‘Latino Life’ Exhibition: A Rather Incomplete Story

I used to compulsively collect newspaper and magazine articles featuring Latinos. I didn’t know why I did it, I only knew that I had to. It took me years to understand that I was compiling the few positive images of Latinos I found, trying to heal the hole in my heart from the myriad images of criminality, servitude and sexual transgression that accosted me while growing up.

According to its organizers, the intent of the “Americanos: Latino Life in the United States” exhibition at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County is to educate non-Latinos, but it also has a healing effect for those, like me, in search of it. The exhibition presents a multitude of portraits of everyday life: the woman shucking oysters, a co-worker in the background; the high school graduate on her way to Harvard, in her cap and gown triumphantly flinging her flowers into the air; photo after photo of loving intimacy between family members. The exhibition space glows with the beauty and dignity of ordinary people, a balm to salve a wound that not even Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez and the Buena Vista Social Club combined have been able to heal.

As much as my heart continues to need such healing, as much as I wanted to let go and allow myself to bask in this space--some sort of a Latino heaven--something tugged at me, telling me there was something wrong with these rooms that evoked only admiration and joy: It isn’t the truth.

It struck me that there were virtually no signs of loss or struggle, either in the physical or emotional Maria Elena Fernandez is a Los Angeles-based writer and performer. She teaches Chicano literature at Cal State Northridge.

elements of the photos. The few images that gave some indication of difficulty, let’s say a garment worker at her sewing machine, sanitized or altogether excluded the setting, or drowned the scene in aesthetic pleasure. Very few photographs explore the subject’s inner life, let alone exhibit vulnerability. Any indications of struggle are borne without pain, pointing only to its nobility.

One of the most stunningly beautiful images is the portrait of a field worker. Against a spectacular blue sky and field, the close-up of his mustached profile fills the frame, freshly picked flowers held to his chest, a courageous gaze emanating into the distance. “We are so breathtakingly beautiful, honorable and hard-working,” this image says. He’s like a statue to these attributes. I had to make a concerted effort to come out from under its spell. These images seem to be telling us there is nothing to lament, only admiration to derive. It worries me that at their most simplistic level, they could be interpreted as “We cut such a lovely image on the American landscape.”

I’m not advocating images of overwhelming suffering, trying to prove how much we’ve been trampled upon in this country, but rather images that communicate the complexity of our experiences. And “Americanos” does offer rare examples of this.

In one photo a girl of about 2 stands in a window, almost the full height of her body fitting in the window frame. A sweet joy bursts from her eyes to the viewer’s, her full face covered with wavy black hair. The windowpane is peeled of all paint. There is no glass, only two crisscrossed boards. A torn, dirty screen cuts across her face and body. All indications are that this little girl lives in abject poverty. The image says, “Look at the shameful reality of our poverty.”

And at the same time it shows us that she is healthy, as well as the depth of her joy. That she is well-fed and well-loved speaks to the centeredness of this family. The viewer senses that a great love resides in this ramshackle structure. Whether it’s poverty, a sense of utter displacement or an absent parent, there is joy and there is suffering all at once. And isn’t this just how our lives are?

But I am reminded that this touring exhibition is meant to be a public, national introduction of who we are. As its title conveys, it is an attempt to convince the nation that we, too, belong. Perhaps its most ambitious hope is to assure the white middle-class viewer that we are not the threatening immigrant hordes that, with California’s recent landslide of anti-immigrant propositions, we painfully learned was in their imaginations. So we got dressed in our Sunday best to greet the visitors and to every question we answered, “Fine. Everything’s just fine.”

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And what’s wrong with that? Don’t we get a chance to put on our Sunday best, put away the suffering for once, hide the gang member brother and all the other secrets that we’re embarrassed about? Don’t we deserve the comfort of our own idealized images after such a long history of painful stereotypes?

But my hunger to understand the complexity of this extraordinarily diverse group that I call my community is greater than my need for comfort. And these idealized images don’t comfort me, instead I feel confused and the discomfort that comes with the suspicion of self-delusion.

I celebrate the significance of “Americanos” as an important landmark for Latino-themed exhibitions on the national arts landscape and the tremendous success it has already enjoyed around the country. But it has not succeeded in telling the multiple and layered truths about our expansive community.

I remain hungry to connect with its myriad sectors with the greatest depth possible. I’ll only satisfy that hunger when I know about the hard parts as well as the joy, share vulnerabilities, not only platitudes. And isn’t this where human beings most connect, not only among Latinos, but with those outside of our community? And if it’s pride we’re in pursuit of, doesn’t the greatest pride come from knowing that we are confronting the difficult contexts and moments of our lives? Overstating our strengths does not make us stronger.

So, the “Americanos” show raises a vital question: Now that we are at the historical crossroads of beginning to control some of our images, do we have the courage to look at ourselves as we really are?

Admittedly, as well as the yearning for a quick-fix patch for the hole in our hearts, we battle two powerful storytelling forces: America’s age old romanticization of the immigrant struggle and the rhetoric of the ‘60s that tended to overstate our losses. But if we make honest efforts to approach this great challenge, I believe this will be the most healing of balms, not just for Latino audiences, but for all audiences.

* “Americanos: Latino Life in the United States,” Natural History Museum, 900 Exposition Blvd., L.A., (213) 763-DINO. Ends Feb. 25.