabriel’s transition into the US also came with the repercussion of being undocumented. When Gabriel successfully made it through the desert after a tortuous journey, he was still held captive by his coyotes,who threatened to kill him unless his mother met their increased ransom. “The coyotes demanded more money to take us to San Francisco. If we didn’t pay, they threatened to cut our heads and all kinds of horrible things” (Mayers & Freedman 70). The smugglers that Gabriel’s mother coordinated with to get him across the US border were successful in completing the journey, but were also abusive and took full advantage of Gabriel’s undocumented status, which severally limited his ability to escape the dangerous situation. The threats the coyotes made against Gabriel neglected his right to life, and his ability to move freely as they were keeping him captive unless a certain ransom was met. “Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person” (UDHR 3). The coyotes holding Gabriel captive and taking any control out of his hands degraded him as a human; in fact, they were so persistent in extorting the most money out of Gabriel that even once he was reunited with his mother, they threatened to kill him until the moment his mother had paid the ransom. The abuses Josué and Gabriel faced did not stop once they escaped their birth countries, but followed them like a plague because their rights were not protected from those who would seek to profit off them, which sets yet another clear example that their motives to come the US are to seek refuge from the violence they grew up in, not to bring that violence upon others.
After moving to the US, Marlon seeks to find a sense of community where he feels that his sexuality is respected, and begins to associate himself with crowds that fade his focus on education and on his future, but he breaks away from this community and in doing so breaks from the narrative that young Central American immigrants are “delinquents” who don’t deserve to be here. Once Marlon arrived in the US and started attending school, he began the process of learning how to cope and adapt to a new American society. There were many difficulties, such as learning the language, and finding a community where he felt that he belonged. Marlon tells me about how he, when first attending schools in San Francisco, was still bullied for being gay, which continued to violate his right to be accepted and supported for who is (UDHR 19). He tells me about how this struggle didn’t end with him departing from El Salvador. Because Marlon faced continued harassment for being gay and didn’t see himself fitting in with the “smart students,” largely influenced by his previous experiences being treated poorly by his high achieving peers, this led him to follow a path that at the moment felt familiar and comfortable, while later he reflects on how destructive it was to his success. “I should’ve been with friends, you know, who are like doing homework at night, friends who, like, study together because there were people who did that in high school. I just never hung out with them. Umm, I preferred to hang out with my friend, who would smoke weed and drink, I preferred that over friends who would study” (Marlon 2020). Marlon eventually realizes that associating himself with people who are “fun,” but are constantly using drugs, and some of whom are in gangs, hinders his ability to have a successful life. This realization leads Marlon to break out of that friend group and to focus more on school, which is no easy task, and further breaks the false narrative that Central American males are criminals. Aviva Chomsky is a Professor of History at Salem State University in Massachusetts. She focuses on Latin American, Latino, and Caribbean Studies. In Chomsky’s book “They Take our Jobs” and 20 other myths about immigration, she debunks in each chapter with great detail one common myth about immigrants: “As they became more Americanized, they entered an oppositional inner-city teenage culture that valued money, drugs, and reckless behaviors defined as cool- the opposite of the hopeful and hard-working recent arrivals” (107). Chomsky explains that immigrants that first arrive to the US are some of the most motivated and hardworking students in the classroom, but when they struggle to find ways to assimilate to American culture they often forfeit their strong identities of their native countries, and in doing so replace their identities as hard working students hungry for success with a learned position within the US social hierarchy, a spot that does not promote economic mobility. Separating himself from a community that makes him feel at home, but at the same time perpetuates dysfunctional behaviors, has led Marlon to break out of a fixed position in American society that suppresses minorities into never achieving their full potential and the American Dream.
The sexual and physical abuse Gabriel suffered at the hands of some his close family members, who betrayed the notion of a loving family, left him with deep permanent scars, and violated his right to be treated humanely, as well as his right to have privacy over his own body; The maras that forced Josué to flee El Salvador, with their constant threats of ending his life, violated his right live freely and to choose what he decides is best for himself; the harassment Marlon faced for being gay also violated his right to express himself fully without facing negative repercussions. Since colonial times, Central America has lived in the legacy of those who have conquered and selfishly ripped the resources and rich culture out of the hands of its native inhabitants; furthermore, this legacy has continued into modern times, when governments deprive its citizens of their human rights, leaving them no choice but to flee. One could ask, why Gabriel didn’t seek help, or just report the incidence of rape to the authorities or say that Josué could have simply moved to another town where he wasn’t known by gangs; it was unnecessary for them to come here. Or even that Marlon’s decision to associate himself with people who use drugs suggests that he isn’t deserving to be here. It’s highly probable that the police in Honduras would have never filed a report of the sexual abuse Gabriel experienced, as they are incompetent to act, and they know there will be no penalty if they don’t. If Josué were to have moved to another town, he could still be recognized by the same gang because El Salvador is a small country roughly the size of New Jersey, which makes it easier for maras to communicate amongst one another between regions; additionally, if Josué were to have successfully moved to another town and not be recognized, there’s still a high probability that a different gang would see him as a stranger and immediately try to force him to join, or even murder him. Marlon’s decision to surround himself with people who promote drugs was largely influenced by the fact that he was unable to express himself in his new American school, paired with the already established narrative that immigrants are not successful, which traps countless immigrants like Marlon into giving up on their hopes and dreams. Gabriel, Josué, and Marlon faced abuses that deprived them from fully experiencing life without the fear of persecution, the fear that at any moment the little they had would be torn from their grasp, the constant fear of living in a place where breaking the egg-shell on which they walk would leave them to helplessly drown in a fate that seemed foretold; anyone struggling to breath in the fire of history’s unceasing destruction, flees.
Works Cited
Chomsky, Aviva. They Take our Jobs! And 20 Other Myths about Immigration. Revised Edition. Beacon Press, 2018.
Fariña, Laura Pedraza, et al., No Place to Hide: Gang, State, and Clandestine Violence in El Salvador. International Human Rights Clinic, Human Rights Program, Harvard Law school, 2010.
Hirschfeld, Julie, and Niraj Choski. “Trump Defends ‘Animals’ Remark, Saying It Referred to MS-13 Gang Members.” New York Times, 17 May 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/05/17/us/trump-animals-ms-13-gangs.html. Accessed 1 Jan. 2021.
Levy, J. (2019). Reforming Schools, Disciplining Teachers: Decentralization and Privatization of Education in Honduras. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 50(2), 170–188. https://doi.org/10.1111/aeq.12290
Marlon. Personal interview. 16 October 2020.
Mayers, Steven, and Jonathan Freedman. Solito, Solita: Crossing Borders with Youth Refugees from Central America. Haymarket Books, 2019.
Menjivar, W. (2017). The Architecture of Femicide: The State, Inequalities, and Everyday Gender Violence in Honduras. Latin American Research Review, 52(2), 221–240. https://doi.org/10.25222/larr.73
“Universal Declaration of Human Rights” United Nations, United Nations <www.org/en/universaldeclaration-humanrights/index.html>
Vogt, W. (2016). Stuck in the Middle With You: The Intimate Labours of Mobility and Smuggling along Mexico’s Migrant Route. Geopolitics, 21(2), 366–386. https://doi.org/10.1080/14650045.2015.1104666
Notes
[1] A coyote is the Spanish term for someone who smuggles people across an international border.
[2] Marquesote is a traditional cake from El Salvador, and is typically made with eggs, flour, sugar, yeast, vanilla extract, and sprinkles of cinnamon.
