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Thursday, June 15, 2017

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
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ed Belize and Panama) for the first 
time in years. And, of course, aca-
demic collections like U.S. Central 
Americans Reconstructing Mem-
ories, Struggles, and Communities 
of Resistance allow for new voices 
to re-center conversations around 
what Central American identity 
means in the context of the States. 
These are far from the only people 
doing this work, but in many ways, 
they form one of the many epicen-
ters of this new movement shaking 
up where Central Americans exist 
in the U.S. consciousness.

For Central Americans — and 

for those who aren’t — out there 
looking to learn more, these 
resources are all great places to 
start.

In her poem “What It’s Like to 

Be a Central American Unicorn for 
Those Who Aren’t,” Maya Chin-
chilla says that Central Americans 
are “mythical creatures” — uni-
corns, even — who exist outside 
most people’s realm of possibil-
ity. Nevertheless, as we continue 
through a year that already threat-
ens to make coming to or staying 
in the U.S. more difficult for those 
in the isthmus and in our com-
munities, it is essential that we 
stop pushing these countries and 
people to the sidelines. Whether 
reading this is the first time you’ve 
ever centered Central America — 
and especially if it is — do not let 
it be your last. We may be the stuff 
of fairytales, but we’re out here 
on Twitter too, already starting 
these conversations, and looking 
for others to find and support our 
communities. All you need to do is 
look.

¿Entendés, vos?
Abrazos,
Patrick Mullen-Coyoy

Straight from 

the Unicorn’s 

Mouth: 

Centering 

Central America

By PATRICK MULLEN-COYOY

Michigan in Color Contributor

To my fellow Central American 

unicorns,

As you know, it’s not easy being 

a Central American in the United 
States — it’s not easy being Latinx, 
period. But we all know that being 
Central American is a little differ-
ent.

Let’s recap: For most people in 

the United States, Central Amer-
ica stopped existing somewhere 
around the mid-90s. Why should 
we care? It’s not like a CIA-backed 
coup led to the successful over-
throw of Guatemala’s Ten Years of 
Spring, of course. And why would 
we even bother looking at El Sal-
vador or Nicaragua, where years of 
U.S. intervention lead to civil war 
and even more death? Besides, it’s 
not like refugees kept coming to 
the United States after the peace 
accords were signed! (They did.) 
With our bloodstained foot out the 
door of our past, why should any of 
this matter, anyway?

Now, you might anticipate we 

would have paid more attention 
to Central America again in 2014. 
You would have been hard-pressed 
to avoid discussing it, what with 
more than 50,000 unaccompanied 
minors fleeing conditions of vio-
lence and poverty in Honduras, 
El Salvador and Guatemala. Three 
years ago isn’t that long, right?

You would be wrong.
After the all too necessary seg-

ments on CNN that summer with 
a panic about the “crisis on the 
border,” there was … nothing. No 
one talked — talks — about these 
children anymore. Obama said 
things were fine, so they must be, 
despite the fact that fiscal year 
2016 demonstrated apprehensions 
of minors nearing those of 2014. “A 
brief spike” is how these lives were 
described.

Knowing this, you might say 

to yourself that even if the gen-
eral public doesn’t focus too much 
attention on Central Americans, 
they must be centered within 
Latina/o and Latin American 
Studies departments and cours-
es. We’re focused on all Latines, 
including Central Americans. Or 
so the assumption would go.

Unfortunately, this is far from 

the norm. In most any Latina/o 
Studies or Latin American history 
course (barring California State 
University Northridge’s special-
ized program), Central American 
history, literature, politics, culture 
and people are generally located 
somewhere in between the Cuban 
revolution and NAFTA. One class, 
mid-way through the syllabus. 
Perfunctory discussion of how 
civil war came to pass in Guate-
mala and El Salvador. Massacres. 
Refugees. Peace accords. If you’re 
lucky, maybe you’ll even read 
Rigoberta Menchú’s memoir. Then 
on to Argentina.

A bleak view, to be sure.
Nevertheless, this history of 

erasure, ignorance and invisibi-
lization is far from the end for our 
communities. If others do not care 
about Central America in the ways 
that we need, then we must do the 
work. Not for them, but for us — as 
we did before the civil wars and as 
we continue to do today. We need 
place our own testimonials, our 
own stories, our own narratives of 
heartbreak and heroism at the cen-
ter ourselves of the Americas. We 
must develop a voice for ourselves, 
not apart from the wider Latinx 
community, but in harmony with 
that louder, pan-ethnic melody.

