03 April 2006

Gabacho

I'm a Gabacho now, and I didn't know it. With all the hoopla over the immigration issue swirling around the last few weeks, it has been easy enough to not notice.

The folks in the La Rasa movement are fond of saying that the border is nothing special; in fact, the Americans just moved it south on them. They appear to be of the opinion that they were here first, which is an interesting twist to the argument.

But of course when independent Texas decided to join the Union, and California was admitted to statehood, everyone there, Hispanic or otherwise became a de facto citizen. So, it is an argument that does not stand up to examination. Unless of course we were to move the border north and have all the Gringos surround the Mexican consulate and demand better education and free health care.

Even thinking something like that shows how out of touch with the issue I am. We are not Gringos, or better said, the only one who would call themself a Gringo would be another one.

Chicanos- or maybe I should say Mexicans, since the former term itself is one loaded with the context of political activism- use a different term. According to noted columnist and cultural analyst Gustavo Arellano of Orange County, California, we Norteamericanos are actually known as “Gabachos.”

I had to scramble around to find out what the word meant. The sites that do language translation on the web mostly just the spat the word back at me without comment, as though I should already have known its disparaging content.

Eventually, I was able to find the definition. The term dates back to the early 16th Century in Spain, and originally referred to the French, the ones who lived to the North. I'm sure there is something disparaging about it, but don't know the precise flavor of the idiom. It helps to use it in a sentence, where it goes something like this:

“José is such a gabacho; he pays to get his lawn mowed.”

There is an old saying in Washington that any day that starts with an appearance by yourself or your Agency in the Post is not going to be a good one. So it was with trepidation that I heard on my favorite radio program that the company I work for had been purchased by a French firm.

My mind whirled with the possibilities. Dan Damon, the show's reader, gently informed me that only 8,000 jobs were expected to be lost in the consolidation, or around ten percent of the combined workforce.

That is not so much, I thought, just one-in-ten. The Romans had a word for that. They called it decimation , when each tenth solider in the formation was slain where he stood as an object lesson to his comrades.

They thought it helped to stiffen the spine of those that remained.

But it probably will not be so bad, and a more efficient and larger juggernaut will probably be an entertaining place to work, if I survive. I toyed with the idea of changing my name to “Jacque.” It has a certain ring to it, and I might gain some advantage in the transition process.

After all, what is in a name? I didn't even know until this weekend that I was a Gabacho, or that I would become a double Gabacho with the trans-Atlantic corporate consolidation.

Capitalism is interesting. I have to assume that in the new company we are going to continue to pay to have our lawns cut. Then it struck me. Maybe I was going into the landscaping business, and didn't even know it.

Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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