[3] Renta refers to gangs forcing local businesses to pay them taxes.
[4] Maras are gangs and mareros are gangsters.
[5] Machismo is the overindulgence of masculine pride.
Transcripts
Marlon’s experience growing up in El Salvador and moving to San Francisco, CA.
Antonio Johnson-Smith: So you came from El Salvador ?
Marlon: Yes
AJS: At what age ?
M: umm, would have to do the math. Hold up. I came here when I was fourteen years old. Yes. Fourteen.
AJS: Do you think the US changed your personality, or do you think your personality was already set [pause] by the time you got here ?
M: Well, looking back when I was fourteen and looking how I am now, it has, I have definitely changed I think I am more, um, into the American culture, actually, I feel like I can relate to a lot more people, but; however, umm, I feel like if I would have come maybe at like around eight or nine I would have got more of it, So at age fourteen I think I had set like a… like a personality for myself.
AJS: mhm.
M: I experienced, I actually experienced puberty in El Salvador.
AJS: Oh ok.
M: So yeah, so I had my first crushes in there, relationships, friends in there, umm, I experienced my first cigarettes in there, so like, umm, I feel like I had my own personality.
AJS: When was that? When did you start smoking cigarettes? (3:00)
M: Around thirteen —you know— after school, with my friends.
AJS: It was just there?
M: Yea, umm.
AJS: It was fun?
M: It was just fun, I think it was like [pause] taboo I guess —you know— because we were young and it was like cigarettes —ohh smoking [sarcastic sigh]— so we did it, umm, so I got, I got a lot like into trouble and stuff, so I would think that I did had a personality before —you know— coming here. Then when I came here, I think it, it just really, like, screwed me up —honestly [soft tone].
AJS: yeah, um, and now you’ve gone through a lot of stuff since coming here and living here, um, but the place that you’re at now —you know— where do you see from now yourself in a couple years? where do you see yourself being?
M: If I’m gonna be honest with you, I would like to see myself more integrated into the American culture. Um, I still feel like I’m not part of it, like completely, I feel like I’m in between; I’m not from there but I’m not from here. So, in ten years I would definitely want to see myself more integrated. I would like to see myself, umm, with a job, of course, with a career. I would like to have experience a lot of things. I would like —lets see, let me phrase it correctly— [voices to himself], in ten years I would like to see myself as someone who took risks —yeah. [5:00].
AJS: Well honestly I think you’re doing good, cuz I know you’ve been through a lot. I think you’re doing good. Okay gurl.
M: Thank you.
AJS: [laughs] Umm, so, how was growing up in El Salvador? Or, that’s a very broad question, what is your first memory that you can remember? I know you’re from Santa Ana, right?
M: Yeah. Umm. Christmas. I would say that is the first memory that comes to my mind.
AJS: It’s different there?
M: It’s so different, it is like, it’s [pause] you can feel like a family, umm, vibe. Honestly growing I actually didn’t feel [pause] like I fit in my family because of my sexuality, I am Gay.
AJS: where you always Gay?
M: I was always Gay [asertively].
AJS: Well..No, did always act Gay ? [laugh].
M: No no no, I always like, um, portrayed myself as straight, in front of them.
AJS: So you, so you just already knew you couldn’t be like that.
M: I already knew.Yeah. I knew in the back of my head. I knew that I like boys. I had a couple crushes. On my friends. Some of my friends. Um, so I knew, I definitely knew, I just, I know, Like I am aware that I would portray myself as straight in front of them. I would talk about girls and I would talk about ohh how I liked this girl in school, but she was actually my best friend. And of course they would always see me with her. So, they would tease me like “oh your girlfriend,” and I would be like yeah yeah she’s my girlfriend [sarcastic tone].
AJS: [repeats sarcastically] “she’s my girlfriend.”
[Both Laugh].
M: When in reality, no she was not. So…
AJS: So you’re talking about christmas. Is there,like, a smell, is there some kind of…is there a music, a song. Something that reminds you of Christmas when you were a little kid, specifically?
M: Mmm, definitely the smell of [pause] how do you call? … fireworks, yes the smell of fireworks, yes. We do a lot of fireworks in there. Umm, I smell a lot of food, I smell a lot of alcohol, actually —my family grew up on a lot of alcoholism and stuff, you know they drinked a lot, actually.
AJS: Was it a bad or a good thing on you?
M: It wasn’t a bad thing, actually. Um, they didn’t do it like every day, they just —you know— like socializing, they would drink, like, heavy, so it was a big thing around christmas —you know drinking— it was like the main thing. You. Would. Go. There. For. That.
AJS: Did you also have fun?
M: Oh yes… I had fun.
AJS: [laughs].
M: Honestly, I had fun, yes. We would all like meet, my families probably, like, more than twenty people, so we would like come together to… [pause, laud truck drives by] [laughs] into our house, they would actually come to me house, umm, well the house of my mom, and so we would spend all our spending there, and then we also did gifts, so that was… that is not only like an American. We also do gifts, so like at twelve, umm, AM we open the gifts.
AJS: At twelve AM?
M: Mhmm.
AJS: See that’s different, because we do it in the morning.
M: In the morning. No no no all the kids stay up at twelve.
AJS: oh really ?
M: mhm.
AJS: Who was someone that was close to you, in your family? Anybody. Uncle, Aunt, grandparent, cousin. Who were you close with?
M: [pause] mmm… you know, my grandfather? But then he came here to the US. So, after that I think it was brothers, my sister maybe, not gonna lie, yeah my sister [soft tone], and my mom. So those three people, I guess, I was the most close with.
AJS: And…your grandfather. How did he come to the US?
M: Soo, my grandma [sighs] came here illegally.
AJS: Okay.
M: Umm, and then my aunt also came illegally, then my aunt married this french guy —who she met at Hilton hotel, like by the Embarcadero— and then they got married, so she got, umm, legal papers. So, she petitioned my grandma.
AJS: Right, because they have, um, a preference for people who have a family member here right?
M: Yeah. So, my grandmother went back to El Salvador to like fix those papers, um, then she got residence, then she move here —like legally— and then she tried to petition my mother, but there’s a system in the US that you have to petition your husband first, and so since my grandma was not, like, divorced from grandfather then she had to petition him first. So, that’s why he came here first. Then later we came here because of her. She petitioned us, yeah. [10:07].
AJS: Oh wow. So, in El Salvador was… how would you describe your family’s, like, economic situation?
M: I would describe it as lower middle class. I would describe it like that because we lived in a rural area, and we actually had a lot of difficulties, umm, with money. But, my mom always pulled it off, umm, she worked in a laboratory, umm —pharmacy laboratory— so she always, like, got some money at the point where our neighbors would see us as like the rich family in our neighborhood, but actually were actually poor. We’re actually struggling with a lot of stuff.
AJS: It’s just everyone was struggling.
M: Everyone was struggling. Yeah. It was tough, but we actually didn’t have had it hard —you know— we had a house, we had food everyday, so I think we had it good.
AJS: Did you know coming here how people live?
M: No.
AJS: Did you know there was that… when you lived in El Salvador?
M: what do you mean?
AJS: Did you know, like, the differences basically?
M: Umm, in terms of socioeconomic status?
AJS: Yeah.
M: I think yeah. Yeah. I would have to say yes. Uhh, yeah when I came here I actually, like, found out what money. How money is important to people —you know— to family’s actually. When I came here I would describe myself as more poor than I was in El Salvador because El Salvador I had space. I have my own room. Um, I have things of my own, and then when I came here I [sighs] was living in a f**king [sorry].