If few outsiders are willing to 

amplify our lives, dramas, fears, 
traumas and dreams, then we 
need to do that for one another. 
We have to cultivate new soli-
darities and open ourselves up to 
messy diasporic identities. “Cen-
tral American,” “Central Ameri-
can-American” and “U.S. Central 
American” are far from all-encom-
passing terms. That said, by allow-
ing for people to voice their own 
lives and experiences as they will 
— and in whichever of the count-
less languages of Central America 
they prefer — then perhaps we can 
avoid the totalizing narratives of 
Central America that have existed 
for so long.

In large part, this work is 

already being done. Folks like Dr. 
Leisy Abrego and “Dichos de un 
bicho” use the #CentAmStudies 
tag on social media to develop an 
archive of useful news, articles 
and discussions about Central 
Americans. Central America Con-
temporary on Tumblr and Central 
American Art on Twitter docu-
ment 
often-overlooked 
artists 

and artwork. Tia Chucha Press’s 
recent anthology The Wandering 
Song: Central American Writing in 
the United States brings together 
poetry and writing from across the 
isthmus (including the oft-shunt-

Happy 

Father’s Day

By JASON ROWLAND

Michigan in Color Managing Editor

“A ship is safe in harbor, but 

that’s not what ships are built for” 
 

-John A. Shedd 

Dad,
Oddly enough, my most pivotal 

memories of us are simple conver-
sations that meant nothing at the 
time, but mean everything today. 
The conversations that, unbe-
knownst to you (and definitely to 
me), triggered a shift in mindset 
or attitude. The conversations that 
have stuck around in my memory 
after all of these years. The conver-
sations that ended with a variation 
of “you’ll understand one day.”

One such conversation hap-

pened in your car, around what 
feels like an eternity ago to me — 
but probably feels like last month to 
you — as I listened to you describe 
a show called “The Twilight Zone” 
that you watched as a kid. As you 
went on recounting the scenes in 
one particular episode, my inter-
est rose. Aliens? Meteors? Arma-
geddon? I was hooked. Finally, my 
curiosity burst free: “Is it based on 
a true story?” I asked. Your answer 
has stuck with me since. Instead of 
simply saying no and moved on, you 
launched into a lesson about the 
importance of critical thinking. It 
quickly made sense that if we were 
discussing a show about the end of 
the world, it couldn’t be based on a 
true story — a shift in mindset that 
arose from a simple conversation.

Another time, I remember ask-

ing, “Dad, if I’m homeless when I 
grow up, will you let me live with 
you?” Much to my surprise, you 

answered no — quickly followed by 
“but you don’t have to worry about 
that.” I’m not sure why I remember 
that exchange, but I do. However, 
what’s crystal clear to me now is 
the motivation behind your answer. 
Instead of teaching me that failure 
was an option — that I don’t need 
to try — you instilled in me the les-
son of self-reliance. While today I 
know I could crash on your couch 
whenever I need to, that’s not 
what I needed to hear at the time. I 
didn’t recognize that then, but you 
did. While your answer may not 
have been what I wanted to hear, 
it’s what you knew was necessary.

Much like your incessant warn-

ings, and despite my correspond-
ing doubt, that the “one day” when 
I would understand your lessons 
would arrive sooner rather than 
later, every morning I awake to 
discover that today is the “one day” 
I heard so much about. Luckily, 
you’ve equipped me with the tools 
necessary to thrive.

All of this is to say that I am who 

I am today largely because of the 
small conversations we had many 
years ago. Perhaps it’s impossible 
for any one memory to sum up all 
of our talks. However, my memo-
ries of the following come close: 
you reminding me that you’re not 
here to “be my friend,” but you’re 
here to be my father. At the time, 
I couldn’t see why you can’t be 
both — but now I do. A friend won’t 
always be genuinely happy for us 
when we succeed; a father will. 
A friend won’t always correct us 
when we’re wrong; a father will. 
And a friend won’t always love us 
after we mess up; a father will. And 
you’ve proven this to be true time 
and time again.

Love you and happy Father’s 

Day, Jason.