AJS: You could say what you want.
M: ohh yeah, because it’s yours right? Hey. Umm, I was living in [pause] how’s it called. A studio, it’s like Guillermo’s studio [one of our mutual friends]. Exactly like that.
AJS: But now just for Guillermo.
M: Yes.
AJS: okay.
MU: In there lived a grandma, my mom, my sister, me, my cousin.
AJS: Oh wow.
M: So, there were five people living in there. Umm, yeah. My grandma was living, well, umm, sleeping on the sofa, my cousin was sleeping on a bed that was in like the studio, and then me, my mom, and my sister was sleeping on the floor.
AJS: Oh wow, I did not know that.
M: We slept on the floor for, like, about ten months. I would say. I was tough bitch, like…
AJS: Was your mom [pause] Is your mom a strong person ?
M: Oh she is, yeah. I think so.
AJS: Do you think she held it down during those times? Kinda like. Maybe. Idk who. In those times when you were sleeping on the floor with your mom right, who were the people that were strong? You know— who were the people saying like we don’t have a choice, but were going to get through this? Who were those people keeping you through ?
M: [pause] My cousin.
AJS: Your cousin [surprised tone].
M: Because he’s gay, so once he saw me I think he that I was struggling because, um, I noticed that my mom also had a hard time, like, umm, getting use to here. She had a hard time, so she was kinda like bottling up her feelings. My sister had a hard time too.
AJS: And you said a hard time with…
M: Emotionally.
AJS: Um, is it the way they were treated? Was it, like, trying to find a job? The language?
M: It was the mix of trying to find a job, the language. It was just like the first time we were, like, out of El Salvador, and then we used to live in a house that was, like, full of people. Like, all my family lived there, like, even though they were like twenty five, thirty, they were still living in my mom’s house —you know.
AJS: So, it was so different .
M: It was so different because when we were there it was just, like, quiet. So quiet. So, I think my mom missed my brothers of course. So, my mom struggled economically, she couldn’t find a job because of the language, umm, she couldn’t speak the language, so she was also struggling with that. She was missing people from there, she was always talking on the phone, always always talking on the phone, over there. Umm, my sister the same thing, umm, I actually felt a little bit alone during those times because I was the only one who was like —yes!— I want to live here, but it’s hard. [15:08].
AJS: What was your first day in the United States ?
M: Ohh, it was a night.
AJS: Did you get on an airplane ?
M: Yeah, we got on an airplane, umm, because like I said my grandma petitioned my mom and then automatically because we were underage we were included. In the package.
AJS: It’s easier.
M: Yes. So, my sister and I came along and I remember we boarded the plane, maybe in the morning, I think it was, it was in the morning, and then we got here around nine, so it was very dark and it’s just honestly to be honest it’s traumatizing, like, remembering those times because I remember it was just so different and then the minute I stepped foot in here, I was like: I wanna go back. I wanna go back, I wanna go back, I wanna go back. This is not for me.
AJS: You what’s interesting. And also If anything, I might ask you questions that might spark something that you might not want to talk about, you don’t have to talk about it. You can always say I don’t want to talk about that.
M: Okay.
AJS: I can relate to your experience, but my brother when he came here. He was on an airplane, when they adopted us, umm , It’s a different experience, but —you know— he was nine, and then my mom. They couldn’t speak to each other [Marlon gasps] —yeah— because my brother didn’t know english yet. My mom only spoke english, but what she did is she pointed at a map and it showed Guatemala, and it showed the United States, and then she pointed, like where do you want to be. And he was on the airplane to San Francisco, and he couldn’t say it because he didn’t speak english, but pointed to Guatemala. Like he wanted to go back. Like he was scared —you know.
M: Yeah.
AJS: So, maybe that. Going somewhere you don’t know. You don’t know what you’re going to find.
M: Yeah.Yup, it’s tough honestly. Umm, yeah, I personally just felt, like, really really really alone because like I said I think I already had a personality, from over there.
AJS: You had friends.
M: I had a lot of friends actually, I had a lot of friends. We were a group of friends. We would always, like, take care of each other, and…
AJS: What did you say to them when, um, you knew you were going?
M: So, I knew I was coming to the US, like, from about seven months. I told them before, I was like “oh you know I’m actually moving to the US,” and I don’t think they believed it actually because they didn’t take it —you know— as a big deal. I think they thought that I was joking because I was always joking. So, they thought I was joking, but the minute came when we had to leave, and it was around november, so school wasn’t even, like, done. So, I had to, like, stop going to school, and that’s when they found out. That’s when they were like “oh, so you’re really going there.” And they were sad. They texted me for about a few months, and then —yeah— it was —yeah— that like…
AJS: Did it kinda just happen like that? [snaps finger].
M: It just happened so fast —you know. Yeah, I just, I just knew the date —you know— but I was like, I was numb to it. I was like “oh yes I’m going to go there I’m excited,” but in the back of my mind I actually didn’t want to leave —you know— I was, like, trying to forget about that date.
AJS: Oh okay.
M: Yes. I was like, mmm, it’s not happening —you know— I was kind of like in denial.
AJS: What did you think that this country would be like? before you were here? You know— what did you think it was going to look like? The people?
M: Oh yes.
AJS: [laughs].
M: I remember I saw myself in big buildings. I was myself in a big house. You know how I saw myself? I saw myself as one of those people that is like walking on the yard. In the big as* house, you know the suburban areas, kind of, that you see in movies?
AJS: Yes.
M: So, I really saw myself there, and I actually didn’t know that it didn’t snow here. So, I thought there was going to be snow.
AJS: Ohh, like the perfect, like, American…
M: Like the perfect American. Yes.
AJS: Weather, the winter, Christmas…
M: You know how I imagined it? Have you, have you watched the movie Home Alone?
AJS: Yeah.
M: That’s how I imagined it. Like a big house. Not as big as him though, that was a big house.
AJS: [laughs].
M: But you know like a suburban house. I thought it was gonna snow… umm, I don’t know! Just, like, very American. Like, what you see from TV. Then when I came here, there were like “oh no, it doesn’t snow here.”
AJS: [laughs]
M: And I was like “what?!.” I was like mind blown. [20:00].
AJS: I was like “where’s the house at yall.”
M: I know, b**ch!! I swear, the minute I stepped into that room I was like “what is this?” Yes. I was a little bit judgemental.
AJS: Were you disappointed?
M: Yes. I was disappointed.
AJS: Do you remember a feeling ? I know disappointment is a feeling, but do you remember like [pause] when you came into the house? Do you remember any other feelings besides disappointment?
M: Trapped. [sighs profoundly] So many actually. I felt trapped, misunderstood. Actually, I would say that word describes it all. I feel, like, very misunderstood [pause] because I felt very and all the time, and they just didn’t understand what was happening.
AJS: They didn’t, like, did they ask you?
M: No, they didn’t ask me. They never asked me. No.
AJS: Okay.
M: I was kinda like…
AJS: That’s hard.
M: Yeah. I remember during that time I was supper [pause] like rude to people. To my family most of them, and then they were like “ohh, just because…” I remember this, they told me: “just because you feel like you’re something else just because you’re in the US.” And I was like no it’s not because that it’s just, it’s just miss my friends and I don’t know I just felt. I felt some type of way…
AJS: They were not talking to you about it.
M: No, they weren’t.
AJS: Can we go back to El Salvador for a second?
M: Mhm. Mhm.
AJS: Umm, so what was the education system like in Santa Ana?
M: Really good. Actually, really good. Yeah.
AJS: Would you say maybe better than here?
B: Yes. Absolutely. Absolutely. Yeah. Umm, so first when I was in El Salvador I went to a public school, I think I told you about this before, but I went to a public school first and then… So, the public school was, like, near the area that I lived called… Of course it’s a rural area, a lot of vegetation stuff, not a lot of roads. So, just a public school there, and all the kids from that area would go there. So, all the poor people, all the poor kids. So, I went there, and then I was really smart, actually. I really got good grades. Uhh, the education? It was questionable, if you ask me I don’t remember because I stopped going at fourth grade. Because. Because I had this stupid idea, honestly, well actually my family convinced me, umm, that I should go to a better school. That I should go to a private school. A prestigious school —you know— because of my grades —you know.
AJS: So, you were a smart kid.
M: I was a smart kid, yeah. So, they told me “you could do better” —you know— “you could get more education if you go to a private school.” Soo, I chose one that my, umm, a member of my family went there, and then she’s actually the wife of my brother, so she’s from another family. So, she had money. So, she was able to go there through all high school, well, what’d you call it in high school?
AJS: What’d you call it Spanish?
M: We call it, umm, soberchiverato, it’s like high school.
AJS: Woah. I can’t even say that [attempts to pronounce word].
M: And then the lower grades…it’s just called school.
AJS: Escuela.
M: Yeah. Primer Grado, segundo grado, tercer grado, cuarto grado —which is fourth grade— fifth grade, six grade…
AJS: Mhm.
M: So, she went through like all of school there [brothers wife]. So, she convinced me. So, I went there. They actually interviewed me. It was the first time someone had interviewed me.
AJS: Wow, so it’s that kind of school. Woah.
M: I know B**ch!
AJS: [laughs] What did you feel when, like… did you know you were a smart kid?
M: I…
AJS: Did you have a feeling, or did you not know until they were like…
M: No, I knew.
AJS: Okay.
M: I think I knew. I mean, I was getting the good grades so. Out everyone I was the one who was getting good grades. I think there were about like three people who were like smart, like in the whole classes. So… yeah.
AJS: Did you feel proud?
M: Oh yeah. Yes. Yes, that’s why I wanted to go. That’s why they convinced me because I was like “yeah I guess I am smart” —you know— So I should go there.
AJS: I am smart huh [playfully repeats Marlon]
[both laugh]
M: So, I was like I should go there, umm, and then a big mistake I think. You know I think it was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.
AJS: Why do you say that?
M: Because, I should have stayed in public school. Because. [pause] Yes, the education is way better. Because, I remember the very first weeks of school like the teacher would, like, say stuff. She would be like “oh can you do a summary of this?” and I didn’t know what a summary was.
AJS: mm.
M: I would ask them and they would laugh —you know— because I didn’t know what summary was. [25:00].
AJS: It was like that?
M: Yeah.
AJS: Wow.
M: Yes b**tch it was very like that. It was horrible.
AJS: Did you do good in the private school?
M: No. No. I became really really really really really bad.
AJS: Were all the… was there a different class of people? Economic class?
M: Oh yes. Yeah. I actually felt very… [pause] like I’m not proud of it, but I feel like I always had to pretend —you know— like they would ask me where do you live? And I would say somewhere else because I live in a rural area.
AJS: Did you ever have to get a, umm, actually keep going sorry.
M: No, go ahead.
AJS: Umm, did you ever make a friend?
M: I did make friends.
AJS: Did you ever go to their house?
M: Yes.
AJS: And what was that like?
M: Intimidating. It was [pause] I don’t know I feel like. I had a lot of envy —you know I’m not gonna lie to you— it gave me a lot of envy, umm, just from the life they had. Uh, I remember the very first day of school. So, they dropped me off, by foot. Somebody went to drop me off. We went to the bus, we went to the school, and then… I see this: a lot of f**cking kids getting off like, umm, big cars, and like busses and stuff, like private busses, and I was like…
AJS: Oh okay, and you were by food?
M: Yes!
[both laugh]
AJS: So, it was kinda like that.
M: Yes, it was very like that actually. So, as soon as I got there I think they noticed my flare. Uhh, they knew right away that I was gay. So, I was teased a lot about that actually. Actually, I laugh about it, and we laugh about it, umm, because I try to make it funny, but actually it was not funny at all honestly. I was super super scared. I was. I felt like I lost a lot of self confidence there because of the way they would treat me. They would treat me really bad.
AJS: What would they say?
M: Well first, you know things like “faggot,” like “Maricon,” “Marica,” “Una Niñita,” umm, what else, oh my god they have so many words.
AJS: But, in the public school?
M: They never say that to me.
AJS: That’s interesting. Why do you think it is like that?
M: I don’t know. I don’t know. You know, till this day I always, like, think about that. Like, fourth grade was totally cool, and then I have a lot of friends, and then in the fifth grade there was all these kids calling me gay. Like, for a long time that it had to do with the private, like, part of it because —you know— it was a private school because of all those rich kids. They were rich, actually. So, I thought it had a lot to do with that. Right now I don’t know, but I find that very interesting that in public school they never called me anything, and then…
AJS: So then you’re gay?
M: Yeah.
AJS: You weren’t hiding it, you couldn’t hide it.
M: Yeah.
AJS: You’re getting bullied for it and then you go home. And then what happens?
M: And then I can’t talk about it. [laughs]. Because —you know— of course you can not say “oh, you know, they’re bullying me because they’re saying this words to me,” you know, I couldn’t talk about it. I would just try to…
AJS: Wait why couldn’t you talk about it? You couldn’t say the words?
M: Yeah, I just —you know… You know, it was just embarrassing if you were to tell your mom “you know they’re calling me gay.” They’re like [his mom], “why are they calling you gay? Did you give them a reason?”
AJS: Was there shame?
M: Yeah, it was out of shame. I asked my mom one time, I was like “mom what would happen if I was gay?” And then she told me: “I would beat the f**k out of you in order to turn you straight.” She told me that, and she was very serious about it, so…
AJS: So you felt alone?
M: Yeah.
AJS: Actually, when she said that to you [pause] how did you feel? Besides probably fear. How did you feel?
M: Like I couldn’t trust my mom. I think I lost trust in her, Like, that day. Like, I just lost trust. I never talked about my feelings, like, ever since.
AJS: That’s almost like, umm, she neglected your feelings. Like who you really were.
M: Yeah. Mhmm. Yeah. So, what I was saying about private school. There is. There was a higher level of education, like, definitely. There was, umm, I remember the content, It was very, like, complex. Umm, they talk about history, about the US, actually, history about other parts of the world.
AJS: Did they talk about El Salvador?
M: They never did!
AJS: They never talked about the history of El Salvador.
M: Only on September because it’s, um, independence month, and then they would talk about it. [30:00].
AJS: That’s so interesting, you would think that a country would teach their citizens their own history.
M: Yes. But no. They taught about everywhere else in history, but El Salvador.
AJS: Woah, did you think that was strange?
M: Not at the moment. Not at the moment, no. I think when I got there I was just, like, really, like, overwhelmed, and then I started to do bad grades because I wouldn’t do homework. I wouldn’t be part of study groups.
AJS: And it not because you were stupid.
M: NO.
AJS: You’re smart.
M: Yes.
AJS: It was the…
M: It was just the emotions. The fact that I wasn’t part of the group —you know— I think that had a lot to do with it because there were study groups, and then…
AJS: And what age is that? At this time that you’re transitioning to this [pause] private school?
M: That was around, like, twelve. Twelve or eleven, yeah. I would say twelve. I was twelve when that happened. Umm, yeah, honestly it was very very traumatizing. I never, if you ask me, I never want to go back to that school ever again. Ever. Because it just brings so many like bad memories —you know— I was bullied, like, a lot, a lot, you have no idea…
AJS: Ever physically?
M: Yes, physically as well. They would push me, they didn’t, like, punch me in the face, but they would push me. I remember a guy kept teasing me, like. He would, like, punch me a little bit, like here [points to his arm], and then he would be like “oh you can’t do anything because you’re a girl.”
AJS: It’s toxic.
M: Yes. And then, I don’t know it was just like all this emotion, umm, that’s why I feel like I became, like, the way I am I don’t know. I just. I just said you know what I don’t give a f**k —you know— and so I met some people that were nice, and then they were nice enough to be friends with me, and they were just like bad kids, honestly. They just skipped school. They would smoke outside. Not weed…
AJS: But they were nice to you.
M: They were nice to me, so of course I started hanging out with them —you know. All this. This is interesting, all the smart people were mean, but all the bad kids, you know the like, the kids who are getting bad grades, they were nice to me. They were really nice to me. And we had a little group you know. We were called the, like, the unwanted group.
AJS: And how would you say it Spanish?
M: Los mal creidos.
AJS: Los mal creidos. Okay, and you liked that ?
M: I liked that, yeah. I liked being a part of that group, I think, because I actually found a group where I could fit in. Yeah, because I did fit in —you know— I told them I was gay and eventually they were like… they were shook, they were shook because they were just not used to it, but they were like “okay, fine.” Yeah, but they didn’t love it of course. They weren’t like “oh yes gurl.” No. They were just, like, “okay.”
AJS: Oh wow. But that was good, better than the other people.
M: Yeah.
AJS: Um, were there any gangs in your town?
M: No.
AJS: Or in your region?
M: Yess. I just remember this one girl. She was a boy of course before, and then when he was a boy he would go in front of my house. He had, like, umm, blonde hair. He was beautiful, now that I think about it, he was just beautiful. And then of course the way he walks. If you dye your hair if you’re a man that means you’re gay, there, like…
AJS: Automatically? You can’t dye your hair.
M: Yeah. You can’t dye your hair if you’re a man. That’s just like out of the question. Now, I think it has changed, but when I grew up, no. That’s just like unexceptable. So, the fact that he had like blonde hair, it was like “oh, you’re gay,” you know. My family would say horrible things about him, and then later I think three years later I think I saw him, and she was a woman, so then of course, umm, people were teasing him a lot as well. But actually that was the only gay I remember. I didn’t see that many gays.
AJS: But did something happen to him with the gangs?
M: I don’t remember actually, umm, I heard, I think I heard he died, but don’t know the cause of it. I don’t, I can’t say.
AJS: But there were gangs in Santa Ana? Or there was criminal activities…
M: There were a few gangs.
AJS: Because there is that stereotype of El Salvador —you know— Calle 18, umm, you know, those gangs. I guess I was just asking you did you ever experience, or seen them, or knowing that they were in certain places? —you know.
M: Umm, I was always super scared of gangs. I’ve always been terrified of them. Always always always. Umm, the most close experience I’ve had is somebody got the phone number of our house from like the [pause] in El Salvador we have these like books, I don’t know… [35:16]
AJS: Phone books.
M: Phone books. Yes. Oh my god. Okay. So, um, they got the number from a phone book, and then they called my mom, and then, uhh, they say that they knew who, like, their children were, like, you know their son’s. So, they mentioned my brother. They mentioned my sister, only. And then they asked for money. Yeah, so then my mom was, like, depressed for, like, a whole f***king month. She had, like anxiety, she stopped going to work, she was trying to get the money, actually. She was gonna pay the money, umm, but then thankfully my dad is a police officer, so he was like no no no don’t do it —you know— don’t, don’t do anything, and then the police got the case and then a friend of her, she actually was, like, pretending to be my mom. So, she was like “okay, yeah, I’m going to go pay you, I’m going gonna see you like this, uhh, this days. I’m gonna see you here, there.” And then, oh no no… I think, uhh, they were gonna put the money on an account. So, they put the money on an account, they put fake money in an account, and then when they went to go pick up the money my dad got notified, well the police station got notified, and that’s when they apprehended him. That’s the closest thing I’ve had with, like, gangs. Yeah. But, have I seen them, or have they attacked me, or threaten me, no that never happened to me. That never happened to me because the area where we live, umm, there wasn’t much chaos. Thankfully.
AJS: Do you think there was more gangs in, like, Usulután?
M: Oh yeah.
AJS: You know those regions kind of. Or, San Salvador?
M: No. You know what I think it is? It’s not about regions, it’s just, umm, in the region that I was in there was a lot of gang activity. There was a lot of lot of… It’s about neighborhoods. It is about neighborhoods. If you’re from a certain neighborhood, like, let’s say I’m from the Mission [referring to SF Mission district] —you know— lets just pretend. I’m from the Mission, um, and then they see me at sunset, [SF sunset district] and then they would ask for my ID, and then… of course the ID from El Salvador would say where you’re from, what neighborhood you’re from…
AJS: Really?
M: Yeah. It says your whole… well actually your ID too, it says where you live. So, they would see where I lived, and then if… let’s say if the Mission was from MS–13, and then Sunset was 18, and I would go there, even if I wasn’t part of the gang, I would still get, like, beat up, killed.
AJS: So, you have to stay in that zone.
M: Yes, we had to stay in that zone, and…
AJS: And you just never ever broke that rule.
M: No no no. Never. Never. Nobody did —you know— so we never went to, like, all the neighborhoods.
AJS: You never like Atrevió? Or whatever that word is. Right, you never, like, dared to, like, cross that.
M: Oh yeah. No. Nunca, nunca no. So, there was a lot, like I said, there was a lot of gang activity, but, it wasn’t about regions, it was about neighborhoods.
AJS: What about your dad? You talked about your mom and your family. What about your dad?
M: What about my dad?
AJS: Where was he in your life?
M: Umm, he’s always been there, actually. He’s a cutie. He’s actually a very… he is a cutie.
AJS: [Laughs].
M: He’s actually always so, like, caring, but he has, like, expectations from me that I don’t actually agree with. He wants me to have a wife. He wants me to have a kid, already, he asked me to have a kid, so, um, I think he knows that I’m gay, and he just wants to change that I think, but other than that he’s amazing honestly. He’s amazing. He worked with the police, so he was actually like never there, like, in the family.
AJS: Because he was working.
M: Yeah.
AJS: Was that dangerous?
M: Yeah. He had to do overtime, he had to stay for a whole week in a certain region because he was like… he was, umm, he wasn’t the police officers that you see on the streets so there’s dressed up as police officers. He was undercover. So, he would do, like, missions kind of. So, he would present as a civilian, and then he’s actually a police officer. So, he would do missions like that…
AJS: Kind of like FBI.
M: Kind of, but Salvadorian style.
[both laugh].
AJS: The version.
M: So yeah, he would have to go to, like, Usulatán. He would have to go to Sonsonate, in order to, like, have this completely, like, different… [40:05].
AJS: So, he went everywhere in El Salvador?
M: He went everywhere. He was everywhere, but never in the house.
AJS: I actually kind of know the places you’re talking about because I did my research. [Marlon gets excited] I looked up, um, I think we talked about this, but I have looked up the little —I think they’re called— departamentos?
M: Mhm.
AJS: There ‘s, like, La Unión, La libertad, Usulután, Morazán, San Salvador… there’s a lot of them, so I tried to, like, kind of know the geography.
M: Forteen baby. Yes. Do you know where Santa Ana is?
AJS: Santa Ana is near Guatemala..
M: Yeah.
AJS: In the north west. Um, And then Maybel [a friend] is from San Miguel, which is the other side.
M: Mhmm, the other side. Yeah, next to Honduras.
AJS: How would you describe the…the..the.the….the nature? How would you describe the landscape of where you’re from?
M: Ohh [enthused tone].
AJS: How would you describe the weather? The landscape? The…
M: Completely different. You just breathe the natural air. It’s just…
AJS: Does it smell different?
M: It smells different —you know— It’s just, It makes you a little bit more… humble I think. Knowing that you don’t live, like, in places like this where there is a lot of, um, industries, houses, like, just a lot of buildings. In there there is a lot of nature, actually. A lot of nature, and it just makes you feel [pause] I don’t know there just like a feeling that I can’t describe. Like, it makes you feel at home, it makes you feel humble.
AJS: Is there a certain smell that you would know that that’s El Salvador? Or, that’s Santa Ana.
M: Yes. When it rain, and then it rained on the ground because it’s not roads, it’s actually dirt. So, that smell of wet dirt, ufff…
AJS: It smells nice?
M: Yes.Yes. I miss that so much. One day you will smell it, and you will see what I’m talking about. It just smells so nice, um…
AJS: You’ve never smelled it here or anything?
M: No, never. Never.
AJS: Because it’s concrete and it’s dirty?
M: Yeah, it’s just a lot of people here. A lot of buildings, a lot of industries, a lot of… just like development —you know— it…
AJS: Do you think that’s a bad thing? In some ways?
M: Not necessarily. Not necessarily. No. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, umm, do I like it? I can live with it, but…
AJS: You don’t love it.
M: I don’t love it —you know— I’d rather live, umm, like around nature, way over there in El Salvador it was a lot nature.
AJS: Is there like a, umm, a sound? Is there a sound? You would hear something; you would know that’s El Salvador? It could be an animal. It could be music. It could be, like, people talking.
M: Ohh yes yes yes yes. So, there always, whenever I go there, whenever I go back, I always, like, make this, I always like, umm, pay attention to this… that when you go, when you step on a bus here it’s quiet, it’s, well it’s full of people and It’s full of a lot of noises from people, but it’s never music, in the busses; instead, if you hop on a bus there you’re hoping on a f**cking disco…
AJS: [laughs] Oh for real?
M: I swear to God. Every bus, I assure you one hundred percent, not a lie, every bus has music in there. It has, not talking about english music, I’m talking about Spanish music. In there…
AJS: What kind of genres?
M: They actually made a genre for themselves, I’m not kidding…
AJS: Oh really?
M: Yes. I’m going to show it to you. But…
AJS: I don’t know.
M: Yeah. Yup. Umm, but it’s mainly like Reggaeton. It’s a lot of Reggaeton.
AJS: Is it a lot of Bachata?
M: Yes. A lot of Bachata. A lot of Salsa. A lot of Cumbia. Umm…
AJS: Mostly Reggaeton?
M: Mostly Reggaeton.
AJS: Do you think it changed from when you were a little kid? To when you started growing up? Or was it always Reggeaton?
M: Well…
AJS: Regeaton was big in the early two-thousands too —you know— it was different. Now it has a different sound, but, um…
M: You know what I noticed now? Is that I listen to a lot of pop songs, and I listen to a lot of, umm, English music, and I’m talking about hits right now, like, I don’t know Arian Grande, or Lady Gaga. You know, you’re listening to a lot of over there now. But before it was just a little bit more, like, latin music. It was just latin music, most of it. So, the sound to me is just latin music. Everywhere you go is latin music. It’s always a song playing. [45:10].
AJS: Do you people dance?
M: No. Not really. People just listen to it. There’s a place to dance.
AJS: But not on the bus.
M: Yes. Not on the bus.
[both laughs].
M: Just people are just used to it.
AJS: What about the people? Like, how would you say. There is homophobia in El Salvador. There is. People are very religious. Conservative.
M: Mhm.
AJS: But what are the good things about people in El Salvador? —You know—
M: Um, I think they’re respectful. I think people are very respectful. Um, When you cross someone on the street they will say Beunas Tardes, or if it’s night people will say Buenas Noches, even though if you don’t know them. If you never see them again.
AJS: Is there something you miss about, anything kind of, like, culturally, about El Salvador.
M: Probably that —you know— that respect that you have for people that you don’t know. Umm, here, you try to, like, not have, even like, eye contact with people. You avoid that —you know— I see that in myself here.
AJS: I do that. I do that a lot.
M: Instead there, umm, they would greet you Buenas Noches, and then I really miss that actually.
AJS: Umm, I know that there’s so much more that we can talk about El Salvador, but I want to also talk about, um, you coming here.
M: Okay.
AJS: I just want to ask you, like. [pause]. How did you learn english? How did you feel when people would talk to you in English, and you couldn’t understand them? Or, you did quite know exactly, yet? How was that progress? The progression.
M: It was, umm… I’m trying to remember because I think I’ve kind of like blocked it from my mind a little bit. I don’t actually like to remember. I don’t try to remember —you know— but it was tough, actually. It was a process. I thinks though, I think a lot more people had a lot more struggle than I did, um, because of that school that I told you about that I went. I actually learned english from there, and then I knew a lot of words, so when I came here I was placed in, like, the lower level, and then they would say things like “band aid, hello, how are you?” And then I noticed things; I knew those things, so they put me on an upper level, and then that was more challenging. Umm, how would I describe it? It’s just…
AJS: Did you ever go to, um, International? [school for newly immigrated students in San Francisco’s, located in the Mission District]
M: No.
AJS: Because I know a lot of immigrants come here when they don’t know any English…
M: I was sent there actually, and then I changed my school to Mission [Mission High School]. Yeah, but I was sent to International, originally. So, I would say, like, my experience there [Mission High School] it was like a process of about a year where I was, like, confident in speaking. Um, I wasn’t entirely proficient, but I was… I understood, and I was able to respond back —you know— but before those ten months there was a lot of things that I couldn’t understand, and I couldn’t respond. Um, but then after like a year I think I understood a lot, and then later it became, like, the writing process. I was good at it, and then the last last step that I had was like the speaking process. That’s what took the most… like the accent because I would always try to perfect my accent, you know. Now, I don’t think about it that much —you know— I have an accent, and that’s something I can’t change, but I was trying to change it. I was trying to sound more American.
AJS: To assimilate.
M: Yes. I was trying to assimilate a lot.
AJS: How did you feel because you’re a smart learner right?
M: I guess so. [laughs].
AJS: From what I hear you’re a smart student. So, you know, when you come here and school, education… Where did you end up?
M: Um, very high, actually.
AJS: And this would be you’re fourteen, I’d say early high school.
M: No. Middle school. Seventh grade.
AJS: So, you were fourteen in seventh grade?
M: The thing is I finished seventh grade in El Salvador, but when I was… when I came here, the people, person, gave an option to my mom. He said: “he could go to eighth grade, where he’s supposed to be, or he can repeat the seventh grade,” and then my mom said “oh seventh grade.” [50:08].
AJS: Why?
M: I don’t know. I think she did it because she wanted me to learn English.
AJS: Mm. I think she thought another year would help you.
M: Mhm, and actually I thank her for that. I think it really helped me.
AJS: It was smart.
M: Yeah, it was a smart move. So, umm, I noticed that like the classes… I was, like math, by the way I wasn’t placed in like English classes, I was placed in Spanish classes. I don’t know if you knew that that’s a thing here.
AJS: I didn’t know that. They didn’t put you in any English classes?
M: No. Just English, which is not in English of course, but in terms of like History, Math, and stuff, it was in Spanish.
AJS: Oh really I didn’t know that.
M: Yeah, it was in Spanish. Until the eighth grade, um, that I was moved…
AJS: In Mission High School they had that?
M: No no no, in Everett school [Everett High School].
AJS: Everett, so that’s Spanish-immersion program?
M: mhmm mhm, yeah. So, in eighth grade, I was proficient enough that they moved me to the mainstream. That’s how they call it right?
AJS: I was actually in Spanish-emerssion, for different reasons.
M: Oh yeah.
AJS: Yeah, I was in Spanish-emerssion, umm…
M: Oh I need the little kids from Spanish-emerssion…
AJS: Yeah. There were a lot of Latinos, and then there would be, like, that one White kid.
[Both laugh]
AJS: You know?
M: I knew that one White kid. Yes.
AJS: So, I was in Hoover [Herbert Hoover Middle School] and I was in Spanish-emerssion.
M: ohh.
AJS: Yeah, and I met like… and I think that’s my parents… because they knew that I was adopted, um, I guess they wanted me to learn Spanish because they knew that my family, if I were to ever meet them, they don’t speak English. Or, just culturally or whatever, whatever. Umm, So yeah, then that’s when I met a lot of these people, and then I look this way… but, back to you.
M: Yeah, that’s a story bitch because you look like Latino, but then you speak English.
AJS: And I knew no Spanish. My Spanish was, it’s better now, but then, rrrr. And they were like “huh?” You know they were like “ whaaat?”
M: I actually yes. I knew people like that in Everett. Like we would make fun of them.
AJS: It was the age, it was middle school. So, you were doing good in middle school right?
M: Yeah. I’m doing good.
AJS: And who were you hanging out with? Who were your friends?
M: That’s a good question. Um [pause] not good people. Not good people. Not good people, actually.
AJS: Did you… okay. Do you think you gravitated towards them?
M: Yeah.
AJS: Do you think about, like, how that happened? Or it just happened? It feels like it just happened, right?
M: I feel like it just happened.
AJS: But, do you ever , like, think “hmm, I wonder why that happened?”
M: [Pause. Marlon thinks] I also wonder why —you know— I just never know the answer why, but [pause] I don’t know, they just seem more fun I guess.
AJS: Do you think it was because of your past experience?
M: I think so. I think it had a lot to do with that, actually. I think it had a lot to do with that because, umm, back in El Salvador the school was like… the system, on the grade, was like the smart kids… are like perfect. They’re perfect. They had perfect parents. They have phones; I didn’t have a phone. I did not have a phone b**ch.
AJS: Ohh middle school people made fun of you for that?
M: Yes. Yes. No, I’m talking about, okay…I’m talking about…
AJS: Oh in El Salvador.
M: Yes, in El Salvador. I didn’t have a phone. They did. They had like iphones, not like iphones, but they had like good phones.
AJS: They had f**king phones.
M: They got good phones, not just phones, good phones.
AJS: Okay. Not the fifteen dollar phone.
M: Nope.
AJS: The blackberries?
M: The Motorola. So, they had those. They were the smart kids —you know— that was a group. Everybody knew each other from there, and so I think when I saw that there I was, like, this group of like smart kids, I was like:“I don’t want to be a part of that.”
AJS: You could’ve [pause] because you were smart.
M: Yes. I could’ve, but I never, umm, you know, another thing that was always, like, on my mind, not that I think about it, is my sexuality. Not gonna lie I think that had a lot to do with it because, umm, they were very…
AJS: Did you see smart people as a threat?
M: Not as a threat, actually, more like…
AJS: Unaccepting?
M: Unaccepting. Yeah. I just went through a lot of bullying here as well. Again. [55:04].
AJS: When do you think that started?
M: Where?
AJS: When, where…
M: I think it was because of my walk. I think it was because of my walk. The way I walked. They noticed, and then they asked me “oh, are you gay,” and then I think, I think about it, like, back then it was just such a big deal, and right now if you ask just somebody “you’re gay” they say yes. It’s like okay.
AJS: I think back. We’re almost the same age, you’re two years older than me.
M: Mhm.
AJS: But I remember being in middle school, and I’m going to say this, umm, they be like “faggot,” not to me personally. Maybe they said it to you? Because I was trying to hide it too, I knew. But I was also in denial too. But, umm. But you would here just walking down the hallway “oh that’s gay.”
M: Oh yes! Mhm.
AJS: I very always like… Looking out for myself. Always. I was always looking out for myself, and I was like… and I would learn from other people’s experiences.
M: mmm.
AJS: I didn’t have to go through it because I would see them gay bullied for being gay, and I was like “oh, so that’s what happens. Nope. I’m going to put my little shirt on, and not act gay.” You know. But yeah, definitely in middle school there so much homophobia.
M: It fucking was.
AJS: I don’t know if it’s still like that, or that was the time…
M: I actually really wonder. I really would like to go back and see how, like, they played it out because when I was there it was wild, it was f***ing prison, I don’t know, it was a vibe. Umm, I remember, like, the whole seventh grade I didn’t tell anyone that I was gay. I actually made the mistake of asking a girl out thinking that I was [pause] straight, you know, I was making myself straight, you know…
AJS: [laughs].
M: …and it didn’t end good, uhh, because she said yes, but then she would want to see me, and then I’d be like [laughs] no.
AJS: Like, I didn’t think you would say yes, So…
[Both laugh].
AJS: But do you think overall in your story… From listening to… it seems like your sexuality has played a part in a lot of the traumas that you’ve…
M: I think in all of them, actually. I’m not gonna lie to you, in all of them. I’ve always felt… like I’m not able to fit in because of my sexuality. Because, I think that’s, like, a big part of myself. That I can not change, and…
AJS: It was not your choice.
M: It wasn’t my choice, and then… It’s just, it’s always there. Always there —you know. In the group of middle school, they would talk about girls and stuff like that, and of course I wasn’t like —you know— I wasn’t contributing to the conversation because I’m gay! You know, what I have to say —you know— so I never could have been part of that, so I think that’s why I was drawned, because they didn’t care.
AJS: Do you think that you… and in middle school. That’s the age when kids start getting into drugs. That’s the age when…
M: And gangs.
AJS: And gangs too. So, then here. Did you know people in gangs? Or people doing drugs? Or people… you know.
M: Oh yeah. Oh yeah. In middle school? Oh yeah. I knew this one girl. She would skip classes to go have sex with someone who was like waaay older than her. I’m talking about middle school; she was probably like thirteen, and then this guy was like twenty six. I’m talking about illegal stuff. Like super illegal stuff, and then he was a gang member, that’s how, actually, I started to become…
AJS: And what gang would that be?
M: That would be the reds. So that would be the Norteños.
AJS: So, it’s like the Narcs and the Crips, right? You know in the US you got Crips and… I don’t know if they say it like that.
M: I know them from a different…I know them as norteños and sureños.
AJS: I’ve heard of that too. I didn’t know them like that, but..
M: Yeah. So…
AJS: But you did.
M: Yeah, so that’s this one friend that I started to hang out with, actually, and then… she was fun, she was just so fun. She was understanding. I think that’s how I was drawn to her because she didn’t care that I was gay, I told her.
AJS: Do you feel like there was more acceptance there besides school?
M: Yeah. Wait wait wait wait can you repeat the question?
AJS: Acceptance for being gay here…
M: Oh yes! Totally, totally, yes, yeah. That is the only, like, umm, thing that I was looking forward to because I heard in El Salvador that they were accepting here. And I also heard that San Francisco was the capital of the gays… and then when I got here my cousin took me to the castro, and then I was in love. I was in love, in love, with the —you know— just the like the… braveness with people. It wasn’t braveness, actually, it was just them being themselves.
[Crowd in the background] [1:00:17].
AJS: Ok. So, as you progress into high school are you affected by the drugs? Are you affected by the gangs that you may be associated with through a friend?
M: Yeah. Oh yeah. [pop his lips] Oh yes. Umm, I started hanging out with this friend… in high school. When I started high school, I started hanging out with this friend and I thought she was my friend, umm, but then we started, like, smoking weed. That’s actually the person who I started smoking with the very first time in my life that I smoked weed, it was with her. Umm, and at the moment I didn’t think of it, like, as something that would ruin my life in the future, but then, like, now it completely did —you know. I just, I didn’t think that it was gonna do a lot of damage [emphasizes voice] and it did, actually. So, yes I started smoking weed first, and then she knew a lot of guys that were part of, like, the gangs, umm, or the norteños actually, to be specific. And then I started hanging out with them because she would hang out with them, so she would bring me with her. So, I started hanging out with them, umm, and then I would hide my sexuality through jokes —you know— I think they knew that I was gay but I was funny, and then I made jokes, and then I think they really, like, didn’t care, or like they didn’t… I think they ignored it, but I started to be like more [pause] I just started to go out more, with them —you know. And, I should’ve have been with friends —you know— who are, like, doing homework at night, friends who, like, study together because there were people who did that in high school, I just never hung out with them. Umm, I preferred to hang out with my friend, who would smoke weed and drink, I preferred that over friends who would study. So, that was my mistake. I think that’s the biggest,one of the biggest mistakes that I’ve ever made. Ummm, and I started getting more and more more into that. I started to meet more people, like, it wasn’t just that friend anymore. I started to make more friends —you know. I started to expand my world. Umm, I would meet this person and then this person would bring me there, and then in that place I would meet this person, and then that person would bring me to another place. Soo, it was a change. It was [sighs]. I got excited, umm, because of the fun, the alcohol, but then… you, like, you get to a place when you’re doing that all the time. All the time, all the time, all the time, and school is just not important anymore —you know. Umm, you’re hanged over; you can’t do homework. You’re with people; you can’t do homework. You’re smoking, you’re not studying for your exam. So, of course that was my downfall, you know, I had a lot of bad grades and…
AJS: Because you could’ve.
M: I could’ve had good grades.
AJS: You could have.
M: Yes. Because, umm…
AJS: But you know what, and this is really you talking, but I just wanna say one little thing —you know. Umm [pause] I think… it’s really cool to see people who have been focused in school, I admire people who in f**cking freshmen year they’re hella focused. You know they’re like grades, school, teachers, duhruh [snaps fingers]. And it’s like…and I always looked at those kinds and I was like…I was just not there. And I think maybe for you, I don’t know, you had needs more than school. You had other things you needed. School just was important. You weren’t getting your needs met by school. You know.
M: Mhm.
AJS: And I think that’s why a lot of people, um, do poorly because they’re going somewhere else where they feel like they belong.
M: Yeah. Yeah. Yes, and I think now that you say it, I noticed why I thought I belonged in that group, and it was because all of them were Latino. None of the people that I’ve met during my days like that were like either, umm, White, Black, or any other race. Everyone of them was Latino. Everyone of them spoke Spanish. Either Spanish or English, or only spoke Spanish. But everyone of them was Latino, so I felt at home with them. Umm, when we were drinking, we would play music that was Latino, Reggaeton, so of course I felt at home. I definitely felt home, but it’s just, it was not meant for me. It’s just, it wasn’t my place. I thought it was my palace, but it wasn’t my place. Umm… yeah. [1:05:51].
AJS: What about arts?
M: Arts?
AJS: I know you like to dance, and I know you’ve been in… I think you’re more part of the community in the Mission than you think you are sometimes. I think you really are part of the community; you have done things. You know— how did you start getting involved in the mime troupe? How did you start getting involved in Loco Boco? You know.
M: Umm, I think that I’ve always been very curious about stuff. I like taking risks. So, um, I don’t know, actually, you know, I don’t know how I got involved. I just. It was just a decision that I made.
AJS: Did your mom have any influence?
M: No, nobody did, actually. Nobody. Not friends. Said “can you come with me?” No, I think… people came to my class and they talked about it, and then they were like “who wants to sign up?” And then I said why not? So, I did sign up, and I didn’t think I was gonna get in, in Mime Troupe, and then I got in because it’s like an interview type of thing. I was like oh sh*t… what do I do now?
AJS: Like, I can do this.
M: I went through it, you know, so it was —you know— that I cannot put it on anyone. Nobody forced me, nobody, like…
AJS: Did you connect with people? on a different level, through I don’t know… how was your experience?
M: Mm, I found something about myself other than drugs, other than drinking, and other than school —you know— I found something that I could do, that I liked, umm, something that was… that, like, helped me express my feelings… a little bit better. I got to learn that through dance. When I started dancing for, um, Olé, it’s like this club in Mission high school where you would showcase Latino dances and stuff. So, I started there, and then I remember I did became very involved, like, in the community because I was doing, like, all this stuff… like was doing fundraisings, I was, like, dancing. Uhh, I danced in like f**cking downtown. Yes, I did. We did that.
AJS: What dance?
M: Uhh, it was Latin dance, but we…
AJS: But what kind of Latin dance?
M: Umm, I think I showed you, It’s like Salsa, Bachata. And then we danced downtown and then we got me. It was our little thing. Umm, so I did a lot of stuff, and you know what it actually made me happy because it…
AJS: Do you think you have an artistic personality?
M: Oh yeah, definitely. Yes, definitely. I think I found that…
AJS: Where do you think you get that from?
M: [sighs] Not my mom, or not my family I wanna say because my family is not artistic. I think it’s just me.
AJS: It’s just you, you just got it.
M: I think I just got it —you know. I think it’s a mix of my sexuality, my pride of being Latino because I am proud to be Latino now. I’ve met people who are not proud, but I am very proud—you know, and I think it’s a mix of being proud of being Latino, a mix of my sexuality, a mix of my own personality. I like to be curious, I like to take risks, umm, I like to express myself, I like to help people as well even though nobody really… but I do help. I like to help people. Umm, so I think it’s a mix of all of that —you know— I actually didn’t get it from anybody in my family. My mom can dance, yeah, but she’s not artistic.
Imagining Home: CCSF Oral History Project 